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lovesick-nagi · 2 months

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This is a continuation of our posts on Stylus/The Labyrinth, as we have been requested to add this on.

I held off on posting this to give Stylus an opportunity to reply and send their supposed "proof" they claim to have from their last post, but as of now, there is dead silence from their end. I can't say I didn't expect this, but if they truly think they have something that will vindicate them, I implore them to send it into my askbox. In the meantime, I have a development.

You might remember the person who made the post defending Labyrinth, another one of their exes. You may also have noticed in the last post I said there were now four people speaking out against Stylus, and now, I bring you the fourth statement via that ex/childhood friend, @starfall-sys, as they have now come forward to me to apologize, as well as admit to be a victim of Labyrinth as well. They have asked us to make this post to clarify their feelings on the matter. But first, I will give what they themselves have to say.

This post will also include more of their disgusting actions that I could not include in my three posts, but now have even more backup on.

TW: SH, Mentions of Abuse/SA, Racism, RAMCOA mention/misrepresentation

"Hey. This is Stylus’ friend/ex. As you all may be aware, I posted a really awful defense statement trying to defend Stylus and I will say, I am extremely sorry. That statement not only hurt Nagi, it upset a lot of people who knew the whole story. I know nothing will excuse my actions but I want to explain myself.

When I wrote that statement, I was sort of convinced by Stylus to send it because I felt bad at that time and I wanted to defend him. At that time, I was only aware of one incident, and was not aware of the actual biting, physical abuse, and SA that happened. Stylus deliberately left that out. I wrote that statement under the impression that maybe it could possibly mend friendships and clear off miscommunication but BOY was I wrong.

It wasn't until after people started lashing out at me that I realized the gravity of the situation. It has left me mentally scarred, and I regret ever defending Stylus. I myself realized that Stylus has done stuff to me that I buried under the rug until recently.

This is my apology statement for those who have been hurt by my initial statement. I no longer endorse Stylus, and I have apologized to Nagi about it as well. I’m sorry for causing such a mess, truth be told I was dragged into this by Stylus, but honestly I am glad that it came to that point because otherwise I would have never realized the treatment that I had to deal with from Stylus. I would have been left in the dark.

Now while I would love to explain what he did to me, its way too much for me to explain in a paragraph and I feel that Nagi can explain it better than me, so I will let them tell you the truth."

Here, within what they shared with me, we can learn more about how stylus behaved with them. As you may remember from their post, they are childhood friends with Stylus. They detail how Stylus seemed nice in childhood, coming from a wealthy, safe home, but they started to understand the malicious person Stylus was growing into when they first exchanged discord accounts.

It is truly disturbing to hear the extent of what stylus did to themselves while on video with their "closest friend", who would go on to be their first partner, as it’s something no one should ever have to see, and combined with the accounts in our previous posts, clearly Stylus has a past history with using SH as leverage, and has done this with literally every single person they have dated.

They go on to discuss their experiences with being led to believe I was in the wrong, and how they were apparently being manipulated into doing their bidding for a long time now. They apologized to me for having written the deleted apology post previously on Stylus’ blog.

They talk to us about being straight up ignored by Stylus in their relationship, which is another thing that led to their breakup. Stylus often dismissed their requests for advice or encouragement in favour of themself or others which led this person to feel very isolated and generally worthless to Stylus despite the years they spent knowing eachother.

We’d learn that during the time them and Stylus were dating, Stylus hadn’t informed them that they had begun dating someone else. While they did have a open arrangement, they’d agreed to ask/inform each other first, and Stylus had not, instead dating this person for a month before even mentioning it, completely breaking their partner's trust. They broke up immediately after Stylus tried to gaslight them regarding this.

We’ve also received more examples of Stylus being racist and vile with our renewed friendship with their victims, though we’d already known this for some time due to various personal experiences with them as a POC ourselves, this just goes to show that there is MUCH Stylus has not apologized for, and hoped would just be pushed under the rug.

{ As you can probably tell, the more I talk about him, the less patience I have for his antics. }

Even FURTHER, they claim to be a RAMCOA victim PURELY because of their cult leader OC alter.

So on top of straight up saying he "has trauma" from NOT having trauma, now he is claiming to be a victim of Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, and Organized Abuse. None of these are even entertainable ideas, and the fact he only feels this way because his cult leader OC is "drawn to" these topics is. Something.

At this point, I really cannot say I believe anything he says. He is willing to claim he is a RAMCOA survivor for such silly reasons, and claims to have his dissociative disorder from childhood trauma, trauma that he has straight up said he does not have. It seems he uses these types of things to excuse his actions, or at least that's what their practical use ends up being.

He did something terrible ? He doesn't remember it, it was someone else. Someone says no or even takes too long for him when he pesters them for something ? He has RSD, you can't say no, it'll hurt his feelings. He doesn't show any remorse for literally assaulting someone ? It's not his fault, he has a personality disorder. Even if I've caught him in lies about all of these, when he's proven wrong, he shifts the blame onto someone else, one of his exes. It is never his fault. And if you call him out on all of this, you're the terrible one.

I would like to clarify that every single person I have discussed being affected is a system. I am a system, my partner is a system, all three of his exes are systems. Not a single one of us can say that his claims line up with our system experiences.

He claims things about his system that literally could not be medically possible, he has spewed misinformation on any disorder he brings up and talks over other people WITH those disorders while doing so, and everyone knows him to have a completely normal family and childhood, not traumatic in any sense of the word. The victim who has lived in his house said that if anything, he has been spoiled by his wealthy family. The rest of us has witnessed this as well. He might as well just say that he's endogenic.

He seems to target anyone who enables him, which turned out to be traumatized systems, to get what he wants. This is simply his victim profile, which is why I'm glad he was banned from the system server he held a powerful position in. We are glad to have prevented more harm from being done.

To end this off,

Stylus’ ex who reached out to us concludes with another apology to me, and others, for having ever defended stylus or aided in any of our abuse, which is an apology I accept genuinely, because I already knew they were misinforming people and villainizing their victims.

They villainized me to all three of their exes, they villainized us all to the server they modded, and everyone they manipulated into sympathizing with them has realized they are a victim of Stylus, cut them off, and has a strong distain for them as a person. Even the server they modded for banned them due to learning of their actions after being lied to. Stylus is extremely manipulative, and has upheld a plethora of terrible beliefs while under the guise of amnesia, disorders, or meaning well. The truth is he has just been motivated by prejudice, malicious sadism, sexual deviancy, and his own self interest.

We’re glad to have received a proper apology from Stylus' now ex childhood friend, and gained further knowledge about the extent of what stylus has done from their exes, and we've all become friends again, which makes me really happy !! The only person who has never given a genuine apology for all their terrible actions is Stylus, and I doubt they ever will, because at this point all they seem to be doing is continuing to try and demonize their victims and blamehsift. All I can say is, the more I learn about them, the worse they are revealed to be. If they think they can worm their way into more communities, into more already-traumatized people's lives, they are, simply put, very wrong. I won't let anyone else be hurt because of their abusive nature, and I will continue to protect others.

#.exe chatting #mogai community #stylusscomms #mogai friendly #custom emote #custom emoji

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muwapsturniolo · 15 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/muwapsturniolo/761092106641129472/i-understand-a-lot-of-people-are-pissed-about-what?source=share

PREACH!!!!! this escalated to body shaming nick and wishing death upon him rather than the actual topic on hand. im a nick boy 4ever but what he said was wrong and he needs to be aware of that. however that doesnt mean ppl should hate on nick for no reason. ive seen like for real body shame him now, like real nasty stuff. as someone who had body dysmorphia and an ED, reading those comments really hurt and they weren't even abt me. ppl need to focus on the ableist thing he said. even before this comment ive seen ppl hate in nick repeatedly for no reason and like say shit to him that was actually too far, especially with the comments about his body. as somone who also has autism and stims a lot i truly didn't find harm in his comment and i found it funny cause me and my friends joke around like that as well, but i understand why it would hurt someone out of 7 million ppl. i feel like he truly didnt know the meaning of what he said and said it with no malicious intent l, but he needs to know what he said was wrong and he needs ro be held accountable. however this doesnt mean that ppl should say he should die or call him a fat pig or loser (ive seen comments like that and worse a bunch) bc thats js not right. as someone who grew up w out any neurodivergent ppl around u cant just hate and go off on someone if they say something rude or disrespectful when they truly didnt know what they were saying or didnt know any better, the important thing is to tell them that's saying stuff like that is wrong and rude. nick is 21 years old so he should be held accountable but shouldn't be called fat, ugly, or an evil monster (once again true comments ive seen). once again i feel like this some ppl in this fandom like year ago and up until now found things to hate on nick like say some really messed up shit w out any reason or sense into their words. (most of them are just fueling the their parasocial relationship with matt and chris bc nick was slighty mean around them). nick should 100% be held accountable for this, but he shouldn't be degraded and shit on to this degree. a lot of them (not all) didnt like nick in the first place and started body shaming and saying that he shouldn't even be a part of the sturniolo triplets at all, which is taking thing out of proportion. i do hope nick says smth about this bc ppl out here are saying some really nasty shit that even flared my insecure ass's negative mindset off, and it wasnt even directed towards me. moral of the story imo nick said smth fucked up, even if he did it unknowingly or w out bad intent or just even didnt truly know what stimming meant, and he should understand how it hurt ppl and should say smth about it, but that doesn't mean ppl should blow things out of proportion and body shame and ridicule him just bc they dont like him (and some want to fuel their parasocial relationship w matt and/or chris i fear). the focus should be abt the ableist comment itself. sorry if this is too long i just wanted to put my side of this debacle out here and i really hope this made sense, love ya a bunchhhhh

This was a lot but I agree ! Body shaming and calling him all these names is doing way too damn much! And telling him to die is insane! People have hated on Nick from the jump and just want to ridicule him for everything!

I have a theory that people are growing out of the triplets/ the hyper fixation is dying out and they hate that they are growing out of it so people start hating to justify it.

Like it’s ok to pick out the wrongs your fav has done, but to start going this hard by wishing death on him, calling him fat etc, it’s too much.

#peachesparley🍑

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mmorgtricks · 2 years

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Good Help - chapter 3 - ao3 link

Everyone was required to come to the Nightless City to pay homage to the Emperor, no matter their status, and any number of sects had chosen to pay another visit during the Emperor’s absence – whether in search of profit or merely credit for fulfilling their duties, preferably without the risk of incurring their volatile Emperor’s attention.

One of those sects was Lanling Jin.

Meng Yao felt both disappointment and relief when he learned that Jin Guangshan would not be coming himself, declining on the grounds that it was just too miserable to go without his good friend the Emperor there, though it was far more likely that he didn’t want to have to acknowledge the presence of Meng Yao, standing there in the Emperor’s place. Instead, his father sent his one legitimate son and heir, Jin Zixuan, and Jin Zixuan brought his wives.

The rumors of friendship between Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan were exaggerated for effect, in Meng Yao’s opinion, but there must be some basis to it. Otherwise, there was no way Jin Zixuan would have been allowed to hold such a treasure in his hands: he had married the last survivors of the Jiang clan, Jiang Yanli and her younger brother Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli, at least, was considered a prize, given that she brought with her the bloodline and legitimacy of a former Great Sect and had at least a technical claim to a frankly eye-popping dowry, should the Emperor ever decide to allow her to reclaim the ownership of the Lotus Pier, even if in practice the place had been rapidly converted into a pleasure palace by his second son.

Jin Zixuan had managed to win that race, having had the advantage of being already engaged to Jiang Yanli since birth, his mother having apparently been friends with the former Madame Jiang, known better as Madame Yu. Given Jin Zixuan’s character – not known to be especially good at either politics or finance – Meng Yao was of the belief, as were many people, that he had only taken Jiang Cheng as a bride in order to please his wife by saving the life of her younger brother after the Jiang sect was destroyed, since Jiang Cheng, the son of a fallen clan, represented little more than a gigantic target on the back of anyone who might claim him.

Of course, rather than admit it, Jin Zixuan denied all such rumors and maintained consistently that he had been in love with both of them, desperately, and that had been the reason he’d petitioned for the right of marriage.

(Meng Yao also heard rumors that Wen Ruohan had found his insistence funny and agreed to the match on the condition that their marriage bed be witnessed, which sounded very much in line with what he knew of Wen Ruohan’s character – he would have enjoyed forcing them to consummate their fake marriage, luxuriated in their humiliation, and laughed when they failed to look each other in the eye later. Still, what wasn’t worth doing to preserve a life?)

At any rate, regardless of anything else, Jin Zixuan was still the Emperor’s subject, and therefore he had to come pay homage the same as anyone else. Meng Yao’s brother by blood (although frustratingly not by law) had trouble looking directly at Meng Yao during the ceremony, but he managed to conduct the ritual of swearing loyalty moderately well regardless, with no indications of disrespect and perfect etiquette. It was only after, when Meng Yao had maliciously invited him to share a cup of tea to extend the duration of the awkwardness, that something broke – and it wasn’t Jin Zixuan at all.

“Is it true?” Jiang Cheng asked abruptly, the first words he’d said in this visit, and Meng Yao turned to look at him even as Jin Zixuan’s face turned pale. “That the Emperor started fucking Huaisang?”

Huaisang, Meng Yao thought, rolling the name around in his mouth – was A-Sang originally a Jiang, then?

But no, if he was, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have that look of desperation on his face, of longing and despair; whoever this Huaisang had been in his previous life, before he’d become an Imperial Consort, he’d been someone that Jiang Cheng had been close to. Maybe someone he had even lost his heart to.

Interesting.

Or, well – interesting, but ultimately irrelevant.

“I have no insight into the Emperor’s personal affairs,” Meng Yao said, calm and placid as ever. “Especially while he is far away on a long voyage.”

Jiang Cheng scowled at him, but his sister put her hand on his shoulder and he subsided, still looking upset.

Meng Yao decided to show pity as a stratagem to put Jin Zixuan into his debt, and said, affecting a tone of mild sympathy, “I have no reason to think that he is based on his conduct before leaving, and I understand that his travels were motivated by a search for a spiritual item capable of improving cultivation. It may be that he took Imperial Consort A-Sang with him on account of the Consort’s reputed scholarly achievements.”

To the extent A-Sang had any scholarly achievements other than carting around a scholar’s fan, anyway.

Jiang Cheng still scowled, but his shoulders relaxed a little, and Jiang Yanli sent Meng Yao a grateful look.

Jin Zixuan seemed only a little moved, picking up his tea cup and continuing the former conversation without a hitch, but when everything was done he unexpectedly reached out and caught Meng Yao’s arm.

Meng Yao tensed, but Jin Zixuan took no movement against him, only looked at him. “It was an unexpected pleasure to meet you,” he said, nothing he couldn’t have said without touching, but then his hand shifted and Meng Yao felt the prickle of paper beneath his palm.

Meng Yao put a smile on his face and said some pleasantries, and as soon as Jin Zixuan left he looked at the note he’d been smuggled.

You are being targeted, it said, which – was rather unhelpful, actually.

“He couldn’t have included more details of who, what, or when?” Meng Yao complained to A-Jue later, making sure to look piteous out of habit even though he knew A-Jue didn’t believe him at all. Or at least, he shouldn’t by this point, or else Meng Yao’s lessons on how to detect a liar were all going to waste. “I don’t know if it’s because it’s me that he didn’t want to commit to saying too much, there is that awkwardness there, but it’s not like I don’t know people are trying to kill me. I’m the Emperor’s viceroy! I’ve been making changes left and right in his absence, some of them extremely unpopular –”

And yet others that were extremely popular. He’d known the Watchtower idea would win him acclaim among the common people, and that even if the smaller sects complained about the encroachment at first they would soon – or at least, eventually – realize that it was in their own best interest.

“ – and really. He left a note! Why be ominous and vague in a note?”

“Perhaps he meant something more general,” A-Jue said.

Meng Yao looked at him, and A-Jue shrugged, averting his eyes. The action – so obviously indicating that he had something to say and wasn’t saying it for whatever reason – should have irritated Meng Yao, but by now he’d grown to find A-Jue’s thorough inability to dissemble directly rather adorable. Such a big man, older than Meng Yao, and he still blushed when he tried to lie to your face.

“You can go on,” Meng Yao coaxed. “I’m not going to be angry.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m five.”

“Who’s a big boy who knows something he’s not saying? You are, yes, you are!”

A-Jue tried to look disapproving but ended up having to hide his sniggering into his sleeve. “That’s more like you’d treat a dog, viceroy Meng. Not that you’d know, given how much you hate them.”

“I don’t hate dogs,” Meng Yao said. “I gave Jin Zixuan’s eldest a spiritual dog just last year, a husky. It’s gigantic man-eaters I object to.”

“Northern mountain dogs are a bit large,” A-Jue conceded, a little reluctantly, but in fairness at his size the mountain dogs were probably proportional in size to regular dogs. Actually, A-Jue’s accent, however blurred by time and assimilation, suggested he was from somewhere to north of the Nightless City – maybe he’d drunk the same water as the dogs growing up, explaining how he reached his current heights. “And aren’t you the one who’s always saying that you only keep things from people that they don’t need to know?”

“I like being the person to decide who needs to know what,” Meng Yao said. “Now, you clearly want to tell me, so tell me already.”

A-Jue sighed. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the job is supposed to kill you?”

Meng Yao frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the Emperor’s viceroy,” A-Jue said. “He appointed you, and then he immediately left you alone to more or less run the entirety of his domain – he gave you the power of authority, to speak with his voice. That’s a pretty big promotion from chief torturer, wouldn’t you say?”

Meng Yao would not describe being the deputy in charge of the Fire Palace as ‘chief torturer’ – prisons required a great deal of management, he wasn’t just torturing people anymore – but he couldn’t exactly say that A-Jue was wrong.

He’d enjoyed his success, but he’d been startled by it, too. He’d had to fight and scheme for every last thing that he’d ever wanted, before this, and while he’d had to do more than a bit of tussling to keep this role over the overtures of the other deputies, it did sometimes feel as though this promotion came a little too easily, too suddenly.

“What do you think, then?” he asked, folding his hands together under his sleeves so no one could see how his nails dug into his flesh. If there was one thing he truly hated, it was the scorn of others, of those who thought they were better than him.

Being schemed against was a very close second.

“Some of your policies are in fact very unpopular,” A-Jue said. “Even though we both know that they’re necessary…the Emperor would know that they were necessary, too.”

“You think he wants me as what? A scapegoat?”

Wen Ruohan didn’t pay attention to things like popularity, officially taking the position that strength was all that mattered, and yet only a fool ignored such things entirely, and Wen Ruohan was no fool.

“The Emperor is friends with Jin Guangshan,” A-Jue said quietly. “Not merely for show, and although Jin Guangshan does exaggerate it somewhat, it’s not as much as people think. Before he became Emperor, back when they were peers, they would often spend time together, do things together…and your existence offends Jin Guangshan. People laugh at him for not having accepted you back then.”

That was as Meng Yao wanted. He’d wanted to rub into his father’s face how stupid he’d been – and Jin Guangshan had done nothing, had just taken it, and in retrospect that seemed rather uncharacteristic of someone of his reputation.

“So, what?” he asked, ignoring the blood on his nails from where his flesh could no longer take the pressure. “You think he’s pressing the Emperor to have me executed for failing to live up to his expectations?”

“Maybe,” A-Jue said. “And perhaps the Emperor has incentivized others to try to make you fail.”

Having people try to kill a stand-in would be a very effective way to see how those same people would try to kill you. It wasn’t a bad plan, not really, but Meng Yao really didn’t appreciate it when it was aimed at him.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Meng Yao said. “I will not fail. I will succeed, and so thoroughly that even the Emperor will be unable to deny my success – he enjoys being thought of as someone who rewards merit, and killing me would just be seen as petty. He won’t do it. I have my brain, my talent, my competence – I won’t let him.”

Assuming, of course, that he survived until Wen Ruohan’s return.

“You have me, too,” A-Jue said.

It was a nice sentiment, Meng Yao thought, and patted A-Jue on the shoulder, and A-Jue didn’t even flinch this time. He didn’t expect that A-Jue really meant it, of course – A-Jue was a guard of the inner hall, and to get that sort of position he had to be loyal to Wen Ruohan first and foremost – but it was nice of him to say it regardless.

Meng Yao wondered, briefly, if now was a good time to let his hand linger on A-Jue’s shoulder, to turn the contact into a caress. He didn’t think he’d even need to order A-Jue to his bed at this point, although he’d be more than willing to do so if A-Jue liked things like that – he was moderately sure that A-Jue sincerely liked him, and that there was more to that liking than mere friendliness or even the stirrings of loyalty. If he asked, or even just indicated interest, A-Jue would probably come to him entirely of his own volition.

And yet…

Meng Yao removed his hand, turning the conversation forcefully to some other subject, much to A-Jue’s evident relief. He was too busy, he told himself. There was no time to spend on dalliances.

And anyway –

He’d had his fill of sharing with Wen Ruohan.

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #jiang cheng #jin zixuan #jiang yanli #my fic #my fics #good help

113 notes · View notes

itseivwhore · 4 years

Note

Hey can you do something short about ezio and jacob with a sick reader, I have the cold and it's so overwhelming and painful, and I can't help the sore throat

Heyo there anonimo,thank you a lot for requesting this,it's something that I have never written before,so now the time has come! I am glad you sent me this little request just now,for I am having a pretty much rough time lately,so writing this managed to distract me,someway,even if a little...

I started to write this as soon as I saw your request in my inbox,I didn't want to make a reader of mine wait for so long (because 1) you are sick,and I HATE having a sore throat; and 2) I said 'so long' because I take a lot of time in writing my one shots). I hope you will feel better soon!Just stay at home,rest,sleep,all comfy in your warm bed between fluffly blankets aaanddd...read this ;)

So,starting with this little note: I didn't and I don't actually understand what you truly meant with 'something short' ...a mini one shot with BOTH Ezio and Jacob in it?Two separated imagines,each one with Ezio and Jacob?

I don't know,but I have decided,since I have never done this before,to go for modern heacanons (pretty long ones too,so am I forgiven?). I am so sorry if,maybe,I misunderstood you and if you wanted just a whole imagine,or two different ones. Just let me know once you'll read this?Mh?

Now,let's start,shall we?

~~~~~

|°Ezio°| :

"Dolcezza?Are you alright,amore?"

When you returned from a long,tiring,to say the least endless day at work,the first thing you did was to collapse on the sofa,sighing heavily and deeply as you closed your heavy eyes,your head spinning as you tried to melt in with the softness of the sofa.

As soon as you entered the house,you heard a muffled,sweet sound coming from the kitchen,not far from the living room where you had let yourself go;managing to smile slightly when you recognized the familiar voice of Ezio who,while cooking,was busy humming an Italian song you grew accustomed to know,to learn and to sing with him.

But he stopped humming cheerfully when, hearing the sound of the keys in the lock and the loud noise of the door being locked, he did not see you coming.

Usually,every evening and every time you finished your shift at work,once at home,the first thing you did was to run into the arms of Ezio,who constantly and faithfully waited for you to come back:finding him sitting on the sofor preparing dinner,or doing some chores around the house,knowing that you would come back tired after a long day at work...but always happy to find him here,promptly with open arms and with that bright and joyful smile,to hold you in a strong and long embrace and with sweet and passionate kisses,immediately followed by his genuine questions,purely interested in knowing how your day went.

So the guy became quite concerned when he didn't see you running towards of him as usual.And he worried even more when he didn't hear an answer from you,a thousand thoughts that suddenly flooded his mind.

As he left the kitchen,he quickly leaned on the door,softly called your name in a barely audible whisper.

His eyes grew dark with worry as they wandered around the big living room,finding your form lying,almost helpless,on the couch,not moving even a little.

No,you were not alright.

And Ezio understood that immediately.

Walking quickly in the living room,he sat next to your lying form,his eyebrow furrowed,a worried and thoughtful expression on his face when he heard you mumbling something under your breath,your voice being muffled by the couch.

He stretched out a hand,delicately turning your head to the side,rising up a corner of his mouth and giving you a small and sweet smile as he observed,and studied,your visibly tired and weak face,leaning down and pressing his lips on your forehead as he caressed your warm cheeks,you lazily leaning in his gentle touch.

Let's be honest:when Ezio understood that you were not just tired,but you were terribly sick,with a headache and most likely with a fever too,he started to panick a little.

The poor boy was not used to get sick,he rarely did,thanks to all that sun and warm days he grew up with in his homeland.He was not used,at all.

But he knew his things:many times his little brother,Petruccio,got sick,and many times he watched how their mother looked after him.

So,keeping his worry and panick within and for himself,not wanting to worsen the situation and not wanting to make you worried for him,he started to organize everything.

Preparing and fixing the kingsize bed you shared,delicately picking you up and bringing you in your bedroom,laying you on the bed,helping you changing your clothes,leaving chaste kisses all over your warm skin before covering you with layers of warm blankets,pillows all around you;a bottle of water on the nightstand and a glass there too.

Ezio was so devoted and focused,now even more than he already was:laying beside you on the bed,his chin resting on his palm as he gazed at you,softly talking with you,humming lowly,playing with your hair,reminding you how much he loved you,making you flattered,making you giggle amusedly too with his funny,dirty jokes.

"I can't wait to make you tired for another reason,tesoro"

Of course he was there all the time,rushing and running inside the bedroom from wherever he was whenever he heard you calling him,giving you everything you wanted and needed.

"Salute!" every time he heard you sneezing,shouting that loudly and hearing his voice from downstairs.

And,obviously,being the good chef he was,he didn't stop cooking,preparing you some of your favourite dishes,showing up in the bedroom with plates for lunch and hot drinks during the afternoon.

"Don't be uspetti,eat some spaghetti".

Tons and tons and millions of sweet Italian nicknames.

Him occasionally being dramatic,just to make you laugh,throwing himself on the bed beside you as he started to speak and to gesture in a very theatrical way,pretending to be sick too.

Malicious smirks and sly winks when,once you started to feel a bit better and when you were able to leave the bed,he found you standing near his drawer.

His shiny,clearly excited brown eyes wandering all over your body,that smirk only growing more as he saw you wearing one of his t-shirt,obviously way bigger than you,knowing how much you adored wearing them,feeling his perfume on you.

"Stealing my shirts again,I see" seeing Ezio giving you one last grin before walking away.

"Where are you going?"

"You know I can't control myself when I see you wearing my clothes,vita mia!" he shouted,going downstairs.

You were eternally grateful to have Ezio always at your side,helping you to rest and recover,making you smile when you last feel like laughing,making you feel extremely loved,making you feel special and making you feel better for the way he was looking after you.

"Anything for la luce della mia vita"

~~~~~

|°Jacob°| :

"Tea"

That was the first thing that Jacob said when you told him you were sick...not that he didn't already know,anyways.

The younger twin could seem distracted and nonchalant,but underneath all that thick layer of sarcasm and cheeky smiles,his observer side was hidden.

And Jacob watched you,more than he could ever admit;not that you didn't like this,but quite the opposite:you loved as his hazel eyes always watched and observed you in that warm way,you loved as he remembered the smallest details of you,you loved and admired him with all of yourself,because he was the only person in the world who knew you so well.

And the younger Frye also watched you closely,and more importantly,when one weekend evening,while waiting for you to come back from work,he saw you running towards his car,rushing in,soaking wet,head to toe,trembling violently.

Oh,the infamous downpour of the UK!

Jacob knew well,way too well how lethal the violent,sudden winter downpours were.Who knows for how many times he had or stayed at home when he was a child,whole days spent out in his garden in the rain,serious consequence of him getting a rough cold and a high fever.

As soon as you started having the first symptoms of what was preparing to be a severe cold,Jacob didn't waste any time.

Needless to say that,all your protests and all your futile attempts to convince him that you were fine,were not exactly taken into account by him.

Perhaps you were stubborn,not wanting him to worry any more...

But no one could be more stubborn than Jacob Frye himself was.

"You aren't going to win,love.Not with me"

He preferred you staying in the livingroom more than in the bedroom,saying that it was easier for him and that he didn't had to run up and down when he could have you right there,him at your disposal,and you under his attentive gaze.

A lot of pillows and blankets around and on you as you comfortably laid down on the sofa as you took naps there,or as you watched the TV,lights switched off as he lit up some candles all around the living room,making just a relaxed and soft atmosphere.

A lot of pillows.He nearly built a pillow fort.

The younger twin always was there when you needed or called him,finding him standing in front of you in a blink of an eye.

"Your humble servant is here,Miss,to fulfill his duties" saying that in such a solemn way,bowing down and bringing his hand towards his heart as his eyes shone brightly in hearing you giggle.

"Tea cure and heal everything,remember this,darling" that's what Jacob kept on saying every day,almost every hour with a firm tone,it becoming his loyal and faithful motto.

So you bet that Jacob always made sure you had a cup of hot,warm tea between your hands,warming you inside and out.

"Headache?Tea.Insomnia?Tea.Sorethroat?Tea.Stressed?Tea!"

Tea was the answer,and of course the solution,of and for everything.Everything seemed to revolve around tea for that guy,and he had a couple of reasons to defend his thoughts on the subject.

"Earl Grey tea?Or English Breakfast tea?" the choices were infinite,innumerable,intermimable,for you were pretty sure he had all kinds of tea in some specific and hidden drawers of the kitchen.

And oh God,the tea he prepared was something divine,to say at least.Starting to think that,most likely,he was right with all the long speech about his tea being the cure of everything.

If Jacob was good at something,more than anything else,was preparing tea.

You madly loved to watch him preparing it:you sitting on the counter of the kitchen,a big blanket wrapped around your trembling body as your legs swinged forward and backward;adoring to see how focused and precise he was while making it,adoring to see how his brows furrowed in concentration.

But the thing you adored the most in that precise moments,was when he turned around to face you,giving you a big smile,walking towards you and wrapping his muscular arms around your middle,pulling you closer to himself,really and truly warming you so well,swinging you lazily;closing your eyes,a genuinely happy smile on your lips as you placed your head on his broad chest,his slow heartbeat calming you.

Obviously,his sarcastic and witty will was still there,accompanying him and his words every hour of the day.Cocky answers and sassy phrases filling his cheerful voice,not helping but feeling proud of himself when he managed to gift you of a laughter and of a smile,feeling incredibly glad in seeing you getting better day by day.

But that smug behaviour quickly faded away when Evie started to visit you,checking upon you,making sure that her twin brother was doing a good job.

His sister telling you some little,funny stories about a younger Jacob when he had colds,which,as you knew,was not rare.Making you laugh in a purely amused way in hearing how he behaved...

Not that he changed much anyways.

"He was so,so whiny"

"He WaS,sO,sO WhInY.Liar!"

But he didn't care about his pride and ego being a little hurt by all Evie's stories,as long as he heard your amused laugthers and your joyfull smile he loved to bits.

°*TrAnSlAtIoNs!*°

"Dolcezza"= literally:sweetness.Sweetheart;

"Amore" = love;

"Tesoro" = darling;

"Salute!" = bless you;

"Vita mia" = my life;

"La luce della mia vita" = the light of my life.

~~~~~

I know you asked for something short,and well,as you can clearly see this is everything but short.

Anyway,this apart,I hope you'll like it!Pleaseee let me know if you will,even sending me a private message...or not if you want to keep your persona as an anon!Just let me know,I am still a a bit afraid/insecure of what you wanted.An one-shot with both Ezio and Jacob in it?Two mini separated imagines? Guess we will never know.

Cia.

#thanks for the request!#ezio auditore #ezio auditore x reader #ezio auditore modern #ezio auditore imagine #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye modern #jacob frye imagine #assassin's creed #assassin's creed modern #ac modern #assassin's creed headcanons #my writing

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yourfinalbow · 3 years

Note

hi lol this is totally random but based on a harry potter post you just reblogged and you can completely ignore me if you want, but do you think snape deserved better, or are you a quote unquote "snape apologist"? I'm genuinely curious cuz I've come across a lot of different opinions on severus. Again, feel free to ignore :)

This ended up way longer than it needed to be, and I apologize for that lmao.

Hi! Hmmm I have many mixed opinions on this. First we have to talk about which Snape. Book!Snape is actually kind of an asshole, and not in the fun way. (Way more than I remembered.) But but but Alan Rickman!Snape I like a lot.

And no I'm not mentioning Snape from TCC. That was not Snape and that world was not Harry Potter.

Snape is an interesting character because of how flawed and layered he is.

(Putting a cut because it's so long, and tw for non-detailed mentions/reference to abuse, as well as both trauma and death.)

He wasn't born in a very good household, which I can definitely see as being a reason for why he is who he is. (A reason, not an excuse. Those are two extremely different things.) You look at Sirius, who also came from a horrible household, yet he managed to dig himself out of the mud and make his own path for himself. (Though I have many angsty headcanons for the thoughts he has and being afraid of what he will do and in turn his own mind. WolfStar solidarity. Neither one of them know what they are truly capable of, and both are completely afraid to find out.

Ahem sorry I got a little distracted there.

During the Marauder's era, Snape wasn't a good person in general, but he tried to be nice to Lily. (One of the only exceptions he made.) That being said, (sorry, going on a tangent again), it does not excuse what the Marauders did. As much as they are, in my humble opinion, JK's greatest creation, they should be held accountable for both the prank, and dangling Snape upside down. (Though Remus does make a few good points in their defense later, it's still not an excuse.) Two wrongs never make a right.

Snape doesn't deny Lily's claims at him wanting to join a supremacy group, nor does he say he isn't friends with Death Eaters.

It's clear through the flashbacks we're given that Snape is apathetic in the face of innocent people dying, but once again Lily is the exception.

Dumbledore defends Snape by saying it wasn't his fault that Harry's parents are dead. I actually semi-agree with this. On one hand, he was directly at fault, but on the other hand he had no way of knowing. As a severe Loki apologist, I do not blame Loki for Frigga's death. He may have led the dark elves to her, but he didn't know it was her she was sending them to. That's the comparison I make in my mind, and so I don't completely blame him like other people do. (One could also make the argument that Sirius is to blame. Sirius, who is 100% my favorite character in the entire franchise, gave the secret keeper job to Peter, thinking it would be safer with him. However, he had no ill will or malicious intentions towards Lily, James, and Harry, so I don't blame him.)

All that being said, Snape not only would have been fine with random people dying, he also didn't care whether or not James and Harry lived.

For context:

(Dumbledore is speaking, right after Snape comes to him for help.)

"You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child?" They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore.

He has a strange relationship with Lily. He obviously loves her, but not enough to want to stop Voldemort from killing the two things that bring her the most amount of happiness. It's clear he doesn't care about anyone except for Lily. Which on some level, I can understand why. When people have traumatic childhoods, they tend to hold on to a person that was there for them. Sometimes it can be the hands of the person who caused them pain in the first place, but other times it is another person who was there for him. He holds Lily's opinions of himself higher than anybody else, and he holds Lily above anybody else, and I think this can be attributed to some sort of trauma response, which is why his love for her is so unusual. That doesn't mean I think he should be fine with killing innocent people.

On the topic of trauma, I think joining the Death Eaters was another response to this, as well as a result of what kind of family he had.

Similar to both Harry and Voldemort, Snape much preferred Hogwarts to where he lived, and such the castle became his home more than his house ever was.

The Death Eaters could offer him something he had never been offered before. He belonged to something. In his own, twisted, traumatic mindset, he might have even almost seen the Death Eaters as a family. Not consciously of course, but there was definitely a feeling of belonging they gave him.

And there's something to be said about the fact that many serial killers in real life come from an abusive family. I don't pretend to understand the minds of someone who can do something so vile, but I have watched enough Criminal Minds episodes to know what they long for is control.

So being apart of this supremacy group, even though he was a half-blood himself and undoubtedly didn't entirely share Voldermort's racist beliefs, gave him both control and something he belonged to.

It's not an excuse, but it's a reason.

Alternatively, you can look at it through a quote from the most recent episode of Loki.

"It's part of the illusion. It's a cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear."

So it's also possible that when he was a kid, he thought being a villain was the only way to prevent others from being one to him.

Ok sorry, back on the chronological track.

So he agrees to change sides and work with Dumbledore. (Who must see just how distraught Snape was over Lily's death, to trust him immediately.)

Snape spends most of Harry's time at Hogwarts humiliating his own students. He particularly calls out Harry and his friends a lot, but I can definitely see this being a defence mechanism. He assumes Harry is James and reverts back to what we talked about earlier. (Becoming the villain so nobody else has a chance.)

But but but, he does a lot of good throughout the books. Snape mutters the countercurse, saving Harry from Quirrell during the Quidditch match. He then actually referees at the next match, preventing anything from happening altogether.

In retrospective, we see that he spends most of the first book helping Dumbledore by protecting the stone, and helping Lily by protecting Harry.

Now I could go through and list the goods and the bads of Snape throughout the entire series, but I have neither the time nor the patience, and I think you get the point.

(Except I would like the mention that Snape becomes a double agent for Dumbledore in book four, and risks his life every single day by constantly betraying Voldermort, and never once does he use this as a way to double cross Dumbledore. This was actually probably really hard on him. You can assume that having to pretend to be a Death Eater means he had to do some despicable things just so he didn't blow his cover. If he really has changed by this time, which I would like to think he has, is a lot of added guilt to live with.)

(I would also mention that he tried to save Sirius in book five, but... *falls on floor dramatically* I don't want to think about it.)

Severus Snape's time comes to the end in book seven. At the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his death is a valiant act of sacrifice. Protecting the living and defending the honour of the fallen.

So, he has done a lot of bad in his lifetime, but by the time we as readers get to know him, his fundamental set of beliefs have begun to change. Through the eyes of what started as an eleven year old boy, you can definitely see that even after this he wasn't necessarily a good person.

And that's because his good is behind the scenes. He's good on a larger scale. He's chosen the light over darkness, but in his everyday life he's still the scared, traumatized little kid he's always been.

And him being this way has reasons, but these reasons are not excuses.

Sorry anon, this kind of turned into a long winded review of the entire character. I know that's not really what you asked, so I'll sum it up in a final few sentences sentence.

Yes. I wish Snape had gotten to live. Not because I'm necessarily a "Snape apologist", but because I find his character interesting, and seeing his reaction to his sacrifice could have been a really good read. Also Harry coming up and thanking him would have been really touching, and as a cherry on top maybe we could have gotten to read Harry apologizing for his father. Maybe even Snape sharing memories of Lily?! (Sorry that might have gotten a little to fanfic-y.)

That being said, his death being a final sacrifice towards the good of everyone, and a final testimony to his change of heart, was -- and I'll give JK credit just this once -- good storytelling, and a good way to end it.

Also I like movie!Snape because fuck yeah he's just so awesome.

If anyone has anything to add/take away, or they just want to discuss the wonder that was Alan Rickman, let me know! (Ask/Comment/Reblog/Etc.)

#ESPECIALLY you anon #I never get HP asks so this was a treat #Harry Potter #Severus Snape #Character analysis #Maybe?!#Lampswered #*Spongebob Imagination Rainbow

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone: Chapter 1

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip

His flight lands at JFK shortly before two in the afternoon. He’d slept for the better part of it; worn out from the lengthy hikes in the oppressive heat. Something to eat and a shower had done him some good. Easing the majority of tightness in his back and shoulders and tackling some of the swelling and pain in his right knee. It remains the proverbial thorn in his side; first replacement failing after only a year and a half and then having lengthy and painful recovery issues following the second one. He’ll never be able to fully straighten that leg or go a day without some swelling or pain. The surgeons had done the best they could under the circumstances; warning him of excessive and irreparable damage done to the surrounding ligaments and tendons and preparing him for a third surgery before he hits sixty.

While miserable and hobbling at times, it’s still nowhere near as agonizing as what he’d been living with before. Ninety percent of his nights are spent sleeping straight through; very rarely is he woken by pain, nor does he have to resort to the alternating of hot and cold showers in effort of relieving some of the suffering. And there’s been no nightmares. Two and a half years of NOT having his rest disrupted by vivid and terrifying recollections of his times in Dhaka. THAT’S more of relief than the absence of pain; the troubles with his mind finally giving him reprieve thanks to a strict regime of medications and therapies. There’s been no manic or severely depressive moments; moods managed relatively well and healthy coping mechanisms long ago replacing the damaging and dangerous behaviours he’d once turned to.

It helps to have a support system. Knowing there’s someone in your corner that will constantly cheer you on; never letting you get discouraged or allowing you to give up on yourself. Oftentimes...when things get particularly bad...willingly carrying some of the burden and despair themselves. Had it not been for her, he would have surrendered a long time ago. He would have easily resorted back to the booze and the drugs; his life empty and meaningless and not worth the effort and the oxygen it took to stay alive.

He woke an hour before landing and placed two calls. The first to Dylan’s Candy Bar; a favourite destination of the kids every time they make a trip to the Big Apple. It’s one of the places they insist on visiting at least twice. Shamelessly dropping nearly all their spending money given to them by their parents; filling their shopping bags to the brim with sweet treats and various trinkets. The order was simple; seven plastic buckets -each adorned with the kids’ favourite cartoon character or superhero- filled with their candy and chocolate of choice and gift certificates for the sundae bar. The second call is placed to the ‘go to’ local florist. Two dozen long stemmed sweetheart roses; white, pink, and purple. It makes him happy; being able to both surprise and spoil her. The latter always launches a protest on her behalf; reminding him that she isn’t a materialistic person and most certainly doesn’t expect or need expensive gifts. But he can’t help himself. While they live remarkably simple and low key in the grand scheme of things, it’s no secret that money is no longer an issue; their bank account will never run dry and there will always be cash -BIG cash- rolling in. And he feels she deserves to be spoiled and treated like a queen. Not only giving him seven kids in as many years, but staying by his side through thick and thin; never giving up on him -or the- even when things were their darkest and direst.

She’s been with him from the humblest of beginnings; when he had absolutely nothing to offer her. Money had been scarce. Nearly all their combined savings used up on a mountain of medical bills; his long and painful recovery from Dhaka making any and all employment impossible. It was worrisome; wondering how the hell he’d keep a roof over her head and food in her pregnant belly. If he couldn’t manage THAT, how was he going to be able to properly care for a kid? They hadn’t had much back then; that tiny apartment outside of Sydney filled with used and mismatched furniture and barely any clothes in their closets. But she’d hung in there. Agreeing to marry him even though he couldn’t even afford to give her a ring, let alone a proper wedding. Loving him with every fibre of her being and always looking at him as if he was the most incredible man on earth; declaring that he made her feel safe and protected and that she’d never...EVER...felt that way before.

And that’s why he does. All of that blind faith and love and trust that she’s always possessed. The chances she’s given to him; forgiving him for all the broken promises and all the lies he told -never maliciously, only as a means of keeping her safe- and the times he fell off the wagon and went back to the booze and drugs. So many times she could have walked away; taken the kids and fled the country and made sure that he would never find them. But she never did. She never let it...HIM...break them. No matter how hard it got, no matter tears she shed, no matter how volatile the arguments or how many holes he punched in the walls, she never gave up. Even when she did kick him out, it hadn’t been a sign of defeat. It had been a warning; telling him that she wouldn’t allow someone like him in her children’s lives and he needed to clean up his act. He’s still ashamed that it took as long as it had. Six months spent wallowing in his self pity and despair; twenty four weeks away from his family because he was too scared and too weak to face his problems head on and try to solve them. And she’d taken him back; a tearful phone call in the middle of the night begging him to come home. They’d stayed up until dawn; having the calm and rational heart to heart that they should have indulged in months..if not YEARS...ago. And finally he’d been ready to change; crying and begging for forgiveness and promising to do whatever it took to make things right again.

To make THEM right again.

Although Anil had arranged for a private car to take him home, he opts for a taxi instead. While he appreciates Anil's continued generosity, it’s far too ‘flashy’ for him; a black Lincoln with tinted windows pulling up into Gramercy Park will only draw attention from the neighbours. While everyone residing there is just as wealthy -if not more- things are still relatively low key; North American made SUVs and sedans in place of luxury models from overseas, no outward displays of disgusting riches and pompous attitudes. He knows he and his family are an enigma of sorts; nine of them from Australia showing up out of the blue and dropping huge cash -especially for what’s considered a young family- on a place that'd been on the market for nearly two years. Then spending an exorbitant amount of money transforming the three story townhome into exactly what they wanted. Adding a private and secluded back deck complete with a wet bar and a hot tub and an area for outdoor food prep and grilling. Blowing the one wall out in TJ and Tanner’s room; removing would have been a study in favour of turning it into built in queen sized bunk beds and enormous walk in closets with enough space for clothes and toys. And a home gym stocked with the best equipment money can buy and a top of the line sound system; ; an addition off the kitchen that had been a last minute decision. It had taken two years and a dozen trips to and from Australia and New York CIty to get everything just right. Finding joy in seeing just what all the hard work and seemingly endless shedding of blood, sweat, and tears, could actually bring to their family.

When he’s two blocks away he texts his wife, letting her know he’s mere minutes from their front gate. The three littlest love that final stretch; kneeling on the couch and pressing their noses against the living room window as they impatiently await his arrival. She’ll try to get boots and coats on them in time; more often than not chasing them out the front door with winter apparel in hand, shouting about the dangers of frostbite and hypothermia and how they don’t want to spend their entire Christmas break stuck in bed with the flu. It’s been an adventure; raising seven children. Definitely not for the faint of heart or those lacking in patience. There’s the frustrating moments; two or three throwing temper tantrums in unison, an often mouthy and rebellious pre-teen girl that makes her mother her primary target, a ten year old boy that has absolutely no fear; who indulges -and excels- in even the most aggressive of sports and gets bored and irritable if he isn’t keeping himself moving. It’s chaotic and it’s noisy. School mornings are a whirlwind of activity; breakfast for a family of nine, the oldest helping finish and pack lunches, mom and dad working on getting the less independent kiddos ready and out the door. But there’s a lot of fun under that roof; an endless supply of giggles and little arms always ready and willing to wrap you in a hug. The great times far out number the trying and exhausting ones; rewarded with kisses and cuddles and those crinkly eyed smiles.

And there’s a lot of love in that house. If the pain and the worry and the fear that his brush with death had five years ago had taught him anything, it’s that they truly are capable of getting through even the toughest of times. They ARE stronger together than they are apart; fighting through all the pain and all the tears and coming out the other side relatively unscathed. And they’ve become stronger; as individuals AND as a couple. Their marriage has never been healthier. Rational and calm discussions taking the place of often volatile arguments and taking every opportunity presented to them for ‘one on one time’; whether it be date nights or their evening walks along the beach or coffee out on the deck while the sun rises. Seamlessly and effortlessly working as a team when it comes to raising their children, but never forgetting how important it is to acknowledge the bond that exists between them. Not just as spouses and two people that made babies together, but as best friends and lovers and each other’s biggest supporters and most loyal confidants. Marriage therapy has turned out to be the best thing they ever could have agreed to; able to acknowledge their weaknesses as both a couple and as individuals. Opening their eyes to the little things that annoyed and often -unintentionally- hurt one another and tested the limits of their patience.

Things aren’t perfect. But most days they seem damn close to it.

****

Clad in a cumbersome ski jacket and a pair of heavy and clunky winter boots, five year old Takota scrambles onto the living room couch. Leaning stomach first against the back cushion, he places his elbows along the top and heaves a long, forlorn sigh. “He’s late.”

Beside him -and already bundled into her own cold weather gear- Addie casts a glance towards the clock that graces the nearby fireplace mantle. “It’s only been eight minutes.”

“Mummy said he’d be here in FIVE minutes.”

“Maybe the traffic is bad. Maybe the cabbie is a really slow driver. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“I hope so.” Another dramatic sigh. “I wonder why daddy had to go away in the first place?”

Addie twirls one of the braided tassels on her knitted hat around her index finger. “‘Cause Kota, he’s the boss and sometimes bosses have to go and boss people around. In person. Not just on the phone and through the computer.”

“Maybe he had to go and yell at them,” Takota suggests, and pushes his beanie towards the back of his head, then uses a forearm to clear beads of sweat from his brow. “His voice is REALLY loud when he yells. I bet he scared them . Do you think they cried?”

“I would cry if he yelled at me.”

“Daddy never yells at us. He doesn’t need to. He just gives us the stink eye. You know, ‘the look’.”

“The look is scarier than when he yells, I think. He yells at Millie sometimes.”

“That’s ‘cause she deserves it. We don’t. We’re just little. She’s big and mean. And bad. Really bad.”

“Who’s bad?” Brooklyn asks, soles of her boots loud against the laminate flooring as she clomps into the living room, then squeezes her tall and slender frame between the window and the back of the couch.

“Millie,” her twin replies. “All the time.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s almost a teenager,” Brooklyn reasons. “All teenagers are bad.”

“I think it’s ‘cause she’s just a big bitch,” Addie declares.

Voices -especially high pitched little ones that don’t come with a volume switch or understand the meaning of the word ‘whisper’- travel easily through the main floor. Particularly through the open concept design that seamlessly combines living room and kitchen; high ceilings and easy to clean carpet free flooring. A definite must have with seven kids and two dogs. And as she stands at the kitchen island nursing a mug of tea, Esme’s eyebrows arch as she catches the profanity that slips from her soon to be six year old’s mouth.

“Hey!” she calls, and drops her chin to her chest and narrows her eyes. “Language. Please.”

“Sorry,” Addie gives a sheepish grin, then turns back towards the window. “It’s true though.”

“Mum,” Takota turns to face the back of the couch; a pout on his lips and his arms crossed over his chest. “You said he’d be here in five minutes. It’s been an hour.”

“It’s been ten minutes,” she informs him. “It’s snowing out. People forget how to drive when it’s snowing. Traffic is probably bad. Patience, young sir.”

“I don’t have any patience. I’m five, remember? Why did daddy have to go away again?”

“He had some business to take care of. Far away.”

“He’s been gone for like a year.”

“I know it seems that way, but he’s only been gone for four days. Five if you count the night he left.”

“Why’s he leave when we’re sleeping?” Brooklyn inquires, as she traces a fingertip along the edges of the paper snowflakes -done in various colours and sizes- that she and her siblings had created and taped to the glass the evening before. “Why doesn’t he wait to say bye to us?”

“Because most of the flights leave at night. It’s not personal.”

“He should at least wake us up,” Takota says. “I hate not getting to say bye to him.”

“I don’t know, I’m kinda of glad that he DOESN’T say bye,” Addie pipes up. “I’d cry for sure. It’s better if he goes when I’m asleep. So I don’t ugly cry.”

Their chatter turns to plans to build snowmen in the small expanse of backyard, hopes of going sledding, and excitement over the buckets of candy that had been delivered only thirty minutes earlier. The bouquet of flowers sits in the middle of the dining table; a stunning arrangement of long stemmed sweetheart roses in her favourite colours and accompanied by a card that simply reads: I LOVE YOU. While not a fan of grand romantic gestures, over the past five years he’s shown an increased propensity for these ‘out of the blue’ moments. It can be simple yet thoughtful and personal things. Her favourite cupcakes from the local bakery back home, flowers being delivered to the bookstore in the middle of the day, or him taking a break from seemingly endless hours of ‘in office’ work and showing up with lunch for the both of them. Just taking the time to be with her is what matters most to her; the affection he gives and effort he puts into making sure she realizes just how often she’s on his mind. And how much he appreciates her and loves her and truly can’t imagine his life without her.

Then there’s the bigger and more elaborate things; the desire to spoil her every chance he gets, claiming it makes him happy to do so. She always protests. Reminding him that that’s NOT why she fell in love with him; marrying him when they both had very little yet their lives somehow seeming simpler and less stressful. But it just goes in one ear and out the other. his persistence and stubbornness always getting the upper hand. Showering her with jewelry and designer clothing and accessories; surprising with spa appointments and ‘girls weekends’ away with her sister. And then there’s the twice yearly ‘mommy and daddy only’ trips he insists they take. One always to their favorite getaway in Phuket, Thailand, and the other destination always kept a secret until they actually land. He says it makes him happy; being able to just randomly treat her to things they’d never been able to really afford before. Truly believing that she deserves to be spoiled; wanting a way to show how much he appreciates her and how grateful he is for the life she’s given him. A chance to prove he CAN be a good husband and father and that his past mistakes in no way to define who he truly is. And he always talks about how fortunate he is that he found a strong woman; someone that stuck around during even the hardest and darkest of times. Always loyal and faithful. Loving him when he didn’t make it easy to.

He’s come a long way in five years. THEY’VE come a long way. Both separately and as a couple. Therapy has made a world of difference; helping them get to the bottom of both individual issues and those causing friction and tension in their marriage. It had taken him a while to accept the idea of couples counselling; afraid that needing it was a sign that things were far worse than he thought they were Slowing coming around to the realization that it wasn’t because they had serious problems that had to be addressed, but because they needed to find ways to keep those issues from cropping up in the first place. Both had needed to be reminded that their roles in each other’s lives went far beyond just being spouses and raising children together. That the bond that existed between them surpassed what most normal couples could lay claim to. Best friends. Lovers. Each other’s most trusted confidants and most loyal and steadfast supporters. Once they began taking time out to spend together, they soon learned how to nourish those very different roles in each other’s lives. Their marriage started to see the benefits almost immediately; becoming stronger and their appreciation, gratitude, and love for another growing beyond anything either of them could imagine.

“Momma?” Takota appears on the other side of the island, having to stand on his tiptoes to see over the countertop. Like his Tanner and Addie, he’s on the small side; not blessed with the tall and lanky genes that the others -including his twin sister- had been given. And like Tanner, he is soft spoken and serious; loving to spend time outdoors, yet preferring quieter pursuits. Very creative; indulging in painting and drawing and any form of craft that he can get his hands on.

She glances up from the copy of the New York Times open in front of her. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Do you think daddy went away because he had to kill someone?”

“What?” She gives a startled chuckle. “Why would you…?”

“TJ said that daddy used to kill people. Before he became a boss. That he was a mer...mer…”

“Mercenary,” she finishes for him, then pushes the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and moves to the stove; stirring the contents of a simmering pot. One of Tanner’s many culinary creations; a rather creative mixture of chicken, taco seasons, and various vegetables. It’s his newfound passion; cooking and baking. And he insisted that some of that day’s lunch be left over so daddy could try it when he got home.

The little things go both ways. She’s found her own ways of spoiling him and showing her gratitude and appreciation. Today it’s a warm meal and fresh, hot coffee and the hot tub on the back deck already bubbling; relief for what she knows will be an aching and weary body.

“Is it true? That he used to kill people? When he was one of those? A mercenrie?”

“Mercenary,” she slowly repeats. “And yeah, sometimes. Sometimes he DID have to.”

“Because they were bad people?”

“Very bad people.”

“Is that why he had to go away? To kill bad people?”

“I don’t know why. I didn’t ask for details. He just had to go away for a few days.” It isn’t entirely true. He did in fact head to Laos and Cambodia to do just THAT; two high profile drug and weapons smugglers with enormous price tags on their heads and lengthy lists of enemies. But he’d also said that there was ‘more to it’; things that she didn’t need to know. Details that made HIM extremely unsettled. Something THAT bad? He preferred not to place it upon her shoulders.

“Is he going to go to hell? Because he killed people?”

“No.” She scoops some of the soup from the pot and holds it to her lips; aggressively blowing on it and then checking the temperature with the tip of her tongue before offering it to her son.

Takota eagerly accepts the ‘snack’. “Are the people he killed going to hell?”

“How about we NOT talk about this? If you want to know those kinds of things, you ask daddy. He’ll be able to answer your questions a lot better than I will.”

“I think you’re just throwing him under the bus. Setting him up for failure. We BOTH know he won’t tell me.”

“You are way too smart for five. Taste good? The soup?”

“Really good. Tanner could be a really famous chef one day, I bet. I’m gonna be a lion tamer.”

Grinning, she moves back to the island and snags her mug; heating the tea with some of the remains sitting in the pot she had made earlier. “You are, are you?”

“Daddy said I could be whatever I want to be when I grow up. And I want to be a lion tamer. And maybe a dentist.”

“Both at the same time?”

“I can’t tame lions and fix teeth at the same time. That’s just weird.”

“Mum!” Brooklyn bellows from the living room, then begins pounding her palm against the window. “That weird guy is back again!”

“He’s talking to TJ,” Addie chimes in. “I think TJ is going to tell him off. TJ doesn’t like him. He thinks the guy’s an asshole.”

“Adeline! Language!” she scolds, and then turns the burner on the stove to the nearest possible setting and heads through the kitchen and out into the living room, Takota hot on her heels.

“Why is he back?” Brooklyn unlocks the latch on the window and aggressively shoves it open. “Why are you back, weirdo?! You already shovelled the sidewalk! It hasn’t snowed enough yet! Go away! Mum…” both brows are arched as she glances over her shoulder. “...TJ is going to flip out. The weirdo is asking if you’re here. He called you pretty. I heard him! TJ is pissed!”

“Hey! Hey you!” Addie yells out the window. “My brother is going to kick your ass!”

“No one is kicking anyone’s ass,” Esme says, and shoves her feet into a pair of Crocs by the front door and snags one of the many coats from the hall closet; a snowboarding jacket that belongs to her husband and is monstrous on her tiny frame. And she barely manages to get the front door open; the three littles rushing past her and out onto the freshly shovelled porch and half completed steps.

“Why don’t you just go away!” TJ is barking at the ‘hired help’; a neighbourhood kid that she’d hired three years ago to handle the sidewalk IF Tyler was away. TJ had willingly taken on the responsibility of snow cleaning their first Christmas in Gramercy Park. Happy to be in charge of keeping the walk, stairs, and porch clean, but knowing that anything past the front gate is off limits. “You already did the sidewalk! It doesn’t need done again!”

“What’s going on?” Esme wraps an arm around her son’s shoulders and pulls him tightly into her. He’s tall for only ten; less than an inch away from squeaking past her in height. Still slim yet not as lanky and awkward looking; shoulders broader and muscles in his upper body already forming and becoming defined. A direct result of his love for sports and the kid friendly workouts in the gym that his dad let’s him partake in.

“This guy…” TJ nods in the teenager’s direction. “...wants to talk to you. He called you pretty. He asked ‘where’s your pretty little mom?'. I don’t like the way he said it. And dad wouldn’t like it either.”

“Is there a fight?” Tanner inquires, as he and Declan emerge from the side of the house; hearing the shouting from the backyard where they’d been keeping an eye on the dogs and building ‘snow fortresses’. “Who’s fighting?”

“No one is fighting,” Esme replies. “Just a misunderstanding between your brother and Jacobi. I’m sure it’s nothing, TJ. Go back to what you were doing. Daddy will be home soon. It’ll be a nice surprise for him; seeing everything shovelled off.”

“I don’t like this drongo,” TJ declares, and gestures towards the teenager with the end of the shovel. “He called you pretty. No one calls my mum pretty. Even if she is.”

“Beat him up,” Delcan suggests. “Daddy would.”

“Daddy would NOT beat someone up for no reason,” Esme informs him. “Especially not a teenager. Jacobi,” she turns to the teen in question. He’s a senior at the high school only three blocks away; a nice enough kid from an upper middle class home, constantly clad in backwards ball caps, baggy jeans, a varsity football jacket. “Now is NOT a good time. My wallet’s inside and I have no cash on me and my husband’s going to be home any second and it’s going to get really crazy around here. And loud. Very loud.”

“You don’t have to pay me until next time. I was just going to ask you if…”

TJ steps in front of Esme, forming a protective barrier between her and the unwanted visitor. “My mum’s married,” he snarls. “To my dad. Leave her alone! My dad is big and he’s strong and he can hurt people. With one hand. And if he finds out you’re mackin’ on my mom…”

“Tyler..” she places her hands on his shoulders. “...enough. No one is ‘macking’ on anyone. Jacobi is just being friendly. He shovels the sidewalk for us when dad isn’t here. And takes the garbage to the curb. He’s just trying to be friends.”

“My mom doesn’t need any more friends. Especially GUY friends. Seriously, my dad will kill you. Trying to get with my mom? Yeah, my dad will lose his shit. And you don’t want him to lose his shit. He’ll break you half. With his bare hands.”

“He’s very protective,” Esme explains to the teen, and gives an apologetic smile. “When dad leaves, he takes the role of ‘man of the house’ very seriously. You’re more than welcome to come back later; you can come in and have some hot chocolate or you can stay for dinner.”

“Oh now he’s coming to dinner?!” TJ huffs. “He just wants to try and get in your pants, mum. It’s obvious.”

“You’re ten. You don't know what's obvious when it comes to those things. You need to settle down. Jacobi is harmless. He’s just trying to be friends. Wouldn’t that be nice? To have friends here? It’s always nice to have friends.”

“I have friends back home. I don’t need them here. I got Tanny and Declan. What do I need HIM for?”

“Daddy!” Addie shrieks, as she stands on the lower rung of the wrought iron fence that borders their slice of property. One mitten clad hand wrapped around one of the posts while the other frantically waves at the yellow cab that pulls up to the curb. “Daddy! Daddy’s home!”

******

Chaos erupts; the gate being thrown open and a stampede of six human bodies and two dogs trying to steamroll their way through. The pure joy on those little faces and the excitement in their voices enough to cause a lump of emotion to settle square in his throat and tears to prick at his eyes; the latter hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses. It had taken work to get past the feelings of inadequacy. The self hate and guilt and shame that had been telling him for years that he didn’t deserve the life he’d been given; a second chance at being a husband and father. Therapy has helped him get past that; helping him learn how to forgive himself and look at everything he DOES have instead of constantly questioning WHY he does. Now all he thinks about is how damn lucky he is; to have created seven human beings and to know how much they love him and how much they need him in their lives.

He barely gets a foot on the curb before the three littlest are on top of him. Shrieking and squealing with happiness and grabbing at the legs of his jeans; all three chattering at once, anxious for his undivided attention and begging to be picked up. He opts to dropping to one knee; not caring about the snow and the slush that soaks his leg or dirties the fabric. All that matters is those kids; three sets of arms wrapping tightly around his neck and those and those tiny voices giggling and happily screeching in his ears. And he gives each one the same attention; laying on the back of their heads and pressing kisses to their lips and cheeks.

“Daddy!” Addie climbs onto his thigh and squeezes his neck even tighter. “I missed you! I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Peanut. Every second of every day. I missed ALL of you.”

“But me the most, right? You missed me more than anyone, right?”

“ALL of you. I don’t have favourites.”

“Yes, you do. I know it’s me, daddy. Everyone knows it’s me.”

“Maybe I’ve got a little soft spot for you. But you know who my absolute favourite is? My most favourite human in the whole world?”

“Mummy.”

“Exactly.” He gives her a final squeeze and peck on the cheek, gently sliding her off of his thigh and then standing; wincing at the discomfort in his right knee and the tightness in his shoulder when he slings his piece of luggage -a simple backpack often used during hiking and camping excursions with the family- up onto it. “Hey little red,” he greets Declan, and affectionately ruffles both the winter hat and the shock of red hair underneath. “What happened? Grow another foot while I’m gone? You look taller.”

“I’m going to be a giant like you, dad,” Declan declares, then stands on his tiptoes with his lips pursed for a kiss. “Mum says I might even be BIGGER than you.”

“Guess I better watch my step, huh? Treat her right? Or you’ll be kicking my ass when you’re older. What about guys?” He addresses the oldest twins, clapping a hand on the back on the back of TJ’s neck and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

Tanner...and his needs...are different. He’s the more sensitive of the two; so much like his mother when it comes to a near constant need to show and receive affection. And since his Autism diagnosis almost five years ago -high functioning, as the developmental pediatrician had called it, a term that Tyler finds gets under his skin and leaves a foul taste in his mouth- they’ve all learned just WHAT Tanner needs. Whether it be ‘sensory breaks’ when feeling overwhelmed or anxious or more one on one interaction. Today it’s deep pressure. Tyler feels his son’s need for it the second Tanner’s arms wrap around his waist. He’s struggling emotionally; likely missing him the most out of all the kids and having a hard time adjusting to being away from home and not having his usual routine. It’s been difficult to adjust to; trying to find that balance between giving Tanner what he so desperately needs and craves yet not alienating or neglecting the needs of the others.

“Hey, mate.” He presses a kiss to Tanner’s temple, then wraps both arms around his petite frame. Knowing the exact amount of pressure he needs to put into the embrace. It will last longer than what he’d shared with the others. Long ago getting used to Tanner’s ‘signs’; knowing it’s better for his son’s mental state if he allows Tanner to be the one to break contact.

The ten year old’s demeanour begins to change almost instantly; tension releasing from his body and his heart rate slowing down and the head to toe tremors disappearing. And he holds on until Tanner is good and ready to pull away, then places his hands on his son’s shoulders and crouches down to make them eye level. Smiling when his sunglasses are gently and carefully pulled off his face. That contact again; Tanner needing to be able to read the emotions and even the thoughts that he always says is ‘written in daddy’s eyes’.

“You good?”

Finally a smile. One that crinkles the corners of his eyes and creases the bridge of his nose. “I’m good, dad.”

“Good,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Tanner’s lips. “Miss me?”

The ten year old nods.

“How much?”

“Lots.”

“Just lots?”

The smile broadens. “Tons.”

“I knew it. I missed you too. Tons. I brought you something. From Vietnam. Remember how when I told you where I was going, you did all that research? Especially about the animals? What was your favorite one?”

“The sun bear.”

“Look what I found.” Reaching into the pocket of his navy wool pea coat, he pulls out a small porcelain statue of a sun bear. It had taken him two hours of scouring various markets near his hotel and in surrounding areas, but he’d managed to find one. Tanner’s obsession with studying countries and their native wildlife is no secret; postcards and other trinkets constantly pouring in from Koen and Rata and some of the other guys on staff.

Tanner’s eyes widen, and he gingerly “Just for me?”

“Just for you. I told you I’d do my best to find you something. You can add that to your collection.”

“Mum!” He excitedly turns to Esme as she joins them, cradling his gift in both palms. “Look what daddy found! Look what he got me!”

“That’s awesome nugget. Daddy never disappoints, does he.”

“Never. Thank you, daddy,” Tanner curls his arms around Tyler’s neck and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you. I love you.”

“I missed you too, mate. And I love you,” he places his lips against his son’s temple. “So much.”

“Why don’t you go put that inside,” Esme suggests. “In your room. So it doesn’t get broken. You can come back out to play if you want. If not, dry socks please. Your feet are probably soaked.”

“And put my boots on the mat by the door and all wet stuff in the sink in the laundry room.”

“You got it.” She playfully tugs on the braided ties dangling from his head, then taps a fingertip against the end of the nose before he rushes off. “Hey, handsome,” she greets Tyler with a brilliant smile; one that’s a testament to immense relief his return brings. “Long time no see. Already upping your ‘best daddy in the world’ game, huh?”

“Couldn’t let him down, could I?”

“You never do. How was your flight?”

“It was alright.” He shrugs his bag further up onto his shoulders and reaches up to cup the back of her head in his palm, other hand falling on the small of her back and pulling her tightly into him. Despite the enormous difference in both weight and height, their bodies have always felt perfect together; easily and effortlessly melding into one another. He’d felt it that first day; 13 years ago in that rundown hotel room in Dhaka. She had felt amazing; soft skin and curves in all the right places, body warm and responding so eagerly and willingly to his. Everything it...about her...had felt good. It had felt right. And still does.

“I missed you.” Esme says, and perches herself on her tiptoes; the soles and heels of her bare feet lifting out her Crocs as she curls her arms around his neck.

“I missed you too. You have no idea how much.”

They both feel the stress and the worry immediately lift; her body leaning into his and her eyes closing, his hand gently pressing her head into his chest, his forearm sliding just under her ass. For minutes they stand in silence simply embracing one another and enjoying the reunion; snowflakes gathering in their hair and on the shoulders of their jackets. And when she eventually pulls away, he leans down to kiss her; long and soft and slow, palm moving from the back of her head to her cheek.

Tyler glances down, a grin playing on his lips. “What’s up with that outfit?”

“It’s a long story.” She reaches up to trace her fingertips over a handful of fresh scratches and gouges mar his face and forehead. “What’s up with these?”

“Those are also a long story. We’re missing one. There’s only six spawn. What happened? Finally have enough? Is she buried in the backyard?”

“I did FINALLY crack but she’s very much alive. She went to Alannah’s last night; for a sleepover. Alannah’s mom took them out today; for lunch and a movie and to do some Christmas shopping.” Alannah is one of the many friends Millie has managed to make during their trips to New York City; the daughter of a Korean diplomat and a former Rockette.

“She’s been THAT bad?”

“Let’s put it this way; she’s lucky she’s still breathing and I’m lucky I'm still sober.”

“Yikes. Not what I wanted to hear. Guess we’ll be talking about that later.”

“It can wait. No rush. She’ll be home for dinner. I’m sure she’ll still be in a mood.”

“I’ll handle it if she is.”

“And then I’ll get blamed for turning daddy against her.”

“Well, she’s got to learn. No one disrespects my wife. Not someone we know, not a complete stranger, not my own kids.”

“Always the protective husband. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Tanner made some amazing soup yesterday and he insisted we save you some. And there’s fresh coffee AND the hot tub is already.”

“Best wife EVER.”

“I try. To keep my man happy.”

Smiling, he smoothes her hair away from her hair and loops errant strands behind her ears. “You do a very good job at that. And later, I’ll make YOU very happy.”

Esme grins. “Is that a promise?”

“That’s a promise.” He kisses her once more; her face cradled in both hands and her body more melting into his his.

Her smile is softer; eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and happiness. And love. There’s always love there. And he's certain there always will be.

“I missed you,” he says yet again, and leans down to place a kiss on her temple and nuzzles the tip of his nose against her ear.

Pulling back to look at him, her hand once more moves to his face. Knuckles skimming along his jaw before her palm cups his cheek, her eyes never leaving his as two of her fingertips glide over his lips. She allows the the bottom of his chin to rest in the curve between thumb and forefinger, then softly and briefly brushes her mouth against his

“Welcome home, baby,” she whispers against his lips, then takes his hand in hers and leads the way inside.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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ikilledamoth · 3 years

Text

'How I thought my boyfriend was dead for three years straight.'

Hi.

So this post might be incoherent, a mess and also also might not be of interest to anyone but I want to write it down and let it out.

I am not a good writer so the timeline might be a mess especially since its been years after some events and my memory tends to fail me.

I'll try to document as much information as I can here but there might be gaps. The post might also be quite long.

Before I start, trigger warnings for:

depression, suicide mention, drug and alcohol abuse mention, abusive family mention.

1: Introduction to Past.

I used to be here on a different account however, I've lost access to it. (old email, no longer remember it, it's been years after all and I never thought I'll use this app again.)

My boyfriend's name on here was @slightly-depressed-niko-boy. Do excuse the content there as it's rather depressive, having been written in a quite bad period of time for him.

Niko is neurodivergent and at the time of using this app (2017) pretty mentally ill, and been in a rather abusive household for his whole life. His parents are physically and mentally abusive. They have always been extremely manipulative and controlled his life to the point where... Well... He had basically no autonomy. They were in control of his social media at many points, controlled his devices, forced him to stay at home at most times and cherrypicked who he was and was not allowed to speak to and hang out with. Whilst doing all that, they still managed to trick most people into thinking that they were a rather picture perfect family. Pretty nasty people.

As you may notice, I'm writing in a present tense.

2: Last Events.

In 2017, I was lead to believe that Niko died.

It was all almost too masterfully planned, really. I had no reason to believe that it was fake. I was at the scene when things happened, as well and had no reason to deny the claims made by Niko's family, combined with what I saw.

To anyone that I lead astray and made believe that Niko was gone: I am truly, truly and genuinely sorry.

I would never try to lie to anyone about something like this. I knew how much he meant to his friends and I would never try to hurt them by confirming he was gone. I believed that it was true and I was devastated at the time myself. I felt my whole world falling apart, I did. I had no reason to think that it might not be true.

I have never had any malicious intentions.

Niko had to go inpatient due to what I was informed was an OD. And what I was told was a su¡c¡d€ attempt. Later, I was informed by his parents it was a successful one.

At the time, I felt devastated. I was not thinking clearly, being too hurt to be rational. I did not notice all the red flags and the sketchy manner in which Niko's parents behaved. I did not realise that they might have had ulterior motives. I was dealing with grief, having lost a friend of many years and someone that I truly loved.

Given that it all happened about four years ago, I do not remember much details. I tried recalling things but due to the traumatic nature of those events, I was left grasping at the little bits that I can still remember. I can't remember many details, or who I spoke to at the time. In fact, couple of years ago I managed to forget about all of that, somewhat. To a degree.

I could never forget my boyfriend and years I've spent with him, of course, but with all happening in life, I managed to move on enough that details of those traumatic days turned into a blur.

However, that changed in September 2020. Three years after the events.

3: Introduction to Present.

At that point, I have moved out of my old house and no longer associated myself with the area where Niko and I used to live.

As I would like to keep some privacy, I'm not going to mention details of locations and institutions where I went, etc, however I will mention that I went to a university in a completely new town.

I did not know many people here, besides those that I met online during freshers events and whatnot. It was a fresh start, in a way.

In many ways, I am no longer the same person I was in 2017, and I'd like to ask people that knew me back then to try not to fully associate me with whoever I was back then. I'd like to also apologise if I've ever done anything that could have been of harm to anyone for I was just a kid, thinking that the world's a bit of a playground. I'd like to ask people to give me a chance to introduce myself properly as me, and not that person from the past, who functioned as nothing else but a romantic partner of someone online.

But I digress.

4: First Encounter.

Weeks past, and I began to meet new people, explore new areas, visit new places. One of friends from my course added me to a groupchat where we could get to know each other all a bit better. The group consisted of way too many people, so I wasn't the most active there, however it was a bit of a mix of different people. Not limited to my course, or even, as I'd soon find out uni.

And that's when I saw a familiar name that caught my attention.

You know, there are plenty of people sharing names and surnames. The world is so big after all. I didn't think much of it at first, because well... After all, Niko I knew was long gone.

Not.

Curiosity spiked, I started talking, wanting to double check if that person I saw in the groupchat was really a stranger.

I did a bit of digging and given it's almost five in the morning as I'm writing it, I'm not going to go into much detail, just yet. (might edit this post later, I just want to post it as soon as I can)

It's not that difficult in the digital age, really. Everything is kind of... Out here for you to take in.

That's when I found out, my boyfriend never died.

5: The Lies.

I know all of this sounds crazy, but I need you to listen. In a span of few weeks, I realised that past years of my life were a lie. That my grief was unnecessary. That my pain was created because someone tried to intimidate and scare me and anyone that Niko was ever close to.

At first, I felt cheated. I felt like my best friend faked his own death, but he did not. He did not, and I need people to know that he did nothing wrong, and in fact, after all these years needs more help than ever.

I want to reach out to people that were friends with him, ever spoke to him briefly. And also reach out to those who knew nothing about him and tell you : Niko is alive, but he is not safe and sound. And I am all alone in this mess, and I need some help. I need support from people that knew him. I need support from people that might care. Because I can't do it alone.

That's what the current situation looks like:

Niko's parents forcibly put him inpatient for longer than necessary to make his friends believe he was dead. They took his electronics and made him lose access to his old accounts by getting rid of his old phone number. They cut him off from the outside world. They threatened to hurt him and used intimidation tactics to make him cooperate and turn him into a doll in all of this.

I was told they put down his cat as a punishment for unknown reasons and after months of his hospitalisation, moved towns for again, unknown reasons. Niko was then homeschooled due to his, apparently, unwell mental state. He had no access to the outside world. No more social media, school friends, nothing. He was cut off in the world that made everyone else think he was dead. And they succeeded. Even I firmly believed that Niko was gone. And I feel deeply ashamed to admit it. I feel like I failed him and many of his friends by not investigating further, however I was still a kid at the time and there wasn't much I could do. I didn't think the situation was as messed up as it was.

After years of being under almost a complete supervision and a suicide watch even, Niko continues to be controlled by his parents, despite being an adult that deserves autonomy. I can explain the situation further in messages.

Even though I managed to speak to him again, after all these years of thinking he was gone, every time he seemed like there was someone listening, watching over his shoulder.

6: The Present.

I am currently formulating a plan to free Niko from the abuse that he is experiencing with his family. I need to get money to do so, therefore it's nothing I can do instantly, however I've been reaching out to various foundations to see what can be done. My current plan is to find a way to transport Niko out of his house into a temporary accommodation where he can stay away from his parents, ideally with someone who can help him stay safe. I need money for that, though, as accommodations, even emergency ones can be quite pricy if you're not on benefits.

As its very late right now, I'm ending this post right here. However I will edit and update it when I can and I just want to let it out into the world. Sorry for keeping it so long. If you read so far-thank you.

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kevv · 4 years

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a goodbye letter- abandoning current social media

i'm not the best at writing out my thoughts. forgive me if this feels scrambled and scraped together. my best friend, Fox, once said in abridged words; "it takes two to play out an abandonment fantasy, one to have it, and the other to follow suit".

i've known several handfuls of people who fear abandonment, or more specifically, being the one abandoned; scared that one day everyone in their life will take leave. and sometimes, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, they do. they leave in mass exodus, set into motion by one person who wants to set-forth their own abandonment fantasy– abandoning everyone else.

for me, my own fear of abandonment is not anyone abandoning me, i'm unbothered by people entering my life and leaving of their own accord; i'm scared i'll be the one to abandon everyone in my life. because i have. several times. i still do, even. i'll meet people in my lifetime that i loved harder than the universe itself, a deep love so terrifying i feel that it'll demolish cities and townships, friends and lovers and found-family. my skin will buzz and blaze alight with such an intense fear, a fear that i will ruin them and everything they are so i must run. it's unfounded, but it drives me away, and i fight tooth and nail to get to that escape route for those who won't let me leave quietly, until it ends in disaster. it's my own abandonment fantasy. i recall once, an ex-lover wanted me to stay. tried to lock the door and toss away the key, and said it hurt that i wanted an out. so i caused problems until i could break out through the window. not being allowed an option to leave made me feel like a feral, caged animal; because in the end, that's all i am. i hadn't done it on purpose. the need to escape everything had been there months prior. the events leading up to it had been fuzzy at best, sickly at worst, and i had been spoonfed misinformation. not on purpose, not in malicious intent, but still it struck genuine fear in my heart. like a feral animal, i want the option to roam. to come and go as i please. i can't be kept, i just want the trust that i'll find my way back eventually. if i feel contained, i scratch and bite until i'm released. but if you hold out your hand and wait patiently, i'll come to you. but don't ask me to stay. please don't ask me to stay. there's a lot that lead up to this current migration. the inability to be allowed to stand on my own two-feet and exist as just purely Kevin, not adjacent to someone, was a big one. still to this day i am asked about a youtuber i am no longer affiliated with by my own choice. i don't like attention, it's something i've said to her, said to many, and why i chose to never appear in her videos. which seems contradictory for an artist who posts on social media and previously did all of her older channel art. but maybe now i'm realizing that truthfully, i wanted recognition for me, not for others or for who i made myself sick in order to create content for. it's inescapable. i harbor no hard feelings anymore, i understand i was in the peak of my codependency and was willing to ruin myself for the benefit of another. to run myself broke and dry because at 19 years old i was still a child who didn't know how to handle the extent of his emotions. i want to apologize to penny. neither of us are really blameless, but we were inexperienced and young– still young. it's easy to not know what we're doing, to unintentionally take advantage of someone who was willing to burn themselves to give you warmth, or to latch onto an unfounded rumor and bare my teeth. i hope you're doing well, and i'm sorry. i'd like to give you a proper apology one day, when i'm more ready. that day is not today. sometimes i feel like there are four people living inside my brain, all with dissenting opinions and voices that i can't tell who i am anymore. i feel like i'm constantly contradicting myself because i don't know what my own thoughts are. i don't know who i am anymore. i don't know who i am anymore because i'm several different people all trying to be "kevin", all with different beliefs that go against a previous one. i prematurely deleted my twitter account for this reason, i couldn't stand a second more of being in a toxicity cycle i had previously taken part in, because sometimes that's all social media is. it's very... Online. i want to be one, unified person. whose thoughts and feelings are unadulterated by others surrounding him. additionally, there's the elephant in the room. some have already guessed it, suspected it, saw something like it coming from miles away. but for others who have known me for the past decade, it might be a surprise. someone once told me that words have power, and while at the time i disagreed, i'm starting to understand what she meant now. i've been afraid to speak it into existence, because it means it's real, and coming to terms with this unavoidable truth is a terrifying experience, one i need to face and stop running away from.

i'm detransitioning. giving life to this phrase doesn't make me feel any better. words have power, and that power is to make me crumble and break. since as early as 4 years old, i felt as if i was born a boy who was just being raised as a girl. at 12 was when i learned about and started identifying as transgender. at 18 i legally changed my name. for a decade, i lived as a transgender man. i've mentioned this before, but i'm intersex. i have an androgen insensitivity syndrome. what this means is that androgens, male sex hormones, have no effect on me. they instantly are reconverted back into estrogen by my body. this has been a reoccurring nightmare of mine since i was 14, and having it become my reality is.. heartbreaking, to say the least, crushing a lifetime of dreams and wishes. i've tried testosterone, self-medicated in my teen years, and "officially" more recently. it has no effect on me. a friend of mine says i shouldn't give up hope until i properly see an endocrinologist about HRT, but the reality is– i know my body, and i know my condition. i don't grow body hair, and my body cannot masculinize. these are unavoidable truths. i don't need to spend hundreds of dollars to be told what i already know. HRT will not affect me; i will never be able to transition. any attempt will become a scientific study in which i'm a guinea pig. i don't want that. i will never pass for male. my voice is high, my body is undoubtably female, my face is feminine, and i'm 4'11". it's disheartening and i've shed many tears over it. for what feels like my whole life, i've longed for SRS/GRS, top surgery, a deeper voice, and a couple inches of height. i ache for body hair, masculine fat redistribution, and male pattern baldness. all the good and the bad associated with testosterone is what i so desperately yearn for with such a soul-crushing depravity. i am genuinely heartbroken. maybe it's my punishment for all the bad things i've believed in or done. it's what i'd deserve, i guess. this punishment. it is for those reasons that i feel like i can no longer find comfort in identifying as ftm, to struggle seeing myself as a man. it's crazy, i've referred to myself as male since early childhood, and now that i'm coming to terms with my intersex condition am i feeling wrong in every conceivably way of identity. truthfully, i don't even identify as anything anymore. i'm not nonbinary, cis, or i guess trans. i feel as if i just exist. i just am. you can still call me kevin. it's my name, my legal name– which i love to point out. i'm not changing it. it's the first time i made a decision purely for myself, and went through with it. i love my name. i don't think i will love anything about myself quite like my name. i chose it when i was 12, it was my first choice. i never wanted another name. i still don't. but i like nicknames, particularly kitty and K-K. you can call me those too. these have always been options available. i reiterate– i really like being called nicknames. (: you can still use male pronouns for me. i never minded being "misgendered" because, well, i never passed, and i made peace with that years and years ago. while being called she/her or otherwise will probably always leave a stale taste in my mouth, i've learned to accept the reality of what i am a long time ago. biologically female. you can still use male identifiers for me, like husband or boyfriend or whatever other male terms there are...... actually you'll have to pry those out of my cold dead hands. i will not accept being called a "girlfriend" i will literally go feral and foam at the mouth and bite your ankles until you take it back. there's comfort in these things that i'm not ready to let go of, and frankly, i don't think i'll ever feel ready to. moving forward, i don't really know what i'm going to do. right now i'm taking a break from the internet, so i can soul-search and truly find myself, in all senses of the word and every iteration that it can be built upon. i'll make a new twitter account when i'm ready to, probably. there's a lot more i want to say, to add onto this in addendum, and pour so much of myself into this until it spills out the sides and trickles down into tiny cracks. but truthfully, i don't know how to say it. i don't know its relevancy to this eulogy of an account, and quite honestly, there are still some things i can't find myself able to say. to speak into existence. to give power to those words. admitting aloud to a 6-year long love that burnt like candles catching a home on fire was intense enough (hi Charlotte it's you, it's you and it's always been you and everyone knows this). so maybe i'd rather keep some things to myself, perhaps. preferably. so i guess that's it. i've bared my heart and soul and skin and bones to whoever will read this piece of myself. it's the end to katidoj, one that's been a longtime coming. i've never been very good at staying in one place for very long. please take care, i love you. and i'll miss you. a piece of my heart left with you, here buried deep in this account. (pressing the submit button has never been so hard in my life.)

#goodbye. i hope to be a better version of myself the next time we meet.

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desktopdust · 4 years

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Phantom Network: Malware Uninstall

A common question bandied about in regards to the Phantom Network is how a bunch of (insert adjectives like “lowlife” or “no good dirty”, etc) thieves manage to work together without constantly stabbing each other in the back. Yes, I’ll admit, even I didn’t quite understand it back when I was but a wee passive civilian living a mundane life, but I now realize this was only because I grossly misunderstood what a Phantom Thief is.

Most often, you hear “thief” and you picture someone taking something for themselves--a selfish hoarder who collects by any means necessary. A Phantom Thief, however, has more noble goals in mind...and a flair for the dramatic. Bit of a tangent, but important to note. You see, Phantom Thieves don’t steal for themselves: they steal for others. We take from the rich and give to the poor and all that jazz, because even if it’s only a drop in the ocean of wealth the elites have built up, the act of stealing from them proves that they aren’t invincible. It’s all too easy to feel powerless in this world. But when those with power aren’t able to stop regular people from knocking them down a peg, you get a tiny bit of hope, and more often than you might expect, that tiny bit of hope can make all the difference. Those dedicated to making that happen join the Phantom Network with a simple vow: “honor among thieves”.

Usually, that’s enough. But no organization is inherently pure, and no matter what your goals are (especially when you’re working outside the law), it’s only natural you’ll attract some folks who are in it for the wrong reasons. And that’s what we have the FW Protocol for! If a thief is found to have no honor, the Protocol strips them of their privileges and finds the safest way to expunge them from the organization. We don’t go as far as to execute somebody, but with how difficult memory deletion is to pull off, lifetime imprisonment is a fairly common result. The system works...most of the time. The Protocol can’t be too aggressive, so it usually waits for someone else to file a complaint. But, with the whole “honor” thing, a lot of good Phantom Thieves won’t feel right ratting on their colleagues unless they go way over the line, at which point they’ve probably already caused an incident and have the Protocol on their tail. Plenty of thieves manage to operate in that gray area, serving themselves without pissing anyone off too much...and I’ve all too frequently had the pleasure of dealing with one such individual.

Kari always pushed the limits even of that gray area. But it’s rare to find someone who can competently manipulate time, so she wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that the Network needed her. Even after being betrayed over and over, I still haven’t filed a complaint, because she hasn’t outright ruined any job she’s been on and I don’t want to resort to drastic measures just for being personally wronged. Like I said, honor among thieves. I had decided to just put the whole thing behind me, not work with or even think about her ever again, but...things took a bit of a turn.

The “courtroom” we have at HQ is rarely used, so it’s a bit cramped. I practically had to wedge myself into the corner as I took my seat and waited for things to kick off. Opposite the door, the Phantom Network Admin sat at a blocky steel desk: a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned individual with a cyan bionic eye and metal down one half of their face, the other partly obscured by their many red curls. Between us were four lightly-armored folks who each wore solid red shades, and in the midst of them, Kari, with a jamming bolt stuck to her alchemar between her shoulder blades and shackles on her wrists.

“Phantom Thief Kari, the Epoch Swindler,” the Admin said. “Following the recent incident at Navy Canyon, the FW Protocol has conducted an investigation and found you in violation of your vow as a Phantom Thief. What do you have to say in your own defense?”

Kari adjusted her bangs with a puff of air. “Listen boss, I know I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue--honor isn’t something that comes all that easily to me. But have I really done anything that awful? I’m still serving the essential functions of a Phantom Thief, and none of my transgressions have impeded operations in any meaningful way.” Under her breath, she added, “Until Navy Canyon, at least...but that was an accident.”

“It is worth noting there have been no formal complaints filed against her,” said one of the FWs surrounding her. “However, when we interviewed those who have worked with her in the past, we noticed a running theme of dishonorable conduct. Several such thieves have been brought in today to share their accounts on-record.”

The various assembled thieves were called up one by one, each sharing a lovely little tale about some time Kari shafted them. Honestly it was hard not to laugh: I felt their pain. Through it all, Kari just stood there, completely silent as her misdeeds were laid out before her. Part of me couldn’t help but take satisfaction in the sight. But, another part...

“Lastly, we would like to hear from Phantom Thief Roche.”

I pushed my way to the front of the room, avoiding eye contact with Kari for as long as I could. When I faced the FWs, though, I could see her out of the corner of my eye, staring dag...huh. Well, she was staring, but not as maliciously as I was expecting.

“Roche. On how many occasions have you worked with Kari?”

“Ah, nearly a dozen, I guess,” I said.

“And during these occasions, did Kari conduct herself in a manner you found questionable?”

“Every time.” I saw Kari look to the floor. That’s the most remorse I’ve ever seen her show.

“In particular, please share your recollection of the Cosmic Sapphire heist.”

“Right.” I shifted my weight a little. “A certain Mr. Snyder had the national museum display a set of fine jewels he had collected over the years, so the two of us set out to steal the exhibit. Breaking in was easy, and then I went to the display room while Kari disabled the security. As soon as I had an opening, I snatched the jewels, but as I was headed out I was jumped by a mercenary using a sound alchemar. Turns out Snyder had shelled out quite a sum bringing in extra help once we warned him we were coming. I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail about why fighting sound-users is tricky--suffice to say I was on the back foot, with things only evening out once Kari showed up. We were doing okay, so I made a plan to end it. I got in close as a distraction...next thing I knew, my bag felt a good bit lighter, and I was eating concrete. Took me a minute to piece everything together, but basically: Kari stopped time, took the jewels off my hand, and then bolted back here on her own. Not to be dramatic, but I almost died there. That’s the only time since joining the Network I’ve had to make an emergency call. In the end, Kari got full payment, I looked like an amateur, and…”

Hesitation struck. See, I haven’t taken a look at the Cosmic Sapphire Collection--it was turned over to the Admin and stored in the Network’s cache--but I’ve always had a strong suspicion that a few of the jewels didn’t make it back to HQ. I wanted to bring it up, but...it’s not like I had any proof. It was baseless, and I’d just be slandering Kari and making her (already very bad-looking) case look a lot worse. She was still looking at the floor, and it was still weirding me out.

Nodding, one of the FWs asked, “And?”

Mmm, I might hate her, but I gotta be fair. I sighed, continuing, “And, I’m just mad about it. Being left to die and all. But, there you have it.”

I went back to my seat. The Admin folded their hands before their face, staring at Kari as they sifted through the information they had just absorbed. “Well. It sounds to me as though you’ve been awfully consistent, and all that’s saved you from comeuppance is the reluctance of more honorable thieves. Do you have anything to add, Kari?”

She shook her head. “...No.”

Yikes. I’d never seen her like this, and it was really starting to get to me.

“This selfish streak casts itself upon your current claims. Having previously been so willing to let your colleagues come to harm, it becomes more difficult to believe that the losses suffered at Navy Canyon were simply an accident. Especially considering how flippant you were in the wake of the incident.”

“Makes sense.”

The Admin paused, and boy did it drag on. Eventually, they said, “Have any come to speak in defense of Kari?”

“None,” answered an FW.

“So we truly have only your word to go on that this was an accident?”

“Come on, I--” Kari snapped, but cut herself off with a huff. “Alright. I’m an asshole, no two ways about it--it’s not like I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t react right to what was going on, but at this point, what do I have to gain by lying about it? It was an accident. I didn’t want those thieves to die. Believe me, don’t believe me, whatever. Are we gonna keep running in circles, or can we just get this over with?”

Damn, okay. Something got to her.

The Admin said, “You must have an idea of what my decision would have to be if we leave things here. Are you alright with that?”

“I just want it over with,” Kari mumbled. “If there’s no changing it, then this is just torture.”

So...she’d already accepted being banned from the Network? And was still insisting it was an accident? Why? What did she benefit from being honest at that point?

The Admin sat up straight. “Very well.”

Hold on.

“Kari, you are hereby--”

“Wait!” I said. All eyes turned to me. “...Boss. To be fair...I think she’s telling the truth about Navy Canyon being an accident.”

The Admin raised an eyebrow. “You do? Even though she’s put your life in jeopardy before?”

“I mean I’m still mad about that, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like she let the others die and then got out of there: she stayed and finished the mission, and even saved the lives of the right flank later on. Why would she do that if she had killed the vanguard on purpose?”

After another all-too-long pause, the Admin said, “You make a fine point. But even if that was simply an accident, the trend in her conduct still stands.”

I glanced at Kari. She was staring at me, eyes wide with confusion. Don’t ask me, I didn’t get it either. “Of course. But, we don’t need to overreact, right? I think the fact that she stayed after that accident shows she’s not a completely lost cause--maybe we can help her to be a little more honorable, given enough time and incentive.”

The Admin considered this, leading to yet another long silence during which I could feel myself growing old.

“Plus, where are we going to find another time-user on her level? Not to sound like a business bastard, but you can look at it as an investment.”

The Admin chuckled. “Practical. I suppose if we lock her for a while, we can take the time to educate her on proper Phantom Thief conduct. Mandatory, of course, and she’ll be confined to quarters otherwise. Reparations will also need to be arranged, but that’s something we can work out at a later date. Does this sound acceptable to you, Kari?”

She turned back to face the Admin. “...Well, doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time, but...I suppose it’s better than my other option.”

“This will only work if you are truly willing to learn. If you remain obstinate, this verdict can and will be amended.”

“Okay, I get it. I’ll take it seriously.”

“Good. Does anyone else have anything to add?” No one did. “Then we’re done. Please escort Kari back to her quarters and confiscate her alchemar. Once you are satisfied the conditions are secure, please inform me, and then we can proceed.”

The FWs ushered Kari out of the room. As she passed, she stared at me, but I kept my eyes forward. The other thieves filed out, and I stayed where I was until finally the Admin walked up to me.

“I have to admit, Roche: I wasn’t expecting that from you.”

With a shrug, I got to my feet. “Yeah, me neither. Couldn’t tell you why that happened.”

The Admin smiled. “I see. You know, if we’re going to instill a sense of honor in Kari, there’s quite a bit she could learn from you.”

Every muscle in my body went stiff as I began to question recent decisions.

“Don’t worry, I won’t put you through that.”

The tension drained out of me all at once. You’d think it’d be cathartic, but it was more like the experience of finally vomiting after hours of nausea.

“Thank you for speaking up, Roche. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Kari was locked for a good few months after that. She wasn’t entirely responding well to her training, but she did make an effort, and eventually we got somewhere. After doing a handful of supervised jobs pro bono, she was allowed to leave her quarters, and no one at HQ saw her for another couple months after that. But, she did come back eventually and resumed duties as normal. I haven’t interacted with her since the investigation, and I don’t really feel an urge to change that. I’d like to think she’s made some real progress, but...it’s hard to give someone the benefit of the doubt after repeated betrayal. I’m gonna keep my distance. With any luck, she’s at least got some sense of honor now, and she won’t be my problem ever again.

#original #Phantom Network

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trishmilburn · 5 years

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Wonho, Monsta X, The Culture of Online Hate and Standing Up for What’s Right

One of the challenges of being an author is knowing where to start a story. I find myself facing that same question as I begin this blog post. There are times when we are feeling so many emotions at once that it’s difficult to express them fully. But I’m writer, and I should be able to put feelings into words even when those feelings are like a maelstrom inside of me.

As many of you know, I dove head-first into the world of K-pop a year ago. It wasn’t something I sought out. It almost seems like destiny that it found me, and I’m so glad that it did. At the time I found K-pop, I was at a crossroads of a sort. Though I’d been publishing books for a decade, the market was changing and I was burning out on the types of stories I was telling. I still loved those stories, put my all into them, and I’m thankful to my editors, publishers and readers for the opportunities and support they’ve given me. But that creative part of me wasn’t truly happy anymore. And I had no idea what to do about it because this is how I make my living. Did I have to give up the idea of enjoying what I do in order to put food on the table and pay the rent? That was depressing, to say the least. After all, I’d left journalism because I wanted to write fiction full-time. I didn’t think I could go back to being a journalist in today’s climate.

Enter K-pop, which I found by way of watching Korean dramas. Not since I was a teenager into a variety of 1980s hair bands (Hello, Bon Jovi! You’re still awesome!) had I been so into music. And to be honest, I’m pretty sure I’m enjoying music more now than I ever have in my life. That is saying a lot considering I’m a 49-year-old white lady from the American South and that enjoyment is originating a world away in a country I’ve never been to. But K-pop is infectious in the very best way. Not only are the typically upbeat songs fun to listen to, the entire world of K-pop is fun and fascinating. It has brought me countless hours of enjoyment. I listen to K-pop in my car on long road trips to concerts in Atlanta and on short trips to the grocery store. Dance is one of my two preferred forms of exercise in addition to walking at our local beach, and the playlists are all K-pop. I love watching not only the official music videos, but also the dance practices, the goofy videos the groups do in Halloween costumes, and the variety shows on which you get to know them better. K-pop is a bright, colorful, happy-making world of singing, rapping, dancing, fashion, cosmetics and more.

Until it isn’t. Today is one of those days. K-pop is not immune to the current world of online hate. While social media has allowed me to connect with my readers and fellow K-pop and K-drama fans around the world, which is fantastic, we all know it also had a dark side. Behind a computer screen, people say the most heinous things to each other, often people they don’t even know. Often while hiding their real identities. But in the current climate, many don’t even feel the need to hide their identities anymore. They feel free to direct hate at others in the full light of day, and others egg them on. It’s disgusting and it harms people who do not deserve it.

Today’s victim is Wonho from the group Monsta X. They are one of the four groups I’ve seen in concert so far this year, and their concert was fabulous. Wonho wasn’t feeling well during the show, but none of us knew that until he collapsed and had to be helped off stage. A bit later he came back out and apologized. I just wanted to wrap him in a hug and tell him he didn’t have to apologize for not being well. After all, these idols (that’s what members of K-pop groups are called) push themselves hard. They are constantly working, running on little sleep and little food to make it in a highly competitive industry that can easily discard them because there are always more groups debuting that can take their place. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.

An apology from a K-pop idol for the slightest perceived infraction or disappointment to fans is not unusual in an industry where them even dating is often considered a scandal. Not only do they have to perform their professional duties, but they are expected to be perfect with nary a wrong step, even before they became idol trainees. It’s unrealistic and it’s unfair. Who among us hasn’t done something in our life, particularly when we were young, that we regret? Something we learned from and grew because of having done it. Idols are not allowed this luxury of having been at any point a normal human youth. This is the fault of the companies they work for and the unrealistic expectations of certain segments of the fandoms.

Then there are the netizens who, for whatever twisted reason, love to cause chaos and do actual harm to the idols and their careers. That’s where we are today. There is a certain young woman in South Korea who has repeatedly caused problems for idols in one way or another. It’s often difficult to dig down to the root cause of why scandals blow up in K-pop, but supposedly she or her boyfriend posted some snarky comment about Wonho owing someone money. If that is true, there are ways of rectifying the situation that don’t include destroying someone’s career or life. Don’t take to social media where the person in question is not the only one who gets hurt. Wonho had also been the target of other malicious rumors for something taken out of context, and now Shownu, another member of Monsta X, has been targeted by false rumors. I don’t know that this is the case, but it feels very coordinated because of the timing. Monsta X just released a new album this week and are in their promotion period, and in the world of K-pop there is unfortunately an element that likes to try to tear down other bands so their own favorites can supposedly rise higher. This is complete nonsense and yet it seems to fester and spread like a disease. I don’t know the reasoning behind the attacks on Wonho and Shownu, but it’s part of a bigger problem – that of unchecked online hate.

I say unchecked because instead of the idols’ companies standing behind them, instead of them saying, “No, we will not let you tear down this person who has put his heart and soul into making his group a success and is beloved by fans,” they always put out the same kind of statement that the idol made the decision to leave the group for the good of the rest of the group members. I call a huge sack of BS! Even if Wonho did say he would leave for the good of his brothers in Monsta X – and I say brothers deliberately because K-pop groups become family since they live together, work together, vacation together, love each other – Starship Entertainment executives should have said to him, “That’s admirable but not necessary. We’re going to stand with you and behind you as we fight this. We will help you get through it, and you and the rest of Monsta X will come out stronger on the other side.” I would have admired them greatly for taking this stand, which is not something you see from the Korean entertainment companies. Instead, the idols are allowed to make sacrificial lambs of themselves for “the good of the group.” Again, I call BS. This is for the good of the companies’ monetary bottom lines. In no way do I believe that Shownu, Minhyuk, Kihyun, Hyungwon, Joohoney and I.M benefit from this. I’m sure in this moment their hearts are breaking and they’re worried about their dear friend, their brother, more than anything else. And yet they are going to be expected to perform to promote this new album in the midst of all this upheaval and heartbreak.

I chose not to have kids of my own, but in moments like these there is a dormant mama-bear instinct inside of me that makes itself known. I want to wrap all these boys, who are young enough to be my sons, in a protective hug and swat away anyone who dares take a swipe at them. I want to tell them that I’ll be strong for them while they’re hurting. I want to hold those attacking them to account and make sure they pay for what they’ve done. And I want to tell their company to grow a spine. I know the culture is different in Korea than it is here in the U.S., but how many times have you seen an American celebrity do much worse and no one bats an eye? There is a middle ground between letting people get away with true wrongdoing and destroying a person’s life and career for something that wouldn’t even be – and shouldn’t be – a blip on the radar here. And we should allow people to acknowledge youthful missteps that are relatively harmless – if they even happened – apologize, and move on. It’s called growth, and it can be an inspiration to others. If all of us who ever made a mistake as a teenager lost our careers because of it, there would be a lot of unemployed people walking around.

What needs to happen is this: all the Korean entertainment companies need to band together and say enough is enough. Rumors and magnifying small incidents to the point where netizens are ready to ride with torches and pitchforks should be called out and the instigators held to account, even by legal means. The companies need to stand behind their idols when they are attacked instead of throwing them away like they are disposable. Taking them away from everything they’ve worked for and their bandmates is cruel, not unlike ripping a child from his family and then telling them it’s their fault. If an idol has a problem, find them help. They are under so much pressure that it’s no surprise that they offer suffer from anxiety and depression, and unfortunately Korea still reportedly has an antiquated view of mental health. It’s part of the reason – along with external attacks – for their abysmal suicide rate. Look no further than Sulli, another K-pop idol who recently committed suicide after being attacked online for years. I don’t know that there has been a line drawn between those two things, but my gut tells me that it was at least a contributing factor. And I don’t want to hear of it ever happening again. Too many young, beautiful, kind, talented, giving lives are being lost.

Today, I’ve gotten next to no work done. I can’t pull my thoughts away from Wonho and how wrongly he’s been treated, how much he, the rest of the group and fans are hurting. I’ve been fighting crying all day because I know I’ll just feel worse afterward. I hate to see injustice. It just eats me alive inside. And unfortunately we are seeing more and more of it. Some might say there are worse injustices in the world than this. Yes and no. Yes, children ripped from their families at the border and genocide are great evils, but wrong is wrong. And what has happened to Wonho and other idols in the past because of online attacks is all kinds of wrong.

Wonho, if by some chance you and the rest of Monsta X read this, I hope you’re able to take comfort from the fact that you have many fans around the world who love you and who will go to bat for you. I hope you’re able to focus on those voices instead of the hateful ones. As a creative, I know it’s difficult to not focus on the vocal minority, the ones who say the negative things. Those are the voices that work their way insidiously into our brains, but we have to fight against them and remember that there are many more people to whom you have brought joy and to whom you will continue to bring job as a member of Monsta X if we have anything to say about it.

And to the decision-makers at Starship Entertainment, do the right thing. Do what is right, not what is easy or most beneficial to your bottom line. Bring Wonho back and stand up to the people who attack your idols, the people who work hard to make your company successful.

#wonho #monsta_x #online hate

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scenarihoes · 6 years

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Hi, odd request and I suck at explaining so write whatever you what on this, just need more of my bird boy here. Tokoyami having a crush on a support course student and he writes a edger Allen Poe/speakpeare sort of journal about his thoughts and has a page on his feelings for her and compares her to the Greek goddesses athena and Persephone. Just being a real sappy boi and his crush somehow finds out about this and they sit on his bed while she reads it and he is just absolutely dying. (Sorry)

CUTE CUTE CUTE CUTE CUTE

nights in white satin

tokoyami fumikage // reader

————

Fingers drag over satin bedsheet, hair and feather splayed over the surface. Unlike you, content albeit abashed with a notebook caught between your fingers, Tokoyami feels like his heart may truly leap from his chest. Everytime he watches your eyes scan the lines of text his pulse grows just a bit quicker- anxiety, anticipation. With the words you read written from the very pencils bound by his hands, he may as well be naked before you. He feels exposed- but he’s unsure if it’s uncomfortably so.

She is Athena

The first line read, scribbled, hasty.

Courage, wisdom, time and strength

and to whom do I owe the thanks

of placing her beside me, of planting her feet to the soil

rooting and blooming inside me, within this beating heart

and within this empty chest concaved to build a garden

in its wake, and to turn tragedy, to beauty.

Rib to vine, just as fear to growth.

Although he feels like he should say something to burst the heavy silence, he does not. He can’t bring himself just yet; you aren’t done reading. Instead he decides to wait until the cue is given. Like a statue, he lays beside you and swallows hard.

A soft, gentle sigh escapes your lips and he makes his stomach do flips. Your free hand points a finger at the lines you read along with internally.

“I like this one,” You murmur happily. “Do you really think of me like that?”

Quickly he glances at the line in question.

If she is not Athena, than she is Persephone

and I shall be Hades.

Once again a harsh swallow forced Tokoyami’s throat to constrict. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton- he clears his throat and says, “...Yes.”

You smile. Cute. Silence as you drag your finger along the pages of scribbled words upon the notebooks worn paper.

I will bleed pomegranates dry on her tongue, sprawl the flowers in her crown

In her mane and upon her cheeks

and I will let her breathe a new life into me

One of color

Of trust and lacking in dripping decadence.

“You have such a beautiful way of words.” The ends of your sentence are dulled with an exhale. Even though the bedroom is dark, only lit by the dullness of his candles, he doesn’t need to lay eyes upon your expression to understand your benevolence. The warmth in your tone makes his stomach stir in a sort of delight he hadn’t anticipated before.

From the very moment you’d asked him if you could explore the poetry he’s written, you in mind and muse, he’d felt like he was drowned by emotion. Tenacity, anxiety, affection. Even if you hated the poems he knew you well enough to know that those malicious thoughts would never see the light of day. It comforts him just as much as it makes him cautious.

His words had always been the largest part of himself. Poetry lay at his core, watchful eyes searching for muses. He always settled upon you- his favorite subject.

You flipped the page and he’s choking all over again.

“Can I read more?” You ask, and though he feels like there’s weight in his chest, he remembers the garden. Petals scratch the back of his throat.

“You may.”

How you can even read the messiness of his writing, he’ll have to spend the rest of his life guessing. Sometimes he writes so fast even he himself, the composer, cannot understand the scrawls of pencil on paper.

Dove and crow, a pitfall and pit full of feathers.

“I like that line, too. Am I the Dove?” Looking up at him, he’s sure if he wasn’t feathered in black you’d see the flush on his face. He nods once, and you giggle such a sweet laugh that he has to shut his eyes and relish in the sound. Not just cute, adorable. Astounding, staggering, breathtaking. A sound that he couldn’t go without hearing, again.

The gears in his mind grind- he can feel a new poem mapping out within his mind as you continue your quest through his recorded thoughts.

For the first time

I touch stars and I feel light

Eating and splitting and driving me into two,

Two halves of myself, a strike down the center

and For the first time,

I shine within the darkness. I beacon amongst the shadows,

and I do not see the monster shrouded in black,

But feathers.

Tufts of angelic white and a thousand shimmering halos

a thousand different raptures.

I see her and the outstretching of my arms, the unhinging of my jaws,

The golden blood bleeding from petal and thicket sewing me back to one.

For the first time,

even in the chaos,

I am whole.

Slowly, slowly, you turn to see him. He can feel the intimacy of your gaze, as well as he can sense the vulnerability. You look at him as he looks at you- the holder of everything. Star catcher, star eater, the center of such a great broad universe.

It’s then he realizes that this is a moment he could have never gone without. The fear urges him to look back and remember just how tenderly you look up at him with your finger still lingering at the final word of his poem.

“This is...” Your head turns forward, eyes scanning over the lines all over again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just-...” You swallow. “These are so beautiful, I-I don’t... Do you really think of me like this?”

Love swells in his chest. Carefully he reaches out and plucks the notebook from your hand, closes it and sets it on the empty space between him and the wall.

“All of that and more,” His voice is much steadier than he’d thought it would be. “I think of you as everything, and more.”

Your hands close around nothing. Rolling over to face him, you lay on your side, look up at him with awed eyes. The candles light paint them with spectacular hues.

“How do you come up with all that? Does it take a while?”

“Not usually. I often write just as the ideas come into my head.”

For a long moment, your eyes leave in him sudden contemplation. He reaches out and touches his hand to the side of your face and let’s his eyes fall halflidded when you look up at him warmly.

“...Can you come up with anything on the spot?”

Tokoyami’s eyes rewiden all over again. “Right now?”

You nod. “O-Only if you want to!”

It’s a lucky moment in history when he know’s exactly what to say. Since the moment you’d began reading he’d been building his lines in his head, waiting for the moment to write them down. He takes into account the words, the expressions, the lucidity of your eyes tracing his pensmanship so brutal even he the creator has troubles recreating the ideas in the depths of his mind.

His eyes soften as he pets your cheek. You still stare at him like you’re in trouble just for asking.

“Okay,” He takes in a breath, and begins.

“You’re the flower that outmatches the raging winds. Petals that bloom even without the rays of lights, thriving within the darkest depths and the most fearsome corners. With you, there is the light, and hope. All that touch you feel the dust of your pollen on their fingers, like moth to flame, like humankind to warmth. Even against the face of time and change you remain steady, a symbol of love, of kindness and bravery and shelter to those too afraid to face the light waiting for them.”

It’s flows from him without skipping a beat.

His eyes close, body going lax. Speaking the words out loud rather than writing them feels foreign on his tongue, but he welcomes the oddity.

“Out of this entire world, I consider myself the luckiest person to be at your side. You strike me as light strikes darkness, as good strikes not evil, but the lost.”

“You considered yourself lost, before you met me?” You ask in such a small voice.

“I considered myself not lost, but without. I hadn’t realized what I was missing before there was you. After the moment you were a presence in my life I felt drawn to you as night is drawn to day, always chasing. I was afraid, in the time before you approached me, that I would never understand what it meant to be a person within your life. Such a beautiful creation could never have been mine.” Tokoyami runs his hand through your hair and shuts his eyes. “I believed that I bound to nothing but darkness, but you’ve certainly convinced me otherwise.”

A hand catches his wrist and he peeks his eyes open, looks down to see your figners wrapped around him. You smile.

“I’m happy that I could convince you otherwise. You really are amazing, you know that?”

Tokoyami is frozen in his place for a moment, staring. Then, suddenly, he brings you close to him. He tucks your head underneath the feathers of his chin and feels content, he feels peace. You make happy sounds in the back of your throat and pet over his softness with soft hands.

He still isn’t sure who to thank exactly for allowing him such a blissful moment, such a person to welcome in his arms. His entire life spent jaded in such a casual way that only a watchful eye could see it, just for all those hard edges to grind and preen and erode until you could touch him without worry.

More poem worm their ways into his mind. They always will, until the ends of his time. He sighs sweetly againt the top fo your head and pets down the length of your back, feels you melt against him.

Just as light will always find the darkness, you will always find each other.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #imagine #scenario #tokoyami fumikage #x reader

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bluephoenixdruidicprincess · 6 years

Text

Legacies 1x13, The Boy Who Still Has a Lot of Good to Do -- Review

Yup, we're here with another Lega-Trash episode. This came a day later than it normally does on the account of me being sick. I was on Nyquil and I didn't want to watch and review this episode while my mind was in that kind of groggy, cloudy, addled state...if I did, I might've thought this episode was actually good and we can't have that, can we?

This is going to be an honest review of my thoughts and feelings regarding Legacies, the spin-off of a spin-off that should never have come to pass. But here we are. I'm not a fan of this show, have never pretended to be one so if you're looking for Legacies positivity, this is not the place for you. Move along, this is not meant for you. I'm very critical about this show. Keep in mind these are my thoughts and feelings about this mess of a show. Opinions are never right or wrong. I'm not telling you how to think and feel. You don't have to agree with ny opinions but I would ask that you respect them, please. Also, spoilers for the episode. So if you haven't seen the episode yet, watch the episode and then come back...otherwise read at your own risk. But let's be real here. I'm sure my followers who end up reading this have no desire to watch this show and use my ramblings in these reviews as a substitute for actually watching the show...those selfish jerks -- just kidding, I love all my followers and please, only watch the show if you really want to. I'm making a sacrifice watching the show so you don't have to.

So, this episode takes place immediately after the last one. Everyone is back at the school but they notice that Rafael, Landon, and MG are missing. They find Rafael who has no memory of what happened. So the entire episode is spent trying to figure out what happened. Through some magical potion Hope concocts (because of course she does) Rafael is able to remember more but it's only until they find MG who is suffering from a werewolf bite Rafael gave him that we truly understand what happened. Upon hearing that MG's relationship with his father is non-existent, Landon urges MG to meet up with his father, MG eventually does and when his father realizes MG is a vampire, he doesn't take it so well and this distresses MG immensely so in his anger towards Landon for thrusting this on him, he goes all ripper and kills Landon. Rafael bites MG in retaliation. And we're back in real time looking for Landon's body, we find it, everyone's sad, and then it catches on fire and Landon rises from the ashes still in the same clothes he was wearing despite the clothes being burned in the fire...YA nonsense, what are you going to do? So we realize here that Landon is supernatural, he's apparently a Phoenix.

Alright, so this episode...it actually could've been competent, maybe borderline good. Except it takes entirely too long to get to the climax. There really was not enough story for 42 minutes in this episode so they just kept on splicing in parts where Rafael suddenly starts remembering and then conveniently forgetting and then also conveniently falling unconscious. Instead of telling a cohesive story throughout the entire episode using the concept of unreliable narrators throughout and then having the two stories meet and through that meeting, you're able to figure out what happened, we end up getting a very choppy episode that only barely makes sense, convenient amnesia, convenient hallucinations and it was all very boring to watch unfold. This episode would've been better served had Rafael and MG both been found by separate parties in the beginning of the episode, throughout the episode the two groups are moving towards each other in the woods all the while getting these individual stories. But the problem is that they're unreliable narrators and they're only remembering the events in the manner they want to remember. Until they finally meet and see each other and that's when they can finally remember everything that happened. That's how I would've done it but hey, Legacies writers, you do you. I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, I'm just telling you a more interesting and more interactive way to tell this story.

You know, for a split second in this episode, it felt like Landon was actually going to be dead for good and I had almost a modicum of respect for the show, I almost started tearing up a little at the end. But then Landon caught on fire and I realized they were doing the whole Phoenix myth and that basically ruined it for me. I originally thought, "oh shit, Landon is dead. Is he the final key to opening Malivore? Is the apocalypse going to start next episode? Is MG actually going to have character development? Is Landon's death going to be something that's going to haunt him?" But no, Landon comes back, basically no consequences. Yay.

Although, didn't TVD already do the whole Phoenix myth thing? I honestly don't remember the season too well but there was something about a Phoenix slaying vampires. Is Landon gonna get a hard-on for killing vampires? If so, I imagine that's going to make breakfast at the Salvatore boarding school cafeteria a little awkward.

And with every episode, I just continue to despise Penelope that much more. So in the beginning of the episode, Hope couldn't track the boys because Penelope gave them a cloaking spell as a gift for Rafael breaking up with Lizzie on her birthday. Does this woman's spite have no limit? I'm certainly not going to say that Rafael is in the wrong for breaking up with Lizzie on her birthday. It's kind of mean, sur,e but as opposed to his heart not being in it and potentially leading her on, I respect Rafael a little for it, and I think at the end of the day, Lizzie is probably better off for it. But Penelope taking glee in something like this, something that has nothing to do with her, it's just her getting off on someone else's pain, is truly horrible. She is a horrible person and while I may not particularly enjoy the way Josie is written, Josie deserves better. I'm honestly beginning to wonder if Penelope is a psychopath. The thing with Lizzie is that while she does selfish things, hurting people is never her intention. Penelope does the things she does because she wants to hurt them. I'm pretty sure the show is trying to say, "Look, how bad-ass this girl is, she's a total bitch and she doesn't care." Being a bitch may be the "in" thing to do these days but there's being a bitch because of your own desires and the things you want to gain and then there's being a bitch for malicious intent.

And on the note of the twins, it's super weird they weren't in this episode at all. Especially since supposedly both the girls have a thing for Rafael. It was just really weird. Hmm, almost like the show doesn't have that big of a budget and couldn't afford to have all of the actors in this episode. This kind of thing happens a lot on networks like the CW. The beginning episodes typically have the most budget but usually it's the middle to tail end of a season where the budget starts failing, they still have money but they're going to save that money for the finale. So sometimes actors get cut from the episode or the special effects take a bit of a dive.

All in all, this episode was really boring. It gets a C. It does what it needs to do and it's just kind of there.

#anti legacies #lega trash #legatrash #lega-trash

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endeavorsreward · 6 years

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Excerpt: Interlude (Two?)

700 OV / 60 BA

Mistleaf Huntmoon

In the southernmost reaches of the Kerwon continent, there lay within the Jagd Difohr an ancient wood; by geography, it was part of the Golmore to the north, but unlike those well-trod jungle paths, this was a place not even the Viera would tread. It was a naturalist’s dream, with thousand-year old trees beginning to petrify, and rare beasts stalking through the inch-tall layer of frost that coated much of the traversible paths: basilisks, golems, and holy elementals would appear and disappear from view as regular as breathing, but the Mu bunnies were much less cautious, sniffling about hume invaders to this land that was either sacred or profane but surely one.

The leader of this day’s expedition, however, was no naturalist but an engineer by trade. This accounted for the confusion amongst his coterie when he asked for one of the pale hares to be trapped and caged – and again when he retrieved an empty jar from his pack, and used it to collect a number of the floating white pinpricks of light that were on all sides of them, carefully sealing the jar shut before tucking the whole thing away again.

It was easier said than done, trapping the Mu bunny – like all dreamhares they were fast, but the worst of it was the “moondust,” a powder that coated its fur, some residue that remained after secretions like sweat, that at contact caused a bafflement of the mind. When Ioachim first got his hands on the animal, he got enough of the moondust beneath his nails that his next move was to turn in place and take a swing at D’ghoz, who had since been pouting about it in their shared tent for hours. For how often the hume race chose to characterize Seeq as brutish, in all of Dzul Zulejha’s years, she’d never known one who wasn’t at their core soft-hearted like a child.

In the end, though, the hunter Lev Almasa scooped the creature up in a net and hung it from the gray branch of the tree around which they’d made camp, where they could all watch it thrash about and Dzul could wonder at whether they’d be tasked with feeding it for as long as they were to travel the Feywood.

The camp, their fourth in the Feywood so far, encircled the massive dead tree so that all sides could have their eyes on the shadows and the beasts that lay beyond. They’d already settled into the pattern of sleeping in three shifts of four awake at a time, so that there would be no blind spots. Eight of their number were hunters, pirates, guides, survivalists – these things were as natural as breathing. And three of the four others were used to nothing so much as following orders, and so they adapted just as quickly.

The last was the Engineer, who barely paid it mind, studying a notebook most day and night and hardly paying them any heed at all. The last time he’d spoken at all was a day earlier, where he mused aloud that in earlier generations, they’d called the Feywood “a forest of chaos,” which had done nothing to improve the mood after they’d slain a pack of wolves unlike any she’d seen before, with fur of mottled crimson and their horns aflame.

To think, on the maps this place was but a hand’s breadth from the Golmore. That jungle was not without its dangers – Dzul first faced a morbol in her nineteenth year, and for the next two she’d breathed with a rasp – but they were known dangers, and those without malicious intent oft had the Wood-Warders to watch over them from the branches. Here, though, was different: because the Mist was heavy in the Feywood, heavier than she’d ever seen it in all her life.

Ioachim and D’ghoz had never seen the Mist before with their own eyes. They were knowledgeable when it came to forestry, skilled trackers, and other things besides, but their partnership had been founded in the Salikawood far to the west, in safe Nabradia, and they were the rawest of the recruits assembled. Some of their number had been hired through intermediaries, some were respondents to notices posted in the major Clans, and in the case of Yulil Kline, roused from beneath a pile of straw in some cell in Old Archades – but this pair had come on recommendation, someone in the Thirty Houses who had become an investor, and found the group lacking in controllable assets.

“Cor,” Ioachim had finally said after his jaw had raised, “I’ve never seen fog like this.” And amidst a series of incredulous looks, the Engineer laughed, the first time his expression had changed from a sort of dead-eyed, detached interest in his surroundings since the group had set off from Balfonheim.

“This is no fog, my boy...” The Engineer had placed one hand on the young hume’s shoulder and stretched the other outward to encompass all of the Feywood, where the white haze trailed between the trees. “This is Mist, this is the source of all magick. A natural phenomena older than humes, older than even the Nu Mou, ‘tis a lifeblood of the earth that exists in all the air.”

D’ghoz snorted and shook his head. The Seeq were rotund, even the strongest of them, and their porcine faces were quick to emote, but offered poor chance at pronunciation; Like many, he didn’t speak often unless it were truly necessary, communicating more with wheezes from his snout and a scorning sound that more resembled flatulence.

“Eh?” Ioachim scratched behind his ear. “How’ve we never espied such before now, then, if it’s in all the air?”

“Wasn’t aware you had to see it, to know.” Lev horked and spit a fat gob of something awful at his feet. Big, bearded, barely dressed – he’d run hunts out of Dalmasca, even after being drummed out of Clan Centurio for conduct unbecoming, but Dalmasca was racked with plague and had been for much of the year; he’d fled to Balfonheim rather than catch the sickness as his former countrymen had. He viewed most of the assembled group with disdain, most like for the very reason that even a comparative boy like Ioachim had better relations with his clients. To call D’ghoz a “pig” would be a slur – would mark any of them for Archadian at the least – but to call Lev the same was nothing.

They all watched the Mist swirl, then, saw mirages of their own selves dance and flicker in the unearthly light – no fog, this, that was reflective, prismatic, warm and cool at once to the touch in a way indescribable.

“Fool,” had said Yulil, twisting and tumbling a dagger ‘round his fingers. “We are in Jagd; how could you not know the very word?”

“The word Jagd comes from the Garif, where it meant ‘hunt’ only,” mumbled Haeva – then to her left, now asleep in a hammock strung between the dead branches, looking as though she’d been caught up in a net of her own... a female Bangaa Ruga who had known the Golmore, was on vaguely-friendly terms with the Viera that made it their home. The Mist settled on her yellow scales gave her the look of a sculpture carved in ice. “To say Jagd means ‘mist-choked’ only in the common tongue, but they named it such from the creatures the Mist spawned.”

The Engineer tolerated all of the cross-talk, though to Dzul’s eye it all appeared to bore him, or at least waste time spent thinking on whatever sad calculations hung behind his eyes. He was aristocratic in bearing, were it not given away by his fine white gloves, the embroidery in his crimson expeditioner’s jacket, and the expense of his glasses, the three men and one woman of his group who wore the polished plate armor of the Archadian military, the ones who’d come at his side and watched over his every stomp through the muck as though they expected him to fall into a frost-covered bog and vanish from sight completely.

He drew from his pocket a polished stone, dark in color but brightening in his hand. Ioachim had goggled over the sight; as though he’d never seen magicite, before.

“Attend here, now, and I’ll instruct you.” With the stone between two fingers, he held it up and outward, and the two Salikawood hunters watched in awe as the Mist was drawn around in in spiraling loops, like water in a drain. The stone’s glow increased as it swallowed the Mist, and Dzul knew that to hold it would be to feel it vibrate softly, like a harp-string.

Now, at the beginnings of nightfall, as Dzul inspected her crossbow, repacked her other gear, and watched Ioachim trail his hand through the Mist, she had to admit that the Engineer had a flair for rhetoric, that his lesson seemed to have taken hold in a boy barely-lettered. She hated Archades and she hated the nobility, but she wanted to know a bit more about this man, who had gathered them all together to hunt for a faerie tale.

“For Mist to be visible,” he’d explained, “It must needs be quite dense, quite full indeed... places like the Feywood, where most races daren’t settle. To breathe in so much Mist at a time can be dangerous to the body, you see, for our capacity for magick, our very souls, are fragile things.” It was little wonder the Viera stayed further north, that the Nu Mou and the Garif never came here. Those more in touch with the world of magick were all the more endangered. “Magicite, those stones we use to enable our technology, our great feats of engineering, are able to hold the Mist, the way air can be held within a balloon.”

“How can a stone hold Mist?” Ioachim had asked, which had been the wrong tactic, in terms of understanding, for the man’s other side slipped free from its tether.

“Crystals are formed due to uniquely geometric structures in their composition; magicite such as this become an aetheric lodestone precisely because of that geometry. For the harmonic resonance of such structures allow the Mist to pass within, and then ‘tis stored because the space within, as with all such geometry, is larger than its volume without.”

Ioachim had looked stricken. Yulil and Lev had shaken their heads and stalked off to scout ahead, presumably hoping to inflict violence.

Now, Dzul came to stand next to the boy-hunter, crossbow returned to the thong tied ‘round one shoulder and over her back. Normally, Mist took years, decades, to accumulate in regular magicite. Only in a place like the Feywood could it be displayed so dramatically. Mist soaked into the land like dew, or collected underground as if a water table, and crystals leeched at it over the ages, waiting to be mined up and put to use. But here, in the Forest of Chaos, the air itself was made of volatile magick: they’d kept their spell uses to water and ice, worried that a spark or flame might spread through the Mist and torch them all alive. The camp was lit by electric lamps that ran on processed magicite stones, unfolded from packs hung over their chocobo’s back and placed around the camp in hopes of discouraging the nocturnal beasts.

It was quiet; the soft buzz of the maps, the rustling of the trapped bunny, and light snoring from Haeva, but you’d be forgiven for thinking they were alone there, in the Mist. Ioachim yawned, Dzul watched herself, an apparition in the Mist.

Dzul Zulejha was born to the northwest of Archades, in a small village in what was once called the Republic of Landis. Theirs was a small nation, but proud; they were predominantly hume, but lived in concert with the Bangaa minority and an encampment of Garif-miga that had assembled on the border almost a century ago. She used to play amongst the Garif-miga; her mother was a tradesman who would bring goods back and forth from the capital, and he was well-liked there. When the posting for this expedition came to her, she was amongst the Garif of Kerwon on the other side of the Ozmone Plain, men more proud and also more fragile than the families she’d known, but she knew their dances, and had been made well-welcome. Thirteen years ago, however, the Archadian Empire had come to claim Landis as their own. As the knights of Landis had broken and scattered into guerrilla groups, her mother had taken her on bocoback far from the land of her home, that she need never see it conquered.

Her mother would be shamed, that she’d taken the posting, but the Garif had a saying: to eat is the blood’s desire, and the heart needn’t pump without it.

She was twenty-four, her skin was darker than the earth, her hair lighter than a clear sky, her arms were wrapped to hide the scars, and they called her the Wolf-Slayer. She didn’t much recognize the girl from Landis in the woman who peered back from the Mist, but she also felt little shame in it.

Ioachim rubbed at the back of his head, looking to her. “Guessin’ I should apologize t’Go for boppin’ his snout, before.”

“You were hardly yourself,” she said to him with a half-smile. It was hard not to like Ioachim.

Behind them, Swati (pronounced like “Svati”) sneezed himself awake, grumbled, and rolled over in the dirt. A Bangaa Sanga who’d said little the entire trip; he wore a blindfold and was not allowed back to Nabradia and could shoot the wings from a fly with a Ras Algethi. He and Haeva had not exchanged a single look, less Dzul had missed it. She’d not expect the other races to need each other’s company, but when surrounded by Imperials who’d like as not use other words or worse, she’d think they’d find safety in numbers.

Ioachim shrugged. “Can’t say as I know who I was, then.” He walked off, and cleared her eyeline to see the Engineer sitting in a folding chair, one of his armored retinue standing at his side. He was taking notes and drinking an iced tea, as though he was on holiday along the Phon Coast. At his feet, the jar held those twinkling lights, orbiting each other lazily.

Before she’d known it was Imperials, she’d known it was to travel the Feywood, and she’d said yes. She’d said it because she hadn’t been, and because others would think she couldn’t. She’d said yes because the purse was good enough to send some along with a Kiltian missionary she knew, who made trips north to what remained of Landis, which wasn’t much. She said yes because most often when folly of this scale came well-funded, it collapsed early and you could walk away with the spoils for hardly an effort. Others had other reasons – Lev had the bloodlust, and Haeva through some complicated debt she felt she owed the Golmore Viera, Yulil fought for his freedom and Swati was making of it some elaborate suicide – most of all, Dzul wanted to see the truth of the stories.

The Nu Mou spoke of Giruvegan, and the Garif believed it; for a hume of the Empire to seek it out, he had to know something, that he believed it’d prove out.

And so she approached the man, and spoke the legend that she’d heard aloud.

“On the farthest shores of the river of time, shrouded deep in the roiling Mist, the Holy Land sleeps: Giruvegan.”

The Engineer did not look up from his notes. “A Viera song, that. ‘Who knows the paths? The way to its doors?’ I expect it’s more pleasant to the ear in the original tongue, more... lilting.”

She crossed her arms. “You think yourself the answer to its riddle?”

“This shroud roils well enough.” He slid his glasses back up his nose and looked up at her. And it was truth, that their camp looked like an island adrift in an abstract oil painting, some small broken chunk of the purvama if the skies were diseased. His pen made some long calligraphic flourish. “We shall see what we shall see.”

This answer wasn’t good enough by half. There was a rustle in the gnarled stalks a few yards away, and she unslung and fired; a small bipedal plant emerged with an arrow through its blossom head, not even yet a fruit; it spun around, clutching its chest and falling over like a stage performer. As it expired, a spare flew flickers of light, like the ones in The Engineer’s jar, drifted upwards from the body, seeming to dissipate into the Mist. The man in armor attending made a mildly satisfied noise.

“You rarely see it, save in places thick with Mist,” The Engineer mused. “Perhaps it would have served as visual aid for the boy, earlier.”

Dzul turned. “Why do we make for the city the Gods built?”

The man in the armor scoffed. “What need have Clansmen for reasons? The coin is good.”

“I’m of no Clan,” she said, betraying bitterness she’d thought behind her; this man raised an eyebrow, as though she’d not just shown her draw speed. He looked old, his silver hair in some ridiculous nobleman coif, but the muscles in his neck were as tight as the cabling inside an airship, and she suspected it for an even match. “You’d tell not the hunter of their prey?”

The Engineer snapped his notebook closed and eyed her over the rims of his glasses. “We seek the Eternal.”

She let a laugh slip out unbidden. “Is that all? Men of means have always sought wellsprings of youth; you hadn’t struck me as vain.”

“Vayne? Not I.” The Engineer smiled. It was a sad smile, hollow, and ghosts danced across his twitching cheeks, though if they were shadows in the Mist’s light she couldn’t say. “Though it’s true enough that Emperor Gramis himself would approve of our finding results, no, I alone am the fool whose errand we now pursue.”

“If you seek immortality, have an heir.” The mention of Gramis, despoiler of Landis, had soured her mood further. “That is what the gentry does, is it not?”

His eyes darkened, and for the first The Engineer lost the faculty of speech. But finally: “An heir I have; and no consolation prize he, though I’ve eyes set on more and greater.”

There was something there, an anger not at her, but something else, the anger her mother had tried to suppress as he’d explained their homeland was razed to dust. "Who watches your son now?"

He waved it off. “An apprentice, one of the shipwrights. Just above the age of reason, I think, in Moogle years.”

She could only imagine a boy raised by Moogles. The little creatures were collectors of family, mischievous at best, brilliant and insufferable. “Why?”

“Because he misaligned a glossair ring during an engine test and nearly exploded our entire laboratory,” The Engineer lied, and she turned away in disgust.

It was perhaps those moving lights, that this place was called the Feywood. They were everywhere, like stars that danced. Either the proximity to Mt. Bur-Omisace, or the image of them in the air like falling snowflakes frozen in time, suspended – they called them snowflies. It was said that their congregation confused the explorer, that those who saw them were forever lost. It was said that they were drawn to The Dark.

She wondered if she’d die here. If they all would, as Swati seemed to long for, if The Engineer’s boy would instead come of age upon an airship in flight.

She cast the man in the armor one last look before heading back towards her bedroll, noting tiredly his bemusement, and fished from her pack a bottle of Valendian wine, hard-bought, and as always a nostrum for the lost. She drank from it straight, looked at the label, decorated with a fine-penned image of Kali, though the old goddess was holding glasses in each of her hands. It tasted like her childhood smelled, the fields she’d run through, burnt by the men she brought to the Gods.

Yulil stirred, from his place on the ground beside her. He’d had no gil to buy creature comforts, but the years interred had left him inured to such, regardless. She offered him a pull of the bottle, and he lifted it to the sky, gulping greedily.

“You hate it like I do,” he said, hoarse, wiping his mouth the back of a fist.

“The Feywood?” She placed her crossbow on the ground before her so that she could lean back against the massive trunk. “I’ve seldom seen a Hell more beautiful.”

“Nay, the Imperials.” He cocked a head back towards where she’d stood moments before. “The hollow men.”

She sighed, drank. “To ignore them is to ignore half the world. In time they’ll own everything, or Rozarria will. I’ve not the luxury for pride.” The Garif west of Ozmone were proud, and they acted as if their land wasn’t shrinking by the year, claimed by Dalmascans or overrun with beasts even they couldn’t hunt.

He looked at her queerly, then, and took back the bottle. “...You don’t know.”

Dzul scowled. “What don’t I know, save why we were all fools enough to besiege God’s approach?”

Yulil glanced at the man in the armor, who stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, as though The Engineer had flown a statue in from Bhujerba. “Him. Guess his face isn’t as known, as he’s not wearing that impractical helmet they gave him. He’s only Judge Magister Phansi.”

Above them, the Mu bunny screeched and cried, sending Haeva into a long moan.

Phansi, the butcher of Landis. Dzul Zulejha could feel her heart stop.

She didn’t know if any of them would leave the Feywood alive. But she was sure, in that moment, that one man would not.

#Excerpts #Dzul Zulejha #Doctor Cid #Phansi

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