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crystallizedkingdoms · 8 months

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cicada calls & goldfinch songs

Rory and Carrie have an emotional moment… on the floor.

wc: 4,817 || tw: ableism

you can also read this on ao3 <3

Droning hums of cicada calls are the only sounds that hit Rory’s ears that don’t come from the dingy box fan right beside his face. The suffocating September heat, too early for fall to kick in but too late to justify turning on more than one fan, drags Rory down into the dirt-stained carpeted floor of the living room. He lays there, stewing in the heat and sweat, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly.

Usually, Rory falls asleep after a certain amount of time on the floor, but this time, sleep just can’t come to him. Maybe it’s the awful sticky feeling that the humid weather plasters on his skin, or maybe it’s the mind-numbing cacophony of insects seeking each other out that permeates the walls. Maybe it’s the pain in Rory’s back from moving the new wave of shitty movies onto shelves all day. Whatever it is, it keeps Rory up, stuck in an exhausting state of limbo, limp on the floor. It keeps Rory’s mind awake enough to think.

I should change out of this stupid uniform, really, I need to shower, too, but god am I hungry, I think I need to make dinner tonight. Dinner for one? no, no, dinner for two at least, maybe three if mom drops by before she goes out, she might be gone a while she might be hungry maybe make enough for leftovers just in case, sure, maybe that bitch should just cook for herself though no god sorry. Ignore it ignore it fuck those cicadas are loud as shit. Visit dad at ward tomorrow and sneak leftovers. Dinner for two, Carrie will be hungry, should ask her what she wants for dinner wait where is Carrie? Sun is setting she should’ve been here already, first day of school ended hours ago should I get up and look? She does this sometimes she should be fine but what if she’s not what if something is wrong maybe I should get up but I don’t want to god my back hurts what if she’s hurt what if I—

What pulls Rory out of his messy head is the sound of a scraping key against a keyhole and the subsequent slam of a door opening. Rory’s body freezes, and his brain scrambles, begging him to get off of the floor in time before the person sees him, but the unbearable heat keeps him down. All he can do is crane his neck to look at who is entering the house and hope it’s not a client.

His thoughts and prayers are answered when Carrie stumbles past the door, staring him down. Rory can’t see her face very well, as the fleeting rays of the setting sun illuminate her from behind, casting leaving her face and in shadow. The open door temporarily lets in the songs of American goldfinches and common crows into the Mancer home, into Rory’s spirit.

Temporarily being the keyword. Birdsong drowns under cicada calls as Carrie slams the door behind her and chucks her backpack down on the ground. She kicks her bag further to the side and lets out a strained huff. “Hi,” she signs, her right hand unusually stiff and curt as it moves up from her forehead.

“Hey,” Rory replies, his hand much less tense as he returns the movement. His face screws up, canine idly biting his lip. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Carrie’s hands are quick to respond, almost sloppy as she angrily throws her hands down to her side when she finishes. She stomps closer to Rory, her eyes never leaving him and his state on the floor.

Rory doesn’t press. It’s a delicate situation, deciding which questions to ask, what exactly to say, but he tests the waters with another question, “Tell me why you took so long, at least. Please.”

Carrie huffs and crosses her arms. Her way of saying she won’t talk, no matter what! She swears that she means it every time she does it. But when Rory gives her those big brother puppy eyes, worried and searching for an answer, she gives in without a second thought and uncrosses her arms. “I was just in the graveyard. Far end, near the overpass. That’s all. I promise.”

Rory sighs and visibly relaxes. “Good. Now, come here,” he says, patting the floor beside him.

Carrie looks to the side. Her frown is more noticeable in this angle. “The floor? I don’t need to do that anymore. I’m not a baby.”

Rory pats the floor harder, forcing a smile. “Come on,” he insists, “floor time. You need it. I need it.”

The frown on Carrie’s face doesn’t leave, but the body loosens up from its previous stiffness. She relents, and slowly she descends to his level to lie by Rory’s side. Her hair, short and blunt from a recent chop she had done herself only a few weeks earlier (she was found teary eyed and regretful in the bathtub the morning after), doesn’t fan out across the floor like Rory’s does, but it catches the light from a slit in the curtains that Rory’s couldn’t catch from his spot.

Rory gives her some time to settle in. He closes his eyes and listens to her sigh and grumble, her frustration as unbearably hot as the surrounding air. She stews in her anger, eyes boring holes into the ceiling above.

Rory wants so desperately to ask her why she’s acting this way. What could’ve happened in school to cause this? Although he knows the answer, not even buried that far back in his mind, he desperately wishes it will be anything else. He hopes with all his soul that it will ever be anything else than what he already knows. So, he knows better than to ask. At least for now.

For as much as Rory deliberates on asking Carrie the question, it is actually Carrie who turns to fully face him. She taps him on the shoulder, and he faces her the same way. “How’s your new job?” she inquires.

“Ugh, you don’t wanna know. It is actually insane how nothing can happen in that place. All I do is restock stuff that never sells and sit around on the company computer. I guess it leaves me with a lot of time to think, though,” Rory explains, exasperation oozing in every movement. The heat and sweat only exemplify his messy style.

Carrie can only let out a disappointed groan. “Are the movies at least watchable?”

“I promise, not one of them is even worth watching passively. I tried watching one during work in the back, and for a moment I thought that it would be more entertaining to sit and face the wall than just looking at that movie.”

Carrie pouts. “So, you can’t bring some home?”

Damn. Rory’s eyes shift away to avoid looking at Carrie. “You wouldn’t like the movies, really…” he says. His eyes catch Carrie’s by accident, and that mixed look of residual frustration and genuine disappointment gets the better of him. “But, well, yes, I can bring them home. We can make fun of them together.”

Some part of Rory expects the news to light Carrie up. If not completely, then at least crack a smile. It does neither. She shrugs and lets her hands fall to the floor. Her nails absentmindedly pick at the carpet fibre, her eyes cast downwards, almost purposefully avoiding Rory. It stings, Rory won’t lie.

Would it be better to let her be? The delicate balance of being too pushy or too neglectful feels impossible to navigate, scorching Rory’s thoughts like a rough summer. For a moment, Rory leans into the thought of leaving Carrie alone. She could always come to him when she felt ready to. She knew that, right? She’s big enough to know that now. That's a whole other horror of itself that Rory isn’t ready to confront.

Rory thinks about how his parents left him be. Left him be, let him be. Let him shrivel under the overbearing sun.

No, he realizes. I can’t do that to her.

An inkling of an idea he had come up with days ago comes to mind. It is silly, but really, what can you expect from an older brother of any age? Rory taps Carrie on the shoulder. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, but he motions for her to fully face him. Carrie does as she’s asked, shifting her head. “What?” she asks, her face providing a tone to her sign that only cranky preteens can unleash.

Rory smiles at the stupid idea brewing in his head. “Do you know how fairies say ‘microwave’?” Rory asks.

Carrie shrugs as best as she can while laying on her side. “How?”

Rory raises his hand between them, then closes all his fingers, except his pinkie. He shifts his pinkie side to side in a quick waving motion. “ Microwave,” he says out loud for emphasis to no one but himself.

Carrie stares at Rory blankly. Then her lips tremble. Her back rises and falls too sharply for any normal breath.

Got you.

Before Carrie can call him dumb or insufferable, Rory interjects as quickly as he can, “Have you heard the actual story of King Kong?”

The question stuns Carrie out of her need to tease. “No?”

“Well, it starts the same as the normal King Kong. King Kong is rampaging in New York City, stomping around and causing crowds to run in fear, when he spots the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He scoops her into one of his hands, and he climbs to the top of the Empire State Building, swatting away the helicopters and military that try to defeat him. Eventually, he finally gets to speak to the woman. He props her up on his left hand to speak to her better.” Rory props up his own left hand as he tells the story, and Carrie watches him with curious eyes.

“When King Kong tries to speak to the woman, she shakes her head and points to her ears. ‘I’m Deaf!’ she says. King Kong signs, ‘That’s okay. I know sign language. My parents are Deaf,’” Rory pauses for dramatic effect, and to give his hands a quick break from the sweeping, exaggerated gesture he has been doing. He hears a bitten-back giggle from Carrie, sees how her lips accidentally crack a smile, and he fights back his own grin to continue the joke.

“And he continues in ASL. He says, ‘You are so beautiful! I love you. I want to marry—’” Rory slams his right hand onto his left one, the sign for ‘marry’. His eyes grow wide in shock, faux horror settling in on his face. “‘Shit!’”

Raucous laughter fills Rory’s ears, drowning out the sounds of summer insects and failing fans. Rory hadn’t expected her to laugh so hard, he only expected to put a little smile on her face. He doesn’t complain, not at all; he relishes every single sound, watching as her whole body shakes in her big, charming laugh.

Carrie is still a smiling and giggling mess when she can steady her hands enough to talk. “Where did you learn that?” she asks through jittery hands.

“You know how I said my new job has a computer? Well, it has access to the Internet. I’ve found some pretty cool forums on there. One of them was made by Deaf people and people with deaf family members. They shared some jokes with me that I could tell you,” Rory explains.

A twinkle lights up in Carrie’s eye when he mentions the Internet. She’s practically sparkling when he talks about the forum. Rory tries to ride that high, elaborating, “Since barely anyone comes in right now, I use that computer and the Internet as much as I can. It’s really amazing. If you need anything, anything, tell me. I’ll try to find whatever you need there. At least until I save up enough to get my own computer, like I told you I would.”

Carrie is still beaming, warmth radiating from her like a gentle star. Rory can tolerate the warmth, even in his sweaty Planet VHS uniform and dirty carpet floors, just so long as it is Carrie’s warmth.

That is why it’s all the more shocking when that warmth is sapped from him not only a minute later. Her sparkle catches on something, flickering away in the humid wind, and her bright smile falters. “Can you find other schools on the computer?” she asks tentatively.

There it is. The small opening, a crack in her walls. Rory’s own smile falters as he tries to keep that crack open for as long as he can. “A new middle school? What’s wrong with the one you’re in now?”

“I don’t know…” Carrie’s hand stands still.

“You can tell me. I won’t tell our parents if you don’t want me to. Please, just tell me,” Rory begs. He’s so desperate in his begging that he starts mouthing his words in English.

Carrie stares at Rory with apprehension. Her body is tense once again, deliberating over her words. Finally, she gives in. “I can’t be in this school. It’s not for me,” she sighs.

Rory looks to the side. Right. Of course. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But I thought your EA was decent?”

“She’s not. She isn’t even as good as you, or even Mom! But,” Carrie balls up her fists in momentary frustration, but she quickly gets back on track, “but she’s not the issue. She’s not the issue. The issue is… um, it’s these girls. It’s these girls in the classroom next to mine.”

Rory scowls. Those fucking bastards. “Same ones from your old school?” he asks, barely containing his anger.

Carrie shrinks into herself. “One. Two others are new. They, um, make fun of me, like usual. But lately they’ve been making sure I see them. They—” she chokes on a cry building up in her throat, the most heartbreaking sound of Rory’s entire existence that she can’t hear— “they get mean right in front of me. They raised their voices at me during lunch, thinking I can’t tell the difference. They came up behind me during P.E and they scared me. They wrote the worst things in a note in my bag and— and I hate it! I hate them!”

Rory bites down on his lip, teeth digging into soft skin until Rory is sure if he goes any further, blood will rush out. It’s the only thing keeping the simmering rage from escaping him, from making him yell and demand Carrie tell him each girl’s name and where they lived. Carrie hates it when he gets like that. The terrible line he has to toe, between his feelings and keeping Carrie comfortable, feels impossible when listening to his little sister in pain.

He’s unnervingly quiet as Carrie vents. “I don’t want to go there anymore. I want to go to school with other people like me. I want to go to school where people like me. I want to be somewhere where nobody knows who me and my family are! I don’t want to be somewhere where people know—”

“Wait, family?”

Carrie clutches her hands together in an instant. Her eyes are wide with shock, like she didn’t mean to let the words slip out.

Rory narrows his eyes. “Carrie. What are they saying about us?” he presses.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Carrie,” Rory emphasizes her sign name with a tight movement. “Tell me, please.”

“I’m done talking! Stop it!” Carrie shuts down the conversation, clenching her eyes tightly when Rory tries to talk to her. She rolls onto her back and pins her hands to the sides of her body, shaking her head from side to side.

Carrie has never spoken to him like this. Rory’s heart pounds a mile a minute as he stares at her, mind racing with the worst of thoughts.

Fuck what are they saying what could they be possibly saying about me? What are they saying to her never seen her react this way is it getting worse how much worse? Need to ask if she has the note I need to fucking bring this up to the school I need to find those girls I need to find their parents. Need to make some complaints need to make a scene it’s the only way to get anywhere in this fucking shithole. They must be saying something about us, something about the family, about me. No no no Rory it’s about her it’s about Carrie she’s the one being bullied, it’s her it’s her she’s hurting she’s hurting so fucking much why aren’t you doing anything do something anything for fucks sake you worthless piece of shit goddamn it ignore that!

Rory shakes his head to rid himself of his thoughts. He searches for anything to focus his mind on instead. His eyes sweep down from Carrie’s shut eyes down to the hand on her side. It’s balled up into a fist once again, denying any sense of continuing any conversation with Rory.

Rory can’t help himself. He takes his hand and snakes it towards Carrie’s. His long, thin fingers gently pry open her fingers until he could slip his hand into her small, delicate palm. Carrie does not respond. Her eyes are closed, her hand loosening enough for Rory to hold, but she does not hold his hand back.

Though his heart aches at the rejection, Rory takes it head-on. His fingers trace along her clammy palm until he opens it up, completely flat. He arranges his fingers in a particular pattern, with his pinkie, index, and thumb rising up while his ring and middle fingers fold down. He presses this sign into Carrie’s hand harder than he intends to, frantic, longing for her to feel the emotions he felt in this one sign: “I love you.”

There is reluctance in Carrie’s fingers when they first close down on Rory’s index. But when she feels the two folded fingers, her hand closes down on Rory’s hand fully, feeling around the sign without actually looking down at it. Every pass of her fingertips around Rory’s own makes her body tense up, her chest rise, her shoulders shake, until it crescendos into the smallest, weakest sob a girl can release.

Rory closes his eyes and keeps his hand in Carrie’s palm. He feels her fingers loosely circling his knuckles when he unfurls his hand and pulls away from her. She needs some time alone, he convinces himself; even when her quiet cries and goldfinch songs haunt his mind. His hand retracts from hers, resting by his side similar to Carrie.

Not a second goes by before Carrie clamours to grab Rory’s hand. Her grip is tight on his sweaty palms when she presses “I love you” into his skin. She shoves her hand deep into his palm with a fervour that matches Rory’s. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” Carrie emphasizes by swaying her hand in Rory’s.

Rory opens his eyes to look at Carrie and the first thing he notices is that a tear has fallen from his eye. He feels the teardrop rolling down his cheek, and he blinks hard to hold back anymore tears. What kind of strong, older brother is he if he cries in front of his little sister all the time? Surely, he can bottle it up tightly this time. He can hold the tears back and release them later, where she doesn’t have to see him.

Then he sees Carrie lying on her side, looking back at him, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. And Rory cracks.

“Oh, Care Bear,” Rory whispers, signing his words as he speaks them out loud. He reaches his hand towards Carrie’s face and gently wipes away her tears with his thumb. His caress is uncharacteristically soft; a special compassion reserved only for his sister. Carrie matches his action, wiping away Rory’s own rolling tears, and Rory knows she feels the same.

When his thumb has cleared most of her tears, he pulls away to talk. “I’m gonna look into those schools, okay?” he promises. Carrie’s face lightens up, a dim glimmer of hope, but he interjects, “Look, I can’t guarantee that I will get you out of there immediately. I don’t know how it’ll fly with Mom and Dad, or how long the process would be. But I’ll figure it out. Even if it's further away, I’ll figure it out. I will get you out of there. Okay?”

Carrie does what she does best: she smiles. She smiles through her tears, so wide that it pokes dimples into her red cheeks, so bright it outshines the last tongues of sunlight peeking through the blinds. Rory stares at that smile and wishes he had what she did. “Thank you,” Carrie cries. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She throws her arms around Rory’s shoulders, her body on top of his upper body as she sobs into his neck. Rory hugs her back with all his might and wishes that could make everything better.

They can’t talk to each other like this. Not when they’re so close, not when their arms are preoccupied with clinging to each other like they are the only things in existence. But as they cradle one another in their arms, their heartbeats so prominent in their chests, talking is not a thought in their mind. Every shift in their grip, every rise and fall of their chest, every tear dry on their cheek, communicates their message just as loud as talking. Perhaps it is even louder.

Carrie is the one to break the spell. She lifts her head from the crook of Rory’s neck and looks down at him. Her eyes are red and puffy, but when she wipes her face, no fresh tears flow from her eyes. She tears herself away from Rory’s embrace, but only so she can return to laying on her side. “More comfortable on the floor,” she explains.

“I thought you weren't a baby anymore,” Rory teases. Carrie lets a quiet grumble and a roll of the eyes respond for her.

Rory reaches and brushes Carrie’s short, blonde hair towards the back of her head, feeling the choppy strands slip past his fingers with ease. He rests his hand on the back of her head, staring into her eyes with love, then cranes his head to plant a loving kiss on her forehead.

Immediately, Carrie gasps, her face blooming pink and red. “Rory!! I’m in middle school now, I’m really not a baby!” she insists, embarrassment exuding off of her exaggerated signs. She covers her face, as if that could stop Rory’s kiss from hitting her skin, leaving enough room through her fingers so she can peek at Rory.

“You’re still my little sister,” Rory laughs. A genuine laugh. He kisses another section of her head that her fingers couldn't quite cover, and she squeaks in embarrassment. “Loser,” he adds. Carrie swats his hands when he says that, whining loudly that he would say such a thing. Rory is not insulted; he went through this phase before. Worth it.

A door swinging open interrupts their season of laughter, and the choir of cicada calls pouring in.

Rory sits himself up, suddenly becoming aware of the sweat on his body once again. He wipes it off of his temple as he stares at the person who interrupts his time with Carrie.

“Candy” stares at her children on the floor and signs a sloppy “hello” at them. Rory and Carrie silently return the greeting, watching as she kicks the door closed behind her and walks past them, towards the couch across from their spot on the floor. Exhaustion seeps into the carpeted floor, staining it so clearly that Rory notices his own lack of energy hits him once again. Carrie seems equally drained, her smile faltering.

The mother collapses onto the couch, her arms and legs spilling across the couch. “Rory, did you make dinner?” their mother questions through voice, and voice alone. Rory glances down at Carrie, who glances back with a knowing look. He translates his mother’s question before he answers, in English and in ASL, “No, I didn’t. Sorry.”

A sigh escapes their mother’s lips. It is long and drawn out, but it is not disingenuous or even frustrating. “I’ll cook tonight, dear. What do you want? Could you ask Carrie?” she asks. One hand drapes across her waist, the other dangles off the couch. Motionless.

Rory repeats the question to Carrie.

“Just spaghetti is okay,” she says, although she looks a little disappointed.

Rory repeats the answer to their mom.

“Oh, thank God. I can do that,” the Mancer mother says. She closes her eyes and sinks further into the beaten-up cushions. Her long, dulled blonde hair does not catch the light how Carrie’s does. It looks more like Rory’s hair. Looking at it, Rory can’t find it in him to be mad at her. “Yes, yes. Five minutes, though. Please. Need time to rest. Then I can cook. I can do that, I can do that…” Rory translates their mom’s droning hums. Carrie’s eyes gloss over his hands. All there is left in her eyes is an empty dissatisfaction.

The Mancer household is miraculously still. Two children laying on the floor now, the mother on the couch. Summer sweat and Soul-sucking duties drain the Mancers until all is quiet.

Rory breaks the silence by getting up. “I need to change,” he tells Carrie. He’s getting sick of the sticky, sweaty fabric clinging to him in places he’d rather they not stick to.

Carrie gets up with him. She clings to his uniform shirt to steady herself, her thin legs wobbling as she stands up. “I’m going to my room.” She pauses, then leans against Rory. Rory wraps his arm around her shoulder and hums. He knows she likes it when he does that.

Rory and Carrie begin to make their way to their rooms, down the hall, where Rory will take a left towards the basement and Carrie will take a right towards the second floor.

“Wait!”

Rory turns back to the mother, tapping Carrie on the shoulder so she can do the same.

Mom is still laying on the couch, but she has her upper body propped up on the armrest of the couch to better face her kids. She flashes a weak but genuine smile. She raises her right hand and folds down her ring and middle finger. “I love you,” she whispers, just loud enough for Rory to hear you, swaying the sign from side-to-side. Rory and Carrie repeat it, a silent chorus of I love you, I love you, I love you.

Mary, not “Candy” or “baby” or any other name, drops her arm onto her chest, then wraps her other arm over it. Oh, Mother Mary, she closes her eyes and rests with her arms hugging herself. It looks just like the sign for love.

Rory tears his gaze away from his tired mother and towards his sister. “See you at dinner,” Rory says.

Carrie raises her hands as if to talk, but she stalls. Rory raises a brow. He waits for her to admit something tragic. He waits for her to drop some bombshell on him, like her worries about school, her worries about life, or what those kids at school were saying to her about their goddamn family. As if, somehow, that could given him closure to the conversation they just had.

Carrie wraps her arms around Rory in a quick hug, pulling away right as he is about to hug her back. “Thank you, again.”

This is fine, too. Rory lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s no problem,” he assures. “Anything for you.”

Carrie waves goodbye with her small hand. She turns and walks down to the stairwell on the other side of the hallway, and she ascends to her room on the upper floor.

Rory stands in the hallway, staring down where Carrie left, hands up to talk to no one in particular. He looks towards his mom as she rests on the couch and only then does he decide to go down. He descends into the hot basement with a heavy heart, Carrie’s terrifying words still weighing on him.

Surely Rory can make Carrie’s life better, can’t he?

What a stupid question. Of course he can. That’s what good older brothers do.

Holed up in the depths of the Mancer house, Rory lies on his bed, and finds that he can’t hear the goldfinches and cicadas of the world above. Carrie, up in her room, shall never hear them at all.

#yiik #yiik: a postmodern rpg #rory mancer #carrie mancer #candy mancer #SOMEBODY SEDATE ME.#my writing

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wayhavenots · 2 years

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wolfy wolfy wolves while I am in the blood moon state of mind (picrew)

Diana - Star

Carmen - Rory

Silver - Rachel

#star #is the newest and a roe-mancer #unfortunately she is a very good alpha so. it's probably a little bit doomed #silver #is one i never talk about but he romances carrie #diana #carmen #rory #rachel #are old news #the only two ros i haven't made ocs for are sergi and shawnie

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vendetta-if · 10 months

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Hello! Just wanted to drop by and say that your story and writing style are amazing.

And on a separate note, I’ve had this ask for a while now, and was contemplating whether or not to send it in, but then I saw you answer that other ask about the ROs special interests/hobbies. So now I can’t get it out of my mind lol. I was wondering how Rin would react if reserved MC decided to bring them to their “secret place” where they go to unwind and recharge, only to find out that it’s a music room with the perfect ambience, floor to ceiling windows, and a grand piano that is nestled in the middle of it all. Then MC plays several pieces for them (MC is a secret virtuoso pianist, but Ash and the fam know ofc. MC keeps it to themself ‘cause music is something intimate to them so Rin is the first person outside of their fam that they share it to 💕.) Then maybe at the end MC says something along the lines of “Stay.” Cuz well, we all know everything that happened to MC. If it’s alright with u ofc. Either way, thank you and I hope you have a great day/night dear author!

Aww thank you for the kind words! 💖 And the scenario you’re talking about is so sweet 🥺 I love it, especially since Rin is a classical music enthusiast (thanks to their mom).

I might have gotten a bit carried away and the little drabble ends up being longer than expected and might even be considered a short story, but I hope you and other Rin-mancers can enjoy it! 🥰

* * * *

You groan quietly as you bring your hands up to your temples and start to massage. Forcing precognition visions too much, or to see too far ahead is never a pleasant experience and you can already feel the familiar and loathed throb forming around your skull.

But, as always, it’s a side effect that you willingly take on for the greater good of your family and their allies. And right now, you’re doing it for the Morozov—namely Sasha.

“Hey,” you hear them say quietly from beside you, the concern is clear even through that one word alone. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a minor headache,” you answer, trying to keep the strain out of your voice with mixed results. “It’ll go away on its own in due time. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But still, a pain in the ass to handle…

There’s a moment of silence as your words hang in the air. You can’t really see what Sasha is doing or what expression they’re wearing on their face or whether they believe what you just said. Your eyes are shut in a vain attempt to curb the headache from getting worse.

A gentle touch to your shoulder almost make you jump, and you open your eyes to see Sasha’s living room coming into focus before finally turning to face them. Their face is carved with a mix of guilt, concern, but also something that you can’t really put your finger on. Hopefulness? A hint of excitement even?

But before you can analyze it even further, Sasha quickly avert their gaze shyly and you swear you see hints of a blush spreading on their cheeks. Or maybe it’s a trick of the afternoon light from the window behind you.

“I… I want to show you something. Maybe it’ll help you with your headache as well,” they mutter quietly before quickly adding, “But only if you want to, of course!”

You blink at them and your mouth moves before your mind can even catch up. “Sure,” you reply.

Sasha perks up and they reach down to grab your hand, pulling to help you get on your feet. You don’t resist at all and let them guide you through their penthouse. You’re still stunned and you can’t help but stare at your joined hands.

You’ve been to the penthouse a few times, but never went farther than the living room and kitchen area, and Sasha is leading you down the hallway toward a door at the end of the corridor.

Sasha opens the door and you’re a bit surprised. The room seems to be a leisure room with the far wall and the wall to the right fully covered in full-length window panes overlooking the city. To the left are two tall bookshelves and a little cozy seating area and in the middle, like the crown jewel of the room, is a grand piano, the brand “Steinway & Sons” is plastered on the side proudly.

“Didn’t know you play piano…” you say, running your fingers on the smooth surface of the piano as you step closer.

Sasha rubs the back of their neck shyly. “It’s a hobby of mine that I… never really bother telling those outside of my family about.”

“I know a lot of people who wouldn’t stop cawing about it if they could play the piano,” you chuckle quietly and Sasha does the same as well.

“Well, you said you’re having a headache, so I’m thinking that… I can maybe… play you a song. Maybe it’ll help,” they stutter a bit, looking anywhere else but at you.

You smile, “Sure, I’d love that.” And you see Sasha’s face light up. “I’ll be sitting right over there.” You point at the nearest armchair before walking towards it and plopping down.

And then, Sasha starts playing. In just the first few notes, you manage to identify the song. It’s “Liebestraum No. 3” by Liszt. “Dream of Love” the title translates to and befitting of it, the song is beautiful, and whimsical, and airy, reminding you of a gentle day in Spring, and Sasha plays it masterfully.

You wonder if Sasha is trying to tell you something from this choice of song…

Usually you close your eyes to savour the song even more, but this time, you find yourself entranced and you can’t look away from Sasha. You feel your headache subsiding as your eyes involuntarily trace the way the afternoon light that’s streaming from the window hit their face, giving it the appearance as if it’s glowing. Their long and slender fingers seem to float and glide up and down the ivory keys as the song hits its crescendo before slowing down once again.

And soon, before you can even realize it, the song is over and Sasha looks at you as you stare at them. You blink, snapping out of your stupor before trying to play it cool, as if you haven’t spent the last few minutes or so staring at them.

Clearing your throat, you stand up and make your way towards them. “Thank you for the wonderful performance. It’s a beautiful song.”

Sasha smiles sheepishly, “Glad you like it. It’s one of my favorite songs as well. Does it help, though? With your headache?”

You nod, “Yes, it worked really well. It seems I know what song to listen to now whenever I have another headache.” And truly, the headache is nothing more than faint pulses now, but whether it the work of the song, or Sasha themself, you don’t know.

Sasha laughs softly. “How about another song? “The Swan” by Saint-Säens or maybe Chopin’s “Nocturne in C Sharp Minor” is more to your liking?”

Rin hesitates. They would honestly love to stay longer and see Sasha play more songs, but also, they’re worried about making things feel awkward. After all, this room feels like Sasha’s personal space, a “secret garden” of some sorts, and you’re intruding on it.

“Thank you for the offer…” you start and you can see Sasha’s smile faltering, making you feel even torn inside. “I should probably go home… I’ve taken enough of your time.”

“Wait,” Sasha says quickly, hand closing around your wrist. “Stay. Please. I enjoy spending time with you…” they mutter shyly.

Ah… You see… This might be as close to a confession that you’ll be getting for now, but still, it makes your stomach flutters all the same—not that you’ll show it outwardly though. That would be too embarrassing for you.

“If you would have me, then…” you reply coyly, smiling inside as Sasha drags you down to sit beside them on the spacious piano bench.

“Yes, I would,” they huff adorably. “Now, what song do you have in mind?”

* * * *

For those who are interested, this is the song that MC is playing in the drabble (and it is indeed one of my fav classical music pieces as well along with the other songs MC suggests 😆).

I would honestly love to learn to play it if not for my pretty small hands that make it harder to reach the far-spaced-out notes (Damn Liszt and his large hands! 😭).

“Liebestraum No.3” by Liszt

youtube

#asks #drabble #ro: rin #char: mc #ro reactions #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #hosted games #cyoa #cyoa game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive games

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couldtransitionsaveher · 3 months

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RORY MANCER from YIIK: A POSTMODERN RPG

JUSTIFICATION:

"SPOILERS FOR YIIK, TW SUICIDE

this is a hc i submit extremely cautiously. if you know even a little about yiik, you know that rory's sister carrie commits suicide. you probably also know that depending on alex's actions, rory can follow in his sister's footsteps. given a lot of stereotypes regarding trans suicide rates, you can see why i'm reluctant to submit this.

BUT!!!!!

i think rory paints an unfortunately realistic depiction of being a closeted transfem in the late 90s. she's an early adopter of scene cutlure (something very popular among trans and gnc folks alike). she's generally a lot more sensitive than all the other boys, yet she lashes out because she's holding so much hurt in. she thinks she's the worst thing to happen to everyone else in her life. the only positive relationship she has is to a woman she barely knows. she's just-

you see what i'm talking about right??????

honestly, if rory was able to self-actualize a little bit, she probably would've mellowed out a lot more. maybe with a little more self-respect, she might've even been able to see through alex's bullshit and realize that she's not responsible for everything. she might even be able to properly grieve carrie's loss.

p.s. that scene at the end where rory's ghost says "it's not your fault" is 1000000% bullshit. rory's suicide is very directly the result of actions taken in the game by alex. it's completely alex's fault." - Anonymous

Reminder: Submissions are always open! Submit here!

#could transition have saved her #cw sui mention #rory mancer #yiik #yiik: a postmodern rpg #rory yiik #transgender #trans hc #anonymous submission

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nat-seal-well · 10 months

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I’m trying to sleep but it isn’t working, so you get my M-mancer detective (who exists for fic reasons, of course)

(Made with this)

Auri Kingston

She/her

M-Mancer (Morgan)

5’4”

Plus-size

Tan skin, black eyes (very very dark brown), long, wavy, dark brown hair, glasses

Has a good relationship with Rebecca, she raised herself but has always looked up to her mother a lot. She tried her best to be understanding when she was a kid and keep her mom from worrying. She wants to make her proud now that they can work together

Her favorite color is yellow

She likes bees. A lot :)

(Hence the reason for yellow—it’s a bee color)

If she could do it for a living, she’d be a beekeeper. But alas

Quiet and tries to keep out of the way a lot. You can’t be a problem for others if you don’t get in the way, right?

(May or may not have spent too much time as a kid trying to be as little of a burden on her mother as possible. This also may or may not have carried over into adulthood.)

Carries a huge purse with anything you will ever need in it, just in case! Auri wants to be helpful. She tossed it at Morgan once and when Morgan caught it she said, “what the fuck do you keep in this”

Likes gardening. Her balcony is covered in plants (especially ones that bees like!)

Her favorite flower is sage

A terrible driver

Seriously

No one knows how she got her license. (She got it as soon as she legally could, so that she could get places on her own.) She’s bad at it and knows it and will gladly hand the keys over to anyone else who offers. That’s why she still has her old car; she’s too afraid to get a nicer one

Started wearing the scarf after Murphy. For obvious reasons

Deathly afraid of heights. Morgan has to help Auri back inside when she joins her on the roof. Like how cats can get up trees but can’t get back down them, lol

She was excited about her promotion to detective, but thought it would be a quieter job

No combat abilities

Once Nat watched how much honey she put in her tea and was beside herself with grief

Auri only drinks tea as an excuse to have honey. She buys all sorts of different types from the local beekeepers

Besties with Nat :)

She let Verda learn about the supernatural world and then beat herself up about it for weeks after his reaction

Snuggles with the wolf plushie every night. Morgan pouts about it

If you ask Morgan, she’ll say she doesn’t, but she does

Auri’s bed is like 80% plushies, btw. After Nat and Felix found out, they started buying ones to keep in her room at the warehouse. When she saw them, she almost cried

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc detective #detective oc #twc oc

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somethingclevermahogony · 1 month

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Find the Word Tag

Thanks for the tag @elsie-writes !

My words: cup, desk, sparkle, calm, hundred

Your words: salt, savory, spice, sweet, and sour (Why not have a flavorful round I suppose)

Cup

Ninma needed no more convincing and was soon stuffing her face with food. It was all delicious, though lacking in spices and oils. Narul followed suit though more conservatively at first. The man opened the jar and pulled three wooden cups from the air itself. These he filled and handed to Narul and Ninma, saving one for himself. The beer was warm, as was the Kishite style. Sweet, like honeyed bread and citrus peels. Warmth spread through Narul’s chest and he felt soothed.

Desk

Suru rolled and resealed the small pile of already read scrolls, tucking them into a neat stack at the corner of the oaken desk. The mutual silence was broken by the sound of footsteps. “We’re sorry it took so long; we had some trouble finding a couple of these, sir,” Shela said as she carefully set her scrolls on the already full table. Penetinos looked at the mountains of paper and sighed. “I really did get a bit carried away with that last request. I’m terribly sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to take some of these other ones back, that pile there.”

Sparkle

Suru’s jaw dropped open as his eyes wandered over glittering gold and polished glass. The palace at Labisa exuded power, with great stone lions and dragons, and thick columns of stone, truly befitting the warrior monarchs of old. But this place dripped with a decadence unmatched by anything in the city of the Lake. Even the men and women seemed to sparkle dressed in their jewel-like robes, their hair beaded and braided.

Calm

“I suppose after such a long time in the wilderness such rich-food might be too much. My apologies.” Wadikir said, he then turned to servant, snapping his fingers. “You, go to the plantbrew, fetch me two cups of madilu, it is for our esteemed guests, so you had better hurry or I will have you beaten.” The servant nodded hurriedly, and rushed from the room. A short while later he returned with two ivory bowls, each filled with a dark green sludge. The smell stung Narul’s nose. “What do we do with these?” “You drink them, and they will calm your bellies.” Ninma looked at her bowl and grimaced. “Are you sure?” Wadikir smiled. “I have no reason to lie to you, do I?” “What is it?” Narul asked, sloshing the liquid slightly. “An invention of my plantbrew, I am not entirely familiar with all of the ingredients, some sort of seaweed, a forest fungus or two.”

Hundred

"Tiamawa, is a sea monster, very old. Been round a few hundred years at least! Crawls up on ships and eats the whole crew before diving back down to digest. Scary stuff." Istek said wisely.

Tagging @illarian-rambling , @mk-writes-stuff , @jclibanwrites , @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling , @nothing-mancer, and anyone who is interested!

#testamentsofthegreensea #writeblr #writing #find the word game #tag game

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thefamilyeldritchabomination · 5 months

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Yule Special: Night Two Pt. 1

The weather had worsened as the circus truck carried out throughout the whiteout conditions, the red lights standing out like a horrifying beckon down the steep roads. Envy sat still for a bit, their stomach turning a bit at the stale popcorn smell as Dolly did the looking out of the window for any sign of the little deplorable family members’ car. Greed was tapping the driving wheel, head banging a little bit to some heavy metal band on the radio before being motioned to stop the truck. Sure enough, there was the car in a deep ditch, the engine still running with noticeable movement inside. The circus truck of demonic looking proportions came to a slow halt before entering parking mode, Envy jumping out of the circus van immediately to escape the stale popcorn smell. The fresh air was very well welcomed by Envy as they rushed to the car and ripping the door clean off the car to get everything over with. Sure enough, as if the fates mocked Envy’s efforts, they were greeted by the signature scent of stale cookies that all families with small children seem to have. Envy’s nose wrinkled in disgust at that all too nauseous fragrance, but relaxed when they found Carmilla, safe, sound, and covered in marker doodles to match the car. Envy picked up the feral child, holding back all the urges of wanting to trash the car further after noticing the dumbasses left their kid alone in a running car, and headed back to the circus truck.

“Great, the gremlin is all decked out for the Yule.” Greed commented as he noticed the little beast Envy was carrying back to the van. “Well she wouldn’t have been that way if Carmilla’s parents hadn't left her alone in a running car to her own devices.” Envy commented as they gently tossed the sticky mess called Carmilla into the van before climbing in after.

“They did what!? Out in this weather to boot!” Dolly was flabbergasted as she checked Carmilla over for any injuries.

“I know, right? Anyways, we got Carmilla, let’s head back for the household.” Envy was ready to get back into the household to escape the lingering staleness of the truck as they flop back to relax. “Damn it looks like I’m going to have to play as your conscious this time around. Shouldn’t we locate Thomas and that one woman whose name is escaping me right now? I mean they don’t deserve to freeze to death.” Greed said as he turned around to look at Envy who had absolutely no interest in the matter.

“They let Carmilla smash Talia’s vase during a tantrum.” Dolly explained as she relaxed upon seeing there were no visible injuries on Carmilla who was starting to make raptor sounds at being handled like that. “...Okay nevermind then and you avoid having to deal with the courts trying to claim custody. I know for sure the judge would’ve had a field day with you possibly taking Carmilla out to commit arson.” Greed went back to pay attention to the roads to head back up to the Mancer Household.

“Arson is absolutely an age appropriate activity to teach small kids!” Envy argued, looking offended that arson isn’t considered an appropriate after preschool activity.

“Shouldn’t we be worried about leaving them to Hohenheim? That’ll be more bodies to the death toll he’s been racking up.” Greed pointed out as he slowed the truck a bit due to how heavy the snow was becoming. “True, I do want that bastard to suffer the cold without the luxury of having flesh on his disgusting bones.” Envy shrugged as they had no desire to help relieve the deplorable parent by freeing him from the mortal coil. “I wanna knock over the Skeleton again! AGAIN!” Carmilla started screeching again, clearly the child had some seriously strong pipes and lungs.

“Love the spirit there Carmilla, but no, the nasty skeleton needs to suffer more before being put down.” Envy calmly said as they checked out the window to calm their stomach down from the odor. “What happened to trying to humanely euthanize your sperm donor?” Dolly asked, concerned that there was no longer an effort to euthanize the skeletal abomination with a thing for skin stealing.

“When Hohenheim acted rudely to you last time, I figured he needed to stew a bit in misery.” Envy glanced a bit at Dolly before looking out the window again, getting super green than before.

“Ewww stop being gross, I want violence!” Carmilla hissed, her bloodthirsty nature bringing pride to her family lineage. “Well Envy, to be fair, Carmilla definitely knows what she wants, like me!” Greed grinned that equally sharp toothed smirk as Envy nearly vomited from that line.

“Shut up Greed! Clearly Carmilla takes after me with her fantastic need for Violence….keep driving Greed and go faster..” Envy placed their full focus on Carmilla after witnessing something awful outside. “Envy?” Dolly looked confused at Envy at the sudden change in demeanor before taking a good look outside and had to hold back a gasp. “Just, keep driving, Carmilla, how about you focus on me and tell me your plans of violence?” Envy asked, clearly learning that a distraction is needed for kiddo to prevent a second Envy from being made. “FUCK!” Greed cursed upon seeing the carnage outside of the storm, nearly ready to stop the truck before Envy’s reptilian hiss made him think twice. “I SAID KEEP DRIVING!” Envy growled out as they kept Carmilla from attempting to look out the truck’s window. Greed grimaced as he kept driving by, the red standing out on the snow that wasn’t from the headlights. Displayed on the grounds were bloodied bones and scraps of fabrics left in disarray, Hohenheim had clearly claimed his next set of skins to wear to stay warm. Envy, being Envy, even after all that time, had a thing about sharing their hatred for Hohenheim with others. That hatred was theirs alone and Envy certainly wasn’t going to share that with Carmilla, keeping her carefully unaware of the grotesquery outside. Dolly, in the meantime, was really hoping that it wasn't Thomas and his wife that she saw just now. All Carmilla wanted at this time was to kick and bite towards freedom as Greed drove away from the scene, going towards the household. Outside, Freddy stood as he waved his arms towards the hellish circus truck arriving before it came to a full stop. Unfortunately for Freddy, Envy brought out the rabid and deranged child, screeching things no child should’ve known in their vocabulary so soon. Dolly gave Freddy a worried look as he did in fact come outside like that to wave down the vehicle. Greed couldn’t care much less now that his journey was done and he can indulge in baked goods inside with spiked hot chocolate, exiting the truck after turning it off. “Freddy, did you manage to get through to Thomas?” Dolly asked as she went up to Freddy who looked very much ready to skin a person himself. “No…just his wife..his fucking wife left him out in the wilderness after getting spooked by something.” Freddy said, pissed that not only did his nephew and his wife leave their child alone, the wife basically sacrificed her hubby to the elements as well. “....I’m taking full custody of Carmilla.” Envy announced suddenly as they got Carmilla into the household, much to Freddy’s distress. “Envy are you fucking deranged!? You’d be the worst parent imaginable to an already horrific child!” Greed yelled out upon hearing that, Freddy relieved that he wasn’t the only one concerned with that proclamation. “Oh please, she’s better off being parented by me than a pair of idiots that leave their child unattended in a running vehicle!” Envy blew off Greed as they made their way to the household.

“Envy, let’s be honest here, if we were to fight for custody, we would be hoping to whatever forces out there that Lust takes the mutant in. Lust has an incredibly successful career and does have child psychology under her belt amongst other things that would be beneficial for Carmilla’s development.” Freddy pointed out, hoping like hell that Envy taking in the little Beelzebub doesn’t happen.

#Fullmetal Alchemist #FMA 03 #Fan Fiction #FMA Fan Fiction #The Wayfarer #Writing #Yule Special #Night Two #Envy the Jealous #Envy #Greed the Avaricious #Greed #OCs #Homunculus #Homunculi

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