#(One day Ill finish rewriting this but for now out it goes)

[isabel3710]

Some random Feral! Branch and Clays thoughs/ideas because I am mentally ill and I felt silly:

- Some years after settling down in the forest, Clay learns how to make paper and now spends most of his time journaling and writing;

- At first, he tried to rewrite some of his old books from memory but found it too hard and emotionally painful to remember, but he will sometimes write some self-made sad stories as a little treat for himself;

- Branch takes the longest out of them to take on a hobby, the forever self-sacrificing and self-hating troll he is. But when he does, he tries almost anything he can think of;

- He paints, sculpts, does leather-work, baking and more. He can't and won't be stopped;

- Clay helps, food-wise, mostly by gathering and trap-making (also gardening, once they make some good progress on the building of the burrow/hideout). Branch, when he gets older, does most of the hunting and fishing (Clay is slightly embarrassed, but learns to live with it);

- The burrow or the nest (how they call their version of the bunker) is less survivalist and mechanical than canon, due this Branch being less paranoid and not having access to more advanced resources (Troll village). But this version is also way more cozy and home-like, so it balances out lol;

- They try to explore and venture out on the hopes of finding their other brothers (especially Floyd and Bruce), but think that it's way too dangerous to go far away from the burrow (and they never go in the direction of Burgentown, which is in the middle of them and Vacay Island);

- After some really long years of healing and bounding, Branch slightly regains his colours and hums/softly sings with Clay, but only in the safety of their burrow;

- Clay also rarely sings, especially before Branch does it as well, and has muted colours himself (by the 20th anniversary of the escape , they are roughly the same amount of greyish blue/green);

- To finish this ask with some angst, they have came close to reuniting John Dody many times. But because they only see Rhonda, which to them is an unknown and unpredictable animal, they always turn around or go to another direction. Jd also has spotted them once or twice, but thinks they are hallucinations at first and later, dangerous wild trolls who he rather not mess with (since by then, they stopped looking like their younger-selfs). He rarely goes close to their area, so he never made the association of those specific "hallucinations" (he had a lot of real ones during that time period) and the mysterious wild trolls.

I love all of these! Here are some of my own.

-Their burrow would only be a couple of rooms because the two spend most of their time outside.

-There isn't much in the way of furniture in their burrow, like instead of beds it's just a nest of anything comfy they kind find.

-They practically hibernate during the winter, they stay inside the whole time and sleep a lot. When Branch was younger they went out a few times so he could experience a snow day but due to lack of supplies and the cold weather they don't do this very often.

-Clay is less feral than Branch because he's older and socialized and spent time with other trolls more.

-They communicate a lot using animal sounds, for safety reasons, but Clay does his best to help Branch learn to read, write, and practice talking.

[berrisweetsiren]

~ Dance of the Poison Ivy ~

Anyway if tumblr could Not butcher the quality that'd be fantastic.

Ivy stared down at the dress she wore, slowly taking deep breaths. In... and out. In, and out again. Herself, her sister Serenity, and the two's best friend Farren, had all been getting ready at the former's house for the wedding of a lifetime- between Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour.

Still, she felt... uncertain. Even after all these years- all the struggles she went through not just with the cursed vaults but with her own being, dysphoria was ever present in the back of her mind.

Serenity watched her sister as she looked over herself in the mirror, sighing softly with a somber smile as she walked over.

"Ivy? Is everything okay?" She asked, not wanting to push her younger sister into a response. Ivy simply fiddled with a chunk of her hair- most of it being strewn down her back as she looked between herself in the mirror, and the dark haired ravenclaw beside her.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Just feeling a bit uneasy. Are you sure I look alright? Was yellow a good choice to wear?" She smoothed out the dress, it's pastel yellow form practically bouncing as she stood. Serenity only motioned for Ivy to sit down on the chair next to her, before shaking her head.

"You look gorgeous, Ivy. Mom wouldn't have it any other way, you know," As Ivy sat down, Serenity tended to the mass of wavy hair, snagging one of Ivy's favorite hair ties off the dresser and slowly beginning to bunch the lot of chestnut locks together, "Plus, that potion we found hasn't even worn off. It's been years since you drank it, whats the chances of it wearing off now?"

"Mm..." It was true, after Serenity found the correct potion in order to properly compose Ivy's body to her own ways years prior, but even still... something still felt off.

As Serenity finished up with Ivy's hair- adjusting the little preserved red rose that was clasped to the hair tie- she turned Ivy around to fix some of her sister's makeup.

"Of all days to get dysphoria, why oh why did it have to be today?!" Ivy remarked with a forlorn sigh, closing her eyes as Serenity touched up the light eyeliner along her eyes. Ivy had decided prior not to do too much for makeup- a light dose of eyeliner would suit just fine. Often, she didn’t wear too much- just enough to look a bit fancy. She does like going all out on occasion though- during pride month or around her birthday. 

Farren only chuckled, as they ran a hand through aburn hair in attempts to fix a single little scrap that wouldn't line up right.

"Hey, look on the flip side, Vee. At least you don't have to watch out for a wayward prankster that is my girlfriend," Farren joked lightly, adjusting the tie they wore and then their vest, twirling to look at themselves in the mirror to make sure there were no creases in their outfit.

Ivy stuttered, trying to make a comeback, but eventually groaned and huffed.

"Fair enough, I guess. I wish you luck keeping her from interrupting the wedding," Ivy said bluntly, Serenity having gotten up- satisfied with her work- and busied herself with the last touches on her own ensemble.

Farren huffed and shook their head, shooting the brunette a teasing side look as Ivy got up.

"It'll be easier than keeping a certain slythrin's hands off ya, I'd say," They rebutted, making Ivy flush bright red.

"I...N-nooooo...??" Ivy stuttered over herself, biting her lip. Serenity giggled a bit.

"I'm fairly sure if any of our brothers caught wind of what we got up to with our partners at this point, they'd all be dead," Serenity responded with, gently meandering over and adding a secondary smaller broach to Ivy's dress, "I still can't believe everyone's coming.."

"Well, so goes the hope anyway." Ivy put in, sighing and running a hand over her face- careful not to mess up the intricate makeup in the process, “Our brothers might not come. Not like any of them were too close to Bill before all of this.” 

“You never know, Ivy,” Serenity added, “At the very least, our parent’s aren’t coming.” 

“Which I think is the only safe-escape here,” Ivy joked, “After last summer, I don’t think mom and dad would let Merula near me again under their supervision.” 

“Look at it this way-” Farren said, “-at least you know your family now truly cares about you, Ivy.”

“Oh no, don’t get me started on that nostalgia trip, I’ll cry-” Ivy said with a little laugh. Ever since the court case, ever since that day over the summer...she’s been a Hortensia. She’s been Serenity’s little sister. She’s been...home. Just thinking about how far she’s come- it always makes her emotional. 

Feeling tears well up in the corners of her eyes, she fights off the urge to rub at her eyes- instead letting them fall into her dress- wiping off the tears from her cheek.

“I still can’t believe it’s been 11 years since all of that happened...” Ivy said softly, as Farren and Serenity kneel beside her, looking at the trio in the mirror, “...I can’t believe I got through it.” 

“I know. I can’t believe I never heard about any of this until I came to visit in late July!” Farren exclaimed, “I’m still disappointed in you both!”

The two sister’s burst into giggles, “I know, I know, we’re sorry!” Ivy exclaimed, “With everything happening, we didn’t have much time to think.”

A set of chuckles fill the room, soft memories of the past dancing through their minds. From everything that happened- meeting the trio and becoming best friends, to discovering the secrets of the vaults, to getting partners, to Ivy becoming a Hortensia, to finding their brothers and all the way up...to this very moment.

Quiet falls over the room a few moments later, Serenity, Ivy, and Farren all looking to each other in the mirror. Serenity with her bright blue, overly poofy dress; and Farren with their sleek crimson red suit. 

“You guys have always been there for me. I don’t think I ever could thank you enough...” Ivy eventually mumbles, leaning her head against Serenity’s arm. Farren wraps an arm over the brunette’s shoulder, slowly smiling and nuzzling close to their best friend- their family.

“Of course, Ivy. We’ve all been there for eachother,” They said quietly, “Remember- we’re the cursed trio.”

“...And we’ll always be together.” Ivy concluded, giggling before hugging the duo close, “I know.”

Silence fills the dressing room for several minutes, slowly taking a few deep breaths before Farren and Serenity let their arms fall, and Ivy gets up.

“Ready?” Serenity and Farren smile to Ivy, who smiles in return- that bold, confident smile she always held with her. 

“Ready.” 

Ivy smiles, taking her sibling’s hands, headed out of the dressing room to address the crowd. 

-- ⭐ --

[beomglocks]

happy (very) 'belated' father’s day

summary : the only father willing to come to the dinner

pairing : dilf neighbor!soobin x (legal)!reader x beomgyu (?)

warnings & other: i wrote the day after fathers day, the title is edited bc im posting this like WAY later LOL, threesome (?), degradation, some beomgyu (no incest), sub!beomgyu if you squint like really fucking hard, definitely not a normal relationship, slight exhibitionism, some possessiveness, DON’T read if you’re uncomfortable with age gaps, edit: REwriting this, this one is for the dilf soobin stans, eat up, don't say i don't feed yall, enjoy <3, kind of proofread

w/c : ~4k

you realize it now.

after living side by side with mr. choi soobin and his son, beomgyu, for a couple of weeks, you’ve started to realize something quite interesting.

1. your mother has a liking for tall lean men.

2. she also has a liking for trying to set you up with the tall lean mens’ son.

now, you wouldn't say you're exactly opposed to getting close to beomgyu. he's conventionally attractive and he seems like a nice boy but you're very much more attracted to the one who created him. it made sense after all.

"give these to mr. choi for me?" your mother all but shoves the roses and chocolates in your arms. you look down quizzically at such gifts. "it's not valentine's day.." you trail off.

you have a strange feeling that soobin would be put off by such acts, not seeming to be as out there as your mother. she doesn't care.

"it's fathers day..well it was...yesterday," she shrugs, fixing her bombshell red lipstick. why was she doing herself up? well a certain mr. choi was coming over.

despite the fact that your own father was out of the picture, that didn't stop your mom from wanting to celebrate every holiday in existence. unfortunately, the only willing father in town to partake in your mother's antics was mr. choi.

he liked to rile her up, you notice. soobin liked to toy with your mother's clear affection towards him, just as he did you. he also liked to throw it in your face sometimes. you didn't say what you observed but you knew he liked to make her feel wanted by a much younger, much more handsome man.

without another word, you decide to give the outlandish gifts to your neighbor. you sigh, looking down at the gifts. some assorted chocolates, nice flower arrangements, and what seems to be a sealed note? you want to roll your eyes but a part of you wonders if soobin would really like these kinds of things.

when you get to the door and ring the bell, the door swings open and there's stands the man himself. he's more put together than you at the moment so you feel out of place even at the front step of his house.

"always a pleasant surprise~" he smiles. his eyes trail down to the gifts in your arms. "for me?" his eyes grow wide and his pouty lips, the ones which you suddenly can't stop staring at since they seemed to be stained cherry red, lay slightly agape.

"from my mom," you deadpan, holding the gifts out. "she's generous~" "overbearing," you correct. "we seem to have different views then," he shrugs. "where's my gift from you though? this can't be all," he ponders in faux thought.

you smile shyly, looking down in embarrassment. "what did you get me baby?" he teasingly leans down closer to you to properly see your face. "could it be perhaps-"

before soobin can place a hand on you, beomgyu comes from downstairs. he's looking sharp, which suits him a lot, you admit. his hair is parted, giving you a teasing view of his forehead. regardless of the fact that he's wearing casual clothes, a stark contrast from his father who dawns an all black attire, beomgyu still manages to make it work for him.

"we'll be seeing you at the dinner," soobin clears his throat, noticing your apparent staring at his son. you can tell that he feels off put by your slight attraction to beomgyu. however small or minuscule it may be its still there to him.

the dinner goes almost exactly how you thought it would. soobin and your mother hit it off, talking about whatever they could to distract themselves from their children for a while. to your surprise soobin barely interacts with you. he seems too occupied with entertaining your mom to pay you any mind.

you're not sure why but this bothers you. beomgyu is occupied in the bathroom at the moment so you can't help but glance in their direction every couple of seconds. your mom is currently leaning against soobin's broad shoulder, laughing at something he's previously said. so he’s a comedian.

you watch as he looks down at her with a satisfied smile on his face. you bite the inside on your cheek and as if on cue, soobin looks up in your direction and smirks. it's almost as if he's taunting you. you bite down harder until you taste something metallic in your mouth.

you're not sure where this feeling of jealously is coming from and you know it's not healthy but you can't help it. maybe you've gotten too attached to your older neighbor in these past couple of weeks.

beomgyu comes out of the restroom with a sigh, walking back into the living room where you are. he can feel a weird tension in your general area but decides not to comment on it. suddenly you stand up, catching beomgyu off guard.

"come on beomgyu!" you say loud enough for everyone to hear especially soobin. the man in question practically pauses in speech midway to look over at you and his son. he eyes you both, mainly giving you a glare that will be engraved in your mind but you don't care. he needs a taste of his own medicine.

"come on let's go to my room, i need to show you something~" you urge him along. meanwhile, you say those words while staring straight at soobin. you hear your mom assure him that it's ok, "the kids are doing their own thing." you knew you were being childish and petty but if soobin wanted to fuck around with you this is what he would have to deal with as well.

you drag beomgyu along to your room who seems quite eager to be in this position. all he knows is that there's a weird tension between you and his father but that's as far as his knowledge goes.

when you both arrive at your room you close the door behind you and lean back on it. "is everything alright?" beomgyu hesitantly asks. you sigh, ushering him along to sit on the bed with you. he looks around subtly at all the little items in your room. everything seems to reflect you well, in his opinion. "well.." you try to stall.

you look up at him through your lashes. "you like me right?" beomgyu stares at you with wide eyes, "i-i mean yeah?" he stutters at your boldness.

"then lets try something," you smile at him, casually pulling your shirt over your head. "let's see how long it takes for your dad to come see us in this position," you say to yourself.

soobin doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to know what's going on here. he knows you're being a brat on purpose but he doesn't care because it makes it all the more fun. he will say he's surprised that you're using beomgyu, his own son, to get to him.

at first, he was getting annoyed with how you seemed to take a liking for his son which is why he wanted to rile you up by seeming extra interested in whatever your mom had to say. now, however, he knew he had a plan for that. you were not going to outsmart him, he wouldn't allow it and he would just have to put you in your place.

"excuse me but i need to use your restroom," soobin makes up a bullshit excuse to get to where you are. "oh of course!" your mom nods at him, instructing him towards the one upstairs. perfect.

"ill just finish up the dinner then!" your mother offers. "great that's enough time to put this slut in her place," he thinks. he smiles at your mom heading for upstairs.

"beomgyu you look like you just saw a ghost," you chuckle lightly, looking down at him. "y/n," he groans at the sight of only seeing you in your bra. he reaches up to grab your breasts, fondling them as delicately as possible. "you can be rough," you offer.

without even bothering to knock on the door, soobin opens it to see you both on the bed in a lewd position. you shirtless on top of beomgyu. he sucks his teeth when you both look back in alarm at the door being burst open. "y/n," he chuckles, almost sadistically.

you can already see the look in his eyes and suddenly you feel bad for not only yourself but beomgyu as well. you try to subtly grab your shirt again in shame but soobin's glare stops you. "what do you think you're doing little slut?" he folds his arms over his chest. not even caring that beomgyu is in the room, he walks over to you and grabs your hair causing you to yelp in surprise.

"s-sir.." soobin narrows his eyes at you then they flit over to beomgyu. "sit over there," he motions to the beanbag in the corner of the room. "i want you to learn something from this." without another word, beomgyu scrambles over to the seat, his heart beating in fear and excitement strangely.

you feel heat rising up your neck and to your cheeks as well as your dripping pussy. "don't be embarrassed, im sure this was your plan all along," soobin tsks, shoving your face down into the sheets. you breathe out when he rips the skirt and underwear from your body without a second thought. the racy thong that was supposed to be his surprise for father's day discarded in a second.

"soobin-" a smack to your ass. "that's not my name."

he doesn't even give you a chance to correct yourself, messing with your sticky juices before entering his cold fingers into your hole. you try to stifle your moan by burying your head further into the sheets.

"god you're so wet," soobin comments. he slowly moves his finger in and out for a while, practically torturing you with how meticulous and slow he's being. "please," you whine pathetically. "please what?" he slows his movements to stare at you with a raised eyebrow.

"please f-fuck me, please, i need your cock," you beg shamelessly. beomgyu breathes heavily, trying to forget about his growing boner but not being able to ignore it. he painfully wants to do something about it but he's not sure if he's allowed to touch himself.

he opts for subtly dragging his hand to his clothed crotch and palming himself through his pants, as uncomfortable as it is. in the meantime, soobin rids himself of his own pants, shaking his head.

he lightly smacks your throbbing pussy and you jolt. "do you seriously think you deserve it? fuck, look at you, can’t wait to be fucked like a bitch in heat~" you whine, wiggling your ass wordlessly in his face to hopefully get what you want.

soobin rubs your clit with narrowed eyes, making sure beomgyu is watching. he could care less that beomgyu is touching himself. he drags some of your cum from your hole to your clit and sighs. "alright then.."

he aligns himself with your hole and without another word slips his cock in with ease, completely bottoming out.

you want to scream at how big he is but you're only left with ragged pants as you know you're unable to make any loud noises. it seriously feels like you could be torn apart at any minute but you love the feeling of soobin’s cock filling you out.

"you're so tight seriously," soobin breathes. he can barely move at first. the way his dick fits inside of your pussy perfectly. he almost wants to comment about how you were practically made for him. he's sure if he flips you over right now, he would see the outline of his cock in your womb.

after waiting a bit for you to adjust to his length he finally starts moving. "shit-" he breathes. you have to grip the sheets to stop yourself from yelling. soobin's hands find their way to your waist and when you look to the side just for a split second you can see beomgyu fighting for his life to not moan out loud.

"look beomgyu-" soobin says in between jagged breaths. "if you wanna fuck around with his pathetic slut this is how you treat her." a moan gets caught in your throat when soobin pounds into you at once. "ah- i-" a part of you wants to apologize and is trying to but he won't give you a chance to speak.

"isn't that right my slutpuppy? did you have something to add?" at the sound of the nickname your walls tighten around him and he sends a harsh smack to your ass. "you're enjoying this aren't you?" he rolls his eyes and sighs heavily.

soobin thrusts start getting faster and faster, beomgyu watching with his mouth agape at his father kissing and sucking at your neck to muffle his own moans. beomgyu can only bite his lip and noises from his throat barely pass his lips as he reaches his high.

soobin growls at seeing your eyes focus on beomgyu so he starts slamming his cock into you at an animalistic pace and you think you might break.

beomgyu bucks into his hand as he cums from the sound and sight of skin slapping added with the tiny noises you'd make. not too long after you feel yourself shudder, unable to warn soobin that you had come you squeeze your eyes shut and let out a whine instead.

"fuck- ok baby," soobin understands as soon as your walls squeeze around him. he pants a couple a times and as soon as he reaches his high he pulls out, pumping his cock to let his cum shoot out on your ass.

"s-sir," you moan. "shhh it's ok." soobin sighs heavily, coming down from his own high to tend to your broken state. he looks over at beomgyu, who's head is lulled to the side as he gazes at your sweat and semen covered body.

soobin sucks his teeth deciding not to say anything to the boy and let him chill for a minute. he shrugs his pants back on and carries you in his arms to the nearest bathroom.

you cozy up to his warm embrace, letting out a sigh. "baby we need to clean you off.." you hear him whisper. you almost completely forget that there's a dinner that's supposed to be happening and you cant just go to sleep with soobin like you'd want.

a sudden coldness hits your body and you shiver. "ok," you agree. his cum is already starting to dry on you and you want nothing more than to be cleaned like he offers. you're not sure how you'll explain your change of clothes to your mom but you're sure you'll come up with something later.

no words need to be spoken after what happened and you're glad because you're not sure what to say. soobin doesn't seem keen on talking at the moment either, too focused on cleaning you off, so you decide to stay quiet.

it's silent in the bathroom until you both hear your mother all out. "dinner's ready!"

you chuckle, breaking the silence as soobin looks up at you with a questioning eyebrow. “happy father’s day.”

[courtney-deserved-better]

whats ur writing schedule/process like! not in a “write faster” way, but i think once you mentioned writing in script form? and i like the way you wrote ur most recent fic! just curious bc ur works are just really good :)

this is a great question!!

if its not slippery slopes, ill usually get an idea for something and periodically jot down notes when they come to me until I feel like i have enough information to start writing (or if im just motivated), that's what i did for my horror challenge rewrite. and for stuff that's like... rewrites of an episode that aren't as character-focused as slippery slopes, i usually read the episode transcripts and try to replicate that total drama style with my own writing

for shorter oneshots, i usually just get a vague idea and run with it until i find a good ending spot, then i go back and clean it up a bit so the structure works

slippery slopes is an... interesting cycle. chapters are getting long enough that i cant just write them in one sitting any more (i think ch5 was the last chapter i did that for) and instead ill agonize over the beginning (always the hardest part to write for me) but once i get going with that i usually finish the chapter within a few days. then i reread the previous chapter to make sure it flows ok (and there aren't any contradictions) and then ill give myself a break where i dont do anything total drama related before coming back to edit and post. though before I do all that I type up notes and rough dialogue bits

and then once i post it it's like... a weight off my chest? like ive been purged or something?? idk its a weird sensation but im just like i Physically Cannot Write Anything For This Right Now and i don't start on the next chapter until that goes away. and then i either start the beginning and do nothing for a week before going back and finishing the chapter or i go into a manic state and write nonstop for a few days. right now i haven't reached a point where im ready to begin writing chapter 10 but i have a lot of notes for it.

(also as soon as i finish posting a chapter i try not to go on my laptop for like 12 hours so i don't obsessively refresh my email for comments. i love reading comments so much holy shit. please comment guys it makes fic authors feel so happy we will love you for it)

as for scripts: i am working on being a writer professionally, but specifically a playwright. writing in a script format comes more naturally to me than writing prose. funnily enough, i started posting fanfic just to practice my prose (and fix stuff in cobra kai that i didnt like) but things sort of... ended up here? idk man but im enjoying it.

right, so because writing in a script format is easier when im really struggling with a section in a fic ill usually scrap whatever i had and write it like a script, then translate that into prose. i was very excited to write the family videos for chapter 9 of slippery slopes, but i was Having Issues, so i redid it as a script and then rewrote that as prose. ill put the script version under the cut if you're interested in that.

but thank you so much for the question!! i do think my writing process is a bit unconventional but hey i think things are turning out well! if you have any more questions feel free to send them in!!

ok here is the last scene of ch 9 of slippery slopes in script format:

[SIERRA]

MOM: Hi honey! Omigosh this is so exciting! I bet you’re having such a great time! Especially since Chris is there! Is Chris watching this? Hi Chris! You know, I loooved you on that ice skating show. Your hair was fantastic! Well, it always is, haha. Do you really make your own hair gel? I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe but you’re just so hard to track down! Oh, you’re such a funny guy! I laughed sooo hard when you made all those jokes about marrying Chef.

Chef: hey!

Chris: ok just for the record, I wasn’t joking, we are married, Sierra tell your mom we’re married

Sierra: …can we just turn it off please

[COURTNEY]

DAD: Courtney, sayang, I know you’ve been going through a lot right now—

MOM: So you’d BETTER make it count. You’ve made it this far before, I want to see you getting all the way to the finale this time. And winning it. Enough moping about those hideous, good-for-nothing slackers! That’s what you get for hanging around freaks like them. You’re doing this for the million, now get the million. Is that clear?

ZARINA: And kick ass!

DAD: Zarina!

Video cuts out.

Alejandro: courtney you good?

Courtney: no, she’s right. Mama didn’t raise no quitter

Alejandro: [knows she’s still upset about duncan and gwen]

[ALEJANDRO]

MOM: Hola, Alejandro. We hope you are doing well, especially in such unsavory conditions. I’m glad to see you’ve made it to the final four— we expected nothing less, of course.

DAD: You have been utilizing your skills quite well. Though I wish you hadn’t been so… blatant about it. You’ll have to work twice as hard once this is over to convince people you’re trustworthy. But surely you were aware of that going into this… odd endeavor. That’s just politics. Reputation is everything.

JOSE: [snorts] Oh, and what a reputation you have, Al. I could easily compile hours of footage of your failures, but I, unlike you, do not waste my time on the frivolities of reality television. Though you always have been lacking in taste. Especially with that bratty girlfriend of yours— oh, my mistake, aren’t you dating the whiny weakling? It’s so hard to keep track! [laughs]

Alejandro: callate!

MOM: I’m sure Alejandro is just working an angle on them.

DAD: Whatever the case is, do not disappoint us.

[NOAH]

MOM: Hi Noah, I’m sorry, I don’t have time to record a full video, but I’m proud of you! Here are your sisters!

ISWARI: A million dollars? A million [bleep] dollars? Win it, Noah! Win it!

RUTH: Dude!! This is crazy! I know you can do this— good luck! Ark misses you! [holds up Ark who barks]

MARA: Are you insane? Why aren’t you dating Alejandro already?

Noah: shut up, mara, just because you can’t keep a boyfriend—

ANYA: Don’t let ‘em trick you! No mercy! Crush their skulls if you have to— no, wait, you’re not strong enough for that. We’ll get there!

LIYA: I say this as your sister, someone who loves you but is constantly annoyed by you— for someone who is quite literally a genius, you sure can be an idiot sometimes.

BALLARI: Okay, I literally have no idea how you’ve made it this far without an athletic bone in your body— are we sure you aren’t adopted? I’m kidding

ABS: You’re stubborn as hell when it comes to me, so you better be stubborn as hell when it comes to winning! And when you do win, get me a frozen yogurt machine, will you? I promise I won’t make you rock climb again!

JAEL: If you lose this, I’ll kill you with this racket. And then use your guts to make myself a new racket. So don’t fuck it up. Again.

Noah: [frozen, ashamed]

Sierra: well that was a mess

Courtney: ok show of hands, who felt better after hearing that? [no one raises hands]

Chris: yeah I was expecting this to be a lot more heartwarming…

Chef: chris just look at them. If they had stable home lives they wouldn’t be doing reality tv

Alejandro: can we please stop talking about this. Also aren’t you supposed to be flying the plane

Chef: oh fuck

Chris: yeah sure. I think im gonna call my mom

Everyone: …

Noah: ok so that was really shitty. Why dont we all go to first class and try and ignore our problems

Everyone: yeah ok sounds good

***

Courtney: so that sucked

Alejandro: at least your dad seems ok

Courtney: true. What are your guys dads like

Noah and Sierra: bold of you to assume I know my dad. Jinx

***

Alejandro: that last girl… you mentioned a sister who does tennis and hates you

Noah: yep

Alejandro: why?

Noah: none of your business. but… it is pretty justified

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Okay, in the wake of the L’Manburg war, allow me to get meta for a bit. 

Now obviously the war, and the SMP server in general, are just for content. The stakes are all fictional - nebulous things like freedom on a minecraft server, sentimental value placed on music discs and all that nonsense.

Bearing that in mind, I want to discuss how it played out.

 Who were the best players? It’s clear who were the most powerful and dangerous as enemies - Dream, George, Sapnap and Punz. (I’m leaving aside Eret for the moment btw)  They all had full netherite armour, planted TNT traps and planned betrayals and ambushes to win the war. They had the upperhand throughout. Meanwhile the other side felt weak and ill-prepared and did very little damage to any of their opponents. 

But you know, being more powerful doesn’t actually make for much content on its own. What makes good content? A good narrative filled with drama, tension and excitement. In those terms, we’re looking at Tommy and Wilbur carrying the server with this war.

 The second they said independence and made some grand speeches, there were stakes. Instead of the server being a somewhat peaceful building simulator, it was in a state of conflict. Alliances were created, flags were made, Hamilton and Revolutionary war references were heard, matching skins and all that were being created. Putting great significance into stuff like a patch of tilled soil, suggesting carrying sticks instead of weapons and wearing no armour but fighting with words - that’s the sort of stuff that made this whole scenario work. Without it, this dispute wouldn’t have been able to call itself a war. They even make ridiculous stuff sound convincing - just the idea of calling L’Manberg its own separate server that happens to be inside another server with the running costs still being paid by Dream. It’s crazy but it works. 

And my goodness, did they have their work cut out for them. 

You see, I feel like Dream and co. weren’t really playing along. They heard ‘war!’ and thought - let’s win. Let’s absolutely crush the enemy! No mercy. 

Now playing the villain can be cool, sure. And it kinda worked here. But only just. Some of their actions definitely irked me. 

See, there are kind of unspoken agreements in stuff like letting people prepare, not attacking too early, that sort of thing. You tell everyone that the war’s gonna take place at 7pm and sure enough it does. And there’s Dream’s server rules: No stealing and no griefing. These rules do get bent in the middle of an ongoing battle - eg battles often involve a lot of placing and breaking blocks and when you’re low on stuff, trying to run to a nearby chest to grab some last minute supplies is going to happen (and later after the battle’s done you’ll probably get yelled at a little before making up) - but generally they are upheld. Especially when others are offstream and you aren’t in the middle of something. 

‘Ah but it was war - rules can be broken!’ one might argue. Yeah, no, this is entertainment. You don’t start early because you’re going to ruin the stream and make the content worse - and the whole point of the war is to make good content. Like, when WIlbur’s stream died - they asked for a pause so WIlbur could sort out technical difficulties before continuing. 

Yeah so Dream and Sapnap basically broke all the rules in order to win. Fundy and Tommy put up insulting signs in different languages. Funny content. Dream and Sapnap burned Tubbo’s house to the ground. Err... okay that’s a bit excessive but we can make it work. No mercy, ha. 

So Tommy asked Tubbo to prep for the war. Tubbo agreed and got to work to try and balance the already uneven odds. At this point, the war’s in a day and all of Dream’s side has full netherite and none of L’Manburg do save Eret. Time is short but that just makes it all the more exciting. 

So Tubbo uses villagers and trading, stealing a frugal amount to get himself started before really getting into it and grinding for diamond armour and makes nine stacks of emeralds - enough to place some high level enchants and even the odds a little and make the fight interesting.

While Tubbo’s offline, Sapnap comes in and steals them, getting books to enchant his own set of netherite armour using Tubbo’s set up. Well then. There goes any hope of a fair fight. And they are trying, you know. They realise the armour discrepancy so they’ve been trying to get potions but even that’s a struggle - when Dream finished his apology stream he logged on to the SMP without warning and managed to kill Tubbo before he could get away while his inventory had been full of potions. (Tommy and Tubbo had been visiting Dream’s base to put a sign in it - an offer of Mellohi for peace. Nothing comes of this sign or any of the other Tommy put in other people’s houses - more potential good content there like demanding Sapnap stay neutral in return for a supply blaze powder (a ref to the drug war that preceded this conflict)). It’s not that Dream killing Tubbo is the issue - it’s more how he logged on basically without warning so Tubbo had little chance to get away as he was mostly unarmoured and ungeared. 

Still, the next day Tubbo is trying to grind back up, to even up things a little. He’s only managed to get 2 end crystals and he has a few sets of plain diamond armour and a few books. So he grinds like crazy in the limited time, trading all his iron, chopping trees, carrots, bamboo, sugar, everything he has into emeralds. But he needs levels. He tries to go to the spawner which the other side has been freely using to grind up exp and they kill him when he goes near. One time, Dream kills him while he has several books on him so he has to trade back emeralds to get them again. And now he doesn’t have a good way to get experience so he can’t even the odds. Punz and Sapnap even combatlog inside the spawner so if he goes near they’d come online and kill him. And yeah, they’re stream sniping. They’ve all streamed very little, hiding all their preparations while taking advantage of the fact that the other side have all been streaming everything they’ve been doing. 

‘Imagine streamsniping.’ Tommy and co. said that at one point during today’s conflict. It’s cheap - it’s not fun, it’s taking advantage - one that’s not even necessary as you’re already all OP. Dream’s side aren’t the underdog, they don’t need every single advantage to win this. Instead it’s more like rubbing salt into the wound. 

And yeah, despite all the griefing that Dream side have done, not once does anyone grief anything of theirs - like the chat was totally asking for them to burn down Punz’s house. No, they just place signs and talk. 

Okay, so Tommy announced the war would be at 7pm. He logs on at 6.45 to say hello and hype all his viewers up, get his music playing and give a rundown of the situation and what’s occurred since he’s last streamed. No sooner has he logged on then Tubbo gets ambushed early! They attacked prematurely! 

...

It’s like there was one rule - war begins at 7pm. And instead Dream, George and Sapnap all attacked Tubbo at his base at 6.45. Tommy is ages away and can’t do anything and Fundy’s in trouble too and Tubbo just barely manages to save the gear he has managed to prep. They’re even more on the backfoot. All their strats are known anyway as they’ve been watching streams so they know all about the potions and endcrystals while Tommy’s side are in the dark about Dream’s side’s preparations. For instance, offstream they filled Tommy’s base and L’Manburg with Tnt which they set off to devastating effect. 

The ‘war’ is as one-sided as you’d expect. Tommy and co. are trying to attack even though they lack arrows and food and are hopelessly outmatched but they put up a pretence of trying anyway. At no point is a single one of Dream’s side even moderately threatened (except perhaps when they ambushed Tubbo early as he tried using harming potions) and everyone knows it. 

Still, Tommy and Wilbur push on - they talk, they rally etc. Finally, Eret betrays them and they’re all killed in an ambush. And they’re shocked by this twist, they react, they call Eret their downfall. (Dream’s side didn’t need to resort to such tactics to win given their obvious advantage.) and Eret being a traitor is fantastic for content anyway so it is a great part of the narrative that they all react to perfectly. Eret seems to have a good instinct for making good content as well as this sort of twist is a good addition. It works because its drama - they trusted him and they never expected him to betray them to the other side after all they’d built together. 

In the end, Tommy finishes it on a high with a dramatic bow duel followed by offering the discs in exchange for freedom. And fittingly, despite have being entirely outplayed in terms of power and tactics, they win the thing they cared about - which was the independence that they started the war for. The content - not anything material. Dream’s side was far stronger and better prepared and they weren’t given so much as a chance to catch up for a pvp conflict. But L’Manberg - they got that. 

-

Okay, so this has been long and I’ll probably rewrite something similar soon - but I wanted to highlight how in meta terms, the war was being played unfairly and its obvious that Dream’s side had different priorities - win under any means necessary rather than continue to make great content for the SMP. They’re treating it like a manhunt or something when its absolutely not and shouldn’t be. They’re lucky that Wilbur and Tommy were so good at making it work as they do all the heavy-lifting for the SMP which ensures its got a healthy lifespan. 

[obsessiveyand]

This is a retelling of one of my favorite scenes in AOT I retold it the way I act it out with my OC, its rusty af cause I literally typed it out so fast just to make sure I got it down while I had the chance, ill probable rewrite it eventually, Anyways enjoy this little introduction to my OC

"How did we end up like this? When did we start this path we were on, were the signs there? Could I of stopped it?" These were all questions Cpl. Light asked herself as she laid next to a still Levi, she could feel the grass and the dirt against her skin and clothing, she could see the stars above, what was it about tonight that made them seem brighter and more clear then ever.. Maybe it wad because everything almost ended.. almost..

She could hear Hange building the cart they intended on using to carry Levi to safety, safety.. did that even exist anymore.. tears quietly slipped down the side of her face as she thought about every step she had taken for her to end up here, merely a day ago she had soaked herself in the blood of those she risked her life to protect.. She knew if she hadn't of created an opening for Hange to escape, Levi would probable be dead by now, To be honest she had never expected to make it out of that field alive, she was only lucky Floch and a few others had turn to run, those who stayed fell to her blades the very blades she used to slay titans, to protect her people.

She flashes back to the explosion caused by Zeke, it happened so fast she had barely anytime to react properly, one minute she was at the reigns on the cart, listening to Levi talk shit to Zeke, the next thing she knew Levi was throwing himself in front of her, shielding her from the blast, the blast and the throw, followed by the nasty thump to the ground caused her to be disoriented, she felt a sharp pain in her leg but she didn't have time to figure out why. "L-Levi?" She called out weakly, her eyes finally starting to adjust and the ringing in her ears settling down, she looked just in front of her and what she seen sucked all the air out of her lungs, it felt like 1000 daggers were stabbing her all over, just ahead lied Levis broken body, covered in blood and badly injured. Through the pain Light manged to drag herself to Levi just close enough she was able to place her hand in his. "Please be alive!" She thought, but just before she had the chance to check the sound of approaching hooves broke her concentration, voices followed and she looked up to see who it was. The grass around her was long enough to hide her body in the moonlight, but unfortunately Levi laid in the open. She quickly realized it was a group of Yaegerists and she knew if they found Levi in this state they would never pass up their chance to finish him off, She prepared her mind and body to fight, quickly scanning the group counting how many she could see and preparing to risk her life to protect the one person she held dearer to her than anyone else, These thoughts were quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. "Tch is that Hange?" She thought to herself, and of course like a miracle from above Hange quickly approached.

"Eeeyyaahhh its Captain Levi! But I think.. hes dead.. " Hange called out to the group behind her, then suddenly she locked eyes with Light laying in the grass Grasping to Levis hand with a furious look of desperation in her eyes. "H-Hange, please save him" she cried. "I can't do anything without a distraction, there's too many of them" Hange responded in a hushed tone. Light shook her head and prepared to stand "Be ready to run, I will fight for your opening" Light said with a small groan and she forced her body up wincing in pain as she stood "prepare to Run Hange, no matter what happens you get Levi out of here" Light said with force and she finally stood straight pulling her blades from her ODM and stepping in front on Hange and Levi. A hush goes over the crowd of horse back riders as she places herself in a fighting stance before calling out to them.

"Most of you here know me! But for those who don't, I am Cpl. Light, those who do know me know I have fought with the surgery corps for years! Next to Commander Erwin Smith and Captain Levi I'm the best fighter they got, I've risked my life for all of you and today I stand here ready to kill any of you who try to step forward, if any of you try to lay a single hand on Captain Levi, I will not hesitate to slice you into pieces, I see your guns, and if you think you can shoot before I slice through you all, than I urge you to TAKE YOUR SHOT" Light yells out before rushing forward towards the crowd "Tsk, this is your chance Hange, don't fuck it up, get the hell out of here and don't look back" She thinks to herself before shooting her gear off into the crowd, using the grapples to injure those in the proximity, screaming begins and the shooting starts as Light cuts her way through the comrades she once swore to protect, tears streamed down her face mixed with the blood of her fellow humans that splattered across her skin.

"Damn it! Shes a god damn monster!" "SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SHOOT HER" "Shes too fast! I can't get a good shot!""Fuck this im getting out of here" suddenly Flochs voice can be heard above all "Retreat out, before she kills you all!" Light turns to try and chase after him, if she could kill him here and now the Yeagerists wouldn't have a leader she had to do it now, just as she was about to make haste a loud bang rung out and a sharp pain went through the right side of her body, her adrenaline ran so fast she barely stopped, swinging around she finished cutting through those who didn't run, finally the screaming and shooting stopped and Light stood there her blades dripping in blood, she fell to her knees and let out a loud scream, Floch had escaped and she slaughtered too many of her people, yes Levi had escaped but, she didn't even know if he was still alive at this point. She screamed again her blades clattered to her side as she grabbed her head, the pain she was feeling from the battle outweighed her physical pain, this was it, she was ready to give up, she fought so long and hard to protect her friends, and this is where it lead her. She closed her eyes and breathed short shallow breaths, her mind became foggy as she stared at the bodies around her. Never in her life did she imagine she would have to slay humans, even if it was go protect the love of her life. "Hmph I'm sure Hange made it out by now.. she's probable setting up camp somewhere..I'm sorry Hange but.. I don't think I'll be coming to you this time." She said softly as tears streamed down her face mixing with the rain that poured down upon her. She was done fighting, she was at the end of everything everything she had been through, it was too much. Just as she was about to close her eyes and lay down for the last time, the sun beamed through the clouds making a break in the rain, the sun beamed down on her coating her body in warmth, he eyes fluttered open and she could barely believe her eyes, standing before her were her fallen comrades, Petra, Ian, Mike, Ooluo, Erwin and all the others. "M-my comrades.. have you come.. to take me home" she asked reaching out her hand to the ethereal figures. Erwins kneeled down silently placing his hand on her shoulder and staring her firmly in the face with the same nonchalant smile he would always flash in dire times, Petra was the one to speak, bending down she smiled "Light, Levi still needs you, you can't give up yet, its not time" Petras words resonated through lights entire body, she looked at them all and sobbed as she watched her fallen comrades smile and salute her before drifting off into the closing clouds that engulfed that bit of sun that shined down. Light blinked a few times before shaking her head and hitting herself on the top of the head with her fist. "DAMN IT!" She cried out before returning her fist to the ground hitting it a few times before slowly pushing herself up "Damn you, damn you all for putting your faith in me, for giving me your strength.. for making me strong.." she cried out as she struggled to stand, suddenly just as she was about to collapse almost as if she had a guardian somewhere out there, a single horse that survived the assault came riding up to her "No fucking way.. I guess .. I guess it really wasn't my time huh Petra, looks like I'll make good on that promise after all.." She sighs and gently pet the horse that rose up to her, with the last of her strength she managed to hike herself onto the back of the horse "Take me to them horsie .. take me to my family" was the last thing she managed to mumble before passing out ontop of the horse.

A few hours had passed, Hange had made it to a safe place in the middle of the forest, here she set up a camp and tended to Levis wounds, it was only a few hours later that she heard something approaching, Hange quickly jumped up ready to fight for her life if needed, but what she seen shocked her a single horse, and the rider looked heavily injured. "EEEYYAAHHH LIGHT IS THAT YOU!?" Hange called out before running towards the horse. "Damnit light you better be breathing or I swear I'm gonna kill you!" A distraught Hange calls as she gently helps the injured corporal off the horse. "H-Hange? Is that you?" She spoke weakly "Yes! Its me Hange, I'm here and so are you, you're alive! You're safe!" Hange exclaimed helping the wounded Light towards the fire "How did you get here?? How did you find us?!" Hange asked as she say Light down next to the fire quickly tending to the bullet wound in her shoulder and the open wound in her leg from the explosion. Light shakes her head and winces in pain as Hange bandages her up fishing out the bullet and stray shrapnel from the explosion from her skin "I ... I don't know, But.. I seen Erwin and the others.. I know it sounds crazy but I think they lead me here..." she looks down and shakes her head "Hange I was ready to give up.. I was done fighting, and then, our comrades came to me they filled me with strength, then that horse came along and the next thing I know.. I'm here" Light shook her head again "I know thats crazy right.." she turns to look at Hange who had silent tears of relief slipping down her cheeks "No Light, that doesn't sound crazy to me, look who you're talking to here im the leader of crazy.. sometimes in dire situations miracles can happen, and if you ask me it sounds like what happened was a miracle, it just shows our comrades are always watching over us" hange said with a grin and her classic Hange chuckle. "We should get you cleaned up, you're covered in blood.." she paused "I won't ask what you had to do to survive.. I have a pretty good idea already, but... don't let it ruin you okay? You did what you had to do to save us, and thats what matters right?" Light nods her head and burrows her face in her hands letting out more sobs before finally using the last of the energy she had, she let out a long sigh before standing up again and moving towards Levi "How is he?" She asked as she laid herself down next to him, she reached her hand out and gently brushed the hair from his forehead, his skin was hot and she could see the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. Hange walked over and kneeled down observing Levi "Well.. hes alive, honestly the rest is up to him.." she said breathy "you should get some rest.. we don't know what's coming for us after this.." Light nods her head and quickly drifts off into a tormented sleep, waking up multiple times in a cold sweat screaming out, Luckily Hange was there to sooth her back to sleep each time. A day has gone by, and Hange decided it was best to start preparing to move out, she had already begun building a way to transport Levi

"Hey Hange.. would it be so bad.. if we just stayed here.. ya know, let the battle end itself and just worry about the three of us instead.. " Light said softly still looking at the sky above her, it was silent and you could hear the crackling of the fire near her, Hange stopped building and turn to peer at Light.

"Light.. to be honest, I was thinking the same thing" Hange pauses and takes a deep breath before too looking up at the stars above the trios head "Why can we all just live here, together, just the three of us.. thats what I thought to myself just now.." she stops again to turn back to Light and Levi "But you know damn well when shorty wakes up he's gonna wanna keep fighting ya know, thats just.. who he is.. its why he's still alive, he's a fighter and a survivor.." Hange sighs again before returning to building the cart. "He would never roll over and leave the others to fight our fight, and that's why we keep going, because otherwise we are just leaving him to fight alone, and that would make us bad friends dontcha think?" She finished with a small sigh, her words sunk deep into my brain and I thought long and hard about what she said, Hange was right, she usually was but she was especially right this time, If Hange and her stayed Levi would still go fight, so she had to stay strong and keep fighting for the life of her comrades.

Her thoughts and tears were interrupted when she felt a familiar squeeze on her hand. She sat up quickly, turning to look at the once still Levi, he had finally waken up. "H-Hange!" She exclaimed "Hes awake!" Hange jumped up when she heard Light call out and quickly ran over to be by their side."Oh thank the walls Levi, I'm not gonna lie we were starting to worry about you" Hange says in a breathy tone, she had been trying to keep it together for Lights sake but inside she was just as terrified and unsure as Light was.

Tears of joy replaced her tears of regret and she let out heavy sobs of relief before collapsing down near him, she wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug and sobbed into his shoulders uncontrollably as he lifts his non injured hand and lightly pats the top of her head. "Tsk, you're alright, I'm fine now, you don't have to worry anymore." He cooed softly as he rubbed the back of lights head soothing her for a moment before turning to Hange and speaking up "So four-eyes, why don't you tell me what happened while I was asleep, and Hanges right. I would still fight." Levi speaks sternly

End of excerpt

I hope you enjoyed my retelling with my OC please don't hate me

Also once again I AM NOT A WRITER so there is a lot of mistakes heh but it was fun, let me know what yall think okay, ill write more eventually, its kind of fun to type it out, I usually just act out scenes in my head but recently decided I should write them down for funsies LOL

I also realize some of timing is fucked up so basically it was supposed to take her a few hours to get to hange then she sleeps till the next day then the next day she thinks about what happened the day before so its like a 2 day thing aahhh I'm really new at this forgiveforgive

[the-girl-who-cried-wolf]

9, 11, 30, 33, for the ask thingy (bonus 13 cus im struggling with writers block rn and it sucks)

- random anon

hello random anon!! thanks for the ask 💜 as expected, i rambled. i would say sorry but i literally knew this was going to happen. so. i hope you wanted detailed answers...

9. Least favorite trope to write.

this is a hard one! i can't think of any that i actively dislike, but ig...enemies to lovers?? i LOVE reading it, but every time i've tried writing it, it turns out horrible and i never post. so. maybe i'm just too soft for that trope, idk, but its hard to write. thats literally all i can think of-

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

well. i doubt any of this will make any sense, but lets dive into the terrifying depths of my Writer Brain anyway...

most times, fics start with An Idea. its usually just a random thought i've had, which could be anything from an outfit i would love to see a character wear to the Deepest Darkest Feelings of a certain canon moment - it's varied and fucking wild - and then, i just think. for a few days or weeks maybe, depending on how long i intend the fic to be, i have this fic idea growing in the back of my mind as i start to build up the beginning of a plot, and i outline some goals and things i want to achieve when i write this fic. (i picture it as a little timeline running of into the distance with tags stuck on the Important Plot Points, with relevant words and images, but that's just me. its weird, i know, bare with me.)

once The Idea is settled and some semblance of a plot has been mentally sketched out, i open a doc and just start writing. for longer fics, i may keep a doc for planning - writing down scenes that are in my mind, or random visuals and lines that i think of, and sometimes even song lyrics that i find inspiring for the fic, etc - but for shorter fics, i just dive right in and get writing.

(sidenote: i've found that the process is different for longer fics vs shorter fics. obviously. theres a lotttt more planning for long fics, and i usually end up making a playlist and a pinterest board for them to keep the ideas coming as i write. short fics usually get smashed out in a few hours, probably at midnight, then i edit a little and post. im kinda lazy with editing and rewriting tho. rip.)

now, we come to the writing itself. i like to set aside a fair amount of time for writing, like, i dont just randomly write a line every now and then - i make time for me to sit down for a hour or however long i've got, and focus on writing. i follow the hazy map of plot points in my mind, and i fill in the blanks as i go. if im completely honest, i dont plan a lot of shit. i just blurt words and sometimes it comes out nicely.

i think that pretty much covers it. other than obsessively editing and rereading over the long fics, or scanning the shorter ones a little, i post it and move on <3

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

oh god. this is...hard. ill just throw some random lines in without context or explanation bc im crazy. here goes-

- He tries to muster some kind of smile in response as he tugs his headphones down around his neck, Led Zeppelin blasting out the speakers freely now, but he must fail terribly because Calum’s smile slips from his face, just like the batter that drips from the spoon he’s holding, landing in the mixing bowl underneath. It melts smoothly into the rest of the mixture and disappears, and Luke stares at where it landed, wishing he could bring it back. (x)

- Luke’s lingering hand tangles back in Calum’s hair. Soft strands of it threading through his fingers and Calum’s eyes fluttering shut like a butterfly’s wings, then gently pushing his head up into Luke's hand as he rolls over a little more, searching for just a little more of the warmth of Luke’s body against his. (x)

- And he’s gone. But she’s still there. The world has suddenly and violently stopped spinning, but she’s still there, smiling at painting in her mind, of a spinning girl. (x)

- He opened his eyes, and for a second, the silhouette of a boy still stood in front on him, a spark in his eyes and hope in every breath. Wishing for a bright future, planning for great and marvelous things that would never come to pass. (x)

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

as a general rule, yes. i like blocking out the rest of the world and listening to music that fits the fic im writing, because music is always my biggest inspiration. for many fics, especially longer ones, ill make a playlist that suits the vibes which i can then listen to whenever i write that fic. but sometimes i write without music just so i can focus better, and not be distracted by the music, which helps me make more conscious word choices and structural/grammatical choices too.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

ahh writers block (derogatory). sigh. honestly, i dont think there is a cure for writers block, but staying open to inspirations is one suggestion i can offer. listening to music, watching the world around you, consuming media you enjoy...all that helps your mind take in ideas, and even if you can't seem to write anything out, it's good to keep your mind open and filled with something. and with writers block, i would say to NOT make yourself write if you dont feel like it. that takes the enjoyment out of it and makes it seem like a task you have to complete, which it isn't!! writing is here for you to have fun!! you just have to wait it out until you want to write again, and in the meantime, take in all the inspiration that you can.

thank you sm for asking all this, i had a lot of fun writing these answers out! and i hope your writers block doesn't last long too. sending good vibes your way!!! 💜💜💜

writers ask game

[flowerfan2]

We’re getting close to the end, folks!  Chapter 17 of 20 is up.  This one features some cuddles/comfort, a trip to NYC, a sparkling holiday party, and a romantic dance.  Enjoy!

David x Patrick, A03, 5k this chapter.

Chapter 17

David is sitting outside on the lanai, drinking his coffee and ignoring Alexis’ texts.  He doesn’t know how to answer her question.  He’s not sure why she thinks that texting him about the same thing over and over will make any difference, when he clearly told her, three days ago, to stop bothering him about it.

The problem is that he’s running out of time to make a decision, although in a way that’s a decision in itself.  He knows that the adult thing to do is to talk to Patrick about it, but if a little more time goes by, he won’t have to.

It’s only a few days away from one of his family’s most honored traditions, their annual holiday party, which has now become the Rose Motel Group holiday party.  This year, it’s at a trendy club in New York City, and it promises to be even more spectacular than ever.  David is expected to attend, whether he’s working remotely in Florida or not.

Of course, his parents would understand if he didn’t come… but he’ll pay the price, he knows it.  His father will have that sad look of disappointment, and his mother will be hurt, but hide it under fancy words and an extra ridiculous outfit.  And he really can’t stand the thought of upsetting Alexis.

It’s not only guilt, either.  David misses his family.  For better or worse, they have continued to be close since their days in Schitt’s Creek, and it’s not all due to concern about David’s mental health.  David genuinely enjoys their company, most of the time, and he’s come to rely on them.  Especially Alexis.

David had managed to put the holiday party completely out of his mind until Alexis started texting him about it.  Apparently his father finally caught on to the fact that he hadn’t committed, and put her on the case.  It’s been easy not to think about it, or anything to do with his old, sad, non-Patrick life, here in sunny Florida where the Christmas decorations look wildly out of place on the palm trees.  Even Patrick’s thoughtful gift of a menorah hadn’t overcome David’s willful not-thinking-about the holidays, annual festivities included.

He’s so happy here, with Patrick and no one else, in their bubble of suburban domesticity.  They pretty much do whatever they want, no one stopping in to put demands on them, no one asking questions.  Sure, they spend some time working during the day, but they’re never more than a few feet apart, unless one of them leaves the house to run a quick errand.  It’s not very realistic, and it might well have backfired, but so far it hasn’t.

Frankly David finds it comforting that Patrick is here, safe from all the demons that have been troubling him.  Although now he has to rewrite that story a bit, seeing as Marcy’s heath scare happened here in Florida.  But at least Patrick is far away from the site of his employment melt-down and his ill-fated night on the town with his cousin, cocooned in this little bubble where David can keep a close eye on him.

He worries about Patrick.  Over the past few weeks the Patrick he used to know is making his appearance more and more, but he’s still not the same.  Almost worse than the quiet sadness he sees in his eyes when he thinks David isn’t looking is the tentative surprise he shows when something goes right.  

It’s ironic, David thinks, that now, more than three years after their break-up, Patrick is the more damaged one.  It’s not what he ever imagined, when he thought about their future.  In the hazy mist of his imagination, Patrick was always and forever steady, guiding David through the stormy waters of his turbulent life.  (David acknowledges that his imagination is prone to purple prose.)  But life didn’t turn out that way, and he can only thank the universe that fate and shitty weather in Milwaukee brought them together again.  

David finishes his coffee and goes into the house, toeing off his shoes just inside the door.  He makes a cup of deliciously scented jasmine tea for Patrick, and heads back into the bedroom.

Patrick is still in bed, curled up in a ball with the duvet almost covering his face.  He hadn’t wanted to get up when the alarm went off, muttering to David that he didn’t have to do any work until the afternoon, and burrowing back down into the blankets.

David puts the tea down on the nightstand and slides under the covers, spooning up against Patrick’s back.  He moves slowly, trying to gauge whether his presence is welcome or not.  He knows Patrick isn’t actually asleep – his eyes flickered open when David entered the room.  The fact that he’s still in bed despite this isn’t a tremendously good sign, but David knows all too well how sometimes just getting out of bed can seem overwhelming.

To an outsider, he thinks that Patrick probably seems fine.  He is taking care of himself, doing what needs to be done in the house, and even starting a new job.  He gives the impression to others that he is completely in control, friendly and capable – and David thinks that more and more, it’s not a façade.  But David sees these moments, too, when it’s all just too much.

He curls his hand around Patrick’s arm, gently.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “I brought you some tea, if you want it.”

No reaction.

“Or you can just nap for a while.”

Patrick stirs, inching back towards David.  

“Okay if I nap too?”  David asks.

Patrick takes David’s hand and pulls it to his own chest, tucking his arm around David’s.  David can feel Patrick’s heartbeat against his palm.  

“Mmm.”  David presses a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck.  “Sweet dreams, baby.”  David closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of Patrick’s skin.  There are a lot worse things to do than cuddle his boyfriend through a difficult morning.  David can handle this.  He’s starting to think there’s quite a lot he can handle, when it comes to Patrick.

He knows Patrick was up late last night, going down rabbit holes on the web.  At some point David had woken up and peered at the screen of Patrick’s laptop, so he knows he was reading about depression.  He hopes it helped.  The internet can be a scary place; he’d probably be better off talking to someone.  David would talk to him about it, if he let him, but ever since their first few conversations Patrick hasn’t wanted to discuss it.  

David has almost fallen asleep when Patrick turns over and squints his eyes open.  

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” he says, blinking at David.

The sentence seems to carry more weight than he intended, and David shakes his head and puts his arm around Patrick, pulling him close.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  David shifts on to his back, and Patrick tucks himself against David’s chest.

“You have work.”  It’s a half-hearted protest at best, mumbled against David’s sweater.

“I already told Rory to move my meetings to the afternoon.  I’m fine.”  David presses a kiss to Patrick’s head. “I’m exactly where I want to be.  It’s a perfect day for sleeping in.”

Patrick is quiet, while David rubs his back and shuffles closer until they are entwined just right, legs and knees and arms all pressed together.  

After a few minutes David feels Patrick’s breath slow, and his hold on David relaxes.  He’s about to drift off himself, when Patrick jerks himself awake again.

“You okay, honey?”

Patrick nods, his chin digging into David.  “Yeah.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.  It’s all right.”  David strokes Patrick’s shoulder and back, making lazy circles, hoping it will help.  

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers, his hand flat against David’s stomach.  It’s the last thing David hears before he falls asleep.

When David wakes up, Patrick is gone, but the shower is running so there’s not much of a question as to where he went.  David drags himself upright and checks his phone.  Rory has indeed moved his meetings, one to this afternoon, one to tomorrow, and one he had taken care of all by himself.  Maybe there won’t be coal in his Christmas stocking after all.

David is in the kitchen sniffing various take-out containers to figure out if he can stand eating any of them for lunch, when Patrick shows up.  He’s wide awake and smells delightfully like David’s favorite body wash, so naturally David has to kiss him before anything else.  When they separate, Patrick is smiling sweetly at him, and David feels his whole body light up.  If there’s something better than Patrick’s fond attention, he has yet to discover it.

Patrick insists on making lunch, and they pull together a salad with some bagged lettuce, leftover grilled chicken and an overlooked cucumber.

“We have got to get something better for dinner,” David says, as they lean against the kitchen island and eat their food.  

“There’s an Italian place in a new shopping center that I haven’t tried yet, but it looks good.”  Patrick sends David the link to the restaurant’s menu, and David is checking out their desserts (they have cannoli, which is a definite mark in their favor), when Patrick’s phone chirps several times in a row.

“David?”

“Hm?”

“Why does Alexis want my measurements?”

David freezes, his good mood draining out of him.  “What?”

“Alexis wants to know my-”

David yanks the phone out of his hand.  “Let me see.”  He scans the messages.  The party isn’t directly mentioned, but there’s no getting out of it now.  He’s going to kill Alexis for pulling this shit and going around him.  “I can explain.”

“Okay, go ahead.”  Patrick takes a bite of his salad, then looks up at David.  “What’s going on?”

Time to bite the bullet.  “This Saturday night is the RMG holiday party.”

“Okay…”

“And my parents want me to come.”

Patrick looks… disappointed.  “Oh.”

David realizes his mistake instantly.  “Us – they want <i>us</i> to come.  But – you don’t have to.  I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

David stands up from his chair and paces, to the patio and back, wishing it wasn’t raining so he could go outside and pace there too.  

“David?  Is that a hard question?”  Patrick is standing now, too, and there’s a tinge of anger in his tone.

“I don’t want you to feel like you <i>have</i> to come,” David says, coming towards him and gripping his arms. “I don’t want to rock the boat.  We’re good here.  There’s no reason to risk it.”

“To risk what?”  Now Patrick just sounds confused.

“Anything.”  David tilts his head back.  “I know I sound crazy, that’s why I didn’t bring this up.”

Patrick pulls them towards the couch, and they sit down.  David leans his head in his hands.

“David. Tell me what’s really going on.”

He sighs.  “What if you don’t like it?”

“The party?”

David looks up and rolls his eyes at him.  “No, not the party.  What if you’re mad, about why I didn’t say anything?”

“I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, David, but you might be overthinking things.  Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Fine.”  David straightens his shoulders and looks at Patrick.  “I like being here with you. I like the <i>us</i> we have.  I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” Patrick says, winding his fingers through David’s.  “Go on.”

“I don’t want to go to New York without you, and have people… talk at me about it.  Put thoughts in my head, about how it might not work.  And I don’t want you to come and have the same thing happen.”

“So, you’re afraid that if we leave here, and see anyone else, they’ll be able to convince us that what we have isn’t going to last?”

“All right, all right, I know that’s silly.”  David squeezes his eyes shut.  “Also I don’t want you to get upset.”

There’s a pause, and when Patrick speaks, his voice is quiet, his slightly teasing tone gone.  “Upset about what?”

David shrugs, his eyes still closed. “Things that might… upset you.  Strangers.  The city.  A crowded club.”  He can feel Patrick go still next to him.  “I don’t know if that’s why we keep to ourselves down here.  But if that was any part of it, if this is your safe space, I don’t want you to feel you have to leave.  Not for something as dumb as a holiday party.”

Patrick breathes in and out, audibly, and David opens his eyes.  Patrick’s looking down at where their hands are entwined, studying them, his lips pressed tightly together.  David reaches over and cups Patrick’s head with his hand, bringing them closer.  “I hope that was okay to say,” David says softly.

Patrick nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “yeah.  That was okay to say.”  He looks at David, and his eyes are wet.  “You’re right.  This is my safe space, here, with you.”

David feels his chest clench, and he nods back.  “I’m glad.”

Patrick inhales deeply, and blinks away a tear.  “But I don’t think your family’s holiday party is necessarily a dumb reason to leave.”

“No?”

“No.  I think it might be good for us.  Especially since Alexis is apparently finding me a really nice suit.”

*****

It sounds easy – Patrick says sure, they should go to the party.  But there are a dozen decisions to make after that, and by the next night, David is really wishing he had found a way to just say no.

When to leave is easy enough – there’s no way he wants Patrick to have to take Friday off, not with a brand-new job, so they’ll fly into LaGuardia on Saturday morning.  But will they come back on Sunday – Christmas Eve?  Or spend that night with his family and come back on Christmas itself?  Spend yet another night to avoid traveling on Christmas?  And how is it fair to Patrick’s parents, to make this special trip to be with David’s family, and not see them?

Add to that figuring out where they’ll stay (one night on Alexis’ pull-out couch is barely tolerable, but more than that, forget it), what social events David will agree to while there, and who is going to pay for the whole charade, and it’s a giant mess.

“Ok, I’ve had enough,” David says, when their dinner of take-out sushi has been completely dominated by debating the pros and cons of the various options, each of them trying to anticipate what the other wants and as far as David can tell, defeating the point of the entire conversation.  “Let’s play rock, paper, scissors.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand it anymore.  Whoever wins, chooses.”

“That won’t solve it.”  

Patrick’s right, it still doesn’t mean whoever wins will actually pick something reasonable, and not just what they think the other person wants.

“But you might be on to something,” Patrick continues, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Please, tell me, and put an end to this so we can get on with our lives.”  And pack, David thinks.

“On the count of three, put out a finger for how many nights you want to stay in New York.  No more debate, no more thinking about it.”

“Each of us puts out a finger for how long <i>who</i> wants to stay?”

Patrick glares at him.  “Don’t make this harder than it is.  The conversation is over.  Ready?”

David nods.  Whatever happens, at least then they can move on.

“One, two-”

“Wait, do we put out a finger on three, or are you going to say one, two, three, go?”

Patrick smacks David on the arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m going to say one, two, three, go.” There’s a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes when they meet David’s.  “Ready?  One, two, three, go!”

Both of them put out one finger.

“Oh, thank god,” David says, sagging forward, his forehead against Patrick’s.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?”  David didn’t want to stay in New York any longer than necessary; he didn’t want to have any other days to worry about what his parents might want him to do versus what Patrick might want to do, he didn’t want to have to manage any of it any longer than he had to.  But he also didn’t want Patrick to feel like he was cutting David’s time with his family short, or that David was giving something up for him.  Because right now, all David really wants is whatever is best for Patrick, and what’s best for him and Patrick together.  And his gut is telling him that getting back to Florida on Sunday, and then spending Monday (even though it’s Christmas?  Because it’s Christmas?) together, alone, with no work and no family for a whole day, is what’s best for them both.

Patrick laughs.  “Sure.  And you know what’s great about our decision?”

“That it’s done?”

“Yes, and now we can just stay at Alexis’ place, since it will only be one night.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

*****

They wake up at a painfully early hour Saturday morning and drag themselves to the airport, which is packed with Christmas travelers.  But everything goes smoothly, and by noon they’re in an Uber on their way to Alexis’ place.  When she opens the door she ignores David completely and envelops Patrick in a hug that goes on for so long, Patrick signals to David for help.  It’s unbearably sweet, and David is suddenly, overwhelmingly happy that they decided to come to New York.

Alexis gives Patrick a tour of her tiny apartment, and Patrick appropriately oohs and ahs over everything.  Alexis is especially proud of the little corner of her room that serves as an office, with its mood boards and tastefully decorated shelves.

“So this is where the magic happens,” Patrick says, and Alexis beams.

“Yes, Patrick!”  She sits down at her computer and pulls up a file to show him her latest spreadsheet achievement, when David sees a glossy looking envelope on her counter with Patrick’s name on it.

“What’s this?”  He picks it up, admiring the heavy paper, when he recognizes the ice blue logo.  “Alexis, why do you have-”

She plucks it out of his hand and does a little shimmy.  “It’s not for you, David.”  With a flourish, she hands it to Patrick.

Patrick exchanges a “what can you do” glance with David, and opens the envelope.  David crowds close, too excited to wait.

“It’s from your mom,” Patrick says.  

“It’s a lil’ couples massage,” Alexis says, practically bouncing on her toes.  “She specifically said to tell you that <i>there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself</i>.”  Alexis points with an impeccably polished nail to where it says that on the card, and David rolls his eyes, remembering the day Patrick reassured his mother that she wasn’t responsible for the dead guy in Room 4.  He <i>knew</i> she was being purposefully obtuse about the scone.

“Do we even have time for this massage thing?” Patrick asks.  “It’s for today.”

“Um, yes, we have time.  We absolutely have time.  This is one of the most exclusive spas in the city.”  David grabs Patrick’s coat off the couch; his own leather jacket is barely warm enough for New York in December, but at least it’s appropriate, unlike Patrick’s down monstrosity.  “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alexis says, linking her arm through Patrick’s.  “Maybe we can make it a trio.”

“Not unless you are ready to walk out this door in thirty seconds.”

“Ugh, David.”  

Luckily Alexis takes only fifteen minutes to get ready to go, and they’re on their way.  Despite the fact that David has never heard of a trio massage (and he shudders to think of how expensive that might be), he doesn’t dissuade her from coming along.  He’s got barely twenty-four hours to hang out with her, and he’s going to soak up every one of them.

In the end Alexis drops them at the spa to do some shopping of her own, while David and Patrick are pampered to within an inch of their lives.  During the initial consultation with the massage therapists, they are fed chocolate covered strawberries and cucumber water.  They agree on the massage oils, and the music, and then are led to a dim room which smells delightfully like eucalyptus and jasmine.  David tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch Patrick melting into jelly on the table next to him.  It’s without a doubt the best massage David has ever experienced.  He can practically feel the oxytocin swirling in the air between them.

Afterwards they are helped into fluffy white robes, and then collapse together onto a wide, padded lounger.  “That was really nice,” Patrick says.

“Nice?”  David asks.  “Just nice?”

Patrick snuggles into David’s shoulder.  “Mmm.  I can’t think of words right now.  Full review later.”

David noses at Patrick’s hair.  “Okay.”

“Love you,” Patrick says muzzily.

“Love you too.”

They dose together, boneless and content, until a soft chime wakes them.  Reluctantly they find their way to the changing rooms, and then out into reality.

Alexis is buzzing with excitement and wants to immediately go back to her place to get dressed, but David insists that they find something to eat first.  It’s still hours away from when dinner will be served tonight, and as lovely as the chocolate covered strawberries were, he needs some real food or things will get ugly.

Luckily, they spot one of his favorite places to get a quick snack (it’s a chain with pretentious communal tables, but David has spent many hours here and he loves it anyway), so they load up on quiche and avocado tartine and mochas before returning to Alexis’ apartment.

When they arrive it’s fashion show time.  Because Alexis loves dressing up, she had agreed ages ago to let David keep some clothes in her closet – just a few choice outfits for when they were in New York together and felt like going out.  But David can feel Patrick hovering next to him, all the afternoon’s relaxing threatening to disappear, so he suggests they look at his options first.

Alexis beams and starts chattering about what she got for Patrick, and David leans in close, a hand on the small of his back.  “You don’t have to wear any of that if you don’t want to,” he whispers, as Alexis pulls out a silver shirt with a shiny gleam.  “You can wear what you brought.  Or what you’ve got on right now.”  David gives Patrick’s jeans-clad ass a little slap, and Patrick snorts out a laugh.

“What?  You don’t like this one?”  Alexis asks.  “You’re right, it’s too flashy.  How about this?”  She reaches airily into the closet, and David can tell by the way she’s standing, like she’s posing for a photo, that she’s presenting her top choice.  It’s a dark navy blue suit (Tom Ford? How did she get a Tom Ford suit for Patrick?) with a deep, rich purple shirt.  She holds it up to Patrick, and he nods carefully, then looks over to David for approval.

David pets it, and looks inside for a label.  The suit isn’t a Tom Ford, although it looks damn good.  And now that he examines the jacket more closely, he can see it has its own distinctive style.  “Where did you get this, Alexis?  And who made it?”

Alexis preens.  “One of my friends has a connection with an up and coming designer,” she says.  “She’ll be at the party tonight.  I’ll introduce you.”

“And we don’t have to pay for this, right?”  David asks.  The cut is classically elegant, and he thinks it’s going to fit Patrick like a glove.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’.  “She’s just happy to have someone wearing her clothes.”

“I’ll try it on,” Patrick says, and Alexis shows him to the bathroom.  When he comes back out, David can’t help but go to him, running his hands up and down his shoulders and arms.

“You like it?”  Patrick asks.  

“I like <i>you,</i>” David says, and presses a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips.  “And you look amazing in this suit.”  He unbuttons another button of the shirt, liking the way the open neck shows just a little bit of Patrick’s skin.

“It doesn’t need a tie?” Patrick asks.

“No, you’re perfect just like this.”

“Yay!”  Alexis cheers, coming over and booping Patrick on the nose.  “I knew this was going to work!”

David decides on his black and white Armani short jacket, with a sharp collared white shirt underneath and slim black ankle-length trousers.  He likes the contrast with Patrick’s rich colored but still traditionally styled suit.  Alexis twirls for them in her dress, a silky blush colored gown that makes her look like a 50’s movie star. They’re finally ready, and they pile into a waiting Uber and head uptown.

The back room of the club is already crowded, and David can’t help but feel a little swell of pride at how RMG has grown.  Stevie waves to them from where she’s standing across the room with Ruth, but David doesn’t have a chance to get over to her before his parents descend.  There are hugs all around, and when the wave of familial affection finally recedes, David can’t help but notice that Patrick looks a little overwhelmed.

He weaves his arm through Patrick’s and leads them away, finding an alcove where they can catch their breath.

“You okay?” he asks, a palm to Patrick’s chest.  He can feel his heart beating a mile a minute.  This is exactly what he was worried about, this is too much for Patrick, too many people.  “We can leave anytime, we made our appearance, I’ll call a car-”

“No, David, I’m fine,” Patrick says, taking David’s hand.  “Really.”

David searches his face.  “Are you sure?  Because you seem a little…”

“David,” Patrick says firmly.  “I’m fine.”  He slides his hands around David’s waist, under his jacket, and David can feel the warmth of his fingers pressing against him through the thin fabric of his shirt.  David slings his arms around Patrick and leans his head against his shoulders.  “Your parents are very enthusiastic, but it’s great to see them,” Patrick says.  “Everything’s okay.”

“You’re fine,” David repeats, willing himself to believe it.  Patrick really is.  Nothing’s wrong.  

“Could it be, maybe, you’re a little nervous too?”  Patrick says, his voice gentle.

David wants to deny it, but realizes instantly that Patrick is right.  He feels a little fizzy, a little unsteady.  “Maybe.”  Patrick isn’t the only one who has been enjoying their little Florida bubble.  

Patrick hugs him closer, and then steps back, inclining his head out towards the party.  “Come on.  Alexis said there’d be crab puffs.”

“Crab cakes,” David corrects.  

“Crab cakes, then.  And baked brie.”

“I still don’t see any coherency in the hors d’oeuvre selection,” David gripes, back on solid ground.

“But you’re going to eat all of them anyway.”

“I am definitely going to eat all of them anyway.”

They’re grazing by the cheese platters when David sees a few familiar faces coming towards him.  This is going to be fun, he thinks, a smile tugging at his cheek.

“David, hi!”  

“Vanessa, you look radiant.”  She does, her dark skin set off by a metallic pantsuit and glimmers of gold around her eyes.  

“Most beautiful woman in the room,” rumbles her companion, a huge man with a barrel chest who towers over both David and Patrick.

“Patrick, meet Vanessa, my favorite gallery employee from back in the day, and her husband Rory, my current favorite employee.”

Rory laughs, his deep voice probably setting off small earthquakes somewhere.  “I’m not your employee, Rose.”  He holds out his hand to Patrick.  “Nice to meet you.”

Patrick turns to David, and the reveal was definitely worth it.  “This is your assistant Rory?  The one you bother all day long about your schedule?  The one you sent to pick out your clothes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  David <i>knows</i> Patrick thought “Rory” was some college kid, he just knows it.  Instead he’s a thirty-five year old sculptor who wanted a day job for a steady paycheck.

“What, you don’t think I can be trusted with David’s clothes?”  Rory asks.  “I admit, I was surprised, too.  But I guess he had a good reason to ask me to go through all of his drawers.”

“Drawers?  My knits aren’t in drawers, where did you-” David sees the look on Vanessa’s face, and abruptly changes course.  “You made Vanessa do it, didn’t you.”

Vanessa laughs, and tucks her arm through her husband’s.  “I’m sorry, David, but come on – you send Rory an emergency text telling him to Fed Ex you extremely specific selections from your warm weather clothing, and you think I’m not going to get involved?  I’ve known you for years and you never let me into your closet before. It was an experience I was not going to pass up.”

Patrick is giggling into his glass of seltzer, and David has had quite enough of this.  “Fine.  Tease me if you want.  But I think we can all agree it was a successful mission.”  He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, his arm snug around him.

“From the way you two look together, I’d say so,” Vanessa says.

“Here here.” Rory raises his glass, and they all follow suit.  “To David and Patrick.”

“Oh my god, enough with that,” David says, and buries his burning face in Patrick’s neck.

Rory and Vanessa excuse themselves, but David has hardly had a chance to visit the buffet again when Patrick tugs at his arm.

“What?” he says, looking up from a particularly delicious egg roll.

“Come dance with me,” Patrick says, his eyes wide and warm, and David drops his plate on a table and follows him.  

“What brought this on?” David asks, as he loops his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and starts to move in time to the music.

Patrick shrugs a little and pulls David closer.  “My parents always dance to this song,” he says into David’s ear.

David feels his chest expand, and he presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek.  “It’s a nice song.”  

<i>Moon river, wider than a mile</i> <i>I'm crossing you in style some day</i>

<i>Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker</i> <i>Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way</i>

David listens for a moment to the bittersweet melody.  “Is it a love song?” he finally asks.  It’s not as if he’s ever given <i>Moon River</i> much thought before.  

Patrick slides his fingers up the back of David’s neck, into his hair.  “I think it’s love for the journey, rather than a destination.”

<i>Two drifters, off to see the world</i>

<i>There’s such a lot of world to see</i>

David glances around, and now his parents are dancing too, along with a handful of other couples.  He nuzzles against Patrick.  “Not to quote my sister or anything, but… I like this journey for us.”

Patrick turns his head and finds David’s lips, kissing him sweetly.  “Me too, David.  Me too.”

[talietikasero]

Stability

Random prompt from 8/11 [finished 8/16]: rewrite the Strive ending / create an alternate epilogue [to line up with my story project]. I may or may not rewrite the whole thing for fun lmao.

[Main story preview here (contains 6 scenes)] // [Chapter 1 now on AO3]

"I guess... that's what they meant..." She let out between huffs. Both the voice in her head and the former Sanctus Maximus Populi said the same thing regarding her potential ability.

“When the time comes, with your seed, you hold the power to save or destroy the world.”

“You can prevent the end of it all.”

Energy drained, she fought off the sluggish pace her body was moving. Looking over to her partner, she noticed he was barely hanging on to his life, staying incredibly still, and trying to regulate his breathing while facing down. While her body contained the [Scales of Juno], he had the [Flame of Corruption] ripped out from his, reverting him to a human. "On second thought, don't move." Once she closed the distance between them, she knelt and put her arms around him. Face against the scuffed leather sleeve, and she struggled to hold her emotions in. "H-hey..." Voice cracking, she lowly muttered between sniffles, "please, don't go..."

"..."

"You... you stayed true to... your word about... a-about..."

"..."

"Fighting to... s-save the world..."

"If the world was going to disappear tomorrow... What would you do today?"

"What kind of a question is that? Stop whatever's ending the world or die trying."

Her embrace tightened as tears ran down her face. "Human, Gear, or neither. The world still needs you."

With drooped ears and saddened eyes, the wolf spirit whined. Its host and companion soothed it by scratching behind its ears and reassuring the worst had come to pass. "(It's okay, Rei. We're still alive.)." She whispered to the spirit in her native tongue. Another whine followed by a lick to the side of her face, Giovanna patted Rei's forehead. "What? Are you worried about me? I'm okay, I swear." She winced as another sharp pain ran through her body. "Ouch..." Her superior, the President, placed a hand on her shoulder. Half-expecting him to say she's no longer needed, she began, "I'm sorry-..."

"None of that." Vernon's voice was firm; however, it sounded... fatherly. He may have his doubts about the agent, but he knew she was more than capable of the job. Facing off against an unstoppable force, she did prove she's worth giving a higher position. "I can tell what you were thinking, but you're not being let go. You take as much time as you need off, Gio. Goldlewis, Erica, and I will await your return."

Saddened at the loss of someone he could consider a friend, the time traveler meekly looked down at the minty green and white guitar he held in his hands. This entire time he was unaware of her true identity. If he had to lose someone like her, it didn't have to be this way. Regardless of if she recalled who he was and why he was important to her in the first place, false memory or not. He threw away his chance to return home a while ago, and now he felt that it would've been for nothing had he gone through with it. "It shouldn't have ended like this... Megumi." Axl softly said under his breath.

After regaining control over his body and revealing the wicked goddess's weak point, the vampiric samurai pierced the ground a few centimeters with his sword. He kneeled to show his appreciation for defeating the evil force that used him as a puppet. Now, he could see why his master was fascinated by the will of a single person. This same person was stripped of his powers and still faced death head-on. "May you rest for now. The next time we meet, it won't be as enemies, but acquaintances." Drawing his blade from the ground, Nagoriyuki sheathed it and took his leave.

The King of Illyria – his lifelong rival and their son-in-law – made his way over to them, stopping a few feet short to maintain distance. "It's finally over. They're gone. We can... we can go home now." Part of him wanted to hold a hand out to help him stand, yet he held back and deemed that action unnecessary. Ky's spirits rose once he noticed the man in front of him was taking steady deep breaths -- body slowly moving to show signs of life.

Right hand maintaining its grip on the Outrage's handle, his free hand lightly grasped one of hers. Face still downward, a weak smile formed. "...You think so?"

She couldn't believe it. He's hanging by a thread and using what energy he should be saving to answer her with a question of his own.

"I know so."

The past three weeks were a blur. From the day she woke up and adjusted to this new world to the present, where she aided in bringing down a god. She never would've guessed that any of these events could've transpired. In the days leading up to September 2016, she was a terminally ill scientist who refused any life-saving alternative to live past what little time she had left, insisting she spent it with her significant other. Fast forward to December 2187, and she was brought back to life and became the partner of humanity's savior -- the very same person, albeit for the last time.

_____

The next day, another patient was checked into the hospital. This time there wasn’t a commotion caused by bringing his unconscious form bursting through the front doors. She wasn’t strong enough to carry him in her arms like he held her – that’s what the gurney from the airship’s infirmary wing was for.

“I have a request. May I stay here until he recovers? I… I don’t want to leave him.”

Three days later, word had reached his family that he's – miraculously and defying all odds – alive. His refusal to follow the light after what had happened was attributed to his stubborn nature. The Grim Reaper knocked at his door, and he slammed it shut in their face. Occupying the same bed, in the same patient room as her around a month ago, the now de-powered hero lay hooked up to the vitals system.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Hard to say, but he'll pull through. He did wake up this morning, so there's something, yeah?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen my mother? About my height, short red hair with white underneath, and wearing a blue leather jacket? She hasn't been seen since everyone returned."

"She's in the room and hasn't left at all. I had someone stop by the house and bring her spare clothes since she spent the last four days here."

"Oh, thank god." The queen was relieved to know her mother's whereabouts. She respected her parents' privacy by not asking if she was able to go in.

---

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring-ring.

Sighing in aggravation, she answered her phone. There was only one person she kept in contact with these past few days. "What do you want now? He's still not up, so stop cal-..."

"I was going to ask something else. I'm going to regret this, but are you still angry?"

"You're a smart man to keep your distance from me, but a dumbass to ask that. Of course, I am! You ruined our lives with your 'self-righteousness' and nearly brought another apocalypse."

"...Aria, I understand your rage. If only I could rewind time and prevent your illness. I shouldn't have forcibly converted him and disappeared with your sleep capsule. It wasn't my intention to have our research weaponized, but I was figuratively and literally held at gunpoint to hand it over to the US Government. I should've known better and anticipated that Chaos -- erm, the Original's creation would sabotage your activation. Your screams still haunt me... and... I'm... I'm sorry."

"Asuka."

"I can't fix this by excessively apologizing and listing off my crimes, but I hope everything goes well for you and Frederick."

"Whatever. Enjoy the moon, or don't." She ended the call before her former friend could reply. "Asshole." Aria slumped back in the chair and opened her book to the page she left off. "We should've launched you into the sun."

"Oh my. And I thought 'Sol' was a hothead. You're pretty harsh, you know that? It's more frightening than I-No on a good day." Jack-O's voice rang through. Capable of feeling and expressing emotions herself, the Valentine was taken aback at what she heard during their calls. "If possible, can we listen to his show sometime? Please?"

"...Okay."

"Thank you. ~"

---

Forty minutes after the heated conversation, a groggy voice broke the silence.

"Is the... afterlife a sterile... hospital room?" Frederick's eyes were half-open, staring directly at the ceiling.

Aria closed what she was reading and placed it on the counter. Ignoring the monitors that once kept track of her, she looked over his body to see minimal damage sustained. "Looks like you've still got some of that healing factor. Or you're just too hardheaded to die."

He slightly turned his head to face her. "Heh. Probably both."

Running a hand through his now short hair, her lips curved into an unsure smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living?"

"This doesn't look like heaven. If you're my welcome guide, then I'll stay." His body was still sore, but he extended his arm out for her to hold his hand. The warmth from the fire magic still dwelling within them made their contact feel safer.

"I should've worn that jumpsuit and halo." Her inner voice's reaction was an exaggerated throat clear. "But if I did," she held a finger to her temple, "I don't think she would've appreciated that."

"I would've been mildly annoyed at best. Mildly annoyed yet honored that you'd wear it because of what you did."

"You're really pissed off at Asuka, aren't you?"

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it. Didn't know you were capable of that."

"I felt like you after the second day." He took that as a friendly poke at his history. "Since you've saved the world for the last time, are you still up for that 'alternate life' you mentioned the other night? We don't have to stay at Ky and Dizzy's. They can arrange something for us."

His ears perked up at the suggestion. Did she remind him about his statement regarding them settling down? Having survived an act of God, living a quiet life together a few minutes out from the capital didn't sound like a terrible idea. "What did you have in mind?"

"A fair-sized home, nothing too big or small, probably just down the way from their place. I don't want to throw everything away and live in seclusion. We're way out of our own time, but we finally have a family, people who care about us, and we care about them in return. Unless you have a better idea?"

"I'm fine with anything. Can't imagine I'd be able to go out much or at all because I'm officially a dead man."

"Not too long ago, I was a dead woman walking. Besides, the world thinks that Sol Badguy is dead, not Frederick Bulsara."

"Point there. You know, now that I think about it, this situation is just like a month ago."

"With you in my place, but I didn't have to be dragged in? This is the same room where I spent my time recovering. It was also -..."

"Where you got your new start."

"Y-yeah. That's exactly it. This is where I woke up to my new life! Not as Justice, or Jack-O, but as myself. That same day, I met our daughter and her husband, and then I saw you again. Just this time... I've been here since you were checked in. Everyone tried to get me to leave, but I refused."

He noticed the duffel bag placed near the door. There was a pant leg hanging over one side of the unzipped bag, and next to it were two pairs of footwear. "Way to tug at the old heartstrings. Stubborn as always, aren't you?" If he were honest with himself, he wanted to do the same when she was still unconscious. He had the feeling that the IRMC staff wouldn't have thought about asking him to leave the premises, even though he almost kicked the doors clean off the first time.

"One of my best qualities." She winked at him, giggling at her remark.

"Hey, Aria."

"Hm?"

He slowly sat up despite the mild pain, leaning over to bring her in for a hug. "Thank you."

Aria returned the motion, both holding onto each other, not wanting to let go. She had felt incomplete up until this moment. Preventing the end was a combined effort, and she couldn’t be any happier to have been a part of that team.

A sense of déjà vu, the song playing on the radio had neared its end.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words...

"I love you."

[cirrius-akiyo]

HOLD ON (LET'S GO HOME)

"I kissed Ana." Eddie confessed.

Buck stopped arranging the pillows on the bed and shifted his body so he is facing Eddie. His face remains unreadable.

"Were you drunk?" Buck simply asked as if that will explain Eddie's behaviour.

Eddie tries not to scoff. Even during this moment Buck is still trying to find any loophole to excuse Eddie's behaviour.

"No, Evan. How can I get drunk at a parents-teachers meeting." There is no excuse for what he did. Ana leaned in and Eddie allowed her to. The kiss was chaste, more like a peck, but still a kiss nonetheless. A kiss that should not had happened because Eddie has a husband that is coming home tonight from a long shift. Although he literally ran away after admonishing Ana, he still can't help feeling like he had cheated on Buck. Maybe he already did.

"I wasn't thinking." Eddie takes a step towards Buck who is still remain completely stoic at the end corner of their bed. He pulls Buck's hands into his, intertwined their fingers together. "And I am so sorry. For my behaviour. For causing you pain. I don't know what got into me when she leaned in. I did not reciprocate but I did not stop her either. Not that excuse myself but I just..." His apologies fell short when he saw Buck's eyes are brimming with fresh tears.

At that moment Eddie resolute himself to make up to Buck for as long as he lives.

"Loving and fighting

Accusing, denying

I can't imagine a world with you gone

The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of

I'd be so lost if you left me alone"

///

The day after his confession flees without any major event. Buck had cried himself to sleep while curling into Eddie's side that night and Eddie had hold him through it all, showering Buck with endless apologies and sweet nothings. Not that Eddie got much sleep himself. Partly because of the guilt, and partly because he is afraid that Buck might leave while he was asleep.

When the morning comes, Eddie kissed Buck awake. Trying to rewrite the foreign imprint of Ana's lips with his husband's. Buck had smiled softly at him, and for a while, Eddie believed that everything will be okay.

They still work seamlessly that morning, falling between peaceful silence and hectic small calls. Buck is still a constant presence beside him, putting hope in their relationship. Buck is not pulling neither is he pushing Eddie away and Eddie take that as a good sign eventhough he is still berating himself for taking Buck's kindness and forgiving nature for granted.

It was short moment, but sometimes Eddie can see his husband scrunching his eyes shut as if in pain. Maybe the night-long crying finally catching up with Buck.

"Are you okay, Evan?" Eddie coaxed. Hand creeping up to the crook between Buck's shoulder and neck, feeling the stiff muscle there.

He can see Buck wills the pain away again. "I will be." Buck assures him.

It's funny to see how now Eddie seems to need the assurance when he knows Buck must have felt invalidated. That Buck must have thought that his inadequacy that prompted Eddie to kiss Ana. Or letting Ana kissed him, but that doesn't matter. He's guilty and that's the fact he needs to live with from now on.

But the pain doesn't seem to go away. Buck looks paler as the day goes by, stubbornly evading any prodding from Hen or Chimney.

It all come down when Buck all but running towards the toilet stall, retching whatever lunch Bobby has whisked up that afternoon. Eddie stood vigil beside him immediately, hand hasn't stop stroking Buck's back.

After a while, the retching stop and Eddie helps his husband to the sink.

"Maybe it's migraine." Buck supplies after rinsing his mouth. He is leaning sideway on the sink with Eddie's firm grip still tight on hips.

Eddie might had agreed for a moment there, until Buck's eyes rolled back into his skull as he slumped forward, falling into a heap while Eddie barely catching him.

Eddie knows he yells and scream for help as soon as they hit the floor. But it felt like eternity from when the help arrives and him straddling his unconscious husband in his lap.

"You locked yourself in the bathroom

Lying on the floor when I break through

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat

Can you hear me screaming "Please don't leave me"

///

Time feels like it was stretched to eternity during the ambulance ride to the hospital. Buck was in and out of consciousness, alternating between throwing up biles, haze unresponsiveness and sudden screaming in pain. His pulse is getting weaker but they still don't know what is wrong with him. With his history of medical scares, it could be anything.

"Evan, can you hear me, sweetheart?" Eddie has asked when he saw Buck's eyes were opened albeit in small slits, searching for any sign of recognition. It was futile.

"Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

Let me take your hand, I'll make it right

I swear to love you all my life

Hold on, I still need you"

///

It was an aneurysm.

The MRI confirms it and in less than one hour, Eddie needs to sign the consent to surgery form.

Eddie knows fear. Eddie knows death. He had made peace with them even since he enlisted for the first time. It has been so long since Eddie feels this terrified. Terrified for his husband if something goes wrong, and if he survives, the complications that often warranted with this illness.

"A long endless highway, you're silent beside me

Drivin' a nightmare I can't escape from

Helplessly praying, the light isn't fadin'

Hiding the shock and the chill in my bones"

///

After four and half grueling hours, Buck is back in ICU. Now all they can do is to wait for him to wake up, and from there, Buck needs to reach a two weeks mark without any or minimal complication to be on the safe side. Even when they reach the point is still a no guarantee that his husband might come back scatheless from this.

Eddie tries to think to the moments that lead to this. Was he the breaking point of Buck's ruptured aneurysm? Had his confession literally killing his husband softly from the inside? Was it better to keep his mistake hidden?

Eddie slowly took sight of his husband still form. His sunken eyes. His pale skin. Had he caused that? If he thinks he feel enough remorse and guilt yesterday, he doesn't know what is he even feeling right now.

"Evan, I don't know if you'll hear me, but please, find your way back to me. Please don't leave me, darling." Eddie pleads and begs to every deity there is for his husband to come back home.

"They took you away on a table

I pace back and forth as you lay still

They pull you in to feel your heartbeat

Can you hear me screaming, "Please don't leave me"

///

Buck wakes up sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, screaming silently in pain while fighting against the tube in his throat.

Eddie continue to hold his hand afterwards, never letting it go. As if that would prevent Buck from slipping away because God knows he is not prepared. He'll never be.

Buck is still not lucid enough to hold a proper conversation. He is still high from the medications, but Eddie will take anything the universe throws at him as long as Buck's alive and awake.

"Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

Let me take your hand, I'll make it right

I swear to love you all my life

Hold on, I still need you"

///

Buck had showed signs of recognition of his surroundings. He hums when his name is called. He smiles when Eddie calls for him. Leaning his face into Eddie's welcoming palm when Eddie is caressing his jaw and Eddie could cry. Hell. He is crying for God's sake.

These few days is a rollercoaster of emotions. Eddie was literally shown among many ways he could lose Buck, be it from his stupidity or to this terrifying sickness. Proving the point that tomorrow is never guaranteed to any of them.

But for now, he is not letting his husband go.

"I don't wanna let go

I know I'm not that strong

I just wanna hear you

Saying baby, let's go home

Let's go home

Yeah, I just wanna take you home

Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you"

(Hold On - Chord Overstreet)

The Parallel is here: 

https://cirrius-akiyo.tumblr.com/post/622092568072798208/unpack-the-baggage-parallel-to-hold-on-lets-go

Sidenotes:- I was finishing drafting a client's divorce petition when this song came up in the mix. It is so sad to see how couples drift apart to the point that they hate the idea of the other exist in the same space with them. It is an accumulation of small things that either strengthen the bond or slowly chipped it away. Hence, small things do matter.

[flyingcookierambles]

study plans?

recently i feel like my friend going to japanese college has motivated me to try to start studying japanese again. plus some spontaneous chinese here and there, more vocab/pronunciation/tone focused rather than grammar right now.

ended up a kinda long ramble lol, ill cut it up into two pieces.

i literally do daily: 1 duolingo so the owl doesnt hunt me down like the weak prey i am (any language)

i try to do once a day: 1 or 2 anki decks for vocab. for japanese i use many: JLPT N4, Genki 1 & 2 Including Genki Supplementary Vocab,  Core 2k/6K Optimized Japanese Vocabulary, 2500 Most-Used kanji. For Chinese I use the HSK level 1/2/3 word list. these are seperate, just a pain to type lol. i dont use wanikani actually lol. the renaming of radicals annoyed/confused me, who was forced to learn the names of the very proper strokes in high school chinese lol. plus having no assessment test and having to start over from the very beginning and then getting the simplest kanji wrong because i remember the radical by its shape or a stroke by its proper chinese name and not a silly american name (no i did not learn this character is actually wearing a hat or a pot lid. thats weird.), i just got kinda annoyed and went back to simple anki flashcards lol.

3-4 times a week: going over 2-4 grammar concept from genki 2 so far. partly because when i was studying with my 2 friends over the summer we were doing a cramming thing for our friend to to get up to standards of the college they were transferring to, now attending. as a result, we uhh. kinda skipped over basically all vocab. only did the grammar, and sometimes not even all the grammar. we skipped over really simple stuff (ie the volitionary form which is just slapping a ~ou/おう at the end of things) and the stuff that was just -te form + some extra words. so i’m finally properly going over that stuff in full, alone. plus im rewriting/digitizing my notes in onenote bc pencil and pen kinda smear/fade over time so this will just be better if i want to go to my notes for reference in the future. the ease of searching by control+f is also nice compared to flipping thru pages in confusion. i also feel like my learning style is def repetitive related, so going over things a second time works for me. (for japanese im using using genki 2/the genki 2 track on bunpro.jp. (this website is incredible and for the most part free. even if you want the premium sub version, the cheapest sub plan is $2 a month! while i dont have it, i did do the free trial when i first signed up and it was ok and you can totally do the free version and get all the barebones japanese grammar explanations from like 4 different textbooks) when/if i ever finish genki 2, ill just check out the minna no nihongo track on bunpro, more to see if there’s any grammar that gets covered in that one that genki doesnt have. if they’re just the same but a different order or something, ill just move on to the tobira track since its the intro to real intermediate japanese grammar.) i might check out the free textbook irodori, more out of curiosity than seriousness honestly. iroiro uses a different fluency grading system than the common JLPT N5-1 levels, iroiro uses the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages: Learning, Teaching, Assessment, or CERFL. Since im focusing on the JLPT N level standards and these are totally different curriculums and stuff, im not sure how helpful irodori will be to me at this point but ill look at it because its a free textbook. when i try to relearn chinese again ill dig out my integrated chinese textbooks (goodreads), only intermediate since i seem to have lost my beginner editions somewhere in my house between moving from college dorm to house every summer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . i might check out the all set learning site, it seems to both HSK and CERFL. ill probably review the HSK 1-2 stuff real quick since thats basically what i learned in high school/college and i kinda forget a lot since its been like 6 years now. then ill maybe hopefully finally get to HSK 3. ill try to watch videos from yoyochinese on youtube too. she explains things really clearly and helpfully to native english speakers in a way that my previous teachers havent been able to. ill stick to the youtube tho since ive heard that the actual courses from her website are very expensive for online self study tho, and purchasing a regular textbook would be cheaper lol. 

once a week: try to use words from anki decks + whatever grammar i learned in practice sentences/make up sentences yourself. this is a bit hard bc since im self studying if my sentences end up wrong/sounding awkward to a native speaker i am not really sure how to check lol. i’m on polyglot.city (a mastodon instance focused on language learning/blogging) and i post there sometimes and people have helped me/rated my sentences every now and then but recently its been very slow. (japanese, altho i hope that i regain enough of my mandarin skills to do this again sometime)

every 2 weeks: after accumulating grammar for a bit, i try to read a grade/language level appropriate short story in the language. (hint: the level of a toddler probably lol.) for japanese i started using satori reader, altho other short story apps exist. for chinese there’s du chinese and tcb/the chairman’s bao. honestly i use du chinese just because im too lazy to make an account for tcb, altho i may finally make an account and use it one day. one day..... (japanese and chinese)

for japanese i just want to get to tobira right now and then long term is simply reaching what is probably jlpt n3, the typical not quite fluent but still ok enough to conduct business or ask a native speaker for help in a convenience store. kinda eh, a good middle intermediate level. from that point, i should be ok enough to try to read a YA novel. no not a light novel (might try it tho) but like a regular novel for middle schoolers. or maybe doremon? ill see where it goes from there. i hope to at least be able to understand some of the things an average person would like a weather forecast on the nhk or a short newspaper article. maybe ill take the actual jlpt test someday.....not sure how to sign up/where to find it in my city tho....

for chinese, i just want to know more vocab and improve my tones/pronunciation right now. 

[gophergal]

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻!!! You don't have to answer 5 if you don't want to. Also, my guinea pigs says hi. :3

YOU UNDERESTIMATE MY ABILITY TO RAMBLE BRO

1. I feel really bad for not having written for a few months, but I also know that writing when I don't feel inspired to is like pulling teeth. I just really want to get a few ideas on the page and out of my head. Specifically, I have a long form Normal Michael AU in mind that I love dearly, but can't bring myself to start. I guess I just don't want to quit anymore fic projects. Like, I had one from when I was in the Hetalia Fandom that was a fallout 3 au and I've gone back and read it. It's actually not that bad, I'm just sad I'll never finish it. I want to, but I'm really not the same person who started it, so I don't think I could do anything with it.

2. Speaking of writing, I have so many projects in mind, but here's another one I can't bring myself to write and abandon! So, I've spoken before about a gay little surreal fantasy story I wrote in freshman year. Well, I've really wanted to rewrite it!! But!! It's so much effort!!!! I can tell you a little about it:

so, a boy (I imagined him to be like 17 or something) has become the man of the house due to his father passing of an illness during the previous autumn. It is late winter and his mother and sisters desperately need him to bring home game to eat. All hope is nearly lost- then he finds a glorious, shining white stag in the woods. The majestic creature does not move, nor even react as it stares at the boy, his bow pointed at it. Ultimately, he decides it would be a great loss for the world should he kill it, and spares it. The rest of the hunt is smooth and full of luck, and he takes home enough for his family to last well into spring. A few years after that desperate winter, a newcomer moves to the village: a smith with pure, silvery hair.

3. I know that all I've posted here for y'all to read has just been VERY straight forward smut with feelings, but I love surreal stories. Horror, fantasy, drama? I don't care, I love surrealism. There's just something both comfortable and unnerving about it. I guess it's just because it reminds me of my own dreams, which are truly a mixed bag of scary and sad. A while back, as in a year or so, I had a dream that my mom faked her death and came home. I cried really hard when I woke up and just had a piss poor day after. A few months ago I had a very disturbing and graphic dream about twin Nicholas Cage farmers brutalising eachother. That one actually shook me to my core upon waking. I was scared and confused at first, but it faded within my first hour of consciousness. Then there are just the really weird Lewd Dreams which, idk man, I completely disagree with the guys who say that we dream only of things we wish to have.

4. I've noticed that a big part of why I haven't really done any big projects lately is because I get worried that if I don't post actual art very often, the three to five people that actually follow me because they like what I do will forget all about me. Being forgotten, even online, is a huge fear of mine. Like, that's what I fear about death and aging, not the pain of the nothingness, the being forgotten after. That's one of the reasons that the amnesia tropes make me so sad! Like, example being botw, cause I'm a bit obsessed again. Link doesn't remember anything at first, and then it's implied that his memory is patchy afterward. Is he the same person? Zelda is heavily implied to be in love with him, but imagine being in that situation. The person you once loved no longer remembers you. They're far different now and don't have the same qualities you cherished... Would you still love them, or just the ghost that exists in your mind every time you look at them?

5. OK SORRY THAT'S BEEN REALLY SAD. UHHHH, HAPPY THOUGHT NOW-

I love that I've been basically adopted as a mom/big sister friend to some of my friends. I have a friend IRL who goes to my school that's still 14 so she calls me Art Mom. It's so funny to me, I'm one of the least motherly/nurturing people I know! I guess it's also fun that I've been adopted as daughter/little sister friend too. They're both a bit funny since they're so different. That's the neat thing about human interaction I suppose! No matter what, your relationship to two different people will never be the same! My dynamic with my bff irl is very different to my bff online. For example, IRL bff and I are so close that people have genuinely confused for sisters or girlfriends depending on the situation. When we have sleepovers, we cuddle every time. It's great. She's been there for me for years and I'm so grateful for her every day. Online BFF and I have our entire dynamic based on respecting boundaries. We both are checking in with the other frequently to be sure that we're both comfortable. That's very different from many other friendships I've had. Like, believe it or not, I'm very reserved and quiet irl! Usually, the first boundary that gets stepped over is my Bad Social days where speaking is really difficult for me. Online BFF just needs to see me say "hey sorry, it's a bad social day and I'm having trouble talking" and they get it. They're so patient with me, even when I don't feel deserving and - UGH I HAVE GREAT FRIENDS GODDAMN IT WHY ARE Y'ALL SO NICE?????

[separatepath]

Warriors Canon Rewrite AU - Fire and Ice

This started getting really long with little change so I had to start rushing it! Sorry >-<

Prologue: Remains mostly the same. WindClan is fleeing from their territory, finding a sewer under the thunderpath to shelter into, staying there.

Fireheart and Greystripe finish their vigil, and go to sleep in the warriors den. Fireheart does get a dream about WindClan being chased away, although he first assumes that this was due to hearing it from cats at the latest gathering.

Fireheart tells Bluestar about Ravenpaw being alive and Tigerclaw’s actions. Bluestar refuses to believe in the latter, thinking that her nephew could never do such a thing, being Snowfur’s kin.

Fireheart and Greystripe attend the next gathering, with most things going as normal. Nightpelt is the stand-in leader, but neither believe that WindClan should come home.

Bluestar calls a camp meeting to address this matter. She speaks with some of the warriors late at night. The next morning, she calls Fireheart, Greystripe, Whitestorm and Rosetail to go and find WindClan and call them home, having chosen 2 trusted warriors and 2 new ones to raise their experience.

Whilst travelling, they find out a lot about Bluestar through Rosetail, her current mate.

The cats find the ravaged WindClan cat and pass over the Thunderpath safely, continuing on the other side where they eventually track WindClan down. The clan are very wary of the four ThunderClan cats, but Rosetail and Whitestorm are both very respected cats, who they knew wouldn’t lie.

The WindClan cats set off for home, and Fireheart, Onewhisker and Ashfoot carry Morningflower’s three young kits. Fireheart takes Gorsekit and becomes close to Morningflower, taking care of her kits for the journey home.

The group stop at Ravenpaw and Barley’s barn to rest, despite the WindClan cat’s denials. They reveal to Whitestorm and Rosetail about Ravenpaw being alive due to having no choice once Rosetail recognises his scent, but they both promise to keep the secret.

After catching up with Ravenpaw and sleeping, WindClan returns home. Fireheart makes sure that Morningflower and her three kits get rested in the nursery once it’s reinforced, before the four cats return home.

Barkface reveals that he had a vision about an unnecessary death occuring this day. It rattles the clan and helping cats, but WindClan still sends a patrol to make sure the ThunderClan cats get home safely. A RiverClan patrol ambushes them, and Tigerclaw’s patrol joins them to help. Fireheart saves Sandpaw from falling off of the gorge, but Whiteclaw, a RiverClan tom, isn’t so lucky and plummets to his death.

The patrols return and report what happened. Bluestar decides to let the issue rest despite the clearly upset Tigerclaw.

A half-moon passes. Speckletail has given birth to two kits, Snowkit and Mistlekit.To give them more room, Bluestar makes Frostfur’s kits apprentices a half-moon early. She gives Cinderpaw, Brackenpaw, Thornpaw and Brightpaw to Fireheart, Greystripe, Mousefur and Rosetail respectively. 

Fireheart and Cinderpaw go out around the territory to show her everything, and meet up with Greystripe and Brackenpaw for the second half. However, they meet a kittypet and scare her off, although Fireheart recognises her scent as Princess, his sister. He leaves Cinderpaw with Greystripe and Brackenpaw the next day to visit his pregnant sister, although Tigerclaw isn’t happy.

Fireheart continues to visit Princess frequently, doubting his own loyalty, however he always puts Cinderpaw first because this cats talents and futures were in his paws now. On a patrol with Greystripe and their apprentices, Greystripe falls into the river, but a cat from RiverClan named Silverstream rescues him.

Since that day, Greystripe slowly starts to sneak out of camp to see Silverstream, although Fireheart doesn’t know this. The latter is forced to start training Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw, and this becomes taxing.

This continues for another half-moon, with Greystripe missing every day for a long while. This angers Fireheart, who follows Greystripe one day to confront the duo. They refuse to stop seeing each other, even when Fireheart goes alone. This annoys him - how could two cats fall in love so quick when everything was against them? Why did Greystripe find himself able to do this? Because he wasn’t questioned on his loyalty, unlike Fireheart?

Whitecough, then greencough, starts to spread through the camp. Bluestar, Mistlekit, Elderkit, Tulipkit and Dappletail all come down with some form of the illness quickly. Fireheart is sent to fetch catmint, but upon returning finds Cinderpaw gone. He hears that Tigerclaw wanted Bluestar to come to the thunderpath, and Fireheart assumes Cinderpaw headed there. He goes, to discover his apprentice laying on the thunderpath.

Bluestar loses a life this night, and Elderkit dies. Yellowfang and Spottedleaf treat Cinderpaw, and get into a fight about her future ability to become a warrior. Fireheart can barely put up with his, as Greystripe doesn’t care and he feels like he didn’t teach Cinderpaw well enough. Frostfur has to come and talk to him that he doesn’t blame him about what happened to her daughter.

A moon passes. Princess has her kits, while Dappletail recovers and Patchpelt becomes ill. Tulipkit dies. Greystripe gets a cold, forcing him to stay in camp, and Cinderpaw comes down with a leg infection.

A ThunderClan patrol to attack RiverClan fails as the ice across the river melts, with Fireheart included. Greystripe feels betrayed and attacks Fireheart due to this.

Fireheart visits Princess, who gives him her first-born kit to take care of. He is taken aback but brings Cloudkit back to the camp. Brindleface and Speckletail share feeding duties.

Fireheart, determined to let Cinderpaw become a warrior, starts to slowly try train her, trying to strengthen her muscles with Spottedleaf’s help. He has basically taken over Brackenpaw’s training at this point.

Brokenstar’s rogues attack the camp not long after. Greystripe kills Clawface, saving Fireheart, and Yellowfang blinds and takes one of Brokenstar’s lives. His name is changed to Brokentail. This marks the START of Bluestar’s mental descent.

Sandpaw and Dustpaw become warriors by the name Sandstorm and Dustpelt. They take vigil after Clawface has been buried.

Cloudkit, Fernkit and Ashkit break out of camp and go hunting, and are heavily criticised when they all return.

RiverClan and ShadowClan try to drive WindClan out, and Onewhisker comes to ThunderClan for help, which they give. Fireheart spares Silverstream which Tigerclaw notices. They make up after winning the battle.

Time passed: 2.5 moons

[unpeumacabre]

my kingdom for a horse: chapter 6

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 8k

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“What do you mean,” Lee Chang says stonily, “when you say that my father is sick?”

“It is exactly as I have said, Your Highness,” Cho Hak-ju says quietly, and his voice is obsequious to the extreme. “His Majesty fell sick with smallpox two days ago, and he has been bedridden ever since. It is extremely contagious, and the Empress has asked that Your Highness refrain from visiting your father, for fear of catching the pox.”

“And yet she visits him without fear,” Lee Chang says, unable to stop the bitterness from slipping through to his voice. “If I may express my concern for my mother’s health… Surely it is too treacherous for her and my unborn brother to be exposed to such danger.”

“The Empress takes all necessary measures to keep herself safe,” Cho Hak-ju says, still in that odious tone of his. “Furthermore, she is young and healthy. Your Highness has just returned from a difficult trip, and you must take care of your body. It would not be advisable for you to expose yourself to the king as of now. Please be assured that we have employed the best of physicians to care for His Majesty, and they have assured us that he will recover soon.”

“I am his son!” Lee Chang shouts, finally unable to contain his fury. “I must see him. Is it not permissible for a son to visit his bedridden father, especially when this son is the Crown Prince of this nation?”

He whirls around and storms in the direction of the palace, but it is not long before the clear peal of an unsheathed sword rings through the air, and he stops as he feels the edge of a blade at his neck.

“Your Highness,” Beom-il says, “The Empress has issued her command. No one is to enter the king’s palace but the Chief Councillor and the Empress.”

Lee Chang turns around, very slowly. He looks at Beom-il, whose eyes are alight with some kind of unholy glee, despite Mu-yeong’s sword also levelled at his neck.

“You dare?” he says, softly. “You, a mere general of the army, dare draw your weapon on a member of the royal family?”

“Your Highness,” Beom-il murmurs again, “The Empress has given her orders. You are to obey, or I will have no choice but to defend the Empress’ command. It is for your own good, you know,” and he adds this with a small smile which shows far too many teeth.

“I am not afraid of you,” Lee Chang whispers. “I, who have been through hell and back. Draw my blood if you dare.”

There is a moment of silence, and Beom-il draws back marginally, as if in surprise at his sudden bravery. Lee Chang seizes the chance to continue striding briskly in the direction of the king’s palace.

He throws open the doors with little further resistance, with Beom-il, Cho Hak-ju, Mu-yeong and an entourage of Beom-il’s subordinates following closely behind. Lee Chang makes his way through the corridors of the palace, through the paths he knows all too well from his childhood.

When he thrusts the doors to his fathers’ chambers open, somehow it is anticlimactic to see the king seated there on his bed, reading a scroll and sipping tea. He does not look severely ill at all.

Cho Hak-ju and Mu-yeong follow quietly behind him, and shut the door – thankfully, Beom-il stays outside. Thankfully, because if Lee Chang has to look one more moment upon his smug smirking face, he does not know what he will do to him. Throttle him, perhaps, or punch him in his smiling face – both options sound terribly appealing to him at the moment, in his current state.

The king looks up in surprise at their entry, but when he sees it is Lee Chang, a weary smile crosses his face, and he puts down the scroll.

“My son,” he sighs. “You have returned. What news do you bring me from Dongnae?”

“Did my messages not reach you, father?” Lee Chang says, with some surprise. A frown creases the king’s brows.

“What messages?” he asks. “I have not heard from you since you left, almost two weeks ago. I did wonder why it was taking you so long simply to visit Dongnae and bring back news, but I assumed nothing could harm you with the palace guards by your side. … My son, you look rather pale. Whatever is the matter?”

“Your Majesty,” Lee Chang manages, the story of his entire past weeks on the tip of his tongue, but he pauses, and remembers that Cho Hak-ju is still by his side. He turns to him coldly. “Lord Cho,” he says, “Leave us. I must have my audience with my father alone.”

Cho Hak-ju bows, so low that the shadows cover his face, and walks backward out of the room. Mu-yeong shuts the door again behind him, and stands in front of the gap between the sliding panels, his face grim.

“My father,” Lee Chang presses on, “there have been grave events in the South. There is a plague ravaging the towns, and it is a man-made one. And now I find that you have not received any of my messages - and my way here was barred by members of the Haewon Cho clan! I have heard that the Empress has even barred entry to all but herself and her father. I was worried for your health, but I had to fight tooth and nail for entry here. What on earth is happening in Hanyang?!”

The king’s face tightens momentarily, then he exhales a deep, fatigued breath. “I began vomiting and experiencing body aches and pains two days ago,” he murmurs. “At first I thought it merely a result of stress, or a lack of sleep, but the Empress brought the physicians to see me immediately. They told me it was a mild case of smallpox, and that I was to stay in bed for the next week or so. Yet I do not know how I could possibly have caught this disease. Is this the plague you speak of, that now ravages the South?”

Lee Chang shakes his head furiously. “The contagion in the south is something far darker,” he says, and his voice has hardened. “It is a disease that allows for the persistence of the body after death, without persistence of the mind. Plainly-speaking, the disease turns all those it touches into mindless monsters who crave human flesh, and who cannot be turned aside by anything less than beheading and fire. Even a dozen arrows in their body will not kill them.”

The king’s eyes widen, bloodshot. “The resurrection plant,” he breathes. “No – it is not possible – I thought, three years ago - ”

“Father, you know of this disease?” Lee Chang asks, his voice suddenly high and reedy with disbelief.

“It was – our mistake – we had no choice - ”

The king begins to choke, and Lee Chang realises that there is something very wrong.

He starts to cough; loud, hacking coughs that tear at his throat and bring tears to his eyes, and he convulses on the bed in front of Lee Chang. Lee Chang surges forward, but almost immediately the doors are flung open and there are hands at his chest, his arms, pulling him away from his father – who is dying in front of his eyes.

One of the men who has entered goes straight to the king. From his robes, he is a court physician, and he checks the king’s temperature.

“He has a high fever,” the man announces, and carefully lays the king down onto his bed, one hand at his back and supporting his movement. “The pox has gotten worse. He must rest.”

No! Lee Chang rages internally. Not when they were so close to an answer! Not when his father… when his father had known…

And then Lee Chang looks at his father, frail and pallid and still coughing feebly into the air – for he had not the strength to lift his arm and cover his mouth – and Lee Chang realises that there is a very real possibility that his father will die.

“Father,” he whispers, at first, and then the word comes again as a roar. “FATHER!” he yells, but it is no use; he is dragged out of the room by the guards. The thud of the slamming doors jars his ears, and echoes with finality through the hallway.

Chest heaving with breaths he feels he is ill-equipped to take, he turns to Beom-il, who is still standing there in the middle of the hallway, hooded eyes watching him.

There is a very faint trace of a smile around his handsome lips. Lee Chang has never before felt so strongly the urge to commit violent murder.

“How dare you,” he rages. “How dare you lay your hands on me! How dare you separate me from my father! I am the Crown Prince of this nation!”

Beom-il does not react to the vitriol flung in his face, but stands there patiently as Lee Chang lambasts him with everything he can think of. It is only Mu-yeong’s hand gripped tight around his wrist that brings him back to his senses.

“Your Highness!” Mu-yeong shouts, and Lee Chang spins around to look at him. The face that fills his vision is an honest one, a face dear and familiar to him, and its eyes are filled with fear and worry. Lee Chang’s breaths echo like thunder in the hallway, and he becomes sharply aware of the silence that has descended upon the few people in the vicinity.

“Do not give him a reason to put you away!” Mu-yeong hisses, under his breath so the others do not hear. “Remember, they are looking for any excuse to take you out of their way. Do not give them that reason.”

Mu-yeong’s words are like a calming breeze, and slowly, Lee Chang feels his breaths return to normal, and he places a hand on his chest to steady himself. He glares at Beom-il.

“We are not finished,” he says coldly, drawing himself up to his full height and infusing all the imperiousness he can possibly muster into his voice. “I will return to see my father again, and you will not be able to stop me.”

“I welcome Your Highness to try again,” Beom-il murmurs, his voice soft and poisonous. “Indeed, your… care for your father is admirable, but then again, it is this care which has worsened your father’s condition and unnecessarily burdened his already fragile mind.”

“Your Highness, ignore him,” Mu-yeong says in an undertone. “There is nothing more we can do here.”

Lee Chang nods shortly, and storms out of the king’s palace, with Mu-yeong at his heels. He turns his head for a final glance at the compound, and Beom-il is standing, still, on the steps to the palace, flanked by his entourage of guards; his face a wooden mask, and his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Only when they are out of reach is Lee Chang able to fully relax. He slows his stride, and cannot stop himself from thrusting his fist into the nearby wall. It leaves a sizeable dent, and his knuckles broken and bleeding, but it manages to dissipate some of his fury.

“Your Highness!” Mu-yeong says in alarm, moving to stop him, but Lee Chang holds up his hand, a hand that trembles before he is able to get it to still.

“I am fine,” he manages, after a beat, forcing himself to breathe slower. It helps unclench the vice around his chest. “Thank you for your worry, Mu-yeong, and your guidance earlier. I am alright now.” He turns to Mu-yeong, and manages a weak smile.

Mu-yeong hesitates, then retracts his arm. “It was nothing,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I only wish to apologise for touching you earlier. Please do not annihilate my entire family for my sins.”

That gets an unwilling laugh out of Lee Chang, and he shakes his head. “I would never,” he says. “It was always a joke! Just a joke.”

“Jokes are meant to be funny,” Mu-yeong grumbles. His petulant words force another quick, startled laugh out of Lee Chang, and he cannot stop a fond sigh from escaping his mouth.

“Mu-yeong,” he says musingly, “Indeed, what would I do without you?”

“You’d be dead a few times over, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong answers primly, and with that, they begin to make their slow way back to the Crown Prince’s quarters.

Yeong-shin and Seo-bi have been given rooms there, and so they meet them at the door. Seo-bi is wringing her hands, although her face has an expression of forced calm. Yeong-shin is seated on the steps, picking at his nails with a knife, to the horrified glances of the palace maids.

Lee Chang has to restrain another laugh. It was not long ago that such actions would have repulsed him with their crudity, but now, he finds that such prudish notions matter little to him anymore. Instead, he finds it endearing.

Yeong-shin tilts his head up slightly to look at them as they pass the gates to Lee Chang’s palace compounds, and his eyes are dark with loss of sleep. Lee Chang feels his laugh die an early death in the back of his throat.

“Did you report the news to the king?” Seo-bi asks, her throat working as she swallows.

Lee Chang sighs, feeling the tedium of the morning come upon him again. “I conveyed some of the matter to him,” he replies, “but a violent fever came upon him in the midst of our discussion, and I was unable to speak to him further.” He glances around him, and it is only when he is certain that they are alone, that he continues.

“Seo-bi,” he murmurs, moving closer to her so that his voice does not carry, “my father did not appear to have signs of the pox when I saw him then. I have seen bodies of patients dead from smallpox, and my father lacked the boils and swellings that were typical of such patients. His only symptoms were vomiting and bodily aches and pains.”

The edges of her mouth turn downwards as she thinks. “When did he fall ill?”

“Two days ago.”

She sighs. “It is not unusual,” she answers. “During the initial onset of the disease, a high fever and vomiting are common symptoms, and the swellings will usually develop two to four days after.”

“So he might actually have contracted smallpox,” Lee Chang says, somehow feeling relieved.

Contrary to his expectations, Seo-bi shakes her head. “These are also shared symptoms for various poisons,” she continues. “Smallpox is common in these parts, and therefore physicians often diagnose smallpox pre-emptively, for the patients are then sent into forced isolation and bedrest, and therefore easily monitored from then on to see if it truly is the pox. However, it will be difficult to tell if this is indeed the case until the swellings and other characteristic signs of the disease emerge.”

“Poison?” Lee Chang says, in disbelief. “I had thought the timing all too convenient, but for them to use poison… How dare they!”

“We must find a way to check on him in two days time, when the symptoms become clear,” Mu-yeong says. “Your Highness may continue his report to the king then.”

Lee Chang grimaces. “At the moment, we have Physician Lee with us, and the plague in the South is more or less contained. While waiting for the chance to confirm my father’s symptoms, we must speak to the physicians and servants taking care of him. Perhaps they will know something. You have kept Physician Lee somewhere safe?” He directs this question to Mu-yeong, and the guard nods soberly.

“I have placed him secretly under the care of one of my friends, who is also a trained palace guard,” Mu-yeong replies. “The Haewon Cho clan – or whoever is behind this terrible plot, although I cannot begin to fathom who else would be capable of such evil – will be unable to touch him.”

“Good,” Lee Chang says approvingly. “Then we must initiate our investigations, although they must be kept absolutely secret. We will begin tomorrow – it is too late now. And perhaps,” he says quietly, almost shyly – although he would never have thought of using this word on himself – “we can break fast tomorrow, together.”

The others nod. “I will visit my dear wife now,” Mu-yeong says, his voice brightening, and his face visibly lifting at the prospect. “It has been long since I have seen her, and she is near term – I hope that I will be gifted with a precious son very soon.”

“Take the desserts from my table, and give her my regards,” Lee Chang answers. Mu-yeong’s smile is somehow infectious, and it is a slight balm of comfort in these trying times. It reminds him that there are things they are fighting for, each of them.

“Tomorrow, then,” Yeong-shin says, his voice quiet. “We will see you tomorrow.”

***

The morning brings jeongol, kimchi and kalguksu – dishes Lee Chang has missed the past few days they were on the road. The rich broth and taste of the meat is a welcome luxury he’d only appreciated when it had been lacking. Seo-bi and Yeong-shin dig into the food with relish and a distinct lack of manners, but as it is only the four of them in the room – and the occasional servant bringing new dishes – Lee Chang makes no object. It is probably the first time they have tasted food so savoury in a while, and it is only right that they enjoy it to the fullest.

They are silent at first, as they eat, but then Mu-yeong gets started on the topic of his wife, and it has always been difficult to stem the flow of words that follows such a beloved subject of his.

“The midwives say that she is close to labour,” Mu-yeong shares effusively. “Ah, I only regret that I will not be able to be there while she gives birth… but I do not think I will be able to stand the sight of her in so much pain. She is left in good hands. The many cousins she has in Naesonjae are good midwives, and they have promised to notify me the moment she goes into labour, so that I may head there with haste to greet my newborn child!”

“Do you think it will be a son or a daughter?” Lee Chang asks.

“It does not matter to me,” Mu-yeong answers, his smile almost splitting his face, “whether the child be male or female. I only pray that it will be a beautiful one – although with my dear wife’s looks, that is a given!”

“Ah, but Mu-yeong, you must remember, the child is your own as well,” teases Lee Chang, feeling himself settle and relax into the familiar rhythm of their conversation. “I would be more concerned about its looks if I were you.”

“Your Highness - !” The utterance is full of shock and betrayal, and it does not fail to elicit an amused huff from Lee Chang at the return of Mu-yeong’s theatrics. The conversation moves on smoothly from there, with even Seo-bi contributing a word here or there when it comes to her areas of expertise.

Yeong-shin, however, stays markedly silent.

“Did you sleep well?” Lee Chang finally ventures, attempting to draw him out of his shell. “Was the room to your liking?”

Yeong-shin utters a non-committal sound of assent, digging with renewed fervour into his rice, his eyes trained pointedly down.

“Oi,” Mu-yeong snaps, jabbing at him with his chopstick. “When His Highness asks you a question, you’d better answer properly. You listening?”

“It was good,” Yeong-shin says, the word guttural in his throat, and he says nothing else. After a beat of silence, during which all three of them watch him with varying degrees of annoyance and confusion, he chances a glance up at them, and sighs, an extremely put-upon sigh.

“I am tired,” he mutters. “Please excuse my silence.”

“You - ” Mu-yeong starts again, furiously, but Lee Chang places his hand on the table next to Mu-yeong, and he shuts up abruptly.

“It is understandable that you are tired,” Lee Chang says quietly. “You should get more rest then. You’ll need it if you wish to help with our investigations.”

“Rest assured I will be more than up to the task,” Yeong-shin answers, his voice brittle. “A few nights’ poor sleep will not hinder me from performing up to your expectations. You needn’t worry.”

“There’s no need to be so ornery, even if you’re tired,” Seo-bi speaks up sharply, and the disapproving glare in her eyes is enough to shut all three of them up. They continue to eat in silence, and this time, the air between them is fragile and thin.

When they are finished with his meal, Lee Chang lays down his chopsticks and waits for the servants to clear the plates. When they are finally alone, Mu-yeong checks outside the door and shuts it behind him after ensuring that there is no one in the vicinity.

“What would you have us do today?” Yeong-shin asks, in a more neutral tone. He seems to have recovered somewhat from his earlier, dourer mood.

“I will speak to some of the ministers and scholars who I know are loyal to me. I will need assistance,” Lee Chang says gravely, “if we are to take on the Haewon Cho clan. Seo-bi, you should speak to the palace physicians and see if you can find anything amiss. Yeong-shin and Mu-yeong,” he pauses for a moment, considering that it might not be the most ideal combination; but then again, he has little choice. “Speak to the palace guards and servants, especially the ones serving the king.”

The other three nod and raise no objection, apart from an unwilling glance Mu-yeong casts towards Yeong-shin.

“Stay safe, and keep this absolutely secret,” Lee Chang says. “We will see each other tonight.”

***

When they meet again later that day, they have little new information, and few new alliances. The same goes for the next day. While Lee Chang has many sympathisers among the ministers, they are unwilling to pit themselves against the power of the Haewon Cho clan. The only bright light remains that the scholars he had previously been plotting with are amenable to aiding him. With their bookish ways and tendency towards politicking, he does not think they would be useful if any open conflict were to break out, but they are useful political allies nonetheless. The situation is too precarious to allow a revolt of the sort he had been planning prior to his departure, what with his father’s sickness and the ever-present threat of Cho Hak-ju spreading the plague further, but any ally they can gather on their side is beneficial.

As for investigations around the palace, Seo-bi has made little inroads with the palace physicians. There are only two or three of them senior enough to treat the king, and they are constantly busy with his treatment. The other physicians know nothing – or, if they do, they will say nothing. The guards and servants Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin had spoken to are similarly tight-lipped, and they had not wished to risk raising excessive suspicion by prying too deep.

Yeong-shin’s awful mood has continued. He has not said anything rude or untoward, but Mu-yeong had never taken well to ornery tempers, and it is only the mediation of Seo-bi and Lee Chang that has prevented their shared meals breaking into a fight. Tensions run high at their lack of headway, and Lee Chang is glad when the sun rises on the morning of their fourth day in the capital, for today, he is sure they will finally uncover the truth of his father’s disease.

“I must see my father today,” he says determinedly, as the four of them break fast together again for the third time. “It is the fifth day of his disease.”

“However,” Yeong-shin says quietly, “What proof can you present to him?”  He looks up from where he has been poking half-heartedly at his noodles, and his eyes meet Lee Chang’s. There is something in those eyes that makes Lee Chang shiver. He pauses, and considers his words carefully.

“I truly believe that there is no other plausible suspect,” he says at last. “Only Cho Hak-ju would have the knowledge, the power and the courage to carry out such a plan. Why else would his messenger to Dongnae disappear? Who else would have the motive to keep me away from Hanyang by sending me to Dongnae – most likely with the knowledge that a plague would be unleashed in the south, with little chance of survival for myself and my guard? It was only pure luck that we avoided dying during that first attack, before we found Jiyulheon.” Mu-yeong’s face tightens, and his shoulders shake at the memory of the guards – his friends – who had died for Lee Chang.

“Physician Lee said something, when he was drunk,” Seo-bi pipes up quietly, catching everyone’s attention. She recounts the story of her master’s uncharacteristic drunkenness a few days before the plague had hit Jiyulheon. “‘It was my mistake three years ago’ – that was what he said. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now it strikes me as odd. Why three years ago? What was his mistake?”

Something comes to Lee Chang’s mind then, something he too had missed. “My father mentioned something of the sort as well,” he exclaims sharply. “When first I told him of the plague, and before he was overcome by his fever, he spoke of the resurrection plant, and of ‘three years ago’ as well. Three years ago…” His fingers tighten around his chopsticks. “The end of the war. That is what they mean. Something happened three years ago at the end of the war, something that is related to the plague, and I must find out what.”

“Do you think Lord Ahn Hyeon might know?” Mu-yeong suggests. “He was in charge of the armies, and he won the war, after all. He must have been privy to everything that happened.”

Lee Chang nods. “He probably knows,” he says grimly. “It makes sense – his men knew immediately what to do with the monsters when they attacked Sangju. I thought little of it at the time, but now it seems out of place to me. But we do not have the time to write to him and wait for his reply. We must find out today, by speaking to my father.”

“Then we must leave right away,” Yeong-shin says, standing from the table in a swift, explosive motion. “There is no time to waste.”

They hurry to the king’s palace. Seo-bi stays behind, but Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin follow closely behind him.

“Your Highness,” Beom-il says coolly, barring the way to the gates of the king’s palace, his sword unsheathed and pointing directly at Lee Chang’s throat. “I thought you learned your lesson two days ago, but apparently not. Here you are again to torment your father who – may I remind you – is fighting for his life on the sickbed, and hardly in any state to tend to your childish tantrums.

“And who, dare I ask,” he murmurs, casting a cold glance over Lee Chang’s shoulder, “are your companions? Mu-yeong I know, your faithful dog, but this man… this man is new. Do you make it a habit of yours to surround yourself with paltry rabble from the south, now? My, how far the Crown Prince has fallen, such that he takes even a mere peasant into his entourage. Are there insufficient guards in the palace to keep you company? Or insufficient whores?”

“How dare you speak to me and my companions in such a manner,” Lee Chang says, his voice infused with quiet fury. “You are merely a hunting dog of the Haewon Cho clan. You serve little purpose other than the lick the feet of your master and pray for scraps to fall from the heavens. What gives you the right to speak to the Crown Prince of this nation with so insolent a tone?”

He unsheathes his sword, and the glint of sunlight off its blade out of the corner of his eye comforts him, although it will do him little good if Beom-il actually decides to strike.

Beom-il’s face tightens. The words have found their mark.

But then something strange happens. Instead of stepping aside to allow Lee Chang entry, a smile spreads over his face, and his teeth flash.

“Has Your Highness not heard the joyous news?” he says, a hint of manic glee in his voice.

“What news?” Lee Chang snaps, already at the end of his patience. The blade at his neck does not tremble or falter, so steady and arrogant is the hand of its owner.

Beom-il pauses, as if to savour the words, then:

“Her Majesty has gone into labour,” he purrs. “Soon she will grace us all with a son, a Crown Prince of true and pure royal blood. And soon,” he steps closer to Lee Chang, so close that Lee Chang can feel his breath on his cheeks, “soon will come the hour that a mere general of the army may draw his blade against your neck, and cause you to bleed.”

With that, he lifts his blade and slices swiftly at Lee Chang. There is a cut-off cry of anger behind him, a beat, and then the blade stays its movement in Lee Chang’s shoulder.

First he feels nothing. Then, as the blood trickles down his arm and pools in a puddle on the ground, a sharp streak of lightning rips through his nerves, followed by a dull thunderous ache that spreads through every fibre in his body. He feels his body begin to shudder.

But this pain is nothing compared to the agony, the fatigue, the hopelessness, the feeling of being so close to dying that he could practically taste his last breath on his lips – emotions which had been an everyday part of his life for the past few weeks.

This? This is nothing.

Calmly, so Beom-il cannot see his composure broken, he lifts his other arm and wraps his fingers around Beom-il’s wrist. It is probably the surprise, he thinks dully, that renders Beom-il’s sword arm temporarily robbed of strength, allowing him to lift the arm and drag the blade out of his shoulder. It hurts like a fucking bitch, but his pride keeps the hurt out of his face, and his hands unwavering.

There is a clang as Beom-il’s sword falls to the ground, and a rush of feet that only dimly permeates Lee Chang’s hearing. Instead, keeping his eyes locked on Beom-il’s, he rips a piece of silk off the bottom of his coat, and binds it tightly round his arm. The blood dyes it red in an instant, but the tightness of the cloth blunts the pain.

“I will see my father,” he says, through clenched teeth, “and it will be in spite of you. A mere general of the army may now lift his blade against my neck, it is true, but it does not mean that I will not return the blow. Nor will I bleed. You will not find me so easy to kill.”

Beom-il’s eyes are white-hot with fury, and the handsomeness of his face is curiously diminished by the anger distorting his face.

Lee Chang is fully intent on storming the palace now - now that he has the upper hand - but hands on both his arms stop him.

“Your Highness!” Mu-yeong cries out, the anguish in his voice plain. He is the one restraining Lee Chang on the left. “There are too many guards. We cannot possibly fight our way through them.”

Only then does Lee Chang look up and realise that their spat has amassed a larger audience. Beom-il’s compatriots, skilled soldiers and guards in their own right, have assembled round their group. Their faces are as stone, and their blades are sharp.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says again, this time in a quick, hushed whisper, “Let us make a tactical retreat. You are injured, and we are outnumbered. This will not end well.”

Lee Chang maintains his stare with Beom-il for a moment more, and the man must see something different in his eyes, for he takes an involuntary step back, his own eyes shuttering with bitter hate. Lee Chang savours the moment.

Then he turns and strides off without a backwards glance. Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin follow quickly.

But the moment they are out of sight and hearing of Beom-il and his pack of stooges, Mu-yeong does an unexpected thing. He spins around, seizes Yeong-shin’s collar, and throws him up against the nearest wall. There is an audible crack as Yeong-shin’s head slams against the wood; he bites off a gasp of pain.

“YOU!” Mu-yeong roars, shaking Yeong-shin by his collar.

“What are you doing, Mu-yeong!” Lee Chang shouts. “Have you gone mad?” Dizzy from the blood loss and infuriated by having to back down from Beom-il, his temper is frayed enough already as it is without Mu-yeong adding fuel to the fire. He does not grab Mu-yeong like he wants to, but storms to his side instead, and levels a glare at him.

“Why did you hesitate?!” Mu-yeong yells, continuing to shake Yeong-shin. The man’s teeth rattle as his head lolls back and forth. Surprisingly, he makes no move to retaliate, and it is this strangeness of his actions which gives Lee Chang pause.

“I saw you lift your hand to defend His Highness – you were closer, you could have defended him – and yet you hesitated,” continues Mu-yeong, in a tone that is quieter, yet no less fearsome. “Your hesitation could have cost him his life, if Beom-il’s cowardice had not raised its head at the last moment. How can we trust you when you have committed such a great breach of our faith?! Your Highness!” and Mu-yeong turns his imploring eyes back to Lee Chang.

“Do you not see?” he pleads. “We have trusted this man too much and too long, in my opinion, and finally he has now shown his true colours - as nothing more than a dog which bites the hand that feeds it. We cannot put our faith in this man any longer. He must be an agent of the Haewon Cho clan, set upon us to kill you.”

Lee Chang turns to Yeong-shin.

“Is this true?” he says quietly, and his shoulder burns like fire.

Yeong-shin meets his eyes. His mouth is a thin line, and underneath his hooded eyes, his gaze is as fierce as ever.

“If I had wanted to kill you,” he rasps, “you would be dead by now.”

Lee Chang holds his gaze, and he reads no lie in those clear eyes.

“Your Highness, he has not answered the question,” Mu-yeong says furiously. “Remember, he is a mercenary for hire. They do not care for allegiances, only for who has the largest purse. I saw it clear as day – he raised his hand to stop Beom-il’s blade, but at the last moment something held him back.”

“Let him down, Mu-yeong,” Lee Chang says calmly, and Mu-yeong’s eyes fill with betrayal.

“Do you not trust me, Your Highness?” he whispers. “After all my years of service?”

Lee Chang lays a hand on his shoulder. Mu-yeong’s body jerks at the sudden touch, and he looks down at Lee Chang’s hand with an expression bordering on complete bewilderment.

“It is not that I do not trust you,” Lee Chang says quietly, “but this man – Yeong-shin – I cannot count the number of times he has saved my life. In Jiyulheon, in Dongnae, in Sangju, in Jecheon – each time, he has been willing to lay down his life for me. As have you,” he adds, as Mu-yeong opens his mouth to interrupt. “How could I doubt you, my dearest and most faithful of my servants? But Mu-yeong, we need all the allies we can find, and Yeong-shin has proven himself true so far.”

“But - ”

“Have some faith in my judgement,” Lee Chang continues swiftly on, with a tired laugh. “I am no longer a child. I can make judgements on my own, and this is my verdict. Let Yeong-shin down, Mu-yeong.”

Slowly, unwillingly, Mu-yeong’s hand lowers, and Yeong-shin’s feet touch the ground. As Mu-yeong’s hand loosens from Yeong-shin’s collar, he glares daggers at the other man.

“Hurt a hair on His Highness’ body,” he hisses, “and even the crows will find nothing of your body.”

Yeong-shin dips his head in acknowledgement, his fists clenched at his side. Then his gaze turns to Lee Chang.

“I apologise,” he says stiffly, but Lee Chang can read the true meaning of his words in the tightness around his mouth, and the weary set of his shoulders. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I hesitated. I’m sorry you were hurt because of me.

He wonders when it became so easy for him to read Yeong-shin.

“Your shoulder - ” Yeong-shin makes an abortive gesture towards the wound in question, and Lee Chang becomes dimly aware of the throbbing pain and the gradually-spreading stain across the silk wrapping his injury.

“Yes,” he says vaguely. “My shoulder. It does not hurt as much anymore.”

But it hurts, hurts even worse than before, when Seo-bi is pressing a cold compress against the raw edges of his wound, and he is muffling his screams with a dirty cloth stuffed in his mouth. Has there ever been such ignominy, he thinks with regret, in his short short life? Even the alcohol he had consumed beforehand – pressed into his hands by a very insistent Seo-bi – fails to dull the pain.

“Keep still,” Seo-bi says calmly, holding him down with just one arm and her stern words. Lee Chang stops squirming, even though the fire in his shoulder is now gradually spreading up his neck and down his sides.

When she is done with the stitches, she lets him up so she can fetch the bandages. Lee Chang stares at the wound, now an ugly gash across the meat of his shoulder. The stitches are neat and efficient, but they do little to hide the scar.

Lee Chang thinks perhaps he should be more concerned. He has always been good-looking, after all, with unblemished skin and a good body, and even the bouts of sparring he had had with Lord Ahn Hyeon or other trainers in his youth had left no permanent scars. He had prided himself on his handsomeness, taking it as his due as the prince of the nation.

And now he has allowed Beom-il to mark him.

He waits for the shame at his ugliness to sink in, but strangely, he feels nothing.

It will remind me of what I have to do, he finds himself thinking. Of what it will cost me to protect myself, and my companions, and this nation. It is a mark, not of shame, not of courage, but of duty.

Seo-bi returns, and the gaping wound disappears gradually under the pure white fabric of the bandage. Lee Chang watches the movement of Seo-bi’s hands, small and graceful, yet decisive and firm in their actions. She removes her hand only when the gash has been tightly bandaged up, and it can no longer be seen.

Yeong-shin and Mu-yeong enter the room then, as if in response to some unspoken signal. Mu-yeong’s face is a grim mask.

“We must sneak in tonight,” he says. “Physician Lee has disappeared from the home of the man I assigned to guard him. The guard says he never let Physician Lee out of his sight, but he was taken from the room in which he was confined early this morning.”

Lee Chang does not blame him, but he feels the anxiety raise goosebumps on his skin. It baffles and angers him how far-reaching the Haewon Cho clan’s network of spies extends, so much so that they are always one step ahead of his plans.

“Then you are right. We must enter the palace tonight,” Lee Chang answers sombrely. “We have lost a crucial witness. I cannot deny that it is a setback, but there is still time to upend the Haewon Cho clan’s plans, if we can get the approval of the king to take the villains into custody.”

“Your Highness!” Mu-yeong protests. “Surely you are not planning to sneak into the palace with us? You are still injured!”

“He is my father,” Lee Chang says decisively. He suddenly realises that this is the first time he has fully meant the word. In his mind, the king of Joseon had always been just that – a king. A distant, vaguely-commanding figure who had been larger than life, and yet barely present in his childhood. Lee Chang cannot say that he does not resent the man for it, but now that it is clear that his father’s days alive might well be numbered, something burns in his chest.

“He is my father,” Lee Chang repeats, softer this time, but no less certain. “This matter is a grave one, and he must hear of it from my mouth – especially when it concerns treason on the part of such a respected clan as the Haewon Cho clan.”

Mu-yeong looks as if he wants to argue further, but after a moment’s pause, he subsides reluctantly. All of them know the truth in Lee Chang’s words – with news such as that they bear, only the Crown Prince can deliver it to the king, for it would not be believable from any other person’s lips.

“Then we will come with you, and protect you,” Mu-yeong says finally. “The guards change their shift at yushi, and it will be easy to sneak in then, just when the sun is beginning to set. I know the guards on rotation tonight, and they are a relatively more lax bunch than the rest, even when charged with protection of the king’s palace.”

“That is hardly good,” Lee Chang says reprovingly, but he feels his mouth twitch into an unwilling smile. “That is a good plan. We must rest and recover our strength for tonight’s foray, then.”

“Especially you,” Seo-bi speaks up suddenly, arresting Lee Chang with her glare. Lee Chang winces under her stern eye. He’d been planning to do some extra reading to consolidate his thoughts… and send some letters to potential allies… but that can wait, he thinks, as Seo-bi’s gaze pins him to the ground.

Later that night, they follow Mu-yeong’s lead, and find their way into the king’s palace. The guards are incautious, and spend minutes exchanging bawdy words and banter before the changing of the guard is complete, allowing the three of them to make their way unseen into the palace. The doors shut silently behind them, and Lee Chang lets out a soundless exhale of relief. He makes eye contact with Mu-yeong, who nods with approval.

There is a faint whoosh of air next to him as Yeong-shin unsheathes his blade. He had opted not to bring his musket, for it would not be useful in these close quarters, and is far from subtle in its action.

Lee Chang takes quiet comfort in knowing they are both by his side.

The floorboards do not creak as they pad their way stealthily through the corridors, for they are well-kept and clean. Lee Chang knows the way through the palace like the back of his hand, even from the side entrance from which they had entered, and soon, it is no time at all before they reach the king’s rooms.

Surprisingly, there is no one guarding the way, and Lee Chang feels his suspicions rise. A shared glance with Mu-yeong confirms for him that he is not alone in his feeling that it has been far too easy a process of gaining entry. He feels his fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword, and the rough edges cut into his palm.

Lee Chang places his hand on the handle of the door. He hesitates, just a moment, before he draws the door back and takes his first steps through.

The scene that greets his eyes tears a horrified gasp from his throat. There is a figure crouched down, its clothes matted with blood and his fingers buried in the intestines of a woman lying on the ground, with gore splattering the floor around him. The contents of her guts spill obscenely from her open stomach; her mouth is open in a silent scream of agony. Blood trails from her lips.

Her tongue has been cut out, and her body is still convulsing. She is still alive.

As Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin follow Lee Chang through the door, Mu-yeong exhales sharply in shock and disgust. There is a metallic ring as he brandishes his sword and steps forward, as if to bar Lee Chang from further entry, but Lee Chang lays a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back. He unsheathes his own blade, and his hand trembles – not from fear, but from a deep, raw anger, for the monster turns its head at that moment to stare right into his eyes, and its face is the face of his father.

“Your Majesty,” Lee Chang rasps. “Father. Oh god – father - ”

He had been alive but two days ago. Two days ago, he had been seated on the bed, his eyes bright and alert despite his fragile, bedridden state. Two days ago, he had spoken to Lee Chang in his rich, cold voice, and two days ago, Lee Chang had called him father.

Now, he is no longer alive.

“Your father he is,” says a smooth, sinuous voice, as Cho Beom-il steps out from the shadows, his blade pointed towards Lee Chang’s neck. “But the king, he is not. At least, not for much longer.” A vile smirk splits his face from ear to ear, and he steps closer.

Lee Chang’s shoulder aches. He forcibly suppresses the pain.

There is suddenly a discordant shriek as the monster-that-was-once-king throws itself at the new victims which have entered its territory, and chains wrapped around his ankles stop him before he gets very far. He falls to the ground with a painful thump, and his arm jerks to the side with a crack. Bones have broken, Lee Chang thinks dimly, and yet his father – this monster – does not react. It prostrates itself on the ground, clawing desperately at thin air, its arm dangling loosely and swinging from side to side, and Beom-il spits on its hair.

“This is the rightful position of your clan, Your Highness,” Beom-il says, returning his attention to them. “At the feet of the Haewon Cho clan, grovelling for mercy. You have always been arrogant, Your Highness, and you’ve always thought yourself above me. That all changes tonight. Go,” and he gestures towards the corpse with his other hand.

Lee Chang looks at him in disbelief and confusion. Beom-il sighs, an extremely put-upon sigh, and gestures again towards the monster, carelessly.

“’Tis a monster, is it not?” he says. “You know how to kill it.”

Lee Chang’s mind races. There is something wrong here, but he does not know what. Why would Beom-il be allowing him to slaughter the king? What purpose does he have for turning the king into a monster? Why is Beom-il alone?

“Go!” shouts Beom-il, more forcefully this time. The tip of his blade grazes Lee Chang’s neck. But he does not flinch, even as he feels the warm trickle of blood begin to drip down his skin. His jaw hurts, with how tightly it is clenched.

“Fine,” Beom-il says, with a shrug. “It does not matter, anyway. All that has to happen tonight is the discovery of your body and the king’s, in the same room, with your sword buried in his chest. It does not matter who actually beheads the monster. I suppose I will have to do all the dirty work, as usual.” And with that, he lifts the sword, and brings it down.

There is no doubt about it. This time, the blade is aimed at Lee Chang’s neck. The movement is so swift, and so practised, that while Lee Chang lift his own sword to defend himself, he knows he will be too late.

Survive, he hears his father’s voice ring in his ears. Even if it all seems hopeless, remember that you were born as the heir to the throne, and that it is your birth-right.

So he does not falter, does not close his eyes in acceptance of his death, for to do so would be giving in – would be surrendering to the dominance of the Haewon Cho clan. Even in death, he refuses to give them that satisfaction. And so he watches while Beom-il’s blade descends, in slow motion, even as his own arms lift futilely to defend the blow.

But the death he is waiting for, never comes.

He staggers backwards as a body collides with his, and it is Yeong-shin who places himself between Lee Chang and Beom-il – Yeong-shin who catches the blow on his blade. There is an awful screech as the blades collide at an angle, and Beom-il’s sword slides off. Lee Chang feels a hand close around his forearm and thrust him bodily away from the line of attack, and Mu-yeong places himself grimly by Yeong-shin’s side.

Dazedly, Lee Chang wonders how Yeong-shin had managed to avert the blow. Even Mu-yeong had moved a second too late to defend him – even Lee Chang himself, who had been the closest, had not been in time. Yeong-shin would have had to foresee the blow coming, to have defended against it.

He is a warrior indeed, Lee Chang thinks to himself, dimly. Worthy of the title of chakho.

And now it is Beom-il who is pinioned by Yeong-shin’s blade at his neck. He is caught off guard for a just a moment, his handsome dark eyes widening in surprise at the turn of events. Then, surprisingly, he laughs.

“Why do you laugh?” Mu-yeong demands, roughly. “As if there is anything to laugh about at this moment in time!”

“There are many secrets in this palace, Your Highness,” Beom-il says, completely ignoring Mu-yeong. “Surely that was one of the lessons Lord Ahn Hyeon taught you. And if there are secrets, that means there are people who guard those secrets jealously.”

Lee Chang feels an itch begin under his skin. He knows he must not listen to Beom-il’s poison, but still, something keeps him silent, and keeps him listening. He feels a sense of foreboding begin to trickle into his mind.

“Be quiet!” Mu-yeong roars. But Beom-il does not obey.

“I shall tell you one of those secrets for free,” Beom-il whispers, his smile turning sly and smug. “This secret concerns one of your friends. Would you like to guess – which one?”

“Either of these men,” Lee Chang says, and his voice is rough, “I would trust with my life.”

“You might change your answer,” Beom-il says viciously, “when you hear what I have to say.”

“Do not listen to his venom, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong hisses. “If you say the word, we will cut off his head like the foul beast that he is. Just say the word.” Yeong-shin emphasises his words by pressing the blade deeper into Beom-il’s neck, and it makes the man shudder involuntarily.

“One of your friends,” Beom-il repeats. “One of your warriors in arms. Who will it be, Your Highness? Who can you trust?”

[graffitibible]

What is your original fiction? It seems like it would be really interesting and queer and I'm looking forward to it if you ever publish anything :))

oh its EXTREMELY QUEER lmao one day ill finish something that i actually feel is worthy of pursuing publishing. so far i have two main original projects

the first is set in a dystopian underground city military police state implied to be earth but like In The Future. it studies an ensemble cast of bounty hunters learning to work together and becoming a found family but also realizing that the underground city they’re in is fucked up as hell and they need to overthrow the system. anarchy babes. themes of that one are rebellion and its meant to be a study of intersections of class and race and different shit like that, complicated shit that maybe is not best unpacked via dystopian fiction? but it sure is what ive rewritten like four times now lol. i..........have to keep rewriting it. because. the state of the world. keeps stealing my ideas. and my dystopian world just turns out to just be Literally Reality. so thats not great

the second is a magic space western wherein the universe’s equivalent of the antichrist is summoned into being but something goes very wrong and they got no idea who they are. they embark on a journey of discovery with a band of space outlaws and learn that you can say Fuck Destiny, Actually, they dont wanna be an antichrist, they wanna do nice things like bust down the universe-wide corporate chokehold thats profiting off of peoples pain! again, this was probably way more interesting a concept before the state of the world turned out to be the way it is.

dont try to write dystopias in todays day and age, is what i have learned, because reality will outdo you every goddamn time

[roman-writing]

two, across (4/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 8,470

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

Lysithea allows herself to be distracted by Hilda for the entire weekend. She does not open her laptop to check her emails, or even sneak onto her phone to peek at the university webportal login. On the same front, Hilda does no visible work despite the fact that she has a class to teach on Monday. Whereas Lysithea only allows herself this rare luxury because she does not have her lecture until Tuesday. 

She will regret it come Monday evening, but during the weekend she cannot bring herself to care enough to actually disrupt the two days by worrying about university work. She messages one of her flatmates that she will be out all weekend, and spends the time alternatively lazing about Hilda’s apartment, or being dragged around town by Hilda to spontaneous events. 

In the past, Lysithea had never been much interested in going to animated little bars with live music and decorative antlers. Hanging out in trendy establishments specifically designed for the consumption of alcohol, when she preferred to not mix meds with spirits, is not high on her to-do list, but something about the company more than makes up for it. Hilda herself opts to not drink much either, despite being on a first name basis with everyone on the premises, including Claude, the owner -- a rakishly good-looking man with dark hair, and eyes even more cunning than his smile -- who clears out other lesser customers from the best seats in the house for them, and personally ensures that their glasses are never empty. 

So it is that on a frosty Monday morning Lysithea returns to work more refreshed than she could remember feeling in years. This time she and Hilda take the train from the apartment together. It is far too easy to go about her usual daily routine with Hilda in it; Lysithea does not even pause to think that it might be odd. It isn't until they are ordering their coffees at the cafe just around the corner from the university, that it strikes her that this is a departure from the norm. 

Lysithea murmurs her thanks to the barista as she accepts her mocha, a slight furrow in her brow. She is so preoccupied with the notion that she does not even scold Hilda for stealing one of the marshmallows resting atop the lid of her takeaway cup. 

The feeling lingers when they are waiting for the elevators with their coffees in hand, as though the return to what used to be the normal routine was more jarring than what had occurred just previous. Lysithea tries to shrug it away. Hilda doesn't seem to notice. Or if she does, she does not mention it. 

They do the crossword in Lysithea's office. Hilda leaves for her class -- late, as usual -- and Lysithea opens up her work emails for the first time in two days.

A few of the usual suspects litter in inbox. Three spam emails that had slipped through the cracks of the university's firewall. A flurry of students worried about their upcoming assignment at the very last minute; the paper is due at the beginning of next week, and by the looks of it some of them have only just started now. No surprise there. 

Midway through clearing the list of emails, Lysithea goes stock-still. Tomas has replied to the final thesis draft she had sent him on Friday. His response takes up only one ominous line on the screen:

‘We need to meet to discuss further. Come by my office Monday 2pm, if it suits. -T.’

Her heart races in her chest. A million possibilities pop up into her head about what could have possibly gone wrong this time. Or perhaps it has gone right for once, and she is simply over-reacting. 

The latter seems unlikely. And besides, Lysithea had never been predisposed towards optimism. Life had taught her that, and if nothing else she is an expert study.  

She responds to the email with an affirmation, and then spends the next few hours agonising over it. She wishes Hilda were here. She wishes Edelgard were here. But Hilda is in the second floor lecture hall, and Edelgard is four hours time difference away and probably busy with very important meetings. 

Briefly, Lysithea considers going to Hanneman to pick his brain, but by the time she has thought to do so it is half an hour before she must meet with Tomas. She was supposed to have spent the day writing up her lecture for tomorrow, but instead she stews in a soup of anxious anticipation, unable to bring herself to do anything more than stall and not dissolve into full-blown panic.

She arrives at Tomas' office fifteen minutes early, unable to stand the idea of waiting a moment longer. In one hand she clutches her notebook and pen, and in the other her bag. Thankfully, he is inside. The door is ajar, and the lights are on. Lysithea has to steady herself with a deep breath before she raps lightly on the door, and pushes it open.

"You wanted to see me, Tomas?"

For a portly old man who dresses all in unassuming beige, his presence never fails to fill her with dread. He glances up from his computer. "Ah, Lysithea. Good. Come in."

This is how it always starts. With smiles. With a veneer of kindness and understanding. 

Lysithea perches herself gingerly on the edge of a seat which is located at the end of his desk. She puts down her bag at her feet. He already has a copy of her latest thesis draft printed out. She feels ill at the sight of his handwriting scrawled all across the margins. 

"About this draft -" she starts, but he cuts her off before she can get more than a few words in edgewise.

"Yes. I'm glad you sent it to me." Tomas pulls his chair a little closer so that he can angle his notes towards her and they can both read them. "I have a few concerns."

"O-Oh?" She clears her throat, and tries to hide the tremble of her fingers when she opens her notebook to a fresh page. She has already labelled the top of the page with the date, time, and meeting title.

Tomas flips to midway through her thesis, where a portion of her data is spilled across the page. The rest of the extensive tables and figures are located in the appendices. Meticulously, he puts on a pair of round spectacles, and pulls out a pen of his own. 

"This main section here," he taps with the end of his pen at the corner of the data table. "It still isn't clear enough. You don't prove the correlation between your data and your results." 

Even though Lysithea is poised and ready to take notes, she cannot bring herself to write anything down. Her notebook is filled with pages and pages of figures and sketches and explanations and minutes of their meetings on this exact topic. 

"I don't understand," Lysithea says slowly. "How else can I explain it?" 

"In a way that makes sense, preferably." His answer is dry and biting. 

She has to mask a wince at his tone. She takes a moment to respond, and when she does so, it’s like hearing her own voice from a distance. 

"With all due respect, I think that what you're asking me is outside the scope of this project."

He goes still. He leans back in his seat, and studies her. His eyes look very small through the lenses of his glasses. "I beg your pardon?"

"I just -" Lysithea swallows thickly, and forces herself to sit up a little straighter. "I just don't think that what you're asking of me is what this thesis is meant to deliver."

"Incorrect. This -" he taps at the pages, "- is not a thesis."

A chill settles over her. "What?"

"This is not a thesis. If you submitted it to anyone, they would fail it."

"I don't understand," she repeats. It's a sentence she has said many times in this office, and which she imagines she will say many more times yet. "I received independent advice from other academics in the field, and they said that -"

"Which academics?" Tomas' face has gone hard. 

"Ha-Hanneman, of course -"

"A secondary supervisor is not an independent source."

"And Dr. Goneril," Lysithea adds. 

It feels like a trump card, using Hilda’s name. The rising star of the department. The young up and coming darling of the field with a bright future and an academic matrix to die for.

This time when Tomas smiles, it looks forced, like a baring of teeth. “And what did Dr. Goneril have to say?”

“She gave me constructive feedback, which I took. And then she said it was ready to submit,” Lysithea answers truthfully.

The last bit in particular had made Lysithea’s chest swell with a sense of accomplishment at the time, as though her thesis had already passed the examination stage by the grace of Hilda’s approval alone. 

Tomas takes a moment to clean his glasses with the edge of his beige sweater. “Well,” he perches the spectacles back upon his nose, “Dr. Goneril is very young. And unless I am very much mistaken, she has never been an examiner before.”

“Then, can you please tell me what you would have me do to fix whatever problem you think there is with my thesis?”

“Get more data.”

A prickle of fear down her spine. “That would take months. It’s not feasible within the timeframe to -”

“And yet it must be done. What you have here is -” He shuffles a few of the pages, and then waves at them like they’re garbage that has sullied his desk. “- nothing. It doesn’t prove anything. You’re miles away from finishing. You need more data, and you need clearer explanations as to how you arrived at your conclusions.”

“I -” Her mouth feels dry. Her stomach squirms like a bed of snakes, and with a sense of unreality she says, “No. I won’t.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t change it anymore.” Lysithea shakes her head. Her voice is faint, but immovable. “I don’t have time to rewrite my thesis to be what you want. It’s - It’s never going to be what you want.” 

Tomas stares at her for an uncomfortable length of time. A muscle leaps at his jaw. Then, he tosses his pen down, and crosses his arms. “In that case, I will not be endorsing your thesis for examination.”

Lysithea glances down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Her fingers are still clenched around the pen, poised to take notes upon a blank page. She closes the notebook, and clips the pen into its sheath. 

She grabs her bag, stands, and is surprised when her legs support her. “Then I suppose we are finished here.”

As she reaches the door, Tomas’ voice gives her pause. “You’re making a mistake, Miss Ordelia.”

She doesn't answer. Her fingers rest upon the door's handle. She pushes the door open, and walks out into the hallway. 

When the door closes behind her, Lysithea stands in the hallway for a long moment, unsure of exactly what to do. She looks at the opposite wall, at the abstract painting of a cancerous cell hanging there, until she begins to walk. Her feet carry her down the hallway in a daze, and Lysithea does not think of her destination. Indeed, she has no destination in mind, but her legs seem to know.

She strides towards her own office, but freezes when she sees that Hilda's door is open; she must have just finished her lecture. Lysithea approaches, and walks in without a word.

Hilda is wearing earphones. She hums merrily along to a song that is playing on her phone while she texts simultaneously. Upon noticing Lysithea's presence in the doorway, she glances up, beaming. "Hey! What's up?"

Lysithea's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. 

Hilda frowns, and reaches up to take out her headphones. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Um -" Lysithea swallows and tries again. Her hands are trembling uncontrollably now. "I - uh - I just had a meeting with Tomas, and he told me he isn't going to support my thesis."

Hilda looks blankly at her, as though she had not understood what was said. "I'm sorry -- what?"

The words fall from Lysithea’s mouth in a torrent she can’t stop. "He - He said that I would need to collect more data and rewrite whole sections for clarity, but I don't - I don't have time. I came to the university on a grant basis, which pays for full tuition and ensures I have a job, and it runs out in three months, and if I don't submit - if I drag this out any longer I'm not going to be able to stay without paying out of pocket, and my family isn't - I can't ask El to do this for me. I can’t go home like this. I can’t do that. My parents are - they aren’t -"

The world is spinning at the edges. Her chest aches, and it is difficult to breathe. Lysithea hardly registers the fact that Hilda has risen to her feet and shut the door so they are alone. Gentle hands are suddenly on her shoulders, but Lysithea flinches so abruptly she drops her pen and notebook.

"Woah. Okay. No touchy. Got it." Hilda turns off the lights, and twists the blinds shut so that the room is dimmed and nobody can peer inside. 

Faint music is still playing from Hilda’s headphones. The cheery pop tune is a stark contrast to the all-consuming panic that washes over her. The whole scene feels surreal, like she’s watching herself drown in a dream. She covers her face with one shaking hand. Her breaths are sharp and rapid against her palm. Lysithea closes her eyes and tries to will the world to stop turning so that she can collect herself -- just for a moment. 

"Do you have your phone on you?" Hilda mumbles as if to herself. This time when Lysithea feels a hand start to sneak into her bag, she does not move away. 

Hilda grabs Lysithea's phone and pulls up the screen. She unlocks it without any trouble, and starts flicking through the contact list before lifting the phone to her ear. 

A familiar voice answers on the other line, but without the speaker on, Lysithea can't quite tell what Edelgard is saying.

"Hi! Nope. It's Hilda. Yeah, sorry, no time to chat. Lysithea is having a bit of a meltdown right now, and I need you to talk to her, okay?"

A touch at her wrist. Hilda gently tugs Lysithea's arm down so that she can press the phone between her fingers. 

Trying to calm her breathing, Lysithea's voice is still a trembling mess when she says, "H-Hello?"

"Lys," Edelgard sounds grave and concerned. "What happened?"

Lysithea gasps on a sob. She tries to bite it back. Her teeth dig into her lower lip hard enough that she can feel them cut into skin. Her eyes burn, everything goes blurry, and suddenly it's all coming out in a rush. 

Edelgard listens while Lysithea babbles on the phone about the events of the day, and even her silence is thunder-graven, as though she were hanging off of Lysithea's every word. When Lysithea finally stops to choke on a sob and wipe at her cheeks, Edelgard says in a soothing tone. 

"You know I wouldn't let that happen."

"No, El."

"Lysithea -"

"No!" Lysithea has to lower the phone for a moment to compose herself. She roughly drags the back of her hand across her eyes, and brings the phone back up. "Accepting gifts is one thing but this is - this is too much. I can't. You can't solve everything for me with money. I don't want you to. I just - I just want -"

For this to have never happened. To submit her thesis. To pass. To graduate. To teach. To live without something horrible looming on the horizon, like she had for so long.

"I know," Edelgard murmurs. "And if that's what you want, of course I will respect that. But it isn't weakness to let others help you. This isn't the end of it. There is a way to solve this. You just have to find out how."

It takes a good fifteen minutes on the phone with Edelgard for Lysithea to finally get her breathing under control. By then, she has sunk down to sit on the ground, her back leaning against the wall. Hilda is sitting on the corner of her desk nearby, waiting patiently even as her foot jiggles and her fingers play with one of the gold bangles at her wrist.

Edelgard’s voice sounds distant for a moment as she pulls the phone away to speak to someone else, “Just another moment, Hubert. I’m almost done.” She brings the phone back. “I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

“Yeah,” Lysithea closes her eyes, and leans her head back against the wall. “I know you do.” 

“I will call you tomorrow.”

“Alright.” 

“Can you put Hilda back on the phone?”

Wordlessly, Lysithea holds the phone out, and feels Hilda cautiously take it from her. 

“Y-ello?” Hilda chirps into the phone. “Nah, it’s fine. Got it. Yup. Yuuup. I said I got it, didn’t I? Geesh. Sure thing. Bye.” 

Lysithea’s eyes are still closed. She can hear the soft beep of the call being ended, followed by silence. She opens her eyes when Hilda sits down gingerly beside her. Their thighs are pressed together. Lysithea stares down at both their shoes; her own outstretched feet stop midway somewhere between Hilda’s calves and ankles. 

“I’m sorry,” Lysithea says; she sounds raspy and wooden to her own ears.

“Sorry?” Hilda stares at the side of her face, incredulous. “For what? Tomas being a bully?”

"For -" Lysithea waves at herself and then at Hilda's office. "- barging in here and just -"

"Oh, no. You don't have to apologise for that. You know how many people in their mid-twenties I have made cry in these very walls?" Hilda leans in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So many."

Lysithea can't keep a watery laugh at bay. She wipes at her eyes again, and sniffles. "What if he's right? What if it's all complete rubbish, and I've just wasted the last three years of my life?"

"Look at me." Hilda tugs at Lysithea's hand until she reluctantly glances up. Hilda is wearing a stern expression, as though she has just been insulted. "Are you calling me a liar?"

Lysithea blinks in confusion. "What -?"

"Because that's what it sounds like to me."

"Hilda, I don't -"

"Seriously though. Seriously. Have you ever known me to spout platitudes just to make someone feel better?"

Slowly, Lysithea shakes her head.

"That's right," Hilda says. She runs her thumb across Lysithea's fingers. The gold and coral rings she wears are warm from prolonged contact with her skin. "Because I am many things. Brilliant. Talented. Funny. Gorgeous -"

Lysithea's laugh is weak, but she can still feel the smile splitting her face.

"- but a liar is not one of them. I’m a modern day Oracle of Delphi; I only speak divine truths, which no one is ready to hear or appreciate," Hilda continues. "And your thesis is good. Alright? It's really good. And Tomas may be playing some fucked up game that's unfairly involved you. I don't know what it is. Maybe he's after more grant money. Or maybe he's just a dick. Personally, my money is on the latter of those two options. Occam’s razor, or whatever."

"I don't know," Lysithea sighs. 

She allows Hilda to keep playing with her hand. She even responds, turning her palm face up and curling her fingers so that their hands are laced together. It doesn't last long; Hilda is terrible at keeping still. Soon, she's toying with Lysithea's fingertips again like they're her own personal playdough putty. 

"What am I going to do?" Lysithea says softly.

Hilda mulls over that for a moment before replying. "Well, it's your thesis, you know? And a supervisor's role is to supervise. Which is very tautological of me, but tautology has its place in the world irregardless of the fact that it's mostly bunk. So, my point still stands. It's your thesis. And technically speaking you don't need a supervisor's permission to submit it. You can just submit it on your own."

Lysithea stares at their hands, and then at Hilda herself, who is watching her intently. "But how would I find examiners, or - or -? I don't know the process behind the bureaucracy."

"No," Hilda drawls the vowel out as if savouring it in her mouth. "But there are other people in the department who do."

"I can't go to Judith," Lysithea says, adamant. "She was taught by Tomas! He's the professor with the longest tenure in the school, let alone the department! He's untouchable."

Hilda uses her free hand to tap the tip of Lysithea's nose. "Au contraire. He’s very touchable.” Realising what she has just said, Hilda makes a disgusted face. “Oh, ew. Forget I said that. Anyway! I wasn’t talking about Judith.”

“Then who do you -?” Lysithea’s eyes widen, and she pales. “You can’t mean Rhea.”

“Directly to Rhea,” Hilda confirms. “Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“I can’t do that. He would be so mad.” Lysithea even checks over her shoulder towards the closed office door and drawn windows, as if he were a boogeyman lurking just outside and eavesdropping on every word. 

“Yeah, well. Maybe he should’ve thought of that before being a fuckwad.” Hilda slips her hand free of Lysithea’s in order to shuffle a little upright and turn towards her. “Listen. I get it. Rhea puts the fear of god in me, too. But she’s the Dean. She is literally everyone’s boss. And as part of her job description, she is supposed to weigh in on these things when they crop up. Speaking of cropping -- do you want me to dismember Tomas horribly?” 

Though Hilda is smiling when she asks it, her eyes are very cold and her voice very serious.

Lysithea takes a moment to mull the offer over. “Tempting, but no. Thank you.”

“Oh, anytime. You need someone’s ass kicked? You call me.” 

“Isn’t that job reserved for older siblings, not younger ones?”

“Well, la-dee-da, Miss Only Child! When did you suddenly become an expert on sibling relationships? I’ll have you know, I kicked many a deserving ass without my brother’s help.” Hilda pauses, then adds. “That being said, if Holst were to kick someone, their individual vertebrae would pop out of their mouth like a pez dispenser.”

Lysithea pats Hilda’s knee in a consoling fashion. “Don’t worry. I’m sure if you bulked up some more, you too could kick someone into low Earth orbit like a Saturn V rocket.”

“Aww...That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Yes, nothing says romance like a girl stumbling into your office and blubbering like an idiot for thirty minutes,” Lysithea says dryly. It is a testament to Hilda’s skill at distracting her that Lysithea is even able to summon up a bit of sarcasm right now. 

In answer, Hilda uses the edge of the table to pull herself to her feet. Then she turns to offer Lysithea a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

“But -” Lysithea starts to protest, but Hilda shakes her head.

“No way. You’re not staying here after this fustercluck. Take the rest of the day off. And tomorrow, too. I know you have lectures tomorrow, but I’ll bet my studded McQueen boots that you haven’t missed a single day of class this term, so don’t even think about coming into work. Now,” Hilda wraps her scarf around her neck, and hoists her black bag over her shoulder. “Do you want to go to your place or mine? Up to you.”

At the thought of having to explain this whole thing again to each of her flatmates as they come home, Lysithea cringes. “Yours, please.”

“Great choice. I’ve got that pizza place’s phone number burning a hole in my pocket, and enough ice cream in my freezer to tranquilise a horse.”

Lysithea lets herself be pulled up from where she is seated on the floor. Crying has completely drained her, and the promise of food does little to rouse her appetite. If she had gone back to her own place, she wouldn’t have eaten at all that evening. Indeed, the idea of curling up on the ground and sleeping for the next thousand years seems like the best available option, but Hilda is already opening the door for them to go. 

As they step out into the hallway, Lysithea briefly considers grabbing her laptop from her office, but the thought makes her stomach turn, so she leaves it behind. Walking to the elevators means walking past Tomas’ office, and Lysithea skulks behind Hilda the whole way. She doesn’t relax until they are leaving the building entirely and striding across the snowy street towards the train station.   

Arriving at Hilda’s apartment feels like reaching the promised land. The familiar clutter draped over every surface, and the smell of Hilda’s perfume on the air might as well be salvation. 

Hilda flings her bag into a corner of her bedroom, and taps away at her phone to turn on her automated heating system as well as order them a pizza with all the trimmings. Without needing to be told or ask permission, Lysithea opens up one of the drawers to pull out a spare set of Hilda’s overly large sweatpants and t-shirt for pajamas. 

She wanders into the restroom, but doesn’t bother to lock the door. She runs a bath, and strips. The hot water scalds at first, then cools to just the right temperature. She cries a bit more. She lets the bath wash away the day’s events until Hilda is knocking on the door to announce that their food has arrived, and that the delivery boy was a seven. 

Lysithea emerges from the bathroom with wet hair, dressed in Hilda’s clothes. She flicks a quick email off to her students on her phone that she is feeling unwell and will be unable to make it to tomorrow’s lectures, while Hilda opens the pizza box in the kitchen and puts a few slices onto a single plate for them to share. 

Four episodes of a netflix show and a tub of ice cream later, the world outside has fallen to an early wintry night. Snow gathers on the windowsill, illuminated by the glow of the laptop on the bed between them. It’s barely nine in the evening, but snuggled up beneath the warm sheets Lysithea yawns. Hilda shuts the lid of the laptop and sets it on the ground. The room is plunged into a quiet darkness. Rolling over to face the window, Lysithea buries her head into her pillow.

The mattress dips slightly as Hilda shuffles around. “You still in no touchy mode? Or are cuddles acceptable?”

In answer, Lysithea gropes around in the dark for Hilda’s hand. She finds her wrist, and pulls it over so that Hilda’s arm is wrapped around her stomach. Lysithea lets her eyes fall shut as Hilda curls up against her. And as she drifts off, she dreams that Hilda presses a chaste kiss to the back of her neck. 

--

Lysithea decides she is very bad at playing hooky. She spends the day at Hilda’s apartment. She tries to not do work -- she really does -- but the itch is so overwhelming that it’s a relief to use Hilda’s tablet to plan her Friday lecture. 

She may not have had the crossword with Hilda that morning, but at least she can do one thing that feels normal and routine. Today of all days, Lysithea clings to any creature comforts she can get her hands on. And if that means meticulously planning out notes and a slideshow for a two hour lecture, then that's what she's going to do, god damn it.

Eventually however even that isn't enough to keep her occupied. Hilda had promised to return early from the university, but without her the apartment feels haunted by her absence. More than once Lysithea looks up, ready to speak to Hilda only to realise that she's not there. Disappointment twists her gut, which only makes her frown and throw herself back into her work with more zeal than before. By the time it reaches one in the afternoon, Lysithea has finished with her notes, and has even added a few extra slides to her powerpoint in case she needs to pad out the time, leaving her with nothing to do.

Opening a new tab in the browser, Lysithea goes to the university website. She looks up the dean's page. She chews nervously at her lower lip as she stares at Rhea's email address. And then, before she can convince herself that it's a bad idea, she copies the address and pastes it into the send bar.

The email she sends to Rhea is simple, a request for a meeting to discuss her main supervisor.

No sooner has Lysithea put down the tablet and gone hunting through Hilda's kitchen for the ingredients for a hot chocolate, than she hears a faint chime of an email in her inbox from the other room. It takes her very little time these days to find things in Hilda's apartment, and she returns to the tablet with a mug of steaming cocoa, complete with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick as a garnish. 

She almost drops the mug when she sees that Rhea has already responded to the email.

'Of course. I have fifteen minutes in between meetings tomorrow at 3:30pm. Your schedule permitting, come around to my office then. -Rhea, President of the University for Biology and Medicine, Dean, Division of Biological Sciences and Physical Sciences, PhD.'

Lysithea takes a hasty gulp of cocoa that's too hot, but the scalding grounds her. Her stomach was a hive of anxious activity again. She didn't know if she could handle another meeting like the one she'd had with Tomas just yesterday all in the same week. 

And the worst part about it is that Hilda was right. And Lysithea just knows that Hilda is going to be insufferable about it. 

--

Lysithea sits in a chair outside the dean's office. The walls in this level of the building are sleek and wood-paneled. She feels excruciatingly out of place with her knee-length skirt and tattered old notebook clutched in her hand. For the fourth time since arriving and being told by the assistant to take a seat while she waited, Lysithea checks her watch. As she turns over her wrist, the door to her right opens, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

Rhea stands in the doorway, wearing a white dress. Her hair is long, extending down her back, and from beneath the hem of her dress Lysithea can just see the hint of sandals, the kind that Hilda would have liked and therefore must have been fashionable. On anyone else, the outfit would have made the wearer appear to be an ancient Graecian noblewoman or perhaps a lost ghost from a gothic Victorian novel, but on Rhea it just makes her look sleek and imposing. 

Rhea opens the door a little wider and steps back in a wordless invitation. "Miss Ordelia. I'm glad you could make it."

Lysithea rises to her feet. When she slips past Rhea, she tries to stand a little straighter, but it has very little effect. Rhea is one of the tallest people she's met, and somehow Lysithea always feels even shorter when around her. As though Rhea were not tall at all, but that other people were merely too short to stand beside her and meet her gaze. 

"Thank you," Lysithea says. She holds her notebook and pen in both hands as though they were a shield. "I really appreciate you making the time to meet with me so promptly."

"Not at all." Rhea closes the door so that they are alone in the office. She gestures to a chair. "Please. Sit."

The office is large enough to house an enormous desk on one end, and a seating area for guests in another. Also an entire wall of floor to ceiling bookcases, complete with a marble bust of some religious figure or another that Lysithea does not immediately recognise. Rhea had gestured towards the desk half of the room, so Lysithea takes one of the seats there.

Rhea meanwhile rounds her desk and sits behind it as though seating herself upon a throne. She leans her elbows on the polished wood surface, her gaze sharp and green and attentive. "How can I help you?"

For a moment Lysithea fiddles with the lavender-coloured ribbon that marks her place in the notebook. Then, steadying herself, she explains the events of not just yesterday but the last year during which all her troubles with Tomas began. 

Rhea listens, calm, never once interrupting. Her face is a mask of composure. Lysithea wishes she could read her, but Rhea has always come across as cold and distant no matter the occasion, be it during Lysithea’s entrance interviews, or during departmental holiday parties. It makes Lysithea even more nervous, and more than once she has to pause to collect herself before she can continue once more.

Finally, when Lysithea stops, Rhea speaks. "First, allow me to apologise on the university's behalf. Students in your position are vulnerable to this sort of behaviour, as they are reliant upon their supervisors for advice and information through a very stressful time. Had this issue been brought to my attention sooner, I might have been able to act upon it then."

Hearing that, Lysithea can feel the small ballooning of hope in her chest fade. But then Rhea continues. 

"However, I believe the solution to your problem is quite simple at this point. I understand that there are certain time sensitive elements to your employment and connection to this programme, but this works in your favour, not against it.” Rhea raps her fingers against the desk as she speaks; her fingernails are painted a pale green, like Wedgwood porcelain, or the shell of an egg. “I am going to make the recommendation that Tomas’ supervisory role be transferred immediately. I will ensure the paperwork is expedited so as to take into account your grant deadline, but I will need you to first send me an email outlining everything you have told me here today. Spare no detail.”

Lysithea blinks in confusion, wondering for a brief moment if she has heard that incorrectly. “You’re going to give me a new supervisor?” she asks slowly. 

Rhea cocks her head to one side. “No. While I understand that due to the interdisciplinary nature of your work that you had two supervisors, I trust that between you and Dr. Essar, you will deliver a more than passable thesis. Unless you take objection with this option?”

Lysithea shakes her head furiously. “No! No, this is fine. Thank you.”

Hanneman as her sole supervisor. It’s better than fine. It’s what she wishes had happened to begin with, but which she only could have known in hindsight. 

“Excellent. Now,” Rhea leans forward in her seat. Her glass-green gaze is fixed and unblinking, like that of a great serpent. “Have you by any chance been keeping record of specific dates and notes of your meetings with Tomas?”

Lysithea nods. She holds up her notebook and gives it a little wave before placing it back in her lap.

Rhea’s gaze flashes with something keen and sharp. “Good. Be sure to include those as well.”

“Might I ask -?” Lysithea hesitates, waiting for Rhea to give a slight incline of her head before continuing. “What exactly are you going to be doing with this information?”

Rhea smiles, and for the first time Lyisthea notices two things. One: that Rhea has not seemed to blink even once during this entire encounter. Two: that Rhea’s teeth are remarkably sharp.

“While I cannot speak too much on the matter outside of a confidential arrangement, I can tell you that yours is not an isolated incident, Miss Ordelia. Let us say that Tomas has a not insignificant file on record. Any details, any specifics at all you can give me may be instrumental in current proceedings.” Rhea’s long, pale, green-painted nails are like talons atop the darkly-varnished wooden desk. “So, do be sure to send me that email at the first available opportunity.”

--

Less than two weeks later, Tomas is no longer her supervisor, and Hanneman is signing the administrative paperwork to submit Lysithea’s thesis. That sense of unreality still hangs over her like a cloud. Hanneman hands her the pen to sign on her own dotted line, and it feels like reaching for a piece of candy that is going to be snatched away at a moment's notice. 

The giddiness starts up when Lysithea is carrying her final bound and printed thesis copies from her office for submission. There's a bounce in her step that she hasn't felt in ages. There are two copies of over two hundred pages each, bound in white with her name in simple gold lettering embossed on the cover. 

Her step falters when she has to walk by Tomas' office. She had avoided him ever since that meeting. Every day where she went without seeing him was a day she breathed a sigh of relief. Today however, as she strode down the hall towards the elevators, she noticed his office door was wide open. 

Lysithea walks a little faster, but then pauses. She turns and peers into Tomas' office. 

The desk and chairs remain, but the shelves are empty. Indeed, all personal affects seem to have vanished. Tomas himself is nowhere to be seen.

Her grip upon the twin copies of her thesis slackens. As if she had seen a ghost, Lysithea hurries off towards the elevator, stabbing at the button with her finger to call the lift from the second floor. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and her mind whirls at the speed of light. 

Upstairs, she drops off her thesis copies and the forms Hanneman had signed onto the desk of one of the dean's many administrators. The woman seated at the desk checks over all the paperwork before stamping it with an official seal that she then signs and dates. Afterwards, she smiles up at Lysithea, and ensures her that everything is completed. She also reminds Lysithea that neither she nor Hanneman are to attempt to contact the examiners in any way, no matter how long the process takes. 

"You will hear from the dean when your examination results are in," the administrator assures her. 

"Thank you," Lysithea says for what must be the fifth time since she arrived just moments ago to turn everything in.

"Not a problem. Go. Relax." The administrator waves at her in a kindly fashion. "Try to think about something else for a while. You've earned a break."

"Thanks," Lysithea repeats, then realising that she has said it yet again, turns to leave. 

The dean's offices are located on the top floor of the building. Between the wood-paneling and the statues and the light streaming through the stained-glass windows, it feels like standing in the wing of a cathedral. Lysithea bounces on the balls of her feet, and hums to herself as she waits for the elevators to make their long haul back up to this floor. Before the elevators can arrive however, someone steps up beside her.

"Good afternoon." Rhea smiles down at her in that chillingly beatific way of hers. 

"Hello." Lysithea tries to return the smile, but it feels tremulous all the same. 

They stand in silence. Lysithea watches the light counting the floors over the shining elevator doors. She has never thought of herself as being a particularly fidgety person, but beside Rhea's poise, Lysithea feels like a child unable to keep her hands and feet still for longer than a few seconds. Perhaps she really has been spending too much time with Hilda lately.

The doors open, and Rhea gestures for her to enter first before following after her. Lysithea hits the seventh floor button, while Rhea presses the third. As the elevator doors slide shut, the image of Tomas' empty office puts an immediate dampener on Lysithea's recent triumph. The elevator shudders, then begins its descent. 

Bracing herself, Lysithea turns towards Rhea and asks, "Excuse me for asking this, but I was walking past Tomas’ office and - well. What happened to him?"

Rhea does not glance in her direction, instead watching the floor counter overhead. "I fired him."

Lysithea stares. "You - You what?"

"Perhaps I misspoke," Rhea says in that same decorous tone she always seems to use. "There was an official panel inquiry by the board of directors, and then I fired him."

Finally, Rhea looks over at her, and all of a sudden Lysithea very much wishes she hadn't. 

Lysithea drops her gaze to study her own shoes. The long hem of Rhea's elegant dress brush against her ankles, and Lysithea has to resist the urge to shuffle further away. She thinks of all the notes she had typed up and sent to Rhea in that email, all the dates, all the hours Tomas had spent berating her over data and clarity and other nonsense, all the correspondence she had forwarded between them. Damning evidence, to be sure, but she never could have dreamed it would be enough to get someone with that much history at an academic institution actually fired.

Somehow she knows even without looking in Rhea's direction that Rhea has turned her attention away again. 

"I really ought to thank you. The panel had already been meeting for over a month at various times. Your notes came at just the right time."

Lysithea's head spins. She swallows past an obstruction in her throat, but does not trust herself to speak.

"Though I should also tell you that this was not your doing alone. Tomas tied his own noose long before you arrived on the scene.” Rhea gives a wave of one hand, as if trying to clear the air of flies. “He was near impossible to get rid of due to his tenure, and so I began building a case against him some time ago. You were merely the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

Despite Rhea's obvious attempt at mollifying, Lysithea does not feel very soothed by her words. After a few seconds of chilly silence, Lysithea manages to croak out a weak, "Oh."

Rhea hums a note at the back of her throat as if in agreement. The elevator slows its descent, and Lysithea is eager to escape being alone with Rhea in a small steel box. When the seventh floor illuminates on the screen, and the doors slide open, Lysithea nearly trips over her own feet in her haste. 

“Miss Ordelia?”

Lysithea hesitates, and glances over her shoulder.

Rhea is smiling that cold smile of hers, a smile that never seems to touch her eyes. “Congratulations on your submission.”

--

The moment Lysithea returns to her office, feeling dazed and bewildered from her run in with the dean, Hilda is already waiting for her. 

"You all done?" Hilda asks. She stands leaning against the closed and locked door to Lysithea's office. Her thumbs tap away at something on her phone, but after a moment she puts her phone away and awaits Lysithea's answer with an expectant expression.

Lysithea nods. "All done. It's submitted. Now, I wait."

A slow smile spreads across Hilda's face. She pushes off from the door, and links her arm through Lysithea's so that she can steer her back down the hallway towards the elevators.

"Where are we going?" Lysithea asks. 

"Out to celebrate." Hilda hands over Lysithea's own bag, presumably pinched from her office just earlier. "You forgot this at home, by the way."

"Oh." Lysithea flushes. 

So, not pinched from her office, then. Lysithea must have been so distracted this morning at the thought of printing and submitting her thesis that she had left her bag behind at Hilda's apartment, where she had been staying for -- well, for weeks now. 

At this point, Lysithea is greeted with surprise by her flatmates when she actually returns to her own apartment.  

Hilda drags her back to Claude's bar, which Lysithea has learned was her favourite haunt in the city, though certainly not the only trendy place she frequented on her nights on the town. It's only three in the afternoon, but still the bar is flooded with customers. When they enter, Hilda waves at a few people as they call out to her. One or two even flash Lysithea a familiar smile as well, to which Lysithea reacts with pleased puzzlement. 

She has never been recognised at a bar before. Especially not one like this.

Hilda breezes her way through a few customers to get at the bar and order drinks. Lysithea has a soda, but despite the hour Hilda orders herself a fruity drink with more vodka than sense. Grabbing up both their drinks, Hilda heads towards her usual seat in the house: a series of rich leather couches on a raised platform like incredibly comfortable thrones upon a dais. The walls behind them are festooned with gold-lacquered deer antlers for which the establishment takes its name. A well-stocked fireplace keeps this area warmer than the others. Logs are meticulously stacked against one of the walls all the way up to the ceiling to give the impression that they are lounging in a luxury lodge in the middle of the woods.

Hilda leans back into one corner of the couch, her feet propped on the low table before them. From her seat, she can see everyone in the room, and they can all see her. Lysithea feels like she’s on stage sitting next to Hilda here. And indeed a few other customers glance curiously in their direction.

“So,” Hilda sips at her drink, and says around the bright yellow straw, “how was Rhea?”

“Terrifying,” Lysithea admits truthfully. 

Hilda sniggers. “You gotta admit though: she gets results.”

“She fired Tomas.”

“Good. I never liked that guy anyway. Gave me the creeps the first time I met him.” When Lysithea squirms somewhat in her seat and doesn’t answer, Hilda rolls her eyes. “Oh, please don’t tell me you feel guilty about this.”

Lysithea frowns, indignant and a little irritated that Hilda can read her so easily. “I just wish we could’ve found a better way around this whole situation.”

“Honestly? To be honest? To be perfectly frank?” Hilda gestures emphatically around the drink in her hand. “I think everyone got what they deserved. Tomas got fired. Yay. Hanneman gets to be your main supervisor. Yay again. Good for him. And you got to submit your thesis on time. Double yay.” 

Lysithea still hasn’t touched her soda. It remains on the table, atop a coaster because she remembered from the last time their visit how one of the wait staff had scolded Hilda for not using one. 

“And you?” she asks.

Hilda tilts her head. “Me?”

“What did you get?”

For a moment, Hilda appears utterly puzzled by the question. Then, she snorts. “I got to help a friend. Duh.” 

It occurs to Lysithea then that of all the times she had thanked everyone throughout this process -- Rhea, Edelgard, Hanneman, even the administrator whose name she couldn’t remember -- she hadn’t thanked Hilda. Thanking her for offering to maim Tomas just doesn’t feel the same. 

“Thank you,” Lysithea says. "I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Oh, pssht!" Hilda waves her away. "I didn't do anything. You and Edelgard and Hanneman and Rhea did all the work. I was just an accessory."

Lysithea shakes her head. "You and I both know that's not true. If you hadn't been here, I probably would've given up."

"Bull. Shit." Hilda slams her drink down on the broad arm of the couch, where it teeters precariously. "You would've pulled through just fine. You're amazing! I've never met anyone more resilient and hard working. Not gonna lie, it's a bit spooky. You were, like, super intimidating when I first met you."

The idea that Hilda could have been intimidated by anything let alone by Lysithea is ludicrous. Lysithea doesn't believe it for a second. She scoffs.

"That's ridiculous. I'm not special. Not like you. I'm just diligent, whereas you're -" Lysithea gestures to Hilda, "- actually gifted. You just chose to be lazy. And even then you make it all seem so effortless. I wish I were more like that."

“As much as I just love being complimented, the sincerity of your delivery is kinda starting to freak me out. Are you feeling alright?” Hilda reaches over to test the temperature of Lysithea’s forehead.

Lysithea doesn’t pull back, but she does scowl. “I’m trying to express my gratitude!”

“Yeah, well, gratitude expressed. I’m great, and you’re welcome. Anyway -”

Lysithea isn’t letting her off the hook that easily. She sits up a little straighter on the couch and looks Hilda dead in the eye. “I mean it. It’s important to me that you know that I - well, I -”

The dim lights of the bar wash the room in a golden sepia glow. The fire flickers and warms the air around them. Hilda is watching her with an expression that can only be described as star-struck, and Lysithea wonders how long Hilda has looked at her like that for, or if this is just the first time she’s noticed. 

“- appreciate you,” Lysithea finishes slowly. “And everything you’ve done for me.”

A steady flush rises up Hilda’s cheeks until her face is bright pink. Lysithea stares. Hilda is the first to break eye contact. She snatches up her drink, and slouches back against the couch to sip at the straw, holding the glass like she’s trying to hide behind it. 

It hits Lysithea like a freight train, the sudden realisation. Her jaw goes slack. Hilda has already recovered, and is striking up some new spirited conversation about the band that’s setting up across the room, but Lysithea can barely hear over the blood-dimmed rush in her ears, roaring like the tide. 

She doesn’t know what’s worse. That she now has to wait a harrowing few months to find out if her thesis has passed. Or the newfound knowledge that she is absolutely, irrevocably head over heels in love with Hilda Goneril.