#the book has been hidden and to this day its location remains unknown

[camilleflyingrotten]

When Crowley disappeared after the Edinburgh incident, Aziraphale got bored and started to write a novel

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #Azi invented fanfiction #and prob self insert #the book has been hidden and to this day its location remains unknown

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Eighteen (Zuko x Reader)

Chapter 17

Word Count: 2,200

Author’s Note: Shit’s hitting the fan y’all - not just in Two Halves but in everything else as well. I’m formatting this and ignoring all the impending doom swirling around me by drowning it out with Disney move soundtracks. 

You wake before Zuko the next morning, which isn't hard considering you barely slept. Toph arrives under the cover of early dawn, the sky just becoming gray as her ship lands on the palace grounds; you meet her without your husband, as you never got the chance to tell him she was coming the night previous. 

“You didn't have to rush out here,” you tell her, clutching her hands in an anxious vice. “It's not safe.” 

“When have I ever cared if anything was safe?” she scoffs. “Sparky clearly needs help protecting you.” 

The words are delivered with sarcastic wit, but her fingers shake in your palm. 

You decide you won't tell her about Qiang’s threat - you don't want to give him reason to hurt anyone else. Instead, you tell her that the palace is under constant, heavy surveillance, and that you're still unsure who exactly is conducting the strange occurrences that have plagued you or what their motives are. Not exactly a lie, but enough that you feel she won't be put in any more danger. 

“Do you think you can even trust your guards?” Toph wonders, her arm clenched tightly to your elbow. 

“Suki vetted every one of them herself,” you tell her. “But… we still don't know.” 

As you walk with her through the palace, nothing feels secure - the servants that pass you all seem suspicious, the guards and metal benders that flank you all looking like strangers through the gaze of your fear. Anyone could be working under Qiang; the thought of being so unsafe in your own home, even with the people you trust most beside you, makes you ill to the point you feel dizzy. 

“Zuko should be up,” you blurt. “Why don't you spar with him before breakfast? I’ll meet you.” 

Toph’s brow furrows with unease, her grip on your bicep becoming tighter. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

You nod, but don't bother to put on a brave face. 

“I just feel a little tired,” you reply. “I didn't sleep very well last night.” 

Again, not a lie. 

Toph considers this for a moment, no doubt gauging your pulse, then concedes, letting you go with a firm, nervous squeeze. 

“Okay,” she says. “We’ll stay close.” 

When you see that she goes without incident, you sweep through the corridor, hastily making your way back to your own, personal bedroom, and locking the door behind you. For a moment, you stand staring at the threshold, considering pushing your vanity or wardrobe in front of it to barricade yourself in. 

Your vanity. Your wardrobe. 

It sinks in that you haven't been alone in this room since you returned from Ember Island; you moved your belongings into Zuko’s room, opting to sleep next to him and making plans to convert the room back into a sunroom. You pace the floor slowly, inspecting the bed and its thin, billowing canopy, the windows and their gorgeous views beyond lightly veiled curtains; had you stayed in this room, they'd have been switched out for heavier ones in anticipation of winter, but they remain, letting in cool air that chills the dormant space. Dust has gathered on the deep, glossy wood of your vanity, your fingers leaving streaks in their wake as they run along its edge. You pull the single drawer open as if by instinct, something catching in your chest as its only remaining contents slide out from the shadows. 

A single pai sho tile - the lotus. 

On its side, so minuscule you can barely make it out, is a series of addresses; you discovered the markings one night while nervously toying with the gift from Iroh, finding various locations around the world listed on the piece after inspecting it under a magnifying glass. You told no one of this, not even Zuko, knowing deep down that it was something Iroh meant only for you. Your fingers trace over the address in the Imperial City - a pub by the name of Ichigo’s. 

Without a second thought, you dash to the trunk at the foot of your bed and pull a cloak from its depths - the one you and Zuko used to navigate the city unnoticed during your wedding celebrations. You strip out of your ceremonial robes, folding them neatly in the space where the cloak was and replacing them with your traveling clothes. You thank the spirits for the cold weather as you pull the cloak tightly around yourself, making sure it obscures your face before leaving the room once more. 

In the corner of your bedroom, there's a hatch; it's hidden under a false floorboard, beneath a thick rug, and leads to tunnels that wind in a labyrinth below the palace. Zuko explained that they've been there for hundreds of years, known to very few select people within the palace walls as an escape for the royal family should the need ever arise. 

“It's how we hid when Aang invaded the Fire Nation,” he told you. “It's where I confronted my father and left.” 

You raise the hatch from its disguise, slipping into the hole it forms in the floor with a single candle, the lotus tile, and the knife with which Qiang intends for you to kill your husband. In a matter of seconds, the board and rug fall back into place, and you slip from the palace in the dark, the entire world above unknown to your disappearance. 

The streets of the Imperial City are unfamiliar to you, but you make an effort to walk with sure steps. Your face is well hidden under your cloak, shadowed by the gray gloom of a silver sky, but it isn't as if anyone is curious enough to slow and peer beneath it; the air is brisk, and people rush past you in a haste to get where they need to go, back into warmth. 

Ichigo’s is on the fringes of the city, resting on a small hill beside the docks amongst a cluster of other businesses; together, they form a small alley and marketplace, its shops and stalls either shuttered or lit with hanging burners to fight off the winter cold. As you approach the bar, climbing over a set of wood steps that creak and shift under your weight, rain begins to fall. 

The inside of the bar proves much more welcoming than its surly exterior. In one corner, a fireplace burns with a wide, open hearth, a set of thick logs crackling cheerfully within. The paneled walls are decorated in an array of tapestries and promotional posters for other local businesses, and the tables that span the room are cozy and intimate, seated with cushions and placed atop tatami mats that buffer the rough wood floors. The bar itself is also quite quaint; only a few feet long and hosting about four seats, its shelves of liquor bordered by a twinkling string of lanterns and a small, handwritten message board announcing the day’s kitchen specials. What catches your eye, however, is the cluster of pai sho tables against one wall, the one farthest occupied by an elderly man in a white robe; you approach him tentatively, taking the seat opposite him and bowing respectfully under the guise of your hood. 

“Are you interested in a game?” the man asks. His voice is kindly, his mouth spreading into a grandfatherly smile as he speaks. “I don’t often find strangers willing to play against me.” 

“A game would be nice,” you reply, unsure what exactly you’re doing but knowing this man must be the reason Iroh sent you here. “Do you mind if I play with my own lotus tile?” 

“Not at all,” the man accommodates. “I too have my own set of tiles.” 

You reach into the pocket of your cloak, placing your lotus amongst the tiles set up on the game board; the man observes you carefully, leaning in to get a better look at the piece you’ve brought with you. 

“Do you mind if I see that for a moment?” he asks. “The craftsmanship is exquisite.” 

You nod, allowing him to take the piece. He turns it over in his fingers, running the pad of his thumb over the intricately carved design and holding it up to his face, inspecting it with great discretion. A nervous flicker tickles your stomach as he traces over the sides of the tile, no doubt finding the inscriptions on its surface. 

“You’ve been sent by a friend of mine,” the man finally states. 

“I believe so,” you respond. “I’m in need of some help.” 

“Then you’re in the right place,” the man says with a grin. He stands, handing the lotus tile back to you and ushering you to follow him. “Come with me. There’s another friend I’d like you to meet.” 

Wary, you follow him to the side of the bar, where he lifts a heavy curtain and slips into a back room. You clutch the knife in your pocket tightly, discreetly, hoping you haven’t just made a grave mistake and gotten yourself in more danger. He takes you through the bar’s storage room, moving aside a tower of boxes to reveal a small door, held in place by a simple, secure latch; he snaps it open, leading you through a low archway that descends into the building's basement. 

On the other side of the short passage, you find a tiny, yet nicely decorated sitting room - curtains hang from the ceiling creating a tentlike atmosphere, parted in places to reveal maps of the four nations hung on the walls. The center of the room is occupied by a large desk upon which many books and scrolls are scattered, and the air is heavy with the smoke of incense. Under the single lantern that lights the space, you spot the familiar face and humble stature of an older woman. 

“Advisor Yong,” you gasp. 

She stands in shock, pacing quickly over to you as you lower the hood of your cloak to reveal your face. She takes your hands in her own, clutching them tightly. 

“My lady,” Yong breathes with as much awe as you addressed her with. “How did you come all this way? Are you alone?” 

“Iroh gave her his tile,” the man who brought you explains. “I assume he sent her for her safety.” 

“There are tunnels under the palace,” you add. “I told the staff I was feeling ill and snuck out. Nobody knows I'm here.”

Yong guides you to the table, sitting you down beside her and telling the man to fetch you a cup of tea. The time-wisened lines in her skin seem deeper than usual, creased by a frown that distorts her whole face.

“They'll be discovering that you're gone soon,” she says, “so we must make this quick. Has Iroh told you about his membership with the Order before?” 

You shake your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. 

“The Order of the White Lotus,” Yong elaborates, “is an ancient society that operates beyond political bounds. We come together to share ancient philosophy and knowledge, but since the war… we act as a sort of lifeline organization as well. Emergency aid for those who need it.” 

“Iroh gave me that lotus tile when he was here for the wedding,” you tell her. “He must have known something I didn't because we’re in much more danger than we thought - Qiang threatened me. He wants me to kill Zuko.” 

“Qiang…” Yong mutters. “He can't be the one behind this. He doesn't have the manipulative tact to convince so many groups to act according to his will.” 

“He made it seem as if they were huge,” you continue. “He told me they had informants all over the palace.” 

“He's a good liar,” Yong dismisses, though her expression remains concerned. “Intimidating, too; that's why he was the one to threaten you. But he isn't the leader. What did he tell you? When he gave you the order?” 

“He said they'd kill my family. I don't want to lose anyone, but Katara and Aang…” 

Yong nods. 

“Aang is too important,” she finishes for you. “His death would devastate the world and put countless lives in danger. I promise, we won't let any harm come to them or anyone else.” 

She stands once more, offering a hand with which she raises you up. She continues to clutch it, gripping you as if letting go means surrendering you to the enemy. 

“I’ll call a meeting of our members within the city,” she states. “We have a few members staffed at the palace who we’ll ensure are at your guard. I’ll alert internal security and have them investigate Qiang immediately.” 

The man returns, and Yong instructs him to leave the tea and accompany you back to the palace - as far as he can without compromising the security of the tunnels. 

“Advisor Yong,” you say as you're ushered again through the passage and out the back of the pub, “we only have a week. Is that… do we have enough time?” 

Yong’s eyes sweep your face, her pupils flitting back and forth as she tries to find the right words to say.

“I won't lie to you,” she finally answers. “I don't know. All I can promise you is that we’ll do our best. We reconquered Ba Sing Se with much lesser numbers than we have now - here's hoping those odds are still in our favor.” 

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#two halves #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #firelord zuko #firelord zuko x reader #atla fanfic #atla fanfiction #zuko fanfic #zuko fanfiction #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko fanfiction #self-insert #self-insert fic #self-insert fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #self insert fic #fanfiction #fanfiction series #slow burn #slow burn fanfic

[gloomverse-theories]

 The Mancers - Who are they?

Back in Revelations, Purple introduced us to the idea of 5 Magicians who were able to disregard the known Rights of Magic, or use loopholes specific to themselves to do so. 

Here’s the mural we got of them in that very chapter:

It so happens that Purple introduces us to four of them in his book, so we are here to bring the information we have. Here’s what we’ve been able to deduce about them, both from the book and the webcomic.

Disclaimer: All titles are for fun unless mentioned in the story.

Going in chronological order, we have Amaryllis.

The First Mancer. The Goddess of Stratoverse. Freer of Humankind.

The first Mancer to be mentioned by name in-story (Cirrus in The Beach Episode Without Beach) and called the “Sun” or a Goddess, perhaps you have wondered what kind of Goddess she could be, and what she might have done to earn this title.

In the time before humans set out and settled the world (about 2000 years before the present), a Storm confined humanity into caves on a small island. When the Storm weakened, those communities could trade, but nobody ever got farther than half a day away, because the respite was so short.

Until her. As a child she discovered the power of Magic and cleared the Storm with raw power. Her name? Amaryllis. And the Isle carrying her name, now a holy land, is said to be where much of humanity was confined in its earliest days. Her current whereabouts are unknown and according to Hyacy Tradition, her “Element” is the Sky. There are four more: Light, Darkness, Seed, and Water. We’ll come back to them. 

Now back to Amaryllis.

In the stained glass we see in Revelations, we see a child in a yellow dress holding her hands towards the sky and seemingly catching a lightning strike in them: this is Amaryllis. She is seen as a Goddess in Stratoverse, associated with the Sun, and with the color yellow.

Yellow is the color of royalty for Stratoverse. Additional bonus fact: Amarillo/Amarilla is Spanish for yellow. 

From Amaryllis Isle, humankind spread all over Ecoverse where they would begin to discover more and more of Magic and build a society for the next 500 years. Which is when the next two Mancers come in. But before we get to explain “Hyacy”, we have to talk about the second Mancer: Malus. Breaker of Chains.

By the time Malus appeared, most of the magicless people had been forced into some form of slave labor for about 200 years, with their magic Masters keeping hats and wands as a closely guarded secret. 

Born a slave to magicless parents, Malus gained her Magic on her 13th birthday, apparently without a hat. Malus’ strong magical ability let her set out to end their reign in an angry, bloody revolution.

Her magic is directly linked to another Element of the Hyacy Tradition, Water. We see her figure at the bottom of the glass mosaic, surrounded by waves and bearing five blue jewels on her forehead. Her expression is quite fierce and her gesture of “parting waves” aggressive thanks to it.

It is unknown whether she has a link to the Mermaid, but if any Mancer made her, it’s most likely Malus.

This two year long revolution was ended by a girl born into a high ranking Magic household who was only sixteen when the revolution began. Her name was Hyacinth and she soon rose to become the leader of the people that survived the revolution, preaching peace to them with great charisma. Unlike Malus, who wasn’t a politician and disappeared as soon as the revolution was over, she remained a part of society the following years, and largely contributed to rebuilding Ecoverse after the civil war killed off about half of the population.

Now... there is no historical or even narrative evidence that Hyacinth has magic. So why do we suspect her to be a Mancer? Well...

Hyacinth and her followers built a religion/belief system, Hyacy, that reposed on five Elements: Light, Sky, Seed/Soil, Water and Darkness. If you were attentive, you have already seen the motif representing all five within the comic.

It appears that each Mancer corresponds to an element. The others are more obvious than Hyacinth, but if you go by elimination you can figure out she should be the Seed mancer. 

There are very few surviving records of Hyacinth’s magic (if at all), but according to the belief of her most Traditionalist followers, humans were most closely aligned with the Seed Attribute. The ease at which she unified the survivors, even the rarity of revolts against a former Master taking control, point towards her having mind affecting abilities of the Seed Attribute. Malus, despite no other magician being able to do more than slow her down, also implied that Hyacinth was stronger than herself, to the extent of refusing to fight her.

Purple’s summary of Mancer abilities supports this. He mentions that they can affect the human mind, though no direct mention of it is made in his book. As the one who would have the same element humans supposedly belong to, Seed, and more specifically humans with plants on their heads, if any character has mind control, it is most likely her.

She is the woman in the green dress and three green gems in our picture of all five. She has a peaceful expression, emphasizing her role of bringing peace to the revolution.

Furthermore, if you asked an Ecoversian living today, they would reply that both Hyacinth and Malus are still alive today, 1500 years later, but their whereabouts are unknown. We even see them in Rylie’s dream behind Yellow, which happens 500 years after the revolution. Their hair is different from the mural, but they are there as evidenced by the gems they wear and their locations.

Hyacinth

And Malus

Alright, three done, two mancers to go. Let’s tie over the historical events first, however.

200 years after Malus and Hyacinth, religious dissent broke out. Traditionalists claimed humans only belonged to the Seed element, and that Malus’ rampage had been caused by her being so interested in Water; Revisionists argued that restraining humans to the Seed element and devaluing the achievements of those of other Elements was not the way to go. Their biggest argument? Amaryllis, they insisted, had Weather (Sky) Magic and was obviously very important to human history. These Revisionists were given the newly discovered Stratoverse to avoid a civil war, and settled there. Much like Gloomverse, their Magic took various forms until a mysterious event dubbed “The Return” a hundred years later. Of who, or what, we do not know. But that event seems to have changed Stratoverse forever, and caused them to only seek Weather magic.

1000 years after Amaryllis drove back the Storm and 1000 years prior to the current story, Stratoverse and Ecoverse began to clash once again. This time, it was on a new landmass that would become known as Gloomverse.

As Gloomversians apparently didn’t write down the events of their founding, the only surviving records come from two sources in Stratoverse and Ecoverse, mostly the correspondence between their then-leaders Narcissus and Queen Asperitas. They decided to have Gloomverse become the land that would unite them once more, and rather than fight over the new continent, they decided to accept arrivals from both countries.

From these records, we learn of Asperitas sending in a very gifted Magician to keep the peace and manage the many arrivals. In the glass mural, she is the central figure, a hand holding up the Sun. Almost an adult when she first reached Gloomverse, she went by the name of Prisma.

Prisma managed to do this very well for a few years and one of the first settlements is now called City of the Ancients. This place has been abandoned after a certain unrecorded event (most likely Prisma’s murder) and has become Nim and Purple’s place of study. 

Prisma is seen glowing and speaking with grey text right before she is murdered. She also carries a Sun-shaped scepter (her wand?). She also is implied to have been the creator and/or master of the Colors. She is the Light Mancer, and is also the one we have seen in the recent “Less than human” chapter talking with Rylie.

Though we know a little about her life, her abilities are largely unknown. She shares the gem placement with Malus, but hers are yellow (the color of light/the sun/Stratoverse royalty) and there are also three of them.

We still have one figure on the mural to talk about:

This hidden one, who by elimination is the Darkness mancer. They are hiding behind Prisma in the purple mass perhaps representing the Storm, looking through to the side next to Amaryllis and holding something resembling a mask. Interestingly, their body is mostly hidden as well...

This is our prime suspect for the aforementioned Prisma Murder. The figure shrouded in Darkness with red eyes, carrying a black wand and covered in rags. 

Mooching “I can’t let this happen again” Hobo, the Dark Overlord, Amadeus. Husband of Petunia and father of Harold and the famous Wallis Gloom. I could go deep into detail about him right here and now, but as he is not mentioned in Purple’s book and apparently not a known part of history, I will keep this for a different post.

In any case it’s pretty clear he is the same person, just... a thousand years later. We already know Hyacinth and Malus are likely to still be alive after 1500 years after all.

So there you have it.  Five elements, five Mancers:

- Amaryllis of the Sky

- Malus of Water

- Hyacinth of Seed/Soil

- Prisma of Light

- Amadeus of Darkness 

Any further theory or linking to other characters would be pure speculation, so we’ll cut it here. Thank you for your time!

#gloomversetheories #mancers #gloomverse #mod joe #gloomverse theories #history #purples book #long post #prisma (gloomverse) #mooching hobo

[aion-rsa]

Star Wars: Alien Races That Changed the Galaxy

https://ift.tt/3eNUoaa

Star Wars is the story of a massive galaxy and the thousands of alien races that inhabit it. More importantly, it’s an epic tale of how these different civilizations come together to live as a galactic community, and the many struggles it often takes to get there.

Like any real-world society, many of the alien races in Star Wars have deep histories that cover everything from their origins and traditions to how they discovered spaceflight and their contributions to the galactic annals. Thanks to the Expanded Universe of books and comics that have spent the last 40 years going way beyond what you’ll ever see on screen, we know all about how the Chiss settled one of the most dangerous corners of space as well as how the Jedi and the Sith were born. We know about many of the earliest races to explore the galaxy, and we’ve learned quite a bit about the massive empire that preceded the one in the movies by millennia.

The point is that the Star Wars universe contains a lot of history, especially when you dig back through the Legends stories that are no longer canon but offer a wide breadth of information on events that predate the eras in which the movies and TV series are set. And now canon stories like The High Republic series are doing the same for the modern Disney continuity.

Stream your Star Wars favorites right here!

Through these stories, we’ve learned of the many alien civilizations that have shaped galactic history, whether through conquest, scientific discovery, interstellar exploration, or some smaller action that still led to a massive sea change in the galaxy. Here are a few of these civilizations that you should know…

Gree, Kwa, and Tythans

The Gree are so ancient that they predate known history in both Legends and Disney canon. Even the most authoritative Gree scholars didn’t know the full scope of their civilization’s history, but we do know that these six-tentacled cephalopods were one of the first alien races to develop a form of hyperspace technology and explore the stars. While the Gree settled many planets and built an empire, they most famously discovered Tython, a once-hidden planet strong in the Force that would become the birthplace of the Jedi Order.

While the Gree had long abandoned the planet (and the known galaxy) by the time the pilgrims who would become the Jedi arrived on their massive pyramid-shaped arks known as the Tho Yor, they weren’t the only ancient civilization to live on Tython before the days of the Jedi. Next came the Kwa, who were actually contemporaries of the Gree. They were best known for having built the Infinity Gates, a network of structures that allowed them to travel from one point in the galaxy to the other instantaneously — a far more advanced method of interstellar travel than even hyperspace.

But much of this Kwa technology and knowledge had been lost to time when the Force-sensitive pilgrims representing many of the galaxy’s species arrived on the planet and formed the Je’daii Order, the precursor to the religious faction of protectors we know today. These people are also referred to as the local Tythans, an ancient civilization that studied and learned to wield the Force, both the light and dark sides…

Rakata

During the time of the Gree and Kwa, there was also the vicious warrior race known as the Rakata, a primitive cannibalistic society that would one day escape their home world of Lehon and conquer the rest of the galaxy to form the Infinite Empire. Originally discovered by the Kwa, the Rakata learned about the ways of the Force from the more advanced species and quickly embraced the dark side. They created Force-powered hyperdrives and captured Force-sensitive slaves to power their ships, and when they turned on the Kwa in order to take the Infinity Gates for themselves, the Kwa were forced to destroy the network. Ultimately, the Rakata wiped out most of the Kwa, and what was left of that once-advanced civilization eventually devolved into a species of creatures known as the Kwi.

Needless to say, the Rakata were known for two things: their immense cruelty and the massive empire that connected over 500 planets. At the height of their power, the Rakata developed many other Force-powered technology, including the Star Forge, a space station that fed on the dark side and the energy of a nearby star to create an endless supply of battleships and weapons for their war machine.

But like all empires, the Infinite Empire eventually fell. Millennia of wars with other races, in-fighting, and a mysterious plague that cut them off from the Force left the Rakata broken and virtually extinct. The few Rakata that remained centuries later no longer even knew how to power their own technology.

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Sith

The original Sith that existed tens of thousands of years before Palpatine hailed from the planet Korriban (known as Moraband in the new canon) and were very different to the Sith Lords you know from the movies. In fact, the ancient Sith were a unique species of humanoids with red skin and facial tentacles with their own culture and traditions. But they do have one thing in common with the villains of the Skywalker Saga: they worshiped and practiced the dark side of the Force.

The Sith species eventually interbred with a faction of Human Dark Jedi outcasts who had left the known galaxy after a long, bloody war with their light side-worshiping counterparts (a story for another time). It was during this period that the Sith people amassed a great empire of their own and fought many wars against the Republic and the Jedi.

But more long-lasting than their ancient empire — long dead by the time of the movies — are their traditions, religious belief in the dark side, and the many artifacts and teachings they left behind for the Palpatine’s order of Sith to discover and use to conquer the galaxy. Sith holocrons scattered across space contained many great secrets about the Force, while tombs located on Korriban were home to the histories of many of the greatest Dark Lords of the Sith, including one worshipped by the Sith Eternal in The Rise of Skywalker. Without this ancient species, there would be no Sith as we know them today.

Mandalorians

Thousands of years before Boba Fett, the Clone Wars, and the Great Purge, the Mandalorians were known as fierce invaders and conquerors, a race that valued a good fight over all else. Both Legends and Disney canon tell stories of Mandalorian Crusaders who left Mandalore on a campaign of conquest that stretched all the way from the Outer Rim to the Inner Rim of the galaxy. Along the way, they fought great wars against the Jedi and the Republic.

While Disney canon has only alluded to a long conflict with the Jedi, the Legends continuity went into much more detail about the Mandalorian Wars, a 16-year conflict that left countless dead, at least one planet completely shattered, and led to the rise of a new Sith Empire that further devastated the Republic. It was during the aftermath of the Mandalorian Wars that many Jedi also broke away from the Order, turned to the dark side, and joined the Sith, sparking a Jedi Civil War that itself would lead to the near-extermination of the Jedi.

In essence, the Mandalorians’ initial salvo against the galaxy and its protectors escalated into a massive conflict beyond even what this warrior race could have ever imagined, and their legacy is in part immortalized by the role they played in ushering in a key moment in Jedi and Sith history.

Chiss

The blue-skinned and red-eyed Chiss are a mystery to most. In fact, besides the infamous Grand Admiral Thrawn, few Chiss have ever operated in the known galaxy, preferring to instead rule their empire in the uncharted, difficult-to-navigate, and dangerous region of space known as the Unknown Regions (where the Sith planet Exegol from The Rise of Skywalker was also located). Republic historians knew very little about the origin of the Chiss or how they formed their hidden empire, but one theory suggests they evolved from a forgotten group of human colonists who traveled into the Unknown Regions and never returned.

But while most Chiss preferred to keep to themselves on their home planet of Csilla, and the Chiss Ascendancy largely remained neutral in most galactic conflicts, Thrawn changed all that, bringing Chiss brilliance and strategy to the forefront of the Galactic Civil War. Legends introduces Thrawn as the new leader of what’s left of the Empire after Return of the Jedi, while Disney canon introduces him much earlier as a Grand Admiral operating at the height of Imperial power before the Original Trilogy. Regardless of the entry point, this master military tactician left an indelible mark on the galaxy, securing his people’s place in history, even as the Chiss as a civilization continue to confound scholars.

Read more

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By Lacy Baugher

Kaminoans

Although we didn’t actually get to see this era of Star Wars until 25 years after A New Hope, the Clone Wars have been a key part of the history of the galaxy far, far away since the very beginning. In fact, a brief mention of the Clone Wars in the first movie was one of the first signs that there was a big, epic history beyond the scope of the story being told. Obi-Wan describes the Clone Wars as the stuff of legend to a young, impressionable Luke, a time when the Jedi were at the height of their power. Of course, the Prequel Trilogy painted a much bleaker picture.

Regardless of the point of view, few would argue that the Kaminoans played a pivotal role in the Clone Wars, not only as the creators of the clones themselves but as the civilization that pretty much single-handedly turned the tide of war and set the stage for the Empire’s rise to power and the near-extinction of the Jedi. Before the Kaminoans delivered its massive clone army, the Republic had no army of the scale needed to fight the Separatist forces threatening to dismantle the galactic government. But by the time Palpatine was ready to unleash his ultimate plan at the end of the Clone Wars, he had the endlessly renewable fighting force he needed to do whatever he pleased. And thus, a largely benevolent alien civilization’s dark legacy was solidified.

Geonosians

The future Emperor and Dark Lord of the Sith didn’t just have designs for a grand army that he’d one day turn against a weakened Jedi Order, he also wanted to build the ultimate superweapon with which to control the rest of the galaxy. When it came time to begin construction of the dreaded Death Star, Palpatine turned to the industrious Geonosians, an insectoid species with the ingenuity needed for such a massive undertaking.

Geonosis will always be known as the planet where the Clone Wars began, but it was also the site of one of the most consequential military achievements in Star Wars history, as Geonosians set out to not only design the plans for the deadly space station but build it in the planet’s orbit. But their efforts were not rewarded. Not only did the Geonosians suffer terrible casualties for their part in the opening battle of the Clone Wars, but once the Emperor had no more use for them after the war, he ordered his forces to poison the planet with gas that effectively sterilized and killed the entire Geonosian population. The goal of this monstrous genocide? To keep the Death Star a secret until the time was right.

Bothans

While the Geonosians were key to the Death Star’s design and construction, crafty Bothan played a pivotal role in ending the space station’s reign of terror once and for all. You likely remember Mon Mothma’s words in Return of the Jedi: “Many Bothans died to bring us this information.” It’s a solemn moment that barely scratches the surface of one of the most consequential espionage operations ever conducted.

Known for their cunning and elite spy network, the Bothans worked tirelessly to secure the location of the second Death Star project. These spies also discovered that the Emperor planned to visit the station, presenting the perfect moment for the Rebellion to strike at the very heart of the Empire. The result of Bothan sacrifice was a killing blow to the tyrannical government and the death of the Emperor.

Yuuzhan Vong

One of the most controversial races ever introduced to Star Wars, the Yuuzhan Vong came from outside the known galaxy and played the role of classic alien invaders hellbent on conquering all planets in their path. They were known for their bio-organic weaponry, armor, technology, and vessels as well as for being largely impervious to the Force, making them the ultimate foe for Luke Skywalker’s New Jedi Order in the Legends continuity.

The Yuuzhan Vong waged a war on the New Republic that not only led to the death of Chewbacca and Anakin Solo, the youngest son of Han and Leia but to the dismantling of the galactic government itself. Everything the Rebellion had fought so hard for during the Galactic Civil War was shattered. Whether you like them or not, the Yuuzhan Vong took down the New Republic in Legends canon more than a decade before we even knew what the First Order was.

Let us know in the comments if you think we missed anyone and we may add them to the list!

The post Star Wars: Alien Races That Changed the Galaxy appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3cFVGBf

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[capricornus-rex]

The Flicker of Rebellion (1)

Requested by: @calkesttiss​ | Prompt:

Ooo what about Cal and reader going undercover and having to wear inquisitor or trooper uniforms

Cal Kestis x Reader

Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

1 of ?

A peacefulness washes over the temple hideout. It’s a normal day in Yavin IV.

Pilots and mechanics spend their break together in the hangar, bantering about dogfights and subjects of engineering. Medics bond with their patients as they receive stories before joining this rebellion whilst tending to their wounds.

Meanwhile, the forest was teeming with hidden gems of fauna—the cawing of the unseen bird amongst the branches, the rustle of the leaves as an apex predator prowls through the vegetation, and the rippling of the water as fish swim through the current—but in the midst of this lush, serene wonder, it was also the perfect place for two certain Jedi to ease their minds.

“Remember to turn in your heel when you do that stance,”

“Good block!”

“Okay, now try to block or evade this one!”

You and Cal exchange affirmations while sparring. It has become your joint pastime while everyone else was busy back in the base; the coolness of the trees and the chirping of the birds were an ideal ambience. The less distractions, the better either of you could work. In a few days’ time in staying in Yavin IV, the two of you already had your personal training course. Sparring was just part of the regimen.

“Ooh, good one!” Cal commented and then pushes you away from your interlock of blades.

“Thanks!”

The birds and tree-dwelling creatures have made a show out of your sparring. Peeking through the thick foliage and hiding behind the wide trunks, they watch curiously at these two strange creatures dancing around with buzzing rods of light.

The sparring was cut short when an alarm blared, it was coming from the base; it had startled away you audience in the tress back into their thickets and nests.

“Could that be the alarm Cere was telling us about?” you asked Cal while keeping your eyes in the general direction of the base.

“Most likely,”

Both of you turn to look at one another. An idea lit up the bulb in your head and your lips curled to a smirk.

“Race ya for it!”

Without waiting for Cal’s reaction, you booked it out of the woods and into the path leading straight back out the base. Cal eventually caught up to you until you were neck-and-neck. The rush flowed around your bloodstreams, the fresh air invigorated your lungs, and the wind blowing in your face made you feel free as a bird. The pair of you pop out of the bushes—startling some of the rebels who were lounging close to its shade—and continued your race from there.

The alarm didn’t stop blaring until for another seven minutes, even when most of the committee has already arrived in the room. You watch the members of the committee pour into the room as they come in, you weren’t expecting to know them but it helps to know who you’re fighting with.

The facilitator of the meeting was Captain Pardell, he took the stand and welcomed everyone first and foremost. He didn’t dwell in the niceties, he grabs the audience by the collar and cuts to the purpose of the meeting.

“As you were all made aware of: this meeting revolves around the subject of the Empire’s next step is. Senator Bail Organa will present his gathered data from the Senate Building all the way from Coruscant first; for those of you who don’t know, Senator Organa represents the planet Alderaan—he is also double-jobbing between us, the Rebellion, while serving his term in the Senate. He also has the most dangerous position among all of us.”

Captain Pardell stepped away from the front and gave the floor to Senator Organa. He thanked the captain’s introduction and spiel, like the captain, he went straight to the point.

“From my time in gathering data, I had the opportunity to join most Senate meetings regarding almost any kind of subject. The one I am presenting now is about the operations that the Empire has begun on Ilum. Like most, I’ve heard of it from our allies—Captain Pardell’s team of spies, Cal Kestis and [y/n]—and then confirmed it further upon my meeting days ago.”

He inserted a data card into the holotable’s data port. The image of the planet llum appears at the center of the table. Noticeable breakage on the planet’s surface and the massive crack along the equator disturbed the audience. Murmurs buzzed about on the benches, heads turn to one another as they comment and bombard questions in hushed whispers. Captain Pardell quieted the crowd with a single raise of the hand, Senator Organa continued.

“This is Ilum in its current state. The Empire has amassed an indefinite load of kyber crystals. The count is unknown, although they’re stored in heavy-duty transport crates—such containers are able to carry a load ranging from 50 to 85 tons. It is highly likely that they are able to hit that 50 or 85-ton mark with the crystals they’ve harvested.”

More murmurs filled the room, you and Cal watch the unhinged committee members in the room turn to one another and whisper their comments.

“They’re killing the planet!” one of the committee members burst while remaining seated.

“What are they going to do with that amount of kyber?!” another faceless voice followed.

Moments later, more and more questions from the crowd were starting to sound like jeers. The both of you had eyes shifting left and right, following each committee member standing up from their bench in an impulse just to voice out their thoughts.

“Enough!” Bail Organa bellowed, and with that the crowd behaved. “As of now, the Office of the Senate was ambiguous as to what they plan to do with this tremendous amount of kyber. This is where our directive comes in.”

Bail introduces Admiral Luthus, a Mon Calamari, like the former speakers the admiral followed the same pattern. He replaces Bail’s data card with his own, as he spoke, projections popped out one after the other.

“Our data specialists managed to take hold a handful of encryption codes from Imperial ships, these encryptions have been programmed into chips such as these,” an image of a sample data chip appeared from the holotable’s projectors.

“Our engineers have retrofitted selected ships so that the pilots can pass through the Imperial blockade since their scanners will register their own code in our ships. Save one Imperial shuttle that we’ve salvaged, repaired, and reprogrammed.”

Another projection pops out, but it was the said Imperial shuttle that the fighters have salvaged from who-knows-where. Admiral Luthus continued.

“Captain Pardell has gathered a small team of spies who will board these ships and infiltrate the Imperial base. He will fill you in on the details. Captain?”

“Once through the blockade, we will land in the planet of Cheth. It is a temperate, tropical planet located in the Scarif system. Reconnaissance tells us that the Imperial has an established base in the planet,”

Captain Pardell flashes a projection of the base’s blueprint and zooms in on certain areas as he explains.

“In this base, there is an archives vault where they store copies of their plans. Security will be tight there, all necessary precautions are exercised there; but we have a trick up our sleeve. Cal Kestis and [y/n] will gain access to the archives vault. While they do their part, my men and I will create a diversion to keep troopers away from the two so they can worry less with close contact and more in retrieving the data.”

The meeting was adjourned, the committee dispersed—some remained inside conversing with today’s speakers, while the others stepped out of the room including you and Cal.

“This is a big mission,” you thought out loud to Cal.

“Yeah. Even when nobody’s telling us, I can already feel their dependence on us on my shoulders,”

“Hey,” you gently tap him by the chest and smile. “Share the load. I got your back.”

The weight that Cal had put on himself somewhat lightened, your comforting words and beaming smile was all the reassurance he needed.

#cal kestis #cal kestis fic #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x reader fic #star wars #star wars fic #sw #sw fic #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi fallen order fic #sw jfo #sw jfo fic #swjfo #swjfo fic #jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order fic #jfo #jfo fic #fic request #requested by #requested by calkesttiss #prompt #fluff #disguise #disguise prompt #fic #fluff fic #request

[dashuisofanubis]

Another ghost AU

Okay the premise for this one is sort of a what if they figured out Nina was the chosen one and performed the ritual, but its also an AU.

KT, Eddie and Willow move into a boarding house for the prestigious Ankh school. They notice there are a lot of awards and items in the school dedicated to a group of students.

It turns out that on the 7th of July, around 50 years ago, these 7 students were discovered dead. The cause was believed to be poisoning as the students were all from the same house and the two surviving students admitted to having skipped meals at the house that day. The house mother was arrested and sentenced for murder, despite rumours that she was innocent.

The truth of the tale is different:

An ancient Egyptian artefact was believed to have power beyond scientific knowledge, and, once assembled, was said to grant immortality. However, nature must maintain a balance, and for every life extended, another has to be cut short.

Despite all their research, the Secret Society were not aware of these consequences, or most likely were at some level but chose to ignore it. So, when the ritual took place and life was transferred, they had what they wanted, but at a cost.

The Immortals:

Victor Rodenmaar. Location unknown. Has been off the grid for 25 years after vanishing one night in the middle of the school year

Daphne Andrews. Still a teacher at Ankh. Taught many student's parents and has said she will retire next year for the past 20 years

Eric Sweet. Eddie's father, and a man he's always admired and looked up to. He's not what he seems, and is a lot older than Eddie believed.

Mercer, father to one of the lost students. Has realised immortality is not all it's cracked up to be. Having lost his wife 10 years ago, he lives a lonely life and regrets ever joining the society and offering up his daughter.

Jason Winkler. Joined due to degenerative illness, hoping this would be a cure. It was, and he lives a mostly happy life, when he can forget what part he played in the tragedy.

Doctor Delia. Now the CEO of the local hospital, she's experimented with her immortality, to see if there is a way to transfer part of her life to a patient. It took a lot of work, but 11 years ago, she finally had some success. 14 year old Sophia was fatally injured in a car crash, and Dr Delia used her blood in a transfusion, saving the girl.

Rufus Zeno is the final immortal. It was supposed to be Roebuck, but Rufus broke in and threatened the Chosen One, unless he got what he wanted. Wanting to save the girl, and being the only one who hadn't drunk from the cup, Roebuck sacrificed his chance.

(Had he known the girl would die anyway, it might have been different)

Rufus is out there, somewhere, and he's dangerous.

Back to the story:

(Idk what the plot really is but here goes)

The trio (Eddie, KT and Willow) discover the students used to live in Anubis House.

One night, they're playing truth or dare with their housemates: Stella, Marco, Anna, Raf and Peter. KT is dared to go down into the cellar, where she finds a secret panel. Behind it, she finds 7 balancing scales, an intricately decorated cup, and an empty bottle.

The scales have discs with names written on them. The names match those of the 7 students who died. However, the discs are only on one side of the scales, suggesting there were 7 more previously. KT takes the bottle to prove she went into the basement, and something compels her to take the discs as well, which she shows to Willow once they're back in their room.

They let Eddie know about it the next morning and the 3 begin to wonder if the students' deaths were really as they seemed.

Eddie is walking up the stairs when he trips on a loose floorboard. Annoyed, he goes to try and put it back into place when something catches his eye. It's a metal disc, tarnished with age. He cleans it up and sees the word Zeno printed on it.

He tells KT and Willow, and KT realises it must be from the scales she found. Something doesn't feel right, so they decide to investigate.

Eddie jokingly suggests they hold a seance, and despite Willows warnings, they do.

It doesn't seem to work.

The next day, Willow discovers an intruder in the house, someone who looks very similar to photos in the school...

Willow is unnerved but curious, so she says hey to them. They turn around, apparently spooked that someone can see them, and vanish.

Willow tells the others, who initially disbelieve her, but soon they come to meet the former residents of their boarding house.

The ghosts were obviously affected by their own deaths, and the fact that they're ghosts, but it's been 50 years now, so they're getting over it. They generally try to stay out of the students' ways, as they learnt that people generally freak out at the sight of ghosts.

They appeared as ghosts the same moment their lives transferred to the immortals, but were extremely weak and found it hard to keep themselves together. They were unable to dissipate completely though, something was keeping them there. They had to watch as Trudy was arrested; as their house was put out of action till an increase in students forced them to open it again 15 years later; as Victor still wandered the halls; as all the students came and grew and left while they were trapped in the house.

Unable to die, but unable to live.

Slowly, they began to gain more power, and for the past 10 years they've been able to hold a corporeal form for lengthening times, meaning they can actually do things and go places. They're capable of leaving the house for short distances and periods of time, though if they're out for too long they fade away and reappear back in the house with a killer headache.

They think (hope) this means the immortals are weakening, but it could just be they're getting used to the whole being dead thing.

Their lives were tied to the balancing scales and the person on the opposite side, so they each have some connection to an immortal

This means they get fleeting impressions/feelings from their immortal, which strengthens with their proximity.

Connected Immortal and Ghost:

Rodenmaar - Nina

Sweet - Fabian

Andrews - Amber

Delia - Alfie

Roebuck/Zeno - Jerome

Mercer - Joy

Winkler - Patricia

Amber gets the most impressions because Ms Andrews still teaches at the school

Nina and Jerome receive hardly any because both Zeno and Rodenmaar are unknowns

However, recently they've started getting fleeting emotions and visuals that aren't their own. The two missing immortals are becoming active and they're heading for the house.

The ghosts can't do much on their own so Eddie, KT and Willow have to be prepared to discover what these two immortals want and put a stop to it.

Eddie finds out that his dad was once Eric Sweet (he chose a different name after leaving the school, to distance himself), the former headmaster of the school and is horrified by the part he played in all this. A confrontation goes down.

There's a bit where they track down Mick and Mara, now in their 60s, and bring them back to Anubis House to reunite with their former housemates. It would be a really emotional scene because while most of them weren't close, you can't live in close quarters with people for a long time, without forming a bond. And when it ended so abruptly with no goodbyes...well.

They also track down the other immortals and bring them to the house to face their ghosts (literally). Ms Andrews regrets it immensely; Delia has no (some) regrets, but argues she's able to save many more lives this way, Jason is in denial.

Don't imagine immortal!Mercer finally seeing his daughter again, only she's a ghost and he caused her death. He's full of apologies, but they're all based around how he missed her, not how he cut her life short.

There would be a lot of regret and grief all round, and anger on the ghosts' part.

While Trudy probably wouldn't be alive after all this time, the trio and the ghosts want the immortals to clear her name.

Zeno and Rodenmaar arrive at the house. They're both searching for an ancient artefact hidden in the house.

(Is it the mask? Is it the Book of Isis? Robert Frobisher Smythe? Who knows? Not me.)

They also want to try and end the other because, why not. Grudges can last forever.

The trio also meet Sophia at some point, who is undergoing weird transitions as a result of the blood transfusion. Her body is fighting it while also trying to embrace it, and it causes her to randomly absorb life/energy from plants or other people. She can also transfer energy to other beings, but this causes her to collapse. She also still looks 14 when she should be in her 20s by now. The trio befriend her and try to figure out a cure.

While their existences are tainted with regret and bitterness, the ghosts still make their own fun. Sometimes they'll pull pranks on unsuspecting students, or just sit in the back of the class room to listen to the lessons like they're students again. They know for a fact Ms Andrews hasn't changed her curriculum in 50 years and can now recite her lessons by heart. They also like to play games in the house like tag or hide and seek, and they will admit its more fun when you can phase through walls.

When they reveal themselves to the trio, they enjoy tormenting them, but also help them with their games nights, charading the answers behind the other 5s backs. Everyone's had near misses with the 5, but somehow they remain oblivious to the SEVEN GHOSTS living in their house. But then again everyone else is oblivous to the fact the 5 are on some Arthurian quest.

I don't know how this story would end, but the best outcome is that they fight Zeno and Rodenmaar, and some truth comes out that Rodenmaar has discovered a way to reverse what was done and needs an artefact from the tunnels to conduct the ritual. Zeno, meanwhile has discovered another ritual that would give him the power from the other immortals to essentially make himself a god.

Naturally, both are trying to stop the other from achieving their goals.

Initially, KT, Eddie, Willow and the ghosts (and Sophia) attempt to stop both parties, but when they discover Victor's plan they work to take down Zeno. Once he's subdued (taken down by Sophia draining his energy), they summon the other 5 immortals.

Some of them take some convincing, but others are all too ready to give up this immortal life. They get time to tie off loose ends. Ms. Andrews hands in her resignation, Delia entrusts someone (Sophia?) with her work, Mercer has a long talk with his daughter, Eric has an even longer talk with his son. Victor spends his time in Anubis House, telling the kids his story and apologising for taking so long to fix his mistake.

Eventually, the ritual takes place, and the next day sees 7 new students enrolled who look uncannily like the students in the pictures.

(It takes them a while to adjust to the fact they can't walk through walls anymore)

#then KT's grandfather gives her a key and they're off on another adventure #house of anubis #long post #hoa #kt rush #eddie miller #willow jenks #i know this was my longest au but it somehow ended up longer #ghost au 2: electric boogaloo #this would be an epic 100k fic but alas i dont have the energy nor skill to do that so take the plotline instead #honestly though this would make a great buzzfeed unsolved episode #also im so sorry about the anglicised versions of de vijf but i think thats what they would have been called if there was an english remake #ive put the keep reading thing on this so many times but tumblr keeps removing it so sorry if you have to scroll #hoa au

[taendrils]

the heartbeat challenge | 1

― ❝things never work in your favour when you run out of fucks to give, and right when you do heaven seems to throw the seed of evil right into your arms, or more precisely on the corridor to your college dorm. you swore an oath to hate the XY population, blood and pinkies and everything- but namjoon, the shy brunet helping you with your sister’s wedding has always been a man of science- and he seems to love testing just how much he can make you tick.❞

• pairing: namjoon/female reader  • genre: fluff, comedy, a college rom-com, semi-wedding planner a.u • warnings: slow burn, swearing, mentions of sexism and unhealthy dynamics in literature • wordcount: 16k words

a/n: this fic contains satire interpretation of a ‘man-hating’ oc. oh and a very cute namjoon. also this is my longest fic/series thing up to date. cheers and let’s enjoy.

“And a toast to the young couple!”

The people sprawled across the joined tables cheered, the sound of champagne glasses clinking and the sound of friends laughing in delight pleasant to your ears. Few things in life could beat the sensation of hearing nothing but sounds of happiness around, and you took it all in–letting your head fall back and closing your eyes, barely keeping yourself from raising your arms in the air. Between the winter midterms and the inter-semestrial break filled with nothing but volunteer work where you’d encounter children screaming on schedule and coming home to find your love interest–a.k.a the latest lesson chapters all spread out on the kitchen table–at last, you could say that you felt relaxed. One moment ready for the history books where this sort of happiness surrounded you, and one you deserved for sure.

Maybe you deserved it because the earrings you had been wearing for the past five hours insisted on pulling your entire earlobe off or at least fight for their custody, and some part of your knee still stung as a reminder to never rush with blades on your legs again. Especially at eight in the morning when a hyper Yuna who resembled the children you interacted with more than enough swayed into your room like a fairy of adult representatives–clipboard in hand and face lacking any concern. She resembled her corporate supervisors down to the hem of her tailored coat, ready to check every item that met the standards from her list and glare at anything else that didn’t. For her, it sounded like the perfect plan.

For you? Not so much.

She started out with your room, sending daggers to the dust on your nightstand before shifting her eyes to you. Or what was supposed to be you, hidden between three pairs of pants and a nest of messy hair, suitcase left open in the carpet’s middle and the rest of the clothes thrown out at random. A fallen soldier with hopes as high as the sky, but nowhere near ready to get struck with by the chains of femininity and requirement to socialize.

You know, like she didn’t tell you about her engagement party a whopping two days ago, as you were in combat to recover the countless days of sleep that you lost this semester in like, eight hours.

At first, living a quarter of your life with sleep deprivation, you thought you were imagining things, or you made unintentional contact with the spirit world in your attempts at meditation and regaining the self you lost as the years of education progressed. But no, here she was, diamond sparkling in artificial light like a laser pointed towards a jail sentence, focused on you. You didn’t dare to open your eyes, fear tap dancing as it travelled in slow motions across your spine at the chance that said light could hit you right in the pupil.

Spineless as you were, you allowed her to drag you along to whatever beauty rituals were going on in the household, passing a tray of cookies that you could blame on Minho’s choices for sure. Maybe the date too, with his impatience and competitive streak coming together to create the best party in the shortest time. To be honest, you had no idea about any of their whereabouts.  And hours later, between passive-aggressive calls, Hyoyeon arguing with staff as she watched last night’s MMA match, and a bright-eyed Minho swatching tissues to figure out the best colour coordination, you found yourself at a much bigger location, with everything that you dreaded next to you.

Namely, men.

Sure, you enjoyed making people happy and an enjoying an easygoing atmosphere; you were a firm believer (or someone who strived to be) in a life without worries, and thus every moment spent smiling brought you a hair closer to your goal. But men were... well. You’d leave that for them to explain.

Now, confronting the statement, people might think that you suffered from an attention-starving syndrome. Did you? Perhaps. The possibility was out there, far away, like your toleration for the male sex, but a self-grasp told you that your hate did not arise out of being ignored. Not that you were Miss Popularity ever or had friends more than you could count on your toes all high school. One could say, you did well enough to float in the middle of the spectrum–you were not demonized for not appealing to them, but neither did you get a confession or even guys from your parallel classes sliding into your Facebook messages using the classic ‘sup’. Oh, the tragedy of missing so much in life.

In fact, if you take time to think about it, that’s been your signature in most of your endeavours. Existing in the middle of any crowd. From a family standpoint, you weren’t able to shine like your sisters–Yuna being a signed model, recognised for her kindness and charming personality and Hyoyeon resembling the movie-version of a female badass–a no-nonsense boxing trainer. Each of them challenged the norms in their own way, subverting femininity or straight up refusing to conform to it and then... there was you.

That Feminist. Loud and a little annoying. Struggling with both.

The fact that they had settled and formed their own lives and routines while you skated on dry land through college didn’t help either. When you hung out with them, the reminder made you cower a little, fold yourself back into the shell you developed in your younger years from the lack of stability you experienced. You heard a lot about their boyfriends too– fiance and boyfriend, and from what you collected Minho seemed nice enough for a model, not to mention Hyoyeon’s doctor boyfriend, and you learnt to put up with them. Somehow.

However, you weren’t familiar with the faces to your right at the linear table, making it impossible to prevent having your mouth glued shut the entire time the photographer told each of you to smile and blinding you with the lights. Because here was the thing.

You had a blank face. A resting bitch face, like some said, or a woman not smiling face, as you liked to call it. You wanted to express your excitement, you really did, but the thought that your sister would soon be trapped close to forever in a relationship that could only be broken off if she gave her car, or worse–her TV screen held onto the corners of your mouth just like those damn earrings. Hence why, instead of expressing unfiltered joy over Yuna’s engagement, this time official, ring and fancy place rented, you looked like the personification of a rocking chair. Giving occasional nods as if you absorbed all information regarding next week’s weather.

Shame on them for dolling you up like this, hair parted, pretty braids tight on your scalp and orange dress making you look like a fairy. A fairy protecting the pumpkins and other agricultural crops, puffy sleeves moving like waves with your every movement and pleated fabric brushing over smooth thighs. Thighs you gave your blood, sweat and tears to.

Did you deserve to sit next to a man, all beautiful like this? What wrong have you done?

Since you were a child, you gained knowledge about the prices one had to pay to achieve happiness, and to restore the balance, with the peaceful music in the background and smiles in harmony to match it to your left, red wine you had been eyeing all evening on the other side, came the existence of the man. A tall gentleman with hair gel that spread to his brain, and whose arms were too big to stay by his sides, hence why he was taking up all the space on the table and separating you from your one true love. What was left to do, you pouted, interact with him and get into a potential discussion of how you can correct flabby arms, or risk your joints by stretching all across the table so you’d snatch the other one?

Not in the mood for a gym discussion in a trying time, you got up and used the remaining flexibility skills you had to bend across three welcoming faces. The liquid was so close now, its proximity tempting you and charming you into a trance. You wanted to experience this intimate moment, and to assure no one would pay attention to it– having you adverting your eyes to the table parallel to yours... making contact with your greatest enemies.

Your sister, with Minho and his mother who lit up at the sight of you. “Here she is, our youngest!”

She was a nice woman, short perm smoothing over the ends of her cheekbones. A figure that stood up to her son’s forearm, gentle and caring. As a general rule, you loved being in her presence, but you were already sensing the wrinkles forming as your eyes almost screwed shut with how hard you tried to raise the corners of your mouth. Not like you minded one bit, only one part of you wishing to avoid witnessing the impending disaster of interacting with her at social events.

Getting back into a normal position, you let your hand drop off the bottle, fingers longing for the coldness and bowed right as she averted her gaze to the chair you had been sitting on, then to the unknown guest. “And this must be your date?”

Your eyes widened, reaching to touch her only to have your hands freeze midway. “Oh, no, no way–I don’t have a date.”

“How come? Look at you, you’ve filled out so well,” she smiled as she squeezed the extra weight on your hips. To admit, the praise added a few points to your self-esteem meter, but it was no match to the aggravation you experienced in her presence because she had to ask about the other set of chromosomes at each meeting. It was part of the old lady gossip: asking about graduation, when you will get a job, oh and also if you’re not married by twenty-two when are you picking up a man so they can open another question folder. The one branded with a guaranteed approval stamp, none other than ‘when will you have grandkids’.

Insistent question marks to follow it soon after despite you not being related.

“I came to celebrate these two. I’m not looking for one right now,” you said, hoping your tone sounded polite in the least bit. Being accustomed to old ladies, who made up in curiosity for all they lost in height was a full-time job you never stopped learning from.

“Are you staying celibate? Waiting to save yourself for ‘the one’?” she inquired further. Here we go.

“Yeah, course she is.” Minho puffed, letting out a laugh. “For the One Lord Jesus Christ, you mean.”

“Amen. I will find my way, I’m sure,” you took a step back, attempting to return to your chair.“This family needed a cat lady anyway. You guys will be beautiful at 35 and all that, and I’ll be having my wrinkles illuminated by the laptop screen.”

“Coding?” Yuna supplied.

You took it as one of the instances to use your fake smile.“That’s plan A. If it fails, I’ll resort to the worse: write fanfiction in various locations.” Plan B was always ‘Embarrass yourself to the point they don’t talk to you out of their own will’. And get money.

“Oh, come on–”

“I could be in your basement and you won’t know it because Arnold Augustine the Third keeps wailing from the milk temperature.” you leaned your head forward, mimicking the way you sat while you typed on the keyboard, “Clickety clickety clickety clack, clickety clickety clack clack.”

“There is no way I would name our kid that.”

You pursed your lips. “Well, tell your fiance here who made me create an Instagram page to ‘keep the name’.”

His mother stood there with a tight-lipped mouth, the kind of expression others had when you weren’t close enough for them to get the joke, giving back the same forced politeness you gave a minute ago.“I can always introduce you to somebody, child.”

Minho tapped the beautiful girl four seats from you, whispering to her as she passed him the wine, and sometimes you envied him and Yuna for being so in-sync because the next second she was holding out a glass to you as he poured away the bottle’s contents. The drink matched the shade of her velvet floor-length gown, you noted, and if you thought you resembled a fairy of autumn, she was the season’s goddess.

“She’s enjoying herself enough, trust me,” her fiancé added as she passed you the glass. “I think we should check on uncle as well, don’t you love?”

Releasing a breath you’ve been holding for the entire meeting, you sat down, finally pouring the entire glass in your throat in one go, pose relaxing soon after. However, something bothered you–the feeling from this morning still lingered on your legs, little droplets of blood making your knee itch until you found a chair corner to relieve the sensation. Your knee moved farther, knocking into something solid. More accurate description provided, knocked into a muscled thigh fighting to rip out of a blue suit.

“Don’t have a date, huh?” the man grinned as he rubbed his leg against yours. Interpreting your gesture as romantic, movie flirting? Oh God. “Youngho, I’m a bodybuilder.”

A tab opened in your head to search for the profession: male thot job #1.

“Oh no, no no. No, thank you. I am here for the wine,” you explained, “I have a boyfriend.”

Yes, the wine. And the side piece was mango chicken.

“A lady shouldn’t drink so much. It’s not good for you,” he gave you a gentle smile, and you laced yours with the gentlest of ironies as you replied.

“A gentleman shouldn’t give unsolicited advice to strangers.”

He turned back to his plate, and you added another face to the history of guys who disappointed you on the first meeting, struggling to make space on your brain’s list.

Starting with your first crush, a basketball player who acted so nice with you and even pretended to know half the math you did to get close to you and work together. The joy was he seemed quicker to make fun of you for your moustache to his friends whenever they questioned your closeness. Second one, same field but a smaller ball to throw around, as sweet as they come, got bored with your dynamic when he met another girl who liked trap and Rammstein. The third one didn’t even know you existed–not that you were doing much to attract his attention either as you spent half your time staring at his hands and vintage shoes.

Then you considered the what ifs. If you wracked your brain enough, you could still remember the second date you went to at seventeen, eyes holding onto the remaining flicker of hope. Immersed into the memory, you recalled the way your pompadour partner, beer in hand, gave a detailed explanation not of your beauty, but of how much he hated communism and ‘feminazis’. After that, you lost count of the large-shouldered figures passing your life and focused your curiosity on said feminazis. Cool girls that, like you, realized long ago how the key to feminism didn’t have to do with hating men but happened to support the cause.

Attention syndromes aside, you didn’t lack ‘experience’ either. Didn’t even know what people considered experience. You kissed a lot of boys in truth or dares when you were fourteen (and man did you think you were doing something). Also, you were good at faking interest for dares when all you wanted to do was kiss them. Who would have thought you’d end up with a profound dread for the male sex? A good portion of the population who interacted with guys over sixteen, it clicked to you. After your discovery, you wished you could form a society made up of girls that were unfortunate enough to be attracted to those they hated. Yes, we exist, you wanted to say.

A capital flaw that turned you off beyond belief (not that they ever turned you on in the fun way beyond your bedroom and in the outside world) was their lack of dependability, besides opening their mouth. Your high school best friend, Yoongi, you remembered him as one of the most kind-hearted people that you knew. You could have almost said him alone showing this much humanity had been enough to clean the stains of his gender’s reputation, and yet. There’d always been that one little detail that proved to you that Yoongi was indeed a man.

Case in point: the one time in senior year in which you needed a photocopy for your album that required you to search half a town for. It went well, except for the fact that between seven bus stations you still weren’t sure whether they had the machine for it. And Yoongi being a few steps away from the store couldn’t bother to ask about it on the premise of ‘being sick’. Also, who could forget your high school sweetheart, Jungkook, your athlete deskmate who called a lovesick you for the first time during a presentation to ask you whether you’d join his clan in Dragon City.

Spoiler: they didn’t do photocopies there. But at least you contributed to the pay of bus drivers as you succumbed to breeding dragons ready for war.

The realisation came in at a much later time. Although the crushes came and fleeted and you had a greater chance than others at being smitten from the first three conversations with anyone, there was a territory you hadn’t adventured into. No longer did you bother to explain the heavier reasons, the tear-jerkers and mood ruiners. At the time you’d choose to go with the simple alternative.

You had never cared for a man, and you never planned to.

The standards raised. You became mature; you hated men. And nothing could have convinced you otherwise.

At least the free booze on table five distracted you from it.

So, about The Feminist.

The roots of this reputations had been foreign to you since you didn’t talk to many people outside of your dorm or classes. Even while volunteering, you kept it with the three friends you went there with, not making an effort to be social more than that. On the occasion, you’d act out to pull the laughs out of your friends and didn’t bother to scan the people watching, therefore it became a mystery to you how your first impression switched between a clown and the aluminium tinfoil hat.

You had your fair shares of conversations with frat boys in your freshman year when you were a small bundle of hate. Even then, as you expressed your opinions they twisted your words, mocked you as you kept to politeness while conversing. ‘I thought you didn’t like men’, they’d say with a smug face, carrying on with expressions which made you sneer. From the other side, your tinfoil sons and daughters, you heard about your supposed plans to go to Law School only to get into the government and implement liberalism and laws to limit their rights.

Well, they had the spirit but messed it up at the end. Not wrong but not true either. Sounded like another back-up plan in case it went wrong with computers. You ended up being a famous case in the ethics classes you took before you decided on coding, all gritted teeth and ready to eat guys who substituted a personality with monotonous voices and wearing glasses. Despite the events which to this day made you more reluctant to express yourself, you still frequented some classes related to the humanities field: you remained in gender studies and literature.

One of which you were currently sitting in, on the edge for the last hour due to today’s theme of discussing novels of experience. Ten minutes left and your wings would be free, with no hint of annoyance or anger for the entire day. An achievement uncommon for a lesson requiring creativity and freedom of belief, which you loved expressing but avoided hearing.

Creativity had its perks and downsides. One of them was that everyone was allowed to manifest it in one way or another, which left space for questionable fiction not only to be created but to be discussed and theorized over in academic circles. Such example you didn’t want to experience again had been the latest reading assignment, one of the choices for today’s topic. Most of your classmates who chose to present had ventured into other choices, letting you live and catering to your neurons. Until you heard the incantation.

“Based on a definitory experience in 1929, the book which puts to light the tragic heroine bearing the same name explores the idea of retrospection, of relieving a love whose absence leaves the individual…”

Leaves them blessed that they didn’t read such bullshit. You rolled your eyes, remembering the read you got through during winter break, the slowest 120 pages of your life. A tint of sadness seeped through the anger building in your loins, threatening to overflow. The rest of the emotions you learned in high school psychology came to you in their order. Starting with the disgust you felt at the author’s description of the young girl which were both infantilizing and barbaric, marking her bright presence and sense of spirituality as below him. The little fucking intellectual who sat and beat his dick to how he was the sole individual on Earth capable of self-reflection.

In the beginning, the first state to follow had been surprise. Surprise that no one thought to leave that man in a ditch after a drunk night and use his manuscript as toilet paper. With your eyes closing the night you read, in its steps happiness followed, now that it was over and you could go sleep and never check it again.

Lastly, fear. You understood and if you had to name a positive about the story would be the accurate portrayal of subjectivity, of how one would misinterpret based on their thought process and obsession with another person. Fiction had the qualms of exploring said concepts but to you, the way people related and discussed them based on reality’s moral system mattered most. You feared that people would take this toxic relationship and call it a love story and you feared the backlash following your disagreement.

“The subjective perspective of the events makes the impossible love even more painful for the protagonist as he is forced to separate from the young girl, ‘woman and child’, who ends up succumbing to his infatuation and wishes to give herself completely to him with the symbols of spirituality around them bearing as witnesses. A powerful interior conflict can be observed…”

The impossible love. Romeo and Juliet were shaking in their boots at the love of an unempathetic protagonist and a girl too young to know what love meant. You’d think the asshole had an interior conflict since he was stepping over any moral compass known to man.

“…, this way, an authentic and vulnerable experience is captured by the author. It is a story of irremediability, of a consuming love which young people aspire to experience and live for.”

Breathe through your nose, lips pursed to even out your inhales. Once again, the mere mention affected you more than it should’ve, and your mouth won the race over your self-control.

“I disagree.” You didn’t wait for the professor to call your name. Not anymore.“It makes no sense to brand the book as a love story or something a teenager should strive for because of the male character’s actions and his view of her throughout the story. A novel of experience? Certainly. The subjectivity and the protagonists’ reflective notes throughout the narrations guarantee it.”

“Well–” your classmate cut in, but you gave no sign of stopping.

“But she is described as ugly and barbaric, below him despite her high education and extensive poetry knowledge and changed from virgin to whore as she gives into him. These thoughts do not disappear even after he ‘falls in love’ and starts to feel whole next to her because of his supposed superiority. This is not a tragedy, separating them was mandatory to protect her.”

You let your head drop, pursing your lips as you waited for the counter argument. At the silence,  the professor took to watching you, pondering over the answer.“I think you should reflect on the mentality of the 30s. During that time, it could’ve been considered as such.”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop the slight tremor of your tone and the voice that raised another octave. “Are we still living in the 30s? Why are we perpetuating the same mentality, why are we letting it slip with this excuse?”

The professor’s gaze alternated between you and the clock pointing towards the end of the class, “We should leave this discussion for the next time.”

The whispers increased. From behind you, a girl spoke. “Here she goes again with this extreme stuff. I swear, I’m a feminist too but she is exaggerating.”

You were familiar with the type. The one to laugh at your jokes and watch with undivided attention whenever you wanted to lighten up the mood by making a fool of yourself. Several times you heard them laugh at jokes made at the expense of women, several times you were shut down when you stood against it, the moment you call it out you get called a sensitive extremist.

And it wasn’t always bad since men’s voices were an echo chamber to you or radio noise at best, yet the women. The pressure put on women like you by other women suffocated you, settling over your windpipe no matter what you replied. Those were the most frequent case when it came to the rising of your doubts. Chest heavy, you chose not to retaliate, storming out as soon as you collected your things, hoping that time alone would help you solve the issue within yourself.

“Hey, wait–” you snapped your head to the sound, wild eyes contrasting the touch of calamity in his. “I–”

The guy got out of class, hurrying after you. Even a buffoon would see the correlation.“Has the professor said anything?”

He paused in his tracks, taken off guard by the question. “No, that's not it. I wanted to tell you–”

Emotions weren’t your best feature, and you had a few arguments with them here and there. They would threaten you, you’d fight back, they’d reach for cat videos or a thing you did ten years ago and you’d shut up. And isolate.

Which was what you were planning to do right now, if not for Beanie Boy over there testing–wait. You’re sure you’ve seen this guy outside of literature.

“You're in my gender studies class, aren't you?” you pushed, remembering the denim jacket and beanie from a row in front of you, a classic colour combination. Besides that, who could forget the impression he left from the first day, starting off his speech with: I'm tired of his story, It's time I listen to hers. Girls cooing, an unusual image present in your lectures and a few giggling over the shy gestures following. That you remembered.

The tangled letters of his name stayed foreign to you, more concerned with paying attention and learning, and so did his motif to look for you. From what you gathered, he was a unique individual, popular for his Instagram outfit shots and scenery captures. An apparent style whose amalgam of characteristics you didn't recall seeing in recent lectures.

You tilted your head, hand falling to your hip. “Do you want the notes, is that it?”

His mouth gaped, dimples growing to see the light. “Oh, thank you for offering–”

“Then it’s settled. Come to the dorms on Floor One by Thursday, I’ll be there then,” you said with the solemnity and suspicion of a drug dealer, quick to turn around and walk away. More than ever at this hour needed the space to calm your nerves and collect yourself enough so you could pay attention to the next classes.

Still, were you so cheap now that you’d hand out your notes to anyone now to get rid of them? Information is the way to life, and yet you traded it just to get away from it.

Classic.

Five days later fate found you in yet another tricky situation. For as long as you’d live in the campus dorms, you were to never experience peace or any tranquillity. Be it you were cursed or stamped with bad luck at birth, the fact had been internalized long ago, along with your animosity for the object you have lost once again. There was no other way. You pressed the door’s handle, tempted to give up and bang your head against it so you had a way out of this situation.

At least you weren’t completely hopeless.

Once pulled out of said thoughts, you felt around for the phone in your jeans, battling with the sleeves of your fur coat to retrieve it so you could dial Yujin, “Hey, any chance you’re around? I lost the key again and I can’t face Mrs. Choi for the third time this month. Can you please go instead of me?”

Past desires loomed over you once again as you registered your roommate’s words: she didn’t think you’d be home this early, so she locked the door till she returned from the library. Your schedule followed: meet up with your girlfriends and revise the material for next week’s finals as you ranted on the side, but you didn’t have access to it. Duh.

A possibility that not everything is out to get you manifested as you heard steps on the hallway, and you took it as your saving grace… until you checked who it was. A perfect candidate for directing your frustrations to. The Man of the Hour. The most recent addition to your database, who said nothing about the missing material. You were friends on Facebook, for fuck’s sake, did he not care enough to ask for your room number? Did he have other resources to access your personal information, you questioned, frantic in your thoughts which made you turn around, determined to find the answers.

You marched up to him, cutting off his chances at avoidance. “You!”

He pointed to himself, mouth agape.

“You made me wait for so long, and you didn’t show up,” you chastised, wincing a little at how your neck cracked when you stared up at him. “I even organised my papers for you.”  

A hand came up to scratch at his own.“Uhh, I appreciate it… but I-I’m not here for that.”

“So, guess it’s for another time? How long will this take?”

Your patience was running thin more with each meeting, though you remained careful in front of the man. Given your current moods and schedule, you didn’t have the chance to rage about education- and a part of you didn’t want to either. The more you saw him, the more you took your time to observe him, along with his gestures, both of which made you reconsider your opinion of him. Such as no matter how tall and imposing he was, he never looked you in the eye.

Not to mention how you were locked outside your room so you stood no chance to even touch said cellulose, thus you had close to no right to be angry.

“I... This is my room. I moved to 113 at the beginning of the semester.” His gaze once again, drifted elsewhere, studying the hall and reverted back to your shoulders, to the soft curve of your jaw.

“Did I not see you before? Ever?”Were you that absent and disconnected from your surroundings?

“Well, uh… you must’ve seen a lot of these.” He bent to touch the ground before getting on his tiptoes to raise his arm as high as he could, and an image of huge beige coats and white sneakers popped into your mind. The assumptions you made led you to the face your roommate told you about, Kim Seokjin, a pure aphrodisiac senior from art history. You mistook Beanie Boy for him, you thought, coming back at the right time to watch the former grin bashfully at his joke. He surely caught you smiling, for he continues his newfound rambling. “Yeah, Hoseok says he won’t get down in the club with Vincent Van Gogh, so I switched on the coats. Sorry for confusing you.”

“So that’s what he’s been doing instead of practising at 5 AM,” you said, shivering as you remembered the way his steps brought more complaints in your sophomore year than the last generation combined. “You get used to the sound after a while. It worked wonders during exam season, I didn’t fall asleep one night.”

“It’s the same thing, he just has more audience now.”

You chuckled, police sirens going off in your head at the realisation that you were enjoying this, a little too much. With suspicion creeping up behind you and a sense of urgency to cleanse yourself through group conversation, the need to end the conversation throbbed in your veins. “Well, thanks for that. See you!”

You felt bad for leaving like that, but a complaint appointment and anxiety generated from the possibility that he will ask you to bring them now were already keeping you locked towards your destination: the lounge.

“I heard there was an emergency,” you sat down on the couch as you bid hello to the group of girls, books, notes and flashcards scattered on the table and their laps. You recognised them as the girls from your floor, a few doors away from you, with whom you spent a good majority of your time at the beginning of freshman year before drifting apart, each focused on your own majors and forming groups there. Besides Sojung, your close friend you plopped next to, you’d see them on occasion and spend your time with them pretending to study and trying out nearby cafes.

“Yes, we ran here as soon as we heard about your struggle,” she said, expression serious as she petted your head. Not long after, her grin grew in time with yours diminishing, satisfied at how she stole your joke out in the open like this. Despite your opposite attitudes, Sojung’s deadpan humour was never far from your dramatic one and many times she was quick to outwit you. She already knew about the events at the party, having them narrated in an incoherent string of texts, followed by the conclusion that you were in need of pleasant company.

“You mean girl,” you pouted, “and to think I came all the way here to support you.”

The girl rolled her eyes, going back to her study material, forehead crease a little too obvious, and you welcomed the challenge to make her laugh.

“These exams shouldn’t exist. They’re stressing you out too much,” you complained, wishing you could do more when the light bulb flickered in your head. “I’ll change my major. I’ll get my diploma in being a wall so I can protect every girl from these assholes. See what they do then.” Catching a glimpse of the corners of her mouth rising, you pondered the occupation: not a bad idea at all if you considered it.

“This is hell. Don’t you have things to revise too, girl?” Seungyeon, the criminology major and girl you wish you could be, said. Serious yet sociable, a go-getter with elevated thoughts said at the right time, she was as close to a college model you had.

“It’s a few brackets and logic commands. Not a lot to grasp. Either it works, or it doesn’t.” If you had lived in a world of your own wishful thinking and didn’t stress out over these two months in advance, yes. Studying and trying out the material at midnight became incorporated into your routine, allowing yourself a two-day break every week. In spite of it, you were glad you didn’t have to memorize entire textbooks and that your field allowed for skill practice, adding the literature classes you partook in to exercise your creativity and widen your perspectives.

“Plus, I’m here to listen to any of you who needs help, since my girl here has other plans,” you said, tone honey-like as you encouraged your proposal. You were aware at that not many of them were bold enough to ask for help first due to fear of inconveniencing others, making you cautious in approaching the subject and with enough luck catching some friends. You didn’t know Seungyeon that well on a personal level, but you were striving towards having more people as ambitious as her, what was a little sugar coating? And as expected, she grinned at you, getting up to hand you her portfolio, all written in cursive black ink.

“Can you quiz me on these terms?” You nodded, brows furrowing at the thesaurus language.

Close to thirty minutes later, coat discarded and your head spinning from the new information, your hand froze on the foiled page as your phone started buzzing in your back pocket.“Pits of hell, main demon speaking.”

“Please stop doing this whenever you’re answering me in public.”

“There’s a price to pay if you’re making me participate in a phone call.” you smiled, delighted by Yuna’s whiny tone, already picturing her desperate eye roll. “No, it’s ok. Keep going.”

“I talked to the receptionist and he said they can rent us the place March 30th. Some TV broadcast will host a reality series there from the fifth onward.”

Blood drained from your face.“T-that’s. In two months,” you stammered, shoulders already slumped at different heights from the stress building and slapping each bone at varying times. “Why not April first so you can say psych? Please…”

“Minho thought it’d be funny too. He has a spring collection in Portugal on the third.”

“What kind of thing is he modelling on your wedding week? Lord.”

“Tuxes.”

“Forget I asked,” you said through your teeth as your nails dug into the cover of Sojung’s manual, threatening to fold the piece and rip its remains. “And you want me to do what? Mhm… A few errands, right, close family wedding. Thank fuck for that at least. Sure, I don’t have anything else. Yes, I’m serious. Love you. Ok bye.”

Shifting your eyes to the group, you stared each of them in their pupil with solemnity as your body slumped on the couch till it met the criteria of a shapeless blob. “I’m doomed,” a sigh left your lips as your hand travelled to meet Sojung’s, craving physical affection in this time of need. Might as well get it from a pretty girl. “Here’s my end, cheers. Please raise a drink in my memory next time you go out.”

The girl cooed at your dramatics and squeezed your hand, reaching to caress your cheek and pull your head to her shoulder. She was not the one with words, but she never minded offering you physical comfort to remind of her support. Your eyes closed by themselves, wishing to drape yourself over her long legs and hide your face in her neck, a place where no responsibility could haunt you as you were hidden by her styled hair and comforting arms. In your crisis, you thanked heaven for women’s existence and for your luck to be surrounded by so many of them before you continued.

“She wants me to help with the wedding and I-I don’t know anything about this shit. I’m not good at the whole aesthetic thing.”

And a little part of your heart broke, the truth of your statement ringing in your ears. Although you learnt how to be confident in your abilities as you grew out of teenage years, you still had more to go through until you were comfortable with the unknown. Enthusiastic willingness existed, but it wasn’t always enough, and it hurt to be aware of it once again, having your stomach throb from the fear of disappointing or ruining things with your input.

“But you have style,” the girl added. “I love those tennis skirts you wear.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know about colour coordination, or materials, hell I don’t even know what a chiffon is...”

“Then why offer to do this?”

“Cause she’s busy you know,” you peeked at the biology book in her lap (the one you threatened to snap mere moments ago), thinking about how great it would be to exist as a paramecium.“She has a career and all while I’m here considering majoring in being a wall. And I don’t want her to carry such a burden alone.”

“You have time to learn. And if not, I know someone who can help with that. Namjoon is amazing with these things. I’ll talk to him, okay?”

“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-“

A part of your brain lit up in recognition, but you ignored it, not bothering to look-  too busy wallowing in your misery to be bothered with chats.

Sojung moved, making your head snap off her shoulder and have you grasp your surroundings–to be specific, their new addition to it: Beanie Boy from Gender Studies, sat on the folding chair with a stack of books in his lap. “Namjoon, you’re here, I have to ask–”

Time ticked as gears turned into your brain, throwing the information in every angle until you processed it. You nodded, mouth agape, thinking what you should put inside a conditional command to make this situation look better, hopeful as you were. It ended up something like this:

if (disasterhappens) { pleasedont(); }

Squeezed between the timeline of a Data Structures course and the unforgiving cold, you stepped out of the bus the same pace as Namjoon, whose name you picked after your last encounter. In your classroom, he’d often remain quiet, thus your conscience didn’t feel too bad about making an excuse for your pea-sized memory. Faces were easy to memorize, but God forbid, hold on to a name and your brain threatened explosion. This time, true to his word, he ditched the coat, going for a padded jacket.

It worried you the slightest, as it had him open to the attacks of the weather, but you kept it to yourself.

“What are we doing?”

“They got most of the stuff done, so I don’t have to bother with calligraphers and shit to send out invitations or find photographers, we picked the dress three months ago... it should be easy.” You flicked open the cover of your pocketbook, proud of the doodles you managed between the tasks. “I have to rent the tablecloths, organise the seating positions, order the flowers, argue with the guy at the venue, other useless stuff, then- oh! Get the cake- that’s her taking pity on me for sure.”

“Do you have any specifics? If not, we can work something out. I know what women like.”

You squinted in suspicion, tone rich with all the certainty you had the ability to muster. “I bet you do.“

His eyes widened, “No, I didn’t mean it like that-”

Keeping your mouth shut for the first time in your life, you stood to realise he was helping you; he didn’t look like he signed the petition to buy you a tinfoil hat. By law, you were obliged to restrain the second nature which leaned towards hostility- for men. The notion made you sigh, wishing for a way to tell him it was fine without it becoming weird or turning into a race for apologising. “Either way, I have no escape. Might as well drag someone to hell with me.”

Namjoon said nothing, stirring and adding salt to the soup of guilt you were harbouring for the last minute which boiled in your gut and threatened to overflow.

“Schedule comes as planned: be back at the station by 4 to take the 4:03 bus. That’s a 15-minute ride till we get to Yuna’s house where we’ll drop these, and from there it’s a 30-minute walk to the building.” With that, you sprung into action.

“You got this figured out, huh?” his voice rang with a tint of impress you picked up on.

Your lips pursed to suppress a smile as your pace slowed, “I mean, of course I do.” It was little before you changed your mind, thoughts running wild between your responsibilities and morals because of them battling out. The whirlwind made you move with more speed, your words almost matching the fastness of your legs.

“Thanks for coming with me and stuff. This will be a piece of cake, but still.” you shrugged, a little awkward to be running errands with a guy at 3:15 PM like one of those middle-aged couples. Hence why you resorted to Conversation 101, mastering it in time to deal with such an unfamiliar situation. Truth be told, your wished for a method to express your gratefulness now that he doubled it by he was accompanying you in the time between classes, a holy period marked by relaxation– not picking out from thirty shades of silk red.

However, by itself, the ‘thanks’ had remained stuck in your throat, in need of an extra push to make it sound nonchalant instead of a word of relief which decreased the anxiety blood levels.

He didn’t seem to mind. Namjoon walked behind you without struggle due to your bulldozer walk, eyes fixed on his steps and hands in his pockets. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help.” You turned your head to look back at him, a pursed smile lingering on your features making you repeat the action every five seconds. Turn, stare, square up with your facial muscles.

“You must really want those notes, huh? Is the class that important?” you joked as the two of you approached the store, hand reaching out to open the door with Namjoon trailing close.

“Well, I-” Namjoon paused, startled when your feet came to a halt at the doorstep, body spinning to make eye contact with him. The grip you had on the door handle twitched as you watched him come closer and closer, releasing right as he was about to step inside. In a perfect impersonation of an ostrich, his head pulled back as the door closed in seeming slow motion, reminding you of how much of a bad fanfiction your life was every time you went outside.

His widened eyes bordering on mania met yours through the glass, breaths living him as if he was trying to deflate and disappear from you as soon as possible. You gasped and bowed your head, moving to open the door, tugging it towards you with no result before his hand enveloped the handle, yanking it open. The force sent you aiming towards the pavement before strong fingers gripped your forearm and pulled you straight.

Straight into him.

Your mouth gaped, arms flying out to his biceps to push him away from you and save yourself out of this situation–that’s what you were planning. Instead, you froze, fingers still gripping the muscles because, despite the accident, you were touching him. A man.

The best part was that Namjoon seemed as frozen as you felt, his gaze busy tracing every feature, never leaving your face. Your heartbeat became more erratic by the second as embarrassment crept upon your cheeks, but you were not the bitch without prior experience to trainwrecks like this- after all, you made codes. Thus, you laughed and tightened your grip, slowly shaking him before the pace increased. “We have to be very precise! Do you understand me? This is for a far greater cause, we need to pay attention to every shade and detail, point blank-”

“Period. I wouldn’t have been here if I didn’t know,” the words come out gentle as he tilts his head, fingers trailing forward to pet your shoulder before distancing himself. He gave a curt nod, signalling for you to move, and if this was any other time you would’ve protested, you took it as an opening to flee.

“Yes, of course,” you mutter as you walk through the variety of fabrics. Yeet. The notes app on your phone came in handy now, as you had an excuse to focus on anything but him. Most of the instructions were clear, silk fabric, ask for the rented option because buying requires to iron them and none of you knew how to use a household object like that, stick to the theme and pick-

“Apple red?” you said out loud to the cloned shelves adorning the entire store, each inclined in a different way for aesthetic purposes, or to make your life difficult. “She’s so pretentious. What even is that, they all look like fucking red.”

“Couldn’t a professional do this?” Namjoon inquires from beside you, scrutinizing the interior design before settling on a banner painted on the wall. “Live laugh love. Very suburban.”

“Dunno, maybe this way they thought they could get away with spending less money. Not like they’re lacking any, goddamn family-oriented capitalists.” you rambled, being used to inserting dramatic lines in your speech with your girlfriends. Nevertheless, this territory had boundaries on pending left to be established. From your knowledge, guys weren’t used to interacting with language innovationists, so you had to sweeten the deal a little to avoid feelings of inferiority. “They could’ve counted on me finding a hero since men and all are sooo good with details.”

You sighed. Way to go, sarcasm.

Namjoon only chuckled, continuing to study the store’s organisation system. “I’ll go look for what we need, and we’ll get back in 10 minutes to compare. Hope that’s okay.” He dashed by you, your brows furrowing before realising it was time to roll, stomping away to browse through foldings.

After forgoing the opportunity to give up halfway, you returned to him with six different shades, raising each hand to present it to him, starting with the first option at hand, a deeper shade of red.“I think I found it. How’s this?”

Namjoon licked his lips.“Uh, well, it looks a little-”

“A little what? It’s red.” you pointed with your head as if it was obvious before lifting the others up. “All of these are red.”

“That is wine red,” he explained as he scratched the back of his neck. “We should pay more attention to details if we want to do a good job.”

Your left eye twitched. Namjoon had been kind to you (human standards, not male ones) in the time you spent together. Guaranteed, his timing was off during most of your meetings and in objective standards, he did nothing wrong, but your conscience didn’t enjoy subtle reprimanding. In fact, she felt threatened, ready to have you bring out the big guns. You had some logic and attention to detail too in any state of tiredness; it was a matter of whether it wanted to be exercised.

Despite your lack of knowledge in colour theory,  blamed on your monochromatic wardrobe, at first sight, it looked like apple to you! Yet, determination rose in your chest and now the world shed new light upon your sight- you would pick the best goddamn apple colour in this store.

He did nothing wrong. Still, you weren’t at fault either because your competitiveness flared over the most useless reasons.

“Huh, seems like I’ve been eating the wrong apples.” You wanted to drop the fabric onto the floor for dramatic effect, yet your common sense stopped you, too worried about the workers that would have to clean up after the two of you. “How about this one?”

“That’s burgundy.”

“How do you even know those?”

“My mother has that hair colour… Every lady over forty in our neighbourhood uses that.” Chin tucked, he looked down at his pile to avoid your gaze. “I think this is more accurate.”

You inspected the piece with the attention of a fine painter, ready to create your own Starry Night with tablecloths and future flowers.

“Looks like candy. That apple’s full of chemicals. Yuna only likes organic, farm stuff,” you chirped out of pure pettiness, and Namjoon must have sensed it, because his pose turned frigid, glare with raised eyebrows aimed like an arrow towards you. “I’m sure this one is right-”

“That’s crimson,” his voice interjected. “There’s no way this is good for a wedding unless we’re talking the Red one.”

Both of your tones grew sassier and the man you sassed at the end of your course morphed into a reflection of yourself. Nice but ready to cut if you’d open your mouth in the next three seconds. Bad for both of your sakes, you had no qualms about passing whatever limit because you were the tear in the system–for fuck’s sake, you made the system. “Lucky for me, I have no idea what that is. I don’t watch hipster shows.”

Let out a sound similar to a laugh meant to be suppressed yet it escaped anyway. “That’s the farthest thing possible from hipster.”

“Fine, I’m not supposed to care about those anyway.”

A passive-aggressive smile. “Yes, we should go back to our task and try to solve the problem.”

Another one. “There’s no problem, I’ll look for more and then we’ll go on our way.”

“Of course,” Padded boy retaliated before sitting in front of another shelf. “This?”

“It’s blinding my eyes. It’s not gonna match. She also wants freesias, let’s just find something similar,” you said as you dug through the packages on the bottom shelves. “Ha, how about this?”

“It... “ He tilted his head, letting out a deep exhale, “it looks good.”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” You clutched the fabric to your chest, ecstatic to leave colour combination to the experts and never return again.

With crossed arms and hostility radiating off him, Namjoon, the image of attention to detail, looked as if he was about to launch into a rant about nihilism and why shit like this shouldn’t matter at your smallest gesture. You mastered the same fixed stare, as your friends told you several times and you focused on the floral details at the empty cashier’s spot, scared of what might happen if each of you directed it towards the other.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Both your heads snapped to a man in overalls, flower crown resting on top of his head and grin beaming on his features- until he saw the both of you glaring at him, “Oh. I apologise for the delay.”

You broke out of your trance, gesturing at the packaged cloth. “We’d like to rent uh… ten of these.”

The man returned with your fulfilled request and you hurried to get a hold after swiping on Minho’s smiley-face covered credit card. You gave an awkward smile which you hoped he saw before switching to Namjoon, who was a bit difficult to interact with due to the messy way you were holding the items.

“I’ll hold them myself. Help me out with the door,” you muttered from under the mountain of fabric, feeling a little self-conscious of being this authoritative in a fabrics store.“If you want to.”

“It won’t move. Hold on.” From outside, he clutched the handle and pulled it back with his entire body, leaning half-suspended in the air. His leg, like a whip from God, stretched out over the pavement in pointé position to reach the other door and fight to push it as you squeezed through the minimal space.

Ignoring Namjoon still stretched out trying to open doors for you, you checked your hand watch, the image making you gasp.“Oh no! It’s 4:10 p.m.” You turned to him, eyes wild and devoid of any humanity as he got into standing position at last.

“We had to be at the bus station at 4! The next bus is in 6 minutes and it’s going to take us 15 minutes to get there and I can’t afford a taxi.” You sprinted with the most speed, but after an entire fifteen seconds on the clock your feet planted on the ground, hands on your knees and throat constricting as you struggled for air.

“Why do I never do cardio I-” you panted to no one in particular as Namjoon’s figure passed you, increasing the distance with controlled steps. “Oh fuck. Hold on. Wait!”

Your body did its best to maintain your equilibrium as you chased after him, tablecloths in hand.“How on Earth are you moving this fast-”

With a gaze at his wit’s end, he waited till you advanced to him before snatching the packed items from you and digging through his back pocket to get his wallet out. “Hold this and pay,” he said as he intertwined his arm with yours, hitting the acceleration button full force without warning, “There’s no time for little legs.”

Once again, your heart joined the marathon.“Hey–wait! Wait, I didn’t plan a sprint in this, my hair’s going to be ruined!” The wind’s presence smacked you at once too, even air attacking as you tried and failed to keep up with his pace. Thus, all left to do was whine about it. “Move slower! My hair, I–I can’t let people know I’m ugly–hey!”

“Spill.”

“Quite interesting that you assumed I’d have anything to complain about when I never did it in my life.”

Sojung quirked her eyebrow, pausing her scrolling to turn her head and judge you properly, to which you pursed your lips- fighting hard to not burst into laughter and blow your cover.

With the aid of a motivational discourse about the balance between studying and having fun (the most you can have in said weather), you managed to bribe her into watching a movie as long as you made the sweet tea and let her pick. A problematic duo, Sojung and these choices, since she had a torturing streak going against your brain cells, but you followed her rules, ready to rumble by immersing yourself into whatever character you deemed the dumbest. Now, warm cup in hand, there you stood, squeezed to her side due to the bed’s size, looking like her disciple, or at least a very starry-eyed novice.

How else were you supposed to be, as you were cuddling with an objective image of temptation under the blankets, bare feet ducking under hers to steal her warmth? A woman who radiated daintiness without effort, the tips of her hair still wavy from Saturday’s party enough to create the aura of an Aphrodite of Science who pulled you in, who charmed you into wanting to feed her grapes and braid her hair.

“You haven’t talked about it in days. I’m worried,” she stated as if you broke our friendship code by avoiding the wedding topic, which you thought you were doing a pretty good job on. Yesterday you even stuck to the manners code while convincing the photographer not to reschedule, reminding him with the required politeness of who he was dealing with. Your sister didn’t like to flaunt her status and neither did you with yours (whether you had one was arguable), yet you never minded reminding people who she was in case she got too humble.“You’re not like that.”

“Fine, don't look at me like this- there’s a reason why I should’ve said no. I made a fool out of myself.” your friend nodded, giving you the gesture for ‘go-ahead, confess your sins’. “So we got to the store, I walked first right, cause you know how I move, and I opened the door and you know I’m not an animal so I wanted to hold the door open for him but-”

“But he’s a man.”

“Yeah and I can’t-” you closed your mouth, opting for indecipherable gestures with your free hand, “fraternize with the enemy, for lack of a better word. And I almost hit him with the door.”

With a temporary interest, you watched as the beginning credits for whatever movie Sojung picked. This way you could postpone the pain a little. Deep breaths.

“I didn't know how he is with these things, I- we argued a lot. Over tablecloths.”

“Of course. Like me and Mino when we had to do that project together. The cells we had to analyze looked like cones to me but he insisted they're joints.”

You laughed, a full sound that came with you shaking your head, “The bar is on the fucking ground, God.”

“Mhm, but I'm sure Namjoon wasn't like that. He's very immaculate and detail-oriented with his work, not thinking about joints,” she emphasised on the last words. “He’s an alright guy. A little passive-aggressive sometimes but he'll get over it.”

“Yeah, he’s-” you sputtered, an adequate definition of Namjoon still foreign to you. Good would raise suspicions, not bad would have Sojung urge you into detailing. “Bearable.”

She gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. “Right. And his Insta shots are cute. You should follow him.”

You sighed, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone and obey her request. After a search lasting less than a few minutes, you caught sight of familiar fashion popping into your recommended. You clicked on the profile, pictures of animals and outfits for the day welcoming you, his trademark coats fitting perfect with his long legs.

Compared to the rest of his feed, his fifth picture was a close-up one, with him sitting on the ground, a deer on each of his side. At the display taken from a Disney picturesque, there it was: guilt drowning you again, this time sour edition. Why were you like this.

Granted, despite your differences and mutual pettiness, he tried to be patient for as long as he could-bless his heart- while you started out colder and less optimistic than usual and let your attitude get the best of you. Grumpiness was not a trait of yours, it was by chance you let it take the wheel again as you pressed the follow button. Bold of you to think he’d notice with his 1.3k mark, coming from the girl with 70 followers and three pics of you smiling.

Cuddled up to your friend, you settled on forgoing this matter, focusing on the movie and hoping the guilt soup would simmer down. Later swearing as your insides turned to mush, you buried your head in the pillow, groaning as you re-imagined the scene with the male lead trespassing for the girl- risking fines for plucking the rose and jumping back the same gate with no effort. A hundred other similar scene to this one came back to you, and yet your reaction was impossible to control- half-way between an eye roll and batting your eyelashes, brain alternating between commands. Old, young, there were reasons cliches were cliches, and the public's feelings were what made them popular from the start.

This love was the exact movie love which would never be possible in real life, where the oh-so-young hero gave roses and heart attacks to an innocent girl having no prior experience with motorcycles. Thus, you didn’t bother to fight against indulging a little in whatever trope the movie was displaying. It mixed the leather jacket and typical bad boy vehicles with a retro type of romance.

“Why do you always insist on this kind of movies?” you asked, pleading with your girl to cease these activities but also hinting to her you wouldn't mind another one. Especially for this week, a time where love and capitalism went one on one. Valentine’s day was a sensitive topic for you, anti-capitalist and all, but you were aware of the loneliness some friends of your experienced. Hence why ever since you were a freshman, you bought envelopes and red paper, brought your trusted heart stapler and got to work. You had close to no criteria for your choices: close friends, people you had pleasant interactions with, girls under stressful situations. Random people on hallways who made you smile and later got a letter with a lollipop and your attempts at a cursive: ‘Someone’s thinking of you! Please buy chocolate on sale this year!’

“Wanted to get us in the mood.” She winked at you as her hand found yours under the blanket, laptop propped on her legs, “It’s fun seeing you squirm.”

“Come on, men in real life are not like that. There’s not one dude out there who will be this attentive to you, and if he does he's gonna get you in debt. You'll have to bail him out of jail.”

Sojung shrugged, yellow turtleneck brushing adorably against her chin. You didn’t know what offended you more: her silence or how cute she looked without even trying - making it impossible to stay fake-mad at her.

“My judgement’s been rotten, but if I said one fair thing in this world is that one.” An accusing finger was pointed at her, “You should agree. I haven’t seen you talk to any of the guys in your classes outside of school.”

Sojung took one long glance at you, taking her time to answer. “I guess I’m too busy right now.”

Your brows furrowed, “Yeah… college’s a bitch. But this time it’s doing you something good, right?”

“Eh. Another one?” she asked, seconds away from your definite yes.

After two more hours of cringing and containing your cooing, you remembered today’s goals: find Namjoon and consult him about the next weeks’ schedules, establish a proper plan. Of minimal interaction, if possible- in which both of you secured efficiency and less trivial arguing. You shook your head, finding the thought’s beginning ridiculous- going to his room, seeing him to tell him you didn’t want to see him.

Wasn’t a complete truth either.

Sense of responsibility and need for order aside, this was a bad idea. You didn’t check in with him, part hesitation part not having his number and being too awkward to write to him on Facebook (you were friends, you checked). Yet, you stood at his door, fist hanging in the air.

Three raps, a deep breath to calm your nerves- what nerves? Why would you experience that? You could do this. You knocked on doors before, thank God.

With newfound confidence, you smacked said door with all you had, positive that Namjoon would hear and you’d have no way out of it then. Bag on your shoulder, you fiddled with the letter hidden behind your back, hoping the glue dried enough not to move the heart from its middle. Earlier today, as you were bracing yourself for your mission, you saw Hoseok heading for practice. It eased you a bit, doing this in front of Namjoon alone.

The door opened and your mouth curled to the sound of it rattling from its hinges, “Hi, are you busy?”

Namjoon, in all of his bear pyjamas and bedhead glory, eyes round and wide stared at you with uncertainty. “I’m… not doing much. You can come in.”

“Were you sleeping? Sorry I didn’t say anything, I don’t have your number and-”

“No, no, we can solve that. I-” he paused, seeming to struggle, “That’s how I sit when I don’t study or go outside.”

Following after him, you watched as he sat back on his bed, same lotus position and brought his legs closer together to make space for you. Soon, he must have realized his mistake, tips of his ears turning red as his gaze moved back to you. “I mean! You can sit in Hobi’s bed. I’ll-” He rolled out of his bed, crouching next to his roommate’s bed so he was next to you, “yeah.”

“I don’t want to take away too much of your time-”

“I don’t mind.” He licked his lips, head dropping down, “Well, not that much. Please continue.”

You bent to show him what you’ve been working on- a logical scheme to ensure productivity without spending too long on a destination, tying together similar events. One which you ended up doodling on for illustration, marking the points where you might have trouble later and the way to approach them. “This is the battle plan. Minimum effort, maximum fun. I fucking hope.”

“Cute,” Namjoon said, a close-mouthed smile on, and you were right in the radius to get a glimpse at the true depth of his dimple. Oh. You pouted, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form a coherent thought at his words. You were not cute. “I mean the sketch.” 

Chest deflated, you pursed your lips at the geometric owl you drew, not pausing to catch the amused glint in his eyes or how his grin was growing. “Ok, first destination. So I searched for Google reviews, right, and the guy at the venue is a total asshole.”

“What’s the plan then?”

You breathed out, “I was… I was hoping that you can help with this one. I, err, struggle with being diplomatic around guys.”

He nodded, signature dimple popping out again.“Sometimes.”

Your mouth gaped in mock offense before you caught his gaze again. You cursed under your breath, looking down at your chest in indignation then switching to his desk chair. It resembled the one in the lounge to the point it was suspicious–making you squint at the offensive object, recalling the image of Namjoon last sat on when he was pulled into this mess.

“…And I’d appreciate you giving me some tips maybe, on how to deal with the guy. I’m desperate.” The option of going there and listing everything you and your family wanted without a compromise was tempting, but there were several warning bells pointing towards the opposite result.

“To begin, don’t judge his colour combination outfits.” He chuckled, lifting your mood a little. “Be assertive, but don’t make him feel out of control. Bring your demands in as suggestions.”

“Look intimidating but polite,” he said softly. “You already have half the part down.”

You puffed, “I breathed.”

“Doesn’t matter if the situation seems bad, don’t bend down to whatever he may tell.” He extended his palm towards you, and you gave him the sheet. “You think he stands a chance against these?”

“I was planning on that, but-” But it was difficult for you to do these without becoming snappy, without attempting to have the fucker trip with the power of your glare. Your voice died down in your throat as you stared at the bullet point tasks again.

Check in, talk about catering options and suggest food for their catering team to serve, confirm the guest list and the number of hours spent. Return a month later to assign the seats and assist the decoration process in case there was any need for changes. All that came as an obstacle was the man. The little devil impersonator you head so much about on hidden google reviews.

If you lost your cool it meant sabotaging one of the most important tasks of the entire scheme, which would guarantee a disaster in case you messed up. Here you were, with a possibility of rivalling Cinderella and getting expensive shoes stuck on stairs, only you’d lose the entire place instead of the shoe. It wasn’t like you could hold a wedding under your local drawbridge either-why did Yuna leave this on you? Why not pick Hyoyeon or Minho? Was this the time for you to develop a diplomatic streak?

Namjoon interrupted your impending existential crisis, “I’m free this weekend.”

Using the rational side of your brain, you submitted to his request, crossing off your earlier decisions. No interaction my ass, you thought. “Fine. I’ll pick you up on Sunday.”

As he meant to return your plan, you got up. “Actually, that is for you. And also this.” You pulled out the blue envelope, heart left intact to seal it.

“Oh?”

A rush of panic hit your gut from how he was looking at you, expecting you to go on. Did he want you to spell it out? God, no, you–“…found it at the door.”

As he got a hold of it, he let out a fake gasp; yet you weren’t so sure about the excitement which came across real, urging you to check the letter again for things you might have missed.

“Woah, it's right in the middle! Very sharp with the details,” the man tilted his head, not giving you any time to breathe. Like he was testing your reaction.

You tried to keep any tint of emotions at bay despite your body naturally adopting a more confident pose at the praise.“Mhm, agreed.”

“This is very thoughtful. I should thank the person when I see them. Even though it came four days earlier,” he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah-”

“Must have messed up the date.”

“Hey!” You paused, mouth closing shut. “Who cares? They made an effort.”

“You’re right, I’ll make sure to let them know.” He nodded with solemnity. “Was that it?” he asked and ended up mimicking your previous gesture, not meaning to come out like that.

“Uh, I have to go anyways.” You laughed to try and mask how startled you were. “I’ll… see you in a few days. Have a good one?”

I’ll try, he wanted to say, but instead he nodded, following you to the exit.

After you found the most bizarre way to ask for his number again, he meant to return to studying, thoughts of his appearance forgotten now that you left. He didn’t do much else since he woke up, neither he could say he expected anything to happen today, and he was long accommodated to the sturdiness of his chair to be bothered by sitting there for hours.

Settling on his usual space, he placed the papers you gave him under his stationery, focusing to remember the line he remained at. Though, it was no easy task, the little heart and doodles pulling on his attention and disregarding his work ethic. Damn them.

Before he registered his actions, Namjoon grabbed the papers again, taking in every piece of information laid on the battle notes he started out with. One thing that stood out to him was the contrast between your big personality, which appeared effortless to him, and your writing. He sort of expected messier handwriting taking up space on the sheet, similar to the way you acted each day.

Meeting you didn’t happen often, but he was neither blind nor deaf, he heard the degree of familiarity you used in speech even with teachers, had seen you in passing comforting people from the same dorm. He felt like a witness to some of your antics by the vividness Sojung described them with, complaining that kids at the volunteering centre would spend more time with you, attacking you with kisses to as you screeched and swore revenge.

Your writing was smaller and much more organized, taking up half the A5 paper you gave him. He didn’t know why he was even thinking about this, or why he felt like he found something new about you through it. Next came the letter, which contained a heart-shaped lollipop and a note attached to it, this time written in cursive but bearing the same letter size.

He chuckled as he read. Chocolate on sale. Ha, he bought that February second.

Some of the regrets for your experience together washed away as he spent more time re-reading, an impulse having him reach towards his stationery and take the scissors, cutting your schedule plan in half. You, in particular, were not the main cause for said emotions, he knew that much. Often he had a hard time telling people no, wishing to help as much as he could even if it came at his expense and a disappointed look from his friends who pleaded with him to listen, to stop caring so much about other people’s situations and turn his attention to him. Be selfish, take a break, practice self-care or whatever he wanted to call it, they told him. Look at you for once.

He still struggled with that. This time, like many others, his conscience was telling him he’s doing the right thing, but there was a slight change. Something pleasant stirring up in his loins, a level of contentment with his decision to accept. He could at last witness you rip that fucker to shreds.

The anatomy book was still open, but for the time being, he had no motivation to continue studying. He wanted to prevent losing your indications too, so he put the paper inside the book before closing it, only image available being the freesia you drew next to the first circle. No more information for now, he thought. After all, he could research plenty in his surroundings for the current chapter.

The cardiovascular system.

Based on your poor approximations, it had been more than a week since your last encounter with Namjoon, and a part of you wanted to scream because you had kept a lot of secrets in during this time. There was no date from when you began classifying your life as before and after Namjoon, but as the timeline stretched out you started talking to him more and more. To the point where you’d have inner monologues about it and whether you were doing the right thing, like the case in point.

You forgot about yourself on several occasions, swimming in special mathematics and the burden of college life which nearly drowned your optimism alongside that of your friends’. Yet, to your surprise, at least twice a day you’d find a lifeboat to lean onto which came in a package with a hose to swallow the water. Weird metaphors aside, in other words, you and Namjoon started texting a few days after he gave you his number and you managed to deliver the notes. And not just one phrase here and there, but multiple messages that had you debating food choices, new courses and the density of your literature teacher.

It turned into a habit, checking your notifications between classes because of him. Those close to you knew you preferred real-life communication to texting and made efforts to hang out as much as possible, so your phone hardly buzzed most of the time.

With the exception of him, of course. You discovered hidden opinions with the help of your flair for complaining and progressed on the stages of your friendship enough to be comfortable with the idea of him helping you. Well, calling it a friendship could’ve been a stretch, but development is development. Difficulties still arose in the eye contact department, but you discovered he opens up far more when he didn’t have to face you. Were you scary like that? He even followed you back on Instagram before liking all of your pictures, it mustn’t be the case.

Though, you couldn’t be the one to talk, because you ended up seeing him in passing once and got an existential crisis from waving at him, unsure whether you were at the stage for it or not yet. Ready to duck into a bush and never speak again, your eyes widened as you spotted him waving back and smiling, pointing at you to whoever he was with. Even bigger was the shock coming from him walking towards you and striking a conversation, asking you about your studies and the week you had. He was the same as always, shy grin on and ears listening with diligence as you fumbled for words and gaped like a fish at his interest in your well-being.

It was hard to hate him. There, you said it. Hard to despise a person of his type when all he did was-

Ping!

Driven by habit alone, you wet your lips as you unlocked your phone, thankful for the distraction of the thoughts causing you to be distracted in the first place.

[beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: you know, if that photographer keeps being an asshole, i got this friend that can replace him real quick [beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: his style is a little more middle-aged art teacher than mine, so it might be hard to accept him but he’s great [beanie boy] 8:51 a.m: promise?

The corner of your mouth curled, recalling the recent discussions of the guy throwing a fit because Yuna wanted a shot near the lake outside of the ceremonies, followed by one at the central park and how she went on to pay his fuel to shut him up. You didn’t even realise the lecture was close to finishing, and from what you heard, Thursdays around this time they’d let him go a few minutes early. According to calculations, he must’ve been texting you right as he got out of class.

[you] 8:52 a.m: you have ties in the photographer industry? [you] 8:52 a.m: is tht why you know so much colour theory…,, Damn

Where did he have ties though, it occurred to you. What was his major? During the time you spent talking, you felt like you knew a lot of trivial information about Namjoon that most of his classmates didn’t, but the origins of his passions stayed foreign to you. The notes app in your head updated with the urge to find out about it.

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: i held his light in the art museum as he was developing pics. We bonded then

You furrowed your brows, thoughts that Namjoon might have more titles around the campus except for the one you gave him foreign to your conscience. To this photography guy, he was light Boy, who helped him through hard times- was it his thing? Help random people, make them feel special and then never meet with them again?

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: his art is also weirdly motivational. Idk what it is about dog paws and noses that moves me to tears but it’s very helpful when i have a hard time [beanie boy] 8:55 a.m: are we on for today?

[you] 8:58 a.m: yes i hope so

He told you he didn’t have plans for the upcoming week starting today, and the venue devil reserved your discussion for the same days. Still, a part of you grew anxious from his lack of reply and agreement as you moved to the next class. Scurrying for your phone, you began typing again.

[you] 9:09 a.m: i mean, it’s ok if we don't Do it now. [you] 9:10 a.m: there’s still time. Idc

You put your trust in one man and look what happened. He hated you. He wanted to ditch you-

[beanie boy] 9:14 a.m: what? yes i want us to go today [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: for the record, i ignored a ppt presentation to answer this [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: and ouch, that’s cold. you really hurt me this time. [beanie boy is typing…]

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: maybe you can make it up to me with some tea later?

Your breath hitched as you read the notification on your phone. Too dangerous out there to open it.

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: heard it’s good for the soul

Yeah, the fucking soul alright. Glad he was preoccupied with his as he was toying with yours. Half pettiness half need to pay attention to your surroundings, you put your phone back in your pocket, ready to concentrate on your lecture.

Immersed in the new information and ways to solve presented to you, you forgot about your feelings regarding the matter and came back more energized and ready to take on the day. The day in which--oh no.

[you] 11:23 a.m: we’ll see about that [you] 11:25 a.m: meet me in front of the art building in three hours?

You didn’t mean to come out mysterious or cold, but now that it was done you were starting to embrace it, showing how much of a layered person you were. Bet photo guy didn’t keep him on his toes like this.

Bet photo man didn’t have to wait in front of a building looking like a sheep lost from the herd, no shepherd in sight to calm your nerves. Its new-age design and uneven blocks brought all the space for doubt to slither into your heart, no answer from Namjoon as of yet. You were hoping for the best, self-esteem steeling itself for you to erase the idea of him ditching you.

A hand fell to your shoulder, his face leaning into your range of sight and you let out the breath you were holding. “Hey, sorry I’m late. The professor wouldn’t let me go.”

You didn’t bother to turn to him, pout ever present as you rubbed your shoulder to get a bit of warmth. The wind was ruthless. “Wouldn’t want to keep such an artefact from discovery. Bet they had a lot to say.”

He still hadn’t let go of you, fingers instead tightening on your shoulder and bringing you closer to him, continuing to rub your grey jacket. You took a peek at him and he paused, cheeks puffed before he burst into laughter, making you look at him in wonder.

As he came back from it, his grin was still present, wide and shiny and rivalling the sun. The kind of expression that’s overwhelming, that makes your eyes crinkle and your mind foggy. It’s merciless in the way it lets the feeling seep through, surrounds with the sensation of allowing your defences to drop. It pulls you in and caresses your thoughts into melting, urging you to enjoy the moment. An endearment which is too familiar to you, but which had never risen from your essence and left drops of warmth and honeysuckle in its path.

Then, as an offence against your well-being, he said, ‘I’m glad you think so’, pulling you out of your daze.

You shook your head. This couldn’t be happening.

“Are we taking the bus this time too?” he said as he resumed to his usual distance.

“Uhh… that’s the plan.”

“Great! Let’s go!” he raised his eyebrows, challenging you with his power walk once again. The chances of you wearing the crown for the fastest walk were slim now that you had met Namjoon.

You didn’t even register the walk to the station, too preoccupied in trying to keep up with him and answer his questions about the guy at the venue as he was blurting out random ‘what an asshole’s. Paying for the ticket and squeezing between a swarm of people came as a blur as well until you were forced into Namjoon’s personal space, close enough to smell the wavering scent of his fabric softener. His gaze turned to you, face getting closer and making your eyes widen.

Namjoon opened his mouth to apologise, but you cut him off by reaching out and plugging one of the earbuds he removed to hear you back into his ear. With that, you turned around so your back was facing him, letting out a deep breath to even your heart rate. You didn’t remember crowded places having such an effect on you, though you supposed crowding anxiety developed at any age.

“How do you feel?”

“Focused,” you said. “I’m estimating the chance I’ll fail this.”

“Failure will never overtake you if your determination to succeed is strong enough.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Namjoon seemed to switch back to his shy persona, avoiding your gaze before his head snapped back to meet your eyes. “Just something to remember. Quotes like that usually calm my thoughts.”

It did make you calmer, just because you imagined Namjoon with his own suburban quote room. Maybe he was the type to read the quotes and meditate after, do a little yoga? Stretch those long legs and kicking other planets while he was at it? “Oh… thank you? Do you read them often?”

He nodded as he brought his cap down, bravery vanishing as the both of you entered the venue.

You grasped the modern twist that brought so many people in, that created a ballroom atmosphere even with the ordinary white curtains closed shut. Lines bloomed from the root of a crystal chandelier and served to separate the rose tones in pleasant shapes. Near their end, they were pulled from their seams and moulded to create another rose-gold halo, which reflected the light of the diamonds and poured right onto the glass-like floor. The thought that you’d be spending at least a day uninterrupted here was thrilling–it made you hide your hands behind your back, intertwine your fingers so you wouldn’t slip and touch.

If the place lured you into letting loose, the three-piece tailored to fit his frame posed a tightness to the chest area of the man waiting in the corner encouraged everything but. He surged forward with power stance and introduced himself to both of you, reaching out to shake Namjoon’s hand. You quirked an eyebrow as you exchanged names, sharing a confused look with him. Following his gestures, you studied both of their reactions with a careful eye as they shook hands, comforted by Namjoon’s lost gaze. At last, he moved to you, and you gripped with the biggest force your noodle arms could handle.

“Our pleasure.”

“We have provided a full course dinner with traditional dessert and listed our vegetarian options in the e-mail we sent. Our in-house catering accepts suggestions up to 10 days before the due date. You can only choose to switch a meal with another one that is available on our list.”

He led the two of you on a tour of the place, explaining the back door exits and pointing to the emergency pans plastered on the main hall. Alright. Positivity. It wasn’t so bad, Breast Man over there might’ve stored some sense of organization and compassion in those gigantic tits–

“The team will be available from the start of your appointment and continue till the end of the day. Anything after midnight will have to be covered by your service or paid for a fee.”

Your face fell.

“I–I don’t understand, if we paid for the entire day then how do they need to pay again?”

He beamed. “Nothing has been covered for the 31st.” Caught you without a reply and continued,

“The only thing ensured from one to seven a.m are the accommodations for the guests coming from abroad which will take place at our partners from Novotel.”

For fuck’s sake, were you about to argue with this asshole over the hours in a day?

“We reserve a full day of preparations, and it is recommended you visit during the week for a check. The rest, in case you want to you can reserve a date to establish the final changes to the menu, decoration, and other services that our team has covered.”

How you wished for the chandelier to drop down and split the earth so you’d never have to face this man again.

Despite the circumstances being turned against you and your temporary fluster, you tried to collect your thoughts enough to formulate an answer. In the corner of your eye, you saw Namjoon tensing. “Of course. I have some right now Regarding the main-course. Swipe the vegetables for carrot puree and add caramel soy sauce. And we’d like–”

And then the head gears that caught up to you made you notice how he was doing nothing but stroll around like a pompous poodle, not paying any attention to you. Did he insist on meeting so he could stay here and attempt to intimidate you? Very funny, how you’ll show him–

The suggestions. Right.

Or not.

“We provide–”

“Sir, with all due respect–” The rest of your cognitive functions not responsible for speech lounged to watch another episode of your embarrassment. “Having a set schedule for the guests is impractical since each plane has its own set-off time. Leaving them with no place to stay for possible hours on end is impolite, and I… I think that it’s not an image your business strives to have…” Your confidence was leaving you like your last hope, but by his face you were making some points. Namjoon remained quiet next to you, nodding on occasion and making little sounds to support your words. Being a beginner in the art of scamming, neither of you could find a strong enough argument for all of his schemes, but you remained tough, defending Yuna’s choices in front of this food and muscle growth connoisseur.

Annoyed from your end and sure to have picked on your guard dog behaviours, tight suit ended up noting the food changes and finalised the details for your next meeting, part of him left unsatisfied, from the way he was watching you and Namjoon. Maybe it was the chest. Then, as if struck with a revelation that will make his horns show at last, he smirked down at you.

“Business aside, it’s a little early to get married, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, body stiffening as you processed his words. You were doing your best, but the feeling was already weighing upon your chest at the mention of doubt regarding the couple. This guy. “Sure, a little early for me to–”

Without a word, you felt Namjoon’s pinky lock with yours before gripping your entire hand and enclosing it in its own. You stopped in your tracks, struggling to think of something else. “to… make a decision, but for them, it’s not. They love each other a lot. They’ll be so happy to be married.” You nodded to yourself, 100% sure of what you were saying as you squeezed Namjoon’s hand unconsciously.

With that, you got out of the situation in one piece, arrangement still intact but with a neon purple bruise to your ego. Devil man made you promise you’d call and schedule another meeting, this time with the staff for decoration as he seemed to milk the last seconds of his scammer persona.

As he was all jittery, you waited for him to release his grip, but, to your surprise, you found yourself pulled further from the building.

“I apologise,” Namjoon whispered, his hand hanging onto your open one.

“Huh?”

“That guy, ugh–he’s very good at making people lose their temper. That was ridiculous.” He puffed, at the limit of frustration and something you couldn’t decipher.“I didn’t know what to say or if you wanted me to say anything. I don’t know, I guess–I didn’t want to discredit you. Not in front of him. Not e-”

He switched to your still intertwined fingers and watched as the tips of your fingers dragged against his. You let them drop back to your sides as you watched his, curling around his denim pocket. You never looked at him, too focused on trying to pick each line running through your head to notice him getting lost in the distance between your hands.

“Namjoon?”

The words died on the tip of his tongue. “Mmm?”

“How was I?”

“Uh…You were fine, got a little carried away at the end. But that’s–we need to talk about–”

You shushed him, a rush of motivation hitting you. Blame it on sparkly eyes, your lack of care for yourself, the moon, Mercury in Retrograde. You were thirsty, and you were going to do something about it. Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Forget it. Let’s go get that tea.”

a/n: and part 1 done! feedback means the world to me and i’ve been working on this for like two months so pleathe tell me ur thoughts! peace! its gonna get spicier in the next parts but we had 2 establish some ground...ehehe ;) thx to miss liana @yuengi for being the sexiest wife n beta possibol.!!!

#writings #kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #kwordsmiths #bts scenarios #bts x reader #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #bts fluff #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #namjoon fic #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #bts imagines #namjoon imagines #bts x you #bts x y/n #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #bts romance #bts comedy #bts crack #bangtan scenarios #bangtan fluff #bangtan x reader #rm x reader

[keelime-xiv]

LFRP: Keelah Se’lai  - Balmung ♥

♥ The Basics ––– –

Nickname(s): Kee, Mistress Kee Age: Thirty-two Birthday: 5th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon (5th of August) Race: Keeper of the Moon, Miqo’te Gender: Female Sexuality: Bisexual Marital Status: Adamantly Single Alignment: Chaotic Evil

♥ What I’m looking For ––– –

Adventure Friends Potential Victims Murder Happy Partners in Crime Sworn Enemies

♥ What I’m NOT looking For ––– –

Possessive/rude/pushy/impatient partners

♥ Additional information (OOC) ––– –

Keelah may seem intimidating, but I assure you she is an awkward fucker. She’s easy to get along with and I would love to do more with her. Please don’t hesitate to message me if you’d like to try her out, I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised how well she can fit into any scenario ♥

I’m Australian so my time online will be different, but I can be rather flexible. I can become distracted easily, but please don’t assume that I’ve become bored with you. I have simply forgotten and need a little poke~!

[IC Tag] [Answered Asks Tag] [Aesthetic Tag] [Reference Sheet Page]

♥ Contact Information  ––– –

You can message me here for my contact information or catch me in game! I only RP through XIV as I found it to be a far less stressful medium for me. However, I would be delighted to discuss any potential RP plots through Discord.

(Continued under the cut ♥)

♥ Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Keelah’s hair is a dark purple, almost black, colour that hangs down past her shoulders in wild and sometimes unmanageable curls. She will usually wear it loose or coil it up into a tight bun for when she needs to work. [Visual Reference]

Eyes: Keelah’s left eye is a soft pastel pink and her right eye is a pale, sickly blue.

Height: 148 cm / 4′8

Build: Keelah is all hips and chest with an hourglass frame and lovely long legs. She works hard every day to keep herself toned.

Eyebrows: After first noticing her wild and curly hair, attention will often switch down to Keelah’s thick trademark eyebrows. The bushy brows are usually plucked and tapered back into a presentable style. [Visual Reference]

Scars: Keelah has a vertical scar through her right eye which caused its discolouration. There are two scars running across her right cheek on an angle through the first scar, they stop close to the ridge of her nose. On her left cheek there is a single scar, once again on an angle, that spans towards her nose. She has a vertical cut through her dark lips on her right side and a small horizontal cut across her brow that hides behind her fringe. [Visual Reference] Her facial scars she wears with pride, on her back however, there are scars she’s not so pleased to talk about. Such as the brand imprinted on the back of her neck that she keeps hidden at all times.

Tattoos: Keelah has a small collection of tattoos. She has Azeyma’s ward on her right hip, a pair of lace garter tattoos around her lower thighs, a pair of horns above her pelvic region, and a crescent moon surrounded by pink blossoms on her back.

Piercings: Tongue, nipples and down south are all pierced with a silver barbell, but her ears remain unpierced and she refuses to disclose as to why.

Common Accessories: Keelah often wears a collar around her neck to hide her brand mark, but the style of the collar will change on a regular basis to match her outfit. Keelah occasionally sports a pair of dark shades, sometimes for fashion, but mostly to hide her hangover. Beware of pointy things, Keelah also carries an array of knives on her person at all times. Where does she keep them all? It’s best not to think about it.

Usual Attire: Keelah can often be found wearing tight, black leather or latex, regardless of the weather conditions. Her favoured attire is comprised of a pastel pink latex corset with black trim, a fur trimmed, black latex, quarter cut coat, a pair of black latex booty shorts, thigh high black latex stockings held up by garters and a pair of black stiletto heels. [Visual Reference]

♥ Professional ––– -

Languages: Common tongue and some basic sign language.

Profession: - Informant/Saboteur: Keelah is a skilled freelance informant/saboteur. If you have the money (and care not for what methods she uses) then she’ll have the information you need. - Dominatrix: Keelah’s front for her informant/saboteur work is her high-end Dominatrix business, which she took up as a simple hobby only to have it explode into a full time career. Her skills are incredibly popular among the wealthy, and so her calendar is constantly booked solid. 

Business Cards: If you meet up with Keelah ICly she is most likely to hand you a sleek black business card with the details for her Dominatrix business printed upon it in pale, metallic pink cursive. Upon the front it reads: ‘Keelah Se’lai - Dominatrix Extraordinaire’ Upon the back it reads: ‘Office 25 - Sapphire Avenue -Steps of Thal, Ul’dah - Consultation hours: 10 am - 5 pm, Monday - Friday’ (FC Room)

Skills: - Archery: Keelah is an adept marksman with a bow. It is her weapon of choice as she prefers to take down her targets from long range. 

- Hand to Hand Combat: Though Keelah prefers to use her bow, when called upon she can put up a fierce fight. She’s quick, she’s feisty and despite her short stature she packs one hell of a punch, but watch out! She also bites!

- Alchemy: Keelah has a knack for alchemy. At first she dabbled in alchemy just to understand her brother’s ramblings. However, after a little idle study she fell in love with the science. Keelah now uses alchemy in every aspect of her work and day to day life. From creating various toxins to help her infiltrate a facility to mixing up some rather potent aphrodisiacs or lubricants to help spice up the lives of her clientele. She has plans to release her own line of sensual lifestyle products.

- Gardening: Keelah loves tending to the flowerbeds of her cottage and the small green house she has set up on the balcony of her apartment. She loves each sprout much like a mother loves her own child. Keelah simply adores the greenery and loves watching it flourish. Her pride and joy is her vast herb garden which helps with her alchemy work.

- Musical: Keelah has a beautiful singing voice, but not only that, she can also play the piano and has been teaching herself to play a wooden flute she found while on her travels to the East. While she has overcome her stage fright and now plays intermission piano for the Kiss Cabaret, she still refuses to sing for anyone save for belting out a few drunken pirate shanties when she’s completely wasted.

♥ Personal ––– –

Birthplace: Though Keelah’s origins have been rumored to lie somewhere within the Black Shroud, she was raised from an infant by her adoptive Mother in Eastern Thanalan. 

Religion: Keelah is open to the idea of Religion and often prays to Azeyma for guidance.

Patron Deity: Azeyma.

Residence:  - Public Residence: Keelah’s public address is that of a ritzy penthouse apartment located atop one of Ul’dah’s dazzling skyrise towers. Comprised of four bedrooms, five bathrooms, an enormous living room, a fully loaded kitchen, stunning dining room, a huge library/study, a balcony with a pool and a small greenhouse, it is outrageously decedent.   It is here she takes most of her clientele and potential business partners.  (FC Room)

- Private/Secret Residence: Keelah secretly lives in an old, stone cottage surrounded by a lush and overgrown garden of wildflowers. The location of this fairy tale esque home is unknown to the general public, but there have been a few who have stumbled upon her home by mistake. This home is far more humble than her apartment and Keelah finds herself running off to stay there as often as she can. (Lavender Beds, Private House)

Personality: Keelah’s personality can be best described as impulsive. She tends to jump into things head first without considering the consequences. Keelah is loud, obnoxious, a little bit crazy, incredibly flirty and a romantic.

Likes: Keelah loves alcohol, smoking, sex, burning things, cutting things, fighting things, gardening, reading, and down time with Martin.

Dislikes: Keelah loathes prudes, stuffed shirts, unbearably obnoxious people, boredom, paperwork, and heights.

Favourite Food: Starlight cake, seafood stew, finger sandwiches, sushi and pussy.

Least Favourite Food: Jerky or salted/dried meats.

Virtues: Protective, calm, loyal, optimistic, brave, empathetic, loving, compassionate and will do anything for the ones she has come to love.  

Sins: Murderer, pyromaniac, lustful, over indulgent, greedy, obnoxious, jealous, vindictive, reckless, impatient, and has an odd fetish for blood. 

Excitements: Keelah becomes excited from the smell of blood, Martin, the colour pink, acts of defiance, well oiled muscles and cute people.

Fears: Keelah fears heights, being left alone/abandoned, and Mandragoras.

Short Biography: Left abandoned after an Amalj'aa raid struck her family’s caravan, Keelah was found and raised by an orphan Seeker girl (her mother Shelley) and an orphan Xaela boy (her brother Jack). Together the three survived the harsh Thanalan desert by pickpocketing traveling merchants outside Camp Drybone. It was a meager existence and they often found themselves in trouble with the local authorities, but they were happy. However, shortly after Keelah turned six her brother disappeared without a trace. Distraught, Shelley and Keelah traveled across Thanalan in search of him, but their search was soon interrupted by the approaching Calamity. Caught amidst the destruction, Shelley sacrificed herself to protect Keelah from an oncoming blast, leaving Keelah to wander through the wastes alone. Frightened and very weak, Keelah fell into the hands of a traveling slaver and was then sold to a brothel in Ul’dah. There she remained in servitude for several long and painful years until her Master suddenly (and suspiciously) died. Keelah vanished that night.

♥ Relationships ––– -

Partner: None

Children: None

Parents: One adoptive mother, Shelley La’tra

Siblings: One adoptive brother, Ramza Wyvernjack

Best friend and confidant: Martin Freepaw

Current Employer: Vachir Qerel and the company of The Keeper’s Kiss

Drinking Companion: Captain Rezaria

Pets: A small collection of personal AI Drones who follow her around and assist with her lab work. They also perform minor security protocols to keep anyone from discovering the hidden laboratory. 

NPC Relations: Nanako Nanko. A stern and elderly Lalafell, she is Keelah’s loyal secretary who keeps the wild dominatrix in check.

♥ RP Hooks ––– –

Keelah’s Client: You find Keelah’s business details on the back of a black business card. You’re not sure what you need from this illusive woman, but you feel as though you’ll know for certain once you meet and talk with her. At first she’s scary and intimidating, your inner voice screams to run from her presence and never look back, but after a long discussion you begin to see Keelah for who she really is. A woman with flaws and needs just like any other. This started out as a strictly professional acquaintance, but perhaps it might bloom into something more? A friendship? A murder mystery? Let’s play it by ear~!

Keelah’s Mark: You’ve fallen into trouble with the wrong people and unfortunately for you they’ve sent in the best to make sure you disappear. She has been a mere shadow tracking you for days, you’ve been able to keep her at arms length so far, but even you grow tired of holding back. At last you give in and face her head on, but what happens next might not be as you planned. Will they fight? Will you win or will you lose? Will Keelah concede and help you take down the bastards that sent her after you? Or will she simply kill you for the money?

Keelah’s Cottage: You’ve heard rumors about it, ghost stories, nothing consistent. A strange cottage hidden deep within the black shroud and surrounded by the most enchanting garden that is unlike any other. However, anyone who had been brave enough to try and find this fabled cottage never returned, their lost screams haunting the night to ward off any would be heroes who would try to save them. Bah! It’s an old wives tale to stop children from wandering out into the forest unsupervised! Or so you tell yourself as you seek out this mysterious cottage. What will you find out there in the wilds? Will Kee be receptive of your visit or will she silence you like she has all the others who wandered into her little garden?

Let’s make our own - These are simply suggestions, I would love to brainstorm with you and come up with something unique~!

Thank you for taking the time to read all this! ♥

#lfrp #LFRP contacts #role play #character profile #Keelah Se'lai IC #Come rp with me #♥

[alternativewinxcontinuity]

Nymphs of Magix: Profiles (1/3)

Sabrina Yanli Sotterana/T'ana

(Character Death)

Sabrina

Home World: Loc'Brennah

Purview: Fairy of Transformation (Rumoured to have been born a witch)

Hair Colour: Black Eye colour: turquoise-green Skin: black with pale blue-green marbling along her spine, shoulders and hips Height: 5'/152.4 (shortest of all the Nymphs) Personality Key Words: (low-key) mischievous, inquisitive, contemplative, relaxed Hobbies: People watching, harmless pranks, lazy about as a cat, investigating rumours Favourite Foods: anything with intense flavour, anything tart Pixie: Mógū, Pixie of Mushrooms and Fungi (Aggressively energetic, talks about herself in the third person, carries various poison powders on her persons at all times.) Status: Unknown – all contact was lost, no attempts to locate her were successful Last Known Location: Unknown – somewhere in the far edges of the Magical Dimension near the Tumultuous Nebulae, a region of space known for dimensional rifts and wormhole like anomalies.

Loc'Brennah is a dark world, literally a realm of constant night. Its people possess dark toned skin, often marbled with small patches of pastels. The 'World of Hidden Things', its people can see in almost total darkness, and have the unique species wide ability to see through illusions and deceptive magics. Their visual range can cause discomfort when off world and they often wear tinted glasses to help regulate the problem.

The people of Loc'Brennah have a language that is only half verbal, speaking in an apparent monotone, their inflections are done through physical actions in a subtle sign language and micro expressions that makes their language almost impossible for the UTS to translate properly, leaving many outsiders feeling uncomfortable when interacting with the Loc'Brennei.

Sabrina is actually considered to be a very expressive individual amongst her people, since her time at Alfea learning to emote for non-Loc'Brennei, she was considered to be 'excessively exuberant' in the terms of her people, and wears baggy clothing when she can to hide the automatic 'over' emoting she developed.

As The Fairy of Transformation, Sabrina excels at all form of transformative magics, and is a top tier shape-shifter. Made uncomfortable by other peoples discomfort, she avoids them where she can, but is not by any means anti-social.

She enjoys spending her free time as a cat and watching the general flow of life and people around her. She met T'ana and Yanli for the first time in her cat form, and they assumed she was an actual animal, tempting her with small treats of food and spending the day giving her cuddles.

After an awkward reveal the trio had a laugh about it and decided not to worry about it. T'ana and Yanli continued to spend time giving cat-form-Sabrina pats, cuddles and ear scratches.

Sabrina was raised by her two paternal aunts after her mother passed away and her father went into seclusion to deal with his grief. She doesn't talk about them often but has a good and loving relationship with them.

While they don't not get along, Sabrina occasionally had difficulty working with both Io and Ellena because of their exuberant personalities, and though she considers T'ana and Yanli to be her best friends, Sabrina often finds herself working with Syffa to solve mysteries around the magical dimension.

Some years before the Fall of Domino, Daphne began getting inexplicably sick, normally in short bursts and strange things began happening throughout the Dimension. An increase of strange and often negative occurrences drew the attention of Sabrina and Syffa who saw some kind of pattern in the seemingly unrelated cases. Following a lead, they promised to be back in just a few weeks.

Their last known location was in the Tumultuous Nebulae. After contact was lost, several searches for the missing Nymphs were launched, but while Syffa's body and their ship was recovered, no sign of Sabrina was ever found.

-

Yanli

Home World: Melody

Purview: Fairy of Resonance

Hair Colour: black Eye colour: dark brown Skin: alabaster with a hint of peach Height: 5'2”/157.08 Personality Key Words: compassionate, mediator, elegant, patient, caretaker, cheerful Hobbies: playing the Guzheng (a (type of zither) string instrument that looks like a board with 21 strings), making soups, being with her friends, people watching Favourite Foods: soups Pixie: Tùzǐ, Pixie of Rabbits (absolute fraidy-cat, will hide behind Mógū and Ambra, once kicked a monsters head off in a moment of terrified bravery.) Status: Deceased Current Location: Hidden Cemetery - Melody

Normally the most elegant and demure of the Nymphs, she comes from an old family of fairies and wizards who specialise in combat with spiritual type monsters and curses that afflict the spirit.

The eldest of several siblings (some adopted), she lets her playful side show when indulging their childish antics.

Her favourite flower is the Lotus and she enjoys making soups for the people she loves. (Soup was the only food she never messed up, regardless of what kind it was.)

Seemingly the least likely to throw hands, Yanli will verbally berate anyone who dares to talk shit about her siblings or friends.

Yanli was trained from a young age to play the Guzheng, and used it in several of her magical Ritual Spells. Ritual spells are a more uncommon but not rare form of magic that take a little longer than a normal spell but can be more finely tuned to one's needs. Musical Ritual Spells were particularly common amongst the Melody clans who specialised in spirit hunting, and Yanli created dozens of spell songs over the course of her life, all written down in a personal spell book.

Yanli was called home to assist with a case of suspected possession just as the search for Sabrina was winding down. The case turned out to be more widespread than first suspected, not a small case of spiritual possession as first thought, but an entire small town under the influence of a 'still unknown' entity. Yanli gave her life protecting her family and releasing the victims from their spiritual imprisonment.

After her death, several clans tried to ask for spells from Yanli's book (which she had previously denied) but no one could find it.

(The only member of her family who doesn't respond with 'we don't know where it is' is the oldest of her adopted siblings Mo Ying, who's reply is “even if it wasn't destroyed, she didn't want you to have it.”)

((Mo Ying absolutely has her book. Yanli was (and still is) his favourite sibling, he was often accused of having a 'sister complex' before his family realised he was gay.))

-

Sotterana / T'ana

Home World: Eraklyon

Purview: Fairy of UnderGround* (Lit. 'The unfertile Bounty of the Element of Earth')

Hair Colour: Brassy blonde Eye colour: deep amber Skin: bronze-tan Height: 5' 8”/ 172.72 cm (Tallest Nymph) Personality Key Words: steady, hard working, patient, fidgety, compassionate Hobbies: metal work, people watching, petting Cat!Sabrina, listening to Yanli play, making things from spare pieces of wire, collecting interesting looking rocks Favourite Foods: crunchy things like flaky pastry, savoury things Pixie: Ambra, Pixie of Treasures (easily distracted, adores shiny things.) Status: Deceased Last Known Location: The Labyrinth of Pazzia – outer reaches of the Magical Dimension

Born on the continent of Isis on Eraklyon, T'ana comes from a long line of Intuitive Magicals who have been forging magical weapons since the Unification of Eraklyon. The first known Fairy in the family, it wasn't until T'ana's early-teens when her family realised her mild hyperactivity was a result of her Magical Core having no proper/sufficient outlet.

Her family, filled with craft masters and Heroes raised all their children in preparation of joining the family trades, which lead to T'ana developing control of her magic before any outbursts occurred. During a collaboration with another family (Yanli's clan), Yanli and T'ana were told to wait out of the way, only to be found by the creature their families were hunting, together Yanli and T'ana managed to fight the creature off, revealing T'ana's status as an Active Magical/Fairy and cementing their friendship forever.

T'ana's over abundance of energy growing up made her a little twitchy, and she took to bending small pieces of wire into various shapes to keep her hands busy and out of trouble. Once the route of the problem was found and addressed, she kept the habit used to the way it helped her mind focus. (Occasionally swapping out wire bending for stroking Sabrina's fur.)

As a fairy whose purview covers all subterranean matters, from ores and minerals, to fault lines and tectonics, her ability to navigate unfamiliar tunnel and cave systems is unparalleled.

Physically the strongest (and tallest) of all the Nymphs, T'ana sports the standard 'super' strength of stone and metal type fairies, which is bolstered by her years spent learning her family's craft as a weapon smith.

When not performing her duties as a member of the Nymphs, or just hanging out with her friends, T'ana could be found working along side her family, both as a crafter and as back up for Hero family members.

T'ana was lost not long after Yanli, and the remaining Nymphs often wondered if her grief over loosing her two best friends played a part in her death.

T'ana and two of her cousins went hunting rumours of an evil (possibly Fairy Hunting) wizard, and became trapped in an ancient and cursed labyrinth. The only surviving party member claimed that the third member had turned on them suddenly, ranting about how they were never appreciated.

Wielding their prize creation, a knife that turned a magic user's power in on itself, they managed to stab T'ana before the surviving cousin could stop them.

The knife caused T'ana's magic to turn against her, transforming her into a stone statue, and released a magical shock wave that caused the entire area to collapse. Both T'ana and her killer were lost in the ensuing destruction, no retrieval party was able to find them, and eventually her family accepted her death and tried to move on.

#winx #winx club #Nymphs of Magix #Winx Alt Con

[raspire]

Prologue : Into the Dream

WARNING!! Contains character death, mentions of abusive scenarios, mild violence and may make some uncomfortable if you are not alright with these! If so, continue!

Prologue

Angus Ferrum

“Goodnight!” Echoed from Evelyn; a silky nightgown blanketing her tiny figure. Angus listened to her nightly farewell and to the footsteps pattering down the hall after.

“.... Are your teeth brushed?” He assumed, listening to the girl patter back through the hall a second time, answering his question. With a few small clinks and hissing water, Evelyn slipped by the hall for the third time.

“Sweet dreams, Lyn...” The tiny click of her door echoed, telling Angus she had gone to rest for the night. Rubbing his own eyes for a moment, the sensual massage over a worn gaze helping for slight reprieve. It was a daily occurrence. Early to rise and late to rest; like clockwork.

Angus trudged into an open kitchen, wanting to examine the groceries left remaining. He strategized in these thin hours as Evelyn rested; the willing burden of an older sibling. Financial, educational, cleaning and feeding; these were all things that the boy toiled through day by day for his own and hers. Closing the cabinet gently brushed rancid air by him; reminding the boy of the permanent odor of smoke smearing the walls and furniture.

Standing upright, the small glints of beautiful light bounced from the hollow glasses decorating the counters which were haphazardly shoved together. It was almost as if the one who put them there couldn’t care less as to whether or not the glasses actually belonged there. As quietly as he managed to, Angus forced open a trash bag to relocate his mother’s empty collection to a more appropriate place outside. All but one hanging on a corner, having hidden from sight to Angus from its position, had been cleaned.

He moved silently back through the home, knowing Evelyn tossed and turned often in her sleep and awoke just as easy; cautious to the noisy bottles. The moment he split the door from its frame, crisp November air greeted him. The winter had just arrived, the male grimaced at the annual hurdle that the holidays kindly provided him. The boy slipped into the yard, glancing down and remembering it was one less thing he would be doing for winter’s presence. Lifting a dark green cover top to the trash bin; Angus rather easily tucked the ruckus of glass within the last place he’d ever see it. It was after this he only just noticed the abnormally early sounds of a car engine slide to the drive-way to the front of the house.

He walked back inside, not thinking any further than the fret of managing to hide his papers to seclusion from unwanted parental eyes. Swiftly tucking the door behind him, soft in the last second as to keep a ruse of silence, Angus turned immediately expecting to see some shadow, figure, or evidence of another human entering the house... And found none.

“.........Mother?” Angus cautiously named, unaware of how she may respond to him between the chances of cruelty or otherwise. And yet again he received no response. He knew better than to call for his father, a man who refused all but little to do with his children beyond providing the house for them by ordained court order. The silence drowned over his short calling, before finally hearing the sounds of shoes step across the porch lining.

“...Mother, I’ve already put E—“ he began to speak, reaching his hand towards the door to allow her entry before being struck back. Shards of glass pelted his hand, immediately reeling back. It was looking at the figure; much taller now with its shadow cast over the front door blinds that truly struck Angus at his core. A wide, gloved hand shoved through the blinds, damaging in the intruder’s attempt of reaching the lock.

Panicked, Angus reared back to the house, frantically yanking a cheap wireless phone from its slot: the aggressive motion yanking its charger from the tabletop. His mind raced— soared, and screamed all at once. Immediately, he scored up the staircase leading to Evelyn’s room on the second floor. His hands smeared in sweat, rubbing onto the worn metal door of the little girl’s room. Closing it, his heart raced in his ears and breath heavy.

“......Gus?.....” murmured a sweetly voice from the comforter; moving the thick blanket to show a messy head of chestnut hair after. Angus froze; knowing that Evelyn’s safety became priority, and that Evelyn herself could not grasp the severity of the situation. That the source of intrusion was unknown, and so he reacted accordingly.

“...Lyn!... Do you remember that night when we played hide and seek, when our two cousins were visiting and you hid so well that nobody could find you until Mother needed you to come for dinner?...” Angus quietly asked, face dimly lit by the lime light of the handheld phone.

“.......I do!... But.... Gus.... Are you worried ‘cause... you broke something.. Is that it? I heard a loud—..?” Eve questioned her brother before another crash sounded from downstairs announcing something else. “Gus, what was-“

“Lyn.” Angus interrupted, voice calm and soft, opposing to his emotional state. “...I want you to listen to me. It is... So very... Very important.” He softly pleaded to her. The male gently took her hand, approaching the girl’s closet laced with countless animals the female owned. “...... I need you to stay in here. And I need you to wait for me to come get you.” Angus requested from Evelyn, on his knees as he opened a large toy trunk, empty mostly apart from some half filled art books she owned and pencils.

“...Angus...” Evelyn whimpered, giving a reluctant gaze. He shook his head promptly; smiling warmly still as he stood, lifting Evelyn gently into the trunk.

“I’ll be back.” He promised, Evelyn watching her brother close the trunk quietly and gently; leaving the lock undone so she could yet breathe fresh air.

“Lyn.” Angus spoke one last time.

“....What?”

“I love you.” He reminded, hands finally allowed to shake. The silent alarm having already been set off using the home phone. He turned to leave, heart twisted up in fear of her being found.

“.......ve....ou....” her words grew faint and quiet as he softly closed the door behind him.

Peering down the staircase, a shadow slid across the old olive carpeting; intruders violating the sanctity of their home, their upbringing. Angus carefully stepped across the carpet, wary of the floorboards beneath that groaned with age. Within a small hallway closet he kept a wide variety of things, from first aid, to toiletries, and the essential product of the moment; a knife. It wasn’t much; a general store standard pocket knife, something he only needed to use to open boxes and reach things in hard to reach places. Now, it became his defense.

Angus made quick to glance over the side of the stairwell that ran down and turned halfway, then finishing to the left. Shadows of the men would slide over the wall of the stairwell only briefly, implying their focused search of the ground floor. Angus clutched the phone tight, slipping out to make the life-saving call of emergency.

After a few moments of explaining the severity and location, the emergency service operator spoke the words he desperately wished to hear.

“.....Okay dear, Please stay on the line..... A police unit is on its way honey...” Promised the voice of his supposed savior; the woman and Angus having shared a brief and hushed declaration of emergence. “Is there anyone else with you right now at the house? Are they downstairs?” She questioned him, Angus more concerned with keeping his eye on the stairs from the narrow bathroom across.

“...Yes...” Angus responded, feeling his heart twist at leaving Evelyn alone. “....My little sister...”

“Is she there with you?” Responded the older woman.

“Yes...B-but no.... I put her in her room... and went somewhere else... I-I am watching for them.”

“Okay, sweetie. Please don’t do anything to put yourself in harms way. Stay where you are, we’ll be there any second now.” She promised him again, Angus feeling more reassured. “...Where are the men now? Are they still downstairs?” Again she questioned with a honeyed tone. He peeked from the stall. Silence ran from the house.

“It’s quiet... I-I think they may have left.....” Angus relieved, stepping from the bathroom stall now.

“They May still be on the property, love please stay where you are, we will be there any moment.” Urged the woman, but Angus has his attention caught by other means. Shadows grew closer to the stairs, for why he didn’t know, but surely it meant they were still there. Wincing from stepping at a slight prick on the floor, he caught his balance with the phone-held hand, keeping his silence but successfully ending his phone call with the woman by mistake.

Turning again to the stairs, Angus braced himself. ‘Please....’ Angus stressed, praying to gods he didn’t even believe in. ‘Don’t come this way.....Don’t...Don’t come up....’ Their footsteps paused, one of the men accidentally setting off one of Evelyn’s toy instruments.

“...... Probably asleep.” Came from one, the words making Angus’s frame relax. Sweat flooded from his brow and palms, tight and yet slick over the knife. Suddenly, the phone tucked within his jeans pocket sprang to life; the emergency number attempting to re-establish connection with Angus. the hallway dimly lit by its lime light revealing his presence atop the blind staircase corner. The noise of a default setting successfully alarmed the invaders of his very much awake and conscious position; and with a phone on hand. It was then that he made eye contact with the first; broad shouldered, wide and gaudy. “There’s a damn boy up here!” Angus winced, knowing he had only seconds to react before it became a hostage situation. He chucked the ringing phone at the first, hitting his face with the cheap plastic phone. As he made this motion, Angus flung only a second after; knife digging into the first male. Hitting only muscle and tissue, the seconds following this were rushed, immediate, and pained. Men grabbed at him from behind, attempting to pull him from the first, Angus refusing to be yanked as he attempted to swing his weight back into the stairwell. However, it was turning to attempt to make a second stance, that Angus felt the icy and alien object imbedded to his lower torso. His hands felt absurdly warm, holding at the intrusion in his chest. Vision blurred, slumped to the side of the stairwell he tried to stand again... Foggy words echoed in his head; men arguing and becoming heated over who stabbed him. One more time, Angus made a glance towards the room; the thin door that split his sister from the criminals. ‘...Ev....e...’ he thought, before laying down to a subconscious demand of rest.

Lights painted the neighborhood block; yellow taped blocking off the scene from several angles. Uniformed men entered the house, a broad man driving on scene. In an ambulance to the other side of the street, a little girl sat tucked within a warm wool blanket; a neighbor woman holding her close. It didn’t add up, as two minors were reported to be involved.

Stepping inside the house, the scene was revealed to the investigator. Urns and containers were demolished; crates pried open and medicine drawer rummaged. A phone charger lay yanked from its place, missing its phone that laid a few yards off at the bottom of the stairs. It was at that spot that new decorative smears stained the yellow-tinted walls; a teenaged body covered by a swarthy, glossed sheet.

“...And what the hell happened here?” Questioned the freshly arrived, looking down at a inspector.

“... Robbery. Kids were left at home while the mother filled her glass down the road. Two in custody, one still at large.” Came the answer, words cruelly smooth as it were something they dealt with on a daily; murders, assaults, robberies and worse yet.

“...This the boy?”

“Yes. Older of the two. Put the younger one in a toy chest upstairs. That’s when they assume he made the call. At some point it was closed or cut off... Found two of them attempting to treat a stab wound at a local vet office a couple blocks off. They’ve sent the blood in for analysis to confirm if it matches the blood on his knife.” They finished, filling in the majority of the context. The detective sighed, exhaling brisk foggy air to the house now chilled by its broken front door.

“... What does the girl know?” He questioned, glancing out to the window as she was seen entering a car, a protective service member sitting by her; amber eyes watching the house roll away, car driving off.

“They’re going to take her to get her end of it, maybe try to fish for more context. I don’t believe they left the body uncovered when carrying her down. At her age... it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking.” Replied the woman, dabbing at spots on the boy’s stiffened hand. Silence filled the house that not too long ago, crashed and roared with noise.

“Why didn’t anyone hear what was going on?” He mustered, glancing to the damaged house.

“...Neighbors claim it’s always causing a ruckus. The mother is apparently a piece of work.” She sighed, standing up with collectives of samples cased up.

“...Right.” He grimaced, having to walk by the body a second time. By the front walkway, a gurney was already being hoisted over to the house, being led on by a couple of dressed individuals. Snuffing the end of a cigarette, the male set off out of the house again leaving the tragic scene behind him. Someone had to wrench the wretch of a parent from the devil’s grasp and bring them to light on the travesty they neglected.

Thanks for reading! More to come

#writing #oc #original story #warning #tw:death #tw:violence #IDR #tw:abuse #Angus Ferrum #Evelyn Ferrum

[mythicallore]

The Woman in Black and the Mystery of the Charfield Railway Children.

The Charfield railway disaster has long held the imagination and lingered in the memory of the town’s residents for generations. A mere 60 seconds was the difference between life and death for sixteen people in the late hours of October 10th, 1928 as a train filled with passengers crossed the English countryside. After colliding with another stationary train, gas cylinders ignited and within seconds the train was an inferno, consuming everything and everyone in its path. The crash was a national tragedy and a chilling and horrific scene for those who were there to witness it. But amid the burning wreckage and the charred remains of those aboard a mystery was revealed.

The strange events after the crash have left an everlasting question mark on the identity of two young victims who, to this day, remain unidentified. And then there were the subsequent sightings of a woman dressed entirely in black, who mysteriously arrived each year to lay flowers upon the children’s grave.

At 4.28am on Saturday, October 10th, 1928, a mail train headed from Leeds to Bristol was passing through the station at Charfield village, located in Gloucestershire, where another freight train was already parked. The night was described as misty by witnesses but the railroad officials had deemed the visibility good enough to not employ the use of the foggy weather signalmen.

If they had, it might have prevented the entire disaster.

According to post-crash investigations, juries found no fault with the signalman Henry Button, who accepted both this train and the goods train at the station before putting the red sign up for danger to bring the mail train to a stop so the goods train could leave safely. However, in the misty night air, the conductor Henry Aldington Aldington and his fireman Frank Want read the signal as green for clear and continued their journey through the station. Seconds before the collision, Want and Aldington saw the train in front of them and applied the brakes before they both ducked down to avoid the brunt of the initial impact.

When the trains hit, the mail train derailed partially, sending several carriages and the engine off the tracks and clear to the area surrounding the track. The rest of the train, was not so fortunate as the two vehicles telescoped and became wedged together under the nearby bridge. Horrifyingly, the gas cylinders of the first four cars were punctured in the crash, causing the gas to ignite and starting a fire that would be responsible for 14 of the 16 deaths in the crash. The 40ft high flames could be seen burning in the night sky from miles around.

Villagers nearby and attendants at the railway station immediately came rushing down to the tracks to try and free those who had been trapped inside cars with the quickly moving fire burning all in its path. Several survivors told guilt-ridden stories about leaving behind fellow passengers who were unable to be freed before the flames go too close.

Meanwhile, Aldington and Want immediately got into an argument with Button over the mix up of signals, but the systems employed for signaling made it nearly impossible that human error on Button’s part was responsible for the crash. And as the flames ate their way through the train, 14 more passengers died as their screams for help went, ultimately, unanswered, despite the best effort of first responders.

Of the 14 charred bodies, 12 were so badly burned they were recognizable to family members only by jewelry and personal effects found near them. Because of this, many family members of victims agreed on a mass grave, as provided by the railway company, to lay their deceased loved ones to rest. However, not all the body identifications were routine.

Two bodies believed to be that of a young boy and a young girl, perhaps brother and sister, were found in the wreckage but remained unidentified and unclaimed in the days and weeks following the crash. When it became clear no one was going to come forward for the two bodies, they were placed in the mass grave with the other victims.

The question of who the children were plagued those involved in the tragedy. Several theories began to pop up across the country about the identity of the children and why no one came to claim them. Among the theories that cropped up were that the two bodies weren’t human at all, but ventriloquist dummies. Another popular theory was that they were not the bodies of children, but instead of small riding jockeys. Some even claimed the entire story was a hoax generated by the media to make more of a story out of tragedy. There was also talk of a woman who came forward at some point claiming the bodies belonged to her two brothers but the assertation was never given much weight and never followed up on. Whatever passed through the rumor mill, the bodies remained unidentified.

And, like all good mysteries, it doesn’t end there. For years after the crash and burial, a woman in dressed entirely in black was seen periodically visiting the memorial for the two children in Charfield. Those who claimed to have seen the mysterious woman said she was old, frail, and had about her an air of great sadness. At the memorial, she would leave flowers before hastily departing in her chauffeur-driven limousine. No-one knew who she was or why she visited the memorial. Many began to speculate she knew something about the crash that no one else did and perhaps even the identity of the children. However, like many stories lost to time the woman in black ceased her visits in the early 1960s and her identity and purpose has remained a mystery ever since.

Over the years the Charfield railway disaster has been the topic of many films and books. Nick Blackstock’s novel Something Hidden paints a fictionalized history for the two unknown children, and many think it may not be far from the truth. Was the entire crash part of a massive conspiracy or cover up? Were the children simply orphans with no family to claim them? Did the woman in black really know something about the crash the rest of the world did not? Unfortunately, we may never know the answers.

However, in one last twist to the tale, local legend has it that in the area surrounding the crash site, people have witnessed strange sightings over the years of ghost children who stand together, hand in hand silently looking down the tracks. Locals say they are the children, patiently waiting for the day someone identifies them so they can finally rest in peace.

#paranormal #supernatural

[missnmikaelson-main]

The Mummy - Thebes, 2134 BC

I do not own TVD or TO or The Mummy

Thebes… they called it the city of the living; the crown jewel of Pharaoh Seti I.

The people called him immortal, but no man can truly live forever. Not without cost at least. That was what he had told her.

Her confident steps never faltered as she strode through the garden that was really a corridor. She could feel their eyes on her, but none were allowed to touch for she was the Pharaoh’s mistress.

He was a selfish man. He was a possessive man. He was a lecherous man.

Pharaoh’s mistress. It was a fancy, polite way of saying she was his concubine; that her body belonged to him and him alone.

She had never chosen this life. It had been chosen for her.

She came from a respectable family. The shame had warred with their pride when she was chosen to be mistress to Seti. Her position came with prestige; she was one of the most powerful women in the court, but everyone knew she was his whore.

The list of people allowed to touch her was miniscule. It consisted of the Pharaoh and her handmaids; she despised both.

The handmaids would paint her body from head to toe. Clothing was not permitted for her during the warmer months of the year.

They happened to be living in the warmer months.

She knew guards were staring as she walked past them. Their eyes would be drawn to her glowing curves accentuated by the thick lines of black Kohl; it created a design of scales descending from her painted pectoral to the top of her sex. The only clothing she wore was the narrow cloth hanging between her thighs from a beaded belt.

The impression was that of a skin tight beaded dress, but anyone who stared long enough would see the smooth curves of her behind. They would trace the defined shape of her hips and perhaps catch a glimpse of her smooth core. It would take less than a glance to see her nipples formed into tight buds between the lines of paint.

She was naked, and she hated it. She kept her face impassive though. Who would dare to complain in her position?

She was the favorite. She was immortalized in stone and reliefs; her name would go down in history. Wasn’t that what everyone always wanted? Wasn’t that what truly mattered?

The gods would know her name when she arrived in the afterlife. She would live on in eternity.

She was his favorite, but he was not hers.

Her face remained impassive as she strode into the temple and past the ornate statues of Osiris. She could feel the eyes of the priests on her before she vanished between the curtains that led to the bedroom.

Her lips tipped up in a true smile when she saw him. He was her favorite.

Thebes was home to Silas, High Priest of Osiris and Keeper of the Dead.

Her eyes flicked slowly from his exposed chest to his eyes as his fingers traced the plains of her face and body without touching her skin. The proximity drove her mad when she repeated the action.

This was their ritual. This was all they were permitted to do, but damn it, she wanted more. She couldn’t contain herself when she saw the passion in his darkened gaze.

Her hand grasped the back of his neck. It took no persuasion. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss. Quiet moans reverberated through her body. She couldn’t stop them; his hands were roaming over her ‘perfect body’.

She loved him, and he loved her. For that love they were willing to risk their lives.

She broke the kiss when she heard the loud crash coming from the antechamber. She exchanged a look with Silas before urging him to back away.

Her hand was stroking the golden head of a cat when the Pharaoh strode inside. She smirked and ran her eyes over his body suggestively; he loved it when she showed an openly obvious interest in him.

His eyes narrowed. Lifting his hand he pointed an accusing finger at her shoulder.

“Who has touched you?” His cry was outraged.

He was a possessive man.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the smudged paint. They were always so careful, but passion had overtaken him; it had overtaken them both.

Her mouth popped open as she started to back away. Her hands were raised until she saw who pulled the Pharaoh’s sword from its scabbard; she could see the shock on his face when he turned around.

“Silas,” his eyes grew round, “my priest?”

Seti cried out in pain when a bronze dagger was plunged into his back. He had just seen Amara’s determined eyes when the sword was stabbed into his abdomen. He lost track of how many times the couple ran him through; he was gone before the royal guards broke into the chamber.

Silas and Amara turned when the doors were forced open.

“You must go,” she inhaled sharply when he tried to stand firm beside her. “No,” she tore the sword from his hands, “save yourself, my love; only you can resurrect me.”

Silas’ eyes filled with despair. He knew what she planned to do; he would have fought to stay with her but he was outnumbered by his gold painted priests.

Determination settled over her shoulders like a well-worn blanket. She only had one choice, but that was alright; there were always options.

She met the eyes of the head of Pharaoh’s guard and hissed: “my body is no longer his temple.” It was almost satisfying when the blade plunged into her heart.

++++

Amara’s body was mummified. Her vital organs were removed and placed with in the sacred canopic jars.

For the crime of murdering the Pharaoh Amara’s body was to be cursed. It was the duty of the High Priest to curse it; the prospect had filled Silas with dread even as he read from the golden book of the living.

The book contained the sacred incantations that would send the evil dead on a journey into the darkest parts of the underworld. Such a curse was used on Amara.

The slaves who buried the body under the sand were killed by the soldiers of the pharaoh; the soldiers were in turn slain by the priests for no unholy person could be allowed to know the exact location of the burial site.

The thing that was unknown was that there was another book. The Black Book of the Dead which was never to be opened, never to be read; it contained the incantations that would bring a body back to life as a most unholy thing.

It was hidden at Hamunaptra, City of the Dead, inside the statue of Anubis, so that no such sacrilege might ever bring disgrace to Egypt, but for his love of Amara Silas was willing to defy all.

Skulls bobbed in the thick black goop that made up the moat surrounding the underground cemetery. The water had once been crystal clear but the rot of human remains had long since turned it to sludge.

A quiet hum reverberated off the ceiling as the bald priests chanted and watched the proceedings with hooded, lifeless eyes. Their head rocked back and forth as they chanted; the collective voice was eerie as it rose from the heinous creatures that had once been vibrant men.

Silas finished removing the wrappings from her lifeless body; even in death she was gorgeous. He placed the canopic jars around her body and nodded. The organs were still fresh so a human sacrifice would not need to be made.

He chanted from the book and felt the large swirling hole that rose from the bog; it brought a gleam of fear to the eyes of several of the priests. They tore their eyes away and returned to their chanting.

A mist lifted from the swirling hole and passed through the jars and into the body of Amara. Within one of the jars her heart began to beat.

The voices of Silas and the priests, the rushing wind from the swirling hole and the beating heart filled the air until nothing else could be heard. When the noise was deafening Silas saw her eyes fly open.

Her soul had returned. All that remained was to return her organs to her body; their rightful place.

The noise grew impossibly loud as he lifted the ceremonial knife over her chest. He was about to plunge the blade into her chest when a mass of soldiers stormed the cemetery.

A loud crash announced the breaking of the canopic jar and the crushing of her heart.

Amara’s soul lifted out of her body and dissipated back into the hole.

Silas had barely been given a chance to cry out when he was captured by the royal guards.

The priests were sentenced to be mummified alive.

For his crimes Silas was sentenced to endure the Hom-dai. It was the worst of the ancient curses. It was so terrible it had never before been bestowed on anyone.

Sacred scarabs were released into his coffin, by eating them he was cursed to stay alive forever, and by eating him they were cursed just the same.

Silas was to remain sealed inside his sarcophagus for all eternity. The Medjay would never allow him to be released for if he was he would arise as a walking disease, a plague upon mankind, an unholy flesh eater with the strength of ages, power over the sands, and the glory of invincibility.

And if were to ever succeed in raising his beloved from her place in the underworld they would become an unstoppable force; an infection upon the world: the apocalypse.

tags @rissyrapp20, @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte

[kiruuuuu]

Thatcher/Lesion oneshot in which Lesion has a tattoo and Thatcher hates it. (Rating T, fierce denial and fluff I suppose, ~2.5k words) - dedicated to @glazkov-smile​ who put this ship into my brain where it now festers and grows shakes fist

.

The first time Thatcher catches a glimpse of it, all he feels – curiously enough – is betrayal.

No part of it makes sense, it’s neither his body nor his decision and yet it’s as if he’s been deceived in some way, left in the dark about a topic concerning him personally. It’s irrelevant how nonsensical his emotions are because they’re there regardless and no amount of logical arguing with himself is able to make them vanish. He can’t rationalise it even if he tries, and he tries desperately. He’s merely being a judgemental old fart, probably, something he’s been called before in differing contexts. But he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It was no longer than a second: Bandit pulled on the back of Lesion’s collar to drop an ice cube into his shirt, and Thatcher just happened to look over at the commotion and saw colour lick at the back of Lesion’s neck, usually hidden by whatever garish shirt the man inexplicably chose to wear that day but now revealed in a flash of ink. And it’s enough to conjure up a profound disappointment in Thatcher.

They’ve known each other for years now, stayed in contact where Smoke exchanged irregular messages which taper off now and then, only to rekindle once in a blue moon. No, Thatcher and Lesion wrote and called almost every week, given their work permitted it, left messages on a variety of media depending on their current location and sent each other postcards even, both of them carefully and happily maintaining an unlikely friendship. They differ in many regards though not the most important ones, and thus remained pointed towards each other like magnets. Friendships like this one are rare, Thatcher has come to understand this all too keenly.

And he can’t stand tattoos.

To him, they’re much worse than gaudy jewellery, flamboyant clothes and unnaturally dyed hair together – not only are they alarmingly permanent but also usually horribly tacky. Who cares if someone managed to father a child? Congratulations, they fulfilled their purpose the way nature intended, no need to plaster their kid’s heartbeat or birth date or entire bloody face all over their arms and legs and basically rub it under everyone’s nose. He doesn’t care to know the names of people’s partners nor is he interested in cringy quotes or supposedly deep and symbolic bullshit which allegedly holds so much meaning for its bearer. They’re ugly. They mar skin instead of decorating it.

He much prefers freckles, scars, stretch marks, hair, natural discolouration, any sort of blemish which tells him this person is alive and breathing and not airbrushed or genetically engineered to look this way. He doesn’t care tattoos have been around forever, to him they’re a disgrace and can erase all his interest in someone. Can, and have.

Thinking back, he’s fairly sure he ranted about this to Lesion’s face before, was met with the usual calm patience tinged with amusement whenever he complains about something at length, earned no more than a half-reply implying his position was at best a bit too extreme and at worst complete and utter dogshite in Lesion’s opinion. He’s never dismissive about it, merely pokes fun but ultimately chooses to respect Thatcher’s views which is probably one of the reasons why they’re still friends.

So when he catches sight of precise strokes lining Lesion’s back, Thatcher is appalled. Indignant. Offended, even.

He needs to see it.

Just like he demands details about all the unnecessary so-called ‘apps’ most people around him use so he can judge them accordingly, curiosity grips him in its iron hold and compels him to view the entire disaster Lesion immortalised on his body for reasons unknown. Maybe it’s linked to a previous partner, a family member, a time in Lesion’s life about which Thatcher knows nothing yet, something deeply personal – in which case he’ll still disapprove of the ink but possibly gain more insight into his friend’s past. In that case, it’d be a worthwhile endeavour despite the knowledge of what exactly is tainting Lesion’s skin. He won’t be able to unsee it afterwards.

.

“Do you want to fight?”, he interrupts Lesion’s current conversation and gets a good-natured laugh from his friend and a concerned look from Ying in return.

“I thought we agreed not to argue politics in the workplace anymore”, Lesion replies cheerfully and moves his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other, Thatcher’s gaze following its journey momentarily.

“You said you were a little rusty in whatever fancy martial arts style you always torture the recruits with, so I thought you could use a refresher.”

“It’s much too warm to fight”, Ying points out and Thatcher barely bites back a response along the lines of that’s the point.

Lesion ignores her statement and leans back in his lawn chair, one of Rainbow’s most sought after commodity in summer – ants are prevalent and therefore sitting in the grass ill-advised. “Even if I did, I’d go to Yumiko and not you – no offence.”

“I bet you’ve been doing it for longer than she has.”

“Possibly, but she’s still lengths better.” The younger man raises an amused eyebrow. “Mike, are you bored?”

Oh. It’s the perfect excuse, his entire team is known for their eccentric solutions to boredom as well as striking fear into everyone’s heart as soon as it looks like they’ve got nothing to do. “Yes”, he lies smoothly, “so you can either join me willingly or spend the rest of the day anticipating a non-consensual fight. I’ll know when you least expect it, Tze Long.”

“Sounds like you don’t have a choice at all”, Ying sighs, shaking her head. “Men.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t jump on the opportunity to roll through the mud with Elena, my dear”, Lesion comments casually after which neither of the two stick around for long enough to watch her turn crimson and splutter at the accusation. “So, tell me. Was this a misguided rescue mission or do you need my help with anything embarrassing?”

Thatcher blinks at the unexpected question until he realises his excuse sounds so terribly flimsy Lesion didn’t buy it for a second, correctly assuming an ulterior motive. Even if he’s nowhere near guessing it. “Oh, neither. I really just – it was a genuine suggestion and I…” He trails off when crinkles appear around dark eyes.

“Aren’t we a little too old to kill time by beating each other up? Let’s go drink some green tea to cool down instead, shall we?”

His objection dies on his tongue as his friend turns away, wearing a small smile. “I don’t even like green tea”, Thatcher protests quietly yet trails after Lesion nonetheless.

.

“Let’s go swimming.”

Lesion pauses visibly, marks his spot on the page he’s currently on and then glances up sceptically. “Now?”

Yes, Thatcher almost blurts out but catches himself just in time, checks his watch and pretends like he didn’t completely lose track of the hours ticking by purely because of Lesion’s presence. It’s a common occurrence, oddly enough. “Of course not”, he scoffs, “but what about tomorrow?”

“Where is this coming from? We’ve never gone for a swim together, you prefer going alone.” Fortunately, there’s no suspicion in his voice, only curiosity.

“I just thought you might want to join me. When’s the last time you went swimming?”

“Yesterday. Meghan invited me.”

Ah. Thatcher squints before he can help himself – they probably spent the time showing off their respective tattoos, and for some reason this thought makes it worse than as if Lesion had gone with anyone else. Even Blackbeard. “Well. If you don’t want to, that’s fine”, he concludes curtly and directs his attention back to the book in his own lap, fighting down another wave of dismay. So others are allowed to see it, apparently, where he’d not even been aware of it at all.

“What? Of course we can go, I was just surprised -”

“Nah. Nevermind.”

“Mike.” There’s gentle exasperation in Lesion’s voice now and he leans forward in the armchair which has become basically his over the course of several months – it bears his imprint and smells of him. Not that Thatcher would know. “I didn’t say no.”

“I’m busy tomorrow anyway”, he lies through his teeth and wonders whether he sounds cranky.

Lesion silently examines him for a few seconds longer, expression unreadable, and finally shrugs. “Alright. If you do want to go, just let me know.”

.

The doors of his wardrobe have mirrors. It’s the perfect plan. Thatcher buys the Dutch beer Lesion likes so much, and while Maestro is in the middle of listing all the exotic animals he’s eaten in his life with Smoke listening intently (and probably adding quite a few to his bucket list), while Mute snitches on Bandit’s newest plan to Sledge, while Sledge pointedly ignores Maestro’s hand slowly creeping up his thigh – while all of them are gathered in Thatcher’s living room, he makes sure to spill some of it down Lesion’s back.

“Whoops”, he says after his friend has jumped up with an undignified noise of surprise and hopes dearly that either none of the others watched him very deliberately tip his bottle or that they at least know to keep their mouths shut. “Come on, let’s get you something else to wear.”

“Why did we even stay in if I end up smelling like pub anyway”, Lesion complains weakly on the way to the bedroom, lamenting the wasted drink and accepting the fresh t-shirt Thatcher presses into his hands. “Thanks. You can go ahead.”

Thatcher pauses, hovering uncertainly. This – isn’t how it’s supposed to go. The last time, Lesion undressed in front of him without any qualms and he hoped it would be the same now, positioned his friend between himself and the mirrors so he’d get a good look no matter what. “I, uh -”

“Do you want to watch me change?”, Lesion asks, audibly entertained.

“No, I just – you probably need a towel, right? To get rid of the beer.”

“Sure”, the younger man agrees easily and Thatcher nods more to himself than for his benefit, leaves the room and dashes as soon as he’s out of eyesight. He’s never fetched a wet towel faster in his life, hoping to at least see part of it if Lesion’s in the middle of undressing, yet when he returns, Lesion is still wearing his soaked shirt. As well as a meaningful smirk. “Thank you, Mike. I’ve got it from here.”

No, he’s not going to let this opportunity pass. “Are you sure you don’t need help with your back?”

“Do you want to see it that badly?”

Oh.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Your personal vendetta against my shirts. It took me a few days to realise why so many of them ended up ruined, stained, ripped or threatened. You’ve not seen it before, have you?”

He hasn’t been that obvious. Has he? Thatcher considers denying everything but his curiosity prevails, triumphs over the prospect of never living this down. Defeated, he shakes his head, prepares for the inevitable ribbing yet is merely awarded with Lesion’s fingers reaching up to unbutton his soiled shirt, a gesture so hypnotising all speech evades him.

“I didn’t know you were that interested”, Lesion comments nonchalantly as if the temperature in the room hadn’t just jumped up a few degrees – or maybe Thatcher is experiencing a heatwave, yet whatever it is, his face is burning.

“I’m not”, he replies petulantly and is in the middle of justifying all his actions to himself in his head when the piece of fabric drops, carelessly gets discarded, and then Lesion turns.

It’s -

Well, it’s large, first of all, covering the entirety of his back and seemingly continuing even below the waistband of his trousers, just shy of curling all the way around his ribs. The ink is vibrant and mesmerising, no part of Lesion’s natural skin colour visible between all the vivid colours crassly at odds with everything Thatcher considers desirable. To him, it looks more like a yakuza tattoo than anything else, the motif of a roaring tiger familiar yet kept in a more tasteful style, no cartoonish bulging eyes or exaggerated features. Part of it is shiny with moisture, making it look even more recent and amplifying the otherworldly feel of it.

And it’s still a tattoo, even if the fact that it’s Lesion’s back changes something about it; even if the outline of his shoulder blades, the dip of his lower back, the gently curved spine do something to Thatcher, its nature remains intact. He doesn’t know why anyone would choose to deface their natural beauty like this, would spend a horrendous amount of money on something this hideous, would endure a million needle pricks only to look like this.

He also has no idea why he can’t stop staring.

A detail catches his attention and, without thinking, he lifts his hand and brushes over the tiger’s face with a thumb, the skin warm and slightly sticky. “He’s got a scar below his eye”, Thatcher murmurs and fights hard to keep this odd, uncalled-for reverent tone out of his voice.

“Do you want to watch him dance?”, Lesion asks him quietly and his brain is too occupied to process his words, discern the meaning behind them because – surely, he’s not -

The air is thick around them and it’s not only a byproduct of the season; it’s not stuffy yet heavy nonetheless, struggles against Thatcher’s deep inhale. His other fingers join his thumb in resting on intricate swirls, scared to move in case they smudge the ornate ink. “What do you mean?”, he hears himself mumble, possibly hoping for a repetition only, not even a clarification.

“Oh. Nevermind.” Lesion’s reply is soft and it sounds like he’s grinning. “I’m glad you seem to like it though.”

“I don’t”, Thatcher protests immediately and withdraws his hand, suddenly light-headed with the rush of oxygen, air flooding his lungs, returned to normal from one second to the next.

His friend throws him a look over his shoulder and he really looks like the Cheshire cat for some reason, as if he’s having the time of his life and Thatcher feels like he missed something somewhere along the way. “Alright”, Lesion agrees readily.

They get him cleaned up and into Thatcher’s shirt without any more interruptions, but when he turns to leave, the Brit holds him back yet falters at the expectant, amused and open smile with which the gesture is met.

“How about”, he begins, suddenly sheepish, “we go swimming this weekend?”

And to his relief, Lesion nods immediately, grinning and extremely pleased with the suggestion. “Of course. I’d love to.”

#rainbow six siege #thatcher #lesion #thatcher/lesion #fanfic #oneshot #had I known I'd get myself stuck I never would've encouraged you #all it took was those 1k words you wrote #I already have more ideas #crying

[cateringisalie]

Renegade Aeris x Cloud Week Day 2

Written for the prompt ‘Maps’. Another AU. Oddly enough...

Aeris Gainsborough considered herself the most knowledgeable person on the Planet where the Ancients, or rather, Cetra were know. She might be young, but she had spent long hours in the known ruins thanks to her (occasionally sinister) patron, the Shinra Electric Company. Quite what a power company with a sideline in weapons development wanted with a long dead culture was a mystery but every part of it was fascinating and enthralling and if the company was willing to pay for her findings – however meagre she was content.

She seemed to be lucky more than anything else. More papers, more books and more detail in the five years since had been undertaking the research project than anyone in a century prior. There was an almost instinctual way Aeris knew which ruins held something of interest, or that this wall blocked some interesting curios, or that barren patch of ground was the right elevation, positioning and proximity to other known ancient structures to be a likely location for a Cetra structure. Success could not last forever, and there remained an odd fear on every expedition that something would go wrong this time, that she would be absolutely certain as she always was – and find nothing. No hidden structure, no sealed up container with a dozen scrolls in difficult to parse glyphs in a language no one could speak or read. Occasionally the worry prevented her sleeping; she had succeeded so far, thrown away anything and everything else to focus so completely on this one skill of hers. What happened when, or perhaps more optimistically, if it ever abandoned her? No answers as yet. And the stranger challenged everything she knew or perhaps thought she knew. He arrived late at night when she was considering taking a break and vegging out at home. “Doctor Gainsborough?” A hooded figure peered into her office. “Yes?” “I wondered if I could beg a moment of your time. About the Cetra?” Curious already; few used the correct term even within her field. Fewer outside it – and the stranger was assuredly not someone from her incredibly narrow field. But it was a Friday, it was late and she was tired. “Can this wait?” The figure wilted. “Sorry, its just been a long day and I have a lot I still need to do.” Scattered papers, funding requests, inventories, speculative translations of glyphs, some questions for the next journal. The figure shook his head. “Fine.” The figure glanced back out the door. “I wasn’t sure I could trust you.” “Me?” Aeris sputtered. “I’m not sure why you’d worry.” “Shinra.” “My sponsor?” Ah. Potentially one of the protestors. This was a new one; harassing a researcher unconnected with admittedly dubious power-generation methods. “I do appreciate your concerns, sir, but I really don’t have any kind of influence over-“ The man removed his hand from under his cloak; he gripped a metallic circle unlike anything Aeris had seen. The glyphs upon it were familiar enough, if not their meaning. “Where…. Where did you find that.” She reached out with trembling hands. The man let her take it. “In Nibelheim.” Absurd. The Shinra company originated from that far-flung mountain town. Surely they would have found a promising Cetra dig-site years before given their interest. “It was uncovered during the reactor construction.” Aeris dragged her attention from the glyphs and the circle. It had been part of something larger. The glyphs repeated with a rapidity not seen elsewhere in Cetra glyphs. “What was that?” The man shrugged, the movement curious, a hint of a light under the hood. Implausible. “The record indicated that and similar pieces were found during the Nibelheim Mako reactor.” “That was fifty years ago!” Aeris couldn’t help her voice rising. The figure gestured at her frantically. “Sorry, this is an absurd story. Why would Shinra not have told me about these?” “Shinra keeps a lot to itself.” The figure paused and flung back his hood. Blond spikes and a handsome face. But that was secondary to the real curiosity he exhibited. Around each pupil was an unmistakable glowing ring. A SOLDIER. “This-“ he gestured at his eyes. “Was done to me.” “I thought they were clear what signing up would do.” Her voice came out in a murmur, certain that this assumption was far from correct. “I wouldn’t know. I never got a choice.” The man snorted. “Signed up, rejected and then they took me to operate on anyway.” He glanced away from her, face contorted. Something more there. Something worse. Aeris sat down heavily. She still held the metallic circle and struggled to find her voice. “Did- Did you see anything that might suggest what this was?” The man shook his head. “If they knew, they kept that more hidden. But, I think it has something to do with this. He fumbled in some pocket or container beneath this cloak. A larger, jagged chunk of metal was marked with larger glphys. No images. No. A map. A map. A number of the familiar ruins were picked out with other markings on the metal – in addition to Nibelheim. But most interesting was a larger marker as part of an island chain off the coast of the Western continent. Betrayal. Motivated betrayal. What was Shinra’s game? To have her roaming and digging up trinkets while something like this, an entire map lay who knew where? “Where in Nibelheim was this?” “Shinra mansion.” How arrogantly typical. “Thank you, Mr-?” “Strife.” “Strife.” The map was hard to look away from. “I will try and sort some compensation if you could see fit to leaving these with me-“ “Not letting them out of my sight.” He gripped the map tighter. “And I need to see whatever this is through.” “Do you have an archaeological experience?” Aeris doubted it, but coincidences were not unknown. Mr. Strife shook his head. “Then I can’t really take you with me.” “I can help keep you safe.” He looked determined. “And if you follow the map, I think you’ll need it.” Aeris raised her eyebrows. “I thought Nibelheim was quiet?” “It is. But it’d be pointless to go back now; Shinra sent three divisions to that island.” He gestured at the map. “Something’s happening and soon. And I’m certain you’re the only person who might be able to understand what.” No choice at all, but still an odd need to justify it. So many things to do here, mundane – if interesting – versus seeing these other sites. And uncovering the things Shinra saw fit to hide from her. The man seemed justly paranoid about the company. Might be an idea to adopt the same stance. “Very well, Mr. Strife. I think we can come to some arrangement.” That got a smile. “Thank you, Doctor Gainsborough.” “Aeris, please.” “Aeris,” he said. “I’m Cloud.”

#clerith #aerith gainsborough #cloud strife #final fantasy vii #final fantasy #my ffvii fanfic

[jarienn972]

Curse of Undoings - Part 5

I know it has been a few days since the last update but now that I'm back to my semi-normal routine after pulling something in my back a few weeks ago,  I won't be able to update this quite as quickly as the first few chapters. There's still lots more story to tell and absolutely lots more whump to be had. This chapter is heavily focused on Henry but (spoiler alert) we'll have plenty of Captain Cobra action coming.  This chapter does contain some semi-graphic descriptions of injuries - nothing too clinical, but adding warnings to the squeamish.( although if you fall into that category, this probably isn’t the best fic for you.)

Tagging @killian-whump, @hookaroo and @castielamigos for the new update and you can read from the beginning here: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 or on AO3 and FF.net

Henry leaned his back against the cobweb strewn wall of the crawl space behind his mother's office – well, what had been Regina's office before the advent of the Black Fairy's curse and his adoptive mom, along with so many others from town, vanished. For some unknown reason, Henry appeared to have been immune to Fiona's curse. Maybe it had something to do with him being the Author or perhaps it was because he was, by blood, Fiona's great-grandson, but either way, he'd not been subjected to the false memories plaguing his mother, Emma.

Having grown up playing in and around the Town Hall building, Henry knew all of the secret passages within its walls – including this narrow, dusty air vent that was adjacent to the office. Regina had discovered it long ago but Henry made the assumption that Fiona would be oblivious to the secreted space, being new to the town and the occupant of this office for less than a day. He'd come here straight from the park intending to spy on Fiona, ducking inside through the building's rear entrance before climbing into the vent from its access point in the janitor's closet.

He just didn't expect to stumble upon a conversation between Fiona and Gideon, the pair discussing a prisoner being held downstairs. Henry hadn't realized at first who they were talking about, but a few minutes later, he very quickly put two and two together when Emma strolled in to Fiona's office. Henry couldn't see the expression on her face, but Henry was horrified by the lust for vengeance resonating in his mother's voice while bragging about questioning the prisoner about murders that never occurred. He was especially disturbed by her statement that she didn't care if her questioning killed him first. What exactly had she already done to Killian? Worse yet, how could she harm someone she loved so much? Was the curse really so strong that it could destroy True Love?

Now Henry knew he had to find Killian. He knew that his stepfather was hidden away somewhere in this building, or more correctly under the building in the super creepy sub basement. If he could get Fiona to leave the office for five minutes, he knew where Regina kept a duplicate set of keys in her desk. He'd just need a distraction to get inside and grab the ring, preferably before his mother got done with lunch and before she discovered that he wasn't at home like he'd promised. Nothing difficult about any of this…

He knew nearly every nook and cranny of Regina's office and from all appearances, Fiona hadn't changed much during her takeover. There were a few new touches – photographs of various infants he didn't recognize and a few random knickknacks added to the shelves, but otherwise, his mother's office seemed intact. Fiona just had to leave so he could get inside and he'd be able to check to make sure she hadn't changed anything within the desk itself. It didn't seem likely that the Black Fairy would have had time to search for hidden false panels or stashed away duplicates of the keys to every door in this building and probably to every other public building in town.

She wasn't really the Mayor so Henry doubted there would be much for her to do here in the office. He could only hope that it wouldn't be a long wait before she vacated the office. Mercifully, he heard Fiona's phone ring and while there was no way to know what was being said on the other end of the conversation, it was quite clear that the person she was speaking to was someone else who had retained their real memories. Midway through the conversation, Henry heard Rumplestiltskin's name mentioned and saw Fiona push her chair back from the desk and stand, agreeing to meet the caller in a few minutes. She strolled briskly toward the office door, but Henry noticed an odd action as she left the office. She took a glance at one of the bookshelves as she passed it and appeared to smile, but Henry couldn't tell what object had drawn her attention. He thought it was strange, but it was something he simply couldn't think about right now.

As soon as he could no longer hear the click of her heels on the marble, Henry scrambled to the vent exit and cautiously peered into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. Certain he was safe, he hurried to Regina's office door which now bore Fiona's name emblazoned across the glass. Shaking his head at the surname she'd adopted – Black, he shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a chain containing a copy of the office key that still successfully gave him access. Fiona was so certain she'd win that she didn't even bother to change the locks. And that was a good thing.

Now to the desk where he found that the duplicate key he'd made for the bottom drawer also worked perfectly, giving him access to places he'd poked through so many times before the original curse broke when he'd been hunting for information about his family or evidence that his beliefs were true. That was how he'd first stumbled onto the concealed false panel in the bottom right drawer containing a huge ring of assorted keys in every imaginable shape and size. Over the years, he'd learned what most of the keys would open but there were some he'd never really tested. He knew there were a series of doors located in the sub-basement that he'd never asked about. He didn't know what purpose they served or what they'd been intended to hold, but he was certain that he'd find Killian behind one of them.

It took him under a minute to locate and pop open the panel, finding the keys exactly where they'd always been but while he had the desk drawer open, he plucked out a few other items that might prove useful later and pocketed them all. He knew what trinkets and potions Regina kept on hand here and since she wasn't around to tell him no, he figured he could ask for her forgiveness later – assuming this worked… He didn't care what he had to borrow or steal right now because getting his family back was most important.

As he departed the office, he found his own eyes drawn to the same bookshelf he'd watched Fiona peruse earlier, wondering what object she'd been grinning at. Had it been one of these books or perhaps a photograph? Some other shiny object? There was no way he could know what it had been so he dismissed the thought with a brief shake of his head. He'd worry about finding Killian first and then maybe his stepfather would be able to provide some insight into all of this.

With so many people missing from Storybrooke, Henry encountered little resistance as he descended the stairs to the basement level of the Town Hall. He hurried past the storerooms and maintenance closets to the unilluminated doorway at the end of the hall marked DO NOT ENTER in vivid orange lettering. Neither that sign nor the door's lock had ever deterred him before and he was already quite familiar with the dimly lit concrete staircase that lay on the other side.

Those shadowy stairs led down to the bowels of the building which he knew housed the boiler room and a series of locked steel doors. It definitely resembled a dungeon down there so it made sense that they'd stash Killian in one of those rooms. But before he could search for his stepfather, he needed to get past the single guard positioned at the bottom of the steps. The uniformed guard didn't seem overly enthusiastic about his dungeon duty, leaning his chair back against the concrete block wall while playing a game on his phone. No one really knew about this place so Henry figured if he could get past this guy, he likely wouldn't encounter any other guards. Giant, locked metal doors generally provided enough security themselves so the solo guard was probably just there to ward off any would-be trespassers.

Henry had taken into consideration that he might encounter guards along the way so he made his way down the stairs as silently as he could. When he reached the landing where the steps changed direction, he paused a moment to pull a tiny velveteen pouch from his jacket pocket. He untied the drawstring that sealed the pouch and tipped it onto his palm, spilling out a handful of bright purple powder. With a hearty puff of air, he blew the colorful powder towards the oblivious guard's face, waiting as the man coughed a couple of times before tumbling off of his chair and onto the floor in a deep slumber. Henry smiled triumphantly at his first success. Sleeping powder sure comes in handy at times. This guy would be out for at least an hour now.

After the cloud settled enough to be safe, Henry scurried down the remaining steps with his mother's ring of keys now clutched in his fist, ever so thankful that they hadn't shifted in his pocket to betray his position. In the poorly lit corridor, he could see the five steel doors lining one side of the hall that ended at the boiler room – well, officially ended at the boiler room. He'd previously discovered that the room contained a hidden tunnel that connected the Town Hall to the mines, a passageway that, as far as he knew, not even a single dwarf was aware of.

Henry stood before the first door for a few seconds while fumbling through the plethora of keys in his hand, trying to figure out which might be the right one. The lock had a large keyhole so he could easily rule out the smaller keys, focusing on the larger ones that more closely resembled the skeleton key that opened Regina's vault. He had to fiddle with a few of them before locating the correct one but he finally felt the mechanism turning and then tugged the heavy door towards him.

Peeking in, he had an involuntary shiver wash over him as he took in the horrific sight behind the door. Rusty iron chains and shackles hung from the ceiling and he could see more of them strewn across the floor that appeared to be anchored to the concrete walls. He couldn't really tell from his present location but he was certain that the stains on the cement floor, despite being the same ruddy hue as the chains, were probably blood – and he didn't want to venture any further into the empty chamber to find out. It was clear that nothing good had taken place in this room and he was now feeling a bit more consternation about what Killian might be experiencing.

Not bothering to close or re-secure the first door, Henry moved quickly to the next. With little time to spare, he repeated the process with the keys until he found the right one to unlock the second deadbolt. When he pulled this door open, he found the room to be completely dark, but he remained still for a moment, certain he'd heard sounds coming from inside. There was a faint scraping and a rattle that could have been something metallic like the chains in the other room but there was something more – it sounded like labored breathing and maybe - whimpering?

Henry tentatively ran his hand along the wall closest to the door feeling for a light switch. The first little torture chamber had electricity so this one must too. His fingers finally found the switch but as the light illuminated the room, he realized he wasn't fully mentally prepared for what he would find. In the center of this second concrete block chamber, there was a man laying atop a raised metal table and even from the threshold, Henry could see that the man was secured to the table by a series of heavy shackles and sturdy padlocks. The restrained man's breathing seemed to become more accelerated after the light came on and Henry now knew that the rattle he'd heard was from the prisoner's fearful quivering, likely in anticipation of further torment.

He couldn't yet see the man's face, but Henry noticed that on the left side of the table, the prisoner's arm was dangling off of the surface, trailing blood onto the floor that dropped from a scarred and stumped wrist. Only one man he knew had an amputated left hand… "Killian?" His initial voicing of his stepfather's given name was more of a stunned statement than an actual question. He knew this was Killian, but he had no idea what condition the pirate would be in, the sight of blood not a promising indication. Hearing a grunted response, Henry moved closer to the table and immediately saw the reason he didn't get a verbal reply – Killian had been gagged with some sort of harness contraption and his neck was encircled by a huge metal collar that was chained to the table too. "Wow, Killian… what happened? Uh, never mind… Let me see if I can get these things off of you…"

Killian watched the boy with hopeful eyes and a racing heart as Henry flipped through a bunch of keys, searching for one that might open the padlocks but none seemed to be the right fit. He had no idea when Emma or Gideon might return and the last thing he wanted was to see any harm come to Henry if he got caught in here trying to free him.

"None of these is the right size," Henry announced in a slightly disappointed voice. "But don't worry – I'm not done yet. We can try these…" Resting the ring of keys on the tabletop next to Killian's shackled hand, Henry reached into his back pocket and withdrew a small, rectangular case that had a zipper running around three sides. The pirate recognized the case as Emma's lock pick set as the teenager unzipped it and withdrew two of the picks, one with a straight, flat tip and one with a narrower, slightly curved tip. Henry went right to work, first on the padlock securing the collar around Killian's throat. With a few practiced maneuvers, he had the lock popped open in no time, tossing the padlock into the floor as he freed Killian from the cumbersome collar. His next task was to free Killian's wrist from the iron shackle which then enabled him to help his stepfather into an upright, seated position so that he'd be able to get a better look at the contraption secured to Killian's head and see how the harness was fastened.

As he swiftly released the padlocks from the ankle shackles, Henry began to take increased notice the wounds on Killian's battered body. His wrists and ankles were chafed and ringed with bruises from the cumbersome restraints. His abdomen bore angry red marks on each side that looked like burns as well as a patch of darkening bruising beneath his ribs and of course, there was a deep puncture wound in his left shoulder that was bleeding heavily, but it wasn't until Henry moved behind Killian to remove the harness and gag that he saw the worst of the horrors Killian had been subjected to. Killian's entire back was laced with crisscrossing cuts and welts, some bright red and seeping, others deep black and blue, pooled with blood that hadn't escaped his skin.

"Wha…what happened?" Henry asked, trying not to stare at the open, obviously painful wounds, but he immediately chastised himself, remembering that Killian was still gagged. "Oh, sorry… You can't answer that yet…" the boy apologized as he located a narrower pick to release the smaller padlock securing the harness buckles. Once the lock and straps were opened, Killian yanked the offending device off of his head and massaged his aching jaw that had been forced open far too long.

"Thank you, lad," Killian croaked out the words in a raspy whisper, his throat burning and parched. "Have you any water?"

"No, sorry… I'll find you some as soon as we get out of here."

"How? Where are we even?"

"Beneath the Town Hall and I know a way out. Come on, we need to hurry."

"You're taking a huge risk rescuing me," Killian said honestly as Henry helped him off of the table, his legs shaking as his bare feet reached the cement floor, not even certain if he had the strength to walk, but for Henry's sake, he had to, but Killian also knew they had another problem – should they make it out of this prison safely, he had no clothing. He couldn't exactly venture outside clad only in his undergarments. "Also, we have a small problem I've no clothing. I was locked in here with scarcely a stitch…"

"Then we'll borrow the guard's," Henry stated, gesturing toward the sleeping man on the ground as they made their way into the corridor.

"Shouldn't we worry that we might wake him?"

"Nah… I snagged a pouch of sleeping powder from my Mom's desk when I borrowed her hidden ring of spare keys. He'll be asleep for a while yet. The clothes might be a little big on you, but at least you won't be naked."

"Some interesting skills you've acquired, young man," Killian commented with a proud smile curling on his lips while Henry started rapidly undressing the slumbering guard.

"My mother was a thief, my grandmother was a bandit and my stepfather is a pirate. I'd say it runs in the family."

"Indeed," Killian smiled broadly before biting it back with a wince as a wave of pain caught him unprepared, but he didn't let Henry see his grimacing. Clearly the lad had been paying attention during their adventures. Perhaps a bit too much attention, but that would be a conversation for another day. Escaping this hellhole was his foremost priority then he'd think about giving lessons on misspent youth. Maybe after vanquishing a fairy…

#ouat ff #ouat fan fiction #killian jones ff #killian whump #captain cobra #curse of undoings

[thebrierpatch]

Beyond the end of the tunnel Loureiro, the shoemaker who loved books and wines, and I were looking for a restaurant that sill served lunch late in the afternoon. It had poured during the day. Since it had just stopped raining, off we went, sailing the narrow and winding streets of the small and charming village at the foot of the mountain that houses the monastery. Heavy clouds left the sky dark, so lamps were lit earlier than usual. We were talking cheerfully and idly, as two friends who are happy just to be together, while we diverted from the puddles formed between century-old cobblestones. When we arrived at the restaurant, we found Carlo, a friend of ours, there. We were baffled. Not by a long shot was he that self-reliant, well-kept, handsome man we knew. We had met him less than a month ago, and he had seemed to be fine. On that day, he was just the opposite of the man we knew. He was downcast, hunched over, sullen; he seemed a specter of himself. He greeted us as joyfully as his heart was capable of at that time. Invited us to sit at his table and have a glass of wine with him. I asked if he would have lunch with us, but he said no. He had no appetite, and that had been going on for days, now. He added that his life had been turned upside down at a moment’s notice. Carlo had a good job; he worked for a multinational company, at its headquarters, located in a big city not too far, only about a 1-hour train ride. A week ago, when he arrived at work, he was told by a director that the company was redefining the job structure. Some positions had been eliminated, amongst which, his. He couldn’t even return to his office; his personal belongings had already been put in a box, which was given to him at that moment. His severance pay would be deposited into his bank account the following day. After a few days, his wife of 10 years told him the marriage was over. She had fallen in love with someone else, packed her belongings and left. He said he had reached rock bottom. Life was dark and, worse, there was no indication of any light that would be lit. I immediately tried to cheer him with a well-known speech for overcoming hardships, “it’s time to bounce back to surface”. He said he did not have the strength to overcome the problems he had and rebuild his life. This is when Loureiro surprised us by saying: “For now, it is best for you to remain at rock bottom. It is not time to bounce back.” I looked at the shoemaker with censoring eyes, as if asking for mercy for my friend. Carlo was surprised, and he even thought that it was a joke, clearly untimely. Loureiro started to develop his reasoning: “The world only falls apart when the soul is unbalanced.” “If he reached the bottom and bounces back now, he will return to the same stage he was at, or worse, nourished by sorrows and desire for revenge to transfer to others the reason of his fall.” I interrupted the cobbler to argue that not doing anything at this moment could encourage the same gloomy feelings or trigger a process of sadness and depression. The shoemaker shook his head and explained: “Rock bottom can be seen as sordid by many people; however, if you take time to pay careful attention, you will see it can be embraced as a place of silence and quietness, suitable for reflection and meditation. The perfect chance for one to understand the wrong choices that took him there.” I interrupted him once again to say it was ludicrous to believe one would reach rock bottom willingly. Carlo looked at the as if I had spoken for him. The shoemaker did not lose composure and was educational: “This is why it is dangerous for Carlo to return to the surface now. He would like to return like he was before, with the misperception that others had pushed him into the pit he is in. The storms exist to correct the course of sailors who do not know how to navigate.” “Before the tempest, the sea becomes rough, the wind foretells a change in the weather and the sky, from afar, signals with heavy clouds. It is up to each one, captain of their own ship, to keep the course or change it. Wrecks happen to those who do not know how to read the signs. However, experiences with wrecks shape the best sailors; life is a school that shapes great masters.” He made a pause and added: “As long as one is willing to learn from it.” “To go rock bottom is always a choice of those who fell”. “To accept this reality is the first step to remove resentments and the feeling of victimization, both of which delay evolution. While the person believes that the person responsible for their suffering is somebody else, they will not start the process of transformation, healing and freedom from the jail they had placed themselves in.” “Everyone has the same conditions of reaching plenitude, which is translated by achieving happiness, peace, freedom, dignity. Understanding the fall is learning what movements were wrong, and, from then on, to do differently and better. It is allowing the flourishing of virtues that are still seedlike in the core of the self.” He looked at Carlo with sincere compassion and said: “You can interpret rock bottom as evil from others, or an infamous conspiracy of the universe and yearn to bounce back with the aura of a super-hero. In fact, this is the most common and childish wish, moved by pride and vanity, and dreams of vile revenge and transient, inconsistent power.” He waited for the server to open the bottle and fill the cups. Sipped a little wine and continued: “However, at rock bottom, one can start building a tunnel. Not to escape reality, but in search of new, previously unimaginable possibilities. To come back to the surface at the same spot, to rebuild life on the same pillars, with the same old pattern of being and living, is to perpetuate stagnation through a different outfit. One must know the possibilities that lie beyond the end of the tunnel for an effective, true transformation. Otherwise, we will live the curse of Sisyphus, from Greek mythology. His curse was having to roll a huge stone up a hill only to have it roll down again as soon as he had brought it to the summit. An action constantly repeated and doomed to failure. Rock bottom must be the beginning of the tunnel that will lead to an unknown light, in a way different from before, with true inner evolvement.” “It is time for humility and determination, two valuable virtues. Rock bottom, because of its silence and quietness, is the ideal place for one to face oneself in a perfect mirror, without the distortion caused by the masks we create for social acceptance, far from the characters we have invented to support the shadows of pride and vanity, without escaping the responsibility for their own happiness, without the shallow distractions whose only purpose is to postpone the important task of knowing who we really are and triggering major transformations.” “The person who knows who they really are brings to themselves the power of life, are capable of overcoming the harshest difficulties. On the other hand, a person who does not know themselves will always be frail, vulnerable to the smallest disappointments, and will require the gimmicks of illusion. Self-knowledge allows them to understand their abilities and the virtues they already possess and make good use of them. They also acknowledge the imperfections that still exist and the virtues that are yet to blossom, instruments essential to evolution. Humility and determination are the winds that propel the crossing in search of the hidden treasure, waiting to be revealed, for the sake of the person and the world. If we know how to read properly the map of life, we will realize that rock bottom is the loving permission for one to start a journey to a wonderful and unknown world, so far and yet so close, the heart itself, the essence of self and the sacred seed of the universe.” I complained, annoyed and unbelieving, with Loureiro for being harsh with our friend. Carlo agreed with me, said he did not deserve to be treated like that, stood up and left. The cobbler kept his countenance serene and, in face of my inquisitive gaze, shrugged his shoulders and said: “I know I was harsh with him, but I did what I thought was best. Without transformation there is no evolvement. Truth can be a whip that causes wounds and hurts or a balm that heals and liberates. It all depends of the feeling of he who says it. I did it out of love.” Months passed by with no news of Carlo. One day, we were having lunch in that same restaurant when we were surprised by his arrival. He was very different than in the two prior moments of his life. He was not the well-groomed corporate executive or the stooped man who had reached rock bottom. He had an informal elegance and was more handsome than ever. He was wearing a well-trimmed beard, jeans and a nice shirt, tennis shoes and, most importantly, an indescribable smile on his face. He opened his arms when he saw us and asked to sit at our table. I mentioned the fortunate coincidence of us meeting at the same restaurant. He said it was no coincidence. The owner was an old friend of his who, upon his request, told him we were there. It was important for him that we meet at the same place, because the previous meeting had been a cornerstone in his life. He had to thank the shoemaker for his firm words. With teary eyes, he said that at that same time other people also spoke to him, all of them with good intentions, but their words were too sugar-coated, but barren. He acknowledged that the discourse he had of being a victim made him frail, sad, and led to stagnation. The firm rhetoric of the cobbler had awakened him from the slumber of apathy and lack of responsibility. If that was his life, it was up to him to write his own story, according to the possibilities of overcoming hardships with his own efforts. With no guilt, because he acted according to the level of awareness he had at the time, but with the commitment to do differently and better from then on. Only by doing so could he take the lead of his life. To become an adult is not only to get a job and get married but to reach maturity. He said that at first it was very difficult, but later he realized that the abandonment he felt was, in fact, the fantastic chance he had to take control of his own life, which was always delayed because he blamed others for his failures and disappointments. He accepted it was time to be sincere with himself or he would not leave the childhood of existence. He added that it may be comforting to feel victimized, but that makes the person a coward and prevents their growth. Maturity is accepting responsibilities for the choices one makes, learning from them and moving on, day-by-day, with a different, better way of being. Next, he said that because he had been working at that corporation for many years, he had set mechanisms through which much of what he had to do was distributed to other people, and therefore he was made redundant. In fact, subconsciously, he was responsible for his being fired by showing that the position he had was not necessary. The opposite would likely happen if he had gone further and made himself essential. He also said he had become too laid back about his marriage. At some point he gave up the effort of keeping alive the flame of affection that had bound him to his wife; therefore, it was natural that she became uninterested in maintaining their relationship and a gap was created that had to be filled. Truth be told, both cases were cycles he should have ended in a more honest way whether to himself or to others. Deep inside, the pain he felt was because of the wound to his pride, for being rejected by his wife and fired by his company. Once he became willing to work that in himself, he understood that what he felt was rock bottom was, in fact, the beginning of the tunnel that had led him to a search he had never thought of before. Instead of bouncing back, as he originally had thought, he found a new place where there was much more light. He said that in this process, the more he came to know himself the more he, and everything around him, would transform. Interests, wishes, choices became different. What was previously essential did not make sense anymore. He said that he had always been into motorcycles, so he decided to open a small shop in the garage of his home. There, he met a young woman who also loved bikes, and they started dating. The relationship and the business were still crawling, money was still short and limited, but the bike rides they took on weekends were long and pleasant. He said he had never felt so free and light. He lived more and more according to his essence, and that made him happy. Differently from before, every day now he woke up excited with life. Even if all went wrong, he had learned the unlimited possibilities of survival, he has understood the immeasurable power he had within, and now he knew that he could start over as many times as necessary. Reaching rock bottom had, in fact, been a blessing. Carlo called the waiter and asked for the menu, he would have lunch with us. He was hungry. Hungry for life, he added. We laughed. He took the opportunity to thank the cobbler for the previous conversation. He said he felt the arguments the shoemaker used were somehow surrounding him. He only had to open the curtains to see them more clearly and let them in. Loureiro agreed: “Yes, it is like they were dormant within you, and our talk woke them up. Otherwise, it would still take time for them to mature in the subconscious mind and only then would you become aware of them. This is how we expand our level of perception and change our life.”. Carlo said that all that seemed a sorry ending has revealed to be the beginning of a beautiful journey. Loureiro smiled and concluded: “Even though it is not a rule, at times, depending on the behavior of he who hit rock bottom, a tunnel is open that allows one to go beyond. Beyond oneself. This is when the first portal of the Path opens. The indigent turns into a walker. Everything changes. For good.” Kindly translated by Carlos André Oighenstein Other texts by the author at www.yoskhaz.com/en

#yoskhaz in english #words #thoughts #memory #time