#I’d be curious to know what someone who’d never read or seen the originals would think of it— espically once we have the whole series done

[jamjumpingjambore]

Unfollowing ppl complaining about ‘pede as self-care.

Is it better than the ‘98 anime? Production-wise yes, Tri had its own charm but it was also a 90’s anime and has the errors and cost-cutting to show for it. It’s also completely divergent from the manga bc it was still serialized as episodes were coming out— it’s basically apples and oranges to compare (haha).

Do I think it’s better than the manga? Not really. Again, the stories are diverging— Stamp is borrowing more from Maximum proper and has the full context to mold as it sees fit. Yeah the pacing is breakneck compared to the manga but idk I think it’s fun, it’s different. I was getting a little hesitant during ep 6 as many others were but by the end I was into it. A chaotic situation where two lives are in the balance? And *Wolfwood* is the one who has to make the tough choices of stubbornly keeping them both alive? That’s interesting! I wanna see how that goes! Make him even more of a parallel to Vash, why not? It’s also not even halfway through the season yet and I still have no fucking idea if it’s one cour or two so who knows how it’ll all shake out. I’ll reserve my final judgements for when the full thing’s out and done, but it’s not replacing or detracting from Max in any stretch.

Do I think the manga had its own pacing issues? Hell yeah. Backstories get rewritten and details tweaked as it goes on, the EOM was a very late addition that didn’t get much time to be expanded on, nor it’s connections to other characters beyond direct A—B influence. The fight with Legato in general felt simultaneously drawn out and too short. I’d like to know a bit more about Domina and Chronica, kinda a big deal to know there are even more independents and not really considered as a new perspective to the conflict between the twins. The ending is incomplete on an emotional level. Why did we not get Vash’s reaction to the tree?? Nightow could have gutted me harder with an apple than he did with confetti and I can only presume he didn’t have the pages left to do so. But I still love it. It’s one of my favorites now, I shed tears and laughed and connected to it and a lot of cool people through reading it last year. It made me remember how much I love writing. I’d never not recommend it to someone just because *I* didn’t gel with the ending after sitting with it for a bit. Sum greater than the parts and all that.

To continue the first analogy: Stamp and Max are more like an orange and a tart. Both contain the essence of something but convey it and interact with you in very different ways— as is the nature of differing mediums. An adaptation will never be 1:1 with the source material because there’s specific things you can only do or convey through each one and tweaks must be made. How the gutters are placed and arranged on a comic page cannot be perfectly translated to a camera pan. I’ve wiped my hands of expecting “perfect” adaptations anymore, I just want the new thing to recapture and expand on the essence of what I liked about the original.

Stampede is fine so far. I like the music. I like the animation. I like the extra bits of character interaction and flavor we didn’t get from the other two. It feels *enough* like Trigun, and that’s good enough for me.

But this is all just my subjective taste. If stamp doesn’t gel for you, it doesn’t gel. I’m just jaded from a very loud minority that shit all over it the moment the trailers dropped bc it wasn’t the ‘98 Nostalgia Goggles version of Trigun they remembered half-watching on tv a decade ago and poisoning the well. There are valid things to critique, I personally just want to crawl back up into my hermit shell with the episodes playing on loop and daydreaming about having that new statue.

There’s three flavors of Trigun to choose from now. Pick the ones you like and have fun.

[mogagarin]

You Are Yellow, and I Am Blue: OFCxLukas Matsson

(Just completed this fic, and once again someone urges me to go post it on Tumblr, so ... here goes chapter one (of fourteen). Tags at https://archiveofourown.org/works/47138638/chapters/118766980, but fic is canon-compliant, relying upon the conceit that Lukas and his GoJo team are playing the Waystar-Royco Americans for all they're worth through cultural differences and corporate subterfuge. Fic centres on original female character, first-person POV, as she and Lukas fall in love, and she gets acclimatized to his chaotic world.) _______________________________________________________

The good thing about wandering around a party of nepo babies and nouveau-riche wannabies is that if they don’t know you already, you are to them invisible.  You can walk around observing, unnoticed, even if you’re a journalist.  My profile is fairly low, especially in this crowd; I write for left-wing publications.  But even so, some conversations peter out the closer you get to their periphery.  Thankfully, more often than not, heady combinations of narcissism and stimulants would mean no topic is sacred for these blue-bloods – everything is blurted out, and you’d harvest ten leads.  And that’s what I’d been doing for the last twenty minutes – flute of Selosse in hand, grazing on trendy vegan hors d'oeuvres, strolling as I scrolled through my phone, checking out the gossip posted on the sly from this very party, subtitles to what I’d been overhearing.

That was my first mistake, in retrospect – assuming I’d been utterly unobserved while gathering intel, here in Stockholm, in the early hours of New Year's Day.

Of course, I clocked Lukas Matsson, as I passed him by.  For someone so withdrawn and disengaged, he’s surprisingly very hard to miss.  As usual, he was slouching as he sat in a dark corner, alone, his face illuminated by his cellphone screen, and his lackeys within glaring distance through the doorways of adjacent rooms.  It was ever thus – I’d seen him at number of similar parties over the last few weeks, to the point that this encounter felt underwritten by déjà vu.  In the past, he’d sometimes have looked up from his phone to assess me as I weaved through the room, and sometimes he didn’t.  This time, the former: our eyes locked for a moment, and though his face was expressionless, his eyes radiated emotion.  They always did.  I could never understand my colleagues who’d laugh as they joke about Matsson’s dead-shark eyes.  If anything, I’d see fear there, or a flickering contradiction of hilarity and boredom.  Often, I’d find it difficult to settle upon a read.

But this time, I could.  Yes, this time he was clearly observing me, his eyes curious to the point of seeming mischievous.  I inadvertently frowned at this, which caused him to smile very quickly, almost conciliatorily.  I kept walking as I reflected to myself, I am probably the only person at this party to have ever received an apology from Lukas Matsson.  Albeit subtle and nonverbal.

An hour later, I was at the bar (yes, the hosts so rich they’d hired bartenders and wait-staff), when I sensed someone loom behind me.  Glancing at the mirror behind the bar meant meeting that nefarious gaze again, and this time my reaction wasn’t to frown, but to quash my own smile.  Professionally speaking, I was delighted that I was finally going to have my first Lukas Matsson conversation.  I’d been warned by my workmates that it would either be the most interesting few hours of the night, or the most awkward minutes of the party.

Bartenders gravitated to serve him, the fastest succeeding as the others subtly withdrew from competition.  Lukas said, “Sprittt-zer … on ice …”

The way he said it was so clearly an imitation of Malkmus’s vocal delivery in Pavement’s “AT & T”.  Being an ardent fan of that band and that specific album, I was compelled to complete the phrase, which I delivered to his reflection in the mirror—“… in New York Cit-y.  Isn’t it a pit-y—”

A full-blown grin bounced back at me, Lukas replying, “—a pit-y … you never had anything to mix with that.  Bra gjort, Maida.”

I frowned again, took a sip of my lager, before saying, “Oh … so … my reputation precedes me?”

He slouched his height down beside me, avoiding the barstool to opt for folding his arms atop each other upon the bar.  He looked left and right, assessing our neighbours quickly.  “Åh, yes.  I know your work.”  He met my reflection’s gaze again, adding, “I like your work, actually.”

So he said, but the quick jaw clench and furrowed brow hinted otherwise.

I raised my glass.  “Tack, Lukas.”

“Which raises the question,” he said, pivoting to an elbow to face me, “why are you here?  Why are you here?”  He tapped the counter, and said, “Here?”

Up on my barstool, I turned to him, our eyes level.  I saw only inquisitiveness; not the wariness I expected.

In a level, neutral tone, I said, “I was invited.”

He raised his chin a little as he assessed me, his eyes flitting over my face.  “Hmmm.  I’m sure there’s mer to it than that.”

I didn’t react, and I didn’t answer.  I just sipped my beer and tried to look blank.

“You’re here to work,” Lukas said – a statement, not a question.

I dearly wanted to hold a deep breath and let the moment pass, but I didn’t, suspecting he’d notice it as a tell.

He stared down at his drink, and swirled the ice around the glass carefully.  “Så,” he continued, half to himself, “you were invited, and you’re likely here to work.  I wonder ...”

I didn’t try to go all Mona-Lisa-smile, but I bet that’s how it looked when I said, “I can’t tell whether you’re trying to provoke me into a confession, or just musing out loud.”

He hadn’t noticed my expression – he was still staring at his drink, so intensely he seemed to be gazing right through it.  A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“Åh, nej,” he said.  “I’m mildly interested in what you’re going to write about, if you are indeed here ‘on the clock’ as they say, but mostly …”

Here he paused.  I had a good idea what he’d say next.  It was just a matter of how badly he’d say it.

“… if you are indeed here, off the clock, then … would you be more willing to put professionalism aside and get on my cock?” he murmured, playfully sucking on the straw in his spritzer as he awkwardly, finally, looked at me.

I took a deep breath, held it, and let the moment pass.

Lukas straightened up and faced forward, seeking my gaze in the mirror.  “I have offended you.”

I didn’t turn from him.  I just stared.  Man was an idiot.  An overly blunt, socially inept, walking wound of an idiot.  He smelled of garlic and Byredo Bibliothèque and two-days-without-a-shower, and yet somehow …

Arms crossed again atop the bar, as he turned his face to me.  “You talk less than I do.  That’s a real feat.  Especially for a journalist.  Your turn now.  Say something.”

I smiled quickly, and sensed he could tell a reply was coming.  I took a few moments – yes, my turn now, my opportunity to assess him, for him to appreciate the power imbalance.  Especially after his statement.

“I’m sure that for every person who gets offended by your offer, there’s plenty more in the sea, ja Lukas?  Lined up around the block.  It really won’t matter to you whether I’m offended or not, will it?”

My question was also rhetorical; he could tell.

“Nej.  With you, I find it does matter.”

I tried to read those blue-grey eyes, but found no clues.  “You’re just playing 4D chess, now.”

He shook his head.  “Leave with me.  If you’re not here for work, let’s leave.”

A car-crash of a human being, but gud hjälp mig, I was tempted.  His transparency, his charisma, his physicality, and something more …  No, not a car-crash or open wound.  Not only those things.  An iceberg.  90% of Lukas seemed hidden, beneath his surface.  Perhaps that was an illusion; perhaps my illusion alone.  Adding to my disquiet, I finally noticed that we were the only ones remaining at the bar, now.  There was an empty buffer around us, an intangible but obvious perimeter.  I wondered for a second whether this was due to his lackeys – had they sensed their master on the hunt, again, and deftly removed all witnesses …  No, I thought to myself: like he would care or even notice what others would think.  In fact, he was probably proud of his reputation.

But glancing at him again, I sensed that wasn’t it.  In fact ... I had never observed Lukas Matsson looking so engaged in anything as he was right now.  He was staring at me as if he was reading 5GL code.

If not his lackeys, then … the party people had departed because they could tell.  Eccentric billionaire disruptor Lukas Matsson and investigative journalist Maida Davington, in each other’s space, chemistry you could cut with a buiku …

“I can’t leave with you, Lukas.”

He blinked.  “Because you’re on the clock.”

I was, but that was none of his business, and ... it wasn’t the reason.  “Because … I don’t leave parties to go off with people I barely know, in order to fuck and be fucked.”

Lukas nodded slowly, and smiled gently.  “Ja,” he shrugged, “it is small fun, but … small.  And only fun at the time.  And … ”

“… empty afterwards?  Yes.  I’ve been there, done that.  Not interested.”

He flinched a little, and I realised he thought I’d said I wasn’t interested in him.  He could barely look at me, but – so cleverly – he said, “My heart is made of gravy.  And the laps I swim from lunatics don't count.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, which made him grin in turn.  In fact, so brilliantly had he made the concession – choosing not to start with the song’s first line – using Malkmus’s surreal wordplay to fashion me an explanation, if not a full-on apology.

I was in the middle of a Matsson encounter, and I was going to enjoy myself.  “Open up your hands and let me see the things you keep in there.  I don't want to split it up fifty-fifty—”

“—that's the way vi do it in this Rissne town,” he intoned, his face alive.  For a second, his mouth moved without sound as he looked from my eyes to my lips and back again.  “Glory?”

I chuckled at 'Rissne' and the implied handover between lyrical lines.  “Floor you.”

Lukas laughed.  After a moment of thought, his attitude seemed to suddenly pivot, as he said, soberly, his eyes on his now room-temperature drink, “Whenever, whenever, whenever, whenever, whenever …”

“… whenever, whenever, whenever …?”

He nodded, glancing at me before completing the line, “… whenever I feel fine, I'm going to walk away from all this, all that.  But I shouldn’t tell a journalist these sorts of things, nej?”

“A source within the Matsson empire,” I said, causing him to guffaw and roll his eyes, “has let it be known that Lukas is over this shit, all of it, and he can’t be bothered any more—”

“—except by you, Maida,” he mumbled, unable to look me in the eye.  “I am going to leave now.  I am sorry that I was too blunt och my words … obearbetad.” 

After a quick glance and smile, he turned to go.

“Lukas?”

He turned back, expression neutral, eyes wary.

“Off the clock, I enjoyed our conversation, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Hmmm,” he said, and he left, his entourage a few steps behind as if all connected by strings. _______________________________________________________

Once I’d shared aspects of Matsson encounter with my colleagues, much of Monday’s work hours were peppered with similar “he’s charming, despite his inability to relate to humans” stories.  After work, I heard a delivery scooter tear away as I walked the dark and icy street to my door, finding by the apartment doorbells a small bouquet: two flowers – one a blue cornflower, the other a yellow sunflower, matched perfectly in size, tied together carefully with a white ribbon.  And a note – more Pavement lyrics, from my favourite song: “I'm looking looking for a tired face, in case you wanted to go.”

Clever iceberg, dead ahead, I reflected as I grinned inanely.

[dathen]

Word Search

Characters:  Jonathan Sims & Sasha James Word count:  1,172 Spoilers:  None Other Tags:  Nonbinary Sasha, Nonbinary Jon, Agender Jon, Autistic Jon, Autistic Sasha Link on ao3

Summary: 

Despite the unwelcome shift his promotion brought to their interactions, rambling about linguistics with Jon was an easy pastime to fall back on. -- Featuring burgeoning Jon and Sasha friendship, mutual infodumping, and Fun with Gender (or lack thereof).  Set during early season 1; written for the @t4tma event.

Sasha fidgeted with her jewelry.  It wasn’t the usual nervous energy that she rode like an ocean wave while chasing down a lead or digging into a subject that snagged her attention.  No, today, she just felt...off.  Was it the new outfit?  It was a bit dressier than her usual trousers-and-cardigan style, with a full length skirt that she’d finally found to be long enough for her height, and a scarf that she bought for the soft texture alone.  Maybe it was the jewelry…?  But that was the same as she usually wore, and yet each time she passed the mirrors in the break room or washroom that off-balance feeling returned.  Finally, she gave in to the impulse to take off her earrings before snatching a file from her desk and marching towards Jon’s office.  A distraction would help.

“Found that statement you said was missing in the sequence, Jon,” Sasha announced as she opened the door and poked her head in.  (Oh good, he wasn’t recording.  Though she was pretty sure the others were exaggerating how grumpy Jon got when interrupted; he never seemed too bothered when she dropped by out of unannounced boredom.)  “Looks like it’s still missing a page, though—no translation with it.”

Sasha was surprised that Jon’s answering sigh didn’t send papers flying off his desk.  “If it was translated at all.  Nothing about the state of this place would surprise me,” he answered.  Jon took the offered file and peered at it with what was now a too-common scowl, but the sourness radiated exhaustion.

Oh, he was wearing earrings again today.  Small silver hoops not too different from a pair she saw Tim wear sometimes.  I wish I could look like that when I wear earrings.  She stomped on that thought with a short shake of her head.  Where on earth did that come from?    

“Looks like my staples were a good idea,” she pressed on with as much brightness as she could muster.  “At least if we get a translated copy, we can be sure it won’t get separated from the rest.”

The tired scowl melted into a tired smile. “Thank you, Sasha.  That has been a very helpful solution.”

The gratitude in his voice stifled the usual irritation she felt at being called "helpful" by someone she’d seen fidgeting before his first interview with Mr. Bouchard.  How someone who’d been hired during her fourth year here ended up with her dream job...no, she wasn’t in the mood to wallow in that on top of everything.  Instead, she flopped down into the chair across from him.  “Mandarin, looks like.  Don’t we have a sister institute in Beijing?  The Pu Songling Research Centre?  Maybe it’s from their archives.”

Jon hummed.  “We can inquire if they originally lent it to the Institute; I don’t know if they translate to other languages in their collection, but perhaps they could put us in touch with someone who can…?”

“Either that or run it through the ol’ google translate.  My Mandarin is a bit rusty.”  At that Jon laughed, a tight-lipped huff of a thing.  He used to laugh a lot more before his promotion, and she found she missed it.  Sasha grinned before she continued.  “I did try learning some once!  When I was sixteen.  I thought the writing was so nice, and wanted to impress my Gran.  Didn’t last long, though.”  

“I’ve heard it’s remarkably difficult to learn,” he said.  

“Oh, for sure.  Switching to French was easier, though I wasn’t a fan of memorizing word genders for everything.”  Her thoughts skipped ahead a step or two, and she found herself adding, “Did you know that Mandarin only has a single pronoun for all genders?”

Predictably, Jon brightened and sat up in his chair, suddenly looking like someone who’d slept sometime in the past few days.  Despite the unwelcome shift his promotion brought to their interactions, rambling about linguistics with Jon was an easy pastime to fall back on.  “Is that so?”  

“Yup!  I won’t pretend that the rest of the grammar wasn’t brutal, but that almost made me jealous, you know?” Sasha answered, toying with the edge of the cardboard folder.

Jon’s attention was like a physical weight.  “Jealous how?”

“Dunno, I kind of wish English had something similar, you know?  Instead of needing words that say right out ‘I’m a woman’ or ‘I’m a man!’”  She kept her voice light, but shifted in the stiff-backed chair.  Sasha hadn’t expected the sudden discomfort, but saying the words aloud felt suddenly vulnerable, like pressing a finger just beside an old bruise—just enough to ache.

The Encyclopedia Look immediately fell over Jon’s face (apparently, according to Tim, Sasha had one too; she wondered if it was as obvious as his).  “You know, even in English some people use singular ‘they’ for their pronouns.  It’s been used as a singular gender-neutral pronoun for hundreds of years; examples easily date back to the fourteenth century.  Did you know that ‘you’ used to be plural as well?”

“I did know that!  And formal, too—it’s funny to think how ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ were the informal means of address.”  Sasha forced down the urge to continue the thought; English shedding the formality divisions in its grammar was a subject she could talk about for hours, but she was curious where this was going.  “Still, I had my papers marked up with enough use ‘he or she,’ not ‘they’! back in secondary to know I can’t get away with it now.”

“That’s changing,” said Jon with a sudden fervor.  “And besides, people aren’t research papers.”

Sasha hesitated, that off-balance feeling suddenly returning.  It wasn’t discomfort this time, but why did it suddenly feel so personal?

Jon seemed to notice her faltering.  “O-of course, it’s not the only way to depart from the binary,” he rushed on.  “I mean, I still use 'he/him' because those are comfortable for me, and—“  He froze, eyes flicking towards the wall before he picked up the statement and held it in front of him like a shield.  “A-anyway, ah...yes.  If someone asked me, I’d have no issue using ‘they’ for someone who asked me.  Regardless of what the Chicago Manual of Style has to say about it.”

It didn’t seem to be a pointed comment (except a grudge against the style guide), but Sasha felt the sudden conviction it was meant for her, even if Jon didn’t mean it for her.  Sasha felt the familiar bite of curiosity that she knew wouldn’t let go, but for once she wasn’t sure if it was directed outwards or inwards.  But Jon looked a bit flustered, still feigning interest in the unreadable document in his hands, and it was getting near the time that she agreed to meet Tim for lunch.  “Good to know,” she answered easily, then tapped the top of the statement. “I’d best get back to work—let me know if you hear back from the Research Centre.”

She had some thinking to do.

------

Thank you to the Magnus Writers discord for answering the absurd amount of questions and fact-checking I somehow needed for a 1k word fic, to evanescentjasmine and Ixempt for the beta reads, and to TheDeafProphet for inspiring the concept! Also an extra shout-out to the Magnus Writers mod team for being my own Linguistics Mutual Infodumping Squad. 

[sternenstaub28]

*comes in late with Starbucks to ace awareness week*

My take on ace Geralt and his coming out to Jaskier.

Read the whole thing on ao3.

Life was an exchange. You gave to gain. People gave money and Geralt offered his skills. People offered food and a bed and Geralt gave them money. Geralt craved the touch of a human body and people either expected coin or his body in return. His body, in one capacity or another, was really the only thing of worth Geralt had to offer.

The witcher had learned early in his life that affection didn't come cheap, especially not to him. The first person outside of Kaer Morhen who'd offered him a hug was a whore at a brothel. Then she insisted on doing her work as well. Geralt didn't mind, but really thought the whole deal was overrated. Yennefer had also wanted to pay him in sex for the work he did for her. It wasn't entirely uncommon for his contracts, Geralt knew some people liked the idea of laying with a witcher, of taming the monster. It was an adventure to them. He didn't exactly mind it but never understood why people considered it as something special.

So when he met Jaskier, he expected the same. There was a human who wanted him for services. At first Geralt was confused about what exactly Jaskier promised himself from this adventure. The stories he could understand and for several months he didn't think about what else Jaskier could want from him. Accepted the easy touches and kind company with a grumble he didn't mean. People rarely bumped shoulders or touched his arm just because they could and he thought this kind of affection was a fair trade for all the songs Jaskier got in return.

But when they met up again in the next spring and again and again, Geralt started to question the bard's motives. He had gotten his songs, what else did he want? They had traveled for two weeks without a contract in sight, when Geralt decided he needed to find out what made Jaskier stay. The bard was working on a song for a noble, a commission he hated but it paid well. So why was he still at Geralt's side, bandaging his wounds, touching his shoulder and scooting closer in cold nights? People didn't give a witcher these things for free.

One night when Jaskier had to pay for their room at the inn, Geralt not having a single coin left but in dire need of a weaponsmith, he confronted the bard. The witcher knew Jaskier favored men and women equally and flirted with anything that moved. Surely lying with him would be pleasant enough. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted Jaskier to feel good under his touch. It being returned would be fine as well, if not exactly what he wanted. So after they'd eaten and bathed, Geralt took his jittering nerves and approached Jaskier, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Big blue eyes looked up at him, surprise clearly written in the bard's face but Geralt also noticed the quick glance down his chest and the way heat rose to Jaskier's cheeks.

"Geralt? Everything okay?" the bard asked and he knew he wouldn't risk losing this. This closeness and friendship they had. It was no real hardship to sleep with someone after all, just not his favored activity. Geralt took the pen out of Jaskier's hand and pulled the man up, looking at his face for any sign of discomfort but all he could see and smell was curious arousal. He pushed his bard at the wall and kissed him. This was something he enjoyed a lot, to feel skin meet skin, soft lips opening to let him enter, the trust it needed to allow him to nibble at his bard's neck. Jaskier gasped and held on for dear life, kissing back with zeal.

But when Geralt started to unlace his always half open doublet, Jaskier stilled his hands. "As much as I enjoy this Geralt, would you tell me what brought this on?" he asked breathlessly, trying very hard not to look where Geralt was feeling his towel slip away. "Giving you a reason to stay." Geralt mumbled, nibbling at the bard's jaw as he had learned many people enjoyed. Seeing the other man shudder was satisfying. Even if he didn't fully understand the whole deal, to know he could reduce Jaskier to a breathless mess was still rewarding on its own.

Confused blue eyes looked up at him and he could smell the arousal in Jaskier lessen. "I'm not going anywhere, Geralt. Unless you want me to?" The bard cocked his head, clearly confused by their exchange when it was so simple. Geralt would offer the bard his body and for that he'd get a kind travel companion at his side. It was an exchange. He didn't want to talk about it anymore, Jaskier's confusion puzzled him, wasn't this what the bard wanted? His songs had suggested as much.

Instead of embracing Geralt again, Jaskier took both of his hands and led him to the bed. So it really was what he wanted. Geralt was glad to see he hadn't read the situation entirely wrong after all. But then the bard offered Geralt his shirt and pants and motioned for him to sit down. "Darling, as much as I'd love to absolutely ravage you, I don't feel comfortable doing so without us talking first. Why do you think I'll leave and why do you think you need to kiss me to stop me from going away?" Geralt was glad he couldn't blush when he felt heat rise up to his face. "Everyone leaves. But sometimes they stay longer if we do this." he mumbled, not meeting Jaskier's eyes. The unhappiness and tension radiating from his bard would have been visible even for someone who couldn't smell emotions.

Lute calloused hands took his and Geralt enjoyed their warmth, the kindness they promised. The nights they´d have to huddle together for warmth were always the ones he slept soundest. “Geralt, darling, look at me please?” Jaskier asked and the blue pools of concern he met almost made him crumble. “Is this what you want? If so, I'll gladly share the bed with you in any capacity. But it's not, right? Not really. I know you by now and you look like you do before you go out for a difficult hunt.”

The witcher couldn´t remember the last time somebody had asked him what he wanted, most people just assumed a witcher would be happy for any kind of carnal pleasure and should be grateful they allowed him to get this close. Not even Yennefer, who had literally been in his thoughts, had bothered to check if he wanted this, just assumed. Grasping at Jaskier´s hand, he decided to jump, to tell Jaskier the truth. If the bard refused to sleep with him, he would leave soon anyway, so if Geralt´s truth sped that decision up, it wouldn't really matter, would it?

"I…" he took a deep breath and Jaskier squeezed his hand reassuringly, "I don't hate it?" Geralt managed to say before his throat closed up again. Why was he so nervous about this talk? How could this be harder than what he had originally planned to do?

"Is that a question, my dear?" Jaskier smiled but it didn't feel like he was laughing at him. Geralt shook his head, "It's like, I don't get the whole thing about sex? It's fun in a physical way but I don't miss its absence. I see beauty in some people but never felt the need to invite them to my bed." When was the last time he'd talked this much and been this open about his emotions? Emotions he wasn't supposed to have in the first place. "The trials must have broken me that way." Suddenly a gentle hand cupped his cheeks and Geralt hadn't even noticed he'd averted his eyes from Jaskier's, waiting for the mocking to start. "Darling, you're not broken. You're beautiful and perfect and this is entirely normal. You're not the only person to experience this." Jaskier said, holding his face close. Geralt could smell how serious the bard took this, any hint of arousal had vanished from the air and been replaced by worry.

The witcher didn't know what to say or do, so he decided to wait and absorb the warmth Jaskier offered so freely, leaning into the touch. The bard scrambled closer and sat on his lap. "This okay?" Geralt nodded, surprised at so much offered contact but too confused to question it. "I want you to feel comfortable, darling. And I'm not going to leave you just because you don't want to sleep with me." The witcher was about to object but Jaskier put a finger on his lips, stopping him, "I'm not going to leave you Geralt. Unless you ask me to. And I don't expect any kind of recompensation from you." Well muscled arms from practicing the lute embraced him and pulled Geralt's head to Jaskier's chest. "And I am very grateful you trust me enough to talk to me, love. And that you want to have me around." A small kiss was pressed to the crown of his head.

Geralt wrapped his arms around the warm weight in his lap, enjoying the contact and steady heartbeat next to his ear. His chest felt ready to burst. "Can we still sleep in the same bed?" The witcher asked, glad his voice was muffled by Jaskier's shirt so that the bard could just ignore him if he wanted to. "Yes, of course darling. I wouldn't want to share a bed with anyone else but you." the bard answered and caressed his back. "Tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable and also what you desire and we will figure everything out as we go." Geralt nodded into Jaskier's shirt. "And what about you? What do you get out of this? I'm not good with sharing. I wouldn't want you to lack anything, to be unsatisfied." Oh, talking was absolutely easier with his face hidden into a shirt that smelled like honey and kindness and gentle fingers tracing patterns into his back.

Jaskier squeezed his frame, "I get to stay with you." he whispered. "Geralt, you're one of the most important people in my life and I've been in love with you for years. And for anything else, I've seen quite a few interesting toys in the last town, we'll make do." The bard waggled his fingers and eyebrows exaggeratedly and Geralt couldn't stop an amused huff bubbling up his chest. Maybe this could really work, maybe Jaskier didn't see him just as a tool, Geralt thought when the bard laid them both down on the bed, hugging his back and burying his face between Geralt's shoulder blades.

[gundhams-pandemonium]

The Dating Game

@fandom-goddd and @bakablyat

[Chapter One of my Shinsai Salmon Mode fic, Dm me for the Ao3 link. Nothing Explicit BUT some implied V3 spoilers]

"... A dating game?" He echoed the bear's words as he lay on his dorm room's bed. It was already strange to wake up in a locker, introduce himself to fifteen other people, and have a mechanical bear talk about how the 'original program changed' and this was 'a different mode'.

[Something about a killing game... Shuichi would rather not think about that too hard]

It was quite frankly... a mess. He should probably get to talking to people if he expected to find love. At the same time, how was someone supposed to find love in ten days?

[However there was an undeniable feeling and even partial truth that he knew these people. Like when Momota (who instituted on being called Kaito), someone he supposedly never met, called him 'sidekick' and it just felt right. Or how Akumatsu, the girl he woke up in the same classroom as, commented she was proud he took off his hat... it was odd to be with familiar strangers]

A knock at his door brought him to his senses. He opened, cautiously peering out until he saw the enthusiastic Piano Player.

"Hey! Shuichi!" She gave him a motivated greeting, her smile wide.

"Oh, hello Akumatsu," He returned her smile, though his not nearly as big.

"You know you can call me Kaede, but nevermind that. So, come on tell me, who do you have your eyes set on," She gave a teasing poke to his shoulder. He only stepped back, face flushed red.

"E-eyes on?" She hadn't already begun this 'dating game', did she?

"Mhmm," All of sudden her eyes went wide "You have started talking to the others, right?"

"Umm, No But- Hey!" He was grabbed and now being dragged out of his room.

"Nope, come on! Let's find you someone nice to hang out with," Soon he was released and following behind her.

He really was being dragged into this, huh?

*

"Hmmm, I see Kaito is with Maki. Kiibo is over there talking with Rantaro while Kokichi is spying on them. Himiko is being fought over by Angie and Tenko. Well, at least they look like they're having fun," Kaede talked about his 'potential suitors' (her words not his), her arms crossed as she carefully considered everyone. The detective only looked over at whomever she was talking about and began to feel tension in his chest. "Ooo maybe- wait no Tsumugi is taking a rest in her room last I knew. We were running in the gym, to try something new for the both of us, and I think I wore her out".

"Um, I don't want to be seen as being too pushy but maybe we can hang out?" At least comparatively she seemed very approachable, and he already felt semi-comfortable talking with her.

"I would love to! But... well actually, I'm about to go spend some time with Kirumi. However, Miu wanted something to eat first and I wanted to see how you were doing so it worked out. But, I don't think we'd have enough time to 'hang out' 'hang out', make sense?"

"Yeah, that does..." A little disappointing, but he wasn't going to be upset at her. Really, he should be thankful she's making an effort for him otherwise he'd probably still be contemplating in his room.

"Hey! Anyone not busy!" She called out and Shuichi really wished he had his hat to hide under. "Well that didn't work- wait! Shinguji, are you with anyone right now?" Her energy knew no bounds as she spun on her heels and headed toward her attended 'target' dragging the other teen behind her.

She was speaking to the long haired teen who'd been sitting quietly on the bench; from what the detective could recall his full name was Korekiyo Shinguji, and his title was the Ultimate Anthropologist. He was a bit strange, but he had no obvious qualms with him.

Korekiyo's eyes looked up from the book he held in his hands and glided from Kaede to lock with Shuichi's. His golden eyes piercing, and though he couldn't see due to the black zippered mask on his face he could imagine a smirk to go along with it. As if the detective was something to study-

He blinked his thought away, not sure exactly where they came from. Afterall, he'd hardly had a conversation with him. How could he guess if he was smiling much less what his thoughts were.

[At the same time, the idea in his head remained. And though it wasn't up and fore front it hadn't fully left him]

"With anyone? " He repeated, turning back to her.

[How.. How long were they looking at each other? Was it not really long at all? Was it in his head?]

"Yeah, for the game we're currently in," She replied, hands on her hips.

"Kehehe, no. I'd been reading, and when I wasn't I was just watching all around. This place is truly beautiful isn't it?"

The pianist in reply bit her lip, and Shuichi couldn't help feel the response was slightly... strange. Well, all people were different. Just because someone talks differently then how you expected didn't mean they were bad or anything.

"It is a nice day out, and you know who you can enjoy the day with! Shuichi," She splayed her arms out like the woman showing a prize on a quiz show. And before Shuichi could tell her anything else she raced off.

Well, she gave him no other choice. At least, despite his odd demeanor, he didn't seem cruel or crude [There were many crude people he decided against... dating]. Actually, sitting and reading a book was quite a common thing that he liked to do himself.

[He could hear Kiyo reading aloud. A text he couldn't focus on due to getting lost in his voice. Another odd, sudden, thought that he pushed back with anything else of this nature that appeared in his mind]

" I believe your friend just 'set you up' with me" The anthropologist brought a hand up to his chin, resting his palm against it.

"D-dont phrase it like that! Makes it sound so sinister..."

"Oh, really? Kehehehe..." His laugh trailed off.

Great, they were sitting awkwardly in silence. Not something you'd do just trying to meet someone, and especially not someone you were attempting to speed date.

"So, what book are you reading?" Certainly this was a good starting point.

"The Necronomicon," Or not.

"The... what?"

"Kehehe," He laughed. Oh, he was joking? With how serious he sounded he didn't even realise.

Then he turned the book around, for the title to be showcased. It read "The Necronomicon". His mind blanked, was he supposed to laugh too? Was he to question this book? Would he be offended by his shock?

"Not that I believe this book to be factual..." Oh thank- " While spirits are real, you can not just bring the dead to life. Though, it Is amusing in a way to read."

Shuichi felt like he was getting hit by a pillow only to turn around and to get a swift kick to the gut. It wasn't necessarily painful to talk to him, but he couldn't keep up with these constant surprises that blindsided him.

"Where did you find it?" That can't be too outrageous, nor have him completely confused by the answer.

"My dorm room. Monokuma, which refers to itself as headmaster, told me it was a reward. Though for what he did not specify. Curious don't you think? I've never met before yet he implies he knows me well and that I'm deserving of this for something I've done in the past. If it is a present due to my talent... Well I don't see why since my Ultimate Lab is enough."

Once again they fell into silence, though this one was more thought provoking. An intermission, so to speak, to pull the clues together and to start bouncing theories off each other.

"Maybe, it's not that we've been here before but that they've tracked us? After all, I walked past Kaede's Ultimate Lab and it was completely customized to her. And they took us from various places..." Shuichi said, already feeling ridiculous. This probably wasn't what the guy was aiming for, to make actual theories. They were just here for a simple conversation and now he was making him ponder their odd (and slightly horrifying) situation.

"They did kidnap us all for a purpose, and made sure we are Ultimates... They did mention this was like a reality show? Perhaps us being Ultimates, and teenagers, is supposed to draw in the viewers. Make them believe this is something extraordinarily ordinary. Ridiculous really, romance is romance and human romance has beauty in all forms. Whether it be the start of one, the end, or even the middle it holds a plethora of emotions; romance is celebrated in all cultures in some way, whether it be marriage or otherwise. Did you know about the Celtic wedding tradition that later was adopted into Christian ones? You see, they used to throw rice at the newlyweds. It is still done today, albeit rarely due to it affecting birds. The rice was to symbolize growth, expansion really, of the family. So... beautiful. Food has always been so precious but love triumphs that."

The anthropologist rambled on, and he couldn't help but feel enraptured by each word. It was fascinating, and to hear someone he first thought wasn't talkative at all... well it lifted a weight off his shoulder that he would have to lead the conversation.

"You seem to know a lot about romance. Do you read romance novels?"

"Know a lot... ah, you have misunderstood. This is simply what I've gathered from careful observation and analysis. Not from novels, though, if from any books they'd be nonfiction. Those are my prefered choices after all," he looked at the book he'd brought with "And I'd hardly call this a usual book for me... do you like to read, Saihara?"

"Oh yeah, I read from a lot of different genres. Though, as cheesy as this sounds I prefer detective novels. If it's a good one I like to try and put the clues together before the protagonist can,"

"Very cliche as you put it. But what is expected of a detective, you must constantly be prepared,"

"I'd really hardly call myself a detective, I just enjoy puzzle solving. For example, I couldn't solve a murder case in real life or anything but a book I could... I only solved one missing persons case, it was originally my Uncle's and..." Shuichi could already feel a wave of shame and guilt come over him; he didn't deserve this "Ultimate" he was just a glorified puzzle-solver. He ruined someone's life and now he was living in a dream-like world where his only goal was to find love.

"There is nothing wrong with preferring puzzles, nor nothing wrong with only solving one case. You have a talent, and if that is evident in the academy then it doesn't matter what you've done and rather what you will do,".

Shuichi wasn't sure he wanted to do much of anything more with being a detective but... well he appreciated the kindness in the other's words.

"... Observation," Korekiyo stated, as if it made sense on its own.

"Huh?"

"You would make a good anthropologist, or at least it may interest you slightly. It is all about observing, and to solve something you must do some observation," Though his eyes were looking at him, they seemed not to see him. As if looking beyond him "Would you be opposed to being taught about the subject?"

He froze at the question. That was... quite a sudden leap? Although, looking at his fellow classmate, it was as if that is what had been on his mind the whole time. He didn't have anything against learning, knowledge was something he always enjoyed, yet he felt something stop him from immediately saying yes.

Why did his hands suddenly feel so sweaty, and why did his mind buzz with sudden anxiety? He would never deny that social situations were not his strong suit, but something like this hadn't happened before.

Swallowing his fear (and the dryness in his throat), he responded.

[This next choice will affect the rest of your route...]

[Accept ] <-----

[Reject] <------

[Accept] ✅

"Well, you are an expert on the subject! I think learning more on it could be interesting, especially if-"

"Excellent!" Korekiyo blurt out, and for the first time Shuichi saw his emotions shine. It was a sudden burst of energy, one he quickly composed himself to cover up "...this evening, after meal-time, meet me in the library. Preferably around seven and no later than nine. The books will, hopefully, be more informational than the one in my room. I will see you later, Saihara. Be prepared for your eyes to be opened upon seeing the beauty of humanity."

Without another word, or a response, the anthropologist left him.

He certainly got himself into a commitment...

*

It was lunch, and Kaede proposed they sit together.

"Do you wanna sit with Kirumi? Oh, unless your, uhh, date didn't go well?" Shuichi asked, the bouncy girl shook her head.

“We were fine! But she's serving everyone food, and I wanted to sit with you. Y'know," She gave a wink and a smile "I was wondering how you and Korekiyo hit it off."

"You make it sound so... official," His face reddened and she laughed "I think it went well? We're going to meet in the library at seven," He explained, trying to pull at a hat that wasn't there.

[He couldn't remember ever taking it off... but he also remembers it being in his room...]

"Oh? Really? That's so exciting! See, a date!"

"Well, we all are going on dates... that's the point of this all," He mumbled out.

"But he wants to talk to you more, that's promising! Unless..." her voice trailed off "Do you like him Shuichi? If not then obviously you don't have to-"

"I-its nothing like that!" He cut her off, immediately feeling regret doing so "It's... I'm not sure what to think of him? I've only known him for a few hours. He seems nice, but what if...what if he's just a friend type?"

"Well, I guess you'll have to find out!" She gave her companion a pat on the back. "Don't stress too much, this situation may be strange but it isn't the worst. Keep your head up high, and get to know some people. Even if you are nothing more than platonic, it will be worth meeting him, right?"

"... You're right! Thanks Kaede."

"No problem! Now let's get something to eat!"

*

"Perfect timing, Saihara," He stepped into the library, the smell of mold already hitting his nose. It was a dirty,dingy place, it couldn't even be argued that it was old in the "cute aesthetic way". His eyes scanned, seeing the piles upon piles of books that were stacked not only on the shelves but the floor.

Korekiyo was sitting in the corner, a small table and a pile of books beside him.

He wondered, silently, if the stuffiness of the area even bothered him slightly.

" How many books is that?" Shuichi sat down across from his, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Hm, just twelve. But they are merely for reference or in case you want to study a topic further. I prefer explaining things myself," His golden irises didn't even seem to dim in the dingy room, as if they were glowing "But where to start?"

He felt more in a college lecture, than on a date. If lectures were between two people, that is. Maybe more of a study group... well it certainly didn't feel romantic. Somehow, that eased his worries. This was to get to know each other, he didn't have to prepare himself for hand holding nor kisses right away.

" Well, I know that anthropology is the study of people, but how about you give me your definition?" This would certainly get him talking.

"Hm, that certainly is a good place to start. Anthropology studies the thoughts behind traditions and customs. It delves into the topic of folklore, and the way differnt tales from all over have similarities. Or even how the same story has differences. It is all based on how people interrupt as well as putting one's own feelings into the tales. It's not just with folklore, though certain anthropologists only study folklore, you would be able to do the same with customs. Anthropology is a truly human study through and through, so your definition isn't wrong just lacking in the specific details, " One would find it hard to read someone's expression when half thier face was covered, But where he lacked his hands flowed in joy. It wasn't overtly distracting, otherwise his point would be null and void, instead in tune with how he spoke. " Anthropology is everywhere, and is constantly changing, which is why my studies will never be fully done. It is why I must observe and research continuously- It may be hard to some but it is merely routine for me."

Hearing him talk about something so passionately piqued his interest. He'd never thought of anthropology as a topic of interest besides mild, but if Kiyo was leading the discussion he sure he wouldn't mind.

The conversation continued to flow; with Kiyo's long rambles and Shuichi asking questions which would either continue the topic in more detail or the conversation to move to a different part of the vast subject.

"Shuichi, have you ever traveled before?"

"Traveled? What do you mean?" That came out of virtually nowhere; though he was discussing field work in different countries, he hadn't suspected being asked himself.

"Taken trips, whether they be on your own or with others. Or, do you tend to stay in one place?" Shuichi was about to explain before a noise cut off his sentence.

"Ding, Dong, Bing, Bong," An almost chilling chime played on the speakers.

[All he could remember was blood splattered on the shelfs, and pooled on the library floor. The victim lay- Wait, what? He wasn't a homicide detective...]

"It is 10 pm, officially nighttime," Monokuma's announcement rang through, the Monkubs chiming in once and a while to add on with little remarks.

"Hm, I suppose we should leave and retire for the night... we shall resume tomorrow, at the same time? "

Tomorrow as well? Well, he could hardly refuse, and he was still curious about the topic.

"That sounds good; well I'll see you then, it was really interesting talking about anthropology with you," He gave a smile, and the other looked pleased.

They went their separate ways, and Shuichi was pleasantly surprised with the outcome of the "date". Whether he'd become friends... or... either way he could see his relationship growing positively.

[End of Day One]

[cestlestial-beings]

The Hunter

Summary: A mysterious "hunter," John, saves her from a ghost. She's in college; he's twice her age. But she really, really wants him, and with any luck, something will happen.

Fandom: Supernatural Characters: John Winchester, Unnamed Original Female Character Pairing: John Winchester/OFC Word Count: 2,800 Rating: Explicit AO3: Link

I’m sitting on my living room couch, anxiously biting my fingernails and hoping the salt circle around me does its job, when there’s a knock on the door. I jump up. It could only be John, the “hunter” who’d shown up a few days ago, introducing himself initially as FBI Agent Carrel, asking questions about the strange happenings around my house, and later revealing it was haunted by a ghost. A ghost!

Still, I’m jumpy from my recent encounter with the a murderous ghost a few hours before. “Who is it?” I call, hopefully loud enough to make it through the wall.

“It’s John,” a voice says from the other side.

I hop out of my salt circle and go unbolt and unlock the door. When I open it, John’s standing there. It’s dark, almost midnight, but the porch lights of my small, out-of-the-way home light up him up just enough for me to tell that he’s looking a little worse for wear: dirt on his clothes, scratches on the side of his face, the t-shirt under the flannel torn in several places.

“The ghost is taken care of,” he tells me. “Bones salted and burned. You’ll be safe now.” I feel a wave of relief. Safe. And then, unexpected, a brief wave of disappointment. The ghost is gone, which means John is going to leave now. After all he’s helped me through, after the inexplicable attraction that grew during the few days he’s been here…

He turns to leave, but I grab his jacket sleeve. “Wait,” I say. “I’m… Can you… Can you stay the night?” His face is totally stoic, not betraying any emotion, so I rush on. “I know the ghost is gone, but can you stay, just in case it’s not, somehow? It would make me feel a lot better.” It’s partly true. This big, old house I’d inherited from my aunt, full of spooky vibes (which turned out to be totally valid), is far from anyone who could help if something happened. But I also can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, something would happen if he stayed.

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly and I feel a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. I flash a quick smile back at him, relieved he didn’t reject me outright.

“I can keep a watch out from outside,” he says, nodding to his car, which is, despite being at least three decades old, gorgeous.

I shake my head. “No, you don’t need to actively watch out for anything, so you should stay inside. I just want someone nearby. Just in case. It’s no trouble, really.” There’s a slight edge of pleading creeping into my voice and I hope I’m not coming off as desperate.

A long moment passes before he nods. “All right. If it would make you feel safer.”

I open the door more fully and gesture for him to come in. “I can set up the sofa for you to sleep on. Or…” I pause and bite my lip. Could I be so forward? He watches me, eyebrows slightly raised. “Yeah. Sofa,” I quickly say, ducking my head and going to grab some sheets from the closet.

He sits patiently at the table on the tiled part of the room, waiting while I set up. I straighten up after tucking in the fitted sheet, feeling self-conscious. “Can I, uh, get you something to drink?” I ask. He shakes his head, so I go back to putting the sheets on. I can still feel his eyes on me while I work.

“Okay, all done here,” I say. “I guess I’m going to head to bed.”

Another small, barely-smiling smile. He stands up and takes off his leather jacket. I should go, I think as he drapes his jacket over the chair and starts unbuttoning his flannel, but now’s my only chance. I should say something. He’ll be gone tomorrow morning, and I want him, I really, really want him.

He pulls off the flannel shirt and drops it on top of his jacket. I try to keep my mouth from dropping open. He’s in just a t-shirt now, his muscular biceps visible. Wow. He raises his eyebrows at me again, and I quickly turn and walk quickly into my room. I don’t have the guts to do anything. A tough guy like him? He wouldn’t be interested in a soft college girl like me.

I stand in front of my closet a little too long trying to decide what to wear. He’ll probably see me in the morning, so I want to look good. But not too good, like I’ve been trying. And it has to be something that makes me look mature. I pick out a satin tank/shorts combo. Yeah, this is good.

I try to get to sleep after that, I really do—if I can’t work up the courage to make something happen, I might as well get some rest—but how am I supposed to sleep knowing he’s just down the hall, a couple doors away? I toss and turn for an hour before I finally flip on the light and sit up in bed. God, I could use a drink. Just something small, to help me get to sleep.

I open my door as quietly as I can and slip into the hall, trying not to wake John. But I’m surprised to see the light still on at the end of the hall. I pad down the hallway, wondering what he’s still doing up. After digging up a grave and stopping a ghost, he must be exhausted.

When I reach the living room, I see he’s sitting at the table flipping through an old book with an open, half-finished bottle of Jack next to him. He looks up when he sees me. His eyes roam up my body, taking in my appearance, but he quickly looks away. I savor the warm feeling that spreads through me from seeing him looking.

“Hey,” I say. “Couldn’t sleep. Looks like you couldn’t either?”

He lets out a low, short laugh. “Usually can’t.”

I walk over and sit down next to him. “Can I?” I nod towards his bottle of booze.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m twenty-two!” I say. Hearing it out loud, it sounds ridiculous, and I blush. I’m trying to impress this older man, and I just emphasized my immaturity.

He looks at me for a moment before nodding. “Help yourself.”

I get up and grab a couple of whiskey glasses from the counter before sitting back down and filling them halfway up. “Cheers,” I say, raising mine up. He picks up his glass and lightly taps it against mine, and we both down our whiskey. I crinkle my nose at the strength of it, burning all the way down to my stomach. It doesn’t take long for a light buzz to start running through me.

“So what are you reading?” I ask, peeking over at his book.

He rubs his eyes. “Demon lore.”

“Demons?” I ask. “Those exist?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen one?” I’m curious. What do they look like?

There’s a long pause. He clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

I can tell it’s personal, so I don’t press. I pour another glass and sip at it. John’s back to reading his book now. At least he’s tryingto read. His eyes are moving back and forth, but they’re staying at the top of the page, like he’s not processing the words enough to move on to the next line.

“You saved my life, you know,” I say.

He looks up at me. “It’s part of my line of work.”

Yeah, a line of work that’s far from easy. I lightly place my hand over his, avoiding touching his red and torn knuckles. “I mean it.” I lightly run my fingers across the back of his hand in a way that I hope is getting across what I’m hoping for tonight.

He inhales sharply and pulls his hand out from underneath mine. “You’re so young.”

I frown. “I’m an adult.”

“I should get some rest,” he says, standing up. I stand up quickly too, and he’s close now, so close, less than a foot separating us. Up close he smells like leather and sweat and blood, a combination that has absolutely no right to be so intoxicating. I set a hand lightly on his chest. I look up—he’s got at least eight inches on me—and meet his eyes. His brow is furrowed as he studies my face.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

My hand slides up and around to the back of his neck, pulling him down to me. I press my lips against his. He kisses back, slowly, hesitantly, then pulls away. “You’re so young,” he repeats.

“I’m old enough.” My hand is still on his neck, and I lightly run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes. “Please. I want you,” I say, probably coming off as desperate, but not caring.

He shakes his head. “This isn’t a good idea.”

I bite my lip. His body, so close to mine, is making it hard to think. “It’s just one night,” I say.

He looks up and away, a torn look on his face.

“Please?” I say again.

His jaw sets. He’s come to a decision. I only hope…

He leans down and kisses me. Harder this time. Hungrier. His tongue runs lightly across my upper lip, pressing for an invitation. I open my mouth slightly and his tongue meets mine. My hand slips from the back of his neck to the side of his face. There’s a slight prickle of stubble against my skin, and want floods through me. His masculinity—in the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he tastes—is overwhelming in the best way.

His hand comes to rest lightly on my hip and then slowly works its way up under my top. He runs a thumb over my breast, gently grazing the nipple, and I let out a soft moan. I’ve been with other men, men my age, but it’s never felt like this. I’ve never felt so much desire.

I pull back for just a moment to pull off my top, fully bare for him. I tug at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he pulls it off. I run a hand up slowly through his chest hair, bringing my palm to rest on his jaw.

“Bedroom?” I whisper between kisses.

He nods, wrapping his arms around my hips and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he holds me like I weigh nothing. God, he’s strong. His lips never leaving mine, he walks us down the hall and into my bedroom, only bumping a couple picture frames off the wall as we go.

When we get to my room, he pulls away just long enough to see where the bed is and then deposits me on it. He’s standing above me, eyes wild and wanting, and desire courses through me. I squeeze my legs together tightly for a second, a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building between them.

His fingers run along the band of my shorts and he makes eye contact with me, waiting for permission. I nod, and he slowly starts to pull them down, trailing kisses from between my breasts to down between my legs. Lower, and lower, until he gets… there.

I hold back a moan, arching slightly at the pleasure as his tongue stimulates me. A finger slips between my legs and slides into me and I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. Oh, god. I’m getting closer, closer… Too close.

“Mm. John, wait,” I say, and he pauses and looks up at me, eyes still dark with desire. Fuck. “I want you inside me.”

He grins at me, more expressive than he’s been all week. He climbs up on the bed over me, lowering his head to kiss me. I didn’t think I’d like the taste of myself, but on his lips… God, I can’t get enough.

I struggle to undo his belt, distracted by the kiss. I feel his lips curl upwards against mine and then he pulls back for a moment, just long enough to undo his belt and slip out of his pants and boxer briefs.

I’m dazed, my whole body feeling hyper-sensitive and electrified. I run my eyes down him. Eyes filled with lust, scruffy beard, muscled, hairy chest, and… Wow. I lick my lips. “Condom. Top nightstand drawer.”

I lie back as he rifles through the drawer and pulls out a condom. He leans over and tears open the packet with his teeth. Goddamn. My hand drifts down towards between my legs to relieve the want building in me, but he grabs my hand and pins it next to my head. He shakes his head. “That’s my job, sweetheart.”

He drops my hand and slips on the condom. He trails a finger across the sensitive area between my legs—oh fuck—and slowly up my torso, coming to rest over my breast.

“Inside me,” I repeat.

He laughs softly. “No patience.”

“Please?”

He smiles again and adjusts himself. I feel him brush up against my opening, the whole area wet and ready. He bends down to kiss me and then pushes inside.

I turn and let out a satisfied exhale into John’s neck.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pumps in and out, slowly at first, and then faster. He presses up against my clit with each thrust and I gasp, pressing my head back into the bed. It feels so good it’s almost painful.

He runs a tongue up my breast, across my collarbone, to the side of my neck. I put my hand on his cheek and guide him up to my mouth, kissing him, short, hungry kisses as he continues to move against me.

I’m close. I’m close. I’m… I inhale sharply. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“You there, sweetheart?” he murmurs into my ear, his voice hoarse.

“Yes. Nnnn. Fuck.” My eyes are squeezed shut as I ride it out, pleasure pulsing through my whole body. He feels so good still. So damn good, even when it’s too—almost too—much.

He thrusts in one more time and freezes, a shudder passing through him. “Mm.” He drops his head, breathing hard.  “Fuck.”

I laugh breathlessly. “No kidding.”

He pulls out and lies down next to me. We stare at the ceiling for what must be a couple of minutes, the sounds of us catching our breath the only noise in the room.

My breath slows enough for me to talk, but I’m still close to speechless. “That was… Thanks.”

He doesn’t reply. When I look at him, he’s still looking at the ceiling, a relaxed look on his face. He senses me looking and turns his head, giving me a slight smile. I smile back, a much bigger, more obvious smile.

I move myself up the bed a couple of feet so my head is over my pillow and climb under the sheets. I pat the pillow next to me, and John follows my lead and slips under the sheets with me. Now that the pleasure’s fading, sleepiness is starting to wash over me.

I snuggle up against him, the little spoon to his big spoon.

“Do you regret it?” he says softly.

I roll over so I’m face to face with him. “Regret it?”

He still looks relaxed, tired like me, but there’s a hint of doubt in his eyes. “Sex. With me.”

“Are you kidding?”

He doesn’t respond, just holds my gaze steadily.

I can feel a blush rising to my cheeks as I say, “Of course I don’t regret it. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He looks placated, though a hint of what looks like guilt lingers. “Glad to hear it, sweetheart.”

I run a hand over the coarse hair on his chest, pressing a kiss to his lips. My eyes start to drift shut in tiredness and I blink them back open, throwing him an embarrassed smile—I know my face is far from attractive when I sleep. I roll back over, and he drapes his arm over my hips.

I’d started my evening afraid of being killed by a ghost, but now I couldn’t feel more secure, here in the arms of a man who I know can protect me.

—

When I wake up, John’s side of the bed is empty and cold. The couch has been unmade, the sheets put away. Besides the two dirty whiskey glasses and an extra set of tire treads in the driveway, there are no signs he was ever here at all.

I’m disappointed he’s gone, but I’m glad I got a chance to spend the night with him. I’ll be holding on to this memory for a long time, stowed away for when I need a little release.

[auncyen]

two snippets from an early draft of “when the Cat Dragged in the Trickster” that had more buildup covering the school year and the repeat requests for Ren to be given a change of heart...because I’m deleting old docs to clean up but I still like them.

The first time they checked the MetaNav because Amamiya had been requested on the Phansite, Morgana crowed at the negative result. "See! He doesn't have a distorted desire! If he was wicked before, he has clearly reformed."

The second time they checked the MetaNav because Amamiya had been requested, Morgana rolled his eyes before explaining to a mildly curious Yusuke that people were only scared of Amamiya because of his dubious past and that they weren't paying enough attention to his current impeccable conduct. Ryuji then filled Yusuke in on what said dubious past was. Ann informed everyone the result was still negative. No distortion.

The third time Amamiya got requested, Ryuji shook his head when Makoto started to bring out her phone. "He ain't gonna be on there," he told her.

"You're certain?" the student council president asked. "With a record like his..."

"He's been on the site before, I believe," Haru said. "Was he already given a change of heart?"

Ann sighed in aggravation. "No, but we've checked both times Mishima's forwarded the requests before, and he hasn't shown up then either. I mean, yeah, you'd think if he assaulted someone out of the blue, he must be distorted, but he got arrested and put on probation for it. That'd be enough to make most people reflect on themselves, right?"

Haru nodded, accepting the logic, but Makoto still said aloud, "Amamiya Ren."

"Candidate not found."

Morgana huffed. "See?" He jumped up on the accessway's railing. "Lady Ann, I say we tell Mishima to not accept these requests anymore. They clearly have no basis."

Ann frowned, thinking. It'd be a little hard when they were still trying to keep some plausible deniability with Mishima, but she could probably...drop a heavy hint. "Okay--"

"Wait," Makoto said. "You only think it lacks basis because of the app. We don't know where it's from or how it was made, so how can we trust it to be accurate?"

"Do you think the accusation has merit, then? That he threatened the writer?" Yusuke asked. Morgana gave a loud, exasperated sigh.

"I...don't know," Makoto said slowly. "Honestly, I'd prefer if Ann's explanation was right. If Amamiya's reformed, it would mean the justice system at least works sometimes. It's just...what if these are serious? Haru made multiple requests, and you still nearly missed them before I brought them to your attention."

"By blackmailing us," Ryuji muttered.

Makoto's cheeks colored. Haru squeezing her hand as gentle reassurance didn't help. "...That's besides the point. I just want to make sure no other victims slip through the cracks either."

Ryuji and Ann exchanged looks. Ryuji shoved his hands in his back pockets and leaned against the railing. "Honestly, I kind of wonder if I'd be on the Phansite if it'd gone up before Kamoshida went down," he said. "People mostly just leave me alone now, but last year there was talk about how I was gonna haul off and hit the next person who looked at me funny. Shit made me want to quit school for a while."

"You called Amamiya-san 'the guy who stabs people'," Morgana reminded him.

"Well, that's how I knew him! And I wasn't spreadin' anything--Ann had already heard about him, and who were you gonna tell?" Ryuji shot back before a gesture from Makoto reminded him to lower his voice. "Look, I know the guy's done something bad once before, and from what I've seen of him, he's a little weird. Like, I can't get a read on him at all. But none of that means he should be harassed. I guess...we should check to be sure nothing's going on...but can we do it without bothering the guy?"

"I think...both Mako-chan and Ryuji-kun have a point," Haru said slowly. Since we don't know much about the MetaNav, we can't know for sure if it's always working correctly, can we? So I think we should do some questioning ourselves to make sure Amamiya isn't involved in anything suspicious. But we must be discreet, and if we find nothing, we ask the administrator to not accept any more requests about him. I wouldn't want us to be used as a tool for harassment. People deserve second chances."

"That seems reasonable," Yusuke said. "I agree with the proposed action." Makoto nodded, and Ryuji shrugged. Ann hesitated for a moment, but...if there was a victim...and if there was a chance the MetaNav didn't always work, they needed to know, considering how much they relied on it. She nodded.

Morgana held out for a couple of tense minutes, his tail swishing in agitation behind him, but at last it slowed. "I guess...it'd reflect badly on the name of the Phantom Thieves if we ignored a request that turned out to be legitimate... very well, then. We investigate, and then we tell Mishima to reject any further requests."

Morgana's phrasing made it obvious he expected Amamiya to be found innocent. Fortunately, he seemed to be right. Morgana tailed Amamiya from a distance. Yusuke kept an eye out for Amamiya when he people watched at the station. The four Shujin students kept an ear out for any current rumors that might have any basis. Ann asked Mishima if he would be able to find more details about Amamiya's record, since the original leak appeared long-deleted and he was good with the internet and searching for information.

Mishima was more than happy to help her find information--he actually pulled up the record itself for her. The details on the trial were sparse, with the victim's identity completely missing from the record. Was that normal...? Ann hoped it was, to protect victims. It seemed the assault conviction was legitimate enough, anyway. Amamiya had pleaded not guilty, but there was an identified witness who had testified that he had attacked the man she'd been with out of the blue. The judge had made a quick ruling--Ann guessed it was a fairly open-and-shut case. The most troubling thing was that the transcript of the proceedings gave no hint into what had provoked Amamiya to assault that man, who seemed to have been a stranger, besides the allegation that he had anger management issues. That lined up with a few of the rumors, but...the rumors were based on his record to begin with. And they were all old--nothing they turned up sounded that different from what they'd heard in April. Yusuke and Morgana had nothing suspicious to report, unless Amamiya holding three part-time jobs, one of which seemed to be where he was living, counted.

It was...weird. No, she guessed it made sense if Amamiya had reformed and was working to control his temper. They ended the investigation. Ann dropped hints to Mishima that the Phantom Thieves weren't after criminals who'd already been punished.

Mishima seemed seriously reluctant to take those hints, considering they got a fourth request for Amamiya while they were waiting for Futaba to wake up. Ann hadn't even finished reading the message before she deleted it in aggravation.

-

The second snippet being a slightly different form of investigating with interesting/concerning results:

Haru and Makoto were in agreement from the beginning, with Yusuke agreeing it seemed reasonable enough soon after. Ann was the first to be won over from skepticism. Then Ryuji. Finally, Morgana's ears drooped. "We really don't know how that thing works," he said with a glance at Ann's phone. "It'd be terrible if we accidentally ignored someone in danger...all right. We investigate, and then we tell Mishima to reject any further requests."

Morgana's phrasing made it obvious he expected Amamiya to be found innocent, and Ann was a little worried what would happen if he was wrong. Still, for now, they had a unanimous vote. They started an investigation.

Makoto tailed Amamiya, with Ryuji at a distance just in case she was confronted. All she learned was that that Amamiya worked at both 777 and a beef bowl shop and seemed to be a decent employee. Yusuke kept an eye out when he people watched at the station and spotted Amamiya a few times, but never saw him do anything or go anywhere unusual, and most of what he had to say about finally seeing the transfer student for himself was "his aesthetic is appallingly drab". He also figured out somehow that Amamiya's glasses were fake, but Ann didn't know what that information had to do with anything, even if Yusuke found it the one interesting thing about Shujin's transfer student.

Morgana also tailed Amamiya, and by 'tailed' he really just strutted up to Amamiya, meowed and acted like a lost cat, and let Amamiya take him home for the night. It was a lazy approach. It was also the most informative, though not in the way Ann had expected.

Amamiya returned Morgana to Ann in the morning. That, she'd expected: either Amamiya would be conscientious and return a cat he'd recognize as hers, or Morgana would eventually slip away and return on his own. What she hadn't expected was that Amamiya looked nervous--really nervous--when he let his schoolbag down on his desk and showed her Morgana, safe inside. Morgana looked upset.

"He...must have gotten out somehow? I found him in Shibuya, after my work shift--"

"He thinks you'll think he stole me," Morgana blurted.

"Okay, okay, come on," Ann said, reaching into the schoolbag to extricate the smallest thief. She was confused. Why on earth would Amamiya think she'd suspect him of kidnapping Morgana? He'd gone up to Amamiya himself--

Well, though...if Ann didn't know that, if Morgana was a normal cat--oh. Yeah, it might be suspicious that Amamiya of all people had 'found' him. Shoot. She immediately looked up at Amamiya and gave him her brightest smile. "I'm glad you found him! I was sooooo worried about this little guy. Thank you."

"'Little guy'?" Morgana muttered, but he clambered into her desk and turned himself about, his blue eyes focusing on Amamiya. "See? It's fine. Calm down."

Obviously, Amamiya couldn't understand Morgana. But he did seem to be relaxing. He smiled back a little at Ann, an awkward thing, and she felt so lost. What had happened to the guy who'd intimidated the entire class just to let a cat sit in a desk?

[davidmann95]

Comics this week (11/25/2020)?

Anonymous said: This week's floppies?

Anonymous said: This week’s comics?

Anonymous said: Have you read Red Hood #51 yet? It’s one of the best stories Jason has been in since Under the Red Hood and I don’t think I can go back to his normal stories after this

Anonymous said: God damn the Other History of the DC Universe has a pretty brutal call out of Superman, yet as a Superman fan I wasn’t offended or put off by it at all. Ridley specifically narrowed in on one of the key flaws of Superman, his need for public love and approval. What did you think of the portrayal of Supes?

Anonymous said: Thoughts on "The Other History of the DC Universe" and why it's already one of the greatest comics of all time?

Anonymous said: Thoughts on "Other History"?

X-Men #15: Heck yeah, Quiet Council discussing protocol, this is what I come to Jonathan Hickman’s X-Men for, and Cyclops getting his Captain America in Hickvengers moment.

X of Swords: Destruction: Look this rules and I guess I understood the Arakko story by the end but not the Otherworld/Captain Britain stuff, and it’s the former that’s gonna matter to Hick-Men going forward. But I don’t care if it put a ‘_ of 22′ counter across the top, if a crossover is for real going to demand you buy 22 comics in 3 months for you to see the entire core story you need to be screaming that from the rooftops with every single interview that it’s genuinely the whole thing that’s essential, because editorial claiming that you should totally get everything aside that’s not how crossovers have actually worked since the 90s no matter how many checklists and reading orders may be provided. This whole thing really sorta felt like the Infinity of this run, good stuff but ultimately Hickman serving a master beyond telling his own story - in this case trying to provide a forcible on-ramp from Marvel’s hottest book to all the ancillary related stuff.

Shang-Chi #3: This continues to be a really solid little mini with some poignant bits.

Power Pack #1: Haven’t read much if anything with them in it before, but as good as I could have hoped of Ryan North’s first post-Unbeatable Squirrel Girl Marvel gig.

Fantastic Four: Antithesis #4: Fine, but it would have been so much funnier if Waid’s last Marvel work before finally returning to DC had been that cancelled Squadron Supreme two-shot.

Daredevil #24: God so goooooood. And next issue’s next week?!

The Department of Truth #3: Imagine going literally any duration back in time, handing this to someone who’d read and even enjoyed his work, and explaining “THAT’S the level James Tynion is going to end up operating on”.

BANG!: My shop got the TPB this week of the recent mini by Kindt and Torres, and this is a top-notch reimagining of assorted 80s action/pseudo-pulp archetypes into something modern and strange and delightful, that while technically concluding somewhat tidily if the sales aren’t there is set up to go on for as long as the creative team has ideas for it. It taps into that America’s Best Comics/Planetary/Adventureman energy for a slightly different branch of genre storytelling, and even if like me it’s not an iteration you grew up with it’s definitely worth your money and attention.

Dark Nights: Death Metal: The Multiverse Who Laughs: It’s fine, whatever, just a buncha little Dark Multiverse stories...except for the last story, where the Twilight Zone-esque shocker final twist is that being black in America and thereby constantly experiencing the constant low-grade terror of the background radiation of systemic racism essentially acts as a vaccine against Scarecrow’s fear toxin, which...okay??? It’s written by a black man so it’s not as if I think it’s offensive, but particularly given that given the rules of the Dark Multiverse one of the three characters in there had to have imagined this possibility, and that then The Batman Who Laughs must’ve seen it and gone “Hell yes, all about this, definitely one of the 52 scariest of all possible universe”, it’s a serious candidate for weirdest comic of the year.

Legion of Superheroes #11: This is an excellent kickoff to a 3 or 4-issue arc so I have absolutely no idea how it’s going to reach some kind of season finale next month.

Action Comics #1027: Romita Jr.’s deteriorating by the day but I did like his take on the Phantom Zone, and I feel like this while taking it a bit farther than I’d prefer still convincingly sells the idea of Superman just being absolutely fed up after a truly awful day.

Justice League Dark #28: So is this the end of the run, Future State notwithstanding? Shocking how coherently it held together through the transition in writers, and I really hope it says and so does Ram V to take it in a direction wholly his own.

Wonder Woman #767: Substantially improved now that it’s not working off the completely bizarre and increasingly uncomfortable ‘buddy-cop’ premise.

Red Hood #51: GOOD NOW?! I checked it out because of the rec above and because I was curious how someone would try and salvage the concept post-Lobdell, and while it obviously isn’t literally by him, Shawn Martinbrough and Tony Akins are for all the world doing a Christopher Priest Relaunch with this tonally and aesthetically; I think it’s even a direct sequel to Priest’s Batman: The Hill oneshot from decades ago. I sure hope this isn’t a two-issue filler run with the book either cancelled or reshuffled after Future State, because this has all the makings of an excellent crime comic.

Suicide Squad #11: I’ll probably check out Taylor’s Revolutionaries book once that happens, so I guess mission accomplished. Fine little run.

The Other History of the DC Universe #1: I heard someone on Twitter say this is the best thing that’s come out of superhero comics since HoXPoX, and I don’t know if I’m on that level with it but that is absolutely a fair conclusion. I’ll be honest, I had measured expectations here from having seen some of Ridley’s past comics work - I figured it’d be a perfectly solid book with a few standout moments, but instead it throws out all the haymakers in the world and emerges as one of my favorite comics of 2020, even given we’re only seeing the one issue this year. I can only judge so much because it feels like a lot of what we see in this debut is going to be completely reframed through the perspectives of other characters in subsequent entries, but standalone this is a brutal, intimate, brilliant character study set against the backdrop of a hazy dreamscape vision of the history of DC reformatted as needed to fit the concerns in play here (though the dates presented are so specific I wonder if aspects of this are leftovers of the original version of 5G), and probably as close as we’re going to see to a ‘trilogy capper’ to The Golden Age and New Frontier. That’s why the take on Superman here works, as much a product of the worst of his mass-consciousness image as the Superman of DKR but meshed with a profound understanding of what makes him tick as a character that makes the inherently compromised version on display here palatable, and a believable extrapolation of the Silver/Bronze Age’s version of him when that’s the era this series is thus far working as a contrast to. And god, the art. I always liked him fine enough, but even with finishes by Andrea Cucchi and colors by Jose Villarrubia I never could have imagined Giuseppe Camuncoli putting out the likes of this, and Steve Wands’s lettering is doing at least equal legwork in defining the look of the book. There have been several impressive titles out of Black Label at this point - Last Knight on Earth, Rorschach, Strange Adventures, and especially Harleen - but nothing else has come close to demonstrating the potential power of the imprint as a vehicle for creators taking this iconography and doing something radical and unrestrained and phenomenal with it.

[the-luckiest-man]

Would you mind sharing your thoughts on the Honest Hearts Reborn mod? I've never played it, don't know much about it specifically, but have heard it's a real mixed bag and am just dying with curiosity about what it all entails (though not curious enough to actually play it myself, ahaha)

Yes and thank you!  I first thought that I was the only person on tumblr who’d played it but have since seen some criticisms of it which are all pretty fair, I’d say.  HOWEVER, I....liked it?  Maybe that’s too simple a way of putting it; I liked some things about it very much, I found some things (mostly technical things) annoying, and I disliked some things very much.  Overall, I still preferred it to vanilla HH, so here we go.  One note before I get into it: there’s really no way for me to talk about HH Reborn without basically spoiling most of it, so if you’re of a mind to give it a try and don’t want to know what’s coming, you might want to stop here.

First off, about vanilla HH.  For me, it was boring.  Like, real boring, and when it wasn’t boring, it was offending me with its “knock-off Native” characterizations and its “Joshua Graham is the great white savior” crap.  I’ve read Sawyer’s response to someone asking about the racism in HH, and I appreciate it, but the way that the “tribals” were sort of half-implied to be Native (kinda obvious with Follows-Chalk’s accent, among many other things) while not doing any kind of interesting or validating research into that really ticked me off. (for those who haven’t read it, Sawyer acknowledges that they did not show sensitivity in writing the tribes, but also states that the tribes weren’t meant to specifically be Native American). I also thought that, for all his hype, Joshua Graham was very two-dimensional.  His backstory alone hints at this very complicated man and I feel like we see almost none of that in HH.  

So those were my kind of basic observations about Honest Hearts, and the reason, in fact, that I was so interested in HH Reborn.  The trailers for it promised a deeper Joshua backstory, and seemed to imply that the tribes would get a makeover as well.  I had fairly high hopes.

Those hopes weren’t all disappointed, by any means.  First off, I have to say hats off to the mod author because they basically entirely rewrote a full DLC, fully voice-acted, with enough side-questing and twists and turns to the main quest that it actually kept me occupied for a while, unlike vanilla HH.   So creating this whole new DLC, basically, was no mean feat.  Kudos for that; it was obviously quite the labor of love.

But let’s talk about some of the downsides.  It becomes pretty quickly apparent, as you play the mod, that the person who wrote it is Very Mormon.  The premise of the mod is that the New Canaanites are still present in Zion Valley, and that Joshua Graham, having been so brutally excommunicated from the Legion, has returned to Zion hoping to live in peace and is struggling with the reality of their presence -- whether to wipe them out, re-join them, or in some other way get them to leave Zion.  Which, okay, fair.  From what we know of Joshua Graham’s story, this part makes more sense to me than the original storyline of HH.  However, Mormon characters -- and the whole concept of Mormons in Zion in general -- are treated very lovingly....a little too lovingly, for my tastes.  Many of the dialogue options and other information the player can gather seem to be indicating a conversation less about in-game Mormonism (and how various parts of it would/would not make sense in a post-apocalyptic setting) and instead drawing you unwillingly into the author’s own struggles (?) with real-world contemporary Mormonism.  And I just don’t care.  You can’t force me to care.  Yet they try.   It’s annoying.  Tangent to this is the still-very-much-there racism.  Although there are mitigating aspects to this.  The “faux-Native” naming practices are still there, though at least in some cases, they are treated as tongue-in-cheek, and the tribes, significantly, are coded as NOT Native, but rather, as Sawyer mentioned in his reply, a mixture of people of various ethnicities (I’m just gonna say, mostly white) who are trying to live a back-to-the-land, faux-Native lifestyle in Zion.  That being said, the *reaction* of the “Western-Civ” coded characters in the story is still very much one of missionaries sent to bring God to the heathens.  Granted, this aspect is one that actually receives textual criticism in the story, but the overall feeling is still one of “innocent, well-meaning missionaries.”  Barf.  The teeth-gritting comes to a real head with the character of “One-Tenth,” who purports to be a “witch doctor” (OMG) but actually turns out to be a white woman former missionary named Amy.  There’s a lot to go into with her but suffice it to say that a) she, like literally every other NPC in the story, has a boner for Josh Graham and b) she perfectly encapsulates that offensive mixture of “why can’t we all live in peace like the simple natives” and “I deserve a place of esteem with the simple natives because of my Advanced Western Knowledge.”  Hhhhhhhhorrendous.

There is also a side-quest which brings up some pretty fucked-up ableism, in which your mission is to find a “cure” for an NPC’s Downs Syndrome. (RIGHT??? RIGHT!?!?! I choked, too.)  The only plus side is that this “cure,” should you find it, is never shown going into effect.  Also, I should note, that I personally don’t find it offensive that there is a character with Downs, only that she is voiced by a non-Downs voice actress, and that it’s implied that her disability is somehow more of a “burden” in the Wasteland, necessitating some shitty “cure.”  (Cue barf emoji)  I actually love the character herself, though, and I will fight you to the death for her. 

These are really the major themes of my beef with Honest Hearts Reborn.  There’s a lot more detail to be discussed in each of them, but that could take literally three more posts of this size, and it’s already getting to be kind of a doozy.  The other issues I had with the mod, outside of these storytelling aspects, were more technical in nature.  It’s hella buggy (though obviously not unplayable) -- for some reason, Josh’s headwrap didn’t appear for me, though apparently you can fix this if you have access to GECK -- some of the voice-acting is pretty cringey (as in, just objectively bad, not necessarily offensive), and there was a pretty significant glitch for me at the end that prevented me from ending it in *quite* the way I wanted to (a character that you have the option to spare had to die in order for the game to end, for me).

So let’s look at some positives.  First, like I said, it’s a huge, in-depth mod with a much more interesting (IMO) Joshua, a better general story arc, and decent side quests and characters.

HH Reborn Josh Graham is not your usual Josh Graham, which I actually liked.  In HHR, the effects of his incredibly traumatizing experience are visible, not just in his obvious burns, but in his physical condition otherwise (you’re not just gonna get horrible 3rd-degree burns over what, 80%?? of your body and NOT have that affect your other organs and  your health in general, okay?)  So I liked that it shows him as much more of a broken man, struggling with the remnants of his faith (which it does seem like an ex-Mormon would do), and actually *needing* your help more than just “let’s go fuck up some tribals.”  Obviously, the voice-acting quality is lesser than the OG Josh, but for me, the added complication of his character made up for it.  (and it’s not actively terrible, just, not as profesh.)  The main quest -- which people have perhaps rightly criticized as being annoyingly spelled-out for you in wall-of-text fashion -- is nonetheless far more engaging, to me, for these reasons.  You get the feeling that you are actually here to make a difference, not only in this one man’s life, but in a greater sense for Zion (and maybe yourself, if you get woo about it) as well.  I wouldn’t say that the moral choice-making is particularly difficult or complex, but there is enough there that it doesn’t feel entirely rail-roaded.  (asterix: I’ve only played through once, though I took a lot of time with it, so I can’t say exactly how other choice-making would play out).

Then there’s the world-building.  This Zion feels much more present and significant than in vanilla HH.  As mentioned, the New Canaanites aren’t merely a thing of the past, they exist here and you interact with them as part of your mission.  While, again, the mod leans hard on the Mormonism, there is no specific narrative pressure for your character to accept what they’re doing or what they believe, so it wasn’t as much of a hindrance to gameplay as I initially feared.  You get companions in this mod, too, both annoying for different reasons (one textually, one because again, I’M NOT MORMON, mod author! Idgaf about Mormonism!  I get it! She’s a sweet missionary gal from wherever-the-fuck Utah and she’s a “good guy!” OKAY!)  Anyway.  The first companion is thrust upon you by the storyline’s unique opener, and the other reason why THIS Zion feels much more significant: the Legion is here.  They have heard that Joshua Graham is still miraculously alive, and they’ve come to...well, that gets into the weeds of it and I’ll try to spare y’all *some* spoilers, though you can probably guess where that’s going.  In fact, the story opens with you being forced into spying on Josh for the Legion commander, and goes from there.  So to me, from the beginning, HH Reborn was already 500% more interesting than vanilla HH.

There is also an emotional theme to the story that appealed to me, personally, both as a human playing the game, and as the Courier who has already suffered at the hands of “mysterious forces” and whose sojourn in the Mojave is full of tough moral choices.  The basic tale of a man seeking redemption -- both forgiveness from the world and from himself -- and ultimately, peace, seems more resonant, to me, than the far more hollow version presented by vanilla HH.  A lot of the storyline through this mod is uncovering human connections, and how a man as supposedly devout as Joshua once was could become the Malpais Legate.  What was the true, emotional story of his friendship with Edward Sallow?  How did things go wrong?  While the mod doesn’t propose an exact, definitive answer for the latter, the little bits you can uncover throughout your quest paint a much more three-dimensional picture of these characters that we basically only know from reference.  Aside from the Josh-centric storyline, the mod also lets you peer into the motivation of the “tribes” of Zion in ways that vanilla HH did not.  All of the tribes are renamed for this mod, but they occupy vaguely similar roles.  Some seek peace -- and through character dialogue, you get to see why; some want power.  These motivations are at least given a decent nod and more exploration than in vanilla HH.  In fact, some of your side-questing puts you in the position of trying to convince Salt-Upon-Wounds (reimagined here as a female tribal leader) to change her tribe’s ways, all of which can obviously be criticized through the lens of missionary/Native dynamics, but which also at least allows you a bit more meaningful interaction with the tribespeople than I feel you get in HH.

There are also other tidbits, like a crazy dream-sequence in which you watch first-hand some of the dramatic story of Sallow and Graham first starting to embrace what would eventually become the ideals of the Legion; a community of hilariously weird giant super-mutants; a trippy side-quest into a vault that contains some really interesting musings on memory, knowledge, and the fallibility of the human quest for them; a freaky cult that has sprung up around the legend of the Burned Man; and lots of swimming, if you’re into that.

The last part is a pretty big spoiler, but I’m gonna talk about it anyway because it was one of the things that I liked most about the HH Reborn storyline, but in a very complicated way. 

The main baddie of HH Reborn is a Legion commander named Livius, and it is he who sets you initially on the quest of finding Joshua Graham and reporting back to him about his whereabouts, etc.  Now, I’m enough of an old-school gay that most of the representation I got growing up was in the form of the villains of the story, so I’m not gonna lie when I say that, despite my hatred for the Legion, I was feeling pretty DTF this sultry-voiced handsome Daddy of a Legionary, but I really wasn’t expecting that they’d go full-textual.  Yet they did.  Turns out, Livius had (or thought he had?) a relationship with Graham in the past, and in typical nonsensical gay-villain style, wants either to have him or destroy him.  You discover this only really at the very end, in a reveal that, again, to be honest, contains some of the most dramatically poetic lines in the whole mod, maybe in all of FNV.  Jury’s still out.   It’s all very tragic, and very gay, and of course made me feel pretty conflicted.  On the one hand, I am naturally a sucker for Gay Drama, including the tragic kind.  On the other hand, it’s the 21st century and maybe we should be moving beyond the sad spurned-lover-as-megalomanaical-villain trope.  On the other other hand, way to go mod author for plugging some seriously textual gayness into a mod that probably was written by straights, and also is probably going to mostly be played by straight dudes, just statistically speaking.  So it’s weird, and I’m not sure I will ever decide exactly how I feel about it, but I think that Tragic Gay Drama -- as much as it is rightly panned these days -- wins out for me.  As I said, I’m old-school.  That’s probably bad, but something about Sad Spurned Lover who has sublimated his feelings into villainy and then comes clean at the last moment by declaring his love in heart-wrenching poetic monologue is always gonna get me.

So...that is my review of Honest Hearts Reborn.  There’s a lot there; there’s some of it that is distinctly Not Good, there’s some of it that is quite good and interesting (in my opinion), there are small annoyances, there are funny moments.  Overall, I liked it more than vanilla HH, as I said, but it is obviously also flawed.  I think it took the HH story in some good directions, for all that, and in an ideal world, the Honest Hearts DLC would get a full re-write, possibly incorporating some of what the authors of Honest Hearts Reborn set out to do, and correcting some of what was worst in both of them.

Thanks again for the ask!  Sorry you got a whole novel in response. ;)

[gorogues]

belphegor1982 replied to your text post: Oh, Roscoe ;__;

I'm afraid there are a few autobiographical elements in this story, and I ended up almost as screwed up as he did :]  What I was aiming to convey with this story were the germinating seeds of frustrated egotistical perfectionism which set Roscoe on a very negative path, and frankly ruined his life.  It's not a great way to raise kids.

(It's based on this page, which maybe should have been included in the original post.)

shadow-wolfhawk replied to your text post: Hmm. Interesting. I love Owen, but I can't see him becoming the Flash. (Although that would probably be better treatment than random af appearance he made in the last Suicide Squad run.) As a new Reverse-Flash, *maybe* that could work, but even then it might be a stretch. He has too much of the old man in him.

Owen's certainly of the Thawne bloodline, of course, so becoming the new Reverse Flash would be an interesting idea.  It'd be at odds with the redemption arc he often (but not consistently) had going though, so for that reason I wouldn't want to see him as the RF for long.  Maybe during a period of anger at someone, perhaps, and he later rejects it to go his own path...I think that'd be fun.

shadow-wolfhawk replied to your text post: 💔🥺 ... I'm not crying - you're crying.. *sniffle* love it! (Shameless plug time, but I wrote a similar story a while back: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719700 Not sure if you've read it, but I'd like to know what you think 🙃

Holy smokes, I hadn't read yours before but definitely see what you mean!  Seems like we were both channelling the same bit of grief and had the same ideas.

And thank you for your kind words!  Your story is fantastic, and absolutely heartrending.  Owen's pleading is so sad, and one can see how tough it is on his dad :(  You really convey the emotion well.

purplecyborgnewt replied to your text post: I typed a lot of words, but I think tumblr ate them. Short version: vest-and-bell-bottoms look didn't weird me out as much as whatever-in-the-monk-hell else was going on on that page tbh.

That appeared in the story too, when Eobard showed up in the 16th century all old and wizened, though why he was old wasn't explained.  It may have been a way to manipulate Magali (the Aztec woman seen in the page below, who he recruited for his Acolytes), as he got her to de-age him with her powers and then rescued her by killing the Spaniards who hunted her.  We know that he deliberately manipulated all the Acolytes into joining his side by wrecking their lives, but her life was already at serious risk because of the Spanish conquest so he might not have had to do much to manipulate her.

purplecyborgnewt replied to your text post: (The design sketches I'm gonna love forever are the ones for "Running Scared".)

Those are pretty great too!  Not sure if I've ever posted them here, so I'll do that shortly.

truxi-twice replied to your text post: honestly, I'd be kind of interested in seeing Owen try to take the mantle, at least for a while. He was always a character with so much POTENTIAL, just twisting himself into knots to find a place where he belonged and people who would love him. If circumstances shook out where SOMEone needed to put on the shiny red spandex and he was the only one available at the moment, there's a lot you can do

True.  I'm just imagining the legions of Bart, Avery, Wallace, and Irey fans who'd understandably be a bit annoyed that their fave is being passed over for someone who was never a member of the Flash Family -- though making Owen the Flash would certainly be an unexpected surprise we wouldn't see coming if not for the leak/rumour.  It's not that I think the concept is bad, just that there are more experienced people who've been groomed for the role and you'd wonder why they aren't stepping into it.  But it could work under your scenario which needs someone to do it and he's the only one available.

What I'd definitely be curious about is how the writers would manage Owen's speed; as we know, he has bursts of it rather than sustained speed, so would they have to change his powers to make him the Flash?  Or would he be a Flash struggling to maintain his speed?  That'd be interesting.

[themockingcrows]

Two Fates, Two Kingdoms Ch. 20: Reaching Sun, Healing Moon

Jake&Aradia, JohnDave this chapter is sfw ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606711/chapters/64558639

With Jake attempting to warm Dirk up to him on one hand and finding a new Alternian friend on the other, it would be easy to assume he had more than enough on his plate. Yet when you add in John and Dave's affairs, as well as the issues in Prospit that continue to hang over his head, it's anything but easy to keep up with it all.

     “Sire, wouldn’t you be more comfortable wearing a cloak? It’s a bit nippy in here,” Jake asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between himself and Dirk, silence gained through effort and careful work for the last few days. Dirk looked up immediately from his book to appraise the Prospitian, now dressed in a proper tunic and trousers, thick, warm slippers made for the pair of them till proper shoes could be made and fitted to them both. Green suited him as much as the white sleeves did, brought out his eyes, made his warm toned skin even more rich looking, his hair even darker than the raven’s wing it already was.

     Anyone else would find this man handsome. 

     Dirk found him troublesome. Handsome, but troublesome.

     “I’ve no need for a cloak. There’s a chill, yes, but it’s refreshing and keeps me plenty awake.”

     “All the more reason for the cloak then, don’t you think?” Jake teased. Dirk raised a brow at him as he gestured to the fireplace with its dying flames. “Or perhaps another few logs on the fire?”

     “Are you trying to subtly tell me you’re cold and that you’d like the room warmer?” he asked, closing his book on his hand to keep his page so he could rest his chin on his upturned palm.

     “Ah- Well. It is a bit chilly. I just assumed with your pro-. ...difficulties as king, that you’d prefer to be cozy,” Jake said awkwardly.

     Dirk sighed. “You’re doing the eager puppy thing again, Jake.”

     Jake worried his lip before exhaling a sigh, taking a breath, and trying again. “I merely thought a man of your standing would enjoy having something to warm him that was handsome as himself. Surely your wardrobe has plenty on offer?”

     Dirk lifted a brow.

     “It does. But I’m enjoying the chill, as I said. It’s keeping me awake.”

     “Surely a bit more rest wouldn’t hurt, you’re enjoying some spare time reading as it is so that means there’s a bit of free time, yes?”

     “If this is a ploy to make me lower my guard, it’s not working,” Dirk said as he went back to reading. “I want to read right now. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

     “Dying young and leaving a handsome corpse for reading a book?”

     “Who said I was dying young? And that’s twice you’ve called me handsome in a very short amount of time. Mind your tongue or people will talk like fools.”

     Jake’s cheeks colored a bit, but he went to help himself to the fireplace, crouching down and adding a few logs till it was going nie and steady once more.

     “How about some tea then, at least?” he asked, perking up. “Tea and snacks?”

     “I’m reading, Jake. If you’re hungry go feed yourself. You’re aware of where the kitchens are now, just have Dave accompany you.”

     “I’ve gone once myself and haven’t had any issues yet,” he said with a cheeky grin. “But if you insist. I’ll return with some snacks for the both of us.”

     “I’m not hungry, Jake. Nor thirsty.”

     “Pish posh, there’s always time for a spot of tea! Especially in winter, it’s practically a law,” Jake chuckled, waving his hand Dirk’s direction before he took off from the library, mind working quickly as he went down the halls. He was making headway with Dirk, he could feel it. If he could just keep this flow going, keep edging his way into his good favors, surely they’d be bosom buddies soon enough. If not buddies, then at least on better terms personally, which would make things far better for John and Dave’s issues with wanting to be wed. Hopefully. Maybe. If he was lucky.

     Damn it, Jake, stay positive!

     It was hard to stay positive in this chilly damned castle, though. Even with the long sleeves he felt the chill all the way to his bones and had to keep reaching up to rub his arms while in the halls. How the Dersian soldiers he saw here and there survived, hell how the work staff survived in their shorter sleeves, he couldn’t imagine. Maybe it was just being used to the environment, and his people’s habit of practically hibernating during the winter months that was prompting his sluggishness and desire for warmth. Even if he was pressing that desire for coziness onto others. Well. One other. With the ulterior motive of making the man rest a bit more often to make his fangs less potent towards others and grease his wheel of usefulness towards other causes he was disinclined to naturally pursue.

     Dirk’s attitude seemed to be more positive after he’d rested or eaten enough, but it was looking like a full time job to coerce the fellow into taking proper care of himself. Jake felt he was up to the task, even if it was just in tea, pastries, and warm blankets leading to a potential nap time for the royal. It was much like taming a wild beast, Jake thought, though the comparison drew a bit of his ire after all the rude things people had said about Dave in Prospit.

     Little did they know the true beast was his brother.

     Dave in comparison was a normal, upstanding fellow, mild in temperament and sweet in general disposition. Though, then again, Jake had also never seen him very angry before. Perhaps the monster lay in him as well, lurking in his blood waiting for the proper time to strike. Dirk’s rested at the surface, what you saw was what you got, but Jake couldn’t help but wonder if there was something… softer beneath those scaly hides.

     The kitchen was easy enough to find for him, following his nose as much as the general direction of Downwards towards the warmth at the heart of the palace. Being allowed access was also easy, given nobody wanted to tussle with someone his size, but getting what he needed was a chore. Everyone chose to ignore him save for curious staring and murmurs, gestures to their own necks as they discussed him in whispered Dersian.

     “Where uh. Where might I find a teapot? And tea?” he asked the room at large in Common, unsure who to personally ask. “And.. oh, bother. Where is anything in here?”

     The previous visit down here had been for some milk and to grab some things that had been left in baskets for storage as excess. At least, he hoped they’d been excess, since he’d grabbed several for himself and Dave and John to nosh on. This required several more steps and some decorum. He was no master of tea, but Jake was certain he could manage the pot properly once he found the damned leaves he needed.

     And the pot.

     And the water.

     And th-

     Ugh this was going to be complicated, wasn't it. When Jake got no response from anyone in the kitchen, he finally bit his lip and mimed pouring tea and drinking it, then mimed eating food and wiping his mouth, hoping to get the point across.

     “We can understand you,” one brave soul finally said, stepping forwards. Jake realized from the accent she was likely Alternian in origin, dark hair sweeping down to her knees in waves despite being tied back at her neck, rich red on her lips and the corners of her eyes. It was a bit of an outlandish appearance compared to what Jake was used to, but it suited her fine features perfectly. “Let me help.”

     Someone else nearby hissed something to her, and even in his limited understanding of Dersian, Jake could understand a No when he heard it.

     “I’d hate for you to get into trouble by helping me,” Jake said with a shake of his head, glancing to the person who’d hissed.

     Aradia grinned a broad smile that showed dimples in her cheeks before shaking her head. “Oh, no, I won’t get in trouble. Everyone seems to think you’re dangerous, so they’re concerned for me to do anything with you,” she explained, dusting flour off her hands before going around to a cupboard and getting a tea set out. “Is this just for you?”

     “No, I’m ah. I’m bringing it for the king,” he explained. “And for myself.”

     “An audience with the king over tea? How very unlike him.”

     Jake couldn’t help but chuckle as his assumption was proven correct. “Please, tell me where things are and I can help you out.”

     “I’d just as soon do it myself,” Aradia admitted. “Buuuut…” she trailed off, glancing to the others in the kitchen, “if you don’t mind bumbling a bit amid people who are afraid of you, I wouldn’t mind the help at all.”

     “So long as they don’t think I’m trying to maim them when I’m simply grabbing bread, then by all means,” chuckled Jake, taking a few steps to come closer to her side. “My name is Jake, by the way.”

     “Oh, I’m well aware,” she said. “My name is Aradia.”

     “Well aware, eh?” he asked, chuckling. “Has my name preceded me, then?”

     “You could say that,” chuckled the maid. “Here. The hot water is over there, warm the pot for me? The tea leaves are here. Which blend would you prefer?”

     “Something popular here,” shrugged Jake, “I’m sure it’ll be delicious either way.”

     “There is a tea here that is less tea than hot drink. You should try it some time,” she explained, ignoring the nervous shuffling of her coworkers as Jake rounded on the heated water, pouring some into the pot and swishing it around before letting it set to warm. “You take jam and put it into hot water.”

     “...And then?”

     “That’s it, that’s the drink,” Aradia chuckled.

     It was a strange feeling for Jake. Here was this woman who was by all accounts lovely as could be, and yet he didn’t feel attraction towards her. He felt a pull, a strong one, but there was no desire to flirt or even be overly witty. He settled for watching her move about, sorting tea and bits of berries into a strainer for him, charmed with how her hair moved and how every gesture seemed to have a story behind it. He wondered at her life, how she came to be in Derse, what her hobbies were, but kept coming back to the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

     Why. He hadn’t felt this since he was a lad, trying to befriend the stableboy. 

     “It should be warm enough,” Aradia said. “Dump it and add fresh, and we can set the tea inside now.”

     “Certainly,” he said, doing just that with fluid motions. “While it steeps, would you mind telling me abou-”

     “The pastries are over here, there are a few to choose from,” Aradia interrupted in a matter of fact tone. “I’d recommend the ones on the left, they have honey custard inside.”

     “That’s wonderful, but I was wondering abou-”

     “If you’re wanting something savory or more filling, though, we’ve go-”

     “Miss, really, it’s not the food I’m wondering about!” Jake laughed, interrupting herr. “I was going to ask about you a bit, that was all!”

     Aradia blinked, then grinned that same broad smile. “Really now? You stand in Castle Derse and you want to know about one of the maids? I’m not that kind of girl, just to let you know. I’ve already someone I’m sweet on.”

     Jake lifted his hands quickly and shook his head. “Oh! No, no, miss, that’s not my intention at all!”

     The smile didn’t diminish at all, though she drew closer. “Oh? You seem quick to say that. Are you telling the truth, or are you saying I’m not worth it? I’ll have you know: I’m more than worth it.”

     “I. ...I’m not-. Oh, bother, I’m not certain how I’m meant to answer that without sounding insulting,” Jake admitted, stumbling over his words as he grew more and more flustered. “I’m sure you’re worth it, I’m just. I’m not. I mean I AM but not with YOU but not because you’re- I MEAN IT’S-”

     Aradia laughed at him, head tipping back and pearly white teeth showing. She laughed till tears formed in the edges of her eyes, and shook her head. “Jake, please. I’m playing with you, relax before you strain something important.”

     “Playing with me. Right. Yes. Of course,” he said as he started to settle down, face flushed. He adjusted the collar around his neck as if it were suddenly too snug, causing it to jingle as he pulled his hand away. Aradia looked at him for a long moment as if considering something… before going to pick up a plate. The remainder of the waitstaff was either keeping their distance still or had vacated the area entirely to tend to other business linked to the upkeep of a busy castle. 

     “I came to Derse when I was small,” she said. “My family were indentured servants, and I was a servant as well from the time I was very young. I used to clean the ashes from the fireplaces.”

     “Ashes from the fireplaces?” Jake said. “That sounds like a miserable time.”

     Aradia shrugged. “It’s what happens when your family is lower class. We were the lowest of the low even in Alternia, so Derse was a big improvement. They were patient here while we learned to speak Dersian, didn’t complain that we spoke Common so often to get by, and didn’t skimp on our food or water. When our contracts were up, we were hired properly and started earning wages.”

     “Are your family still here?” he asked, curious just how many attractie red lipped women may be running about behind the scenes, curious if another of them would light the spark that this one was fanning in a different way.

     “No. My family returned to Alternia and were killed,” Aradia said as simply as if she were reporting on the weather. Jake’s throat went dry and he shuffled, tall and awkward and bumbling. The steeping tea smelled sweet and delicate on the countertop, the thin jet of steam pouring from the spout like dragon’s breath. Aradia blinked at Jake’s suddenly somber attitude and smiled. “It’s alright, they had a lovely funeral I’m told. They’d have been happy.”

     “That’s. ...I’m sorry, mis-”

     “Please, enough with the Miss talk, call me by my name!”

     “...Alright. Aradia, I’m sorry to hear that, you must be quite lonesome. But I’m not sure how much of a consolation a nice funeral is when you’re already deceased.”

     “Oh, they enjoyed it,” she said matter of factly. “And it’s not as if I’m alone anyway.”

     Jake frowned, furrowing his thick brows in confusion. “Didn’t you just say your family, ah…?”

     “Died? Yes.”

     “Then how are you not alone? Oh! Friends! You mean you have many friends, yes?”

     A woman that must have been the head chef piped up then, interjecting loudly enough that Jake nearly jumped out of his skin despite her being half his size. 

     “You shouldn’t bother talking to her, she’s crazy. Thinks she can talk to her dead parents.” A scullery maid giggled from behind a soapy plate before ducking her head and returning to her labor of scrubbing out a particularly stubborn pot in the sink. 

     “And others!” Aradia added, nonplussed by the commentary. “There are many dead in Derse. Many old dead. I don’t always understand them, but I can hear and see them. My beloved hears them too, sometimes, though… he hears those who are going to die, instead. Wails and cries of souls tha-”

     The chef lifted a large ladle from the soup she was working with and wielded it like a weapon Aradia’s direction, frowning aggressively. “No, none of that talk! None! Not in my kitchen, you quiet your trap girl! Damned crazy Alternian girl cursing my kitchen, dredging up hauntings and who knows what else,” she hissed in annoyance, before cursing for a moment in Dersian. At least, Jake was fairly certain it was cursing. It definitely didn’t sound very happy, and she kept shaking her head while speaking as she went back to work on the food.

     Aradia, still unbothered, set a plate loaded with treats down beside the teapot and lifted the lid to peek at the liquid inside. “Ah, it’s bloomed out plenty now, fully steeped. Dump the leaves in the trash for me?”

     Blinking slowly, Jake did as she asked before coming close to her side, leaning down to whisper to her. “Are you quite alright with her saying such awful lies about you?”

     “Lies? What lies?” she asked, canting her head to the side. “She said the truth, except for the cursing and the hauntings. There’s nothing to dredge up, I just notice what’s already there. And Sollux hates what he hears, so it’s not as if he cares what some older woman says.”

     Jake gaped at her till she made a noise and pointed towards the trash, reminding him to dump the leaves. He dumped the leaves mechanically, pivoting, and trying to make up his mind about the situation.

     “So you mean to tell me you can hear spirits.”

     “And see them!”

     “And you’re not just saying that.”

     “Nope.”

     “And you’re not crazy.”

     “Last time I checked I wasn’t, but there’s no telling if that will remain the same forever,” she said, lips curling into the same red bow of a smile. Jake felt something in his chest warm as she did so. There was the same strange feeling as earlier once again, though this time Jake was finally able to understand what it was. Or, at least, what he was fairly sure it was. Friendship. The strange bonding feeling that one had when a new instant friend was located, as if you were bosom buddies in a past life that had just been reconnected at the drop of a hat in the new world. There was just an instant connection, and Jake found himself anxiously hoping that she felt it too somehow.

     How did one even explain that feeling to someone? “Hello, I feel we should be chums,  embrace this new friendship with me”? No, that was foolish.

     “You can come speak to me again you know,” Aradia said suddenly. “I’d quite like it actually, Jake. You’re strange.” It wasn’t an insult, how she said it, but more as a form of endearment that made him as happy as he was to hear she wanted to see him again.

     “Certainly, the pleasure would be mine,” he said. “It’s always good to have another friendly face when you’re somewhere new.”

     “Yes!” she agreed, and set the tea pot and a few cups onto a tray, adding the dish of treats afterwards in a neatly balanced arrangement. “Here, now. Take this back to the king while it’s still plenty hot. He drinks slowly, if you pour it while it’s this hot, it should be perfect temperature once he actually drinks it.” As an afterthought, she shoved a tea cozy onto the pot to help trap the warmth, a gaily colored purple thing with tassels that just made Jake smile even more with how silly it looked.

     “Yes, certainly. Thank you!” he said, lifting the tray and… immediately setting it down again without releasing his grip on it. “Erm. Where, ah… where am I meant to go again? The direction?”

     “Where was he last?”

     “The library.”

     Aradia stepped to Jake’s side and turned him to face a specific direction as she spoke, visually steering through the air with her arm to help explain the idea more thoroughly so as to help him avoid getting lost. With more thanks on his lips, Jake leaves in an excellent mood, returning to the familiar looking surroundings of the library with ease. It was only upon his arrival, however, that he realized just how much he’d really missed. 

     John and Dave were standing in the library speaking with Dirk about something, with speaking being the ideal state compared to how many things there were to yell or argue about potentially. Jake cleared his throat when he entered, lifted the tray with a grin in offer to the others, and came to set it by Dirk’s side before pouring a cup full of the tea for him. The conversation didn’t so much die as quiet for a moment, before beginning again.

     “Surely it wouldn’t be missed that much,” Dirk said. “You can’t keep it forever. You’ll already have marks from the damned thing, the fewer you bear the better off you are.”

     “I don’t know how to explain it to you,” Dave said slowly, “but I can’t take it off. Not right now. Not yet.”

     “But when, Dave? If not now, when?”

     Jake realized they were discussing Dave’s collar, the slender piece of equipment that had graced his throat the entirety of the time Jake had known him.  It was a symbol of many things by now, none of which were good, but both Jake and John knew better than to try forcing Dave to do anything he wasn’t interested in doing. If he wanted to keep it on, whatever be the reason, it would remain on. He reached up to toy with it, holding it securely in place with both hands as Dirk murmured something in Dersian to him, and quickly shook his head.

     “No, thank you, just. Later.”

     “Dave. Please. For my sake, then, take it off.”

     Dave cringed visibly at the wording, and gripped the collar tighter for a moment before putting his hands down as if ashamed, fingers curled into fists. The tension in the room was suddenly rising, and Jake wasn’t sure there was enough tea or treats to help bring it back down to a suitable level. Dirk sets his book aside and ignores the tea in favor of standing. He reaches out slowly, as if approaching a wild animal.

     “Easy now,” he murmured. “This will make you feel so much better,” he promised.

     Dave flinched when he set his hands on the collar, back seizing up, body trying to subtly lean away from the source of the discomfort. He looked like a cat avoiding a bath, eyes widening, mouth thinning to the barest line. It wasn’t until Dirk found the mechanism that held it together and tested it, tugging on either side, that Dave shouted and pitched himself down to his knees. He curled forwards bodily, hands resting on either side of his collar, shoving it as if he were the only thing keeping the sturdy item in place against unyielding forces, shouting in Common as he shook.

     “NO. NONONO. NO. NO.”

     Dirk appeared startled and took a step back, while John knelt down, touching Dave’s back. Or trying to at least. Dave flinched back from his touch as well the first time he tried, only yielding when he touched further down on his lower back, far from his neck.

     “It’s alright,” John murmured. “Nobody’s taking it off.”

     “Nononono,” repeated Dave, this time in Prospitian.

     “What is the meaning of this?” Dirk asked, looking between John and Jake before gazing at his kneeling brother, confusion mixing with traces of… what was that emotion? Disgust? Concern? Jake found him hard to read, but with John trying to calm Dave down, he decided it best if he took up the reins to answer.

     “He doesn’t want it off,” Jake said, realizing how unhelpful that sounded.

     “Yes, fool, but why? Or are you going to start screaming if I remove yours too?” Dirk snapped. John glowered at him before looking back to Dave, hugging him when it was finally allowed.

     “Ah.. I mean. I’m thinking it has to do with some trauma,” Jake said cautiously, measuring his words. “That collar was put on during his training, I assume. There was likely a lot of er.. Training. That went into teaching him to keep it on.”

     There was the disgust, Jake could put a name to the emotion. The earlier one must have been concern if this was disgust.

     “Your people treated my brother like a dog.”

     “They did,” agreed Jake. Before everyone had warmed up to him, before they’d realized more about their own beliefs, he was ashamed to realize even he’d thought of Dave as a little beast at first. “...We did,” he said softly.

     “And all this time, you’ve never gotten him over this?” Dirk demanded, looking to John this time. “You wish to marry him and yet he’s still unable to bear having that thing removed from him? Are you mad?”

     “I’m not sure how to go abou-”

     “I’ll say this now, so listen well, John: until he can handle taking that off, and KEEPING it off, I’m forbidding so much as any talk of marriage. If you flee and try to do it, I’ll have you hunted and Dave returned home. If a fucking Prospitian cannot remove this curse from him, his family will instead,” Dirk said, tone grave.

     John was silent, but Jake knew the look on his face. It was the face of a man challenged.

     “Get him to his chambers and calm him down properly,” Dirk muttered. “I’ll not have him kneeling and shivering and panicked somewhere he might be seen.”

     “Are you ashamed of him?” John demanded. “It’s not his fault he’s like this, you know.”

     “I know,” Dirk said. “It’s yours. Spare his fucking dignity and take him to his room, now, or I’ll take him myself!”

     Setting his jaw, John carefully moved position and settled into a better crouch before grasping Dave beneath the arms, lifting him till he stood bent over. It made it easier for him to grasp behind his knees and his upper back then, carrying him bridal style so he could curl up, turning after a moment to bury his face against the skin warmed metal around John’s own neck rather than see his brother as he continued to shiver.  With one hand he opened the door, and with his foot he slammed it shut again behind them upon leaving.

     Jake wrung his hands anxiously, looking from the door to where Dirk still stood, nostrils flaring in rage as he tried to control his breathing. When he failed, he wheezed before beginning to cough, grabbing his handkerchief from his pocket to catch the mess he was no doubt coughing up once more before slowly sitting down in his seat again. When the fit passed, he rubbed his face with one hand, slowly coming to rest on the bridge of his nose, pinching away a migraine that was trying to form.

     Unable to think of what else to say, Jake sighed and reached for the cup he’d poured, lifting it towards Dirk in offer. “Here. For your throat. It can’t be good to keep coughing like that.”

     “It’ll be too hot, I’ll drink it later.”

     “It’s the perfect temperature,” Jake assured him, smiling slightly when Dirk took the cup. “I was assured by the maid I met. She was quite the intriguing woman.”

     “I’d prefer if you didn’t flirt with my servants while you’re essentially under arrest,” Dirk said with a tired sounding sigh.

     “It’s not like that!” Jake cried, squeezing the tea cozy as he pulled it off of the pot. “Augh, she thought the same thing at first, but it’s really not like that! She’s a beloved of her own, and I just want to be her friend very badly!”

     Dirk lifted a brow at him as Jake poured his own cup of tea, a bit confused, but took a sip. Surprisingly, it was indeed the perfect temperature. “Hm. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so dead set on friendship before, servant or none. Fine. Tell me about this maid friend of yours.”

     “I’ve no idea if you know her,” Jake said. “She was in the kitchen and knew her way around very well. She speaks to spirits. Alternian girl, wh-”

     “Pardon?”

     “Spirits. And she’s from Alternia and-”

     “Spirits.”

     “Yes, spirits,” Jake said, taking a sip of tea and immediately burning his mouth a bit. “Ah! Ow ow ow, oof. Oh I shouldn’t have done that..”

     Staring at him, Dirk sipped his own drink, savoring the taste and letting it soothe his throat. Jake had been good to bring the tea, perhaps it had been a necessity after all. “...Go on.”

     “Oh. Yes, right. She’s an Alternian girl who can speak to spirits, and she’s rather funny and quite charming, and-” Jake said, stopping suddenly. He stared off into space for a moment before lifting his brows. Somewhere, deep inside his mind, thoughts had connected. “THAT’S IT!”

     Startled, Dirk nearly dropped his cup. “What? What’s what?”

     “HOW TO TALK TO THE GIRLS!”

     “...What did I just say abou-”

     “No! No, no, no, my girls! My sisters!” Jake said excitedly. He set his cup down and jumped up towards the center of the room with a jingle, pacing like a tiger in its cage as he talked, gesticulating with his hands. “They’re on our side, my sisters. They looked the other way when we left, when we took Dave and escaped. They’re next in line now, should anything happen to Father. Far as John and I can tell though, their best bet is a coup if they want to stand any chance of ending this damned war. Or at least talking with you directly about ending it. I know how to contact them now!”

     “How in the fuck do you plan to do that?” Dirk asked, genuinely curious but just as unnerved by Jake’s outburst as before. “It’s not as if you can just send a letter. ‘Hello girls, nice to hear from you, by the way I’m at castle Derse! Send the army!’ hmm?” he said.

     “Aradia!” Jake said, turning around and gesturing to Dirk with two pointed fingers, thumbs up, one eye closed in a wink. “She has contacts in Alternia. She knows Alternian. We were also close friends with the seamstress, and on good terms with the librarian at home, who are also Alternian! Nobody would suspect to read a message from home.”

     “...Even if it wasn’t sent from home,” Dirk mused, catching on. “And you’re certain nobody would check? How many Alternians are loyal to your father?”

     “I’ve no idea but the librarian would likely be the one to get the message. If it’s sent with a book, all the better. It’d look more official.”

     Dirk gave a snort and sipped his tea once again. “Look. If your plan is for your sisters to stage a coup, that’s one thing. If you’re planning on assisting that’s another. You’re still my captives. And I’ll offer no help to my enemy.”

     “My youngest sister is the darling of the military and her men are loyal to her. If she rose up, they would support her, even if it was to put Jane on the throne. It’s just a matter of them doing it…”

     “What would a message home do then? What purpose would it serve?”

     “To let them know we were alright. And that we supported them, if they needed any extra egging on,” Jake admitted. “They’re capable women, I believe in them. But letting them know we aren’t at risk or rotting in a dungeon would be grand and maybe let them carry on any plans they may already have in the works now that we’re not dangling in the cosmos.”

     “If there’s word of a coup… I may call a pause to my men to allow them time,” Dirk said, closing his eyes to take a drink of tea. “I will not help an enemy. But helping by giving them time to sort their affairs and put someone more willing to discuss their surrender on the throne, then all the better.”

     “Surrender?”

     Dirk glanced over blandly. “You don’t expect me to yield, do you?”

     “...No, I suppose not.”

     Pensively, Jake finished his tea before setting the emptied cup down. “I’ll be just a short time, I need to go tell John about this, he’ll be thrilled to bits. Please, help yourself to the treats.”

     “I’m not hungry.”

     “Try them anyway, I’m assured they’re delicious,” Jake said. “Aradia was right about the tea, I’m certain she’s right about the treats!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

     Though back in his own room, Dave still hadn’t quite settled down. He lay curled on his side in his bed, knees tucked to his chest, one hand over his blinded eye to cover it as he groaned.

     “Did you see the way he looked at me,” he murmured softly. “I’ve never seen Dirk look at anything like that before. Or anyone. He looked horrified. I can’t really blame him, I mean. Look at me.”

     “I am.” John promised. He wasn’t certain what to do to help aside from be there, resting up against Dave’s back and gently stroking down his side and over the slight swell of his hip. “And I see someone amazing who’s survived a lot of hardships to be where they are right now.”

     “John, if your family looked like that at you, you’d understand what I’m feeling right now,” complained Dave. ‘At least my hair hides my eye mostly, or else he’d probably have been staring at that instead. Hah, maybe that’s a new reason to keep the collar on: something to stare at other than my fucking awful eye.”

     “You’ve got a world in your eye,” John murmured. “Whether you see it or not, and whether it can see or not, you’ve got a world in your eye that I can see.”

     “What about my sighted eye, then?” he asked. “What does it have?”

     “My heart reflected back to me.”

     “And if it went blind too?” probed Dave. “What then? Would you settle for a blind man for a spouse?”

     “Proudly,” promised John. “Dave, your eyeballs could fall out and roll into a lake and I’d still want to wed you.”

     Dave reached behind himself to swat at John. “Don’t be gross, be serious!”

     “I am being serious, Dave! I don’t know what to tell you, there’s nothing you can do that would make me not want to marry you. ...Well. Short of one thing I guess.”

     “What’s the one thing?”

     “...Telling me you’d be happier with someone else and meaning it,” John said. “I couldn’t live with myself if I were making you sad. If you were happier with somebody else, I’d have to leave so you could have that joy. And I’d do it.”

     All at once, Dave rolled over to face John, grasping around his middle in a tight, clinging hug, burying his face in his chest. “Not allowed. You’re stuck with me, John, there’s nothing else to say on the matter.”

     “Then stuck I am,” John said, kissing Dave’s forehead, “with the world’s most handsome man as a husband to be. ...No. You’re practically my husband already. I meant every word of that vow we took.”

     “Me as well, but I want it official,” Dave murmured, lifting his chin up to peer at John’s face from beneath his mussed bangs. “I want to have a party to celebrate. I want to give my kingdom hope. I want to do all the things I always thought I’d do for a wedding, should I ever have found a love like this.”

     “You know what that means, then. That we have to stay instead of flee,” John pointed out.

     “Yeah...”

     “And that the collar will have to come off someday,” John added, hugging Dave when he began to stiffen anxiously. “Ah ah ah, I said someday, none of that.”

     “You can say that all you want, but all I feel when I hear that is fear,” admitted Dave with a soft hiss. “What a prince of Derse I am. The youngest moon, raised for the blade, raised for knighthood, and I’m terrified of having a slave’s signs taken off.”

     “I could write a novel about all the reasons you’re still a brave man of your kingdom, but that would stroke your ego so much your head would explode,” John said.

     “Try me.”

     “Someone’s in a mood to preen.”

     Dave smirked, and finally it looked normal on his face. Calmer. Present instead of in some dark room in Prospit having his spirit broken in memory. The fear had lessened its grip once more. John hummed, closing his eyes in thought, trying to decide what to say first. Before he spoke, he rolled, pressing Dave down into the mattress solidly to protect him from whatever else his mind tried to throw at him. At the new angle, he had the perfect position to kiss at his cheek, his ear, his neck.

     “You survived in an enemy kingdom, despite all odds,” John said, kissing the round of his ear. “You won the heart of an enemy prince, as well as the admiration of all his siblings, and have the prince wrapped around your little finger,” he hummed, kissing at Dave’s neck as he felt his hands lowering to the bottom of his shirt, beginning to stroke at his skin with his nails in gentle waves. “You survived an accident that could have killed you. You fled a kingdom, essentially got married while being pursued by soldiers, and got the enemy princes into your home in one piece.”

     “Go on,” Dave murmured softly, tugging up the bottom of John’s shirt till he wiggled it off over his head with a jingle of his collar. 

     “You charmed the prince into your bed and made lurid advances to him,” he said, suddenly blowing a wet puff of air against the side of Dave’s neck, making him squirm and laugh.

     “Don’t ruin the mood, damn it!”

     “It’s already ruined,” John said, propping up enough to grab Dave’s shirt, yanking it off of him suddenly enough that he yelped and started laughing after. “But that’s the best part,” he added as he decimated Dave’s laughter with kisses. “I love ruining moments with you, I always get to kiss you when you’re smiling that way.”

     Dave grasped at John’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “You’re a fool...”

     “I’m your fool, and I’m right, and no I am not accepting criticism,” John said softly, biting Dave’s earlobe gently till Dave shifted his legs, parting them to hug around his hips.

     “Are you ah… accepting anything else?” he asked, squeezing with his legs briefly, crossing his ankles. “Because word is that I’m offering something that isn’t criticism for the next while.”

     “...I may be able to be talked into accepting things that aren’t criticism,” John said, snaking a hand down lower towards Dave’s trousers.

     When Jake opened the door some time later, the exciting news died in his throat. The door closed quickly, quietly as it could be closed, before he slunk back to the library. 

     It could wait a while, he decided. 

[deargrilledcheesusyouredelicious]

the big brave tiger and siobhan

“You’re not coming with me?” Heather asked her mum and dad, disappointment evident in her tone. She didn’t want to go off with a virtual stranger. Especially one who worked for the dentist! “You promised that I could watch them fix your tooth!”

“You’re going to get to see that,” Mummy’s tone was one of exceeding patience. “Daddy and I just need a couple moments to ourselves, that’s all.” 

“But why?” She demanded. “That isn’t fair. I want to stay with you.” 

Daddy offered up a rather miserable cough. “Hettie--”

“Hettie?” Heather echoed. “Hettie what? You know that the dentist hurt me! Now you want me to meet him all on my own?” 

“Dr. Fitzpatrick wasn’t the dentist who hurt you, and you know that,” Daddy reminded her. “I don’t want Siobhan to bring you to meet him without me and Mum, but you’ve already met him, remember? At the florists?” 

“That was different! You said he wasn’t a dentist when he wasn’t here!” 

“Heather, please--” 

“I won’t tell you again,” Mummy sounded rather cross. “Please, Heather, just go with Siobhan. Just for a few minutes.” 

Heather scowled. “You promise that it won’t be for a long time?”  

“I promise. She’s going to show you a treasure chest, remember?” 

Heather was conflicted. “What about Penny?” She didn’t want to take the dog from Daddy, but what if he left her behind when Dr. Fitzpatrick made him go into the scary room for his appointment? Penny would be scared to be alone in the waiting room. “Will you and Daddy take good care of her?” 

“Of course,” Mummy cooed. “We’ll take the very best care of her. I promise.” 

Heather didn’t bother to justify her mother’s comment with a response. She was infuriated. They’d lied to her. Daddy and Mummy had promised that they’d never leave her with another sitter, and they’d just fobbed her off on stupid Siobhan at the first opportunity. Did they think that she was too dumb to notice that? Sure, Siobhan may have been known as a dental assistant, but it seemed blatant to her what her true role was: being stuck in charge of Heather while Mummy and Daddy did grown up things that Heather wanted to be included in. 

“I’m just going to take her into the staff room,” she could hear Siobhan telling her parents, while she did her best to ignore their presence. “I promise, Paul, nothing will happen to her.” 

“What do they care?” Heather demanded. “They just want to get rid of me!”

“Heather!” Mummy chastised. Heather cringed at the tone of her voice. “We don’t want to ‘get rid of you’. Daddy just needs a few moments to himself. All you have to do is go into the other room with Daddy’s friend Siobhan. You even get a toy.” 

Heather wanted to tell her mum that she hated her, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice the words. She didn’t hate Mummy. She loved Mummy.  Even if Mummy was being very mean to her, and making Daddy be mean to her too. She didn’t want a stupid toy from the treasure chest. She wanted to sit with Daddy and help him feel better.

“You’re mean!” She settled on. “You don’t listen to me at all!”

“Heather Louise!” Daddy said in a tone that Heather had never heard him use before. “I want you to go with Siobhan, now. When you get back, you’re going to apologise to your mother.”

Heather scowled. “I don’t have to apologise to her! She’s got to apologise to me! Why are you being mean to me?”

“Come on,” Siobhan encouraged. “It’s okay, Heather. I understand. Nobody enjoys having to make an emergency appointment at the dental surgery.” 

Heather had little desire to go with Siobhan to see what she was sure was a torture chamber. She wanted to stay with her mum and her dad, but Mummy seemed exhausted, so she hadn’t wanted to push her luck. Even Daddy had seemed willing to force her to go, and he hated the dentist. What was the point of going with Daddy to the dentist if he was going to be taken away from her? That wasn’t fair. All Heather wanted was to be close to her mummy and her daddy. Now they’d sent her off with some stranger! 

Sure, Daddy had said she was kind, but she worked for the dentist. How could someone who worked for someone who hurt people be kind? She didn’t understand. 

When they got into what Heather assumed was the staff room, Siobhan asked if she wanted to sit down. Heather surveyed the room with tear-filled eyes. There was another fish tank filled with the colourful fish she’d been admiring in the other room. The room had several comfortable looking chairs to sit on, and a settee. While Heather would have normally agreed to sit down on one of them, it was all suspect to her. It was a dentist’s office, after all. 

“I don’t want to,” Heather whispered. “The only thing that I want to do I can’t do.” 

“You’ll be able to see your parents in a few minutes,” Siobhan said in response. Heather shook her head. That hadn’t been what she’d meant. She desperately wanted to suck her thumb, but she knew better than to admit that in front of someone who worked for a dentist. “Oh, do you mean getting a tiger?” 

“Mummy and Daddy think they’re too dangerous.” Heather rolled her eyes. “They’re just big cuddly moggies with tiger teeth.” 

“I don’t think that my parents would let me have a tiger, either,” Siobhan told Heather, and Heather let out a sigh. It wasn’t fair that the dentist and Daddy agreed on this. She loved Thisbe and her teeny tiny kittens, but she had gotten to see some tigers at the Central Park zoo when she’d still lived in New York, and promptly became enamoured of the creatures. “Have you seen the tigers though?” 

“The tigers don’t live here,” Heather did her best to modulate her tone. Not only did it make her sad that she might never see the tigers at Central Park again, there was also the fact that her admittance was going to lead to questioning. She didn’t want to get upset and have to deal with Siobhan attempting to comfort her. It was a stupid thing to get upset over, really. 

They were just tigers. 

If only the tigers were really the issue. Heather just didn’t want to admit to her companion that she wasn’t originally from England. Sure, she had pretended that she believed Daddy was her dad, but Heather wasn’t stupid. People pretended that all the time, at least while Daddy and Mummy were there. When they weren’t, it was another story. 

“They live where I lived before. There was a zoo there. Mummy took me to see them.” 

Heather desperately wanted to suck her thumb, but she forced herself not to. She didn’t care how nice Daddy claimed Siobhan was. She worked for the dentist. 

“Daddy hasn’t taken you to the London Zoo?” Siobhan asked her. 

She shook her head. “I didn’t know there was a zoo here,” she admitted. “Do they have tigers?” 

Siobhan nodded. “Of course they do,” she said. “Mummy tigers and daddy tigers, and little tigers like you.”

Heather knew that the little tigers weren’t going to be like her. How could they be? They were born here, in London. The baby that Mummy was pregnant with would be like them. Heather wasn’t. She wasn’t even like the little tigers in New York. They’d been born at the Zoo. The sign (Mummy had read it for her, because she had taken her before she had learnt how to read) had informed her and Mummy that the tiger cubs had been born in captivity.  

Heather had been born in a place called Tucson. She didn’t think the London tigers had been born there. 

“The little tigers aren’t like me. They’re from here. They’re not from stupid New York.” 

Heather didn’t think that New York was stupid, but she knew that everyone in London did. Especially the kids that she’d gone to school with. Every day she had had to listen to comments about everything. How she looked, how she dressed, whether or not her dad was her dad, and, most galling of all, how she spoke. Daddy had told her that she had a perfectly lovely voice, but Mummy was the only one who’d agreed with him.

No one had believed he was her dad, either. That had hurt most of all. Daddy had even gone to the school to try to convince them, and nothing had come of it. The headteacher had promised him that she would put a stop to it, and she had: she’d put a stop to Heather’s ‘complaining’ by swatting her with the school’s cane. 

Not that she’d mentioned that incident to either of her parents. She hadn’t wanted to make them angry at her. 

“Is that where you’re from?” Siobhan asked her, in what seemed to be a curious tone. Heather eyed her warily. “New York?” 

Whenever someone found out where Heather was from, all of the hard effort she’d put into assimilating into an accent like her dad’s completely evaporated. She hated it. All she wanted was for people to see her as a McCartney, not a liar. She wasn’t a liar. It wasn’t her fault that she was both a McCartney and from New York. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Heather whimpered, after a moment of silence. She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. “The tigers were from there, that’s all. Some of them were babies,” she recalled. “They were so tiny. Not big at all. Mummy told me that they were called cubs. She told me that they would be big like the mummy and daddy tigers one day.”

“Did your dad go with you?” Siobhan asked. Heather glanced up at her, and she slowly shook her head. Mummy had taken Heather to the zoo before Daddy had come to New York. 

“Daddy wasn’t there,” she answered, hoping that her evasive answer would satisfy Siobhan’s question. “Me and Mum, we went after she took pictures of some of her mates at the zoo. I’d wanted to go with her, but she’d told me that taking pictures was her job, so I needed to stay with the sitter.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory. “I don’t know why she took me to the zoo afterwards,” she added. “She’d already been.” 

“I think she took you to make you happy,” Siobhan replied. “You had a good time, didn’t you?” 

“I liked to see the animals. But, I told you, that’s in New York. It’s different.” 

“You know, I’m not from here, either,” Siobhan informed her, her accent lilting. “It was hard for me when we moved here from Derry. That’s where I was born.”

“I thought you were from Ireland.” 

“Northern Ireland,” she said. “Derry’s where we lived, though. It’s like how we live in England, but London’s a city? Do you understand?” 

“We lived in New York,” Heather admitted. “In Manhattan. I don’t like to talk about it because I hated it. Grandpa Lee made me go to a school where everyone made fun of me and his dentist tormented me, and everyone made fun of me for that, and then Mummy had to work all the time,  and she had to leave me with babysitters. Sometimes she took me to the Fillmore East with her,” she added. “I liked that. I felt so grown up. Mummy went to London for a few weeks and when she came back she had my daddy with her,” she continued, not willing to look Siobhan in the eyes, but at least willing to speak to her. “He wasn’t my daddy then,” she admitted. “Mummy told me that he was someone she loved very much and that she hoped that we might want to become a family together.” Siobhan smiled at Heather when she said that, and she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t a big deal, was it? Siobhan had a pretty smile, though. It reminded Heather of Mummy’s. “At first, I called him Paul. He brought me Penny, because he had a dog at home and he wanted me to have a dog, too. When Paul came...Mummy didn’t have to work so much anymore. When she did work, he was there, so I didn’t have to have a baby sitter. He told me that he didn’t mind being with me. I don’t know why he does now.” Her lower lip wobbled. “Maybe it’s because of the baby? It will really be his. No one will ever say otherwise. Maybe he realised that.” 

“I don’t think that it has anything to do with you,” Siobhan told her. Heather was surprised when she knelt on the surgery floor. “Your dad, he’s never been great at coming to the dentist. I think that he’s had some bad experiences at other dental surgeries,” she elaborated. “Sometimes it’s hard to find the right fit, like when you didn’t like the babysitters your mum found for you?” 

“Daddy said that your daddy wouldn’t let him take his pills,” Heather recalled, in a rather accusatory tone. “This is your daddy’s fault. Daddy wouldn’t be so upset if he took them to feel better.” 

“I know,” Siobhan admitted. “Maybe that was the wrong thing for him to suggest.” 

“What do you mean?” Heather demanded. “He said that Daddy needed to try something called laughing gas. I don’t even know what that is. Is he going to hurt him? I don’t want him to get hurt, Siobhan.”

“My dad wouldn’t have wanted your dad to get this upset,” Siobhan told her. Heather deigned to look her in the eyes. “I think that he wanted to try the laughing gas on him so that he might be able to drive you home.”

“Daddy doesn’t like making Mummy drive,” she supplied. “She didn’t drive a lot when we lived in New York, and they drive on the wrong side of the road here.” She scratched the side of her face. “Maybe he’s nervous because of the accident he got into? It sounded scary. I saw a picture of what he looked like.” 

“You saw the film they did for Paperback Writer?” 

She shook her head. “No, Uncle Mike took a picture of Daddy after he got hurt. It made me sad to see. I wish that I’d been there, so I could have given him a hug.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What does laughing gas do?” 

“It will make your dad not feel anything that my dad does at all,” Siobhan told her. “He’ll get really giggly, you know? Really up?” 

Heather wondered if she meant how Dad and Mum got when they smoked the special cigarettes. She vowed to ask them if that was what Siobhan had meant later. She didn’t want to get Daddy in trouble with the dentist. 

“I like when Daddy laughs,” she admitted. “It makes me happy. Sometimes he makes me laugh, too.” 

“He’ll probably say some daft things when he’s on it.” Siobhan grinned at her. Heather managed to smile back. “It’ll be okay, honest. I think that Daddy and Mummy just needed a few minutes to themselves, that’s all. You can get them some stuff from the treasure chest.” 

“Is it really okay if I get something for the baby?” 

“I bet it would make your mum and dad happy.” 

Heather liked that idea. “I know that they love us both,” she insisted. It was important that Siobhan know that. “I just didn’t want them to leave me.” 

“I think that your daddy needed a moment with just your mummy so that he wouldn’t have to pretend that he was okay being here. Even though my dad would never hurt him. Sometimes the procedures make your mouth feel funny.”

Heather drew in a deep breath. “Grandpa Lee’s dentist hurt me,” she admitted. “He went to the school that I went to in New York and he made all the kids who hadn’t had dentist appointments see him for an appointment at the school. He thought that I was still sucking my thumb and he yelled at me, and when he poked at my teeth it really hurt. I had to sit on a folding chair. I wanted Mum and no one would get her for me. Everyone at school made fun of me.” 

“I’m sorry, Heather,” Siobhan said. “None of that should have happened. It won’t happen here. There’s a comfortable chair for you to sit in, and Mummy and Daddy can both stay. My dad won’t make you have a dental cleaning alone.” 

“Daddy won’t want to be there,” she whimpered. “The dentist scares him.”

“No, Heather, that’s not true,” Siobhan assured her, her tone gentle. “Your dad...he doesn’t like the dentist, that’s true, but he’ll be there for you. I promise. I remember once, I was upset because the kids at school were teasing me about my wires, and about my accent. I was in the waiting room crying, because my dad was in with a patient. I didn’t want to interrupt him because the patient was having an important procedure done. When your dad came out, he asked me if I was okay, and he sat down beside me while I cried. He didn’t care that he was still at the dental surgery or that his ride home was waiting for him, or that he was on enough painkillers to knock out a horse...he really wanted me to feel better. A couple of days later, he stopped by here to bring us tickets to one of his concerts. He made me feel really special. So, I’m sure that he’ll stay for your appointment and hold your hand. Maybe he’ll even sing for you.” 

Heather scrubbed at her face. “I like when he sings to me. Sometimes he and Mummy sing together when he plays the piano, or the guitar.” She sighed. “Can I pick out the things from the treasure chest?” 

Heather didn’t want to hear about Siobhan having had to get wires. Wasn’t it bad enough that they were in a dental surgery and she was forced to pretend she believed that Siobhan was nice? She didn’t want to hear about poor Daddy being forced to get his teeth pulled, or the dentist subjecting his own daughter to the dreaded braces. She loathed the fact that what she’d assumed was only a lie to her grandfather to get her away from his evil dentist had turned into the reality of having to have a dental cleaning. 

There was something that she was curious about, though. Had Daddy really gotten Siobhan tickets to one of his concerts? Heather was a bit jealous. Mummy had been to see Daddy and his band play when they’d come to New York, before he was her daddy, and now even Siobhan had been? That wasn’t fair. 

“Did you get to go?” Heather asked. “To the concert. Did your daddy let you go?” 

Siobhan nodded. “He did.” 

“I wish that I could go to a concert,” she admitted. “It isn’t fair. Mummy got to see Daddy play, you got to see him play, but not me.” She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t know if she was supposed to admit that the Beatles were fighting. She knew that Uncle John being in the princess castle was supposed to be a secret. Daddy seemed to think that, at least. Heather didn’t want to make him angry again. 

“Have you asked your daddy?” 

Heather shook her head. “No, Daddy doesn’t like to talk about work when he’s at home,” she informed her. “He told me that we were going to have a big party for the record that’s coming out soon! Mummy and Daddy met at the one for Daddy’s last record. So, I asked him if we could have a big party for this one, and if I could go. At first, he pretended that he didn’t want to have a big party for the record,” Heather told her. “I don’t know why. He worked so hard at it. Sometimes he and Uncle Ringo were the only ones who worked. I tried explaining that to him but he still pretended he didn’t want to, so I had to explain how Mummy had been to one and I wanted to go to one too.”  

Siobhan giggled. “You must be looking forward to it?” 

“Uh-huh,” she chirped. “Da said that he’d take us to the store that they own let us pick out pretty dresses! He said that we could get whatever we wanted.” Heather could hardly wait. Her excitement dimmed as she recalled the last thing that her dad had said to her in the waiting room. He’d been so angry at her. She still didn’t understand why. She tried so hard to make mum and dad happy. “But that was before. He’s mad at me, now. He yelled. He’s never yelled at me before. I didn’t mean to be bad, Siobhan, honest.” 

“I don’t think that he was mad at you,” Siobhan told her. “Look, Heather. I think it may have upset your parents when you didn’t want to go with me, because they needed a few minutes alone. I think your dad needed a break from being brave.” 

Heather pondered this. “But, Daddy is always brave,” she said. “Honest! Why wouldn’t he just tell me he was scared? I’m scared of lots of things. I would have understood.”

“I don’t know, Heather.” 

Heather didn’t know either. She was sure that Daddy knew she was scared of things. Wasn’t that why he and Mummy let her spend the night with them sometimes? Because of her bad dreams? Now he was trying to pretend that he never got scared? Daddy was so silly sometimes.  

She decided to change the subject. They’d approached the treasure chest, and she wanted to pick out the best treasure ever for the baby. Even though Mummy insisted the baby wouldn’t be there for a long time, Heather didn’t see the harm in getting the baby a treasure. 

“I’m gonna be a big sister,” she gushed, the excitement she felt about her new role overruling her trepidation at appearing anything more than aloof towards the dental assistant. “Mummy and Daddy asked me if I wanted to be a big sister, and I told them yes, so now they’re going to have a baby. But not for a long time. Mummy said during the summer.” 

“Do you want a brother?” Siobhan asked her. “Or a sister?” 

Heather shrugged. “I want a sister,” she admitted. “But I heard Daddy tell Mummy he wanted to have loads of babies with her. So if it’s a boy, that’d be okay. I just want the baby to come. Mummy says when it’s older I can share a room with it if I want to.” Heather did. She felt it unfair that Mummy had said no to it from the beginning. “Da said that the baby won’t care if it looks like him and I don’t, because he said that I look like Mummy. Mummy’s so beautiful.” She glanced up at Siobhan. “Are you a big sister?” 

“Yeah, I’m the eldest,” she told her. “Just like you.” 

Heather had never seen such a pretty treasure chest before, and Siobhan told her that she had decorated it herself. While Heather would have never normally contemplated complimenting someone who worked for the dentist, she put aside her principles for the moment. Heather couldn’t believe that she could pick out a treasure for everyone, even the baby. There were so many treasures that she didn’t know what to choose. 

“I want the horse,” she told Siobhan. “I think that Father Christmas is going to be bringing me one. I told Mummy and Daddy that that was what I wanted.” She cradled the figurine in her hands. There were three other horses in the treasure chest. They were different than the one that Heather held, but she wanted to give them to Mummy and Daddy. And the baby. Even though she knew that the baby wouldn’t be born for some time. “I want to get everyone a horsie.”

“What kind of horse are you getting?” Siobhan asked. “Do you mean a stuffed toy?” 

She shook her head. “No, a real horse. Mummy and Daddy already have some. I want one of my own, so that I can ride on it by myself.” 

“I’ve ridden horses,” she told her. “I used to show them.” 

“Show them what?” Heather didn’t know what Siobhan meant by the comment, but she was confused by the fact that she had shown horses things and then stopped. “Did they get bored? Is that why you stopped?” 

“Oh, no. Show means...it’s a fancy word that means I used to ride them in competition.” 

“Do you still like horses?” Heather asked. “Even though you don’t ride them in competition anymore?” 

“Of course I do,” she assured her. “I just got too busy, you know? I was studying to be a dental hygienist.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “Why? You don’t seem scary.”

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: Anatomy of a Secret

Worldbuilding Reveals are finally here!  I had a lot of fun with this especially brainstorming with TexasDreamer01 and figuring out how Trill-and-its-secrets would be different in the AOS universe than it was in the Prime universe.  Texas was awesome and so much help, you guys. Title: Anatomy of a Secret Fandoms: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series Author: beatrice_otter Written For: shopfront  in Worldbuilding Exchange 2020 Brainstorming help and betaing: TexasDreamer01 Word Count: 11000 words Rating: Teen Summary: Old memories are stirred up when a group Trill scientists come the station, led by one Jadzia Dax. Though she claims to be the daughter of Benjamin's old friend, Curzon Dax, she is more than what she seems, and some secrets can't be kept forever.

On AO3.  On Dreamwidth.  On Pillowfort.

"You seem a bit more interested in this batch of scientists than you normally are," Nerys observed as she and Commander Sisko walked to the airlock where the Trill team's ship would be docking.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Usually, you send me and Lieutenant Thothih to greet them. Or just Thothih, if it's a busy day."

"As science officer, Thothih is usually the best to get them settled, but he's on leave right now," Sisko pointed out.

"Which still doesn't mean you have to help with it, unless the research group is a bit more prestigious than you've told me."

Sisko sighed. "No. I'm just … curious. Curzon Dax was a very good friend of mine, and I miss him a great deal. He never mentioned a Jadzia Dax, and for all I know there's no relation. But, if there is, if she knew him … perhaps we can get together and reminisce about the old man."

"Was this Curzon a Starfleet officer?" she asked, as they turned the corner and arrived at the airlock the Trill team would be using.

"No, he was a diplomat," Sisko replied. "Not that he was necessarily very diplomatic, all the time. He was brash, loud, impulsive … and very charming. He was one of the Federation's main ambassadors to the Klingons, they always loved him, if that gives you a picture of him. Curzon taught me about science, about diplomacy, about how people think. He also taught me how to drink, how to handle myself in a bar fight—and how to keep things from turning into a bar fight—and how to talk to a woman I was interested in."

"Sounds like an interesting man," Nerys noted.

"That he was, Major," Sisko said.

Before they could say anything else, the airlock opened with a hiss. Three Trill stepped through, and Nerys was surprised at the order they did it in. A young woman, who was about 30 if Trill aging worked the same as Bajoran and Human, was in the lead. Behind her a middle-aged man and woman carried a crate of equipment. Obviously age did not bring seniority, for Trills, because the young woman had only a bag slung over her shoulder and a case in one hand.

"Commander Sisko!" she said brightly, stopping in front of him. "It's so good to finally meet you." She held out her hand, and Sisko shook it.

"You must be Doctor Dax," he said. "I take it you are related to Curzon, then?"

Her smile dimmed a little. "Call me Jadzia, please," Dax said. "And yes, Curzon was my father."

Sisko cocked his head in surprise. "He never mentioned he had a child. In fact, he told me once that he didn't have children."

"I know," Jadzia said. She turned to the other Trill. "These are my colleagues, Doctor Prohn and Lusin." She gestured at the man and the woman in turn.

"Hello," Nerys said. "I'm Major Kira, the station's first officer. I'll be your liaison until our science officer gets back from leave. Please let me know if you need anything—for example, if you'd like, we can beam any heavy equipment directly to the lab you'll be using."

"Thank you," said Doctor Prohn, "but this is the worst of it, and we can manage. We're not that far from the lab, if I read the station schematic correctly?"

"No, not far," Nerys said, by this time used to scientists who were more interested in seeing their lab than their quarters.

"I'd love to catch up, but we should get settled in, first," Jadzia said. "Maybe this evening?"

"Of course," Sisko said courteously. "I can make my famous jambalaya, and we can talk about your father."

"Great! Then I can meet Jake, too," Jadzia said.

"I guess Curzon told you a lot about me and my family," Sisko said, slightly taken aback.

"You could say that," Jadzia replied. She paused, then reached out and patted him on the arm. "I was so sorry to hear about Jennifer," she said. "I know Curzon would have wished he could be there for you."

"That's … kind of you to say," Sisko said awkwardly.

Nerys noted that Lusin bristled at the exchange. Nerys didn't know what her problem was, but Nerys was wondering who the hell this Jadzia was, anyway, and why she felt the need to stir up old wounds in someone she'd never even met before.

"It's the truth," Jadzia said.

"I hate to interrupt, but we should be getting settled in," Lusin said. "Major, if you could direct us to our lab?"

"Yes, of course," Nerys said, gesturing for them to follow her.

"See you tonight, Benjamin!" Jadzia said.

***

The second the door closed behind the Bajoran officer, Lusin spun to face Jadzia. "Dax, what were you thinking," she hissed. "You are straying perilously close to revealing us!"

"I did nothing that any other joined Trill in my position would not have done," Jadzia said. "And to an alien who doesn't know about symbionts, 'this person's father told her a lot about his friends' is far more believable than 'this Federation member species has been keeping a major secret from the rest of the Federation, and part of my dead friend lives on inside a new body.' Benjamin's smart, but he's not prone to wild flights of fancy or conspiracy theories … which is what Trills being symbionts would sound like to him." She helped Prohn open the case and begin taking out the equipment within it.

"You're not taking this seriously enough," Lusin said. "If the Federation finds out about symbionts—"

"What a tragedy that would be," Jadzia said flatly, not bothering to look up at her. "Despite what the Symbiosis Commission believes, the majority of aliens would not be interested in having symbionts of their own. There's no danger in telling the truth, and we've known that for a long time. Benjamin is one of my closest friends, and I'm not going to pretend he's any more of a stranger than I absolutely have to."

"You're not saying you'll reveal yourself to him!"

"No, of course not," Jadzia said.

Prohn was being conspicuously quiet, trying to blend in to the background. He was a good scientist, medically ineligible for joining, neither jealous of nor overly deferential to the Joined, and studiously apolitical. She liked him. Lusin, on the other hand, was barely qualified, and only there because the Symbiosis Commission had insisted on a watchdog if she was going to go so close to an alien who'd been a close friend in a previous life.

"Are you going to help, or are you just going to stand there watching us work?" Jadzia asked. She didn't particularly want to have anyone hovering over her, and the sooner they were done here the sooner she could go have dinner with Benjamin and Jake.

Lusin sat down at one of the computer terminals and began installing the software needed for their experiments.

***

Once the lab had been set up they found their quarters, and thank everything holy Jadzia didn't have to share with either of them. The close quarters on the ship here had been bad enough. By the time she was unpacked, it was time to head over to Benjamin's. She opened the door of her quarters to find Lusin standing in the corridor waiting for her.

"No," Jadzia said firmly. "You are not invited. Good night, Lusin." She marched off towards the turbolift, ignoring the protests behind her.

***

"Curzon had a kid," Jake marveled, not for the first time as he stirred the vegetables in the pot.

"Hardly a kid any longer—she's an accomplished scientist here to study the wormhole," Benjamin said, taking a small taste of the sauce and considering what it needed.

Jake swiped a finger through it and brought it to his mouth, dodging the swat his father gave him in return. "Needs more oregano," he said, "and maybe some red pepper?"

"You're getting good at this," Benjamin said, doing as his son suggested, "but use a spoon instead of your finger, especially when we're cooking for strangers—I don't want to think what your grandfather would say if you'd done that in the restaurant."

"I know, I know," Jake grumbled. "What's she like?"

"I only met her for a few minutes," Benjamin said, "so—"

The door chime cut him off.

"I'll get it!" Jake said.

Benjamin turned away from the stove and watched as the door slid open. She didn't look any more like Curzon now than she did at the docking ring, he noted. Besides the obvious differences in gender and age and hair, she didn't share the same body type or bone structure.

"You must be Curzon's daughter Jadzia," Jake said.

"I guess I must be," Jadzia replied. "You must be Benjamin's son Jake. It's a pleasure to meet you. I was sorry to hear about your mother—I know Curzon would have wanted to be there for you, if he could."

"Thanks," Jake said, drawing in on himself a little. "I know he would've been there if he could—it's not like he got to choose when to die, either."

"No," Jadzia said. She gave a weird, sad smile, and an awkward silence fell.

"Are you going to leave her standing in the hall?" Benjamin asked.

"Oh! No, sorry, come in," Jake said. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. How are you liking the station so far?"

"I've only really seen the lab and my quarters," Jadzia said. "The lab's fine, and I'm really glad to be out of the cramped quarters on the ship we took to get here. I'm fine working with my colleagues, but being crammed in together into one shared living space was a bit much." She took a seat on the couch, and Jake sat on the chair opposite her.

"Why not take a ship that had room for you all?" Jake asked, leaning forward.

Jadzia made a face. "I got ordered to bring Lusin along at the last minute. Politics. If I'd stayed to fight it, I might have gotten rid of her … but I also might have lost my funding. And the next ship coming directly to the station from our sector wasn't leaving for another month. It was easiest just to shoehorn her in and pray she didn't annoy me to death."

"What's so annoying about her?" Jake asked.

"Intra-Trill politics," Jadzia said. "Did Curzon ever complain to you about the stuck-in-the-mud paranoiacs who run things on the Trill Homeworld?"

"Yeah, but I didn't listen," Jake said.

"Well, the short version is, both the Homeworld and Aljagra—"

"That's the colony, right?" Jake asked. "Established during the post-Nero colonization period, when lots of planets were scared of being destroyed like the original Vulcan homeworld was?"

"Exactly," Jadzia said. She sank back into the couch and curled her legs up under her. "Leadership on Trill has always been a bit paranoid about non-Trill, partly because so few of them actually meet any. And then after Aljagra was established, that got worse because the people who were most adventurous were the ones who agreed to join the settlement of the new colony. So while leadership on both planets is very conservative, there's also a sort of a rift between them because most of the Aljagra Commission understands the difference between 'reasonable caution' and 'paranoia,' and that can't always be said of the Commission on Trill."

Benjamin had been listening while he stirred the pot. It was nothing he hadn't picked up from various comments Curzon had made over the years, but the old man had never put it all together like that. "You know, I looked up the Commission once, in the databanks," he said. "I didn't find much of anything."

"You wouldn't," Jadzia said, glancing over at him. "Anyway. The Commission on Trill doesn't like that I don't like them, and they don't like that my research happened to take me to a place where one of Curzon's old friends lives, because they didn't much like Curzon either. So they stuck me with Lusin as a sort of political commissar. And then we had to share quarters on the transport out here. I'm hoping she'll settle down once we actually get to work. That, or she proves so incompetent I can send her back in disgrace."

"Let's hope," Benjamin said. Curzon had often complained about intra-Trill politics. But Curzon had been an old friend, and this was only the second time Benjamin and Jadzia had even met. It was strange, that someone with a 'political commissar' watching them would be so open with a stranger, even one who was an old family friend. "But tell us about yourself, Jadzia. Curzon told you about us, but we had no idea you existed."

"There's not much to tell, actually," Jadzia said. "I grew up on the Trill homeworld, did very good in school, especially the sciences, and went off to Starfleet. Then Curzon died, and … I had familial responsibilities back on Trill that were not compatible with Starfleet service. But Trill has some very good science institutes, so I've been able to do some interesting research."

"Did you like being a Starfleet science officer more than a civilian scientist?" Jake asked.

Jadzia hesitated. "It's hard to say—they're very different. Starfleet science officers usually have to be generalists. You never know what sort of thing your ship is going to encounter, so you have to be good at everything. Civilians specialize. Instead of knowing a little bit about a lot of things, we know a lot about a few things. Are you considering a career in Starfleet, like your Dad?"

Jake shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

Now, that caught Benjamin's attention. He turned a little away from the cooktop to get a good look at his son. Jake was usually more enthusiastic than that about Starfleet.

"I loved being in Starfleet," Jadzia said with a shrug. She leaned forward and caught Jake's eye. "But I also love my job now. You've got lots of time to figure out what you want." She smiled at him, and then at Benjamin when she saw him watching them.

"And on that note," Benjamin said, "I think this is ready. Jake, help me get it over to the table." Since everything else was already there, it took little time before it was ready to go. They sat down together and he dished food onto everyone's plate.

Jadzia took her first bite. "This is so good," she said with a moan. "Curzon was right about how good it is."

"He told you about my cooking?" Benjamin asked, surprised. Of all the things Curzon might have told his secret daughter about Benjamin, he picked food? On the other hand, Curzon had always been a connoisseur, and Benjamin would rather she'd heard stories about his cooking than some of the scrapes he'd gotten into as a young officer.

"Mm-hmm," Jadzia said, through another mouthful. "We don't always share the same tastes, but this is really good. Thank you for inviting me for dinner." "You're welcome," Benjamin said.

"Are there any good restaurants on the station?" Jadzia asked.

"None where they cook the food," Benjamin said. "There are only two restaurants, and both the Replimat and Quark's Bar use replicators."

"Not surprising, given that it is a space station," Jadzia said. "Ah, well. Maybe I can go down to Bajor for a weekend or something, once we get our experiments up and running, do some sightseeing."

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations," Benjamin said.

"I'd like that, thank you," Jadzia said. "But you've been here on Deep Space Nine for almost a year now. Between the political situation on Bajor, the proximity to the Cardassians, and the wormhole, I'd bet you have some interesting stories."

"Interesting's one way of putting it," Jake said, through a mouthful of food.

Benjamin shot his son a reproving glance for the bad manners. "There's certainly been a great variety of things happening, more than I expected when I received the assignment," he said, running through events in his mind and discarding any that were too classified or too personal to share. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to know more about?"

Jadzia shook her head. "Whatever you'd like to share is fine by me." She gave him a warm smile.

***

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant exchange of stories. Benjamin and Jake's time on Deep Space Nine, Jadzia's time in Starfleet, and, eventually, memories of Curzon.

"So, you going to see her again?" Jake asked as they scrubbed the pots from dinner.

"I would expect so," Benjamin said, scraping at a particularly tenacious bit of stuck-on gunk. "It's a small station, and she'll be working with Lieutenant Thothih."

"No, I mean, are you going to see her again," Jake said, nudging him with an elbow. "She seemed pretty into you, she was really into some of your stories."

"I didn't see anything like that," Benjamin said, blinking. Had he missed something? She'd been warm and attentive, but he didn't think she'd been flirting with him. And she'd been just as warm with Jake. It was probably just how she was. "She was probably just missing the excitement of Starfleet."

"No, really, if you wanted something with her, I think she'd be up for it," Jake said. "Oh, really," Benjamin said, amused. "You get that from your great store of romantic experience?"

"Dad," Jake said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just saying. She's great, and she seems interested in you."

"I think she's a little too young for me," Benjamin said. "And besides, she's Curzon's daughter."

"She looks a lot prettier than he did, though," Jake said.

That was undeniable. "You know, these pots aren't going to scrub themselves," he pointed out, flicking a little bit of water at Jake.

"Hey!" Jack said, flicking some back at him.

***

Nerys walked into Quark's scanning it for signs of trouble or interest as she always did. Between Quark's own business deals and the fact that almost everyone who visited the station showed up in his bar sooner or later, it was always the best place to catch the pulse of the station.

It was a quiet day. The only thing even mildly interesting was Doctor Bashir having a drink with that new Trill scientist, Doctor Jadzia Dax. She'd have thought the woman had better taste than that. No, that was unfair, Bashir had grown up a bit since he arrived on the station.

Nerys ordered a drink and sat at the bar, three stools down from Morn. She was early for her slot in the holosuite, but it wasn't like she had anything better to do. She liked all her colleagues here on the station—even Bashir, which was surprising given how bad a first impression he'd given when he first arrived—but it wasn't like any of them were particularly close.

The other two Trill were over at the dabo tables, and Lusin kept frowning over at Jadzia. It was the most interesting thing happening—she'd heard the story Morn was telling before—and Nerys idly wondered what was going on there.

Bashir and Jadzia got up, and Bashir left. Lusin cashed out at the dabo table and intercepted Jadzia. The two exchanged tense words, and Lusin continued out while Jadzia made her way to the bar.

"What can I get for you, Doctor?" Quark asked with an unctuous smile.

"I'll have a Black Hole," Jadzia said with a smile.

"One Black Hole, coming right up," Quark said, turning away to mix her drink.

"How's the research going?" Nerys asked.

"It's going," Jadzia said. "We're at the stage where there's a lot of data, but it's not making sense, and there are more dead ends than answers. And it's not a bad thing—negative results are still results—but it is a bit frustrating."

"Is that what your assistant was glowering at you about?" Nerys asked. "Ignore the question if it's too nosy."

Jadzia snorted. "No. She doesn't like me spending time with Julian. Thinks he's too young for me."

"What business is that of hers?" Nerys asked. It was true that Julian came off as especially puppyish next to Jadzia, but if that was what Jadzia liked, it was her own choice.

"Exactly!" Jadzia said.

"Is she jealous?" Nerys asked. "Does she wish you'd pick her, instead?"

Jadzia laughed. "No, worse. It's political. And I have had enough of politics lately."

"Me, too," Nerys said. Things on Bajor had been heating up lately, with lots of anti-alien sentiment, and being the Deep Space Nine liaison officer, she bore the brunt of a lot of it. She checked the chronometer. Ten minutes until her holosuite time started. "You know, I've got a holosuite slot starting soon, you're welcome to join me in it, if you want to get away from the station for a bit."

"I'd love to," Jadzia said. "What program are you running?"

"Honestly? Haven't decided," Nerys said. "I know a holosuite can take you anywhere, but I'm usually too busy to even think about what the options are, so I end up doing boring things like watching a sunrise over Mount Kola."

"Hey, spending time in nature can be very refreshing," Jadzia said. "But if you'd like some ideas of other things to try, I can make some recommendations. Don't let my baby face fool you—I've been around, and seen a lot of different things."

By the time Quark told her their holosuite was open, Nerys had half a dozen different things she wanted to try. By the time their time slot was over, Nerys had invited Jadzia to join her next week, as well. It had been a long time since she'd had that much fun.

***

"It seems a waste, starting tests we may not get to finish," Prohn said as he tested the code they would be using for the next phase of their experiment.

"Would you rather sit here doing nothing while we wait to know if we have to leave?" Lusin said. She was preparing the latest data packet for their partners on Bajor, Trill, and Vulcan. "Besides, even if they throw the rest of the Federation out, they may allow us to stay—we are partially sponsored by the University of Navot, and they may have enough clout to get us visas so that we can continue research."

"I wouldn't count on that," Jadzia cautioned. "They're not exactly Bajor's foremost institution, and if the nationalists win, sponsoring foreigners becomes an embarrassment. Still, we have two choices: we can stop work and wait to see, in which case we'll have to start this whole sequence over again if Bajor decides to let us stay. Or we can continue on as scheduled, and if we do get kicked out we'll have as much data as we can possibly get out of it."

"Or, we could catch a ride on the next ship heading towards the Federation, and come back if things cool down," Prohn said. "I don't like the reports of violence on Bajor." "That's on the planet's surface," Lusin scoffed, "and however incompetent the Bajoran security forces may be, this station is run by Starfleet. I'm sure things will be orderly and safe here."

That was a bit naïve, as Jadzia knew from the long experiences of several of her previous hosts. Benjamin was good, but unstable situations like this could get very messy, especially when you had a population used to violence. "You're not the only one to have that thought, Prohn. There are more people wanting back into Federation space than there are ships headed that direction." She shrugged. "But we probably don't have much to worry about; if Benjamin thought the station was in danger, he'd have ordered an evacuation. I can ask him if he thinks we should get out, if you'd like." She would have asked Nerys's opinion, given that Nerys was a local and would have a better feel for the situation, but Nerys had gone on some sort of religious retreat after her position was given to someone else, and Jadzia had no idea how to contact her.

"Would you?" Prohn asked in evident relief.

Jadzia pinged Benjamin, but his commbadge was set to only accept calls from station personnel. Curzon would have been on his list of people who could interrupt even when he was set to 'do not disturb,' but Jadzia wasn't. "He's busy," Jadzia said. "I'm sure he'll get back to me when he has time. In the meantime, we might as well work."

The station intercom came to life. "This is Commander Sisko. There has been a coup on Bajor, and the Circle has sent out ships to capture the station. They will be here in approximately seven hours. To protect the civilian population, I am ordering an evacuation. There will be enough places for every civilian, and Doctor Bashir will have a schedule with what ship you are assigned to published shortly. If you do not wish to evacuate, please let him know. Space will be tight, so there will be a minimal baggage allowance. Hopefully everything will be resolved soon, and you will be able to return. Please keep calm so that we can get everyone off the station orderly and safely."

"... well, so much for that," Prohn said in disgust.

Jadzia checked her messages. "Schedule's already out," she said. "Fast work, Julian. Looks like we're scheduled for the hold of a Bandi freighter that departs in five hours."

"Five hours!" Lusin said, appalled. "That's only two hours before the invaders arrive! That's not enough margin to ensure your safety, Dax!"

Dax shrugged. "I've been in tighter situations. It will probably be fine." Which was true, but in situations like these there were a lot of room for things to go catastrophically wrong. On the other hand, Lusin working herself up or trying to 'fix' things was likely to screw everything up. And it wasn't as if there was much they could do, as civilians scientists, other than follow instructions in an orderly fashion and pray everyone else being evacuated did, too.

"You two should probably go get packed," Jadzia said. "Only a small bag, a few changes of clothing, leave anything that isn't absolutely vital."

"What about you?" Prohn asked.

"I've got a bag ready to go," Jadzia said. "Old habit, from when I was a diplomat in some pretty unstable places. We've got some time—if we get to the docking bays more than an hour before our transport is supposed to leave, we'll only slow them down getting the earlier ships away, and delay our own departure. I thought I'd take a half-hour or so and get the next batch of tests started."

"What do the tests matter?" Lusin asked. "Our lives are at stake! Your lives are at stake!"

Jadzia shrugged. "Sitting around and fretting won't make our assigned freighter depart any quicker. I'd rather keep busy. Besides, the next set of tests is crucial, and maybe the University of Navot will send us the results, when it's finished. If something comes up and it takes too long, I won't bother with it, but another half hour here isn't going to change anything."

Prohn shrugged. "See you on the transport, if nothing else, I guess," he said, and left.

Lusin turned back to her console and started tapping furiously away at it. Jadzia ignored her and got to work.

That was a mistake, because not ten minutes later, Lusin interrupted her. "Quark is selling tickets on earlier ships. I'm going to buy one for you."

Jadzia spun around to face her. "No, you absolutely will not! It's a scam, and a threat to the orderly evacuation of this station. Quark has no authority to make such deals—"

"He's just acting as a broker for people willing to take a later transport—"

"He still doesn't have the authority to make that deal," Jadzia said, "and he is undoubtedly selling more seats than he actually has people willing to stay later for. What do you think is going to happen when all those people show up at the docking ring expecting an early ticket out of here, only to find Quark lied? It'll be nasty; desperate people do desperate things. Even if nobody gets hurt, it will delay things." "You don't know he's overbooking—"

"Yes, I do, because I know Ferengi business ethics, which in this case amount to 'if they won't be around to sue you, cheat them for all they're worth.'"

"—and in any case, surely it won't be that bad," Lusin continued on, doggedly. "You are a symbiont, Dax, you carry seven lives with you, we can't risk your death. It's worth paying a little to get you out of here safely, and at worst all it will take is a little extra work for the officer coordinating things."

Jadzia folded her arms. "I will be leaving this station in four and a half hours on the Bandi freighter to which I was assigned. Whether or not you try to make a deal with Quark is irrelevant, because I will not be accepting any earlier seat he claims to have found for me."

"Dax!" Lusin cried in anguished frustration.

"I've been through evacuations before, Lusin. You are letting your fear get in the way of your sense."

Jadzia turned back to her console and typed out a message to Julian, high priority, using the personal code he'd given her.

"What are you doing?"

"Letting Julian know what Quark is doing so he can put a stop to it," Jadzia said, ignoring the noise of protest the other woman made. "You should go pack a bag."

"No, I'm staying with you," Lusin said.

"Fine," Jadzia said. She went back to setting up the last of the parameters for the next test, and set the computer to run it.

As she logged out, Julian's voice rang out from the intercom. "This is Doctor Bashir, and I am the officer coordinating the evacuation. Quark is not authorized to sell seats on outgoing vessels, nor are any captains of the ships themselves. No transport arrangements may be made through anyone except me or the Starfleet and Bajoran Militia personnel assisting me. Any arrangements Quark has made are fraudulent; you will be leaving on your originally scheduled transport. Please remain calm, bring minimal baggage, and arrive at the docking ring no more than one hour in advance of your scheduled transport. The more people try to argue, the slower the evacuation will go, and the more delays there will be. All evacuees will be off the station before the invading force arrives."

"Told you so," Jadzia said.

***

Julian was afraid. Not of the invading force; Sisko's plan would work, and they only needed a very little bit of luck to pull it off. They weren't planning any grand battles; quite the contrary, the goal was to minimize casualties. Honestly, he was a bit excited to have the opportunity to be an insurgent for a few days.

No, what scared him was the mood at the docks. Everyone was afraid. Every Bajoran had first-hand knowledge of everything that could possibly go wrong during a military occupation, and all had severe trauma about it. The non-Bajorans were less likely to have experienced an invasion or occupation, but that meant they had more room for flights of fancy. There was a lot of fear floating around, and all it would take was a match to make it flare up into violence. Sisko and Li Nalas had both come by several times to reassure the Bajorans—those who weren't comforted by the Emissary's presence were heartened by the reassurance of a legendary war hero—but the Bajorans weren't the only ones who were afraid.

Julian had studied the effects of fear and trauma on individuals and societies. He had been trained in treatment techniques and best practices for crowd management.

And if things went wrong, none of it would matter.

They were almost done with this—two thirds of the station's civilian population had already left—but all that meant was that those who remained had had more time to stew in their panic.

His combadge chimed. "Doctor, this is Deputy Yndar, we've got a situation at Upper Pylon 1 that needs your personal attention."

"I'm on my way," Julian said. He'd finished handling the last problem here at Lower Pylon 2, so he could head right over. He was tempted to run—God only knew what would happen by the time he got there—but he couldn't afford to spook people any more than they already were.

He settled for walking very briskly.

***

Jadzia and her colleagues arrived at their assigned docking port to hear raised voices. She handed he bag to Prohn and made her way through the crowd to where a Ziballian was shouting at the Bajoran deputy in charge.

"No, I will not stand aside!" she bellowed. "I am a Courier for the Terellian Tetrarchy! I have a contract to ensure the safe delivery of my cargo—" she gestured to the freight pallet next to her, positioned so that nobody could step around it and get into the docking bay "—and I am not leaving it here, I am taking it with me!" She didn't seem to notice the crowd's hostility to her.

"We don't have room for it," the deputy said. "I don't care how valuable it is, it's not worth more than somebody's life. You can put it in storage and have the new Bajoran government ship it to you, or you can stay here with it and hole up in your quarters, but it's not going with you."

"You Bajorans won't kill your own kind, so surely it wouldn't matter if one or two were left behind—"

"Excuse me," Jadzia said. "I'm a trained and experienced diplomat; perhaps I can help?" If the crowd had been less packed, she would have stood further away, out of arm's reach, but there just wasn't room. As it was, the only place she could see both the deputy and the Ziballian was to stand almost between the courier and her cargo.

The Ziballian didn't even glance at her. "Screw you, kid, I don't need a diplomat, I need someone in charge who can tell this moron to let me and my cargo on my ship."

"It's not your ship, alien," someone shouted from the crowd. "If someone's going to be left behind, it should be you."

"There's enough room for everyone," Jadzia said. "We'll all fit, as long as everyone is calm and reasonable."

"I am perfectly calm and reasonable!" the Ziballian shouted, not seeming to notice the irony. "It's everyone else who's gone mad. It's not my fault you Bajorans are too—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll regret it," the deputy said coolly. "You're holding things up. I am very close to transferring you to the last transport leaving. And you still won't be able to take your cargo. Doctor Bashir will back me up."

"Then I demand to see Commander Sisko!"

"He's busy. If I have to stun you to get you out of the way, I will."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I assume Doctor Bashir is on his way?" Jadzia asked. "Why don't you step aside with your cargo and wait for him to settle things?"

"No!" the Ziballian said. "I will not—" she noticed one of the deputies had taken the pallet's handle and was tugging it out of the way. "Hey!" She drew a knife and took a step forward.

Jadzia grabbed her wrist and tried to use a mok'bara move to disarm her, but she hadn't practiced enough since she became Jadzia, and Curzon's body was so different—

***

Julian arrived at Upper Pylon 1 to find a bleeding Trill and a stunned Ziballian.

"The unconscious alien was making trouble," Yndar said, "that's who I called you here to deal with. The one with the knife wound tried to calm her down, got stabbed for it."

Julian listened with half an ear as he scanned Jadzia with his medical tricorder. "She needs surgery, immediately," he said. "Can you handle things from here?"

"Well, the angry one isn't shouting anymore," Yndar said. "Don't want to put her on this ship, because a lot of people are angry at her already."

"Use your best judgment," Julian said. "If you have the time, write up a brief statement of what happened so that no matter what happens, she can be prosecuted for assault."

"Will do," Yndar said.

Julian tapped his combadge. "Julian to Ops. One to beam directly to the Infirmary."

***

When he heard about the incident, Benjamin called Doctor Bashir. "Will she be stable enough to put on a transport?" he asked.

"No," Bashir replied, "she needs immediate surgery. And none of the remaining ships have good enough medical facilities to keep her alive until they reach their destination. I'm going to have to operate now and keep her here."

"How long will the surgery take?" Benjamin asked.

"Tough to say," Bashir said. "I've never operated on a Trill before, and her anatomy and neurochemistry doesn't match what we have on file for that species. But I guarantee you she won't be up to hiding before they get here—I doubt I'll be done operating by then."

"Are you alright with being captured?" Benjamin asked.

"I'll have to be," Bashir replied. "None of my nurses have enough experience with species other than Bajoran, Cardassian, and Human to treat her."

"All right, good luck," Benjamin said.

"To you as well, sir," Bashir said. "Bashir out."

Benjamin hoped that Curzon's daughter wasn't about to die on his watch. But there was nothing he could do about it, and there was too much else going on to spend any time worrying about it.

***

Bashir was in the middle of suturing a … something, it was clearly a tube carrying neurotransmitters, but it wasn't marked on the Trill anatomy diagram … when the door to the operating theater chimed.

"I'll get it," said Nurse Hortak.

Stripping off her gloves, exited the theater. It was well insulated, so Bashir couldn't hear what she was saying. He concentrated on his work.

A short time later, the door opened and Hortak re-entered, accompanied by a soldier. "He's been decontaminated, and should be fine as long as he doesn't touch anything," she said. "I couldn't get him to wait outside. Colonel Day wants to see you as soon as we're done with the surgery."

"Of course," Julian said.

***

Prohn sat on the floor of the cargo bay, bag in his lap, squeezed tightly on every side by other passengers, and watched the display projected on the wall. It had a clock, a stellar map with a dot showing their position, and a countdown to arrival. He focused on it in the vain hope that watching the countdown tick down would somehow drown out Lusin's voice.

He had long since given up on trying to get her to stop fidgeting. There was no room to pace—everyone was packed into the cargo hold like fish-in-a-can—but Lusin was giving it her best shot. By now, everyone was annoyed with her, but she didn't seem to even have noticed.

"I should have made them let me stay with her," she said, for what had to be the thousandth time at least.

Never mind that the station personnel had had phasers, and been quite willing to stun anyone who made trouble by that point. Too bad they hadn't been so trigger happy with the alien who'd stabbed Dax. He supposed Lusin could have stabbed herself and gotten to stay on the station that way, but he didn't see that it would have improved Dax's care at all.

Only another hour until they reached their destination, and he could get off this blasted ship and away from Lusin. He was worried about Dax, too, but since there wasn't anything he could do about it, the next best thing would be getting away from Lusin.

"Her wound couldn't have been that bad," Lusin continued. "I should have made them put her here, on the transport. We could have taken her to Trill for treatment. She would have had better care, and we wouldn't have had to worry about aliens poking around Dax."

Prohn had seen the wound. It had definitely looked bad enough to require immediate surgery to him; maybe if Jadzia had been unjoined, but with a symbiont? There weren't any Trill doctors in the sector, that he knew of. There was no way she'd have lasted long enough to get to a Trill doctor without some kind of treatment, and any competent doctor would immediately notice that Jadzia Dax's insides were not on the standard Trill model. Or was Lusin willing to sacrifice Jadzia, by denying her medical care from aliens, in the hope that Dax would survive and the secret would be intact?

He didn't say anything. He wasn't joined, he was never going to be joined, he didn't have anybody in his family with the genetic profile to even apply to be joined, he didn't care about larger politics as long as his research got funded, and this was the first time in his life he'd ever had to deal with the Symbiosis Commission or any of its representatives. If the Commission itself was half as controlling as Lusin was, it was no wonder a growing number of people—especially Aljagrans and the Joined—were starting to talk openly about the need for reform.

"—what that alien might be doing to her, what damage he might do without even knowing—" Her voice rose, drawing his attention back to her tirade.

If Doctor Bashir did any damage out of ignorance, well, it was the Symbiosis Commission's fault he was ignorant, wasn't it? And also, couldn't she see the irony in her xenophobia showing up when they were in this whole situation because of Bajoran xenophobia? They were the Federation! They were supposed to be better than this!

Prohn held his tongue and focused on the ETA countdown. Still almost an hour to go.

***

By the time he had her stabilized, Julian was exhausted. Trill torsos were complicated even in the best of circumstances, and he'd never operated on one before nor spent much time studying them; at least he'd looked over what material they had on the Trill when he'd learned there would be a team staying on the station for some time.

Not that it helped much, Jadzia Dax's anatomy, neurology, and neurochemistry being significantly different from the Trill norms in the files, or, indeed, from the medical records dating from her Starfleet service.

"Are you done?" the Bajoran soldier asked, interrupting Julian's reverie.

"Yes," Julian replied. "Assuming she doesn't take a turn for the worse."

"General Krim wants to see you immediately, then," the soldier said, reaching up to tap his combadge.

"Can I help Nurse Hortak get her settled in a regular bed?" Julian asked.

The soldier hesitated. "Fine," he said.

It would have been easier with more help, but fortunately he'd finally gotten the Starfleet-issue gurneys and biobeds installed, which were designed to be as easy-to-use as possible in a variety of configurations and with a variety of personnel. The Cardassian version relied mostly on the brute-force of the people using it. Hortak could have moved the patient on her own, if she'd needed to, but this gave Julian a chance to make sure the monitors were set correctly for his best guess at what her metabolism and neurotransmitter rate should be.

He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed—even just a nap on a cot in his office—but General Krim awaited.

***

For a man overthrowing his own government in xenophobic terror, General Krim was a reasonable man. He listened to the message Sisko wanted Julian to give him—that the Circle's weapons were being supplied by the Cardassians in an attempt to destabilize Bajor—and, despite his assistant Colonel Day's derision, promised to look into it. He promised that Julian wouldn't be bothered as long as he agreed to treat any of Krim's troops who needed medical care, which Julian would have done anyway.

However, he wouldn't let Julian contact Trill for more information on Trill biology, no matter how Julian asked.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Krim asked. He didn't seem angry, just amused. "I'm not letting you contact anyone. We'll let your Federation know you're here, and they can come pick you up with the rest of your fellow officers once the station is secure."

"Jadzia Dax is still in critical condition," Julian said. "I have reference materials for Trill biology and recommended treatments for various ills and injuries, but her anatomy and neurochemistry have significant differences from the reference materials and it already caused problems in surgery. If there are complications—"

"Her anatomy isn't Trill?" Colonel Day demanded. "What is she then? Has she been altered to look Trill?"

"No," Julian said, puzzled, "she's definitely a Trill, and definitely Jadzia Dax. She used to be a Starfleet officer, and I have her records from that time. There's no question that she is the same person. But between then and now, she's had significant internal changes. I don't know why, I don't know if there will be further complications because of it, and I don't want to be flying blind if there are."

"Too bad, Doctor," General Krim said. "I'm afraid we can't take the risk."

***

"Well?" Nurse Hortak asked when he returned to the infirmary.

"We get to stay here under guard, and we can't call up Trill and ask them for help with Jadzia," Julian said bitterly.

"Not surprising," Hortak said.

"What do they expect us to do?" Julian asked. "We've both been in the infirmary since before Krim's troops arrived, and we'll be here under guard the whole time. We have no tactical or strategic information that couldn't have been sent perfectly free and clear before Krim's people arrived, and no way of getting any. The only information we have is the state of our patient's health, and that has no tactical or strategic value!"

Hortak made a face. It was the face she made when he said something stupid—especially something having to do with the Occupation and the Bajoran Resistance—but she didn't want to contradict a superior directly.

"You can think of a way we could use it," Julian realized.

"Well, yeah, several," Hortak said. "But most of them would only work if we'd had time to set things up beforehand and our patient wasn't really sick, or if we didn't care whether we had to sacrifice treatment in order to take advantage of opportunities."

"Really?" Julian asked. He was intensely curious, but … that could wait. He yawned. "Given the evacuation and the emergency surgery and everything else that's happened, we've both been up for over twenty-six hours. We need sleep, but we can't leave Jadzia unattended …"

"If she does take a turn for the worse, you'll be the one needing to figure out how to handle her biology, so you need to be freshest," Hortak pointed out. "I'll take first watch."

***

Once Krim had handed over control and was safely off the station with his troops, Benjamin left Li and Odo in Ops to handle calling everyone back and getting the station up and running again and headed to the Infirmary to see how Doctor Bashir and his patient had fared.

"Oh, no, we were fine," Bashir told him. "Under guard, of course, but he didn't interfere. It was touch and go with Jadzia, there, for a while, and Krim wouldn't let me call Trill to get more information on her anatomy and biochemistry, but she seems to be recovering now, and should be awake soon."

"What information would you need?" Benjamin asked. "The Trill are Federation members. The information in the databanks should be fairly complete."

Bashir and Nurse Hortak exchanged glances. "There are, at the very least, significant omissions," Bashir said. "Almost certainly deliberate."

"That's quite an accusation, Doctor," Benjamin said. Scientific exploration and development was one of the few principles shared more-or-less across the entire Federation; it was the unifying ideal most often leaned on. Withholding information was heavily frowned upon. But given what Curzon and, now, Jadzia, had to say about Trill paranoia …

"I know," Bashir said. "Let me show you." He led Benjamin over to a display and pulled up a diagram of Trill anatomy. "Do you see this empty space in the abdomen?"

"It's fairly large," Sisko said.

"Yes," Bashir said. "And according to the information in the databanks, it's a vestigial pouch left over from when an ancestor species of the Trill were marsupials and carried their young in it."

"But that's not the case?"

"This is Jadzia's abdomen," Bashir said, pulling up a scan.

"There's something in the pouch," Benjamin said. "It doesn't look like a baby."

"It isn't," Bashir said. "It's a slug. It's also not a temporary thing; that slug is connected to every single system Jadzia has: neurotransmitters and nerves, digestive system, circulatory system … I don't think it could survive outside of an environment such as Jadzia's pouch. Moreover, it's extremely dense in neurons. It is, basically, a secondary brain. There is quite a complex connection between it and Jadzia's own brain, and that is what caused all the trouble. She was stabbed just through some of the largest connections, and, given that this is entirely absent from the databanks, I was flying blind in surgery and the early stages of recovery."

"Did she have this slug when she was in Starfleet?" Benjamin asked.

"No," Bashir said, pulling up her medical records.

The internal scans from her last Starfleet physical looked, to Benjamin's untutored eye, fairly close to the diagram from the databanks.

"So she got it after she left Starfleet," Benjamin said.

"Any medical exam she had as an officer would have revealed it," Bashir said. "She hasn't been awake and coherent enough to ask about it, yet."

"Is it a parasite?" Benjamin asked.

Bashir shrugged. "Do you mean, is it harmful? Hard to say, without long-term study. I doubt it, though; She's had it for several years, at this point, given the level of conjoinment in her torso, and she doesn't seem to have any major physical problems. Neurologically, things are harder to judge; but if it were causing neurological problems, surely it would have interfered in her research by now."

"Doctor, she's waking up!" Nurse Hortak called.

***

Jadzia Dax woke quickly, this time around. She vaguely remembered something dreamlike and panic-filled—she had been only Jadzia, not Dax, or only Dax, not Jadzia—but she felt like herself again. Albeit, herself with a painful wound in her abdomen. Sitting up was not an option, just yet.

Julian came in and ran his tests, and Jadzia answered his questions about how she was feeling, but she could see Benjamin hovering outside the door. "I take it the station is back under Federation control?" she asked.

"Yes," Julian said. "The coup didn't last long, I'm happy to say, and the station was only under the Circle's forces for about a day and a half."

"Good," Jadzia said. "Maybe we won't have lost too much data." Julian gave her a strange look. Either the lab had been damaged, or … Julian had to have noticed, in surgery. "I'm sure you found our secret. You may as well call Benjamin in, I'm sure he's curious." Julian stepped back to call Benjamin in, which gave her a few seconds to gather her thoughts.

If Lusin or any other representative of the Symbiosis Commission were here, they'd still probably be trying to hide this—some justification to swear Julian to secrecy or wipe the records or something. But Dax knew that there was no way Benjamin would agree to knowingly letting false databank records stand.

Besides, Dax had been half-hoping for some joined Trill to have an accident requiring emergency medical care from a non-Trill doctor for the last two decades. She just hadn't wanted to be the one whose life depended on a doctor with no knowledge of her anatomy or neurochemistry.

"We don't have to do this now," Benjamin said. "You're still healing."

"Curzon taught you better than that Benjamin," Dax said. "When you're trying to get information out of someone, if you can get them off their game, take full advantage of it."

"He did," Benjamin said with a closed expression on his face. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I am Curzon," Dax said, "or at least, I used to be. I'm sure Julian has filled you in on how my anatomy differs from that of a standard Trill?"

"You have a parasitic slug in your abdomen," Benjamin said.

"Parasites drain their host for no return," Dax said. "It's a symbiont. They're native to Trill, too." She'd dreamed this conversation a thousand times, when she was Curzon, every time the secret had chafed. "Only about one Trill in a thousand is capable of hosting them, and it's a great honor to be chosen to do so. Symbionts live very long lives, much longer than Trill do. When a host dies, the symbiont is given to a new host, carrying all the memories and skills of their predecessor. I'm Jadzia … but I'm also Curzon, and Torias, and Audred, and Emony, and Tobin, and Lela. And when Jadzia dies, I'll be someone else, someone new, but Jadzia will still be a part of me just like all of Dax's past hosts."

"You're Curzon?" Benjamin said. "Now, that I find hard to believe."

"I used to be Curzon, and Curzon is a part of me," she replied. "I'm not him now, but I used to be. If you don't believe me …" she paused, considering her options. "Do you remember that time on Turkasia II? I can tell you the story if you like, though you may want to send Julian out."

"Curzon swore he'd never tell anyone that story," Benjamin said.

"He didn't," she replied. "Or maybe you'd like to quiz me, instead."

He believed her, she could tell, but he'd always been thorough, and asked her a number of questions about things they'd been through together, details she could only have known by being there.

"So why the secrecy?" he asked at last. "Why lie to the Federation?"

"Being joined is the highest honor any Trill can aspire to," Jadzia said. "The competition is cutthroat, and at times in the planet's history, that has been literal. Just a few years ago, a rejected candidate named Verad abducted a joined Trill named Birzam Degin, removed the symbiont, and had it implanted in himself. By the time Trill agents caught up with them it was too late. Birzam was dead. They removed Degin from Verad, put it in a new host, and tried to hush the whole thing up with only partial success."

"What did they do to Verad?" Julian asked.

"Once past the ninety-three hour mark, neither host nor symbiont can survive without being joined," Jadzia said. "It had been two weeks."

"So, by removing the symbiont, they effectively killed him," Julian said, judgmentally. "Capital punishment is illegal in the Federation."

"Degin was, effectively, a hostage," said Jadzia. "Once Verad had them joined, the only way to save Verad's life was to keep Degin neurologically joined to the person who had kidnapped him, assaulted him, and murdered his last host. Was saving Verad's life worth a lifetime of that for Degin? Bad enough that Degin will have to carry memories of Verad for the rest of his life." She shivered. If it had been her … she couldn't tell if the roiling in her abdomen was pain from the surgery or Dax moving in distress.

"A very sad story," Benjamin said. "What does this have to do with lying to the Federation?"

Jadzia sighed. "The Trill Symbiosis Commission is highly provincial. Most have never been off Trill, not even to Aljagra, and few of them have even met an alien, and they're proud of their insularity. As far as they believe, any person who doesn't want to be joined is mentally unstable in some way, irrational. The basic truth of their worldview is that everyone wants desperately to be joined. So if aliens knew …"

"They think we'd be pressing for symbionts of our own," Benjamin said.

"Exactly," Jadzia said. "They're terrified of it. And deeply aware that if the Federation demanded symbionts and sent Starfleet to take them, Trill would not be able to stop them.

"But that's such an irrational fear," Julian said. "They're projecting their own desires on other species."

"I know." Jadzia sighed. "So does every Trill who's had much contact with other races. Most non-Trill wouldn't want symbionts."

"Some races would be disgusted by the idea of having a slug in their body," Benjamin said, his even tone giving no hint to what he thought of it. "Others would think being fundamentally altered and sharing your consciousness for another being for the rest of your life wouldn't be enough of a tradeoff for the fact that you would live on in some way after you die. And most people of all species in the Federation are, at heart, fundamentally comfortable with how they live."

Jadzia sighed again, and winced as her gut twinged. "But the Trill Symbiosis Commission can't comprehend that. Too few of them have even met an alien. Much less gotten to know one."

"Fears can be far more powerful than reality," Julian said, pulling out his tricorder to scan her.

"There's also the matter of political control," Jadzia said. "It used to be that the Symbiosis Commission controlled everything. Then Vulcan was destroyed, and we settled Aljagra specifically so that the symbionts would be preserved even if Trill met a similar fate, and there were two Symbiosis Commissions, one per planet."

"So their power base has been divided," Benjamin said.

"Yes. And the caves where unjoined symbionts live on Aljagra are much larger than the ones on Trill; they hold far more symbionts, which means the population has increased and there have been more symbionts to be joined, which means the Commission's power is diluted even more. Plus, since they couldn't explain what their purpose was or how they were chosen without disclosing the existence of symbionts, they had to hand over most of their legal and overt political control when Trill and Aljagra joined the Federation. They have less power, so they cling to what they have. Which hasn't made them very popular in the last several decades."

"Will you get in trouble over telling us this?" Julian asked.

Jadzia made a face. "Once you're joined, if you don't have any political aspirations, there's a limit to how much the Symbiosis Commission can do to you," she said. "Especially now that we're Federation members. They could get my funding cut, but I'm sure there are many other institutions willing and able to fund wormhole research, so it's hardly a major threat."

"If nothing else," Benjamin said, "you could re-join Starfleet. Since I'm assuming you left in order to keep the secret of the symbionts."

"I hadn't thought of that," Jadzia said. Would she want to? She'd loved being a Starfleet officer, but she liked her life now, too. She shook her head. "Aside from minor inconveniences, the only thing they can really do to me is expel me from Trill and refuse to allow Dax to pass to a new host when I die. But that's such an extreme response—especially considering that I didn't voluntarily spill the secret—that I can't imagine they'd do it." The longer she talked, the more her body was reminding her that she'd just had major surgery. She tried to ignore it; this was important. "And if they did, well, the Aljagra Symbiosis Commission is more reasonable, and while they've never defied the Trill Symbiosis Commission before, this might be enough. I'm not worried about it."

"I think that's enough for the initial report, Commander," Julian said. "And if it's not, it will have to be. She's recovering from major surgery, after all."

"Benjamin," Jadzia said, "we left some simulations running, and the next phase will need to be initiated soon. Can you have Lieutenant Thothih take care of it? He knows everything he needs to."

"I'm afraid Lieutenant Thothih was killed by the Circle, while trying to help Major Kira get information to the government about the Cardassian backing of the coup," Benjamin said. "But I'll see what I can do."

"Oh," Jadzia said. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. I liked them." She closed her eyes and winced at a stab of pain.

"I'm afraid we can't use neural blockers to take away the pain without also disconnecting the Dax symbiont," Julian said, "and you've had a bad reaction to some of the medications we tried. It wasn't in your file."

"Nexflozine should be safe," Jadzia said.

"All right," Julian said. "By the way, who should I contact on Trill for more information about how to treat you?"

"The Symbiosis Commission," Jadzia said. "But the Aljagra Commission will be much easier to reason with."

"Thank you," Julian said. He replicated the medication and brought over a hypospray. "This should make you woozy. If you fall asleep, that's good; your body needs rest more than anything."

As always, nexflozine took a while to fully kick in, but once it did, it was very effective.

***

This time, when Prohn and Lusin arrived on the station, they were accompanied by a whole cargo ship full of former refugees, and there was nobody to greet them. They checked the infirmary first, and found Dax sitting on a biobed, reading a PADD.

"Glad to see you're back safely," she said with a smile.

"And we're very glad to see you're up and looking so well," Prohn said.

"Yes," said Lusin, "we were so worried! I hope they've taken very good care of you." She lowered her voice. "I don't suppose you were able to conceal—?"

Dax stared at her. "I was stabbed right next to my pouch. I was lucky that Dax wasn't directly hit. And Julian is a very good doctor. Of course he noticed. And of course he was able to put together what Dax is. After that, there wasn't any point in concealing anything. The Symbiosis Commission knows all about it, you can check with them."

"Now that we know you're safe, I think I'm going to go check on our experiments," Prohn said, looking for an excuse to get out of there.

"Yes, please do," Dax said. "Benjamin's had officers handling the most time-critical things, but I'm sure a great deal of work and data have been piling up, and I'm not going to be allowed out of here until tomorrow at least."

"And when you are released," said Doctor Bashir, sticking his head in, "you are going nowhere but to your quarters to rest in comfort. You can access your readings over the computer, but light work only for another week at least."

"I'll take it easy, Julian," Dax said with some amusement. "I promise you, if there is one thing I know, it's how to relax."

"I will go to my quarters and call the Symbiosis Commission, then," Lusin said with a sour expression on her face. "I am glad you're healing well, Dax."

***

"I still can't believe that Curzon is now young," Jake said as he set the table. "A young woman, at that. He's supposed to be old. How alike are Curzon and Jadzia, anyway?"

"I don't know," Benjamin said, "I haven't spent much more time with Jadzia than you have."

The door chime rang. "I'll get it," Jake said.

"Jake!" Jadzia said, stepping through. "I hope I'm not too early, but I was so looking forward to actually being able to be honest that I couldn't help it. Benjamin, that smells delicious."

"So, you're really Curzon?" Jake said, looking her up and down. "Man, if you said to me 'Curzon will come back in a new body,' this would not be the body I would have imagined."

"Well, part of the idea is to give the symbionts as many different experiences as possible," Jadzia said, "and also to make sure the new host isn't just subsumed into the memories of the old hosts. So it's customary to switch genders with each new host."

"It's not that you're a woman," Jake said. "It's that you're young. And attractive," he blurted out, shoulders hunching a little with embarrassment.

Jadzia laughed. "And Curzon was old and ugly, you mean? He was young in his day, and no matter how old he was or how he looked, he always managed to attract company for the night when he wanted it. Or for the morning, noon, and evening, too." She winked at him.

"Daaaaaaaax," Jake whined, scrunching up his face. "Gross."

"You were the one who was wondering how much Jadzia was like Curzon," Benjamin reminded him. "Don't complain when you get the answer you're looking for."

"In all seriousness, though," Jadzia said, "some things about me are different and some are the same. As for which is which," she shrugged, "guess you'll just have to get to know me and find out."

[punchholesinthesky]

So I’ve been doing a re-read of HDM, and it’s been great. I have a lot of thoughts.

I originally read the series around 2003 maybe? I’ve visited again since but it’s been ages and it’s been a really interesting experience revisiting as an adult rather than a teen.

I started listening to extraneous podcast who are also doing a re-read and it’s great to listen to their discussion plus what i’ve been thinking. 

I thought I’d tackle one issue from their first ep that struck with me: their hogwarts houses.

Sorting fictional characters into hogwarts houses is probably a complete pointless exercise, though I like doing it cause it means, like the hat, going into their mind, literary analysis of a character and justification, I like that.

So, let’s sort HDM characters. (under the cut for lenght)

Lord Asriel: did we ever get a first name? I cannot recall ever getting one. It’s always just Asriel.

He’s described as fierce,possessing great determination and willpower, a military leader and strategist, a fellow of Jordan college.

We hear of some of his deeds, of having helped out the gyptians in parliament and  in the floods of the fen, he was a respected explorer who’d done some great work in the field of experimental theology, until he had an affair with Marissa Coultier, and in defending her and Lyra from her husband, killed him.

He’s charismatic, convincing the college members to fund his expedition and the bears keeping him captive to treat him well and continue his work.

He does not believe in rules if he thinks the rules are unjust.  He doesn’t hesitate to rebel. 

He’s ambitious, but not necessarily for himself. He is interested in building a better world, and in this he stands in defiance to the church, who wishes to keep humanity in the dark. This is a grand calling, the kind someone who believes themselves a great man would attempt.

He goes exploring because he wishes to understand the world, and through this knowledge, improve it. He certainly commits dark deeds in the name of his goals, but he isn’t doing because he thinks he oughta rule the place, he just doesn’t like who’s in charge.

He can come off as cold and unfeeling, though I think that’s him being stoic and keeping people at arm’s length, cause we do see him be emotional in several occassions. Of course, we also see him be thoughtlessly cruel.

He’s really fucking smart and will attempt brains before brawn if possible,though he isnt lacking in either,

To me, he is a ravenclaw. We know he is smart and curious, not the kind to jump into a situation blindly, but always willing to help and fight. I’d say a ravenclaw with strong gryffindors tendencies,but a ravenclaw nonetheless. 

I think he get into problems, into fights, into action, more out of circumstances that wanting to go out looking for problems, which is why he is not the protagonist, though in another world he would’ve been.

The church is afraid of him cause he asks too many questions, and he challenges their rule. Anyone who’s read history, or been to a christian school knows they do not like that. At all. 

He also reminds me of prometheus, going on a quest for something precious to share with humanity, even at great expense. 

Marissa Coultier:

Ambitious as fuck. She cares about one thing, one person, and that’s herself. She’s the kind of person willing to burn the world to keep herself safe, or even if it’s just convenient.

She has some deep dark impulses as seen in the actions of her monkey. 

I think there’s a good amount of self-loathing in her as well, she’s bought their propaganda, and  recognises herself as a sinner and hates hersef for it, wants to be pure, and tries to in her own twisted way, to help children, thinks dust is bad and wants to save them, etc.

But at the same time, she hates the church for making her feel this way.

She wasn’t allowed to indulge her love so she’ll indulge in rage instead

I think what she really wants is power, power enough to be able to be left alone and live her life.

But she’s definitely not the type to retire to a cottage and live a simple life. It’ll be power and luxury or nothing.

She’s like, the slytherinest (????) slytherin to ever live.

She could give salazar a run for his money.

 Lyra:

Lyra is brave as hell. She is always ready for a fight, about anything. And she never backs down from a challenge, regardless of how ridiculous it is. 

She runs into situations having no idea what’s happening or how to deal with it.

She’ll jump in to defend someone having no idea if theyre even worth defending. 

She’s full of fire, and someone often ends up getting burned. This also means she lacks patience. She’d rather do something now even if it means it’s the wrong thing than wait to do the right thing.

She’s also really smart, and knows it. Not only does she learn to imitate different people, she can also figure them out and manipulate them.

She’s very loyal and protective of her friends, and can be dismissive, unkind, even rude to those she doesn’t like. Or care about.

She is not the greatest judge of character, she outright dismiss female scholars and is taken in by Mrs coultier’s flash. 

Some of this are just childish traits she later grows out of, but not entirely. When we see her again in Lyra’s oxford she has for example, learned some patience. Learned the rewards of hard work and not to always jump to conclusions.

She is definitely a gryffindor. There’s some slytherin traits for sure, but she’s a gryffindor through and through.

[rachello344]

I’m going to tell you all a story. I don’t really know who all will see this, but I think it’s important for me to make my position and my history clear, so I’m going to write it out anyway.  This will probably have some level of TMI, so your mileage may vary, but I don’t want to censor myself for this.  Includes frank discussions of sexuality, sex ed, etc. so it’s relatively NSFW.  Nothing especially graphic, but again, ymmv

This is... much longer than I meant it to be, so tl;dr: Fiction is meant to be a place to explore.  Being afraid of sexuality or intimidated by it is normal, but trying to control the people around you because of that is not.  The only person whose sexuality is your business is your own, and potentially your partner(s)’.  Policing the sexuality of other people will not give you anything more than the illusion of control.  Illusions, however nice, don’t generally last long.  Be kind to others, and be kind to yourself.

I started reading fanfiction when I was 12 or 13, which I think is about the average.  Everyone around me was starting to talk about dating and the like, and I wanted to figure out what they were talking about without asking anyone I knew.  As an avid reader, the only way I knew how to get contextualized information was through stories.  So I did what I think a lot of kids online inevitably do:  I looked up stories about sex and romance.  The site I was using at the time was DeviantART.

Any of you who have used the site are probably recoiling right now, as you should be.  I have seen so many terrible things written in fiction from such a young age that a lot of the stuff people complain about here seem legitimately tame.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, I was a curious kid looking for answers, and I turned to stories to find them.

I started with original fiction.  Imagine that.  A 13 year old girl online reading effectively hentai-style fiction about OCs she had no connection with.  I learned about my body through badly written dA hentai fic.  I figured out things that felt good.  I experimented quietly when my family left for my brother’s baseball games.  And then, at some point, I found my first fanfiction.

I’d technically written fanfiction of Sonic characters when I was 8 or 9, but they were all just fairy tales with Sonic and Amy as the leads.  I didn’t start with Sonic fanfiction, though.  No, the first fanfiction I remember reading was Naruto.  It was a badwrong Uchiha-cest fic.  I was probably 13 at this point.  I’d never watched Naruto, but I absolutely knew that those characters were related.  Morbidly curious, reluctantly fascinated, I read the fic.

It was short, but it was definitely hot, to my 13 year old standards.  I mean, most things were.  I was 13.  I didn’t exactly have standards.  And then I realized:  If this exists, shouldn’t there be stories with characters I actually know?  Granted, I still read SasuNaruSasu fic because it was SO easy to find--I preferred Naruto topping at the time, but now I’d go back and forth, I think, I just hated the characterization of bottom!Naruto--but I also discovered slash for things I actually knew.  Sonadow was a revelation.

It does not escape me that I got my start in fanfiction reading incest and furry porn, btw.  I mentioned earlier that I was curious, and that was my driving force.  I wanted to see where the limits were.  I would read anything.  And then once I figured out the tags, I could look for the things I liked and avoid the things I didn’t.  I didn’t much care for a lot of things where romance was concerned, but for a PWP those limits evaporated like rain in the desert.  And through this process, I developed standards.  Things I will read, things I won’t, writing styles I prefer, things that I won’t read no matter how well written, writing unskilled enough that I wouldn’t touch it regardless of the kink depicted.  And on and on and on.

I feel like it bears mentioning that the demographic of my junior high and high school was predominantly Mormon and Fundamentalist.  Not all, but a significant number.  We were mostly white, mostly well-off.  I was in as much of a bubble as I could be.  But that meant that until my friends started coming out in high school, I didn’t know any queer people IRL.  I had one friend, Avery, who told me she was Bi in eighth grade, but until about tenth grade, she was the only one who’d told me.

Our sex ed was abstinence only.  Heteronormative and absolutely the kind of thing that we all speak out against.  There were no websites that I could find with reliable info.  I was using google image searches to figure out what genitalia looked like, and I wish I were kidding.  All I’d ever seen was stuff with diseases and sores.  I was told that a girl who has a lot of sex is like an old pair of gym shoes.  I was told that boys will be boys.  I was not told that boys could love boys or girls could love girls.  I was told “Just say no,” instead of any kind of way to tell when it was safe for me to say Yes.

Luckily I wasn’t interested in sex for me, personally.  I was interested in it intellectually.  I wanted to know how it worked, why people chose to do it, what it might feel like, what kinds of sex you could have.  I was arming myself with knowledge in case I ever needed it.

When I was 15, I stumbled on a kinkster’s blog.  She was a writer, and she specialized in BDSM practices and culture, specifically in explaining it to the uninitiated.  I was too young to be there, but the information I got was invaluable.  Again, scarleteen might have existed?  But I’d certainly never found it.  This was the first time I saw someone talking about consent, about condoms and dental dams, about safe words.

It was life changing.  I read her blog avidly.  I spent about three weeks there, researching BDSM.  When I found something that seemed interesting, I’d return to deviantART to see if I could find it in story form.  I’d google terms I wasn’t familiar with or cross check online.  I googled so many things that it’s lucky that my parents let me have my own computer (an old desktop from my dad’s boss).  It’s even luckier that my parents generally let me have free reign.

When I was 17, I found the word Asexual.  It was the best word I’d seen for how I was feeling.  Sex positive asexual.  “It would be fine if it happened, but chastity isn’t exactly a punishment.”  I could make do on my own without much trouble, and I didn’t really like any boys.  Not like that.  (Whether or not I ever liked girls, I’m still trying to puzzle out.)

What I’m trying to say is that my best online experiences were via kinksters.  Fic at the time did NOT go into safer sex details.  They were either implied, glossed over, or outright ignored.  Fantasy doesn’t need to jive with reality, so it’s hardly wrong of them to ignore it.  But that information was truly incredible to me.

And I know I’m an odd case.  Someone who’d never felt sexual attraction to her knowledge researching every kind of sex under the sun sounds strange, I know.  But I’ve always been a researcher.  When I come across something I don’t understand, I look it up.

I guess, the point I was trying to make is that... for me, without all the “bad” erotica and porn, without kinksters, without slash ships, I never would have figured things out for myself.  I had no sexual education to speak of, no context for anything I did no, no one to talk to, and I definitely didn’t have any queer role models or examples in media or in my real life.  The first time I met a lesbian was when I was 13; she was my gym teacher.  And she was the absolute first queer person I ever knew about.  And until college, I’d never met another queer adult that I knew of.  Never.

We had a gay straight alliance in high school, but I didn’t want to get involved.  The cultural climate wasn’t outright homophobic, but I’d learned to keep my head down for being “too much” a feminist.  Like hell was I going to put a target on my back.  I doubt I would have been bullied--no one had come after me yet--but I didn’t really want to tempt fate either.  I stood up for the people around me, and I called it good.

When I hear people say “Kink is unhealthy and glorifies abuse” I think back on my sex ed, on learning that women who sleep around are dirty.  I think about the first time I ever even heard about consent being on a blog about a woman who loved BDSM.  When I hear people say “X fic trope condones Y behavior” I think back on the absolute sewage that I was reading as a young teen.  It’s safe to say that I’ve read just about every kink there is.  I read vore on accident by the time I was 15.  And I didn’t even remember it until I had a visceral flashback to it about a year ago when the jokes first started getting popular.  And despite all of the abuse and rape and badwrong incestuous fic that I’ve read, never once have I knowingly harmed another person.  And that makes the arguments feel a little odd.  Like “violent video games make teens more violent,” the argument that violent erotica and porn makes teens more violent is absurd.

So, for those of you still reading, if you promote anti-shipping or kink critical anything, I think you should look at it a little more closely.  Do some more reading on the other side, within your limits.  Do your own research and figure out where you stand.  I know that sex can be intimidating and scary, especially when you’re young, but something can be scary without being harmful.  Only you know your limits, but there are plenty of places to do research that have reliable information.  I’d be happy to help you find them.  For general sex ed, scarleteen is definitely my go-to.

Policing other people’s sexualities is not the way to make things feel safe again.  I know it seems like a suitable answer, and it makes you feel like you have power and safety, but think about how you feel when people tell you what you are and aren’t allowed to like or do or feel.  Think about how you feel when people accuse you of all kinds of things simply because your views are different.  That’s what anti-culture is doing.  And just because you don’t agree with someone doesn’t mean you have the right to tell them how to feel or how to think.  Because that opens the door to them returning the favor.

“But incest--”  “But CGL--”  “But--”  No.  It doesn’t matter.  If you know it isn’t for you, then avoid it.  That’s the end of it.  Do I think some things are weird or even kinda gross?  Sure.  But that doesn’t mean no one is allowed to like those things.  If that was the case, no one would be allowed to write fic where people have sex in a kitchen or otherwise involve food in the process.  That squicks me out, but that doesn’t mean people don’t want to get off to it.  I avoid the tag and move on.  Don’t waste your time on things you don’t like.  Period.

Life is too short to waste your time on things that turn you off.  That’s time better spent finding the things that turn you on.  And hey, tastes change.  Maybe someday I’ll decide I want to read people having sticky food sex (doubtful).  Maybe someday I’ll decide that I cannot read another tentacle fic ever again (unlikely).  I won’t know until that day does (or doesn’t) come.  But I’m not gonna waste energy worrying about what other people think about my fantasies.  They’re no one’s business but my own, and theoretically a future sex partner should I find one.

Fiction is for exploration, so explore!  Find ways to keep yourself safe.  Figure out what you need to avoid, and how to do it.  Find the things you want to read and read them.  Consume the media you want to consume.  And if anyone bullies you for it or tries to make you feel bad, you block their ass on sight.  They don’t deserve even a second more of your time.

[jungnoir]

loud and clear;

jung hoseok | haven’t you ever been curious about the god you pray to? noragami!au. | 2k words. | humor, fluff, angst.

a/n: pretty spoiler free so if you haven’t seen the show/read the manga and want to, don’t worry! I’ve had the idea for a noragami style au for hoseok for like,,, a year. here. take it

Names mean something.

Whether a name is good or a name is bad, it means something. Sometimes, a name can mean happiness or despair. A name can mean love or hate. A name can be hope, or utter destruction. Sometimes our names define us, and sometimes we define our names. Is it crime to run from a name that never fit you in the first place?

He was called the god of calamity because that’s what he was good at, it was all he’d known for the hundreds of years he’d been alive on this unforgiving earth. His birth was from the ashes of war and greed, and that’s presumably where he would die one day if the time came. It was never his desire to be what people hated yet needed, never his desire to feel so used after his sword would tear open flesh and sever life at his own will.

Heh, he laughs to himself, I have no will.

Whoever commanded him was the one whose will Hoseok met. From the beginning of life, his very job was etched into the stars in blood: he would fulfill anyone’s wish to kill, destroy, and ruin. If only it meant he was believed in for one more day.

The life of gods weren’t easy, and the life of a minor god who’d abandoned his original craft was even less so, but he guessed life could have been worse.

Hanging upside down from a tree by only his legs, Hoseok’s eyes flit around the nearly empty graveyard, searching everywhere for anything to keep his interest but finding that only you could, and currently you were occupied with another matter altogether, “Must we do this every weekend?��

You stare at the gravestone aimlessly, feelings of upset swimming in your stomach as the hours stretch on, “Yes. I can’t miss them.”

Hoseok blinks at the back of your head, sighing when you don’t make any attempt to look at him or show that you even acknowledge his presence in the first place. He lets himself fall and twist mid-air, landing on his toes and letting his heels fall to the dirt softly. There’s only so much time he can waste here waiting for people who he knew wouldn’t come before he has to be back out there, making sure he’s not forgotten. You seem to care none about being the regalia to a dying god.

“Do you know how many phantoms we could have slayed in the time we’ve spent here today alone? I bet you’ll feel much better ripping open a phantom’s guts right now!” Hoseok makes his tone light and tries to move in front of your line of vision, bright smile momentarily distracting you from the situation at hand, but you quickly shove his head out of the way as if he wasn’t your master and a god. In your eyes, he was just another nuisance who had decided to give your untainted soul a chance before it could be turned into the very things you both sought to kill. The colorful, slimy phantoms that lurked around the city whispering evil things in the ears of unsuspecting humans had all started out as unguided spirits of the dead at one point or another.

It could have become you too, but Hoseok had saved you. Yet, how good was it being “alive” again if you had no recollection of your past before you died and no idea of your future?

“I’d feel much better if I could stuff your head in a toilet...” You murmur quietly, watching Hoseok scowl and plop down next to the gravestone, leaning his head on it like a pillow. His copper red hair shines in the sunset light and catches your eyes long enough to glance over, and then you quickly turn away again much to his displeasure.

“You know, other regalia treat their gods with the utmost respect! Don’t you know the god of education has hundreds of regalia waiting on him hands and feet?” “Namjoon is eons more likable so I’m not surprised his regalia care to do that.” You snap back, watching the god’s scowl deepen.

You two had a strange relationship from the moment he’d captured your wandering soul and bound it to him. He had pronounced you his regalia, his weapon (literally) in the face of danger that this world held. You retained your human form from when you were once alive, but at his hand, you became something more.

A shinki, he called it. A tool for a god to use however they pleased, and you were a sword of mass destruction. At first try, you had been a bit chipped and dull as it had been only moments since you’d been saved by Hoseok that he needed you to fight off a gaggle of phantoms. However, after quite a while of training, you had become shiny and brand new. You were quite a beauty in either form, if Hoseok did say so himself. Yet, no matter how much he tried to get along with you, you couldn’t help wanting to counteract each attempt.

It wasn’t that you hated him, because seriously, you didn’t (and no, you couldn’t really prove it right now but...!). Deep down, you were very grateful he’d taken you as his regalia even if it wasn’t like he didn’t benefit from it himself, his previous regalia having run off to serve Namjoon the minute he let her because apparently Hoseok was “a train wreck waiting to happen... again”. Truthfully, had you been able to choose your own god to serve, Hoseok would have been your very last choice. But he wasn’t terrible, just carried more baggage than your wandering soul was prepared to take on.

While he tried to cover up the pain of his past with a smile and sometimes really terrible jokes, at some point, you’d grown uncomfortable with the god’s insistence that he was okay, that he was just tired when his shiny eyes would dull along with the activities of the day. A god of calamity is what they called him, warning you to break away before you ended up being hurt by that calamity he constantly carried with him. No matter what he tried to do to fix the past, whether it was spray-painting his number across the city so he could do odd jobs for lazy humans or slaying the phantoms that caused depression and wrath, to everyone else he would always be the god of calamity. A god of misfortune. A god of disaster.

Though, sometimes, you wondered how someone so full of selflessness could ever truly be a god of calamity.

Hoseok procured an orange from seemingly nowhere, carefully peeling away the skin and halving it before giving you one, “Hungry? We have quite the night ahead of us.”

You look up from your gravestone in confusion, taking the half into your hand and looking it over. It didn’t seem rotten or dried out in the slightest, “Where’d you get this?” “Swiped it off an old lady a few hours ago. You didn’t see?”

Your eyes narrow as you think about possibly squeezing the orange in his eyes and watching him wriggle in agony, but decide you won’t be as mean as usual... this time. Instead, you peel off a piece and put into your mouth, “We’re stealing from old ladies now? You don’t do much good for your reputation.”

“Well, I have to feed my regalia somehow! Nobody’s gonna do it for me,” He nudges you with his elbow and grins when you cast him a glance, “I don’t care what they say.”

You should, you think quietly to yourself. What kind of god didn’t care about what people thought? Gods were supposed to serve the people. They were supposed to uphold comforting presences and honesty and whatever else the humans were so obsessed with worshiping, they weren’t supposed to meander around the city at all hours of the night in cheap tracksuits and spend whatever money they had on tacky souvenirs because they looked “cool” and “shiny”. Hoseok applied to all of that and then some.

“You forget we share a mind and body,” Hoseok hums, startling you from your reverie, “...I’m not... it’s not lost on me how you feel when other gods see me, or when other shinki question you about the god you serve.” Surprisingly, his voice takes a more ashamed tone. He quietly eats with his legs crossed under him beside you, the setting sun behind you making his copper hair stand out all the more. Wind blows through his hair and covers the expanse of his forehead but he doesn’t move to fix it like he usually does.

Swallowing, you take a piece of orange and play with it, “So why don’t you do something about it?”

Hoseok shrugs, “I don’t want to be a god of calamity, even if I can never change it. I don’t want my name to carry the weight of all the harm I’ve caused because of it.”

You stare at the grass that had started to die in the middle of autumn, blades of green barely tall enough to cover the bottoms of your shoes. It would be getting colder soon, and Hoseok still didn’t have a shrine, so most likely you both would either be crashing at Namjoon’s shrine (if he didn’t kick you both out again) or finding some small, dark corner to curl up into to keep warm. You both were immortal, but it didn’t make being cold any less torturous. 

In the middle of your thoughts, worrying over how the both of you would manage to stay warm tonight, you feel something drape over your shoulders. Blinking, Hoseok’s scent fills your senses and you look back over at the god. He’s now in just a thin white tee shirt tucked into the band of his sweatpants, but he looks pretty fine to you. He doesn’t even shiver when a particularly cool breeze swipes past you both and reminds you that the sun is all but set now.

Instead of saying “thank you” or even a more characteristic “this thing reeks of alcohol, take it back”, you just push your arms through the sleeves and marvel at the fact that your hands don’t fully pass the hems, “You’ve always been a god of calamity though, even cleaning people’s bathrooms and finding lost cats like you do now,” you say softly, feeling the link between the two of you grow strained a bit. He’s nervous for what you’ll say when he’s already baring his hear to you in the most Hoseok way you know, “but you don’t win wars with your calamity. You... wreak havoc on the phantoms that plague humans. You didn’t stop being the god of calamity, you just turned it into something good.”

Hoseok says nothing for a while after that, and neither do you, letting the last few moments of the twilight welcome your incoming night. As the wind picks up, Hoseok suddenly reaches over and zips up his jacket on you until it reaches your neck, briefly locking eyes with you when you turn to look at him incredulously. He has finished off his orange and you find that you have too, in the midst of your thinking. He stands up and holds out a hand, smiling at you with the last rays of baby blue sky highlighting it. Carefully, you place your hand in his and he yanks you up and into his side, shocking you into a small sputtering fit.

He takes a deep breath and scans the city from the graveyard’s hilltop, eyes falling on a swarm of phantoms a few miles away that were particularly interested in a university nearby. “Well, looks like we have a bit of work to do, don’t you think?” Hoseok grins and looks down in your direction, where you meet his gaze halfway.

Somewhere in the sparkle of his usually sad eyes is a hope; you can feel something between your bond, unsure if he was willingly projecting it to you or not. What you had said had comforted him, had elated him in fact, and despite your inner qualms about entertaining the goofy god with friendship... you couldn’t resist giving him a small smile in return.

Names mean something, but it’s up to you to figure out what that something is.