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soramei · 3 years

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Intentional - Part 1

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut,

Word Count: 7.3k

Masterlist

A/N: hey yall this is my first ff im posting on tumblr :D im kinda scared to post but i hope anybody who stumbles on lil ol’ me will join me along the way :) also important!!! i made oc/reader asian cus i am lol (and this whole thing is basically a glorified self insert) so plz keep this in mind when reading!! oh god i didnt realize how slow this first part was sry...

The cold silence of the room felt like stabs at your inside. You commanded your feet to stop bouncing up and down as you unconsciously started to bite off the dead skin of your bottom lip. The white corporate light from above reflected off your brand new lanyard hanging delicately from your neck. You felt the coarse blue fabric rub against your neck as you mindlessly fiddled with your lanyard; the newly printed photo of your face stared back at you with a smile.

The creak of the door to your left was what broke you from your nervous fidgets. Whipping your head up from your lanyard, you immediately stood up ready to bow to whoever came through that door.

It was a girl. She looked around the same age as you, if not older. Her attire was what gave her away. Her appearance essentially mirrored yours: hair tied back into a ponytail with a white blouse and black work pants. She also had the familiar blue ‘JYPE’ labeled strap hanging from her neck.

“Hello,” you spoke meekly, scared to disturb the cold silence that had a hold on the room you were in.

“Hello,” she replied. “My name is Choi Na-eun, I’m the new social media strategist intern and today is my first day.”

This is so relieving, you thought, another newbie to share the stress with me.

“This is my first day too,” you perked up, “I’ll be starting as the new junior Chinese marketing assistant.”

Getting the acceptance email from JYP Entertainment was definitely a high point in your life. The feeling of butterflies swarming your insides as you clicked the email open only to see your acceptance was immediately locked as a core memory. All the years of memorizing thousands of Korean and English vocabulary flashcards, the panic attacks before your finance exams, and the many, many late night coffee breaks were worth it the moment you received your first legitimate job offer, and from the esteemed JYP Entertainment company no less.

“Chinese marketing?” Na-eun asked. “So you aren’t from here, I take it.”

You shook your head. “I am from China. I completed my degree a while ago with a major in Language and a minor in Business. To be honest, I’ve done internships back home, but it’s been my dream to move to a new country.”

All of what you said was true. Up until now, your surroundings have never changed in all of your twenty-three years living. From the walk with your grandmother to daycare to the vast campus of your university, the view of your city has never changed. Your social circle stayed stagnant since you were able to talk and your love life was — for a lack of a better word — uneventful.

It wasn’t until the day you decided to start applying for careers outside your home country that you felt hopeful. Hopeful that you could find an escape from your inert lifestyle and escape the burnout and stress that has been building up over the years. And so, on a day when you were feeling unusually confident, you gathered up the courage and spent hours sending out applications to organizations all over Asia that pertained to your specific degree. The applications were mainly for small jobs at small companies, however, your strange spike of motivation gave you the confidence to apply to the everso esteemed JYP Entertainment located in Korea. Of course you knew about this company — you and your friends played songs by ‘Twice’ nonstop back in highschool — but you didn’t realize the full power that this company had on the entertainment market until you did your full research. To say that you thought you had no chance was an understatement. This application was so far of a reach that you purposefully forced your mind to erase all memory of even applying.

However, with your education, your work experience, and whatever tiny bit of luck you had, you somehow made it through the initial application process. Then the next. And the next. Then the interview. And now, you were nervously sitting in this white painted room with Na-eun, in a completely new country, waiting for your manager to come greet you.

“So you’re from China? You’ve got to teach me chinese sometime.” Na-eun smiled.

You giggled in return while nodding your head. You were relieved that you’ve met a potential friend so early in your career in this company. This was one of your big worries. With your social circle being so stagnant for the majority of your life back in China, you rarely had the opportunity to meet new people, much less make new friends.

You were about to inquire more into Na-eun��s life when the door to your left abruptly opened. In the blink of an eye, three new people strutted in — two women and one man. They seemed to be higher status than you and Na-eun judging by their attire. All three were styled in some type of blazer and dress pants and there was no lanyard to be found on any of them.

“Hello new employees,” the man greeted. Judging by his face, he looked to be in his late thirties at the least. His hair was styled back neatly and his lips slanted up, giving him a fox-like appearance. “I am Executive Manager Kim. Joined beside me on the left is Social Media Manager An and to my right is Marketing Manager Chen.”

Both you and Na-eun immediately stood up to bow and introduce yourselves.

“Hello. My name is Choi Na-eun, I’m the new social media strategist intern.” Na-eun said.

“Hello. My name is y/n, I’m the new junior Chinese marketing assistant.” You repeated after her, copying exactly what she said. You did not want to screw anything up on your first day, especially your first impression.

Manager Kim reached over to Na-eun, introducing himself and giving her a firm handshake. He then slowly moved over to you, and reached for your hand.

“Y/n,” he gave time for your name to settle on his tongue as he gave a sly smile. “You’re not from here, aren't you?”

You shook your head ‘no’. “No, sir. I’m from China where I studied language and business. I hope to do well here as the Chinese marketing assistant.” You replied, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so timid.

“I’m glad to hear,” Manager Kim chuckled, “I’m sure you’ll treat me and your other managers well.”

You felt an uncomfortable shiver pass through you as he brushed his thumb along your hand before letting go. This feeling was excused as nervousness, after all, this was your first day and your first time meeting your higher-ups.

You introduced yourself to Manager Chen, assuming that she would be the one you were to assist in your time here at JYPE. Judging by her last name, you presumed that she was Chinese as well.

“Forgive me for being so straight up Manager Chen, but are you Chinese?” You asked.

“That is alright, y/n,” she smiled, “I’m not. My Husband is, but I’ve lived in China for more than half my life. I don’t want to brag, but my mandarin has gotten proficient over the past decade or so.”

Proficient? It’s amazing. You thought. This first day was turning out better than you thought. Other than the weird feeling you received from Manager Kim, everything was turning out splendid. A potential friend and a manager that could speak your first language.

“Since it’s about noon right now,” Manager Kim took a look at his watch, “What do you all think about some lunch?”

The other managers nod their heads in agreement and gestures for you and Na-eun to follow them out of the waiting room you were in for so long.

The whole building seemed so clean. With every corner lit, by natural light or artificial light, you could clearly see that every room, every piece of furniture and decor had been purposefully placed. You couldn’t help but have a stupid look of awe plastered on your face as you mindlessly follow your superiors over to the cafeteria.

You turned your head over to Na-eun and gave her a tilt of the eyebrow, silently saying wow, this is where we work.

With the turn of a corner and several silent strides, your little group made it to the cafeteria.

The difference between your claustrophobic waiting room and this vast room was astonishing. With countless tables and romantic yellow lighting, this place almost resembled a five star restaurant. You’ve never seen a cafeteria as extravagant and clean as this before. However, to be fair, you’ve never had the experience of working with such a large corporation before.

The managers led you to the serving station where you grabbed yourself a tray and proceeded to spoon small portions of rice and side dishes onto your plate. This cuisine was different to what you were used to, but nonetheless looked delicious. You were prepared for the small cultural differences, especially with the food, but from everything you’ve witnessed so far, the culture shock would be easier to overcome than what you’ve anticipated.

“Have this soup y/n,” Manager Kim’s grating voice came from in front of you, interrupting your inner monologue. “It’s good for your complexion.”

As Manager Kim hands over the bowl of soup, you feel the sleeve of his blazer brush up against your shoulder, causing the pit of your stomach to drop.

First day nerves. That was what this feeling was. You thought.

You quietly thanked him with a small nod and walked briskly from the service line, trying to find where Na-eun went with the other two managers. Thankfully, they were just a step away and you quickly made your way over to the comfortable spot beside Na-eun. She gave you a small grin and you both followed your way to a table right in the middle of the room.

Soon, all five chairs of the table got filled and sounds of chopsticks tapping and scraping against plates and bowls filled your ears. An awkward silence dominates your table as you start to pick at your food.

“So,” Manager Chen cleared her throat, “after lunch I was thinking we should go to a meeting room and discuss Miss. Y/n’s role in our new project.”

“I was thinking the same for our new Intern Choi.” Manager An cut in, “What do you think, Manager Kim?”

“It all sounds good. I will be accompanying Manager Chen to her meeting room as I wish to also further discuss the preliminary steps for our project.” Manager Kim looked from Manager Chen over to you.

“Project?” You ask.

“We’ve had a very successful year with our idol groups and we wanted to ride this success and start marketing in China. Recently, we’ve noticed a very large and growing Chinese audience for this group. I’m sure you’re very curious now, however we can discuss further details once we are in the meeting room.” Manager Chen replies while taking a sip of the water in her glass.

Manager Chen appeared to be a very professional and respectable woman. With prominent collarbones and wide shoulders, she easily looked the part of a confident and adored manager. She needed minimal makeup to highlight her tall cheekbones, and even with a short heel on her feet she seemed to tower over you. However, her warm and comforting voice was what broke her intimidating demeanour. Just listening to her voice felt like you were back in your high school classroom with your favourite teacher explaining the motif of a sad love poem.

After some more awkward conversations mixed with a few work discussions, the five of you finished the delicious food on your trays.

“Please excuse me whilst I head to the restroom” Na-eun spoke up after your group finished clearing the table.

“Please excuse me as well.” You quickly followed, bowing as you both ventured off to the washrooms.

I should get her number so I’m not completely a loner in this place, you thought to yourself. And so, after a quick inner struggle to speak up, you finally decided to ask.

“Hey, should we exchange contacts? I don’t wanna look like the newbie eating in the cafeteria alone after today.” You chuckled.

“Totally!” Na-eun beamed. “I was actually thinking the same thing…”

And so, you both quickly exchanged each other's contact as you made your way to the restrooms.

The hall of the washrooms were narrow, hidden away from the main cafeteria. You walked in, deciding you only wanted to retouch your hair and makeup before your first official meeting. You carefully fix the loose hairs that somehow escaped the confines of your elastic and dab on a fresh layer of foundation before applying your lipstick which rubbed off while eating. Looking over at Na-eun, you see she’s quite in the zone redoing her mascara.

“Hey, I’ll just wait for you in the hall.” You said.

Na-eun gave you a disinterested nod back as she kept focusing on her mascara.

You walked to the end of the hall, leaned against the wall, and pulled out your phone. Smiling, you opened the virtual Tamagotchi app and saw your little friend staring back at you, bouncing up and down. The bundle of virtual pixels happily bounced as you fed and bathed it, making you happier in return. Playing this game, you were so entranced with your phone that the abrupt closing of the washroom doors broke you out of your hypnosis fast, causing you to flinch and drop your phone.

You looked up, only to see a brown haired man wearing a long sleeved black shirt. The hem of his sleeve fell, covering his hand as he bent down to pick up your phone. He stood back up, fully facing you now and you immediately recognized who he was. You weren’t a fool, of course you did all your research on the artists of JYPE before applying for the job. Looking down at you right now, holding your phone in his hand, was Bang Chan of Stray Kids.

The wispy tufts of his brown hair bounced over his forehead as he stepped over to you. He smiled, his dimple poking out of his cheek, and handed your phone back to you. “I think you dropped this.”

Blushing tomato red, you embarrassingly accepted the phone, trying not to make your shaking hands noticeable. It seemed like that failed, however, as you noticed him glance at your hands and dimple grow deeper.

“Thank you.” You meekly chirped and lowered your head, still in awe that you somehow bumped into a JYPE idol in the bathroom hallway of a cafeteria.

“It’s good that there’s no cracks.” Bang Chan said, looking in your eyes.

You looked back into his eyes. His smile never left his face, and you physically felt the warmth radiating off his body like rays from the sun. Some boring, objective part of your brain knew this interaction only lasted a fraction of a second, but you swore that time froze.

“Hyung!” A distant voice called.

Your trance was broken as Bang Chan looked over to the person calling his name. He turned back to you, politely bowed, and casually sauntered over to the man who called him.

What just happened? Your inner monologue ran, still trying to process the embarrassing interaction. The scent of his cologne lingered, swirling the atmosphere around your body.

Thankfully, you didn’t have too much time to dwell on this interaction as Na-eun finally opened the washroom doors and was making her way toward you.

You and Na-eun trailed behind the managers until you reached the set of elevators. It was there where you had to unfortunately separate from your comfort work buddy as she hopped in the elevator across from yours with Manager An. The other two managers led you to the elevator at the end and pressed the button for your destination floor. The ride in the elevator was silent. You stood there, fiddling with your nails.

Once the elevator gave the ding of arrival, the three of you headed down a hall where you presumed had the meeting room.

Manager Kim took a look at the watch on his wrist. “We are a minute late, everybody should be there already. Enter silently and respectfully.” He said in a stern voice.

You reached the frosted glass door of the meeting room and entered through the already opened door. The managers followed behind you with Manager Chen being the last one in and closing the door.

Your eyes widened at whom you saw.

There was Bang Chan, who sat in all his glory, staring right into your eyes with his mouth ajar. His shocked expression didn't last long, however, as he quickly composed himself to fit with the professional atmosphere of this room.

But why was he here? You thought. He’s an artist, isn’t this a management meeting?

Your inner monologue was broken by Manager Kim’s stern voice. “Y/n, why don’t you sit with me for today?” He asked with a slight tilt of the lips. His hand was hovering above your back, almost guiding you to the seat just right of the head chair.

Your heart rate quickened. There was no way that you could handle sitting right beside a high position manager on your first day. You barely knew what your duties entailed, you definitely could not handle the pressure of this seat today. You whipped your head around to look for Manager Chen. She was already sitting in her seat, looking like she was right at home.

“Manager Kim, if you don’t mind, I would like to sit in this position for today, '' a voice spoke up, “I have a lot of new ideas I’d like to share that are written in my notes.”

Bang Chan.

He paused a brief second, eyes switching between you and Manager Kim, and raised his iPad to show the screen filled with words.

“I don’t mind at all, go ahead.” Manager Kim monotonously replied. He then made his way to the head chair.

You looked over at Bang Chan, trying to subtly send the most grateful facial expression over to him. He returned your look, slightly grinning as his fingers tapped on the screen of his iPad and sat down to the right of Manager Kim. You looked over to see Manager Chen gesturing you to sit in the chair beside her and swiftly made your way over. At your seat, she handed you a notepad and pen, both adorned with the JYPE logo.

“Now, as of 1:02 p.m., September first, the meeting will officially begin.” Manager Kim clasped his hands together on top of the table. “As most of you already know, we are in the preliminary stages of planning a Chinese debut for our artist group ‘Stray Kids’. All we have right now is the estimated timeline, which is four months. We have a basic grasp of the concept we are working towards, however, as you all know, trends are always changing and growing. While we are working to create a new and original concept for Stray Kids, we also want the concept to gather as much audience reception as possible.”

Wow. That was a lot to take in. Your hands struggled to keep up with writing down what Manager Kim was saying. You knew this relatively new group was really starting to explode in the past year, but a debut in another country? This group must work really hard to even have the company consider a step as risky as this. So this is why Bang Chan is also involved in this meeting.

You peaked your head up from your notepad. Bang Chan sat across from you, one hand on his chin and the other one holding the pen to his tablet.

Manager Kim then carefully discussed the duties that each group in the room would take. Many of the jobs were directly involved with developing the concept itself, such as producing music, concept art, and theme development. Your pen never took a break from gliding on the notepad as you hurriedly jotted down everything that Manager Kim said.

Eventually, Manager Kim’s delegations moved to Manager Chen. “Manager Chen, I’ll let you take over from here.”

“Thank you Manager Kim,” Manager Chen cleared her throat. “While my main job here was to market Korean comebacks towards the Chinese audience, this new project changes things up a bit. Now, not only will I be in charge of marketing to the Chinese audience, but I will also be directly in charge of the concept itself. I will be working carefully with our team in China to monitor the trends which we can incorporate into our debut.

“This is my new assistant, y/n,” She turned and gestured to you. You politely nodded your head. “She will be gathering information on useful trends and reporting back to me, as well as some translating. Please report any ideas that you deem useful to her by the end of every week for her to sort through and deliver to me.”

You almost want to call Manager Chen crazy for giving you so much power, after all, you were only starting out as her assistant. Despite this, however, you were determined to go above and beyond with the new responsibilities given to you, after all, you knew that choosing to work in an organization as big as JYPE would take blood, sweat, and tears.

After some clarifications given by Manager Chen and a few more questions directed at her, Manager Kim took the reins back in his hands.

“Now, as I’m sure you all know, this is Bang Chan: the leader of Stray Kids. Although our management team is in charge of this debut, we like to include the opinions of artists whenever possible. He will make an appearance whenever he can and act as a representative of Stray Kids, sharing their ideas and opinions.” Manager Kim explained.

Bang Chan politely introduced himself, and quickly went on to express some concerns of his members. He made sure that each concern was answered thoroughly by Manager Kim before moving on to the next.

“As for our concept ideas,” Bang Chan’s soft brown eyes met yours, “will I have to report to y/n?”

You felt your ears redden.

“You could, yes,” Manager Kim straightened his back, “but if you find the weekly deadlines too much of a problem, you may just report to me or at any subsequent meeting.”

“No worries sir,” Bang Chan’s eyes lingered on yours for a fraction of a second more before grinning at Manager Kim, “I’m always punctual.”

The rest of the meeting consisted of more introductions and preliminary plans. After about an hour, everybody seemed satisfied with the contents of the meeting and were starting to pack up all their clutter on the table. You looked over at Manager Chen, silently asking what should I do next?

Manager Chen smiled. “Let's head to my floor. I can give you a quick tour, you can get settled at your desk. I have some paperwork that I’m almost done with; I’m sure you’ll have no problem finishing it for me.” She already was standing up and straightening over the creases of her jacket.

You stood up as well and followed behind Manager Chen like a lost baby duckling. You both made your way over to Manager Kim to bid farewell. You politely thanked him, said your goodbyes, and were about to leave when he stopped the two of you.

“Manager Chen, let’s go out for drinks tonight.” Manager Kim took a look at the intricate watch on his wrist. “With our whole team, of course. It’ll be a welcoming night and we can get to know the people on our team better.”

“That’s a great idea, Manager Kim,” Manager Chen nodded at his idea in approval. She turned on her iPad to quickly get a glimpse at her schedule. “What do you think y/n? Can you make it tonight? I know this is very last moment, but I think it’ll be a great opportunity for you to get to know your coworkers better.”

“I should be able to make it.” You definitely could make it. You had no plans anyways.

“Am I invited to this top secret party you’re all having?” A now very distinguishable voice came from behind you. Bang Chan stared at Manager Kim with a very mischievous expression.

“Would your manager allow it?” Manager Kim questioned, knitting his eyebrows.

“I’m on a diet, so I can’t drink alcohol or eat anything,” Bang Chan’s nose scrunched up in annoyance, “but I want to be as involved as I can. Just because I’m an idol doesn’t mean I can’t help behind the scenes as well.”

“Very well,” Manager Kim nodded with a fixed expression, “Let’s all meet at that restaurant about a block away west. I’ll go tell the others.” And with that, Manager Kim left you, Manager Chen, and Bang Chan to stand in awkward silence.

“Well,” Bang Chan cleared his throat and clapped his hands together, “I’ll get going as well to do some work now, but it was nice meeting the both of you.”

“You as well.” Manager Chen replied for the both of you and Bang Chan left soon after.

Manager Chen then led you to the elevators again and you headed up yet another few floors to reach your destination. You nervously fiddled with your hair as you silently waited behind your boss, looking up at the smooth lines of her blazer every few seconds. The elevator doors dinged, letting you know of its arrival. The two of you swiftly headed out the elevators and walked to what you presumed was Manager Chen’s office area. You kept following behind Manager Chen in silence before you stopped in front of a set of doors that looked identical to the ones at the previous meeting room. Manager Chen opened the doors for you, and you headed in.

You paused a step in, looking wide-eyed at the interior. The office was clean. A big glass desk sat right in the middle of the vast room in front of a huge set of windows. There were a couple of soft looking chairs placed right before the desk with a huge rug right underneath it. Over to your left, you spotted a water dispenser with a kettle right beside it. You stared at the room a bit longer before realizing you must have looked very stupid with that astonished look on your face.

“Is this your office, Manager Chen?” You asked.

“Yes. It seems that you like it,” She chuckled. You felt the heat rise to your ears.

“Since you’ll be working so close to me, I’m sure you’ll be happy to come here more often.”

“Thanks.” You awkwardly laughed. You blamed your bad response on the fact that you still weren’t familiar with the language, not your blatant awkwardness.

Manager Chen made her way over to her desk, picking up a small stack of papers. “These are some letters I’ve received from several designer companies in China. Since we are still in the very preliminary stages of this project, we would like to keep our options open for the stylists here.” She picks an annotated letter from the pile. “I’ve translated and created a summary of the main points of this letter. There are a few more left which I believe I can trust you with. Just do as I did with this letter and add the sample pictures along with it.”

You quickly complied, taking the stack of papers from her hands.

“I’ll show you to your new work space.” She led you out of your office and over to a cubicle that wasn’t too far away. It was considerably smaller compared to Manager Chen’s office, but you thought it had a certain coziness to it. Plus, working close to your coworkers could also boost your motivation. “Here is your desk, it’s not the most exciting thing, but you may bring photos or whatnot to decorate it. Now, I’ll let you settle in and get started on your work. You can meet me at my office around six, I can double check your work before we leave.”

You thanked her before she left and immediately got started on your work. You diligently translated the whole of the letters before picking out the main points that matched with Manager Chen’s example. After this was done, you included the photos that came with each letter and slipped them into their own cozy folder. This work was monotonous, sure, but it was something you needed on your hectic first day here.

You were so captivated by your work that you completely forgot about the time. The sun was starting to set, and you only remembered to look at the time after you tucked your last letter neatly in its folder. You briefly panicked, praying that you weren’t making your manager wait. Thankfully, it was only a quarter until six. You took the next fifteen minutes double checking your work, making sure to also check the time every once in a while. At exactly six, you left your desk and scurried over to the big doors of Manager Chen’s office.

Knocking a couple times, you waited patiently to be let in.

“Come in.”

You let yourself in, handing the papers to your manager, then sat quietly in one of the chairs before her desk, crossing your fingers together. You fiddled with your thumbs, patiently waiting for Manager Chen to speak up.

“Not bad, this is some decent work.” Manager Chen announced as soon as she finished glossing over your work. “I’ve noted some places that you can either fix or improve. I’ll scan them and hand you a copy tomorrow.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. A tidal wave of relief washed over you as you let yourself relax further into your chain. Not bad, this is some decent work. You proudly repeated this moment in your brain. Although you were disappointed with the mistakes that you let slip through, to get somewhat of a compliment on your first day meant a lot to you.

“Shall we get going now?” Manager Chen asked.

You grabbed your bag and stood up. “I’ll let you lead the way.”

_______

It seemed like all you were doing on your first day was following Manager Chen around like a lost puppy. The situation right now was no exception either, as you tried to copy her confident strides over to the restaurant a block down. You watched the busy rush hour streets and sidewalks fill with people, some people going home after a long day, some people going to party just like you.

Soon, after a few more minutes of walking, the both of you arrived at the small wooden doors of the restaurants. It seemed like the both of you were a bit late as Manager Kim was already waiting in front of the entrance with the rest of the team. Bang Chan was also there, head down looking at his phone.

“Sorry we’re late, have you been waiting for long?” Manager Chen somehow sounded confident despite making everybody wait on her.

Her voice seemed to have caught everybody’s attention. You watched as Bang Chan swiftly turned his head up from his phone, his eyes making contact with yours. You immediately focused your eyes somewhere else, trying to casually play off the fact that your eyes subconsciously drifted to him.

“We’ve only been waiting for a couple minutes.” Manager Kim gave a tight smile. “Let’s go in before you all get too cold.”

Your little group of around ten people slowly entered the doors, filling the restaurant. Manager Kim called over a waitress, signaling that you had ten people in your group, and let the waitress lead you all to a long wooden table.

The restaurant was nice, nothing too fancy, but that’s how you could tell the food was good. With dim lighting and tightly packed tables, it made you feel fuzzy and warm on the inside.

However, your thoughts on the restaurant were soon broken by a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n, why don’t you sit with me?” Manager Kim’s lips curled up, “After all, this is a work gathering, how good of a boss would I be if I didn’t even treat my newest team member to a drink?”

Your brain was in shambles. You seriously didn’t feel comfortable sitting with him all night. However, the logical side of your brain was saying something different. He’s just being nice as a boss. You don’t know how people in this country act anyways, stop being paranoid.

It seemed like your inner turmoil was taking longer than necessary, as you heard another familiar voice speak up.

“Manager Kim-” Bang Chan called out.

“You don’t need to sit with me here, Bang Chan.” Manager Kim chuckled as he stared directly in Bang Chan’s eyes. “I’d rather not talk about work outside the office.”

You watched as Bang Chan’s eyebrows furrowed, looking back to you in reluctance. You smiled at him before turning your attention to Manager Kim. It was just one night, right? Plus, there’s no harm in establishing a good impression with your boss.

“I’ll sit with you, Manager Kim.” You smiled, “thanks for offering.”

And so, you took your seat next to Manager Kim at the table. Bang Chan, who was to your left, looked askance at Manager Kim for a brief second before his facial expression did a complete 180. His familiar, boy-ish smile was plastered on his face like it was the most natural thing.

When the menus came, everybody at the table — including you — started to order onslaughts of food and alcohol. After brief moments of casual chatter about topics such as the weather or how good the food was here, everything that was ordered arrived at your table.

You grabbed a can of beer and started sipping on it. You’ve drank before — of course — with your old friends at university, but it’s been at least a year since you last did. Better ease myself in. You thought.

However, your preconceived plans were ruined when a small glass of clear liquor got pushed in front of you.

“Y/n, surely you aren’t going to sip on that can all night.” The ends of Manager Kim’s lips curled up.

“Wasn’t planning to, sir.” You replied while tipping the glass up and into your mouth. The bitter liquid burned your throat as it went down. You took a moment to recollect your surroundings. Seems like your tolerance was higher than you thought.

“Bang Chan, do you not drink? Why not eat something then?” Manager Chen pointed to the food on the table.

“No can do ma’am, I’m on a strict diet. My manager would kill me.” Bang Chan pointed to his glass of water.

“In that case,” Manager Chen filled another glass, “Y/n, have another drink.” She slid the glass down the table in front of you.

You gladly accepted your second drink, downing the alcohol in one go. Your eyes instinctively squeezed together as you felt your throat burn. From the tips of your ears to the ends of your toes, your whole body felt warm and alive.

You lost track of the time. As your conversations got livelier, your head got fuzzier. You stopped counting your drinks after four, especially since so many people were eager to offer the new employee a drink. Although your vision was starting to blur, you could still think straight. I can still think, you thought to yourself, still — what a powerful buzz.

Your thoughts ran rampant in your mind as you stared at the lightbulb across the room. What a pretty light. So bright. Warm.

“Y/n.”

Was the light calling your name?

“Y/n!”

Your eyes focused again and snapped away from the lightbulb. Where was the voice coming from? You slowly turned your head. Bang Chan.

“Hi.” You smiled.

“Hi.” He smiled back. So bright. Warm. “It’s been hours and I haven’t even offered you a drink yet.”

You tried to focus your eyes on his face as he slid the glass over to you. One more drink wouldn’t hurt your buzz, right?

You gladly accepted, slowly moving your hand over to the glass to pick the clear liquid up. It went down in one go just like all the others.

Huh? Was this water?

You struggled to focus your eyes on the person who offered you the drink. “That was yummy.”

“I bet it was,” the talking blur chuckled, “How about another one?”

You nodded, then took the glass he slid towards you. It’s funny how water flows even when in a cup. Water. You needed to pee.

“Hey,” your words dragged out, “where’s uh, where’s the washroom?”

“Follow me. I’ll show you.” Manager Kim stood up and reached his hand out towards you. You didn’t want to take it, but it seemed like nobody was noticing his offer.

Reluctantly, you took his hand and stood up, only to stumble down again. Did your knees not want to listen?

“Whoa there, better hold on.” Manager Kim said.

“No, I can walk. I-I can walk.” You let go of Manager Kim and tried to focus all your brainpower on moving your feet in a straight line. This tactic only worked for a second, however, as your knees gave in and you stumbled down.

“It’s obvious that you can’t.” Manager Kim’s lips turned up. “It’s time for you to go home. I’ll take you back.”

What? No. You didn’t want Manager Kim to take you home, not after all the awkward events of today and the general vibe from him. You tried to express your thoughts, but nothing came out of your mouth.

“Manager Kim, you’ve been drinking!” Bang Chan’s voice came from some part of the room. “It’s not safe to drive, I’ll call a taxi for you.”

“What about Y/n here? I’ll get a taxi for us both.” Manager Kim said.

“I called my manager earlier to pick me up, we can drop her off along the way. It’s not a good idea to put two drunk people in a car. I’m completely sober right now, so let me do all the work.” Bang Chan grinned, patting Manager Kim on his shoulder.

“Is that what you want, Y/n?” Manager Kim glared.

You dizzily nodded.

“Alright. In that case, I can call my own taxi later.” Manager Kim grimaced.

“Stay safe, Manager Kim.” Bang Chan smiled. He turned to you. “My manager’s been waiting outside for a while now, do you want to leave now?”

You nodded. You tried to start walking again, but your damn knees just wouldn’t listen.

“Do you want to hold on to me?” Bang Chan knitted his brows together and held out an arm.

“I,” you slurred, “can walk.” You tried to start your feet again, only to end up stumbling down.

“I know you can,” Bang Chan said as he reached his hands out to stabilize you, “but — ah — I’m really tired after today. Can you hold on to my arm so I won’t fall out of exhaustion?”

You agreed to help him. Bang Chan waved to everybody still at the table before leading the two of you out to a black SUV. He allowed you to stumble your way in the back seats first before sliding in himself. He asked you for your address, which took many tries for you to accurately type it into his phone.

You leaned your head against the window, staring at passing blurred lights as Bang Chan’s manager started driving. Just being away from the loud and bright environment seemed to have cleared your head a little, but the pounding would not stop. You cursed yourself for being so irresponsible on your first day, especially because you were still alone in this new country.

“Hey,” you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder, “want some water?” You looked over to see Bang Chan holding out a plastic bottle with the lid screwed off.

You languidly reached your hand out for the bottle and gulped down as much water as you could in one breath before handing it back to him. The street lights started getting blurrier as you tried to fight exhaustion, the muscles in your eyelids starting to get more and more uncontrollable.

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re almost there. Ten more minutes.”

You couldn’t hear anything after that, however, as you felt your eyes give up on you and your body fall into a deep sleep.

“Y/n… Y/n.” A familiar voice called.

You fluttered your eyes open, your head pounding. Not knowing where you were, you surveyed your surroundings in a panic. It seemed as though you were in the back of a car… Parked outside of your apartment building?

“Hey, you’re finally awake.” Bang Chan’s voice entered your ear. It all came rushing back to you; the restaurant, the drinking, entering the SUV.

“How long have we been parked here?” Your groggy voice sounded inhuman. You had to clear your throat a couple times.

“It’s only been twenty or so minutes. I’m not allowed to leave the car, are you able to get home alone? I can ask my manager to go with you.” Bang Chan scratched the back of his neck.

“I should be fine.” You mumbled, a bit embarrassed to have fallen asleep in the car of a person you just met that day. This wasn’t even his car, it was his manager’s.

“Hey… can I put my number in your phone?” Bang Chan avoided your eyes. “Just so you can tell me when you get home.” He quickly added.

“Okay.” You awkwardly handed him your phone with your contacts already opened. He quickly typed his phone number in before handing it back to you.

“Text me when you get home. Remember to lock your door, okay?”

You thank both him and his manager before hurrying back to your apartment. Your head was still pounding unrelentlessly as you pressed the elevator button for your floor. The events of today were still unprocessed in your brain. You met a potential friend, which was a highlight. However, you also met two higher up managers and an actual idol, only to get hilariously drunk in the presence of. At least it’ll make a good story to tell my mom. You thought.

In no time, you made it in your apartment and locked the door behind you, remembering what Bang Chan told you in the car. You texted the new number in your phone.

Y/n: Hi. It’s y/n. I just entered my apartment.

Not even a minute later, your phone lit up, signaling a new text message.

Bang Chan: great!! remember to lock the doooor hahaha ( ◕ω◕✿ )

You subconsciously grin at your phone. Cute. Throwing your phone haphazardly on your bed, you begrudgingly began your night routine. After washing up and throwing on a random shirt from your closet, you fell on your bed ready to sleep. You were about to close your eyes when your phone lit up again with a ding. It was another text.

Bang Chan: Hey… Just so you know, if you ever feel unsafe around the office just tell me okay? I’ll always try to help you in whatever way I can.

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #skz imagines #bang chan #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan smut

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twelfth-harbinger · 3 years

Note

Hello, I hope you're doing great! ^^ Could I request a Kaeya x male Reader, where the reader is a thief and Kaeya cathes him and teaches him a lesson (nsfw)

A/n: I live for this shit. This is...kind of kinky so.. & I wrote this at 4am. Listening to: Throat babyyyyyy

Mentions: Blowjobs, Denial, Teasing... blowjobs.

Warnings: Nsfw Face fucking at its finest, A very dominant Kaeya.

The King of Thieves

Kaeya left Angel’s Share for the night. Dark cheeks tinted a dusty deep red from a night of indulgence. Diluc was there, tending the bar coincidentally.

“There have been a plethora of incidents revolving around thieves as of late. I suggest you be mindful when leaving for the night Kaeya.”

His younger brother’s light warning drifted back into the depths of his mind as he strolled the nearly vacant streets of Monstadt’s city. Of course, on his way back to headquarters; the Knight took the long way around. Cutting through a specific alleyway that lead to a patch of grassy plains above a stone stair case. Out the corner of his eye he saw a shadow zip by and over the short roof top of someone’s home. As he moved to take a precautionary step backwards the shadow figure landed behind him. Assuming Kaeya was drunk enough to one up, the figure moved in to grab Kaeya’s shoulder in efforts to flip him onto his back and steal his vision. Kaeya, in a rebuttal too quick for this thief’s skill set. Side stepped and ducked, only to elbow his assailant in the chest cavity and then reappear behind them with his sword drawn.

“Why is Diluc always right?” Kaeya sighed, a frown on his face as he stared at the person in front of him, whom he had knocked the wind right out of. He wasn’t sure who the person was, given they were covered from head fo toe in all black. When Kaeya saw that they were recovering he twirled his sword, knocking them unconscious with the hilt of his blade. When the thief dropped, Kaeya looked down at them. He moved to uncover their face and saw a young man. He saw, you? His eye went wide, you were not much older than Diluc. The young Knight couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see such wasted potential resort to something of a scoundrel at best. He threw your arm over his shoulder, picking you up with a deep exhale. Effortlessly carrying you off back to one of the empty confinement cells within the knights headquarters. The one he picked out had been out of use for quite some time, given Klee had blown it up rendering the cell unlivable (for her). — It was a perfect place for a thief, especially one that tried to steal his vision.

Kaeya sat on the edge of a small table in the corner of the room, arms crossed and a light frown on his face. He waited until you had come through and regained consciousness. In a panic, your dark eyes darted across the room. Something Kaeya found quite amusing.

“Where..am I?” You huffed out, there was a draft in the room and you visibly shivered. Kaeya stayed seated looking at you.

“In the Knights of Favonius’ HQ, a confinement cell to be more precise.” He replied nonchalantly and as you tried to move, chains rattled against your wrists and ankles.

“Let me out of here, else you’ll be sorry—“

You were cut off by Kaeya’s abrupt laugh, it made you frown and your brow crease. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?” Kaeya’s chuckle faded into a sigh, his finger tapping idly on the bicep of his crossed arms.

“Nothing, it’s just you are in no position to talk. In fact, I bet if I did away with you right here I could get away with it.” His smile may have been playful but his eye hinted at something much darker.

“You.. can’t do that, you’re an honor bound knight it would be a disgrace—“ Kaeya smiled, this time it wasn’t playful but it still held amusement.

“Relax I’m not a barbarian. Why don’t you tell me why you tried to rob me in the middle of an alleyway and most interestingly... try to take my vision.” After Kaeya stated his questions there was a stagnant silence that sat in the stale air of the confinement cell. Kaeya looked down at you, who shifted uncomfortably. “Oh? No answer? Are you sure that’s what you wish to do?” Your eyes drifted over to look up at Kaeya. Who moved from his spot on the table to walk towards you. In the dim light of the cell his features illuminated, it may have been the full moon that peeked through the barred window that made him look so appealing. The sound of his boots tapping down on the stone floors of the cell sent a slight chill down your spine. He towered over you as you sat on the floor. A light smirk threatened the corner of his lips, as he stared down at you with a quizzical eye. The air around him was cool and it seemed to get even colder as he knelt down to eye level. “I think I’ll give you until the count of say- three.” He held up three fingers before putting them down.

“What?”

“One.” He moved his hand behind your head almost as if he was cradling you. Unbeknownst to you his sword appeared in his palm. Your side profile reflected off the blade as it drew near your head. “Two.” His voice was deep and melodic and his tone evermore serious as he counted down. He wasn’t smiling anymore, seeing him this serious started giving you second thoughts about keeping your mouth shut. He was so close you could smell him, eye half lidded as he stared down at you and a crease in his brow. Against the back of your neck your hair brushed against the blade that dangerously kissed the skin of the nape of your neck. He leaned in and as he drew near, a light grin forming at his lips. Was he enjoying the reaction he was getting out of you? Or the interrogation process? Your hand pressed against his chest to try and move him back you couldn’t stand to have him that close. He paused for a split second, his eye dropping down to your hand, it was warm. “Thre-“

“Wait!” You say, your dark eyes shifting up to peer into his. Staring at him this closely, being able to smell him. It was hard not to think about the things you wanted him to do to you while sitting helpless on the cell floor. He was ridiculously attractive and equally as intimidating when he wished to be.

“Hm? Did you change your mind?” He asked, flashing a cold smile. Your cheeks flushed, he smelled like the first snow fall of winter, shamelessly it made blood rush to where you didn’t need it to. His eyes drifted down briefly before he looked at you more closely. “Or maybe you didn’t?” He purred lightly and a smile crossed his face again.

“I-I..I was just.. curious as to what it’s like to have a vision I don’t have one.” You spoke out, Kaeya didn’t sense a lie from you. Even as you continued to try and make him feel sorry for you. “I haven’t been blessed by the Archons. I’m poor and I...I can’t do much of anything let alone use a vision. Being a thief is all I’ve ever known. The only way I know to survive. I wasn’t going to hurt you.” His brow creased as you babbled that last part, you caught yourself and spoke sheepishly. “Not..that I could’ve anyway—“ Kaeya laughed again, he moved back but not very far. His sword disappeared in one swift movement and he took a minute to look at you. Your hands moved over to your lap, you didn’t think he noticed.

“What am I going to do with you hm?” He pondered aloud as he stood up, a hand resting on his hip. He stared down at you, “You assaulted me in an alleyway, tried to rob me and now..” You couldn’t help but think it wasn’t much of an assault, you were the one who got hit square in the chest and knocked unconscious after all.

“Kaeya-“

“And you know who I am? You’re quite the bold thief. Tell me if I let you go, how do I know you won’t do it again?” You shifted uncomfortably, nothing he was saying was arousing but, truthfully you fell victim to his charm the moment he began questioning you, not to mention the count down and intimidation attempt. Kaeya noticed, he was quite observant but he was doing his job- for the most part.

“I won’t.” You lied, he saw right through it. Kaeya crossed his arms again, if he felt any remorse for you before it was gone now. You avoided eye contact with him even as he stared down at you.

“Do you like being chained up in a cell, you’re excited.” He asked genuinely, his voice was soft and curious. It made you twitch uncomfortably. You shook your head and Kaeya tilted his. “Really? Your as hard as this stone floor, I wasn’t going to tease you about it but it only...fed into every words I’ve said to you thus far.” You could hear him smile, you made the mistake of looking up at him. He was gorgeous and the blush that crossed your face made his smile widen.

“I..can’t help how you’re making me feel. You’re just-“

“I’m just what?” He cut you off, moving his hand to rest on the top of your head. He gently ran his fingers through your hair with his gloved palm. Idly moving his hand down to the back of your head before gripping the ends of your hair between his fingers. “Were you going to say charming? Sexy, hot?” He asked, his grip on your hair wasn’t that tight or painful it aroused a light whimper to fall from your lips. Kaeya noticed your hand palming your growing erection — your pants were growing tighter you couldn’t help it. With his boot he kicked your hand away and stepped on the back of your hand, causing the restraints he had you in to rattle against the stone floor. “You did something bad why should you gain pleasure after committing a crime? As I see it I’m the victim here. You assaulted me in an alleyway.” His grin was wide and with his free hand he moved to unzip his pants. Immediately your mouth began to water as he slipped his hand inside to touch himself right before your very eyes.

“I-I won’t do it again..” You lied once again and he saw through it yet again. His grin only widened, he was going to enjoy this.

“I don’t believe you, therefore...” His grip tightened in your hair and he pulled your head back. “I think I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.” The weight he had on your hand increased when he saw you try to move your other hand to slip inside your own pants, it was a warning not to try and relieve yourself. You moved your hand away with a whine as Kaeya freed himself from the tight confines of his trousers. His thick member prodded against your cheek before he let it rest on your lips. He let out a light and playful hum as he stared down at you, almost as if he was beckoning you to open your mouth.

“Kaeya I-“ As soon as you opened your mouth he pushed himself inside, the taste of his pre made you shudder and your eyes flutter. He held your hair and head firmly in place as he thrusted deeper into your mouth. He was genuinely surprised that you were able to take him all the way to the back of your throat.

“It’s not polite to speak with your mouth full.” He teased. “Go on, keep stuffing your face thief.” As you struggled to swallow his cock, you couldn’t stop your hand from reaching down to palm the hard tent in your pants. Kaeya caught wind of your actions and knocked your forearm to the side with his other boot. The deep groan you let out reverberated against his shaft, Kaeya had to bite back his own moan as he pulled your hair again which inevitably moved your head back so your lips wrapped around his tip. “If you do it again you’ll regret it.” He wasn’t smiling when he spoke, it was a threat you weren’t going to see through to the end. Kaeya chuckled lightly and moved his free hand down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing sweetly against your cheekbone. “You’re so obedient...”

He mumbled, his touch was gentle as he moved his hands up to tangle in your hair. It was almost too gentle and had you questioning his motives. You made eye contact with him and a sly grin spread across his face like wildfire. Without warning his grip tightened to hold your head in place. He slammed hips against your face, bottoming out completely in the back of your tight throat. He groaned out quietly and under his breath, as the ridges of your throat and mouth constricted against his thick shaft. Your soft lips tickled the underside of the base of his cock. His pants sagged and his balls pressed against the stubble of your chin, which only edged him on and reflexively urged his hips to thrust against your face. He exhaled with a light chuckle that sifted through the quiet air of the confinement cell.

You whimpered, drooling all over his cock as you squeezed your eyes shut, it took everything in you not to milk and pump your shaft. Your balls were heavy and full and you ached for a release that you didn’t think you’d get. Kaeya looked down on you to subconsciously check to see if you were okay and to see the sight of his dick disappearing down your throat. He pulled back by a few centimeters and you successfully breathed in through your nose. The taste of his pre on your tongue reminded you of a fermented apple wine. None too surprising to say the least and all the more enjoyable.

Kaeya rutted into your mouth again, you choked and he chuckled. He felt your tongue swirl around his shaft against a prominent vein that curved up from the base of his cock. Your leg twitched in need as he moved, beginning a rough and steady rhythm. He noticed the bulge in your throat, it only made him move faster. Kaeya let out deep exhale and a light moan that was simply music to your ears. His head tilted back as you took him, he glanced down at you for a moment and his lips curled into a smile seeing you hard at work.

“If your mouth is this tight, I wonder how your ass must feel.” He teased you, moving one hand down to wipe away that inevitable tears that formed in your eyes. His other hand loosened in your hair but still rested in place idly. He pulled back completely, giving you a chance to breathe. As you caught your breath Kaeya looked down at you, the blush that stained your cheeks inflated his ego a bit. He arched a brow, waiting for you to keep going.

You gave into that cute, suggestive stare and moved your hand up to stroke him; something you wanted to do for yourself since he started fucking talking. You dragged your tongue along the thick length of his member before taking him into your mouth. What you didn’t choke down, you pumped with your hand. Kaeya finally let out a proper moan it was deep and breathy, he started throbbing in your mouth and palm; biting down on his lower lip in ecstasy. In the midst of milking him dry he took hold of your hair again, only to push himself right back down your throat, he needed that tight fit to finish him off. You were going to swallow it all, not that you minded; he was as inebriating as Everclear. As he filled your throat and mouth, he pulled back his warm cum dripping down your chin. He watched you reach up to wipe it away and lick the back of your hand.

His eye drifted down to your continually throbbing erection, he noticed a dark spot where your own pre had ruined your trousers. He stepped back and moved his hand away from your hair, shifting as he pulled his pants up only to zip them up. Your expression was absolutely priceless in his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak to find that your jaw was already sore from his earlier actions. Kaeya moved to sit on the edge of the table again with a light smile on his face.

“What?” He says like he didn’t just pump his seed down your throat. He made an ‘O’ with his mouth as he looked at your disheveled and needy appearance as if he had forgotten. He didn’t. He moved to toss you a key to the restraints you were in. “You’re free to go and...do something about that.” He smiled with a teasing glint in his eye, you looked at the key in front of you. Picking it up with a frown on your face as your freed yourself. “I told you I’d teach you lesson you wouldn’t forget.” He chuckled moving to cross his arms over his chest. You looked at him and he smirked.

“Asshole.” You mumbled, moving to stand up, Kaeya looked your way not feeling remorseful in the slightest.

“You do realize you tried to assault me and steal my vision. I think I let you off rather easy if you ask me. Going straight to Jean just didn’t feel right.” He quipped, and stood to walk over to the door opening it up for you to go. “I don’t want to see you here again, I’d rather the Cat’s Tail or Angel share preferably. Maybe then you’d get a proper..reward and the aftercare I so graciously give to those who listen.” He said, completely insinuating he wanted to see you again under the right circumstances. With a pout you exited the cell, there wasn’t really much you could say to that. You were indeed happy you didn’t have to spend the night in a dingy unlivable cell. Kaeya leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. “Till we meet again King of Thieves.”

Bonus

A week went by, you were at Sara’s sitting down to a late night meal before heading off to Springvale for a few days to visit family. You poked at the fisherman’s toast you ordered, thinking about the Knight who left you thoroughly frustrated. You wanted to beat his ass in all honesty but, apart of you just wanted to—

“Well if it isn’t The King of Thieves.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin kaeya #gi kaeya #genshin impact imagines #kaeya imagines #kaeya genshin impact #kaeya x reader #kaeyagenshinimpact #I love Kaeya lmao #sooo I’m writing something called the contract with Zhongli anddddddd 👀

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mrspettyferr · 3 years

Text

Reason 1035235 Book 5 is Elriel and Book 6 is Vucien

With the way these books are being written, one stand alone after another with an overarching plot, then ACOSF would need to not only center on a romance, but set up the next one. They need to show progress in some form. And if we go back, the whole point of ACOFAS was to give a little fluff, but also to set up the next few books. (SJM herself said seeds were planted in ACOFAS for the spinoffs.)

Now, I actually want to dive into Lucien's romantic setup. So we're going to look at Lucien and Elain, and Lucien and Vassa.

FYI, this post will be very long, because I wanted to highlight most if not all of their the scenes.

For reference: Lucien and Elain, Lucien and Vassa

ACOFAS

Lucien and Elain

He hadn’t mentioned Elain, or his proximity to her. Elain had not asked him to stay, or to go. And whether she cared about the bruises on his face, she certainly hadn’t let on.

- -

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle. No, she tended to her gardens here, silently mourning her lost human life. Mourning Graysen.

How Lucien withstood it, I didn’t know. Not that he’d shown any interest in bridging that gap between them.

- -

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” I said, since Elain certainly wasn’t going to.

Lucien lowered his hands into his lap and leaned back in the armchair. “Thank you, but I have other plans.”

I prayed he didn’t catch the slightly relieved glimmer on Elain’s face.

- -

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

“Would you, if your positions were reversed?”

He didn’t answer.

- -

“Spend time with her.”

“I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.”

- -

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes."

- -

“He brought you a present.”

Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”

Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

- -

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it.

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.

Lucien and Vassa

But Vassa’s freedom would end. Lucien had said as much months ago, and still visited her often enough that I knew nothing in that regard had improved.

- -

“I’ve been at the Spring Court every now and then. But if I’m not here in Velaris, I’ve mostly been staying with Jurian. And Vassa.”

- -

"I think he’d have been crowned king by now if it wasn’t for Vassa.” A twitch of the lips, a spark in that russet eye. “She’s doing well enough. Savoring every second of her temporary freedom.”

- -

“You’d be surprised to see how the three of us get along.”

Friends, I realized. They had somehow become his friends.

“So you’d rather stay with them?”

“I’m not staying with them. The manor is ours.”

- -

“That’s what we call ourselves. The Band of Exiles.”

- -

From these scenes, we essentially know Elain and Lucien have not progressed AT ALL. Elain still mourns Graysen, she wants nothing to do with Lucien, avoids him and is obviously uncomfortable around him.

Lucien on the flip side, isn't really trying to bridge that gap, but he's still hanging on and has some mate instincts regarding Graysen. He's not lost hope for her, but he's not really trying to push too hard either. (IMO out of respect, but also because of lack of interest beyond the bond.)

Conclusion: They're not being set up at this point. They haven't progressed, and his feelings technically aren't really genuine because it's not ELAIN he's interested in. It's his MATE. (Note, not his fault. Not blaming him for this. Just pointing out this is a more superficial "relationship" because its not based on an actual relationship, but a bond that neither chose for themselves.)

Lucien and Vassa on the other hand have made progress. They started off allies in war and are now friends. He's spent a lot of time with her, he's now living with her (and Jurian), and they have a name for themselves. He feels comfortable in the human lands with her and Jurian, unlike in the Night Court. (This is very important for Lucien's journey and I'll talk more about it in a second.)

Conclusion: Lucien and Vassa's relationship HAS progressed. It's moving forward, whereas Elain and Lucien are still stagnant. Friendship is a stepping stone in all of SJM's romances, so we can expect whoever Lucien ends up with, it will start with friendship. And at this point, Vassa is his friend, not Elain.

Now let's move onto ACOSF, because this is where SJM could turn things around, right? This is where she has to really start steering the ships in the right direction because the next books will focus on these relationships.

ACOSF

Lucien and Elain

There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with Jurian and Vassa.

- -

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

- -

Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien.

- -

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

- -

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Lucien and Vassa

“Lucien can’t be entirely trusted anymore.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Even with Elain here, he’s become close with Jurian and Vassa. He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”

- -

"So Lucien can’t be unbiased in reporting to us on Vassa.”

- -

Mor winnowed Cassian after sundown directly to the manor that had become home and headquarters to Jurian, Vassa, and—apparently—Lucien.

- -

Vassa rolled her eyes, then looked to Lucien, who sank onto the sofa beside Jurian. Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them.

- -

Both Jurian and Lucien stared at her, the former’s face utterly unreadable, and the latter’s pained.

- -

Vassa nodded. “It is all I have gleaned from my time enslaved to him.”

Lucien stared out the window—as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target.

- -

“And Jurian and Vassa?”

“At each other’s throats, as they like to be,” he said, a tad sharply. She wondered what that was about—and for the life of her couldn’t read it.

- -

Elain and Lucien have still remained stagnant. Elain is even more uncomfortable--she sits as far away as she can, unlike in ACOFAS where she at least sat within talking distance--and she literally shrinks inward and loses her newfound boldness around him.

While Lucien showed disappointment and longing on Solstice, he's now showing actual discomfort, just like Elain. He's spending most of his time away, with Jurian and Vassa, and still isn't doing much to bridge the gap.

These two have, imo, sank further. They didn't just remain stagnant, they kinda backtracked even more. Why? Because at this point, we know Elain has seemingly gotten over Graysen and developed feelings for Azriel, and I think Lucien is developing them for Vassa.

We see a potential spark of jealousy regarding Jurian and Vassa. The manor isn't just theirs now--it's home for Lucien. (Something he was struggling with in ACOFAS, feeling like he had nowhere to go, no place to call home. Again, this is progress in their relationship but also in Lucien's journey. Remember, that's important.) It's pointed out that not only is Lucien voluntarily living with her, but he's so close with her that the Night Court doesn't think they can fully trust him to be unbiased on Vassa. Like he can't do his actual job because of her, and his relationship with her.

All of this is more progress on their relationship, emphasizing they've grown closer, he now has a home (with her and Jurian), and he's setting his target on Koschei, knowing she will have to return to him - THAT is all set up for his romance.

In conclusion, without even needing to dive into Azriel and Elain's progress over the series and obvious setup, we can see Lucien's journey has progressed with Vassa - his romantic setup is with Vassa. Not Elain.

And I didn't even go into the Swan Lake/Koschei parallels. But I'll just leave the post with this:

A bird of flame...and a lord of fire. I wondered if they’d found each other yet.

#elriel #vucien #elain x azriel #lucien x vassa #anti elucien

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heroicgartist · 2 years

Text

Speculation of Boba Fett’s method of ruling from Chapters 1-3

To me when it comes to how Boba Fett processes his rule over Jabba’s throne. I get the feeling that he really does not care about the people of Tatooine other than a few folks that he is interested in (mainly underdogs that can do work for him/other similar action people)

When it comes to his dealings as a crime lord, he sorta just sits around making people just give him tributes as a secure method of showing respect. In my mind, I believe he finds that killing Bib Fortuna was enough to make people try making deals with him respectfully. And from that, he can just make himself the boss because he slaughtered for that power. He “earned” it.

To me this might have came right after his tusken family was slain. He is still processing the emotional loss he has while trying to remain calm and not break down being vengeful and angry because to him it would make him immature and regressive if his Tusken fam saw him this way. From that disaster, Boba just doesn’t want to attach himself with others anymore and is just running through the motions while holding a vague sense of respectful moral.

That moral helped grew him as a person, but it also makes him stagnant as he only displays the need to interact and show compassion to people that would line up to his viewpoints already. He seems isolated from the ideal world and behavior he wants to create and maintain that he is not prepared to tackle a situation that is outside the very area of those harsh sands.

People live their lives differently and Boba does not try to engage with them unless they come up to him. That’s a flaw on Boba’s side because he didn’t earn his respect from people through his good actions yet or through any kind of good influencing at least in a big enough level that would make people respect him.

Yeah it works for Boba because he gets to choose and associate with a few people in his field that he gets to share on his ideals and practice them. But for right now to most people of Tatooine he just seems like an ex bounty hunter who thinks he can play big/ask demands of people just because he shot a guy for his position. And that he doesn’t care enough to show what he is willing to give for the people or show what kind of person he potentially can be to them yet. Boba can have his morals, but he has to acknowledge the effort on his part to earn respect even if that means having to get used to and dedicate himself to more people in his life. And that will be hard.

Please let the next chapter of The Book of Boba Fett show progression. Because as a crime lord he isn’t exactly bringing his A game to gain respect. He is not a perfect role model as a boss but he has solid morals that he needs to build off and apply to his duties that could imprint to others through time.

I still have hope for Boba Fett as a character and his show because Boba Fett deserves some hope to do what he is willing to accomplish. May the 4th episode be more substantial.

#tbobf #boba fett #star wars #the book of boba fett #character analysis #star wars the book of boba fett

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ravenvsfox · 3 years

Text

Things Fall Apart; the Centre Cannot Hold

Summary: He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

(Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge)

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: mi spoilers, death/suicide mention

A/N: batshit middle books my beloveds. adam pov or bust 😌

Read on AO3

In high school, Gansey would very occasionally call Adam in the middle of the night.

He would speak low and fast, his panic pinched between thumb and forefinger and held at a respectable distance. Adam would smother the receiver with his palm and step outside of his family trailer, listening hard for movement at his back.

The news was always the same: Ronan Lynch was on his latest rampage or bender, exercising his dark talent for bullying his way into people’s lives and then breaking down all of their windows and doors trying to get out again.

Gansey would fret and apologize, guilty for luring Adam out of his wolf-den, guiltier for neglecting his duties as Ronan’s warden. Adam would wait tiredly on the line for Gansey’s anxiety to exhaust itself, and then dutifully join the search party.

He would step into his beaten tennis shoes and pry his bike from the fence, silencing the silvery shock of metal on metal, and avoiding the reedy whir of the spokes by holding the whole thing aloft until he reached the gravel road.

From there, he would venture out into the abandoned Henrietta streets, the crunch of his tires cutting clean through the woolly midnight silence. He often circled the perimeter of the park nearest Monmouth, stepped through the great dark portal into St. Agnes, and nipped under the old bridge, squinting into the darkness for the challenging shoulders, the oil-slick BMW gleam, the slump of a body or clatter of bottles.

This is a part of Gansey that I admire, he would think. And with equal fervour, this is a part of Gansey that I resent. This blood attachment to Ronan, who was not even attached to himself. The insomnia that seized two heads of the lopsided Cerberus that Adam, Ronan, and Gansey were all part of, a restlessness on either side of him that shook him awake over and over again.

He chased Ronan’s shadow, hating him. Hating his thoughtlessness, his privilege, his chokehold on Gansey’s interests, his purposefully and continuously ruined potential, and yet bristling with anxiety at the idea of finding him bleeding.

They hadn’t known then that he was a dreamer, but they’d felt the ear-popping pressure of his grief, glimpsed the hulking animal of his self-loathing, urged onwards by the twin spurs of Declan and Gansey, the past and the future, digging into his sides.

Adam had seen Ronan, teeth bared, hurling himself at rock bottom, and he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled him back by the collar.

Things are completely different now, but he still finds himself sleep-raw and petrified, reaching after Ronan in the dark.

He examines himself in the mirror of the communal bathroom in Thayer hall. The overhead lights are an unflattering yellow, the sink has a long dark hair stuck to its basin, and Adam’s face is gaunt and bruised with lack of sleep.

He’s losing it, a little bit.

He takes his own pulse, focusing on the faraway burble of the ley line. Everything, lately, seems far away.

As if through a stranger’s eyes, he slips from the seafoam tiling and bleach tang in Thayer’s North bathroom to the accordion door of the trailer toilet, the creaky cubicle shower, his gawky, hurt reflection in the burnt-out light. This version of Adam had to watch his best friend’s best friend escape suicide watch and get screaming drunk in public, treading mud and malicious dreams all over Monmouth manufacturing.

He can still smell the salt tang from teenaged Adam’s ocean of disdain.

Now that he loves Ronan, his irritation has only gotten sharper, more deadly. Ronan performs each perilous swan dive into the unknown, each foolhardy act of self-sacrifice, as if the people who care about him aren’t gasping spectators. It makes Adam furious.

Perhaps neither of them have changed as much as they wanted to believe. As Gillian keeps advising the crying club—with the confidence of a seasoned psychiatrist—progress isn’t linear.

He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

He slides fingers over his temples, smooths a knuckle over each eyebrow to ease the tension he always carries there. Sleep is a little knot of gristle lodged at the back of his throat; he can’t swallow it and he can’t spit it up. It never used to be this hard to put his problems to bed. He would worry the weight on his chest into small pieces, and go to sleep knowing that even the worst things about his life were organized correctly.

This time though, he’s out of sorts, divided, always busy but always spinning his wheels. He has a white-hot secret pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Every time he folds himself into bed, his subconscious helpfully reminds him that Ronan might be dead. And then a highlight reel plays in his head like an In Memoriam: Adam’s hand cupping Ronan’s nape, a barn silhouetted against a melancholy sky, a fistful of dreamt light, a dozen hard-won smiles and a hundred easy ones, a white handprint on a flushed thigh, a colourful joke to placate a brother, a kiss pressed to a dream’s forehead. All of that—gone. And Adam, at Harvard.

He highlights long patches of text in his sociology textbook, drinks a sensible amount of jack and coke at Eliot’s birthday party, declines Gansey’s calls by sending cheerful and conciliatory texts, and drifts through the library with his hand knotted in the strap of his satchel, looking for something that he can’t really articulate. He reads the same line of theory over and over and over and over, feeling like he’s scrying, like his focus isn’t his own.

He did all of this before Ronan went missing too, but now it’s a whole different class of performance. It used to be, I’m convincingly attentive, I’m sipping overpriced coffee on the way to class like a good Ivy leaguer, I’m making an impression on my professors, I’m forging friendships. Someday I will cash in these relationship tokens, and it all will have been worth it. It felt impossible that his life could be so simple and rewarding.

Now he thinks, I’m studying for finals and my boyfriend is being hunted by people whose job it is to kill him. I’m drinking a latte and the only people I’ve ever loved have left me, and I'm alone again. I’m putting my hand up in class and somewhere, Ronan’s life is changing, rapidly, dangerously, without me.

He lies to everyone, all the time, and tells himself that this life he’s building is more important than anything.

Once, as they cleared placemats and mugs full of stagnant coffee from the kitchen table, Ronan—still cobwebbed in his most recent dream—had detailed the sensation of hovering over himself afterwards. He was unable to manipulate his physical body or even really recognize it as his own, and his consciousness, detached, had its own limbs, its own intentions. He was like a parasite trying to wriggle back into its host.

Whenever Adam consults his double in a bit of glass, he imagines himself as a nimble dreamer, peering down, working to bring a fantasy to life. He can see his own outline, a slick college student with a flat, pleasant affect and a gaggle of soft-shelled friends. He plays his role impeccably well, but he can’t fit himself into it. If he passed himself in the hallway he would not stop.

Looking in the mirror now, he feels a red pang of fear, then a supercut of the ways he used to let himself love and be loved, then resentfulness hot on the heels of his worry.

His reflection withers, and he looks deliberately down at his hands. It’s a Tuesday, and he needs to sleep, or his tightly-scheduled Wednesday will be a misery. It’s a Tuesday, which means he hasn’t spoken to Ronan in—he stalls. Call me, he thinks, miserably. Just call me.

He can deal with a multitude of challenging and improbable situations if only he can see them clearly. Ronan is, for whatever reason, keeping him in the dark.

The not knowing is bad. It’s not how he functions. It’s not how they function. But instead of dwelling, he puts his back into the narrative that is now his reality: Impeccable student. Devoted friend-group. Tough break-up. Bright future.

Ronan isn’t here. Can’t ever be, physically, so far from the ley line. Adam has to be.

“Croissant, as ordered.” His gaze snaps up, connecting—not with his own image, but with clever, horn-rimmed Gillian. “They tried to foist it upon me without butter, if you can imagine that.” She deposits a crinkly brown and tan paper bag in front of him, and then two little plastic pots of butter. Adam regards the squashed shape of the bag’s contents with confusion.

It’s— “Is it Tuesday?”

“Wednesday,” Eliot corrects airily, licking jam from their thumb.

“My god, Adam. Whatever happened to your infallible circadian rhythm?” Fletcher asks. “You are the Swiss timepiece by which we measure our days.”

A terrible wave of vertigo strikes him, and he’s grateful to find himself sitting, at one of two conjoined wrought-iron tables in the courtyard near Thayer. He can feel the ley line breathing for the first time in a long time.

He must have gone to bed after his late-night breakdown in the bathroom. He must have. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was. His hand strays to his hair. Wet. He’d woken, showered, and met his friends for breakfast, and he can barely remember it.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “Sleep deprivation is catching up to me, I think.”

“Aw, chicken,” Benjy says affectionately. “I’ve sung those end of term blues. The profs think we’re machines. Don’t even get me started on Dr. Fraundberg’s Lit Crit for assholes.”

“Whyever would we?” Eliot says. “We want to make it to class before noon.”

“Har-har. You wound me. Adam you’d better get a tissue ready, I’m about to tear up.”

“Also,” Gillian says, pointing her be-honeyed knife in Eliot’s direction. “Speak for yourself. I want to make it to class never.”

“Your presentation is going to be exceptional,” Fletcher tells her. “Your rough draft already drove me into paroxysms of jealousy. I don’t know why you’re so concerned.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” Gillian says. “I want to win.”

“Admirable,” Benjy sniffs.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Adam,” Eliot says, at length. He’s aware that they’re all trying very hard to act like they don’t notice how poorly composed he is.

“Can’t a man savour his pastry, Eli?” Fletcher rumbles.

“No, that’s fair,” Adam sighs. The four of them peer at him expectantly, eyebrows arranged into an array of benign and non-threatening shapes. “It’s possible I’m having a slight breakdown,” he says, adopting the grim hyperbole of a student for whom finals are the beginning and end of their emotional upset.

Everyone at the twin tables indulges in a bit of mild laughter.

“What a coincidence, so am I!”

“Well if it’s only slight, I’ll stow my concern.”

“Harvard or personal?”

He smiles faintly, and says, “kind of both. The personal is political, or something.”

He thinks he’s laying it on thick, but Gillian grins at him. “'Atta boy.”

Fletcher goes to take a sip of his tea, but chokes when his phone lights up with an incoming text message. “Criminy, is it eight already? Starting the day with a bang, as usual. I’ll meet you at Weld this evening, yes?” he asks, shaking out his tweed jacket and thrusting an arm through it, securing the remains of his bagel between his teeth with his other hand.

“Of course,” Adam says. Fletcher gives him a thumbs up, mouth charmingly stuffed, and sweeps away across the now bustling courtyard.

“Hey magic man,” Eliot says. “Will you do a reading for my sister tonight? The break-up with Margot is hitting her kind of hard. I’m pretty sure she just wants to be told she’ll find love again.”

Adam watches the juddering impact of Benjy kicking Eliot under the table.

He shrugs. “First come first serve, but I’ll give her the friends and family discount.”

“You’re a prince,” Eliot says, blowing him a kiss. Adam tries to imagine any of his friends from Henrietta doing such a thing, and can’t. “Come along Benjy. Bookstore or bust. They’re giving out discount computing textbook codes at sixty dollars a pop.”

A slip of paper for sixty American dollars. Adam’s head aches profoundly.

Gillian waggles her fingers at their friends as they depart, then she turns and fixes Adam with that familiar amateur therapist look.

“What?”

“Are you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

“I’m a very good sleeper,” Adam says wryly. “Ask anyone.”

“But are you actually doing it?”

“Yes, Gillian.” Liar, liar. “Do you want me to keep a dream journal as evidence?”

“Oh, yes please.” That shark’s grin. “I’d pay to know what the fuck is going on up there.” She taps her own temple to indicate Adam's guarded mind.

He spreads his hands between them. “I’m an open book.”

She hums, only half-smiling now. “I dunno. That Southern charm. I’m never quite sure if I should trust a politeness that perfect.”

“On that note,” Adam says, standing. He’s relieved to find that he’s wearing matching socks, and his pant legs are rolled just so. There’s a tiny streak of yellow on one of his shoes, and with a jolt he realizes that it’s dream-crab guts. He presses on. “Thanks for the croissant. And the psychoanalysis. Send me the bill.”

She salutes him with her coffee cup. “You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughs, and turns, and then spends the whole walk to his 9 AM class trying to straighten all of the haywire compasses in his brain so they point due north.

His assignment is in his bag, pressed neatly into a navy blue folder. He has three classes today, a meeting with his supervisor at three, a study block set aside from four to six, then dinner, then tarot readings all evening—his phone rings. His treacherous heart leaps. Ronan.

He stops mid-stride, scrambling for his cell in the front pocket of his bag.

“Hello?”

“I—oh—Adam! I didn’t expect you to pick up. How on Earth are you?”

“Gansey.” He exhales through his nose. “I’m just on my way to class.”

“Fantastic to hear your voice. How’s—not that one, Jane, the I-90—exactly. How’s Harvard? Are you batting away job offers yet?”

“Constantly. How are your nature hikes and hippie communes? Contracted any backwoods diseases yet?”

“Charming. I’m actually in remarkably fine form, health-wise.”

“Is that a brag?”

A guffaw. “More of a curiosity. It’s actually part of the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch. Have you noticed any surges of power from the ley line lately? I mean, of course you have, but do you have any idea what’s causing them?”

He frowns, pinning his cellphone between his good ear and shoulder as he heaves open the ancient door to the physics building. “I could give you my best guess.”

A beat, and then, “I’m listening, Parrish.” Something about the way he says it makes homesickness pulse painfully in Adam’s chest.

He finds a semi-secluded stone slab bench behind an empty stairwell, and slings his belongings across it before he replies, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers,” Gansey repeats, but it sounds like he’s saying of course! “Plural?”

“At least three.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”

“Ronan hasn’t spoken to you,” Gansey guesses.

“Not—in a few days.”

“Is everything alright?”

He swallows, and is horrified to find tears burning at the back of his throat. There’s no pretending with Gansey. It’s why he never calls him.

“Adam,” he says quietly. “Is he in trouble?”

He struggles with his composure for several long seconds. “Possibly.”

A world-weary sigh. “I really wish you had called.”

“Yeah, well,” he says vaguely. He checks his watch. 8:23.

“So he’s playing with others. Why would Ronan want to do that?”

“I think—he’ll do anything not to feel powerless.” He understands as soon as he says it that it’s the pockmark in the windshield from which all of the damage is splintering outwards. “And people take advantage of that.”

Gansey makes a thoughtful noise, somewhere a thousand miles away, and it clicks in a lock and opens Adam’s shoulders up. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone in this fight. How could he have forgotten careful, persistent Gansey?

“Well. He’s certainly not powerless. I almost feel back to my pre-Cabeswater self. Everything is pleasantly linear. And Blue is—lighting up.” In the background, he hears her say supercharged with relish. “I can only imagine what it’s like for full-blooded dream stuff, with all of that energy at their disposal.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Adam says carefully. “It’s good for a while, helping all the Matthew’s of the world, and then what? Where does all of that diverted power end up? What makes dreamers qualified to harness it without their worst nightmares manifesting?”

“You’re worried about the Lace.”

The last time they spoke, Adam had told them briefly about his last scrying session, warning them to look out for the hateful, faceless thing that had pierced his cells and magnified all of his pain and fear until all he could possibly do was scream.

“I’m worried about Ronan. I know he’s in over his head, and I know he won’t believe it until it’s too late.”

“Sounds like someone I know. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with this, Adam. I know you’re enormously busy.”

It stings, a little. “I’m still going to—I’m obviously still going to make time for him. Especially when he’s—“

“Struggling. Yes. I understand perfectly.” It occurs to Adam that, unlike his well-meaning Harvard friends, he actually might. A needling murmur in the background, and then, “listen, Blue’s telling me that you should get in touch with the psychics, and Mr. Gray.”

He nods. The rhythm of problem-solving is soothing his frazzled nerves. “I’ve been considering it. I’m also pretty sure that Declan has been keeping his own tabs on things.”

“My money’s on yes,” Gansey says. Adam half-smiles. His money has been on a lot of things. “Poke around when you can. See what turns up. I’ll give Ronan a call, not that it’s ever done me much good before.”

“I’m pretty sure he ditched his phone.” He checks his watch. 8:24. It feels like it’s been much, much longer than a minute. There is so much day ahead of him.

Ordinarily, he would be compartmentalizing better than this. No feverish Gansey phone calls directly before class. No pleasure with his business. No finesse when logic will do the job just as well. But the subterranean, black-eyed Adam is still within him, tethered to the ley line and to his friends, and he wants very badly to fix this.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighs. “It’s always got to be him, doesn’t it?”

“I know,” Adam says narrowly. “If he’s not looking for trouble it’s looking for him.”

“You sound like Declan.”

Adam makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. Blue must be leaning across Gansey, because she says “that’s a new low,” almost directly into the receiver.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says flatly.

“Update me if anything changes? We’ll come home the moment things go south.”

He resists the urge to check his watch again. “Don’t cut things short on my account.”

“Well. Don’t disrupt your studies on Ronan’s. I’ve never known you to put your future on hold for anything.”

“I’m not—“ he stops. “Ronan is a part of my future.”

“Good,” Gansey says warmly. A test, then. And like most tests, there was never even a possibility that Adam wouldn’t pass.

______

It’s easy to tell when a dreamer is suffering.

As the energy from the ley line ebbs, dreamt creations judder and bolt like horses loosed suddenly from the service of a carriage, galloping towards safer pastures. If the dreamer is in more immediate peril, the dream simply folds its limbs into an agreeable shape and passes into sleep.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Adam lies awake in bed, dangling his hand between the wall and his bed frame, feeling along the subtle unfilled crack in the plaster. A flagpole casualty, from the day that everything stopped being enough for Ronan, and he slipped away on a dreamt current like a dark Ophelia.

He’s being dramatic.

He feels the drywall flaking, and digs his thumbnail into the split, wanting to rip the whole wall open with his fingers.

He keeps picturing Matthew’s half-lidded eyes, cloudless and blue as a wide prairie sky. The slouch of his posture, the tarnished golden head, the body briefly without a pilot.

Matthew had looked—Adam turns in bed, taking his chalky hand from the wall and fisting it in the sheets. He had looked like a faded old pillow, tucked unobtrusively into the chair by the window. He wouldn’t respond to Declan’s call, fluttering his drowsy lashes, and Adam had thought, ah. This is how I find out. His heart slumped over in his chest, dizzy with sudden grief. The tarot cards in his hands were dead leaves.

This is what happens when your life is tied to my brother’s, Declan had said, diverting his horror into scorn as he often did. The death of any one member of his family ensured the destruction of another. It had always been that way.

Matthew eventually roused, and Adam had closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling until he could be normal again. He felt suddenly foolish for peddling lies to college students when magic was so obviously in the room with him.

Earlier, he had called Maura over lunch, and she vaulted right over small talk to ask him, with concern, about his loosening grip on his psychic inclinations. She’d said, “You do know that the ley line isn’t the source of your problems, right? Give yourself some credit. You can fuck things up in a completely non-mystical way.”

She pulled the Magician, reversed, and the eight of wands, and then, without further comment, passed the phone to Mr. Gray.

Unexplained weaponry, he’d reported. The Lynch brothers loosed on two separate worlds at the same time. Buttoned-up Declan for the first time unbuttoned, schmoozing with an array of dangerous and connected people, trading in secrets just as his father had. Purposeless Ronan for the first time with a purpose, wading out from the murky waters of his dreamspace and bringing the tides with him.

Bryde, the name in the corner of everyone’s mouth, joined all at once by Ronan’s and Hennessy’s.

Renegades, liberators of dreams, scorchers of earth. He could see, easily, why this would appeal to Ronan. A mission, finally. A father figure to guide his hand. A world that wanted his dreams, and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of his unusual ambition.

When they were teenagers, Aglionby was just another one of Adam’s jobs, but it was one of Ronan’s nightmares. He would go to school, a hooded bird of prey, seething with resentment and squandered ability. He longed for the Barns because of what they represented: the childlike belief that his family would never die; the possibility for creatures like him to roam free; a landscape powered by unconditional love.

Bryde, Adam knows, must be offering him the same relief. Exquisite flight, after the cage.

It’s not possible, is the thing. It’s a pipe dream. A Niall Lynch fairytale.

Foresight has never been Ronan’s strong suit. He gets it into his head that a solution is right up until the point that it falls apart in his hands. He throws himself entirely into belief. It makes him an extraordinarily loyal and trusting person. It also makes him stubborn, rash, and susceptible to manipulation.

He believes in one facet of something, and the rest follows. He can’t just take a sip—he downs the bottle.

Adam is a boy on a bicycle in November, needing to find Ronan alive so that he can hate him without feeling guilty about it. He never stops oscillating between resentment and love, reality and unreality, understanding and disappointment. He wants to be normal so that he can choose to be abnormal. Sometimes he wants the cards without the magic.

He closes his eyes and remembers a slumbering mouse against an angular cheek. He imagines Matthew like that, perpetually immobile, perpetually innocent, like a taxidermied puppy. The pieces of Ronan’s consciousness that will linger after his death, statues in a graveyard. Tamquam—tamquam—

What would Ronan be without his dreams? Here, Adam thinks. He’d be here.

He stays in bed for another wasted hour, and then stands up, disoriented, in the dimness of the room. Fletcher is snoring softly. Someone outside their cracked window is shuffling over the concrete stoop. His upstairs neighbour is playing tinkling soundtracks while he sleeps. Adam can’t be here anymore.

He plucks Fletcher’s laptop silently from its charging station, tucks his bare feet into stiff leather shoes, drags the cardigan from his desk chair, and lets himself out into the hallway. The glare from the overhead light pins him against the wall for a moment.

He shuffles half-blind down the hall and upstairs to the solarium, nearly losing one of his unlaced shoes in the stairwell in the process. The lights are blessedly shut off up in the attic, and he feels his way to the nearest of the tables hunched in the shadows. Aching with fatigue, he sits, unfolds his stolen laptop, and gets quietly to work.

He’s never had the time nor means to be truly proficient with technology, but he extracted a handful of leads from Mr. Gray, and he’s been in touch with a friend of Benjy’s—a computer science grad student and hacking hobbyist.

He chases key phrases down rabbit holes and assembles news articles, tracking Ronan’s movement by his “unexplainable” signature (code for mind-fuckery, joyful innovation, and dark humour). Adam is a practiced note-taker and serial obsesser, so it’s barely a strain to find Ronan—whom he knows better than anyone—cropping up all over the continental United States.

“What are you doing,” Adam murmurs. The sky lightens gradually to periwinkle. He has work today, but his shift doesn’t start until noon. His mouth is bone-dry, and his head feels cotton-stuffed the way it always does when he’s pushing his body to its limit.

When it’s late enough in the morning to be socially acceptable, he messages Benjy’s friend with the bare bones of what he’s looking for: a project under wraps, a lonely last name, a suppressed pattern. They correspond, remotely, until Adam is reading government files over watery coffee, wearing sweatpants, dress shoes, and a cardigan with cracked elbow patches.

He pores over it all, cross-referencing dates, and ignoring the widening sink-hole in his chest.

Industrial espionage isn’t at all Ronan’s usual brand of destruction. Highly controlled, not much up-front gratification. A little more political than Ronan usually leans. A lot more ambitious. Whatever their agenda, ley energy is flowing more easily now that it's unobstructed on such a large scale. Adam has been feeling its effects rippling all the way out to Boston, a persistent background pressure, unavoidable as a migraine.

It’s clear that the Moderators are desperate to eliminate Bryde’s party. Their reports are a comedy of close calls.

Slowly, Adam begins to understand the scope of things.

Billions of dollars in damages, manmade structures ripped from their foundations. Magical fugitives hunted by a team that specializes in murdering the targets they call Zeds. Visionary headlights pointed towards certain apocalypse. A world that is always awake, but always, always feels like it’s dreaming.

It’s pretty much exactly as he feared. Night terrors. The Lace. Beasts and legends. Adam holds his head in his hands. It’s more than what Ronan must be imagining. It’s more than Aurora waking happily in Cabeswater, powered by the swaying trees. It’s the indiscriminate waking of every incredible thing that’s ever been dreamed.

He’s struck by a wave of hopelessness that rushes all around him and tears at his hair. Ronan, dreamer of baubles that dispense music and light, cars that go very fast, and menageries of curious creatures, recruited to a cause that transmutes creation into chaos. Ronan, promising to wait, and then running full tilt at a future that can’t possibly keep Adam in it.

His dream half is going to destroy his human half, and he’ll take everybody else down with him.

If he could just see him, maybe—

His jaw creaks, teeth clenched tight against the emotional groundswell. The late morning sunshine strikes him, and he feel more like a vague, pale shape than a person. Like a dream, maybe.

Alter idem.

If Adam can’t reach Ronan, maybe the Moderators should.

He feels the weight of that awful thought burning a hole through his stomach lining. He can’t think about it. He needs to go to work.

_____

The next evening, he experiences a surge of power so acute that it nearly puts him in a coma.

It’s another Wednesday night, and another batch of his peers hitch polite smiles to his heels as he passes them by, winding his way up into the high, arched sunroom at Weld hall. They’re all wishing for magical solutions for their mundane problems, the opposite of Adam in nearly every way.

He bumps knuckles with Benjy and Eliot in turn, pulls up his chair, and knocks his last reading from Persephone’s deck, mostly out of habit. He consults his phone idly as his friends try to make pleasant conversation, holding up a finger when he finds a new batch of texts from Gansey.

John Amos power plant in WV shut down Monday

Intense. maura said she could’ve brought HER dreams to life afterwards

no word from Ronan yet? Leads from Declan? pls advise

I’ll assume no news is good news

He puts his phone in his satchel and fastens it closed. Every new scrap of information he gets feels like a stroll through Ronan’s security system at the Barns—hopelessness compounding and compounding until he staggers out the far end weeping.

He needs to focus on something productive. He nods at Benjy to start letting people inside, straightening the notebook where he usually scribbles his observations. Here, he is an adjudicator: powerful, organized, and reserved, tallying points and offering constructive critique.

His curious audience starts pouring in then, amateur wiccans and wannabe believers, aggrieved last-resorters and skeptics following friends’ recommendations. It’s a brighter collection of characters than Aglionby could ever have hoped to foster.

Gillian texts him to say that she just passed Weld and his line-up was out the door. He is a prim and unobtrusive con artist, a false prophet, and business is booming.

Eventually, a bespectacled girl who looks anywhere from five to ten years his senior sits across from him, tucking a bag armoured to the teeth with candy-coloured enamel pins between her feet.

“Hi,” she says nervously. “Anna.” She stretches her hands out in front of her, then thinks better of it and drops them into her lap. “I’m not sure how this usually goes, so you might have to hold my hand a little bit.”

“No problem,” he says smoothly, passing his deck across the tabletop. “Just go ahead and shuffle. Concentrate on what you want to ask the cards.”

She does as directed, struggling a little to keep the papery stack in check. Not a natural born card sharp, then. He studies her neat black shirt, tucked precisely into a plaid skirt. A Marilyn mole drawn on just above the corner of her mouth. A pride flag pin he doesn’t recognize next to a cat wearing a cowboy hat, and the word “rude” in cursive.

She holds the deck fleetingly to her chest, eyes squeezed shut like a child making a birthday wish, and then plops it in the centre of the table. A card slips near the top, slightly uneven, and Adam plucks it free.

He hums thoughtfully. “Eight of cups. Okay. So you’re having some trouble with letting go.” She frowns and nods once, quick.

He lays out the rest of a simple five card spread neatly between them. A couple of stray swords, the chariot, a wand.

“It seems like things are stagnating in your personal life. Maybe your friend group used to feel like your family, but you feel like they’ve lost interest in you. And you love them, but Anna, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re pretty sure you were done with them before they even started pulling away. Right now you’re kind of just going through the motions. A couple of years overdue to convocate, right? Everyone else moved on to greener pastures.” He taps his thumb thoughtfully against the bones of his opposite wrist. “It’s not even the loneliness that gets you. It’s the not knowing. Are you supposed to chase after them? Is there another community out there for you? There is, you know.”

He notices another card spilling loose, and he grabs it without thinking. The Magician again. He thinks, huh, caught in the coils and dust of Persephone’s overturned cards.

And then the waking world disappears.

Adam is airborne, tumbling up into the atmosphere on a geyser of ley energy, whipped by branches and light. He throws his arms out to stop himself, but he’s only a projection, so his momentum doesn’t slow.

Something—Lindenmere? The cosmos?—shows him a series of images: an upturned nose made from oil and turpentine, a coiled old tree stump, a red-haired woman grinning toothily and then exploding, a rose the colour of warm dark skin, a pale scar-split hand cradling a silky head, the animal haunch of something black, a terrible voice booming turn back—

He skitters away, panicked, and bumps into his own body. Or not his own body. A double, blinking confusedly in the bathroom mirror.

His doppelgänger turns to leave, and Adam reaches after him, through the mirror, following himself into a version of Thayer which is not Thayer. Everything is alive, in this reality. Energy sings and saws its fingers together.

It’s a memory, but it’s also the present, and it’s also a nightmare. Wake up!

Obediently, the city wakes.

He gasps, although he doesn’t have a mouth. It’s the heaving first breath of a sleeping witch, like Gwenllian turning in her grave.

Adam struggles against the current of wild power, thick and pungent as gasoline. Everything feels more intense near magical artifacts, dream stuff, supernatural fault lines, and it is with great effort that he hunts for something familiar, something heavy enough to bind him. He was unprepared for this, and although everything around him is bitingly familiar, he's lost. He wheels around and around, reaching for his most trusted tethers—Gansey, Ronan, Blue, Persephone—

Persephone.

He follows the lingering perfume of her intuition, feeling blindly for those old handholds in her tarot deck, that familiar grip, like the hilt of a trusted weapon.

And then he finds himself looking again at the girl, Anna, her fate bunched around her narrow shoulders. And then at his own empty body, a glowing card clamped between his fingers. As soon as he’s aware of looking at himself, he’s looking out of himself, and he stands up quickly, overturning his chair.

“—Adam? Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“What on God’s green Earth was that?”

A palm between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” he chokes.

The hand retreats. A murmur: I’ve never seen him like this.

“Is it—is it bad? Am I going to be okay? Is it bad?” Anna keeps asking, horrified.

“You’re fine,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry.” The ‘o’ in sorry comes out a little wide and swerving.

“You went blank,” Benjy says, voice high with residual panic. “For like—ten minutes. Beyond hyper-focus.”

“I thought it was a gimmick,” Eliot says. “But a ten minute gimmick? What is this, Las Vegas?”

“I got carried away. I have to,” he swallows. “I need a minute. I promise everything’s fine.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Eliot says quickly. “But, fair warning, I’m going to ask you a hundred questions when you get back.”

“And then I’m going to ask another hundred,” Benjy says. “Magic man.”

“A riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in a sweater vest,” Eliot muses. He can tell they’re still shaken. He’ll have to deal with that, later.

“I'll be right back,” Adam says, touching them very lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The ley line is bursting, and he feels so flushed with its vitality that it almost makes him sick.

He stumbles past them, all the way out of the building and into the street. The winter air tears at his thin shirtsleeves, nips at his sock-less ankles. He shields his eyes against the sun, watching a bird swoop low overhead. A silvery, seagull-sized thing, but with knobby legs that taper into—he squints. Hooves?

He keeps moving, propelled by the mad urge to catch the bird, to pin the wild magic down so he can understand it.

Adam walks for what feels like a long time, trying to find the source of all of this haemorrhaging power. He spots a couple of fidgety-looking students, a few more curious creatures. Somewhere, faraway, there’s music crooning, and it sounds exactly the way a hot shower feels.

He stops in the middle of Oxford street, head cocked towards the natural history museum across the way, the orderly buildings, the sparse evening foot traffic. Business as usual. All of it screaming with energy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a parade of scuttling creatures marching towards an invisible destination. Frowning, Adam crosses the street, chasing the peacock blue shimmer from an unfurled wing. He slows, stooping in the alley to pick one of the strange insects from the stream. He peers through a nail-sized hole in its head. Its spindly legs wave fearfully for a moment, and then it goes limp in his hand.

The ley energy punches out of him, and he sits back on his ankles, winded.

Adam gazes down at the jewelled beetle in his palm, its siblings scattered out like shell casings around his knees. Dreams, all of them. Briefly, impossibly roused in a dead city. He stands, letting the beetle drop from his hand and bounce across the concrete. He kicks them all hurriedly behind a nearby bench, mind racing. Bugs from an exhibit next door, no doubt. Dormant animals, transplanted from their habitats and pinned in place for decades.

What kind of ecoterror was wrought to bring about a flash flood of energy in a drought? How must Ronan be feeling, out there in the world, wracked with waking dreams? What unimaginable monsters were just stirring in the shadows because of him? Is Bryde one of them?

His lives are merging. The distant rumbling of thunder is overhead now, and the downpour is rolling in. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep dry.

Standing in that alleyway by himself, drained and ordinary again, he feels terribly alone.

He weighs his feelings against his logic for several agonizing minutes, standing still and watchful as a predator. He recalls the jarringly clinical accounts of Ronan's most intimate dreams, the sparsely encoded language in those government files outlining the world-ending dangers of something Adam had, for a long time, shared a bed with.

If something happens to Ronan now, it might kill Adam. If something happens because of Ronan, it might kill everybody.

Another minute, and he has his phone out and ringing.

“Hello?” Declan answers. Oddly, it’s not his usual prickly greeting. He sounds almost jovial.

Adam looks out into the darkening street, feeling like a death omen, a shadow across someone’s doorstep. “We really need to talk about Bryde.”

______

It’s the worst possible time for Declan to be withholding information from him.

Adam had graciously tipped his hand and Declan was, infuriatingly, holding back, as if this was a low grade in Ronan’s high school algebra class, and not the cataclysmic fuck-up of a powerful dreamer.

Declan, so uncannily like his brother in vulnerable moments like this, had thought of Matthew first. A world where dreams could stay awake, he’d marvelled. As if they could afford to think so small.

Once, Adam had awoken to find his arm glued to the bedspread. Ronan had dreamt a bee-less hive in the night, and it was oozing a steady stream of honey into the sheets between them.

“Score,” Ronan had said, when he’d rolled back into his body. “Sting-free. Fucking vegan.”

“What happens when we don’t want any more honey?” Adam had asked, critically. Ingesting dreams always felt like a slippery subject. “Does it shut off like a faucet?”

It didn’t. Ronan filled a dozen amber jars full, and then abandoned the hive in a dusty kiddy pool in one of the barns near the back of his family property.

A month later, Opal had crept in through a window looking for trouble, and emerged, shrieking, in a viscous flood of syrup.

Combing the mess out of Opal’s fur, her little legs slung across his lap, Ronan had complained about the magnitude of the clean-up job he would have to do, the special honey hoover he would have to create, what a waste of a dream it would be. Adam reminded him of his faucet idea.

“Too late for that, Parrish,” he’d griped.

It was their pattern. A marvel, too good to be true. Adam, the skeptic. Ronan, too in love with creation to care about consequences.

Eventually, it will all be too late.

Ronan will pursue this liberation fantasy, this golden daydream, even if it never stops oozing. Even if it makes the whole world uninhabitable.

______

That night, Adam tries to scry for the first time in months.

He gently pushes the crying club—only tenuously placated after the tarot incident—to have drinks without him, claiming stress-induced fatigue. He leaves his study notes open and blinking on the bed, lights a sad little tea light, and casts himself out into the ether.

Straining hard, he searches for the familiar contours of Ronan’s dreamspace, plucking the distant strings of the ley line and listening for the particular timbre of Ronan’s consciousness.

He doesn’t like walking this tightrope without a net, but Harvard isn’t exactly flush with psychic spotters. He keeps a delicate balance, far from his body, inching closer and closer to Ronan’s mind, the safe plateau at the end of this rope.

Eventually, he finds himself in a grey bedroom. It's full to the gills with water, there's a toy sailboat bobbing past at chest height, and storm clouds huddling nervously on the ceiling. Adam’s hair plasters instantly to his scalp.

“Ronan?” he calls, sloshing through the curiously luminous water. It starts raining harder. A familiar, curly-headed child stares at him through the darkness, eyes sharpened into silver points in the moonlight. “Ronan?” he asks again, gently this time.

A muffled sentence, a sad, crumpled expression, and then Adam is staring at a closed door.

“What—let me in! Ronan!” He pounds at the door. “Come on!” He can still feel rainwater, unnaturally warm on his neck.

A voice in his head, not Ronan, whispers, turn back.

“No,” he snaps, knocking harder. “Just let me—“ A sudden gust of wind in his sails, and he’s ejected from the dream altogether.

He pinwheels for a horrifying, weightless moment, struggling to tune back in to the feeble light from his stubby candle, and then dragging himself, hand over fist, back to his dorm room.

“Fuck, Lynch,” he says, when he has a voice. “Don’t be stupid.” He recrosses his legs, shaking off the pointless, clinging feeling of rejection.

When he tries to reach out again, searching, searching, Ronan’s expecting him. He never makes it past the threshold.

Back in his body, he knocks his candle over, relishing the controlled destruction, the spill of wax, the sizzle of the squashed wick. A fire he can actually put out.

______

The next time Adam scrys, Ronan looks like himself. Maybe a little scruffier, with what looks like a tunnel piercing on his right ear, and a rare openness to his posture. He’s lounging in a pasture up against a sleeping cow, boots up.

As Adam watches, he tips his shaved head back into its mottled hide, and the sun makes his eyelashes into lit matchsticks. He loves him very much. He’d almost forgotten.

“Don’t lock me out,” he says quickly. Ronan opens his eyes, and when he sees him he smiles instinctively.

“Adam,” he says, vaguely. And then he locks him out.

“No,” he cries. “Would you listen to me.” He feels for the fissure in space and time, the pocket where Ronan is dreaming, sweetly and inaccessibly, about the only home Adam has ever known.

Nothing gives. Nobody replies. He crawls back to Harvard, weak with misery.

In the next dream, Ronan is older, driving a boxy jeep over a foreign landscape. Rolling Irish hills, skies humming with artificial energy. A woman who can only be Jordan Hennessy, chattering in the passenger seat.

Then it’s Ronan with his head in his dead mother’s lap, stroking the downy wing of a black swan.

Then Ronan and Hennessy again, opposite one another in a sunny gallery. One of them examining an impressionist portrait no bigger than a postcard, the other examining the exit.

Then Ronan, discovering Matthew’s corpse in a dim hallway, blinking furiously at the stranger crouched over his prone body. “What did you do?” He sounds like a kid reprimanding his sibling for getting them both in trouble.

Every time Adam gets close, some defence mechanism stops him, like a firm hand against his chest, pushing him away again and again.

He doesn't know what to do except keep trying.

______

Blankly, he looks down at a sink full of tinfoil and uneasy water. In pieces, he becomes aware of his surroundings—green stalls and laminate countertops, a row of hundred-watt lightbulbs, and somebody rattling the locked doorknob.

“Adam, are you in there?” Fletcher. “We’re going to be late. It’s nearly ten. Adam?”

“Just a minute, sorry,” Adam slurs. He stares closely at his face in the mirror until he recognizes his own features. He has an exam at 10:30. He glances down at his watch. 9:52. He had been so sure that he could just drift for a few minutes, maybe catch Ronan before he woke up. That was almost an hour ago.

He drains the sink, hands shaking, cuffs getting damp. The lightbulb filaments float behind his eyelids when he blinks. He throws his satchel over his shoulder, smooths his hair up and out of his eyes, and rubs the bags under his eyes until they hurt.

When he lets himself out of the bathroom, Fletcher is directly outside, tapping a nervous rhythm on his hips. His hands fly from his body and into the air at the sight of him.

“Adam! Thank god. I’ll cancel the search party.”

“I got lost in my notes,” Adam says, as they both make for the stairs.

“Of course you did,” Fletcher says warmly. “A supremely Adam move. I just hope you’re taking care of yourself. Gillian thinks you might be—well—not spiralling, but—“

“I’m handling it.” He takes several mental paces backwards. “Uh—poorly, clearly. I’m sorry Fletcher, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Fletcher, to his credit, recovers quickly. “I can’t imagine going through my first semester of college and a break-up at the same time. You’re a stronger man than I.”

Adam rather doubts that Fletcher can imagine going through a break-up at all, but he nods conspiratorially. They hop down the last few steps and out into the chilly sunshine together.

“You’d be amazed what one can do out of necessity.”

“Too true. We all have our hidden depths, don’t we,” Fletcher says thoughtfully. For a moment, Adam considers telling him—something, looping him into this tangled web with him, but then he says, “now, chapter twenty-three wasn’t on the outline, was it? I beg you to say no. Lie, if you must.”

And Adam is a student again. He doesn’t have out of body episodes. He doesn’t carry wads of tinfoil in his trouser pockets. He doesn’t keep deadly secrets from people whom he is mostly pretending to like and understand.

They walk onwards, towards a test which Adam will rouse himself for long enough to ace. Then he will think of the next thing, and the next. Appease these school acquaintances of his. Tinker with finicky car engines. Make flash cards. Drift into the beyond using one of Fletcher’s three-wick candles from pottery barn. Text Declan, who activates Ronan’s accountability in a way that Adam does not. Call Gansey, if he can bring himself to face his disappointment.

And clear away his feelings, which keep pouring out of him like so much honey.

______

Ronan hangs up on him, and Adam holds himself in the biting wind outside the library for a very long time.

He’d thought, if he could only speak to him, that he could begin to undo Bryde’s poisonous influence. They know each other. They’ve known each other. Ronan would listen to Adam’s fears as he always does. Adam would appeal to Ronan’s heart, which tends to ache for helpless things. They would see how lost they had become without each other. Adam would be allowed back into Ronan’s dreams, and Ronan would be allowed back into Adam’s future.

Why didn’t you text back?

As if they’ve been suspended in time since Ronan’s last tamquam, and none of it—the running away, warding his dreams against Adam, abandoning his phone, trusting a complete stranger over his friends and family—had ever happened.

It’s absurd. He should have expected it. Ronan was searching for a reason to stay, and when he looked for his reflection, his second self, Adam wasn’t there. For a single moment, he wasn’t there, and now he’s paying for it.

Impatient, wrathful Ronan. Leaping from the moving vehicle because Adam was going the speed limit. Going rogue, and then calling Adam with all of these stinging accusations, like he was the one who’d been abandoned.

He thinks again of Bryde manipulating Ronan, preying on his loneliness, his love for his brothers, his fear of himself. This big bad rumour, older and crueler than the Lace itself.

And Ronan letting himself be manipulated, putting on blinders, using Adam’s brief silence as an endorsement for a glorified joyride with unthinkable global ramifications. Self-destructing because things got a little too quiet.

Adam feels hot rage taking ahold of him with its sticky fingers.

Then he thinks of Ronan saying I need to see you, his thin, frightened voice finding Adam from somewhere out there in the city, and his anger goes clammy.

There’s no way Ronan will call again. Negotiations were off as soon as Adam refused to house them both from the Moderators.

And now, without Hennessy, Ronan is the last arrow in Bryde’s quiver. He’s going to be the explosive that brings everything down. He’s going to be buried at ground zero.

If I'd replied an hour sooner, would he really have waited? If I’d gone to school closer, would I have noticed him disintegrating? If I explained that my dream isn’t what I thought it would be either, that he’s the only thing that feels real, would he have said it back to me?

After everything that’s happened, am I going to be the one who gives up on Ronan Lynch?

Everything is so fucked.

He calls Declan.

He picks up on the first ring. “Parrish—”

“He hung up on me,” they both say at the same time.

“Mother of God,” Declan moans. “Then there’s no hope. He thinks I sold him out to the Mods.”

“Did you?”

“No. I did exactly as we discussed. I negotiated for his safety. I thought—I mean, you said it yourself, Adam. Being anti-apocalypse is a pretty solid platform.”

He shakes his head. “Ronan won’t see it that way. He’s not like us. He doesn’t want to be moderated even a little bit.”

“Believe me, I know that. The way he was talking—about the world screwing them over, all of them, dreamers. That’s not the way my brother thinks. That’s all Bryde. And now he’s taken him—Christ—Christ knows where.”

“He wanted to see me,” Adam feels compelled to say. “He was trying to come here.”

“He said that? That's good,” Declan says, relieved. “Where—“

“I let him get away,” Adam says, through numb lips. “I let him go.”

______

He texts Gansey, things have gone south, and then he turns his phone on silent.

His puts his fingertips to the floorboards, a knobbly hand on either side of a scrying tableau: the leaping flame of a candle, a well-organized pile of cards, his overturned phone and discarded tie. He’s just finished crying, and he feels volatile and ill-prepared even as he ties himself to the flickering light.

His mind races through the night like a skipped stone. Vaguely, he pictures a vast body of water and a glittering mountain range, with no horizon line in-between. Darkness reflected in darkness.

“Ronan,” he calls. The dreamspace whirs and grinds its gears and won’t reply. “You know this is wrong. You know, or you wouldn't be hiding from me.”

It’s all water out here in this sublime mirror-space, but it’s also warm, like the steam rising from a hot spring. Something is moving, changing things on a chemical level.

For a moment he thinks he sees himself, a wan doppelgänger with its hands raised. But it’s not Adam. It’s Bryde. Cool, sturdy, a pale Atlas holding the dream together on his back. He recognizes him instinctively.

Adam deliberately throws his mind closer, into the terrible heart of this fire Ronan is creating. Smoke whispers and catches all around him, and it’s even harder to tell the difference between things now. No horizon, no seam, no reality, no death.

What have you done? What are you doing?

The heat is quickly becoming unbearable. Adam is stretched too thin, and the fire is fraying him, eating through each fibre of his connection to reality.

Ronan, please, I need you to stop. I’m losing my grip. Listen to me.

And then, without any warning at all, he collapses on his dorm room floor.

He hacks and retches, lungs full of phantom smoke. Everything feels very wrong. He thinks for a second that he’s blind, but it’s not his vision, it’s another, less tangible sense, it’s—

He scrambles backwards on his hands, heaving. He tries to pull himself up onto his bed, head first, then chest, but he has to stop with his face buried in the comforter.

Ronan is—he must be—he’s—

“God, no, oh my god, no, no.”

He needs to throw up. He needs to call somebody. There’s complete silence in his head.

He was slingshotted back to Cambridge, swatted back along the zipline to his body, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He’s sure, in a very non-magical, intuitive way, that every dream in the world has just collectively collapsed. Adam staggers to his feet. There’s a smoke alarm going off, somewhere. A background hum of electricity groaning as it shuts off. A high, scared voice.

As if in a trance, he goes to the window.

There are five dead lightbulbs in the nearest row of street lamps, what looks like a sleeping child out in the middle of the square, and a woman clutching her chest and sitting slowly on a bench.

Panic is deadening his senses, crawling blackly into his mouth and nose and eyes. He thinks of Matthew sitting weakly by the window. Opal slumped over a stump in the woods. Chainsaw falling from the sky like a stone. Gansey’s Cabeswater heart decaying in his chest. Ronan, either dissolving into nightwash or felled by a Moderator’s bullet, dead, lost, or powerless.

Every morsel of magic, every innovation, every cherished friend, every sacred place, turned off like a faucet.

The world outside, drooping and disconnected, is now exactly as ordinary as Adam has been pretending it is.

The ley line is gone.

#mister impossible #the dreamer trilogy #mi spoilers #tdt #adam parrish #trc #trc fanfic #pynch #mine #my tfc besties...... soon #in the meantime. here's some adam pov please clap

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flickeringart · 3 years

Text

Pisces Sun and Moon Combinations

Planets represent different energetic principals in the life of an individual – the signs show what filter these energies express through.

Having an inner planet (or luminary) in the sign of Pisces gives the personality receptivity, a boundless quality. No matter what other placements the person has, the passive and intuitive nature is going to come through.

To simplify;

The Sun represents individuation, ideal self-expression and conscious self-actualization.

The Moon represents instinct, emotional nature and personal needs.

Pisces Sun – Virgo Moon

The personal path of self-actualization is trailed with surrender. There’s great sensitivity, which if kept within a limited ego-structure threaten to drown the person. Life might seem threatening and vicious, there’s a desire to up-hold the belief in love but when adversity gets too real, the person might snap in the name of preserving goodness. The person is unwilling to forgive certain things, but they’re also incapable of holding toxic grudges for long. It does nothing but to prolong suffering and Pisces Suns can’t stand to be in atmosphere of friction. They are very forgiving in their evolved state, however, if they’re not, they might justify cruel behavior by reinterpreting it as mercy or care. “This person needs to learn a lesson and I am going to be the good person to teach them” might be the attitude. Needless to say, it can turn extremely manipulative. The personal comfort are very much dependent on keeping one’s life in check. The person craves order and puts faith in the intellectual faculties to feel in control. Getting one’s life on track is a pressing need, which is not a bad thing unless the details gain utmost importance and the big picture is lost. The person is more likely to trust people who are efficient and willing to adapt – it’s how they show their care and how they would choose to be nurtured in turn. Although there’s a tendency to get bogged down in the mundane and day-to-day routines, a proclivity to focus on what must be put in order - there’s also an awareness of the vast backdrop of the undifferentiated realm. The person might turn critical and nit-picky when needs aren’t met, but the overall personality is soft and giving. There’s great compassion for the self in it’s limited scope and ideally an understanding of the transcendent realm. The person might be a diligent worker but prone to get overwhelmed and stressed. Crowds, disorderly environments and chaos would take a toll on the emotional integrity but the person might keep quiet about it and be a bit ashamed to admit to this kind of sensitivity. Confusion makes the person feel very uneasy and unsafe emotionally, but in terms of identity it’s fine for them to be less concrete, more diffuse and undifferentiated. Personality wise, the person is more of an artist. Instinctively, the person is more of an intellectual.

Pisces Sun – Sagittarius Moon

Emotionally, there’s restlessness and a need to move about, to try out new things and experience as much as possible. While there’s a hot and fiery temperament to this individual, the overall personality wants to get lost and to be immersed in life as intimately as possible. The person throws themselves into experiences that hold the promise of consumption and freedom. The two might seem incompatible and to a certain extent they are. On the one hand there’s the transcendent perspective of everything being unreal and therefore equally worthy of reverence – the world is beautiful no matter what state is in and one sees no need to judge or define. On the other, the spirit sees potential for expansion and is not satisfied with passivity. Life is important and it should be pursued passionately through the highs and the lows. There’s definitely some friction that is felt within the person relative to these things. One is a passive victim but the victimhood is not void of meaning. There’s an optimist that lives within and it insist on adopting a casual attitude. The person craves constant movement and stimulation; they won’t sit around and dwell for long. There’s more to discover and find beyond the horizon. Having a good time and engaging in exciting activities is a must with a Sagittarius Moon – there must be something to look forward to, there has to be plans for trips, events or future happenings. With this combo, the person is prone to live in their bubble – to emotionally latch on to things and crave stimulation. It could easily be taken overboard if there’s no inner factor that works for caution and restriction. The person would want to take a large mouthpiece of life, to devour it with arrogance yet looking a bit zoned out while it’s all carried out. In general, Pisces Suns could benefit for surrounding themselves with more fixed or cardinal individuals to ground them and provide direction occasionally since they tend to plunge the emotional depths quite often. That being said, Pisces is really the sign that contains everything and is too mutable to get to. This is a great strength as much as it’s a great weakness. If one is can learn accommodate for separateness and unity at the same time one is on the right track.

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Pisces Sun – Pisces Moon

The person is the embodiment of a lucid dream. Looking into their eyes would be like looking into a deep well. Things are moving in the depths, they shift from dark to light yet one can see a mirrored image of the clouds in the sky on surface because it’s so reflective. There’s gentleness and softness and naiveté to the person, but somehow the thick mists of something else comes through. There’s unpredictability and a subtle uncertainty about the person. “Such a sweet person can’t hurt a fly” some would say, and ultimately they would be right – in a dream scape nothing can really be hurt because nothing is real. However, in a dream that feels very real to many people (physical reality), it is possible to experience real pain. This is where this person can cause real harm because they seek to merge. Sometimes it’s not the overt confrontations that are the most deadly, it’s the suffocating enmeshment labeled “love” that can passively and aggressively drown people out. A lot of covertly violent behavior can be justified through the Piscean lens although it’s usually unconscious. On a more positive note, the connection to the personal and collective unconscious could translate into inspired works of art. The person could be skilled at accurately reflecting the emotions of the times and provide humanity with something that is helpful and insightful. The person might think of himself or herself as more of a channeling vessel and avoiding taking individual credit for things that flow through. The logic of this person might not be completely comprehensible to people with a predominant intellectual temperament, but that doesn’t mean that the person isn’t intelligent. Intelligence is not exclusively reserved to the intellect. The intuitive abilities are likely very strong and they could be extremely informative and rich in value. One should be aware of confusing fantasies, feelings and projections with real intuitive guidance though. There’s likely to be a progression in navigating the emotional realm over time. Learning what to trust could be difficult, but the more the person self-actualizes throughout life, the surer one becomes. World-weariness and a longing for something ultimately true could prevail throughout life. There’s a feeling of having come to an end after many lifetimes, and one might finally be able to let go of all attachments to existence.

Pisces Sun – Gemini Moon

The emotional nature craves interaction with the environment. Without being able to engage in an intellectual exchange the person feels dissatisfied and unfulfilled. Having the opportunity to have fun and communicate with people is what lies at the core of the person’s emotional well-being. Mentally stimulating subjects or people are high up on the priority list whether the person knows it or not. The best solution to emotional discomfort according to the person could be to just change the subject, distract oneself or hang out with others to avoid being alone and isolated. Mental movement is what the person thinks keeps them afloat, but it’s really just an avoidance tactic. Over time the person would hopefully learn to be comfortable with solitude. The overall personality is quite receptive and absorbing which makes overload a likely situation. The person might try to cope by rationalizing and intellectualizing experiences, but with a Pisces Sun, it won’t work. The person’s path of individuation is supposed to go in the direction of feeling, of empathy and a genuine appreciation of all of life. This might prove a bit contradictory to the intellectual temperament, which is inclined to live life through keeping active and occupied with playing little tricks and making little jokes. The person’s emotional nature is the personification of a “naughty teenager” – too young to have any moral compass yet is fully capable to using the mind to get what they want. The double mutable combo makes it difficult for the person to define himself or herself definitely; life is movement, whether it’s mental or emotional. Life is not only in constant fluctuation, it is also double-sided and multi faceted. The person might have many faces within to choose from. Closeness could be a dilemma since the emotional nature is a bit wary of permanent binds that can grow stagnant while the path of self-actualization calls for intimacy and unconditional love. The conscious identity might claim that “I see myself in you and I want to be with you”, while the more unconscious lunar needs might recoil from the statement and find it too sentimental. The person might experience a dynamic where the more romantic identity is constantly criticized by an inner voice of sarcasm a wit. This could be very frustrating. In general, the person is very sensitive to the words of others in particular and the thoughts that run through the mind.

Pisces Sun – Taurus Moon

This combo produces a serene and deep personality. The basic needs revolve around being able to control one’s physical environment, to create comfort and sensory satisfaction for oneself. Being a good and solid physical entity in the world is what the person craves emotionally. Personality wise, the person is a dreamer, a soul before a body, and a soul before a thought. One might not derive a sense of self from one’s material welfare or stability, but it is certainly a pressing need in the person’s life. Identity wise, the person is quite passive as is characteristic of Pisces, but this doesn’t mean that he or she is weak. There’s a romanticism and idealism to the person that has an enchanting effect on the environment – people are drawn to the sweetness and innocence of the intangible that the person represents. A Taurus Moon loves to feel attractive, maybe not for their emotions but for their body and physical presence. Never the less it works well on both levels. Taurus likes to be in control of value and Pisces appreciates anything remotely close to an epic love encounter. The person is likely very sensual and feminine. There would be a stubborn streak imbedded in the adaptable and receptive personality, a need to live a simple but an honest life with integrity. This might work well with the path of self-actualization if the person can allow themselves to lean on others sometimes and not carry the load of living all by themselves. Instinctively, there’s the tendency to take control and be possessive and demonstrative. It’s wise to let intuition be one’s guide occasionally and not get blinded by routine. The art that this person should develop is to shift and change without fear, to allow for unscheduled breakthroughs and breakdowns and roll with them. It might make the person uncomfortable, but it is necessary to not get stuck in resistance. Too strong of an identification with the body and tangible reality could make the person cut off from the psychic realm and one might have to consciously work on opening up one’s eyes to the richness of the unconscious. On the flip side, too much identification with the psychic realm could make the person indifferent to instinctual needs and prone to gloss over the importance of physical safety.

Pisces Sun – Leo Moon

The instinctual nature is bold, dramatic and attention seeking. There’s a lot of energy to the emotional nature that doesn’t escape anyone’s notice. Pride and stubbornness could show up occasionally when the mood hits, otherwise the emotions are warm and inclusive. Everyone should be invested in one’s emotional happenings, in this person’s opinion, but it is rarely the case so the last resort is to demand attention. The person will feel very uncomfortable in his or her emotional displays because it is not what is sought or idealized. The identity is thriving of off embodying the undifferentiated, the background to the foreground. It’s a passive identity that stems from seeing the whole in the limited and loving the limited just as much as the whole. The egocentric drama of the emotional nature is too bold and dominant for the Piscean identity, it’s out of place and incongruent with the path of individuation. The personal needs are, however, not able to change or compromise. They’re impossible to suppress or reject without making the whole individual suffer, which is why the loving attitude of a Pisces Sun will have to accommodate for the need to stir things up, exaggerate and create a fuss around the emotional fluctuations. Emotions are very personal to this individual – preferably, the world should revolve around them. It’s important to develop a mature sense of self since the emotional nature will remain the equivalent of a child with a god complex that likes to boast about personal talents and skills. With detachment and compassion one can parent one’s emotional needs and give them healthy outlets. This combo lends itself to creativity, romance and artistry – perhaps even showmanship. The person craves entertainment and it would be a great way to satisfy the Piscean preference for fantasy and other-worldliness. One should be aware of the proclivity to use play and enjoyment as an escape – overindulging is never a good idea. That being said, it’s ok to live through one’s creations and be guided through inspiration. Beautiful creations that are emotionally and energetically potent could emanate if there’s enough room in the person’s life for spontaneity and feeling.

Pisces Sun – Scorpio Moon

The identity is striving toward transcendence and divine bliss. It’s a private and personal journey undoubtedly, the Scorpio nature has a strong self-focus of protection which would serve to isolate the person somewhat. Shutting the blinders to the world and retreating into an inner cave is what this person would prefer to do. The world might seem tough and inhospitable, yet it is loved immensely because one can’t bear to invest in fear over “God”. However, on a more unconscious, emotional level, there’s nothing that doesn’t justify attack to this person. The instinctual nature is quite primitive in it’s expression and might demand control. If the person isn’t aware of this side of themselves, the instinctual needs of power might disguise itself as a honorable quest for peace when it’s really just about achieving immunity to life. A Scorpio Moon is never invested in something out of purely altruistic motives – the fear of being used, abused and deceived is too great. This fear compels them to want to get the upper hand by “decoding” the complexity of reality, to see through the façade of innocence as to uncover the dirt underneath. No one is fully trusted which might cause him or her to turn to life (God, the universe, the divine) itself as an abstract source for comfort. A Pisces Sun has a predominately romantic outlook on life, whereas the Scorpio Moon leans in the direction of suspicion and apprehension. Emotional overwhelm is not unlikely but rather than it being wholly used for surrender it would could act as fuel for resentment and hatred. The person is likely to have little patience with ignorant and thoughtless people who think they have the “right” to behave however they want. There’s something ruthlessness about the person that might not surface until there’s actual danger present. There’s immense bravery and cold-headedness in crises. Outside of situations that require immediate action there’s a sweet personality that can be a bit shy, introverted and appreciative of solitude. There’s a great capacity for emotional endurance and resiliency that shouldn’t be underestimated. There’s dedication and seriousness to the lofty quest for eternity and love.

Pisces Sun – Aquarius Moon

There’s a whole other world outside of convention, and this is where this person can be found – up in the clouds and down in the depths of the ocean. What the mundane and human has to offer is not really worth much in and of itself, it’s nice to look upon as a phenomenon, but it’s not what is ultimately treasured. There can be appreciation for the mundane, but only in the light of a higher quest. Everything is divine creation and life is beautiful, but it can also feel like physical life is an exile from perfection and a separation from an original source. Emotionally, there’s a kind of general intimacy that is felt with the human condition. Everyone goes through the same thing more or less and the shared experience is beautiful – with sufficient analysis and understanding of one’s needs there’s nothing that can’t be overcome and used as raw material for progression. Feelings are abstract with this person and are not used for the purpose of creating an identity. Paradoxically, the instinct is quite intellectual and feelings are processed from the standpoint of a mental ideal rather than expressed with the backing of identity. The person can come off as cool and detached while delivering all sorts of preachy speech about how things ought to be, ideally. There’s little room for imperfection, and even if there are imperfections they are coolly understood from a distance. The mental plane is never personal, although it accommodates for the personal. The overall path of individuation is trailed with the longing for redemption. The instinct would be to look to society and people to find where things might have gone wrong, but one should take care as to not blindly choose a scapegoat or be too quick to judge something as bad just because it doesn’t fit with one’s idea of bliss. The person has a lot of compassion and love to offer, but it might be done from a more global identification rather than a personal one. The person would definitely be more comfortable on a general level rather than a personal and intimate level. However, even if love is expressed in person, it’s a universal love that is more of a symbol than actual feeling. The person might find that emotions are creating moods that color the person’s whole reality. They’re more like big waves than little tides and there’s no choice but to surrender to them and navigating from a space of allowing. Fighting won’t do this person any good and there’s probably an intuitive knowing that this is the case.

Pisces Sun – Capricorn Moon

There’s something very calming about this combo, even though it will have it’s stressors and overwhelms. The person is self-actualizing through loosing the rigid boundaries of the ego structure and being intuitively guided through life without imposing a separate sense of self. This doesn’t come without it’s challenges because if there’s ego left, there will be the perception of having to make sacrifices in the name of love and overall goodness. However, there’s the potential for being led through life seamlessly if conscious surrender can be achieved, without there being any hate directed at physical and psychic boundaries. In truth, the limited that appears in the unlimited is not really limited at all. Even though there’s receptiveness and softness to the personal identity, the emotional nature is quite restrained. There’s pressure to perform and live up to one’s potential, there’s a demand for conformity and duty, to provide something concrete and estimable in spite of innate insufficiencies. The person has an inner disciplinarian that won’t allow for complete satisfaction – ever. There’s futility embedded in the person’s temperament, a kind of pessimism that seeks to be cured through ambition. Human existence is a pitiful thing to behold; it presents a lose-lose scenario that points to the development of character as the only hope of redemption. The person is essentially put between a rock and a hard place – to try and or give up and lose the self to cynicism. Emotions are habitually suppressed with a Capricorn Moon, which causes them to come out in uncontrollable bursts or through bodily symptoms. The skepticism and selfishness of the inner temperament is just as much a recipe for societal success as it is for unhappiness. “I only do what will bring me status” is the dark side of this Moon. The tendency of Pisces to play the victim could play in to this dynamic and make it a toxic cocktail. To play on the heartstrings of people while carrying out purely self-serving actions could serve to reach the height of manipulation. The task is to dismantle the shame around failure and face the emotions of weakness. The ambitious strivings might never go away, but they can serve to honor the self instead of compensating for the self.

Pisces Sun – Aries Moon

Summarized in one statement, this person would be “the impulsive dreamer”. There’s a warrior spirit living inside the personality of a mystic. Needless to say, the incompatibility of these energies could be felt quite strongly. There’s a thick and bittersweet romanticism to the identity, world-weariness and a longing for relief from the burdens of life. There’s nothing more to be done, there’s little desire accept to make oneself and others feel connected, if not merged. The person wants to blend with something that is unlimited, to taste a little bit of freedom through pushing the limits. There’s a fiery temper that needs to be let-out, and if one is not careful it might turn self-destructive. There’s a strong sense of self that lies at the core of the emotional nature and it needs to assert itself. However, the Piscean identity might not be up for honest confrontation and outbursts and flaming anger is not in the least bit empowering. However, the identity can learn to use the powerful emotions in creative ways. By acting powerless and at the mercy of one’s own temper it’s possible to identify as a victim, which fits the Piscean profile to a T. Alternatively, one could use the warrior spirit to be a savior and a hero in other people’s lives, which fits the Pisces personality equally well. One should beware that one has a lot of energy and take care as to how it is discharged. This combo has the potential for love that is demonstrative and assertive, but there’s always the risk of blurring the lines between assertion and aggression – especially with a Piscean identity. Cruelty can be mercy, and mercy can be cruelty, what is what can be a little bit unclear. The Arien instinct is to act fast and impulsively, which might cause damage. The person is then pressed to restore the identification of innocence, shattered by the violent and “immature” behavior that was let out, unwillingly. In an attempt to do this there could be all sorts of manipulative blame shifting and justifications taking place. Instead of coping with it like this it is wise to own one’s potent emotions and recognize their power. An Aries Moon is not bad, although it’s quite direct, and the identity will have to accommodate for the more anti-social aspects of the feeling nature. Disruption doesn’t have to contradict harmony; it is sometimes just as healthy as passivity. Someone has to stir the pot and stand up for some kind of ideal even if it’s uncomfortable.

Pisces Sun – Cancer Moon

There’s a strong proclivity to shut the world out and get everything done from inside of one’s own private sphere. The intangible is familiar to this person and it’s equally real as anything else. There could be a lot of fear circling the person’s unconscious and conscious mind, intrusive thoughts and emotions could arise spontaneously and threaten to overwhelm the being. On one level the person is ok with being at the mercy of something bigger but on another there’s a deep need for protection against the unconscious. The wiser the person gets, the more value can be found in flowing with the tides. However, with an undeveloped ego it might be too much to navigate the experiences. This is why it’s very important to develop a separate self within the all-encompassing self, or connect to the all-encompassing within the little self. If this is done, there’s nothing to be feared anymore and one can live life to the fullest. The person’s emotions are the embodiment of a woman on her period (and this analogy applies to men as well). Irrational worries, cravings for specific things, hot and cold moods, clinginess and passive aggressiveness, and the list go on. Sudden exclamations of love could be followed by resentment and anxiety. However, there’s a capacity for offering unconditional care and empathy. There’s an instinctual understanding of emotional and physical needs while the conscious identity is more idealistic and romantic. Love is divine, not primal in the person’s eyes – yet the pull to have a physical home and the whole package of safety seems too be too pressing to ignore. It’s impossible to sacrifice everything for love – certain unconscious forces crave personal satisfaction and personal belonging. It is not enough to feel one with the universe or God. The Cancer Moon might instinctively want a home and a familial context to be satisfied and it could work well with the Piscean ideal and romanticism. The difficulty might lie in the effort it takes and the imperfections that come with the burdens of family life. The martyr complex might develop which might turn very toxic. The truth is that the person has enough to deal with regulating their own emotions and escapist tendencies. Individual strength is a necessary evil; it takes a lot of work for this person.

Pisces Sun – Libra Moon

There’s a strong focus on other people with this combo. Emotionally, there’s a thirst for balanced relationships, which causes an enhanced focus on what is happening with other people – what they’re doing and what they’re thinking. Appreciation of others comes naturally and is nothing the person has to work on. This being said, there’s a risk of desiring a world where everything is meticulously designed and perfected – which is bound to end up in disappointment. Nothing can really measure up to the standard that this person has set – it’s too fantastical. The divine could be sought through partnerships because the personal instinct is to navigate life through others. The path of self-actualization lies in the mystical quest for unity. Combining the two, one ends up with a person that is extremely idealistic and dependent on others to carry the self to new heights. The person can’t be without beauty; this is the most important component in life. To balance and adjust the atmosphere to suit one’s preferences is a constant work in progress. The restlessness and frustration that stems from not being able to make things be as one wants them to might not sit well with the Piscean identity. The divine essence shines through in everything, but the Libran perspective thinks that the divine is reached through modification and adjustment. Libra is the sign of the Arts, and art is form, first and foremost. The Piscean identity might claim that everything is art because nothing stands apart from the sublime source. Accepting everything as it is, is not an option for this person, even if the conscious identity might want it to be. Instinctually and unconsciously the person needs the new clothes, the pretty cake and the right music. Not to forget a socially estimable partner to cling to. Although the more instinctual needs are this superficial, the path of individuation is to see beyond form, to feel the aliveness within everything and merge with it yet remain separate without feeling disconnection from the greater Self. Life is an ongoing dance, yet it stands perfectly still at the same time. It’s fine to seek satisfaction in beauty, because it is not the ultimate, but it is expressed through it - as it is expressed through everything in existence.

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