#but i’d like to think my opinion is one steeped in a deep understanding of the history of the show

[neven-ebrez]

i see all your grieviances with s14 and i do get where you're coming from, but everything you see as negative and tiring i see it as... well, not positive, but not the worst thing that has happened. characters being in a stalemate is still much better than reversing back like what happened with s9. it is tiring, but i don't mind the waiting if i can see the light at the end of the tunnel. some got advantages in the race while others are still behind. have some patience, they'll get there.

Whoever sent this, I’d like to think we’ve probably talked before. And I’d like to agree with all the points you’ve made, the sentiment. My gut tells me as much... but like, I’m beyond weary, you know?  I’ve been in the race for a long ass time. And to see people talk about the state of Destiel like it potentially isn’t very, very similar to what the meta community (and fandom) has already been through, what I personally have already been accused of for years…??  It’s like watching old history unfold into yet another heartbroken bloodbath. 

And yeah we’ve come so far from S9 and the quick downward regression, but like… Dabb could still follow straight down Carver’s path (which didn’t end well for Cas fans). Dabb’s faced with a similar problem, prolonging the show past a certain “vision”, and is now being “forced” into the same “stalling route” as his predecessor. And I can tell he knows and doesn’t necessarily want it, given his past pacing decisions. But he has hit the proverbial turn signal just the same. There’s only two ways to go. You take the exit to loop back around or you take the exit after, the one that leads to the road that takes you home. I don’t think we’re quite heading home just yet.

And there’s so much I wanna say but can’t because of what I know that others don’t, what I’ve experienced that other meta writers haven’t, stuff I’ve heard with my own two ears from the people actually making the show. It’s… just different after stuff like this happens. It’s why I don’t actively write meta essays like I used to, on the subjects I used to, and especially not with the language I used to. I feel I simply can’t, knowing some of the things I do and also knowing how much that knowledge can quickly become useless anyway. I’m not interested in leading anyone on and so this is where I’m left.

When all is said and done, I just didn’t want to leave it at no one said just how badly, just how reductive everything could still go… It’s my own worry and my personal feelings, so I’m saying it now, even if it puts a damper on things for some people. Meta writers love to say, “It’s exactly what we’ve been saying!”, and “Look at all the times we were right!” (these are… not good things to say btw… I’d know because I used to say them, a lifetime before I ever talked to any writers or production staff, and I can say I regret them now). No one ever likes to say, “Oh, man, was I fucking wrong as hell here.” But that was me after 9x03 aired and I personally had to face the part I played in the Destiel fandom’s disappointment. Because I thought I knew then what I was talking about. But I didn’t know shit. I… misjudged. Hordes of people left fandom after that as Carver took an exit I don’t think anyone was really prepared for in order to “buy time”. And I was left to explain to those that remained exactly what was happening (a mirror-filled narrative of lovers separated by duty that was painted against a rape metaphor that is, still, today, the worst thing Supernatural has ever done to its brand imo) because I was like, the only structural Destiel meta writer left standing.

I looked… delusional, having to point out what was happening to other characters to figure out and explain how Sam, Dean, and Cas all felt (because the narrative was coding itself to where this was necessary to try and understand what was even happening at times, since the characters were all either lying or saying the “wrong things”!), what we were *actually* dealing with, whether the Destiel narrative still existed as a structural romantic thing or not. Not everyone agreed, but I felt I was right in my analysis then, still do; the show is forever written a certain way (tho narrative mirrors do not a textual and tangible narrative make!), but my expectations… they had shifted. The shift remains, still, along with a pestering voice that will never go away, “But what if?”

It’s the reason I only deal in the tangible, textual narrative now, or, at least when it comes to discussing Dean and Cas. I’ve learned the hard way that nothing else matters. Because the truth is it doesn’t.

Supernatural’s narrative structure is a structure I’ve studied more closely than perhaps any other pro-Destiel meta writer past or present. Almost everyone that has come before me has left. Few remain. I don’t know many who write “meta” now. Do they even know the structural writers that came before me? (Flutie? Sara?) I don’t know this either, most of their stuff has been wiped from this blue hellscape. That I do know. And no one writes sourced essays anymore, especially ones at great length, that aren’t just a speckling of themes and musings that often contradict one another.

Hell, I might be the last one still writing from the “golden age of meta” on tumblr, back from the surgence of S8. And while I wouldn’t say everything in the structure is *exactly* as before (there’s been significant textual gains over the mirror narrative, what’s actually needed before the end), but I do see things now taking a similar route as they did then, especially if by the mid season finale point Dabb has Michael!Dean kill the ailing and seemingly finally killable Jack. Depending on how it’s written, Jack’s death could set Dean back a lot, like… A LOT. He’d see it as him finally becoming his father, the best of intentions to protect gone very, very wrong.

Maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe that won’t happen.

I hope I’m wrong anyway, but I don’t think I am.

Impatient as I am for the end, because I don’t want the detour I fear we are about to take (and I do want to talk about the finished product when we get it finally!), and as much as I appreciate the reassurance, I don’t say any of this needing it. I appreciate it nevertheless. I’m more confident in my opinions now, where before I was blindly, carelessly optimistic in both language and outlook. I simply want to remind people of the truth: we’ve been here before, it didn’t end well then and I doubt it will end well now (here, in the present), for everyone who is left…. so please, PLEASE manage your character development expectations, especially those that are tied into hope for text over Destiel. Jokes about being joined “at the everything” aren’t good for anything, no more than Crowley saying to Dean that he’s like his mistress, because he’s “cheating on Sam” with him. In fact, I’d argue it’s reductive. I don’t think I’d be alone in that.

The things they need to do to pull the Destiel narrative into text…the writers aren’t doing, but it very much is tied into the stalling tactic Dabb has chosen nonetheless. Dean *has* to get past the ghost, the trauma of John Winchester. That’s first. Everything else is after. I doubt we’ll even be that far this season. You’ll know when/if a textual Destiel narrative starts to happen. I’d like to think the windup will become obvious (hint: they’ll actually have scenes together). But wherever we are, with Dean’s last developmental hurdle (as decided by Dabb with S14) and Cas’ need for Heaven closure still staring us in the faces as more proverbial unboiled water left on the stove, we’re just not there yet. And please remember, there’s always room for this to be a tragedy. People always seem to forget that.

Maybe not the meta history lesson you were looking for (which honestly has nothing to do with me separately finding the narrative slow and boring), but thanks for coming by anyway.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

Xerynn doesn’t care for Jac’s inability to understand his place in the world.

Also, this was a prompt of “jealousy” from @magic-ramen after she’d had a shitty day (sorry it took so long, babe!)  <3<3<3

Any other day, Xerynn likely would have ignored the news report.  Besides, it was information he’d already been well aware of.  He’d known the moment Lillian had died.  And how.  That her death was reported, however, was more of consequence.

Xerynn never did concern himself with being known. Given the fragile nature of mortals, they tended to make their own conclusions regarding why a defense attorney from Portland also appeared to be criminally connected and eerily similar to supposed paternal relations.  However, that did not mean he enjoyed the attention.  It was nothing to sway the minds of police but given the option, he would much rather not have to expend the energy to do so.

He scowled at the article on his laptop.  And when that attention came from tools better used in other situations, he grew doubly irritated.

He tapped a button under his desk.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Lusk,” he began, “do contact Mr. Sayer and inform him he’s required at my office.  Sooner rather than later,” he finished.

“Certainly, Mr. Warrgott.”

He sat back, tapping his index fingers against his lips. He would never have this kind of complication with Natalie.  Nor Kai, bizarre as that was to admit.  His brow furrowed.  For as much of a mouth as that man had on him, he held enough sense to know not to cross Xerynn in a way that created impact.  It was abundantly clear, however, that his latest acquisition had not yet come to that realization.

He lifted his chin, glancing toward the ornate doors of his office. Across Portland, he could sense Jac’s intention towards his office, proving that Natalie was once again prompt.  The emotions there were the same as he’d felt the first day he’d noted the assassin; arrogance, confidence, desire, violence.

Initially, he’d found it amusing that Jac still wore the veil and refused to see Xerynn’s godhood.  The idea that someone as steeped in blood and violence, who’s inclination rarely wavered from sadism, could refuse to believe in old, primal gods was charming in its way.

Now it was frustrating.

Less than half an hour later, Jac sauntered into his office, unbuttoning his peacoat as he moved.  “You rang?”

“Sit.”

Jac paused, one eyebrow lifted.  He smirked as he slipped out of his coat, turning to hang it on the coatrack near the door.  “Uh, oh; someone’s in trouble,” he teased.

Not rising to the comment, he turned his laptop, aiming the article at Jac.  “It appears that Ms. Rogers met with an accident last night.”

Jac didn’t look at the article, only kept his gaze with Xerynn’s, grinning all the while.  “Aw, what a shame.  She seemed awfully friendly with you the night before.  My condolences.”

The laptop shut with a thud.  “I do recall you seemed quite focused on her as well that night. Perhaps I should be extending the same,” he drawled.  He steepled his fingers.  “Shame indeed; she was quite useful.”

“Was she?”  Jac shrugged. “She was a pop culture blogger; she was probably at the gala because she’d shagged someone more important.”

Xerynn smiled then, the air around them growing still as his power curled along the windows and the shuttered door.  “That so?”  He pushed back, rising.  Jac’s eyes stayed on him but the smile had faded.  Xerynn smoothed his suit coat and slowly moved out from behind his desk. He stopped within arm’s length of Jac, hands folded neatly before him.  “Jac.”  His power shifted, surging through the room, lights flickering around them.  “Jac, Jac, Jac,” he chided.

The assassin’s brow furrowed but he stayed quiet.

Xerynn stepped close and lifted Jac’s chin.  “I’d suggest marking your territory elsewhere in the future.  Dare to piss on my property again and you’ll lack the ability to do so.”  He let go and lifted his brows, the lamp behind him popping, the expensive porcelain shattering and tumbling to the floor. “Have we an accord?”

Jac craned around Xerynn, frowning at the broken lamp. “Guess they don’t make them like they used to, hm?”

Oh, I see.  You believe you still retain control. Xerynn grinned then, lips drawing back, teeth bared.  Before him, Jac tensed as he shifted back.

“If I deign to employ another, you will accept that.”  His grin grew, reshaping his jaw as it widened.  “If, by chance, you decide your opinion matters more?”  He leaned down, teeth splitting from his jaw, razor-sharp and brilliant.  His voice boomed through the room, pictures rattling against the wall, glass trophies sending shards tumbling to the floor.

“I’d advise you to retain said opinions unless I require them.” He read confusion in Jac’s eyes as the man obviously struggled to reconcile with Xerynn’s horrific appearance.

“She . . . was useless,” he managed, voice rough.  

“Do recall that I required her there.”  The skin around his jaw split farther, bone elongating, the rage of war twisting his visage into that of a charred dragon.  Darkness crowded around them as he pulled Jac into his realm, drawing him into that same darkness he appeared to crave so much.  “You insult me with your petty actions,” he stated, words hissing out with strings of fire and smoke.

Again, he read the discomfiture in Jac’s mortal eyes.  The man wanted so badly to believe he retained all control.  That he alone directed his life and path.  That life and death were so neat and tidy in his blood-soaked world.

Xerynn laughed then, the sound a clash of stone and steel.  “You are more the fool, Jac Sayer,” he warned.  “Understand that I alone now own your soul.  That I decide when you will move.  When you will speak.”  He leaned close, those hazel eyes muddy with desperate turmoil.  “You are a tool, Mr. Sayer.  You will stay sheathed until I decide.”

With a snap, the light returned and they were once more standing in his office, pictures hanging neatly, trophies gleaming under bright lights.  

Jac blinked, frowning as he tried not to glance around.  But even so, Xerynn heard his rapid heart.  The swirl of thoughts as he tried to rationalize what he’d experienced.

Shame.  You would be so much more useful without the veil. A failing, certainly.  One that Xerynn hoped would correct itself sooner, rather than later.  He could force the tearing of the veil but unfortunately, it often left mortals more useless given it tended to overwhelm their fragile minds.  Jac’s was already poisoned enough of its own; no need to encourage further degradation.

He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat as he smoothed his shirt sleeves.  “So.  Done with my punishment?” he rasped.

Xerynn’s eyes narrowed. Still so haughty.  Had it been Kai, he would have left it there and ordered him out.  For all his insolence, Kai was by far the most accomplished Servitor he’d retained.  He allowed the man a long lead.  Jac, however, clearly needed more restraint.

“If I find that you have allowed your baser thoughts to interfere with my business again, our working relationship will be severed.”  

Jac laughed then.  “Oh, please.  You’d never find anyone half as good as me.”  He preened and winked at Xerynn.  “I’m one-of-a-kind.”

Mortals and their egos.  So trying. Xerynn didn’t rise to the comment. He watched as Jac removed a gun from a well-used under-arm holster, checking the clip and letting it hang loose from his hand.  He tilted his head at the action.  “Is that meant to frighten me?”

Jac’s amusement tempered, his mouth struggling to hold his cocky grin.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he purred, lifting the gun slightly.

Xerynn’s hand snapped out, grabbing Jac’s wrist and yanking the man to his feet, the gun falling with a thud to the floor in the process.  “You think yourself untouchable?” he mused.

The assassin swallowed but continued his attempt of controlling the situation.  “You wouldn’t have employed me otherwise,” he pointed out.

Xerynn tutted sharply.  “You, my boy, are not the marvel you consider yourself.” He began to walk, pushing Jac back, the man struggling to keep his feet as Xerynn clasped his wrist.  The bones beneath his fingers creaked and he knew, with a single additional squeeze, he could shatter that fragile framework.  He could rid himself of Jac in a moment, reduce him to nothing but skin and organs.

But the man was useful.  He was violent and effective.  And there was no doubt the man was pleasurable to use.  Recalling that, he shifted his grip to Jac’s neck as he slammed him into the door to his office.  The sudden boom would likely require an apology gift for Ms. Lusk.  A small matter.

He leaned in, whispering low, Jac’s pulse rapid and hot under his fingers.  “You are unique, Mr. Sayer,” he began.  “But there will always be another:  stronger, faster, far more obedient.”  He tightened his fingers, the air bubbling under his grip.  “Do not encourage me to locate them.”

Xerynn straightened, careful to retain his grip on Jac’s throat.  He recognized swirls of anger and arousal in the deep hazel.  He smirked then, amused again that even near death, the man’s mind remained on its singular track.

Even as he struggled to remain conscious, Jac lifted his chin, smug as ever.  “If you tried to get rid of me,” he forced out, “I’d only kill the idiot you wasted time on.”

It was almost amusing, in truth.  That Jac thought himself so highly prized.  Xerynn certainly hadn’t dissuaded him from the idea in the beginning; after all, he needed a confident assassin in his employ.  To do otherwise would be asking to be questioned by authorities at every turn.  But now it grew tiresome.  Mortals and their afflictions had long been a bore for Xerynn.  And he certainly didn’t need to deal with the jealous moods of a killer.

Xerynn didn’t smile. “And who is to say you would even be alive to attempt it?”

For the first time, he saw the assassin’s confidence slip.  A shadow of uncertainty across his face.  Enough to know the words hit home.

“Tell me, Jac,” Xerynn hissed, feeding his power outward.  “What is it that you see?”  He tightened his fingers around Jac’s throat, knowing he could crush the man in a breath if he wished.  It would be simpler, to be fair.  Jac was rapidly proving to be more trouble than he was worth.  Yet, it was rare for Xerynn to find such an exquisite weapon amongst the mortals.  He loathed washing his hands of such a find so quickly.

Jac’s swallow moved rigidly past his fingers.  “A reliable client.”  The words were barely there but Xerynn heard them all the same.  

“Client.”  Xerynn grinned.  He caught a thread of doubt in Jac’s eyes, his power once more manifesting in that moment.  His fingers brightened, gleaming like steel.  Threads of crimson began to bead along Jac’s neck, dripping along paling skin.

“Oh, my dear boy,” he breathed, “I am so much more.”  Skin split further under his bladed fingers, runnels of fluid warm and sticky against them. “I am what you crave.  Without me, you are nothing.”  He leaned in, licking Jac’s ear, catching the strain of his heart and air.  “Were I to be undone, your very existence would lack purpose.”  He pitched his voice lower.  “Do not believe you know what I require.  You will never kill without my direction.  Do so again, and yours will be the last blood you feel through your fingers.”

The beat of the heart under his fingers slowed, growing sluggish.  The blood was thicker now, leaving the man’s crisp, white shirt sodden and dark.  He let go then, snapping his fingers.

Jac’s neck was whole again, his shirt unmarred.  The assassin grabbed for his throat, eyes wide.  He stared at Xerynn, once more struggling to understand.

Xerynn raised an eyebrow. “Have we an accord?” he asked again, voice low and cold.

The man swallowed and straightened, holding Xerynn’s gaze.  “Understood,” he remarked, the arrogance long gone from his voice.  He tugged on the collar of his shirt, a fine tremor on his fingers.  “Anything more, Mr. Warrgott?”

Xerynn smirked then. He reached out and stroked Jac’s cheek, cupping his chin.  “I have no targets for you as of now.”  He swiped the warm, lower lip with his thumb.  “Be at my home in one hour; I have a better use for you tonight.”

The cocky light returned and Jac opened his mouth, sucking Xerynn’s thumb in.  “Of course, Mr. Warrgott,” he purred.  “I’m at your disposal.”

“You would do well to remember that, Mr. Sayer.”

[mhdiaries]

Monster Exchange Lorna McNessie Passport

5-30

So this is how ma day started: “Lorna McNessie, please report tae the Dead Master’s office.” Uh, oh. It’s usually nae good when you hear your name vibratin’ oot of a classroom speaker. As I left the room I could hear ma classmates giggling behind me; this nae bein’ the fiercst time I’d made the long walk tae the office. I was pretty sure this time it must be aboot me photo bombing the faculty fearbook picture. I just couldna help ma self; there they all were in their robes and finery, looking all stern and teacher-like, and there was that window behind them. I was drawn tae it like a werewolf tae a full moon, and even then I only stuck ma face in for one snap... or two... so I didna think it would cause a fuss. I stood outside the Dead Master’s door, drew a deep breath and got me, “Yes, I should have known better” apology ready. Then I knocked and stuck ma head in. “You wanted tae see me, sir?” He was on the phone and he waved me in and pointed tae a chair. I sat down while kept talkin’ tae the monster on the other end. “Ay, academically strong.” He just listened for a moment and then laughed himself tae tears. “Nae, nae, ‘twas something ye said struck me funny. I can assure you that self-confidence will nae be an issue with this one, Headmistress Bloodgood. Thank you for yer time, as well, and I’m sure we’ll speak again soon. Goodbye.” The Dead Master hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. “That was Headless Headmistress Bloodgood from Monster High. She’s accepted you application for the monster exchange program.” I couldna believe it, which seemed tae be an opinion shared by the Dead Master. I asked if that was the reason he called me tae his office. He said, “Nae - ‘twas merely a happy accident. But since you’re here, I suppose I shouldna have tae tell you that you’ll be representing our school, and I’ll expect you tae be on your beast behaviour.” I told him that, of course, I would, and that I would make the school proud. “Very good. Now let’s have a little chat aboot the faculty fearbook photo, shall we?”

6-5

Ma parents are understandably cautious aboot me leaving the loch tae attend Monster High. I don’t blame them, though; it is in their nature tae be so. Sometimes they look at me like I’m an alien when I tell them aboot ma latest photo bomb adventure, and then they just roll their eyes and say, “Just like your Gran.” I take that as a compliment, sine ma Gran is the scaly coolest monster ever! I went tae see her today tae tell the news that I’d be going to Monster High, and I think she was even more excited than me. She has a whole album of ma pictures, at least the ones I could get copies of, and she loves the stories behind them. She’s feisty, funny, and is an amazing storyteller. She can even make the ones I’ve heard a hundred times seem as new and exciting as the first time. Her stories aboot being a young ghoul in the loch are so funny, they make ma fins hurt. But one of her best tales is aboot the time I took her aboot on a photo bomb expedition. There is this bird that lives around the loch called the Three-Eyed Dusky Dragon Owl. They’re as rare as slug hair, and you mostly hear them rather than see them, but every so often a pair will build a nest some place near tae a road, and then monster bird watchers flock in... hehe... by the busload. Now it just so happened that the nest was at the bottom of a very steep cliff and on a branch that hung aboot over the water. I suggested tae Gran that we swim under water and pop our heads aboot as soon as the first birdwatchers started snapping photos, but Gran said, “Where’s the fun in that?” She didn’t want tae be in ONE picture, she wanted tae photo bomb them ALL. That’s why there is now a framed magazine cover over her mantel from the monster world’s most famous nature magazine. It features a nesting pair of Three-Eyed Dusky Dragon Owls, and two pieces of driftwood floating in the water behind them. If you look close enough you can almost see the driftwood giggling. 

6-15

I’ve been getting tons of messages from different ghouls at Monster High saying they are looking forward tae meeting me. Then tonight I got tae video chat wit Howleen and Twyla. Howleen was super bouncy, and Twyla seemed shy but funny. It seemed like they had as many questions for me as I had for them. I was especially curious tae know if Headless Headmistress Bloodgood had a sense of humor or nae. Howleen got an odd look on her face, then started tae say something, but didn’t. Twyla actually laughed oot loud. “That depends,” said Twyla, “on whether or not her office gets filled with packing peanuts on a day when she’s giving foreign digniscaries a tour of the school.” I started laughing and asked Howleen if she got into trouble for the prank. “I had to come in on Saturday, and she made me clean them up by hand one peanut at a time. It took all day.” I said it sounded like she was no fun a’tall. “Wait,” said Twyla giggling, “you have to hear what happened next.” Howleen leaned back, and with a smirk on her face said, “When I got to school on Monday and opened my locker, I got buried in a flood of packaging peanuts.” At this point Twyla fell off the chair she was sitting on, and I could hear her cracking up on the floor. “It wasn’t that funny, Twyla,” huffed Howleen. “Yes. It. Was.”   “Okay, Lorna, we’re going to go, now. Twyla has apparently lost her mind, and we’re going to need to try to find it.” I think I’m going to like Monster High, and with friends like these it’s nice to think I won’t have tae be swimming down stream like a lost salmon when I get there.

6-30

Got another surprise call tonight from a ghoul named Marisol Coxi. She’s a bigfoot from Monster Picchu, and she’s going to be at Monster High at the same time I am. She told me that Headless Headmistress Bloodgood gave her my number and said that we should get acquainted. Marisol is a bit larger than unlife, and I had tae turn down the volume when she was speaking tae me. At fiercst I was a bit taken aback, but her energy is so infectious, I couldne help but like her. We checked our schedules, and we’ll be arriving around the same time, so it’ll be nice tae have another new ghoul tae hang aboot with. I’m also hoping she’ll give me some pointers on how she does her nails. They were fabulous.

7-1

Mum and Gran made a monster dinner tonight and invited the whole family for ma going away party. All ma brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins were there tae celebrate. The table was full of ma favorite foods. There was Cullen Skink, Eyemouth pales, Kippers, tatties and herring, rollmops, smoked salmon, rumbledethumps, black puddings, and the grandest haggis you’ve ever set your eyes on. Then Mum brought aboot coffin berry scones, and of course the best shortbread in Rotland. Then the pipes and drums came oot, and we played and danced intae the wee hours. We even took a family photo, and for once it was a picture I didna have tae sneak intae.

7-5

Had ma last swim aboot the loch this morning, and it was pure magic. I love ma home, and even though I’m excited aboot going on the exchange tae Monster High, there’s nae danger that that I’ll ever want tae live any place else. I also saw a boatload of normies casting aboot for a chance tae take a photo of the “mysterious” creature that lives in the loch. All the grown folk were on one side of the boat with their cameras, and there was a bonnie wee lass on the opposite, just starin’ down intae the loch. So I swam up, stuck my head oot of the water and waved tae her. She smiled and waved back, and then I was gone. I imagine she’ll still be tellin’ that story when she’s a gran herself. 

[cypris-thalsian]

The Gift: Part V

[ Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, written with @thalsianiii​ ]

Cypris held her sleeve over her nose as Percival ushered her past the remnants of the corpse once it was well done and sorted. After Percival's shouting and banging on the door there didn't seem to be any movement within the small hut for what seemed like a prolonged amount of time. 

Once it had registered that the voice was a familiar one, the sounds of a staff clacked along the inner floors. A slat slid open lower down, revealing a crystalline pair of blue eyes gazing out. Lairn leered at the pair, seemingly looking them over to be sure they were clean, "Did you step in it?" She question came matter of fact having an idea they were why the thudding had stopped. 

"No, we didn't. Please.. we're clean, came from the roof tops. He touched one of the sick... but he's been burned." Cypris tried to explain. 

The pair were answered with another skeptical once over before the slat closed and the door creaked open, "Quick now. You're both late." She muttered and would slam the door closed once they were through.

Percival gently ushered Cypris through the door first before following in. The thud of the door behind him gave him a moment of peace. At least in the presence of a healer, there was some sense of safety.

"What do you mean we're late?" he asked, waving his hand across his face to cause his mask to vanish from existence.

"Bah, it doesn't matter. We need your help, Lairn. Please..."

"She always says that..." Cypris muttered and pursed her lips at a touch of laughter finding her features. 

Lairn slid a bar across the door before turning to the pair, "No, I don't." She leaned towards Percival, "I'd hoped to speak more with you after my visit last. You're as bad as she is. And just maybe I heard tell of your coming on the wind."

The elder dwarf started for the fire place where she'd been warming and steeping a bit of tea. On the table was a singular mug, one might have assumed had been meant for her. When it was poured, she slid it towards Cypris. "Drink it. Don't give me any trouble over it after you've been out with that lot." Her cane was shoved in a pointing motion to the door. 

Cypris eyed Percival before looking to the tea. Her lips had parted to argue, but even her come backs for the old dwarf fell short. She simply sipped at the tea and moved to claim a seat at the table. 

Pleased that the woman had listened for a change, turned her attention on Percival, "You want a mug too or would you prefer a stouter variety?"

"I'll make it up to you assuming we survive this," Percival responded as Lairn gave him a mild scolding.

Unlike Cypris, he never thought to give Lairn any lip. So far she had always been hospitable and wise. Crotchety, but wise.

While the two women got more comfortable, Percival seemed to linger nearer the door. He hated undead. Not for fear or some deep seeded remorse for the dead that killed his family and friends in Dalaran decades ago. He just found them terribly distasteful.

"Would you like to talk to her about what's been going on?" he asked as he looked towards Cypris while she drank her tea.

"Or shall I?"

The first initial sips were long and deep, Cypris had assumed it was likely some sort of concoction to ward off whatever it was the pair had strolled through to get to the dwarf. When the mug was nearly empty she slipped it back to the table. A huff of a laugh was breathed out watching the two.

"I um.." She blinked a few times at Percival. "I've been tired the last several weeks, but it's gotten worse. I'm struggling with fire. I got sick on the way in. thats all I know for certain. He..." Cy gestured towards Percival, "Says, there's um..." 

Lips pursed and she gave a cant of her head stumbling over what to her felt like a simple word that just couldn't find the tip of her tongue. After a moment she shook her head and motioned for Percival to finish the story. Not before tossing in with her skeptical, "I'm fine." The words came slightly slurred in her attempt at denial. 

Lairn listened to the two and their back and forth. She knew the warlock was worried, though it didn't appear to translate to her own features. "I'll get you a scotch. You like scotch."

The dwarven woman motioned for Percival to continue on with the story as she made her way to a cabinet where she collected a glass, filling it with a bit of her choice scotch.

"You're not fine and you know it," he scolded.

His attention turned to Lairn as she moved around the small home. He continued on with the story where Cypris left off.

"She's been tired, her fire doesn't spark on command, and getting sick. A while back during Brewfest that Loa of hers, or yours, played some trickery on us with visions and mind games. I can only assume the vile serpent is playing more tricks on her now. Watching us." he hypothesized.

"Last night we were just about to... well there was a presence. It was silent and neutral but I could feel it almost as strongly as I can feel Cypris. Like it was riding along our soulbind. With all that the serpent had said, I can only imagine it's him playing some game."

He took a deep breath and let it out in the form of a lengthy sigh.

"Brigitte something says hi," he finished.

Lairn lilted a brow, she'd not heard him scold Cypris often. Truth of the matter she'd have likely scolded her had he not. Turning towards Percival, she listened to each bit of the explanation. on through the mention of the Loa. Even Lairn's thoughts regarded it momentarily as a thought. She had her own ideas given the limited readings of runes and the like. 

"I don't think you're wrong. But I don't think you're right either." Lairn squared before him. A bemused smile perked at the mention of Brigitte and spilled into a tuft of laughter. 

The elder dwarf reached out to offer the scotch only to pull it back and motion towards Cypris. "You can have this after you catch her and move her to the bedroom. You remember where, yes? Last time she needed stitched up? Don't worry too much it's just the tea..." 

On the edges of their vision, unless Percival kept his gaze on the fire-starter, her gaze had slowly started to droop. Eyelids heavy that she slowly gave to what it was that was pulling her under. Cypris' form swaying slowly threatening to slip from the chair.

Percival was quick to catch Cypris once Lairn gave him warning to do so. Were it anyone else, he might have taken a drugging tea as an offense. Especially after the last time someone tampered with their drink.

But this was Lairn, and she had always been good to them. Not to mention, she didn't try to fool the warlock with something similar.

"Of course," he agreed as he moved to Cypris' side before she could fall from the chair. One hand under her back and the other hooking under her knees, he scooped the smaller woman up in his arms and moved to take her to the bedroom.

Upon returning, he gave Lairn a subtle nod. "Didn't think we'd have to resort to drugged up tea to get her to sleep soundly. But it looks like she's out cold for now. So what's going on?"

The scotch was outstretched when he returned. "It's difficult to be sure. Souls are uneasy these days. They have been for a while. There were a few awol Alliance soldiers in the tavern a week or so ago. Talking about... the Ardent Crusade looking for recruits in Stormwind. I lingered a bit trying to hear more."

She shook her head, "One died and the other ran. Next thing we know the sickness began to spread. We got a ship in port not long after, half the crew had been claimed to it. I looked over one of them, looks near identical if not more persistent as what we faced in the North."

Sorting out a few supplies from the counter, "Unless you mean with Cypris. In which case, I'll need to look her over. But I'm guessing she's right in that she's fine. But you're concerns are valid given the history... I'll want your opinion to second any of it."

Percival took the scotch with thanks and downed near half the glass. His nerves were shot. The last two days had been more than he had bargained for.

"I wasn't on Azeroth the last time the Undead returned. But I heard the stories. Same with the Third War. The scourge was isolated to Lordaeron, Silvermoon, and Dalaran back then. I was in the south before it ever got bad. But this... this is everywhere."

He took another swig of the drink and made himself comfortable in the chair Cypris had sat in moments earlier.

"How can she be fine? She's clearly sick, and now there's a plague going around. Are you sure she couldn't be infected? Or some disgrunted Loa? The one we met seemed poor in manners and disposition."

"Points to your baby king wanting to keep it quiet. They could have sent missives or stopped the travel. There's been no word of that about." Lairn shrugged. 

"I'm not sure. There's only ever one way to be sure. There's educated guesses. If she were infected, she'd be running a fever, sweating. Her body burns all that out. Part of the curse or blessing as I understand it." 

Collecting what she'd gathered she started down the small hall towards the bedroom and motioned Percival to follow. "Tell me what it was the Loa said? If Brigitte let you go... not easy for her to do given her death was at the hand of men. Tell me more of this presence you sensed. Cypris said that was not something she knew of?"

"He's not my king," Percival murmured.

"Well she's clearly some kind of sick. She lost her breakfast a few yards outside your front door, after all."

His frustration was obvious. Quelling his temper was difficult when it came to her well being. Even so, he kept it in check enough to hear Lairn out.

"It's been a while since the fest. But it was a series of tests at which point they said we'd be given a gift. Then nothing for the couple months afterwards. Cypris and I have been together for a while, but I know she's not as adept at sharing a magic bond as I am. Demons and all that. But it was there, I know it in my core. Like a presence just... watching. There was no malice or generosity. Just... there. It didn't seem to care what we did one way or another. But it was there."

Lairn listened, setting the supplies down on a table next to the bed. Gentle fingers prodded over bones and muscles along the firestarter. Her gaze held to the woman's features looking for any signs of aches. As she went she removed any weapons she might have found along the way.  As she got towards Cypris' abdomen, Lairn's gaze gained a surprised and slightly troubled look that quickly faded. 

Pulling a modest metal cone from the supplies, the elder shaman listened to Cypris' breathing and other internal sounds that might suggest something else. All the while Cypris slept sound. "Come sit next to her, Percival."

Lairn shifted from the bed to make certain he had enough space to do as she asked. "I want you to keep in mind what it is you have told me, just now. About a gift and the events that followed. Then I want you to focus on that prickle of a presence, tell me if you can better pinpoint it. Physically if you can manage. If not I will help you."

Percival did as instructed and sat down beside his sleeping wife while Lairn went about her physician testing.

"Alright," he agreed with a hint of skepticism. He reached to hold onto Cypris's hand while she slept and closed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus. Despite his panicked concern for his wife and his frustration at being so helpless to help, he managed to find that hint of a third, lingering presence.

"I can feel it. Like a pit in my stomach. Or her stomach... our stomach?" he rambled off.

His eyes opened and he looked over at Lairn.

"I don't get it. If not a creeping loa spy. What else could it be?"

The metal cone was offered forward, the smaller side having a place to listen. Lairn gestured for Cypris' chest. "Listen here, and then over that space you sense that spy..." She quirked a small grin. 

"Tell me what you hear? Then your thoughts on what it may be." If he did as she asked, he'd find the expected steady heartbeat at Cy's chest, while at her belly, a faint thudding that was similar only more rapid just above the sound of the steadier pulse.

The fact that Larin was smiling was off putting. But he indulged her. He listened to Cypris's heart beat at first, it seemed strong and steady. He then followed the old dwarfs instruction and listened to her stomach as well. It was there, faint, but there.

It took him a few minutes to put the pieces together. He was a brilliant summoner, tactician, and scholar, and yet he had struggled with putting these pieces together until now.

"Wait..." he paused, looking to Lairn and her small grin with a look of confusion and doubt, as if his own hypothesis was far too wild to be true.

"You don't mean... you don't think she could be? I mean we've been together for years and... and never once used... No... Really? No way." he rambled, as if the implication was too wild to be true.

The Elder dwarf watched as the wheels finally began to move in the right direction. She let off a bemused chuckle. "She shouldn't be. You're right. She had a great deal of damage after she had Ava. And when they blackmailed her for her life. The blade caused further damage..."

"The loa have met your trials with a gift. The pair of you have impressed them enough they wish your line to continue. It certainly does prove to be quite the spy. I'm assuming the reason you sense the child's soul so young is because of your bond. It is both your blood and her blood that formed the soul binding, yes?"

Percival was quiet for a while, even after Lairn had stopped speaking and posed her question. He never even consider the possibility of children. Not since the fiasco with his ex fiancé years and years ago.

Finally he shook his head to break from his trance.

"Y-yes we did. Blood and souls and magic runes..." he answered.

"So that was the Loa's 'gift' then? I'm... I'm going to be a father? You're sure?" he asked, a sharp crack in his voice and his eyes glistened with what could almost be considered a tear; the sentiment made his stomach turn in knots. Deep down he still couldn't fathom it. In a world that had knocked him down time and time again, it seemed impossible to be given a gift like this.

Reaching a hand forward, Lairn gave the man a duel pat to his shoulder. Nodding to answer his question. "I would say yes, that is a fair assumption. That they promise a gift and your wife, who in my best medical opinion was made sterile by a former enemy, now is with child. Her body has been healed despite her appearing sick. Life is... it takes a great sacrifice to build. You of all people should know that, that's how it is in all things."

"It will be a long road, but given it all goes well, yes, you'll have a son or daughter before the middle of next year. And you're the one who found it, so you can't deny the fact that it's yours." She laughed. How many men had been dragged in and griped through visits how a child due wasn't theirs. 

Lairn narrowed her gaze on the warlock, "Need more of that scotch? You doing alright there?"

Percival remained a touch dumbfounded for a few moments longer. But finally, he could let himself accept the truth and it pulled the largest of smiles across his features.

"I think one more glass is in order," he said with a light laugh.

He rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to force the tears of joy to vanish through sheer will power before he'd let them fall.

"I can't believe it. I can, but I can't." he babbled on, his gaze looking over to Cypris as she slept with that dumb smile still painted on his face.

"I wonder how she'll take the news."

Lairn ventured out of the room though she continued to listen to his rambling through processing the information. When she returned she came with a scotch freshly poured along with the bottle should he wish more. 

"You can keep that. To listen when you wish to, for the heart beat." She gestured to the tool she'd used to guide his listening. "You're welcome to rest with her for a bit. She may have looked like hell coming in, but you sounded it." 

A grin held a moment longer, finding it rather amusing the amount of worry she'd watch wash away from his features from the moment he'd stepped in the door to the realization that Cypris was indeed well. "We can sort out anything else when you've had time to process all this. She'll either be overly excited, but my money would be on scared. You're not him, you're not about to take the child and run, but that past, that emotional memory is likely to be revived. Something to consider. I do hope I'm wrong. That you'll both get all the joys the experience will offer."

Before taking her leave, Lairn paused at the door, "Call out if you need anything, Dove. Otherwise, dinner will be sorted in a few hours."

"Thank you, Lairn. For everything," Percival quietly whispered as she handed him the drink and bottle before taking her leave.

He considered what she said about Cypris's past. While he wanted to believe it would be a smooth conversation, he knew his wife well enough to know that might not be the case. It would require tact and delicacy. Something best not to do with undead clawing at the door, perhaps.

Either way, he was excited and wasn't going to worry about that conversation right now. It would be okay in the end. He knew that.

His hand moved to rest on her stomach. Suddenly he felt just a bit guilty that he thought she had just gotten a bit of a belly from too much food at a festival.

"And thank you, Cypris," he whispered to his sleeping wife, "once again, you continue to find a new way to make me the happiest man alive."

[izzielizzie]

Chapter Six

Weekend runs are bliss. Early morning air fills my lungs and all the worries from the week: Vanessa hijacking the soccer team, TJ showing up everywhere I don’t want him to be, and Bronwyn’s murder investigation, evaporate until the only thing filling my mind is the sound of my music and the ponding of my sneakers on the sidewalk. When I reach the steep hill I use as a marker to end my three miles, I feel motivated enough to keep running, and I can hardly breathe when I reach the top. I’m about the double over and catch my breath when I hear my name being called. I sigh when I recognize the voice. It’s Vanessa. I wonder if it’s too late to pretend I didn’t hear her, but I look up and meet her blue eyes and I have no choice but to walk over to her, where she’s sitting with Cooper, Addy, Luis, and - ugh - TJ. “Maeve! Hi! Fancy seeing you here!” “Vanessa you do realize I live in Bayview right?” Every time Vanessa sees me she acts like I live in Kentucky or something. “I know, I know. I just enjoy seeing you! Do you enjoy seeing me?” I look at Vanessa properly and I realize now why she’s called me over. She’s wearing her soccer uniform. And it has my number from last year. “Sure,” I say. I’m still out of breath and I have no desire to be nice. “Well, I’m so glad I ran into you! Or that you ran into us I guess.” She laughs at her own joke. “I actually wanted your opinion on something. TJ and I are going on a date this weekend and I wanted your advice on where to go.” I’m distracted trying to figure out if bending over to catch my breath would make me look weak, so when I finally register her question all I can do is stare at her. I look between TJ who’s staring at the ground, and Vanessa, who’s smirking at me. Oh this bitch knows exactly what she’s doing. Vanessa continues talking. “Addy was telling us that the beach is great this time of year.” No. No, I can’t do this. I’m gonna faint. Or be sick. Or both. “Vanessa stop,” Luis says, his voice hard. “What? I’m just saying, Maeve knows all about beach dates. She could even-” I don’t hear the rest of her sentence because I’ve turned and started running down the hill again. I can’t see where I’m going through the tears, and I’m so upset that when I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders I panic. I twist and kick out, using the self defense tricks my father taught me ages ago. My foot doesn’t connect with anything though, and it throws me off. “Maeve, Maeve. Stop.” I recognize the voice and I freeze. “Luis?” “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I can’t see his face through my tears, but his voice is laced with genuine concern and I fall into him, sobbing like my life depends on it. He rubs his hand up and down my back like my mom did when I was a kid, and it’s so relaxing that I can’t even try to imagine how weird we must look: me crying into his chest in the middle of the sidewalk, but I can’t move. I pull away when I’m out of tears, and he gently swipes his thumbs over my cheeks to dry them. “I’m not okay,” I tell him. I know it’s such an obvious thing to say, but as I look into his deep brown eyes that are filled with so much kindness, I feel myself relax for what might be the first time in years. He nods at me. “I know.” “TJ cheated,” I say. I don’t know why I’m telling him, but I haven’t had anyone to talk to lately. Luis’s hand is still on my back, and he’s rubbing small circles on it, almost absentmindedly. It’s nice. He raises his eyebrows at me, telling me to keep talking. “He was at the beach over the summer and he hooked up with Addy and Vanessa found out.” “Dios,” Luis mutters, and I finally realize who I’m talking to. Every time Vanessa subtly attacks me, Luis has been there, and he’s never lifted a finger to stop her. And from what I can tell, he’s suddenly best friends with TJ. I pull away from him. “Not that you’d care,” I mutter. Luis’s face drops and he squeezes my hand the way he did when we were kids. “Maevey, come on.” Maevey. No one has called me that in years. “You stopped talking to me. You stopped caring about me.” Luis and I were best friends when we were kids. Like Nate and Bronwyn. Like Cooper and Addy. All six of us were thick as thieves before my parents sent me to Connecticut to live with my grandparents. When I came back, no one was speaking to each other. When did unconditional love turn into pure hatred? When did we start tearing each other down? Why do we rip each other apart and set fire to the corpse just to watch it burn? Why don’t we patch each other together anymore? I have so many questions for all of them: why did Nate stop laughing? Why can’t Bronwyn relax? Why doesn’t Addy speak her mind? Why is Cooper so hesitant, so perfect? And why doesn’t Luis love me anymore? I guess they have some for me too: why am I so bitter? I’m scared I don’t have the answer. “Maeve,” Luis’s voice jolts me back to myself. “I never stopped caring about you. You left, what was I supposed to do?” “IT WASN’T MY CHOICE.” I tear out of his grasp. I can’t stand being near him. “Maeve, let me drive you home. You’re not thinking straight.” As if. I can’t be in a car with him. “No!” He reaches for me. His hands grip my upper arms and before I can think, I rear back and slap him as hard as I can. “I said no!” I turn and start running before I can even understand what I just did.

Nearly ten hours later, I’m in the ballroom of the grand Bayview hotel that my parents rented out for their charity event. For tonight, we’re a normal family. We stand together, my father in his suit, my mother, sister, and I in our ball gowns. My hair is up, twisted in a knot, and the back of my floor length dress is open. I feel cold, exposed and incredibly raw after this morning. And I also feel so, so, so bad about how I treated Luis. I turned my own anger and fear out on him. He just wanted to make sure I was okay. I can’t be here, talking to the mayor and his wife like I give a damn. I tug on my mother’s sleeve. “Mom, I’m gonna get a drink,” I mutter to her. She nods at me. Normally, she’d insist that I stay with the rest of the family, but everyone’s been walking on eggshells around me since TJ and I broke up. Normally, I’d hate being treated like that, but tonight I’m reveling in the newfound independence. I make my way to the drink table, but before I can even reach it, a tray with a steaming mug of… something materializes in front of me. “Cinnamon hot chocolate? “Wha-” “It’s still your favorite right?” Of course it is. Cinnamon hot chocolate has always been my one true love, but I’m not confused about that. “What are you doing here?” “My father is catering this rather fancy event, and he asked me to help. I could use the money.” How could I forget that his dad owns a café? I used to go there all the time. He pauses and shoots me a wicked grin. “And girls love men in a uniform.” He is wearing a uniform: black slacks, white button down shirt, and a black vest. Pretty standard for waiters. “Girls like men who shut up,” I say as I take the mug from the tray. Luis smiles. “There you are Rojas. You’re sass failed to make an appearance this morning.” I look down at the ground and cup my hands around my steaming mug. When I look up, Luis is looking at me with a look I can’t decipher, but it makes me feel as warm and cozy as the drink in my hands. I shift my mug to one hand and reach up to touch his face with another. “That looks painful,” I say. “You don’t know your own strength.” I laugh a little. “I’m sorry for what I did. It was wrong of me.” “It was,” Luis agrees. I glare at him and he grins. “But I accept your apology.” I return his grin. “What can I do to make it up to you?” Luis’s face takes on an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “You could serve tables seven and eight for me.” I put my hand on my hip. “I’m being serious here, Santos.” “As am I Rojas,” he says, mimicking my pose. I start laughing at him, and his grin is bright enough to light up a room. I missed that. I missed us. “We could go to the roof. The utility closet is always unlocked. No one would even miss us.” I’m not surprised that he knows this. Luis was always the best person to concoct an escape route. I shift on my uncomfortable heels as I consider his offer and sip my coca. We used to spend ages on the flat part of my garage roof, which was accessible through my window. I’ve missed that too. “Okay,” I finally say. I follow him through the ballroom and into the hallway, where he disposes of his tray and my mug in the hall in front of the kitchen. “You’re so slow,” he says as I trail behind him to the elevator. “My heels are killing me.” “So take them off.” He says this with an easy shrug and a quick grin, like this is the easiest thing in the world. “I’m not walking barefoot,” I say. Luis smiles at me, and before I can understand what is happening, he scoops me up in his arms. “Luis,” I laugh as I link my arms around his neck. I’d tell him to put me down, but I’ve missed this camaraderie with him. “Can’t let you hurt your feet, Maevey.” I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. Luis Santos had always been home to me. For five years I’d been lost without his strong arms and deep brown eyes. I stay in his arms as we push through the doors and step into the twilight. The slanted doors are perfect for laying on, and we stay there for nearly an hour, my head on his shoulder and his arms around me. I wish we could stay here all night, in this world where I never had cancer and was sent to Connecticut because my parents couldn’t deal with the constant pity from everyone. In a world where we were still MaeveandLuis and LuisandMaeve.

[driftwork]

on a small island having useless thoughts in summer

Some things are in our power,others are not in our power. In our power are opinion, sentiment, aversion... (E...)

The world was smaller and the borders were liberatory when we were more active.  But we are decades after those years.. I think the diameter of this small small island is about five or ten  miles at most. A narrow coast road runs alI the way round it, often with sheer drops into the sea off the steep cliffs to the south. But mostly it runs level along the coastline to the north and east. With slopes down to the beaches which alternate between sandy coves and shingle beaches. Occasionally I have stopped and explored these lovely beaches.  On the western end of the island there are concrete groynes  placed to slow the inevitable  erosion of the island. On the south concrete tetrapods are placed to protect the cliffs, gradually becoming a reef as the sea level rises. There are three or four towns, two of which have harbours for small boats and the regular ferries  from the mainland which is five to ten  kilometres to the north.  And its on one of these beaches that I am sitting eating an ice cream, with a cappucino in a takeaway cup, speaking to you.  I am speaking quietly to you because you are lying in the  sunlight, the sea and the sound of the wind on the yachts moored out to sea has made you close your eyes. You are beside me , your body is rising and falling with the rhythm of a sleeping person,  to the rhythmanalysis of a sleeping person. I don't want to wake you so I talk to you quietly about the place. Spacetime perhaps.  your soft brown leather bag is beneath your head. A violent pillow.   Some writers we know would be entranced by this island,  with its seagulls, terns, cormorants, crows, songbirds, trees, hills and rare  insects. The photographs of the bunker archaeology  collated by the council. Perhaps its the island he told us about over cocktails in the snow, before he died, killed by the leviathan. We exist in the net, captured by its almost visible lines, drawn out in the... I can hear you laugh "no no stop this is a lovely day, forget these things just now..." But when I look down I see you are still asleep, I sip coffee and wonder what time it is.  I am phoneless and watchless on this beach. Only you a pen and a notebook, Children run into the water... splash splash splash. I watch.

I found out by chance that he is still alive. The bookseller in the allay behind the town hall, next door to the hairdressers and adjacent  to the ice cream parlour, who likes to pretend that he is still ukrainian even  though he was born on the mainland 80 kilometres up the coast. Do you speak russian well I asked him.  Not at all, hardly at all he replied. A ukrainian  russian newspaper is delivered to the shop a few days after publication, perhaps he reads it? most likely he simply wraps up the books he must post in the pages.   Once a week, once a month in the newspaper, they run a provincial section  of news of the place where he was  born, before his parents took him, that is you  to america.  I remember when you, she and I went there for a  week, staying at the ramshackle dacha that you had inherited and still owned.  I remember the treelined roads, that we rode along on the bikes,  and the open top german car... and sometimes as we drove down the long intricate road into the river valley we would drive through the shadows of the cork oaks. In the village, mostly emptied of people who had deserted this place for the cities and a better  life. And there looking up at me from the opened out pages, on which a book rests which is about to be wrapped for posting, I can see a picture of your smiling face. The face of a man who supposedly died on the other side of the world,  but is now looking at me, not looking at me, as I look at him from a two day old newspaper. It's the same smile I remember from the hospital club, and  the hotel off wardour street from your last trip to london. "Bye S...  see you next year in april" you'd said. Before dying they said in A...  But there you are.  Big, alive, unable to avoid the photograph in a local paper  that ended up here on this small island. This invisible island.

Here we are later,  I wonder if it's him she said, again. What should we do if it is ?  Nothing she said.  It's nearly sunset the sun is setting in the west, the east.  The cypress  trees are lit by the deep yellow of the setting sun.  They were  deep green earlier, now they are yellow and black.  Down the hill on the plauteax leading to the beach there is a cafe,  the smell of Greek food. We walk down the slope. There is a row of houses facing the sea, northwards,  just down the road. The end house,  a short distance away was once Susan Kant's house, she'd landed there from Germany and spent a decade praying they would never find her,  they didn't. Only she was left there, here.  Her husband and mother had never returned even years after the nightmare ended. She never knew what camp they had ended up in, and now was still trying not to talk about them, survivors guilt perhaps.  But we left Susan in peace, we would visit her tomorrow we said,  and went  down to eat moussaka and to drink cheap retsina,  though we ended up drinking Chablis.  Thinking about how he was still alive, how his being alive threatened us, how he'd escaped from the south, travelled across the world to hide out there, there of all places... Was there a trail of bodies and ruined lives behind him enbaling his escape? she wondered quietly between mouthfuls of food.  Probably, I said. Thinking of the monsters he'd spent too much time with,  hiding in plain sight.  THINKing that he could hide  in their culture, traditions and earn money supplying them with the tools of oppression that...  but no it all disappeared.  He (must have) thought, i'll go in, take what's needed, supply them, be valuable,  I will become them,  I'll go when...   as if the monsters he served were harmless. Then they began to come for you.  for you.

I hope he has forgiven me for the way we spoke at the end. If I'd been more reasonable perhaps he'd be here rather than there or dead,  after these few years. I sighed and poured more wine. I wonder what he is called now. She said, tapping the table. How should you address  the man you loved who said see you in April and who vanished half a year later, presumed dead and yet has now appeared in a monochrome image in an un-understandable newspaper... Was he loved down there in exile? Is he loved now? floating down the lines in the liquid modern.   Were you with a man, a lover or friend, perhaps betrayed by them with the inevitable quick exit or was it a slow exit, the run across the face of the earth.  Or was it just furtive moments for the gratification of the body.  Were you mostly alone at night,  in your bed alone. Did anyone say "my love" in the way of the  liquid modern , holding you in their arms.  Did you remember the first night of your escape in Lyon? in the small hotel, the small room with its paisley cloth wallpaper, that was the first night in the run away from Italy. You unable to sleep from fear,  me and the other carriers still awake in the adrenaline rush of the drive north, eventually sleeping in the chair or sofa. How did it feel for you as we paused in our northward trajectory?  From Lyon we dispersed northwards, you by train with a courier who took you to London and your new identity.  Me to Amsterdam, then Belgium and the yacht across the channel and southwards along the coast.  We were never innocent, just smugglers of people.

So seeing the picture of you again,  all the time and memories I had suppressed returned again.  The years returned, tectonic plates shifted. The long recovery into this stable place after the final disastrous runs across europe, losing people on the way, time falling away as the police searched for the few who escaped, me hiding in the alps. Meeting her in the mountains and then in late summer traveling north with her by train, leaving the car in Avignon. A few photographs and unreliable memories are all that remain of that summer.  How did they find us? I spent the summer wondering.    The photograph of her is beautiful,  she is young, recovering from her divorce, a picture of her in profile, reading a book outside a building, a cafe or school perhaps, I don't remember.  There is a second photograph, the book laying open on your stomach, half asleep in the sun, eyes closed, relaxed. Weeks passed.  She took me out of my life,  took me home with her.  I thought she was saving me but really it was mutual.  We changed trains at Lyon, traveling on the fast trains north, in first class, looking like the young couple that we were becoming.  "Come with me, to my house" she said, "In case he is there..."  Her flat was empty,  half the furniture, books, music, all his clothes gone.  I never left.  Time passed. Eventually we left together.  We were both surprised that we stayed together.  Then later after I felt safe to go to my old flat again, to collect some belongings. The shock on your face when you saw me loading hastily packed suitcases, a few books.  "How are you here? " You said,   the look of betrayal on your face.  I shrugged and said i escaped.  And so the photograph reminded me of the betrayal that was the cost of your building a life.  I understood your life and knew you would never understand mine. "How did you have a life?" is the question you never asked me. Did you also betray them ?  The subtext of the utterance. One that I never answered as I never told you about the alps, about how she and i met as I hid waiting for the police to arrive.  The fear I suppressed as we boarded the train and traveled north.  How could you understand a life that wasn't founded on the betrayal of your rescuers ? Did you ever understand why I never spoke of it. Looking at the photograph I got the idea that this time someone had tried to  betray you.  You were building systems you told me, us.  That do what?  I asked.  It was clear that you couldn't tell me, us. Perhaps you thought that it was a step too far, to tell us about your relations to the leviathan. Did you think we were about to take some form of vengeance on you ?

It's a little later,  we are in Y.  A small town or village on the island.  It's not particularly beautiful but in the summer its always full of happy people. The section of the port that you can see from the  dockside is full of pleasure craft, yachts and motorboats,  behind you is a street of restaurants that leads to the square and other shops, tourists and working people pass through, a few fishermen,  sailors,  laborers travelers,  upper class figures imagining... Perhaps its still beautiful because we can be scarcely visible here.  And that's what we did, changed my name to hers.  Adopted new numbers, identities. Pretended I only spoke english.  Becoming english,  learnt how to be monocultural. More interestingly we became monosexual only facing each other.  From the small house we are staying in you can see the sea and further on you can see the hills that run along the centre of the island before sloping down to become cliffs to the south. We spent days and nights looking out to sea. So since we are about to leave this place and travel  back to our home north of london we look at the hills for the last time. The walls of the house are covered with tongue and groove planking,  painted a pale blue colour.  The bedroom had a painting of yachts on the light blue sea.  There was a wardrobe to the right of the bed, in which we had kept clothes and pillows. One of the sliding doors had a long dressing mirror hanging off it. On the walls of the living room,  small paintings and photographs hang.  Two small sofas and an easy chair are lined up together, a bookcase with a a flat screen monitor standing on the top.  This is where I am sitting, waiting for her to return from the local cooperative with food for the night, and a full tank of petrol.  I thought of you in your flat in Shoreditch with your parrot, cats and guilt.  And for the first time since you vanished I thought that something  needed to be done about you, to prevent you from acting again.  What is the point of this life if we don't stop you this time ?  We are catching the last ferry from the island, driving north for three or four hours, she will sleep in the passenger seat. I will be contacting my old friends in the group...  So whilst I wait, i write this note to you.  We know your location and your address will be found soon.  There will be no more trips for you, no more waiting at airports to fly to moscow, madrid or dayton. No more boarding of ships, yachts or driving across the  country searching for a broken down byzantium church. No more betrayed bodies. The mirror of your old age is approaching. The newspaper that brought you back to me, says you may travel to brussels soon. It is a tribute to your life that they admire you, describing you as a man of peace and progress. This letter which is in your hands now, either in brussels or wherever,  is timed   to arrive in your post box the day before the woman from shanghai delivers the heart attack, arriving to see you off, will you see her approaching you? [...] Before this decision is finalized we are on the beach, I drink more coffee. She moves in the sun, her head tilted to one side to get the sun out of her eyes. she mutters something in her sleep. I put my hand on her warm shoulder. She sighs contentedly.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Seventeen

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Roman walked outside, watching Damien and another man circle each other. Roman couldn’t see the man’s face, but he figured it was Virgil after their conversation this morning. Damien looked up and saw Roman, and Roman smiled. Damien paused and stared, and in a flash the other man had slammed Damien roughly into the ground. “You must focus, Your Highness, or else you’ll die in battle faster than you can say ‘oops,’” the man said.

“You’re right, Virgil,” Damien gasped, “But how can I stay focused when I see such a beautiful smile as the one I just saw?”

Roman laughed as he walked over, and Virgil’s eyes widened, before smirking. “Well, I think that concludes our lesson for this afternoon,” he snickered. “If you need me, Your Highness, I will be working with the guards. I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

Damien nodded and waved Virgil away as he stood, smiling softly at Roman. “How are you?” he asked softly. “Is your mother driving you up the wall?”

“Only a little,” Roman laughed. “It’s better knowing that you accept me, at least.”

Damien offered Roman a genuine grin, and Roman smiled back, a little shy but still happy. “I’m glad to hear that I can make everything a little more bearable,” Damien said.

“How are you?” Roman asked. “Patton said you weren’t leaving your room this morning.”

“Ah,” Damien said. “I spent most of the morning before I was rulely dragged out of my room by Logan considering what you said last night. And if you truly feel that your identity doesn’t suit you, I sincerely apologize for trying to force you into a mold the same as your mother was doing—”

“Damien, no!” Roman rushed to say. “No. Not only are you not my mother, I was lying last night. Just to placate my mother. I still think I’m a man. I know I’m a man. You were right. We’re still going to have to pretend you weren’t in front of my mother but—”

“—I can lie to your mother,” Damien finished for him. “My dear, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that. To be uncertain in your identity is not a pleasant feeling. I, for one, am relieved that you are still sure, even if it does cause you pain in the meantime.”

Roman was more than a little taken aback. “You were genuinely worried for me,” he said, sounding somewhat mystified.

“I...yes,” Damien said, brows furrowing. “Darling, I care greatly about you.”

“I mean...yeah, I know that,” Roman said, crossing his arms and cringing when he could feel his breasts. “That doesn’t mean that everyone who cares about me does what you do.”

“In my opinion, my dear, anyone who doesn’t care about your wellbeing or your identity simply does not care about you,” Damien said firmly. “Believe me when I say that you deserve better.”

Roman’s lips quirked upward. “Aw, you’re protective of me, how cute.”

“Shut up,” Damien said with a scowl, but with no heat behind his words. “Wanting you to be treated properly is something any decent human being would want from those around you.”

“Still, I don’t have a lot of decent human beings around me. Or I didn’t, until I moved here,” Roman said with a shrug. “Did your parents really have a talk with you last night?”

“I...yes, they did,” Damien said, glancing behind Roman. “Let’s move away from prying eyes and ears, however, before we get into that.”

Roman’s heart leapt into his throat but he nodded, and Damien led him further away from the castle, towards a small-sized garden at the edge of the top of the mountain that ran a considerable way down the steep hill, covered entirely in flowers. “I was never allowed to run around the garden when I was younger,” Damien said with a laugh. “With my track record for balance, my mother was worried I’d split my head open falling halfway down the hill. But it’s good for privacy nowadays.” Damien gestured to a bench by the edge of the flowers. “By all means, please, sit.”

Roman did so and Damien joined him. “My parents did have a talk with me,” he began. “It wasn’t as bad as what your mother was probably led to believe, however. They mostly spoke about endangering your safety, and that I needed to keep quiet about your being trans in order to maintain your status as a guest here. I argued a little, saying that if your mother could just understand where you were coming from, this whole ordeal might be a little more manageable. But my parents were adamant that the risk didn’t outweigh the reward.”

“Your mother might have reconsidered,” Roman said. “She tried to get my mother to listen to my side of the story today.”

“Did she?” Damien asked, perking up. “How did it go?”

Roman laughed awkwardly. “Believe me when I say you don’t want to know.”

Damien’s face fell, before his eyes moved from Roman’s eyes to a spot on his cheek. “You’re cut,” he said, reaching out a hand to gently run over Roman’s cheekbone. “How did that happen?”

“Ah...” Roman paused. He hadn’t even realized he might have gotten cut by his mother’s hand. “I imagine it was...uh...my mother’s ring.”

Damien’s face turned completely impassive in half a second. “She...slapped you?”

“Only once,” Roman said, cringing because he knew how pathetic that was. “But yes.”

“I’m going. To kill her. Consequences be damned, I will kill her!” Damien growled.

Roman grabbed Damien’s hands and pleaded, “Your Highness, I know this looks bad, and yeah, it is a little, but I can’t have you killing her yet. I need her in order to get out from under her and my father’s grasp. Please.”

“I never said it would be immediate,” Damien said, a feral fire alight in his eyes. “But I will kill them both. Ruthlessly. Efficiently. I would even go so far as to say I might enjoy it.”

Roman swallowed. “Damien, you’re scaring me.”

Damien closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “My apologies, my dear. That was not my intention. I merely want to make sure that you are safe. And your parents are not conducive to that.”

“I know,” Roman said, swallowing. “I wish it weren’t true, but unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. I’m in danger whenever I try to be myself around them.”

“Fortunately, you won’t be around them much longer,” Damien said. “But four days still feels like entirely too long a time.”

“I know,” Roman said. “It’s far too long to get to safety, and far too short to plan the wedding itself.”

“Indeed,” Damien hummed. “Now, I do believe we will probably need to return to the castle in the next few moments, unless we want a feral Logan chasing us around the grounds. He told me he was going to be monitoring our dance practice this afternoon.”

Roman sighed. “Yeah, I bet he will be. Will our mothers?”

“I don’t know,” Damien admitted. “That probably depends on whether or not your mother was incensed enough this morning to require a talk alone with my mother.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Roman admitted quietly. “And I hate to say that, but it’s true.”

Damien tutted and stood, and Roman stood with him. “Well, the one perk of her going toe-to-toe with my mother is that we won’t need to worry about her being in the room, so I don’t have to deadname you.”

“True,” Roman said with a tiny smile. “That is a plus.”

“So, aside from assaulting you, what did your mother do this morning?”

“She demanded I convince you I was wrong about being transgender,” Roman said. “And honestly, she might interrogate you to figure out whatever I said. And I have no idea how to plan for that.”

“I do,” Damien said. “I would simply tell her it was a personal, private matter that I’m not comfortable sharing with her without your explicit permission.”

“Ooh, that’s good,” Roman said. “It’s not demeaning anyone, it’s diplomatic, and it means I can give any details I want to at a later date without anyone calling bullshit.”

Damien looked rather pleased with himself. “I’m glad you think it’s effective,” he said. “It’s my go-to whenever I don’t have the time to corroborate lies with anyone else.”

Roman laughed. “My whole life at the moment is one huge lie. I don’t think we have time to corroborate that entire thing. Maybe just enough for vows, but everything would take quite a while.”

“Oh, God, the vows,” Damien laughed, opening the door to the side of the castle and letting Roman inside. “I really don’t want to think about the vows right now, my dear.”

“You have four days, you have to address it at some point,” Roman pointed out.

“True, but right now I’d rather address the fact that you consider your entire life a lie,” Damien said. “That, in my mind, is more concerning.”

Roman groaned. “Oh, do we have to do this?” he sighed. “I’m trans and in the closet. Of course my entire life will be a lie.”

“I...my dear, I know I am not trans myself, so I may be wrong, but I was under the impression that is not the case. You still enjoy art, and you have fun with me when we dance or get up to shenanigans. That is not a lie, is it?”

“Of course not!” Roman scoffed. “I do enjoy my time with you. And I like getting to create. But my name, my pronouns, a majority of my opinions? They’re all lies, just part of this performance I’ve concocted in order to feel a little better about myself and distance myself from the deadnaming and the misgendering. Really...I can only be so much of my authentic self even with you, because other people may overhear.”

“My dear...that is...” Damien struggled for words, if the furrowing of his brows was anything to go by as they walked through the halls. “That is incredibly depressing.”

Roman sighed. “I know. And this morning I did something incredibly stupid, and I tried to be myself around my mother. The actual confidence, the fed-up-ness about everything she’s been doing to me, and all. And it felt good to be myself, somewhat, but it was offset by the fact that I couldn’t very well be my full authentic self without being sent home. And the deadnaming didn’t help either.”

Damien hummed. “Roman, I have a question for you.”

“Yeah?” Roman asked, heart skipping a beat.

“Would you be your authentic self if your mother weren’t around? And by that I mean if she weren’t a threat? If she couldn’t take you away, would you feel free to be yourself? You wouldn’t lie about who you are?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” Roman said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be easy, and there might be some false starts as I try and figure out who I really am, but I would want to be my authentic self if at all possible, you know?”

“Indeed,” Damien said. “And that’s what I thought in the first place. But I wanted to make sure that was actually the case before I started what I want to do to remedy this problem.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Roman said.

Damien glanced around the halls before murmuring, “I’m going to try and keep your mother away every spare moment we have so I can get to know the real you better.”

Roman laughed. “You severely doubt how pervasive my mother can be.”

Damien shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s simply that you doubt how much you can get away with if you know how to spin it right.”

“Well, you have the unfair advantage in that my mother can’t read your tells,” Roman said with an eye-roll. “She can tell I’m lying when it comes to everything except my happiness. And I think that’s more willful ignorance than anything else.”

Damien shook his head as the two of them walked into the ballroom. “My dear, I really hate your mother.”

“Everyone does,” Roman said with a bitter smile.

Damien looked around. “Did we beat Logan to the classroom for once?” he asked.

“No, you did not, Your Highness,” a voice said from behind them, and Roman turned to see Logan standing there with a small stereo. “I’ve been here, I was merely grabbing something to allow the both of you to hear the music.”

Damien tutted. “Shame. I was actually hoping that perhaps I had finally beaten you at your own game.”

Logan smirked. “Your Highness, you could never beat me.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Roman said with a grin.

“One which I would lose,” Damien sighed.

“Oh, who cares if you’d lose, half the fun is in trying, anyway,” Roman said. “Remus would absolutely love the chance to beat a professor at his own game.”

“Remus being...?” Logan asked.

“My brother,” Roman filled in. “You might get to talk to him during the wedding. I think the two of you would get on, in that sort of ‘instant rivals’ kind of way.”

“Oh, what a visual,” Damien laughed. “Logan? Rivals with anyone?”

“I do have some capacity for rivalry,” Logan said with a shrug. “While emotions are somewhat...annoying, I do appreciate a rivalry, as it pushes both parties to better themselves. It is only when that rivalry borders obsession that it becomes a problem.”

“True,” Roman said. “But I still think you two would get on.”

“Will he be at the wedding?” Logan asked.

Roman blinked. “Duh? He’s my brother!”

“Then you can find out at the wedding. For now, the two of you must practice dancing again,” Logan said.

“Oh, that’s no fun!” Roman complained, but he laughed as Damien pulled him close and started to dance all the same.

“So, what do you imagine Logan and Remus would do? Out of curiosity,” Damien asked.

“Well, I imagine the very first thing that would happen is a prolonged staring contest,” Roman said. “Remus scrutinizing Logan, while Logan just kinda...stands there and lets Remus look him over? One of them says something snarky, the other cracks a grin or rolls their eyes, and they start to talk. Probably. Seems in character for both of them, at the very least.”

“Based on what I’ve heard of Remus Ayer, I imagine he is quite the handful,” Damien said, mischief in his eyes.

“Wait. Remus Ayer?” Logan asked. “How did I not connect the dots? He asked for a tutor a year or so ago. I declined because I was moving here to work with Damien full-time, but he had a very promising application!”

“Oh, you could teach Remus a thing or two!” Roman said, eyes lighting up as he turned to look at Logan. “I’m sure he’d love to know any sort of gruesome fact about the human body. Sharing gritty knowledge is practically how he flirts.”

“Noted,” Logan said. “I will refrain from the macabre when he is around to prevent him thinking I am trying to woo him.”

Roman cackled and Damien was snickering. “I’d love to see the two of you go head-to-head,” Damien said. “If Remus is anything like Roman, that would be a sight to see.”

“It really would be,” Roman agreed, and they continued to dance, Damien twirling Roman for a brief second, causing Roman to squeak and laugh. “You are the worst!” he exclaimed, taking one of his hands to whack Damien in the chest.

“Oh, come on! You know you love me!” Damien said, a teasing smile at his lips.

“I will...I will kill you,” Roman said, his face deathly serious. “You, sir, do not get to say things like that when we’re about to be married!”

“When else am I supposed to say it?” Damien asked, biting back his grin.

“How about when we actually fall in love?” Roman shot back.

Damien paused in the dance and Roman’s face turned horrified as he realized what he said. “That seems a bit presumptuous, doesn’t it?” Damien asked, voice sounding somewhat strained.

Oh, god. Roman realized with a sinking feeling that Damien must not feel the same way. His voice said it all. He was uncomfortable with that implication. “Sorry,” Roman said. “That did not come out the way it was supposed to...”

“Clearly,” Damien said, looking like he had just swallowed a frog.

Tears were coming to Roman’s eyes as their hands dropped and Roman shrank in on himself. “I really didn’t mean for that to come out that way,” he choked out. “I...I meant like, if we were to ever fall in love. I didn’t mean it as a definite thing...”

“I would assume not,” Damien said. “One never wants to tell someone else where their attraction lies, especially without proof.”

Roman was scarlet and crying by this point, and Damien refused to look him in the eye. “I’m really, really sorry,” Roman whispered.

“I know,” Damien said. “And...my reaction was not exactly...stellar.”

“You’re well within your rights to be uncomfortable, I really didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”

“Uncomfortable?” Damien repeated dumbly. “My dear, I—”

Roman shook his head and Damien grew quiet. “No, it’s fine, Damien, you don’t have to try and make me feel better. That was uncalled for, and I know it. I won’t bring it up again, we can just forget about it.”

“If that’s what you wish,” Damien said, brows furrowed and a slight frown on his face.

“That would be preferable,” Roman agreed. “Let’s just dance, shall we?”

Damien nodded and they started dancing again. Roman stumbled several times, and he couldn’t shake Logan’s stare at the two of them for the rest of the circle around the ballroom. Roman’s face was on fire and a few tears were still falling intermittently. When they had stopped dancing, Damien used the pad of his thumb to swipe away Roman’s tears. “Roman, there’s no need for tears,” he said. “It was a simple slip of the tongue. I’m not offended.”

“I feel like an idiot,” Roman half-laughed, voice thick with his tears.

“You’re not,” Damien said. “You simply made a joke. That’s what it was supposed to be, yes? Just a little bit of banter?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, even as he felt a part of him die inside. He wanted it to be a love confession. He wanted Damien to like him back. But no. Damien clearly wasn’t interested in him like that.

And why would he be? Sure, Roman was a man, and Damien had said as much. But Roman’s body was undeniably “female.” What gay man would want him? His body would betray him for the rest of time. Even with hormones, even with surgery, there would be parts of him that simply weren’t...masculine. And he couldn’t understand how anyone could get past that.

And so his tears kept falling. Damien lightly hugged him and Roman hugged him back desperately, wishing for the contact to never end. Because then maybe he could fool himself into hoping. Hoping that Damien could one day see past his body. That Damien could love him. Or at least, tolerate him. But if Roman made jokes about them falling in love, how could Damien ever feel comfortable around him again, let alone fall in love with him?

They broke the hug as Logan cleared his throat. “You two need to practice your dancing more,” he said simply.

Roman sniffled and nodded. “All right,” he said, getting into position and letting Damien fall into line with him.

They resumed dancing, and Damien turned to Logan, asking, “Can you put the song on the stereo?”

Logan nodded and pressed a few buttons, and their first dance filled the space of the ballroom. Damien sang softly, but with just as much heart as he had the first time they danced. Roman laughed. Despite it all, Damien could charm him into forgetting about everything he had just done. Or, not forgetting...but not worrying. No matter what, love or not, Damien would be one of Roman’s friends. And if friends were the closest they ever got, well, Roman could live with that. He would settle for friends.

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13@sanders-sides-crofters@blushy-gigglee-mess@wannacrymetoo@kaytikitty@magicalspacepanunicorn@bootsinthesun@pricklyfish777@flowersanddinosaurs@leiasolo77@birdybabybird@enby-phoenix@luna–28@justagaygoose@the-prince-and-the-emo@fandomsandanythingelse@randommuffinyt@snekky-boi@thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot@twilight-trix@abby5577@escalatingtoofast@friendlyfacestabbing@remus-is-stinky@foggybanditdreampeanut@ghostskull300@sprinklestheditty@canvas-the-florist@askthesnake@samuel-the-gay@determination-saved@juicy-cashew@demidork84@why-should-i-tell-youu2@nerd-in-space@aphriteblack@loganpatton@lilbeanblr@kittyboof8@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch@sanders-trash-4ever@hamilspntrash@swords-and-kittens@phantomfander@narniasfinestavengingsociopath @rjmeta@ambersky0319@anni-cat-flower@idosanderssidespromptssometimes@nafsbluebery@redisawerewolf23@voidvirgil@msu82@angstyfanfiction

[inikavulpixelreviews]

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Gen 8 Retrospective

This Generational recap itself might be a bit on the shorter side, since I already said my peace on the games themselves and their less than stellar impact on the fandom before I even started them. (Not that there isn’t a lot I’m talking about here today though, hoo boy.) Though just know between a repeat playthrough and my opinion on the Pokemon dropping as I've analyzed them more, I'd say my final verdict is that they're a decent enough swan song to the way Pokemon games used to be that made Gym battles feel special again but lacked in a lot of other areas. 6/10 overall.

Though obviously Gen 8 isn't done yet. Since DLC is on the way, as I've said several times already. My general thoughts on the concept of Pokemon DLC replacing the traditional “Third Version” is good. For one thing I'd much rather pay $30 for access to new content immediately over paying another $60 for a “Pokemon Armor” version that had most of its new content back-loaded in the postgame. $30 is still steep... but it's better. And of course, the prospect of releasing more new Pokemon via DLC is a good one too. Hopefully releasing DLC rather than a full game every year will relinquish some of the workload off Gamefreak... so perhaps we can get smaller batches of new Pokemon released mid-generation to help mitigate just how many Pokemon felt like they didn't get finished in time. But also hopefully it'll mean Gen 9 will be all the better when we get there... Gamefreak has stated they're really challenging themselves with the next major Pokemon games so hopefully they're taking the more level-headed criticism to heart and it's not all talk but we'll have to see.

Yeah, that's about all I have to say about the state of Pokemon as of right now, neverminding my multiple rants and tangents since I've already gone to great lengths to state that Gen 8 isn't as good as I might've initially thought. I still like it overall, and it's probably still not my least favorite Gen... but it's very much like Gen 4 with an EXTREMELY mixed bag. Certainly felt like for every excellently designed Pokemon they had below-average flunky that feels like it should've gone back to the drawing board once or twice. But even all that aside, one of my more annoying sticking points with Gen 8 is the severe lack of new animals.

So in place of my usual ramblings on my thoughts on a generation as a whole, let's do a little Compare and Contrast. Let's look at the past few Generations and see just how noticeable this flood of species redo's is. Green checks are significantly new enough animals, Red crosses are for animal origins that have been done before, Yellow slashes for Pokemon with vague or heavily mixed taxonomic origins, and Grey circles for Pokemon that are disqualified for being Objectmon, since we've yet to get repeats of those. (Also disqualifying Gen 8's regional evos other than Obstagoon since it's not necessarily their fault that they're repeats.)

Are there arbitration in places? Probably. But I feel like the point still stands that Gen 8 was waaaaay too reliant on touching up on animals already covered in Pokemon before. Especially when there's still so many animals that have yet to get a Pokemon to their name. The one plus Gen 8 does have in this regard is that it has a few more “taxonomically vague” Pokemon than usual. But repeating animals in and of itself isn't all that bad, if you make the repeat different enough to be interesting in its own right. The one thing you could do wrong in that regard is to just make your monster notably more “normal” compared to the Pokemon it's repeating. So how does that hold up?

As much as I've established that one's a crow and the other's a raven, the two animals are still very much similar creatures. But I do feel like Murkrow and Corviknight are differentiated enough while both still being a “fantasy” creature in their own way. Murkrow is very much a gangly, cartoony crow while Corviknight covers the more majestic side of corvids.

Another one that's pretty blatant is that we now have two regions with a Ladybird as the common bug. Orbeetle does however get to be more accurate to the Ladybird life cycle, starting out with a larvae and ending with the beetle. Again, Ledian and Orbeetle are very different flavors of the same creature, Orbeetle not skimping out on any outlandish elements. In fact, it's more visibly outlandish than Ledian was.

This is where things start to get hazy. I've stated that Nickit and Thievul are sadly my least favorite fox Pokemon to date, simply because it has the least to offer imaginatively than all the other foxes that accompany it. Ninetales has the kitsune thing going on, while its Alolan variant covers Arctic Foxes. Zorua is a fantastical take on the tricky nature of foxes by combining aspects of shapeshifting kitsunes or tanookies while throwing in a bit of Kabuki. And Fennekin grows up to be more of a wizard. Thievul is very much a stereotypical red fox while having the trickster nature of foxes that's not only been done by Zorua before, but also in a much more stereotypical thieving way like a Swiper the Fox sort of thing.

Wooloo always struck me as odd ever since it turned out it wasn't the region's common Normal-type. I can excuse plainness in the common woodland animal since they're rather uniformly not terribly interesting (and arguably are like that by design). So it turns out it's more of a common early-game fodder just like Mareep is, but Mareep is just a smidge more interesting by being elemental, and also it turns into Ampharos, a weird little bipedal lamb with little flippers for some reason. Which is reasonably more imaginative than a Pokemon that's mostly just a sheep.

Sandaconda is another one that feels significantly fantastical and unique compared to its previous serpentine cousins. The only snake Pokemon beforehand that was hugely different from the template of what a snake usually is was Snivy. Sandaconda is even unique as far as cobra monsters go, with its “hood” being a big ol' sac that it keeps its projectile Anakin-repelent in.

Centiskorch is a little iffy. It's cool that they turned a real centipede's grappling maneuver and turned it into an even more effective weapon via its heat spots. But in terms of body shape it's significantly more normal looking for a centipede than Scolipede's almost horse-like proportions, isn't it?

Another iffy comparison since they're both fairly “regular” looking Octopus monsters. But even so, I'd count it as a point against Gen 8 since there's been more than plenty of time to come up with a cool and unique body type for an octopus.

That's better! Eiscue, while normal-looking if you only count the penguin body, is still a funny and imaginative take on a penguin monster that is a completely different flavor from Empoleon's stern look to boot.

Another dodgy one to justify. There's neat theming in there, but there's hardly any denying that an elephant that rolls up into a wheel and rolls around is notably a much weirder take on an elephant that Copperajah going by an elephant's body shape to a T.

Had they gone for a look more purposefully weirdly geometric like they SEEM to be going for, I probably would've given it a hand-wave, but even with that in mind, Copperajah is pretty vanilla in terms of Elephant monsters. Especially compared to Donphan.

...So even then, it's pretty mixed in that regard. Some Pokemon feel like worthwhile additions to the biodiversity, but others I can't help but wonder what the point was. Did Wooloo really need to exist in a series that already had Mareep? Couldn't they push Copperajah's concept further to better contrast with Donphan? Having repeats isn’t BAD, pretty sure every Gen past the 2nd has done them. But it’s hard to find sticking points on Gen 6 and 7′s repeats. Aurorus is totally different from Meganium. Vikavolt, while being much more close to realism in body structure compared to Pinsir, is still a vastly different fantasy creature just on account of having a gun for a face. And the whole Goomy line is almost nothing like Magcargo. And all that is WHILE still bringing in plenty of new animals to play with.

So yeah, I hope all that can help with understanding why I was a little harsh on Gen 8. It's still not my least favorite, cause we still got a ton of good out of it, and I would much rather have a mixed Gen of “Some Really Good, Some Not So Great” over Gen 2 and 4's “Some are good but the rest are really plain and boring.” But of course, as per usual, we gotta do the lists...

Top 10 Favorites of Gen 8:

Like I said, the new Pokemon that are good are REALLY good. Still struggled to make a Top 10, for good reason!

Top 10 Favorites Overall:

That said, there wasn’t a ton of impact on my Top 10. Top 50 maybe, but not here.

Bottom 10 Least Favorites of Gen 8:

Sadly there was plenty I was just plain not a fan of. Has there ever been a Gen where I just straight up dislike the whole Bottom 10? Hmm...

Bottom 10 Least Favorites Overall:

And tragically, this Gen did make a pretty deep cut into my least favorites, oof. It is an unholy image to not see Gallade be all the way to the left up there.

The Cutest:

The Coolest:

The Prettiest:

Corviknight and Eternatus aren’t just there because I ran out of traditionally pretty ones, just so you know. There’s something about a sleek, nearly all-black design that is genuinely gorgeous-looking to me.

The Spookiest:

Most Creative:

Weirdest/Most Unique:

Most Forgettable:

Most Personality:

At least there were still plenty of personality-driven designs! Look at all these adorable little charmers and smug little shits.

Most Under-Appreciated:

Best Regional Variants:

I’ve probably said it already but I am legitimately ecstatic with Regional Variation being a mainstay feature now. There is INFINITE potential with the concept and totally didn’t deserve to get ditched after a single use just in Alola. In fact I think it’d be rad if they do any more remakes they retroactively made “Sinnohan” or “Hoenn” forms of Pokemon. I thought they might’ve made some “Kantonian” forms for Pokemon in Let’s Go and redesigned a few modern Pokemon to look a bit like they were designed back in the 90s... but sadly that didn’t happen. Despite how cool it would’ve been. But Kanto is sacred ground that cannot ever be changed, I guess...

Best Ultra Beasts: (????????????????)

h

Best G-Maxes:

I still love the concept of G-Maxes, and we’ll probably get a few more before Gen 8 is done entirely. But it does stink that the concept in the end felt a little half-baked. Speaking of which...

Pokemon That SHOULD'VE Gotten G-Maxes:

Because G-Maxes wound up being locked to only be for Gen 1 or 8 Pokemon, with only a handful of exceptions. MAYBE they’ll stretch into other Gens in the DLC, but until then lemme just make a personal wishlist of SQUANDERED potential. Though I’ll limit myself to Pokemon that are only in the current Galardex as to not be here all day.

I’m sure if you pay attention to the Fakemon scene at all, you’ve already seen a few G-Max Dhelmises where the seaweed has grown so massive that it’s now able to possess an entire haunted ship. And they are CORRECT to make such a thing because GOD what were they thinking NOT doing that?!? It’s right there under your noses!!!

Still bummed there was never a Mega Vanilluxe... but this could easily make up for it! A towering snowing mountain of ice cream is a super cool idea for a kaiju-size ice cream monster, maybe even ditching the icicle shaped cone in favor of having it rest in a “bowl” of ice!

Like??? Hello????? Are you telling me you’re making Kaijumon over here and you’re NOT gonna make a giant mecha?????????????????

Because a giant living beehive deploying swarms upon swarms of Combee is a badass concept just by itself.

Like c’mon this one was REALLY staring you in the face. A region set in Poke-England and you’re not gonna make a funny giant Zeppelin?

Just trying to imagine a colossal haunted chandelier is giving me chills by itself. Especially if you were to make it look elaborately regal and all that.

I’ve not got a specific idea, you’d just think they’d compensate for the lack of a Mega form.

G-Max Rillaboom has me feeling like this one’s likely to not happen, since I imagined a cool idea for a G-Max Trevenant was to make it a giant Deku-Tree looking haunted tree with a colossal trunk and even bigger canopy.

I guess Butterfree already had the spot taken for “Mothra stand-in”, but I feel like Frosmoth has just as much cool potential for a G-Max form as Butterfree did. Especially with the powdery snow scales it has.

Perfect opportunity to give Goodra a giant, more monstrous slug-like form. But no dice there either. Maybe next form gimmick...

Okay, C’MON. We KNOW they weren’t that bothered about giving G-Max forms out to Pokemon that already had Megas. This is the most obvious one of all! ESPECIALLY since its defacto-Mecha Godzilla got a G-Max but it didn’t.

Most “Unfinished” Feeling:

Since “least favorite” doesn't necessarily meant “unfinished.” (As much as I dislike Toxel, it doesn't really strike me as “not done.”) Not that I have clairvoyance on Gamefreak's internal workings, but some of these Pokemon definitely feel like they're not up to scratch with the series's usual quality standard.

My Disappointment is Immeasurable and My Day is Ruined:

To pick on Gen 8 one last time... and since it was a running gag anyway, here's the Pokemon that just crush my dreams the most. Except Appletun, mostly. It's good enough to be let off the hook. The rest? They were things that were on my wishlist of things and animals I would've LOVED to see get turned into Pokemon, only for my hopes and dreams to sink faster than the Titanic. Considering a majority of concepts within Pokemon don't come back, if not for a very long time, these Pokemon mean that I have to reluctantly strike a cake monster, a snowman, a coal monster, a train monster, a sea urchin, a pie monster, and some fresh Lapras attention off my wishlist. Sigh.

With two rounds of DLC coming, the main Pokemon review series probably won't be back until the tail end of this year shortly after Crowned Tundra is released. I am excited to get to talk about some of what they've shown so far, but I'd rather wait until the content is released and we know everything about the new Pokemon and Regionals. There will however be at least one more little bonus article about Gen 8 and the future of the series, but I wouldn't expect it to be out for a while. Before the DLC is out probably, but still a long ways off.

[Archive]

[eraserhead-baby-girl]

I’ve been tagged by total cutie @c0ttagecorew1re to share ten songs I’m obsessed with at the moment. Prepare yourselves for an incredibly sexy deep dive into my psyche via my current musical hyper fixations 💖

Smog - Natural Decline 

I’ve had Rain on Lens playing pretty much none stop for the past month so it was really hard to narrow it down to one song but Natural Decline really captures the essence of the album as well as typifying Bill Callahan’s output under the Smog moniker. A song that both acknowledges the absurdity of life whilst laughing into the void. 

“I see the night sky as a jewelry store window And my mind is half a brick”

Mariee Sioux - Bundles 

An exquisite exploration of the intersection between femininity and Native American ancestry, that’s both gentle in sound whilst containing some of the most viscerally unpleasant imagery of the commodification of the body I’ve ever heard. Sonically manages to be both ancient and totally in keeping with the mid-2000′s Nevada city folk scene (yes i’m a JNew stan). Honestly the entirety of Faces in the Rocks is such a delight. 

“I'm eating my own hide to hide in my own skin 'Till I am left a hanging Upside down and draining Like skinned does a dangling From a hunters oak limb Like my sisters those does, woven in red shrouds Wearing bare ribbons of tightly wrapped muscles”

Shampoo - Bare Knuckle Girl

The perfect song for when you're drunk, pissed off at the world but also feeling sexy as hell (a niche emotion I seem to inhabit most nights). Glorifying whilst satirising the idea of the fucked up young girl. Really good fun. 

“Her Skin Is Dead Pale She's Broken All Her Nails And She Spent All Her Life Just Going Off The Rails”

Sufjan Stevens - Eugene 

Sufjan Steven’s album Carrie & Lowell has been a constant in my life for years but until the last month this was a song I always skipped. But sometime in the last few months, during a middle of the night sad song session™, listening to it was like a revelation. It sits at the intersection of pain and joy that surrounds childhood memories; the joy of loving and being loved, the emptiness of knowing it has passed and complex grief of seeing yourself slipping into the role of adult and how that interacts with our understanding of our own mortality. There’s a real sense of fragility, weariness and resignation in the vocal that both mirrors and enhances the lyrics and makes for an incredibly powerful listen. 

totally don’t listen to it thinking of my fav child from my old job or the passing of my grandmother

“What's left is only bittersweet For the rest of my life, admitting the best is behind me Now I'm drunk and afraid, wishing the world would go away What's the point of singing songs If they'll never even hear you?”

Angel Olsen - So That We Can Be Still

An understated lament for the passing of time and the way in which the diminishing of memories creates a twofold death; a cessation of the past interactions of self. The vocals on the entire ep (Strange Cacti) seem to coming from somewhere beyond the veil and make this song in particular especially evocative. 

“Must all of my memories drown into infinity? Try to grasp them, but I always miss Time goes by so fast as if it hardly wants to exist” 

Courtney Barnett - Pedestrian at Best 

High energy bop about female success and self image. I defy anyone to listen to this and not want to throw themselves around the room and possibly kick the coffee table. Perfect for anyone who thinks they are the both the best and worst at the same time. 

“Put me on a pedestal and I'll only disappoint you Tell me I'm exceptional, I promise to exploit you Give me all your money, and I'll make some origami, honey I think you're a joke, but I don't find you very funny”

Lloyd Cole And The Commotions - Rattlesnakes 

Whenever my mother feels particularly tenderly about me she plays me this, pats my hair and tells me it could've been written about me. As such, it’s my ultimate pick me up song and I’ve been playing it constantly the last couple of weeks. A tribute to every confused young woman, wrapped up in philosophy, flightiness and an unending sense of her own boredom. also feeds my ego that my mother genuinely thinks i look like eve marie saint

“Jodie never sleeps 'cause there are always needles in the hay She says that a girl needs a gun these days Hey on account of all the rattlesnakes She looks like Eve Marie Saint in on the waterfront As she reads Simone de Beauvoir in her American circumstance Her heart, heart's like crazy paving Upside down and back to front”

Manic Street Preachers -  Builder of Routines 

There’s never a point where I’m not overplaying at least one of the manics songs and at the moment it’s Builder of Routines (Rewind the Film is criminally underrated in my almost humble opinion). Perfect exploration of the tension between the safety adult life provides and the suffocating nature it has on the soul. 

“Builder of Routines It makes me safe and clean It crucifies parts of me But never seems to make me bleed”

Golden Shoulders - the Honey, the Power, the Light (Kyle’s Blues)

As an obsessive Joanna Newsom fan, I thought I’d heard everything she’d ever done. So discovering her pre Milk Eyed Mender work with Golden Shoulders was probably the most exciting thing to happen to me this month. A pertinent rally cry against the soul sucking nature of capitalism with a sound redolent of Bright Eyes’ Landlock Blues. 

“I cannot be swayed and I will not be quiet, Tell the fat cats and big wigs to go on a diet. They're taking up space that has better uses, So let's jump the tracks and unhitch their cabooses.”

Sibylle Baier - I Lost Something in the Hills

As soon as the weather turns, I play Colour Green on a loop whilst sitting on my windowsill, coffee in hand, staring out of the window blankly. It’s basically an autumnal tradition at this point. I’ve spent my entire life living semi rural on one side on a steep and densely wooded valley and I Lost Something in the Hills perfectly encapsulates the unique feeling of growing up somewhere that’s beautiful yet remote and enclosed. A song for autumn days spent in moments of abstract yearning and formless nostalgia. 

“I grew up in declivities Others grow up in cities Where first love and soul takes rise

There where times in my life When I felt mad and deprived And only the slopes gave me hope”

Why did I write this like I’m being paid by vice to self indulgently talk about my own music taste??? Who knows. is it obvious i miss being a lit student?

I’m tagging @lipsticktraces and @ki-flor as I’m pretty sure they have solid tastes in music and I’m always after song recs. 

[thehikinghusky]

I haven’t been on here in a good long while. But I’m thankful I kept this blog in the early days. It makes today hurt a little less.

My last post was over three years ago. I wish I had kept up with this blog better because what is on here warms my heart. It’s fitting that my last post was regarding her sarcoma because that’s ultimately what took her away from me. 

This year has been so hard in so many ways on a lot of people. But my 2020 has overall been a year of good fortune and growth for me, up until now. This year has taken from me the most painful thing it could have taken. My sweet Kaya. 

Three years ago, we fought cancer. And for three glorious years, we got to forget about it. And this year, I noticed Kaya had started losing weight. It was gradual at first. About two months ago, I took her to the vet to confirm what I already knew. The cancer was back, and had engulfed the majority of her liver. 

Although she was a little thirstier and started having issues throwing up water when she drank too much, she was overall happy. The vet couldn’t tell me how much time I had left with her, but however much, it could never be enough. 

Over the past week, she made a steady and steep decline. The dog she was on Sunday was not the dog she was on Friday. She had stopped eating almost entirely, and she didn’t have the same vigor I so fondly remember. She could barely get up anymore. I could tell she was tired. Today I got to stay with her, pet her, and give her kisses as we said our final goodbyes. 

There’s no way to prepare yourself for how much something like this hurts. Six years was not enough. The whole fifteen of her life would not have been enough. I loved her so intensely from the day I brought her home. And I told her from day one, that she had to live to fifteen. There was no other option. Well, she heard me. Her fifteenth birthday was two weeks ago. I’m going to share a picture from that day, as she was still in good enough health to enjoy a leisurely walk to smell some interesting things and to wade in the river. 

I want to mourn her loss less and celebrate her life more. She was always so loud and opinionated. She was very independent. She loved food more than anything else on the planet, probably me included. And in this last week, she couldn’t even enjoy food. I told her today that she would be able to eat all the chicken nuggets she wanted now. I asked Nanook to help her cross over the Rainbow Bridge so she wouldn’t have to do it alone. 

I’m so immensely thankful for the time we had together. For the adventures we got to go on. For the love and the bond that we shared. I’m thankful for the circumstances we’ve achieved. Together. Kaya was the first dog I adopted on my own. We went from living in a single bedroom where I worked two jobs to a three bedroom house with a fenced in yard and a doggy door where I got to work from home. I’m thankful that I got to spend more time with her, especially as her health declined. I’m thankful we had as long as we did together. And I’m thankful I got to see her off to the other side, as much as it hurts. 

Kaya will always and forever be my sunshine, my heart dog. There aren’t enough words in the world to encapsulate the light that was her life. She was a fighter until the end. A stubborn Husky until her final day. 

There are so many things I want to say. So many memories I never want to fade. She will be in my heart, and tattooed on my hip, forever. I’ll miss the loud alarm barks, letting me know it was time to get up because SHE was up. I’ll miss how if I didn’t listen, she would just come sit on my head. I’ll miss the way she played. One of her favorite things to do was just dive face first into the bed and yell and roll around. She was never a fan of sleeping in the bed, but boy did she like to roll all over it. I’ll miss how she followed me absolutely everywhere. She was my bathroom buddy. I couldn’t pee alone, and I couldn’t shower without knowing she was right on the other side of the curtain, patiently waiting to be able to lick all the water off my legs. 

I remember the day I brought her home. The Humane Society offered a two week foster-to-adopt program. I met her, not quite sure what to make of her because she had been a loud grumble butt from day one, and I signed up to put a hold on her and come back the next day to pick her up, as that was when I was moving into my new house. I got so lucky in getting her. As I handed in my paperwork for her, another lady started filling out the hold form too. Somewhere, there was a miscommunication, because instead of starting the foster the next day, they had adopted her out to me. I drove away from the Humane Society and looked over at her in awe. I had a dog. She was my dog. And she wasted absolutely no time making herself at home. I hadn’t even kind of unpacked, and I had just put sheets on the bed. One of the first things she went to do was her signature bed roll. I still have a picture of her looking up at me, moving box right beside her. It was good they didn’t do the foster. There was never any going back, anyway. 

She was so smart. I’ll miss the training and the puzzle games with her. I’ll miss just talking to her. She understood more than most would believe, I think. And she loved like no other. If she came to you for pets, it’s because she wanted to, not because you asked. She loved to have her ears and her face scratched. And if you’d scratch the fronts of her back legs, she’d kick them straight out in a big stretch. 

She was the most gentle baby, but she was loud about it. I trusted her more than any other dog not to bite me, no mater the circumstances. But she would absolutely be vocal if you were doing something she didn’t like. Baths, for instance. For a dog that loved water as much as she did, she HATED bath time. I’d take her out to a lake or a river and before you knew it, she was chest deep, shoving her face directly into the water. But if I so much as touched the shower knob while she was in the tub? She was screaming bloody murder before the water even hit her. 

I think she knew she could tug at my heartstrings enough to get me to bend to her will on most things. I could never bear to hear her cry. For as loud as she was, and she was pretty much constantly loud, she had her own language. One I grew to understand. To most people I’ve known who’ve met her, she just constantly sounded angry. She communicated in a lot of barks, growls, and grumbles. We always joked that she was my grumpy old lady. More often than not, though, her angry sounds weren’t her being actually angry. It’s just how she talked. 

Although Huskies are notorious escape artists and like to bolt as soon as they get the chance, she was never like that. There are only two times she ever got away from me that I can recall. The first, she pushed her way out of a screen door that hadn’t been latched. All she did was walk out into the yard to take a poo, lol. She came right back at the shake of a treat bag. The other time, we were out hiking. Her leash had slipped out of my hand, and she took off running for the trees. I just knew I had lost her to the wilderness. As soon as she hit the tree line, though, she whipped right back around and came back to me. She just had to get out some zoomies really quick. 

She liked to play fetch, but mostly just the chase part. She was never interested in actually picking the ball or whatever we were playing with back up and bringing it back. But she did like toys. Her favorite was one we took to calling Hampton the Hedgehog. ...And then Hampton Jr. and eventually Hampton the third because she liked him a little too much, lol. 

Her favorite food was whatever was in my hand at the moment, lol. Nothing tasted as good as whatever I happened to have. After she was labeled a hospice dog a couple of months ago, I decided I was going to give her whatever she wanted to make sure she had the happiest time she could, so she was off dog food entirely and just ate some of whatever I was having. She loved chicken nuggets, roast beef, and ribs. I tried to make her some variety of cake every year for her birthday. Some years it was a meat stew pie, some years carrot cake, and one year it was a meatloaf iced in mashed potatoes. This year, I made her a carrot cake iced with whipped cream cheese. She wasn’t the biggest fan of the cream cheese, but she liked the cake bit. 

She was loyal and loving until the end, and I’m so glad she’s no longer suffering. If you have pets, do me a favor and hug them just a little bit tighter for me tonight. Give them an extra biscuit and tell them how good they are and how much you love them. For those of us who can’t anymore. Enjoy every second. Life is fleeting, and you never know when it will be gone. 

Rest in peace, my sweet Kaya. You will always be my sunshine. 

[the-blueish-trashcan]

He's in Charge; Chapter One

Pairing: Henry/Bertrum

Warnings: [None yet]

A/N: This is the first chapter of a very, very long fic I've come to love, and treat as one of my better works. I've posted part of this on ao3 and wattpad already, but just haven't been getting any feedback on it. Treat this chapter as a pilot, the thing that should hook you in for the next part. If the feedback on this is good, well... there will be more to come! I'd also like to personally thank the wonderful @halfusek for allowing me to tag him in my incredibly obscure fanfic! I'm surprised he even liked the idea I pitched, but I'm so, so thankful for it!! Half, if you do read this, you're one of my favorite folks here, and quite the blessing, too! ^.^;

Chapter word count: 2,061

{First part [YOU ARE HERE]} {Next part}

Fic summary: As an up-and-coming animation company, Joey Drew Studios hardly had time to toy around with itself or its staff. Or, at least, that's what the budget said, and Joey Drew himself was never one to listen to a budget. To him, the best way to draw people to his cartoon was to drum up publicity, and what better way to do that than to build a theme park? With prototypes being constructed in the depths of the studio, it was only a matter of time before tensions started to run high and money to run low. It was also only a matter of time before one Henry Stein was fated to meet the constructor of the park, the great Bertrum Piedmont. With a positive relationship quickly building between the two, not a single soul could have imagined what it would do to the studio, and everything in it.

Chapter One: Pilot

“C’mon, Henry, it’s important for you to meet the man behind the park! Everything’s in the likeness of your creation, after all!” Joey spoke as he led Henry out of the lift in the lowest parts of the studio. The “development levels”, Joey called them fondly. 

    “I understand that, what I don’t get is-” The shorter man started, but was interrupted when Joey began to speak again.

    “We’re making dreams come true, don’t you see? We’re making these cartoons larger than life!” He gestured wide with his arms, hitting the wall with the stack of papers in his right hand without meaning to. He threw a glance back over his shoulder, deep blue eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it exciting?”

    All Henry could do was offer a fake smile and nod. He knew there was no stopping Joey once his mind was set on something, even if the animator didn’t agree with it. In this particular case… it was an amusement park. It wasn’t something unheard of, but between the renovations needed to make room for the development levels and the money it would cost to purchase enough land to accommodate anything when it was finished… Henry knew it was going to be a steep bill.

    The pair mounted a flight of stairs in an otherwise empty room after navigating a maze of different hallways with pallets of different materials scattered around them. At the top, the first thing Henry noticed was the massive, gaping maw of a hollowed out Bendy head. The head itself, looking to be made of many metal plates, had to be at least two stories tall, the interior lit by a few coverless pendant lights. Under the lights were two plywood tables, cork boards not far from them covered in papers depicting plans and different concept sketches for the park.

Standing in front of one of the cork boards with his back to them was a man at least a foot taller than Henry himself, dressed in a black tailcoat and pressed black slacks. His dark brown hair had been slicked back, not a single one out of place. His shoes had been covered in dirt by the unfinished floors throughout the prototype park, but that seemed to be the only imperfection about him.

Joey cleared his throat, causing the man to turn around. He had one thick eyebrow raised, but was soon scowling at the sight of the other man. Cheery as ever, Joey didn’t seem to care. “Bertie! What’s the big project today, hm?”

Bertrum’s lip pulled up into a sneer, the comb mustache on his upper lip shifting as his expression changed. “Today’s project is the same project as yesterday’s. And last week’s. And the week’s before that. Unless it was finished, Mister Drew, which I would have notified you about, why would it be any different? Not all of just have the flexibility to jump from one idea to the next each day.” His voice rumbled, seeming to fill the extra space.

“Oh, well, I just figured I should ask! See how things were going! What did you think of my bumper car design?” Joey leaned on the table with one arm, making it lift slightly at the other end.

“Frankly they’re far too similar to my design for the carts in the haunted house. If I ever get to bumper cars, I can assure you, they will not look like that.” Bertrum pointed behind him to the table without looking. His statement, though, caught Henry off guard. It wasn’t every day that someone was that blunt with Joey, especially about something he wanted.

“Oh. Well… What about my idea for the swing ride? You got that sketch, right?” Joey tried again.

At that moment, Bertrum turned on his heel, taking one stride to the tables. Across the top sat a small scale model of what Henry could only guess was the proposed layout of the new park. He folded his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest and making himself look just that much bigger. Henry found himself taking a half-step back from both of them.

“Mister Drew,” He began, “If I were to squeeze in any new rides, you would have to fit in another two acres or more of land, depending on what half-brained idea it is you tried to cook up, and I’ve already warned you, this is going to break the bank as it is. You cannot bring in any new designs and if I’m being quite honest with you, I do not want them. I can make up my own sketches, thank you very much, and I can draw them to scale to work as a real attractions. If I need absolutely anything from you, I can assure you, you will know.”

The way Bertrum spoke sent a shiver up Henry’s spine and he was sure he could see the light leave Joey’s eyes, even through his smile. 

Joey let out a low chuckle, holding his papers out for Henry. “Here. Hold onto those for me, will you?” After Henry took them, Joey moved to the table and started to try and reason with the designer. Just by the way he spoke, Henry could tell it was going to be a very long afternoon.

*****

    After two yelling matches, two different requests for coffee from both taller men and about three hours, Joey finally decided he’d had enough of Bertrum and started to lead Henry back upstairs. It was only in the lift back to the main leves that Joey seemed to come to some sort of realization.

    “Oh! Shit, Henry, I didn’t even introduce you! That’s the whole reason we went down there!” He slapped himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand.

The animator decided to just play it off like it was nothing, for his own sake. “Oh, that’s alright. We’ll have other times to go down there. Besides, it looked like you had a lot to talk to him about anyway.”

Slowly, Joey nodded. “You know… you’re right. I did have a lot to cover with him. And it’s already awful late! You have some fill work to finish before the day’s out!” The lift slowed then, stopping shortly after. Joey plucked his papers from Henry’s arms, briskly making his way down the hall. “Back to work!”

With a sigh and a slow shake of his head, Henry simply went back to his own desk to settle in and finish his work for the day.

*****

    The clock in the break room had read ten to five the most recent time he checked it, not long ago. The rest of the studio had mostly fallen quiet by then, most of the other employees readying themselves to go home. Henry, though, was just getting started; With a fresh cup of black coffee, his tie loosened and his suspenders shrugged off of his shoulders, he was just getting ready to clock out, but not leave quite yet. Heavy, even footsteps down the hall from his desk didn’t pull his attention away from the sketches in front of him, but a voice he recognized from earlier did.

    “Pardon me, but I was sent in this direction for one Henry Stein, head of animation. Will you please just show me who it is I’m supposed to be going to?” Bertrum snapped.

    Henry turned quickly, pen still in hand, and blinked. He found himself scrambling for a response under the intense gaze. “I… Well, um… Y-yeah, that’s, um… That’s me. I-I’m Henry Stein.” He managed, but not at full volume.

    Bertrum’s eyebrows shot up in shock, his eyes widening. “You? It’s you that’s in charge of all of this?” At that, Henry could only nod, looking sheepish. The response caused the designer to curse. “The way Drew treated you made me think you were his intern! My deepest apologies, sir.” He put a hand to his chest, bowing his head ever so slightly.

    Henry let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, it’s alright! He does it all the time, I don’t really blame you.” 

    Now the other’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “That certainly doesn’t seem right. He wouldn’t even have a job if it weren’t for you.”

“Try telling that to him. I certainly have.” He hastily waved off the conversation. “Did you need something from me?”

“Ah, just this.” He held out a stack of sketches on gridded paper, all covered in notes. “I trust your judgement than Drew’s, seeing as this cartoon devil is your creation. Not to mention, after our encounter today, I would be dead before I asked him his opinion on my park. I assumed you would be gone by now so I would just be leaving those at your workspace. Please, look over them at your leisure.”

“Oh! Uhm, alright… What, uh… What, exactly, do you want me to do with them? Do you need my input, or…” Henry carefully took the papers, making sure not to set them in the wet ink. 

“I want to know what you think. Drew’s designs are… childish, at best, and while entertaining young children is a main goal of a theme park, it is supposed to be a family experience. The more the parents enjoy themselves as well, the more likely it will be that we have returning visitors.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense…” He began flipping through some of the pages, tilting his head as he did. “...What’s the theme supposed to be here? I-I mean… Obviously it’s Bendy, but… Are we going more for fun or horror? Because that’s what this looks like.” His gaze flicked back up to Bertrum. “No offence! These designs are great! I just don’t know if they match my cartoon at all.”

“Ah. I wish you had said something earlier, then. My teams have already started prototyping some of this.”

“I would have if I’d seen them, sorry if it’s caused you any-”

“What do you mean, if you’d seen them?! Drew was supposed to have gotten you to sign off on-” He thundered, then stopped when he realized he’d made Henry flinch. “Were you not shown any of this?”

“No sir, this afternoon was the first I’d seen anything come from that park at all. I just knew it was there, Joey never wanted me to go down to see.”

“That’s ridiculous. That means he hasn’t even gone over any of our plans with you, damn fool…”

Henry glanced back at his drawings, then shifted in his chair to face the other more easily. “If you’d like to discuss some of it now, I’d be more than happy to know what’s going on with the company I own half of.” He indicated the extra chair not far from him with his hand, offering for Bertrum to sit down.

“If that’s quite all right with you, I would be happy to.” Smoothing down the front of his coat, Bertrum took a seat. 

“My, um… my first question is, uh… What’s your actual name? You just really don’t look like someone who should be called Bertie to me.”

His mustache twitched as the corners of his lips turned up. “Of course I don’t! I am Bertrum Piedmont! Drew insists on this demeaning nickname of his, I can’t begin to explain why.”

Henry gave another awkward laugh. “Yeah…. That’s Joey for you…”

*****

    Far, far past the time that Henry was supposed to have already been at home relaxing, he was still sitting at his desk, but he wasn’t alone. At some point, his conversation with Bertrum had turned from being about work to about life. Despite what he had thought at first, it was fairly easy to make Bertrum laugh, and goodness knew he needed it, the animator could tell. That had to be the case, since Henry never counted himself as someone very humorous.

    When Bertrum finally gathered himself to leave, it was only because of Henry’s promise to come check on his work more regularly, despite what Joey said. In return, Bertrum promised that any trouble Henry got in for it, he would handle directly. Even with the sketches still not fully lined or filled, Henry didn’t have the energy to keep working. He put everything on his desk in order, storing the ink and switching the last of the lights off on his way out.

[shansenfan]

Azriel acofas breakdown

Everyone is so hyped about the nessian novella that’s coming out in 2021. Yeah, that’s great-cool-awesome. 

I love nessian, and I will die when I read acotar4

But this post ain’t about nessian, this is about Azriel because I have concerns for this child

It pains me re-reading acofas and the chapters where Azriel is mentioned

Why? You ask?

*cracks knuckles violently typing this post*

Chapter 7 Rhysand POV: (pretty much this whole post is about c7)

“Shadows different from anything my powers summoned, spoke to. Born into a lightless, airless prison meant to break him.”

First of all- it hurts. Second. Okay so, Azriel’s shadows are completely different from Rhysand’s range of power…  very interesting. Does this mean Rhys can’t control Azriel’s darkness? Are Azriel’s shadows more powerful than Rhys’ gifts? 

“Instead, he had learned its language.”

Azriel can understand the shadows. Do the shadows actually talk to him, whisper in his ear or is it that he can understand their “body language”? Or even both? Probably both.

We know that Az is Illyrian. But, Rhys says that “my warrior-people did not have an explanation for where the shadowsinger gifs came from. They certainly weren’t connected to the siphons.”

“most Illyrians possess [siphons] and channel the raw-killing power to keep from destroying everything in its path. The bearer included.”

Well, okay. Illyrians are badass. I can’t-

______________

Rhys and Az slightly argue about disbanding the largest army (Illyrians) in Prythian. 

“Azriel studied the map for a long minute. I gave him the silence, knowing that he’d speak only when he was damn well ready. As boys, Cassian and I had devoted jours into pummeling Az, trying to get him to speak. He’d never once yielded.”

Yeah, okay. This boy makes me so- “He’d never once yielded” my god. Half of me thinks that him not talking a lot is due to his traumatic experience in his father's keep. Maybe Az was forbidden to speak at all. Maybe his brothers tormented him and made him have like PTSD for speaking his opinion. Who knows.

______________

“I held his gaze, though. Held that ice-cold stare that still sometimes scared the shit out of me.”

We all know that Azriel is terrifying, powerful and awesome. But he is also very kind, polite and distant. (but mostly we know him as a smol Illyrian bat boy)

And yet, he managed to scare Rhysand. And Rhys is already terrifying, so what edge does Azriel have to be so haunting.

“I’d seen what he'd done to his half-brothers centuries ago. Stil dreamed of it. The act itself wasn’t what lingered. Every bit of it had been deserved. Every damn bit.”

Ohmysweetbabyjesus

What tf did Azriel do?!! What did his half-brothers do to make him terrify Rhysand?It must have been horrific. And I need to read about it. I need a flashback. And I am also wondering if Cassian knows what Azriel did. 

“But it was the frozen precipice that Azriel had plummeted into that sometimes rose from the pit of my memory.”

A precipice means a very steep rock face or cliff, especially a tall one. Is this a hyperbole (extreme exaggeration) or whatever that literary term is? 

Did Azriel actually physically FALL from a cliff? Or is it a figure of speech meaning that his consciousness fell and he wasn’t in control of what he was doing- not really that is?

“The beginnings of that frost cracked over his eyes now.”

I don’t understand - I don’t understand bitch - I don’t understand

I’m almost done. Pinky promise. You can cry later

“When do you head out for Rosehall?”

“The morning after Solstice,” he supplied, turning toward  the glittering sprawl of Velaris. He winced- slightly. “I still need to do some shopping before I go.”

I offered my brother a crooked smile. “Buy her something from me, will you? And put it on my account this time.”

I knew Az wouldn’t, but he nodded all the same.

*deep inhale* *SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECH*

Her. Her? HER? HER! HER?!

At this point I’m sobbing all over my keyboard 

I am beyond anger. I am raging. 

Rosehall? Her? 

Bruh, imaging Az shopping. (someone please do a hc for me)

Anyway. I have no explanation for this Rosehall-Her thing. I’ll make a part two for this.

Peace!

[gaamagirl565]

Matters of the heart ep 7

Matters of the heart Episode 7 Learning from the best {OPENING CREDITS} {Open to Isaiah playing with Draki on the hay bale} Isaiah: *giggles as Draki slithers over him* Draki! Ah! That tickles! {Draki nuzzles into his neck; Isaiah pets him} Isaiah: Love ya too buddy… {Varian walks out of the house tying up his hair} Isaiah: Dad! Dad! Look at this new trick Draki and I can do! Ready boy? {Isaiah tosses Draki in the air and as he comes back down Isaiah reaches his hand up and lets his snake effortlessly glide from one arm to the other and onto a nearby tree branch} Varian: wow...you two are getting good at that...just...Be careful okay? Isaiah: Daaaaddd...I milk his venom every day plus Draki would never hurt me! Right, Draki?...Draki? {Pan to Ruddiger hissing at Draki and Draki doing the same; Isaiah runs over and picks up his snake} Isaiah: Can you two go one day without fighting!? {Zapada walks into frame} Zapada: Snakes always seem to have a chip on their shoulder in my opinion… Varian: Well hello there… {Varian walks over and kisses her forehead} Varian: Isaiah, aren’t you going to say hello? Isaiah: *rolls eyes*...hello… {Varian narrows his eyes; Isaiah looks away} Varian: Don’t worry...give him time Zapada: E în regulă, iubirea mea...I just came to give you luck for your big day… Isaiah: Big day? Varian: Your grandfather is going to be teaching me the ins and outs of leadership… Isaiah: Can I come too!? Draki and I would love to help! Right Draki? {Draki pops his head out from a bush with a mouse in his mouth} Varian: Well normally this kind of event is for the current leader and the heir...but I don’t see why you can’t ask your grandfather if-? Isaiah: WOOHOO! Zapada: I will come too...If it’s okay of course... I will how you say..S-Spectate… Varian: how can I refuse you? {Zapada blushes and pulls on her cloak; Isaiah gags; cut to Varian walking onto the field with Isaiah and Zapda in tow} Quirin: There are my boys! You ready to get started? Varian: Actually dad...Isaiah has something he wants to ask. Quirin: Oh, Really? Isaiah: C-can I learn too? Quirin: well normally the tests of a leader are for the heir but...I don’t see why not. Isaiah: Yes! {Zapada sits off to the side} Zapada: Go team-...oh my...who do I root for? {cut to a hillside} Quirin: The first test is a test of strength...you must these two barrels must get to the bottom of the hill without damaging the goods inside and load them onto the cart below. It’s a steep incline so all your muscles will be working. Good luck! {Varian picks up the two barrels and slowly makes his way down the hill; Meanwhile, Isaiah has trouble lifting the two heavy barrels} Isaiah: urrgh! This is impossible...Dads lived on the farm his whole life, of course, he’s used to it...hmmm. {Isaiah gets an Idea and put the Barrels on their sides} Zapada: What is he….oh no… {Isaiah ties a rope around them and slowly starts lowering them down the hill; the rope snaps and Isaiah struggles to grab one of the barrels and it pulls him down the hill at a high speed; he zooms past Varian and plunges into the cart turning all the apples in the barrels to mush} Varian: Isaiah! {Varian, Zapada, and Quirn rush over to the cart} Varian: Buddy, are you okay!? Isaiah: *giggling* l-lets do that again! Varian: Phew… Quirin: Well considering you damaged both barrels, Isaiah...Varian wins. Isaiah: But I got here first! Varian: but you damaged the apples… Isaiah: And made a new product!...apple sauce… {Varian has an “are you serious look and we cut to the next test} Quirin: This test is a test of Cunning...you’ll need all your brainpower to figure this out...at the top of this tree is a flag...your goal is to retrieve it by any means. Don’t think you can just climb it. The thorns on this tree are poisonous. Touch one and you’ll wish you hadn’t. Zapada: wait...if you can’t climb it...how did you get the flag up there? Quirin: Not through easy means. Zapada: *gulps* be careful, Varian! Varian: Don’t worry! Your man has got this! {Isaiah examines the tree and gets and idea} Isaiah: Draki! Here boy! {Draki slithers up his arm} Isaiah: Think you can get that flag? {Draki looks up and hisses before slithering onto the tree} Varian: What the? {Draki gets to the top, grabs the flag and come down} Quirin: Isaiah wins! Varian: EYYY! He used a snake that’s cheating! Quirin: nope! I said by any means… Isaiah: Looks like I’m a better leader… Varian: oh ho...really? Zapada: oh dear… Varian: care to place a wager on that? Isaiah: now you’re speaking my language...lets so whomever wins the most cleans the lab for a month. Varian: deal! {they shake hands; begin montage of the challenges} Quirin: this test is one of diplomacy! {shows two sets of kids fighting over and apple; Varian cuts the apple in half and has his two share it; Pan over to Isaiah who is holding each kid back from killing each other} Quirin: this test is one of empathy… {shows a homeless on the road} Varian: here have some coin….

{Varian gives him money} Isaiah: here sir… {Isaiah gives him a cloth blanket and a bag of apples} {Varian pouts; Zapads face palms; fade to the Cult HQ} Noremoth: Come now sweet Vessel you must eat… Cassandra:.... Noremoth: It’s your favorite…please? You need strength! Cassandra: so I can kill my friends and family? I don’t think so! Noremoth: don’t think of it like that! Think of it like...Liberation for the weak! They’re constantly ignored in Corona!...you would know about that...wouldn’t you? {Cassandra lunges forward and grabs him; her eyes glow} Noremoth: oopsie daisy! Strike a nerve, did I? Cassandra: if you want to keep your tongue I’d shut up… Noremoth: or what, Sweet vessel o’mine? Larkspur: Noremoth… Noremoth: M’LADY! I-I…*kneels* Larkspur: Now now Noremoth you should know better than to antagonize our most important asset. Cassandra: I. am. not. Yours! Larkspur: no? Oh your right!...you belong to Zhan tiri. Cassandra: I DON’T BELONG TO THAT THING EITHER! {Magic surges through Cassandra making her scream and fall to her knees; Noremoth cringes and feels sympathy for her} Larkspur:..Zhan tiri seems to disagree… {Cassandra stares on in shock} Larkspur: Listen Vessel...you are no longer whom you were in the past...your past self died the second you stole the moonstone… {Noremoth looks between his leader and Cassandra} Larkspur:...There is nothing but Zhan tiri now...I suggest you make your peace with it… {Larkspur goes to walk away and noremoth follows leaving Cassandra alone; cut back to old Corona} Varian: OW!... Zapada: Sorry! Why on earth did you think using a cactus was a good idea!? Varian: It seemed like...A good idea at the tim-AHH! Zapada: well now you ARE a cactus! Look at all these spines! Varian: ughh… Zapada: is it not quite silly what you’re doing? Varian: huh? What do you mean? Zapada: this silly competition...what is the point? You’re next in line as the leader anyway. Varian: well it’s...fun… Zapada: competing to the point of injury is fun? *plucks a spine* Varian: OWW!...when you put it like that...ah!..it’s just ya know..Father-son bonding… Zapada: This is father-son bonding? Varian:....yes? Zapada: I will never understand Corona… Varian: OWWW! {Cut to the next challenge} Quirin: This next test is one of courage...you will have to face your worst fear. As a leader many things will frighten you but you cannot let it stop you. Especially when people count on you. Isaiah: *winces* Quirin: Your fears are...different...hard to emulate but we did our best… Varian: Deep breaths..c’mon… Quirin: Varian...you are afraid of blood...but you will see plenty of it as a leader… {Varian nods} Quirin: Over there is a bucket of sheep’s blood… Varian: *gags* Quirin: You will remove your glove and stick a hand in it for 60 seconds… Varian: oh lovely… {Varian walks over to the bucket} Quirin: Whenever you’re ready... {Quirin holds up a pocket watch} Isaiah: Too chicken, dad? {Varian growls and shoves his ungloved hand into the bucket} Varian: Uagh!... Quirin: hmm… {Varian is cringing but doesn’t move} Zapada: oh, iubirea mea… Quirin: Alright! Thats a minute {Varian jumps from the bucket and over to a trough of water to wash is hand; all the while gaging} Quirin: Isaiah you’re next… Isaiah: what is mine? Alchemy? A small firecracker? Quirin: Rain… {Isaiah’s eyes dilate in horror} Isaiah: w-what? Quirin: as a leader, you must face all kinds of fear...even past traumas...we’re able to imitate rain by using a rainstick and pouring water into a bucket with holes at the bottom… Isaiah: *wince* Quirin: You will stand with eyes closed under the bucket for a whole minute...like your father… {Isaiah pales and his breathing quickens} Varian: Isaiah..it’s okay you don’t have to- Isaiah: no!..I’ll do it…. {Quirin nods and takes out the pocket watch; Isaiah goes and stands under the bucket; with a deep breath he closes his eyes} Isaiah: I’m ready… {Quirin nods at the two men that were standing by; one man turns over the rainstick making it sound like falling rain; the other pours water in the bucket have small droplets fall out the bottom and onto Isaiah} Isaiah: *whimpers* {Varian bites his lip; Zapada looks on in confused shock; Isaiah opens his eyes and is suddenly on dead mans curve watching his mother and the duke be killed by bandits in the rain} Estelle: Isaiah! Help me! {Cut to reality} Isaiah: *screams and lunges away from the water and onto the ground whimpering loudly* Quirin:....30 seconds…. {Varian runs to his side} Varian: Isaiah? {Isaiah yelps and jerks away from him; Isaiah looks around with panic before running away} Zapada:...What..just happened? Quirin:...Isaiah failed the test of courage…and...I think we did too much... Varian: Isaiah…. {Cuts to sunset and Isaiah is sitting under a tree with Draki in hand} Isaiah: I tried my best...right Draki?...maybe I’m just not a leader… Varian: Isaiah? {Isaiah looks over and immediately looks away; Varian walks over and sits by him} Varian: Buddy?...I’m sorry that happened...you wanna talk about it? Isaiah:.... Varian: Isaiah...I know what you thinking of… {Isaiah looks up at him} Varian: sometimes I think of it too...how scared she must’ve been...I made a promise to protect your mother and I failed her...so maybe I deserve to fail this too… Isaiah: I just wanted to show you that…I’m not a screwup… Varian: What? Isaiah: I keep messing things up...I wanted to prove people wrong and I got a scar! I wanted to impress the princess and instead almost got Akina killed!... I lied to you so I could get revenge… Varian: oh, buddy… Isaiah: I just thought maybe if I could pass these tests I could..I don’t know..show you I’m not a screwup... Varian: ...show me? Or show yourself? {Isaiah buries his head in his knees} Varian: Isaiah you wanna talk about being a screwup? The first time I met the queen I blew up my village with boilers I had underground… {Isaiah looks up shocked} Isaiah: okay..pfft...thats pretty bad… Varian: My point is...People mess up..it’s part of being human...whats important is to learn from your mistakes...and Isaiah...don’t try to make other people proud of you...Be proud of yourself...there is only one of you...and you are amazing… {Isaiah hugs him} Isaiah: I love you dad… Varian: I love you too… {END CREDITS}

[zaney-hacknslash]

Death Note - Void Pt2

Ide

               Lunch rush packed the restaurant; customers clumped in the lobby so deep and thick, I could hardly elbow my way through to ask how long the wait might be. Servers and hosts flurried around with menus and congenial smiles, careful, always, to bow and greet everyone who came through the door, despite the fact that the grating sound of the doorbell sounded off every few seconds.

             Thirty minute wait. I checked my watch.

             Lunch rush hadn’t been part of this equation, honestly. I’d thought I could come sit down, alone, with Matsuda, for a handful of minutes, ask him a couple questions, and get back to headquarters in less than an hour. The time of day had never occurred to me.

             This was his favorite place right now, loud and hopping. Pop music blasted, the chairs were too close together, even on a slow day, and it always seemed just a degree or so to cold.

             Beside me, moody Matsuda stood glaring at the floor with his arms folded, like a little kid who’d gotten dragged against his will into an adult dinner party. Once or twice, I heard him sigh, a bit heavily, but the usual enthusiasm that swept him through his day-to-day life showed no sign of reemerging.

             If he hadn’t been so upset, I might have turned around and walked right out to find somewhere quieter to eat.

             I tried, several times, to say something to him, opening my mouth, and then immediately glancing at the other guests jammed in at my shoulder. Matsuda had no filter when it came to expressing himself, so I doubted the presence of strangers mattered, but I’d purposely brought him here to get a little privacy. I kept thinking he’d say something, even if it was just to complain about how long it was taking to get a seat, but he hardly looked up.

             “I didn’t expect it to be so crowded,” I admitted, at last.

             “It’s lunch time, Ide,” he muttered, more than used to my pickiness.

             “Yes, but I had no idea this place was so popular.” At least, I didn’t understand it. The furniture was garish and cheap, and imitation art of American movies stars from decades gone by cluttered the wall, along with vintage knick knacks. One or two photos of Elvis Presley and a single replica of Marylin Monroe’s famous white dress would have done the trick. This place tried entirely too hard to look like an American diner from the 1950’s.

             “This was your idea,” he reminded me.

             Even so, if we left now and went down the street to a place I liked better, he might not be as comfortable. He might not find anything on the menu he wanted to eat. Getting lunch with me might turn out to be something that merely added to his frustration, when all was said and done, especially since I’d more or less forced him to come along when he didn’t want to in the first place.

             Besides, anywhere else might be just as crowded, and if we had to start our wait all over again, not only would Matsuda be annoyed, everyone at headquarters could get mad at me.

             “It’s fine,” I assured coolly, though the doorbell going off over and over was getting on my nerves, like a bad song I couldn’t turn off, and the gentleman at my shoulder kept accidentally brushing against me and muttering, “Sumimasen,” right in my ear. He had bad breath.

             “Normally…” I pressed closer to Matsuda, trying to get away from my neighbor, “we eat kind of early.”

             Normally, he couldn’t stand to sit at headquarters past ten, so there was usually a break to get him coffee or some kind of snack. Either way, he always started whining about being hungry an hour later.

             That hadn’t happened all week, though. I’d barely seen Matsuda eat at all, in addition to hardly talking. Hopelessly, I stared around at the wild, uncomfortable atmosphere, struggling to tune out the door bell and the man coughing on the back of my neck, skeptical that such an unsettling environment could possibly restore Matsuda’s good cheer.

             Finally, a fresh-faced kid jaunted up to us, bowing. “Gentlemen, so sorry for the wait. If you would, follow me, please,” and then he hustled us through the crowded dining room, to a small table set for two, where he turned to smile at us. “Here we are. I hope this suits you.”

             In my opinion, he’d chosen the worst possible location for us, jammed at a tiny square at the center of the room, surrounded by a sea of people, but without Matsuda to assure him everything was perfect and thank the man, it was up to me to muddle through the polite talk.

             The host promised we’d receive timely service, and ran off again. Matsuda threw himself down in one of the chairs, grabbing up his plastic menu to immediately hide his face behind it; I barely got a glimpse of his slanted brows and down-turned mouth.

             I sat down too. The table wobbled, and the vase of flowers at the center was too big, crowding in on my space. The woman seated behind me was so close, I might as well have sat down in her lap, and the doorbell buzzed again and again.

             “You like this place, right?” I asked, lighting a cigarette and studying him.

             “Yeah. It’s my favorite.” The music was just loud enough to make it hard to hear him. That was new, too. Matsuda was normally so loud, he would have just screamed over the noise to make himself heard.

             Shuichi and the others seemed quite committed to letting him be, hoping his issues would resolve themselves, but I couldn’t bear to keep sitting by and watch him be unhappy. I’d do anything to relieve it.

             Just this once, I told myself, and then I never had to eat here again.

             “What’s good?” I wondered, finally picking up my menu. The food sounded just as bad as the atmosphere, the lunch menu cluttered with things like the Elvis Favorite, Marylin Monroe Patty Melt, and James Dean Fries. Absolutely ridiculous. Most of it was hamburgers anyway, but, at the very bottom they’d crammed in a few traditional Japanese dishes, for the old timers who got dragged in here by their kids.

             Although he’d normally rattle off for five minutes, issuing an exhaustive list of everything that looked good and everything that sounded gross, making recommendations, Matsuda just shrugged and sighed, like food had become an annoyance.

             Just once, I reminded myself again, and tried to focus on what I’d come for.

             I’d never seen him this way.

             Even before I really knew him, he’d always been that guy. The one who smiled all the time and greeted everyone he passed, never forgetting his honorifics, never remembering anyone’s name, the guy who always looked like he was about to blow a brain cell every time he had to sit down, be quiet, and do actual work for a minute or two. Back when he first joined the department, some people had sneeringly nicknamed him Nikko-san, partly after his uncle, who’d gotten him the job, and partly because he was Mr. Sunshine, but definitely not out of affection.

             After Chief Yagami and the others left to work with L, plenty of those same people had laughed good and hard about how lucky the task force was to have Mr. Sunshine working with them.

             When I rejoined the task force, I hadn’t been surprised at all to find Matsuda acting just as unprofessional and ridiculous as ever. I’d even asked Aizawa, “How have you dealt with that kid for so long? He’s driving me crazy already.”

             My old friend had frowned, almost as if the words had offended him, and he’d taken his time to answer, much more carefully than I’d expected, “Well…he’s not as bad as he seems.”

             The response had floored me. Here I’d been expecting Aizawa to grumble at least a little about what a pain Matsuda was—we were friends, after all, and pretty used to bitching to each other—but based on his reaction, it had seemed like the kid must have gotten under his skin, and I’d even detected a slight thread of protectiveness in his tone, or at least some disapproval of my talking bad about Matsuda.

             “I’m thinking about taking a day off,” I announced, laying my menu aside. “If I can.”

             Matsuda didn’t bite.

             “Yeah. You know. It’s been a long time since I had so much as an uninterrupted weekend.”

             Normally, he’d be all over that, more than ready to whine about working himself to death, eventually coming around to how important the case was, how we had to do what we could, and then back to how tragic it was to be young and single, carefree and restless without the time to sow his oats.

             Today, he simply muttered, “Yeah.”

             Behind him, I noticed a baseball bat hanging on the wall, supposedly signed by Babe Ruth himself, and steeped in a million vinyl records that had been plastered against the wallpaper. These people couldn’t actually think that enthusiasts of retro American culture would find this charming. They certainly couldn’t believe an American tourist would ever even miss home so much that he’d stumble through the door.

             “I think I’ll catch a ball game. The season’s almost over, and the Swallows are playing the Giants.” I dragged on my cigarette, hopelessly waiting for him to pick up his end of the conversation, if only to save me from the torturous sounds around me.

             He didn’t really like baseball, I remembered, or rather, he didn’t understand it. It moved too slow, he said, and he got bored fast, but I knew he enjoyed the novelty of garbing himself in home team colors, filing into the stadium with all the rabid fans, drinking a beer, eating a hot dog—like a “real American”—having a blast with old friends, and making new ones out of the people sitting near him. I liked going with him myself, because he always screamed loudest about the things he didn’t understand and got himself into interesting situations, or he hung off my every word when I explained, for the umpteenth time, how the game worked.

             “I doubt that workaholic Aizawa will want to go.” Even if Shuichi allowed himself to do something as sporadic as take a day off, he’d prefer to spend it with his family than with me at the ballpark, arguing about which team was better this season. “Wanna tag along?”

             Matsuda never answered, leaving me to sit there like an idiot, wondering why this new attitude of his bothered me so much.

             It hadn’t taken long for me to see how he’d gotten past Shuichi’s angry bear exterior to his cuddly teddy center. Matsuda had a likeable way about him, and where most of the detectives I’d met tended to be taciturn, cynical, and even pompous, his bubbly way of thinking out loud, laughing in the face of difficulty, and admiration for the rest of us made him a breath of fresh air.

             So, he’d gotten under my skin too. And, over the last couple years, he’d accomplished even more than that, becoming part of my life, effortlessly—my lunch mate, my drinking buddy, my sparring partner, my weird, little friend. Sure, he teased me endlessly about my love life and drove me crazy with his goofiness, but he never forgot my birthday, and when I had a bad day, he could tell. Even if I never told him anything very personal or serious, he had this way of reminding me things would work out any time I started to feel like they might not. Before long, I started to understand why even the chief let him tag along everywhere and overlooked so much of his silliness, because Matsuda was honest, simple, and even though none of us would ever say so to his face, really sweet.

             Seeing him so unhappy for so many days in a row was beginning to have an adverse effect on the team: Shuichi was getting worried, and even Mogi seemed distracted, I’d noticed Light becoming frustrated. Long-suffering Chief Yagami alone proceeded with his work unbothered, but he had to be that way, as the boss.

             All of it really rubbed me the wrong way.

             “Well, anyway.” I squinted at the menu again. The lights were too bright and stark, and I wanted to order soon so we could get out of here. “I doubt Light will let two of us take off at once.”

             “Sorry about that,” Matsuda muttered, probably just for the sake of being polite. He must know he was acting weird, even if he didn’t realize it bugged me so much.

             I never planned on any of this, and I barely knew how my relationship with Matsuda had segued so seamlessly from coworkers to actual friends, I just knew that right after I came back to the task force, while the others were busy, he’d taken it upon himself to tell me the whole story of every crazy thing that had happened since I walked away from them outside the station that night. A lot of what he’d said hadn’t been particularly relevant to the investigation, but he’d been so familiar and laidback, like we’d known each other forever, I’d gotten caught up in my astonishment at how cavalierly he was treating me—me, Dai Kaze, the guy no one had ever liked, since at least middle school—like it was just no big deal at all to sit down and have a chat with asshole Hideki Ide.

             By the time he’d finished, I hadn’t really known what to say, but there’d been a few questions to ask, and a few comments to make—routine responses—and I’d never forget the bright interest that had gleamed in his eyes as we talked back and forth, like maybe he couldn’t believe it either, that he was talking so casually with a guy like me, let alone that I’d talk back.

             After being around grumpy, old Shuichi, and Mogi, who sometimes seemed incapable of holding a conversation, it was probably pretty refreshing for him, and he’d chatted with me a lot since then, any time he felt bored or wanted to say something out loud. Over time, I’d been able to intuit that he appreciated how closely I listened, and that, even if I didn’t always have something nice to say, I made him feel important by acknowledging that he had thoughts and ideas and feelings.

             The damn feelings had honestly annoyed me at first, and there’d been times when I’d gone so far as to suggest he keep a diary instead of bothering me. I didn’t like snapping at him like that. I didn’t want him to think I was an asshole and stop associating with me. None of it fazed him, though, he kept talking about whatever came into his head, and, in time, I just got used to it.

             Anymore, I assumed I had the most personal relationship with him, which made me the one he’d feel most comfortable talking to in this state of obvious depression, but it still shocked me that I’d come to care about him enough that I’d take time out of my day to actively try to get to the bottom of Matsuda’s deep well of sentiments.

             “Hey, Matsu-kun. Wanna tell me what’s wrong lately?”

             He sat slouched, now, cheek resting on his fist, staring disinterestedly at the centerpiece, and from the reluctant glance he slid at me, I gathered he’d been hoping I wouldn’t bring it up. But Matsuda wasn’t a liar, so he asked, “Really? You want to know?”

             “You said Sumi…”

             Wincing, he stared all the harder at the flowers.

             “…I’ve never seen you take a break up so hard.”

             Involved in a case as extensive as ours, there wasn’t much time for dating, but Matsuda had a tendency to fall into the clutches of beautiful but shallow women, the kind who just wanted to have fun. They saw a good-looking guy in a nice car, didn’t know enough about the NPA to realize a corporal detective didn’t make much money, and ran the kid around, buying crap with his credit card and saddling him with the bags, like a pack horse.

             It was a trap I’d gotten into a lot back when I was younger—there were a lot of things about Matsuda that reminded me of myself—it had made me cynical about women, and it pissed me off to watch it happening to him.

             But Matsu didn’t have much capacity for cynicism, and, usually, breaking up with a girl didn’t do much more than dampen his spirits for a day or two.

             “Did you really think she was the one?”

             Matsuda suddenly sat up and took a long look around the restaurant. “Where the hell is the server? Hey!” He banged his fork on the wobbly table. Water sloshed from his glass, and I jerked my elbows back into my lap. “We’re ready to order over here!”

             “Geez,” I hissed, mortified, and watched as a frazzled-looking girl ran over, apologizing and jotting down his order. She turned to me.

             “Ah, sorry about that,” I muttered, feeling like the music might drown my voice out anyway. I couldn’t understand why they’d be playing pop instead of American oldies, unless they just didn’t honestly know anything about that era. “I’ll just have…” I’d never decided, because none of it had sounded any good. “Soup, and a salad.” I shot a quick glance at Matsuda, and then at her. “Sorry, really. He’s not normally so… Well, we’re in a hurry, that’s all.”

             “Not at all, sir!” she beamed. “I apologize things are so slow today.”

             She took off, and he settled his cheek back on his fist, glaring at the centerpiece again. “You don’t have to be sorry, Ide,” he announced. “It’s their job to serve us, and we’ve been sitting here forever.”

             “Even Aizawa doesn’t bang his fork when he shouts at the staff,” I muttered.

             With a small shrug, he reached out to rearrange some of the flowers, and I tried to find a way to change the subject to something more lighthearted.

             “These flowers drive me crazy,” he admitted in a moment, listlessly, though.

             They were the only even slightly nice thing in the restaurant, but I asked, “Oh, yeah?”

             “Yellow and purple carnations?” He wrinkled his nose. “What are they thinking?”

             I glanced at the flowers myself. “What if they were pink and orange?” We’d been guessing for a while that the dork might be colorblind, but he got extremely offended any time someone so much as asked about it. “Would that make more sense?”

             Matsuda suddenly scanned the room, eyebrows tilting toward his hairline, as if he’d just realized none of the color scheme in here made sense to him. “Pink and orange,” he echoed. And then, evidently blind to the glaring palette of crimson, chrome orange, and hot pink in the room, he frowned at me. “Why are you being such a jerk today?”

             “I just asked if you’d like that better,” I corrected.

             Instead of arguing, he fell back into the maddening silence.

             “Come on, seriously,” I prompted, after a couple minutes. “Are you really in this bad of mood over a girl?”

             Eyes fixed on the bobbing ice, Matsuda turned his glass around and around on the table, a sure sign of disquiet.

             “Or is there something else?”

             He picked an orange flower out of the centerpiece and stared hard at it, like he was trying to understand why I’d lie to him about its color.

             “It might be a good thing, Matsuda. At least now you’re not wasting time with the wrong person—”

             “That’s all great, coming from a guy who hasn’t been laid in the last decade.”

             I cut off mid-sentence to frown mildly at him, but Matsuda just stuck the orange flower into his water glass and glowered at it.

             “Is that your problem?” I demanded, a little sharply. “You’re not getting any now, so you’re turning into a cranky bitch?”

             “That’s what happens, right? Everyone says that’s what your problem is.”

             I rolled my eyes. “Shit, Matsuda. With a mouth like that, how have you made it through life without getting your face busted in?”

             He just frowned at his flower.

             “Didn’t your parents spend hundreds of millions of yen on your damn teeth? I’d watch who you pop off to.”

             Obviously, he had no intention of answering, so I sat back and studied him a while longer. Once or twice, he’d crept up to that line of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, but he had to be tremendously irritated, and that just didn’t happen all that often. I couldn’t believe he’d say something so crass to me, a superior.

             The fact that I’d brought him to lunch as a friend rather than a subordinate made for a tricky situation. I probably should throw a fit, box his ears, and write him up, but I’d started this by getting so personal.

             That’s exactly why Aizawa and the others have been trying to handle this so professionally.

             Stupid ass me just had to go screw it up.

             Even being here as friends, it probably wouldn’t be out of the question to rescind my offer to buy lunch, get up, and go back to HQ without him. That’s probably even what he expected. For all I knew, he’d intentionally pushed my buttons to get me to leave him alone.

             Then again, what he’d said didn’t actually bother me that much; for one thing, it wasn’t true, and for another, it was the sort of thing I’d gotten used to, growing up with three brothers. I decided to forget about it.

             Besides, overly emotional Matsuda didn’t know shit about putting up walls.

             “Who do you want relationship advice from?” I wondered. “Light? Kinda weird, getting tips about women from a kid fresh out of college.”

             Matsuda’s scowl deepened, and I knew my insult hit its mark.

             “Aizawa? His marriage it apt to fall apart any second now.” I checked my watch. “I’ll bet Eriko’s filing divorce papers as we speak. That guy sucks at love.”

             The next glare was so fierce and disapproving, I knew he really didn’t like me picking on his hero.

             “The deputy director?” I suggested. “Now there’s a guy who hasn’t been laid in a long time, Matsu.”

             At once, the frown fell completely apart, giving way to a gaping, shocked mouth and popping, horrified eyes. He checked over both shoulders, like Deputy Director Yagami might be listening in, and I knew he’d forgotten all about his wall of sugar glass. “Ide,” he hissed, “you don’t just say stuff like that.”

             “No?” It was my turn to shrug. “Well, my bad, I guess. I’m just saying, not a lot of great options. If you’re gonna tell anybody what the deal is, it might as well be me.”

             “Oh, yeah right,” he barked, suddenly, in an acidic tone. “At least the others won’t make fun of me.”

             I blinked at him. “What? Why would I make fun of you?”

             His hard eyes glared at me, like he couldn’t believe I had the audacity to ask that. “Trying to trick me into thinking I’m colorblind—”

             “I think you actually might be—”

             “Dissing on my music—”

             “Not everybody likes—”

             “Acting like it’s ridiculous for me to get upset after Sumi cheated on me.”

             Bingo.

             Go figure, all it took was to get him talking a little, and the truth spilled.

             I had to work very hard not to allow a satisfied smirk to pass my lips. Instead, I pretended to be bothered, fumbling with my cigarettes and mumbling, “I didn’t know all that annoyed you so much.”

             Matsuda glared at me, quiet again, probably realizing he’d said something without meaning to.

             “So…” I lit my cigarette. “She cheated on you, huh?”

             “Yeah,” he sputtered, “yeah, she did. With some…loser biboi she met in a trashy club. I don’t think she was even drunk, she was just done with me because I’m so boring, working all the time, not paying enough attention to her, even after I’ve spent every yen I earned last year on her. She didn’t even bother to lie about it, just showed up one day to give back the key to my apartment and laugh at me.”

             Calmly, I ashed my cigarette. Wasn’t that the story of my life?

             “Go ahead and laugh, Ide,” he dared. “Tell me I’m stupid, I should have seen it coming, and my taste in women is terrible, like you always do. Tell me it was dumb to think she was the one, and all women suck, and that you told me, months ago, she was just using me. Because you did, and you love being right.”

             I’d never seen him explode like that, half-shouting, drawing the attention of everyone on our side of the room, face burning with shame, eyes fierce with outrage. I never would have guessed the kid had such a temper hidden beneath all the manners and cheer.

             “Settle down, Matsu,” I advised, lowly. “What are you, nine?”

             Outrage turned immediately to rage. “You—”

             “Knock it off,” I snapped. “I didn’t say any of that.”

             He threw himself back in his chair, seething, and probably the only thing that kept him from all-out screaming at me was the fact that I was higher ranked than him.

             “Jeez,” I muttered, when I’d given him a few moments to get himself together. “I’d hate to see you get really mad about something.”

             “I am really mad!” he professed.

             “Right. Look.” I put my cigarette out, not wanting the rest, and glanced around for our food, thinking it would be nice to have a distraction right now. “What do you think this is? Some victory lunch? Like I brought you here just to rub it in your face that your girlfriend cheated on you? Damn. Here I thought we were friends.”

             His breath hitched, and his eyebrows tilted up in a sulky expression. I guess I’d never called him my friend out loud before, but it wasn’t exactly the time for a big, stupid grin and a victory dance.

             “I just wanted to know what’s got your panties in a bunch. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you—you’re the one being a little prick, talking about the last time I got laid and saying I’m bitchy because I don’t get enough sex.”

             Shame colored his face.

             “So, could you just take it down a notch?”

             Matsuda scowled at the table, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Sorry.”

             “Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t really care.” And then I looked around for the food again, but I was just about to give up and go somewhere else. “I’m just saying being a jerk doesn’t look so good on you.”

             Slightly, he nodded.

             “It’s fine if you’re upset,” I told him, after another moment. “What she did to you was really shitty. But I don’t like to think that you’ve been pouting because you think nobody would care.”

             “No,” he murmured, “It’s just not work talk.”

             “Nothing you ever say is work talk. Anyway, you could have at least told me. I know a lot about dishonest, heartless women.”

             A hint of sympathy shaded his eyes.

             “That’s why I said you shouldn’t let it bother you so much. Girls like that are cheap—you can pick one up anywhere—and they’re not very creative. Cheating with losers, bringing back the key just to laugh at you…” I shrugged. “They aren’t worth the trouble. They definitely aren’t worth ruining a perfectly good lunch your buddy buys just to cheer your ass up.”

             Bewildered, he finally met my gaze again.

             “So, come on.” I smirked at him. “If you’re gonna be pissed off and sad, let’s order some whiskey.”

             Whiskey helped a little. After the first round, he’d started talking a little more normally about the usual nonsense that occupied his mind, and then the food came, so he was quiet a while. Mine wasn’t very good—the soup was thin and the salad was gritty, so I mostly talked and smoked, trying to keep him distracted. Regardless, his expression showed me he still was unhappy.

             After the second whiskey, we left the restaurant. It was a relief to be out of the noise and harsh lights of the diner, but Matsuda seemed content with lunch at least. In a few blocks, he started joking with me, so I knew the anger had burned out fast.

             I doubted anyone would believe me if I told them about it.

             Outside the headquarters, he hesitated, staring up at the building to sigh, and then he admitted, slowly, “I know you’re right…but…I really liked her, Ide. I…I loved her.”

             He did have terrible tastes in women.

             “Yeah.” I squeezed his shoulder. “That’s how it goes sometimes, kid. Sometimes, you really love somebody, and they just don’t feel that way back.” That, too, was the story of my life. Suppressing a sigh, I gazed up at the building too, with all its sparkling windows and the roof that tried to vanish in the clouds. “It’s not your fault,” I murmured. “There’s only so much you can do.”

             “I guess not,” he whispered.

             “You can find someone else, though.”

             Swallowing hard, he nodded.

             “Just don’t get cynical about it, okay? They’re not all like that.” I said the words, but the only reason I could so much as bother to think it was because of Shuichi and Eriko. She’d stood by him through everything, possibly the most loyal and genuine woman I’d ever met.

             I’d just gotten incredibly unlucky.

             “You’re not gonna wind up like me,” I assured him. “It’s impossible.”

             “How can you be so sure?” he asked, quietly.

             So many reasons, some he might not ever understand, some I didn’t think I could ever bring myself to tell him.

             At last, I teased, “’Cause you’re so damn cute,” and slung my arm around his neck. “If I were as cute as you, I might have a chance, but I got screwed in personality and looks.”

             Matsuda smiled a little. “I don’t know, Taniki-tan. Your personality’s not that bad.”

[dxmedstudent]

my school offers a course on privilege & oppression and as someone who is an asian male i feel like i have the privilege of being a male which comes with its benefits but being asian also puts me at a disadvntage . i never really thought of this until i take this course but it's really opened my eyes to the concepts of privilege nad oppression. bc i love hearing your opinion on things (especially when you write long responses) what do these mean to you and what are your experience?

I’m proud that you’ve already given it some thought. It’s all just so... deep  in most cultures, that it’s often hard to notice that people aren’t all treated equally and fairly. After all, if you’re not the one being unfairly treated, you might not even experience it at all, unless you really think about it. When things have been a particular way, a lot of people just don’t think about it because it’s the norm for them. But that doesn’t mean it’s not harmful, or that it’s OK.

I’ll put the rest behind a cut because this is both long, and also because this is the kind of conversation that ends up circulating on tumblr, so I’d rather keep it on my blog where there’s context for it.

You’re right; it’s perfectly possible (and common) to have privilege in some areas but be disadvantaged in others. And it’s a complex, global thing  involving many axes or ways in which we differ in terms of how the system (or systems) leave us vulnerable. That’s why intersectionality is really important; we need to acknowledge that some people suffer from discrimination in many ways, and their situaiton is quite different from people who are privileged in some respects, even though they have some things in common. For example, the life of a black trans woman who happens to be a sex worker would be very different to the life of a middle-class white woman, so the second woman’s experiences should never be treated as universal. This goes for all sorts of things; ethnicity, race, language, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, class, disability, religion, and probably a host of things we could think up if we really thought about it. Privilege is many things, but I guess you can describe it as ‘the problems you don’t face’, because your privilege prevents you from having to deal with those things, whilst someone without that privilege doesn’t have that luxury. For example, in your case your experience as an Asian exposes you to racism I don’t experience, because my experience as a whitish Eastern European, whilst not always peachy, is different. We might both be ‘immigrants’, but the abuse handed out to people of colour, and especially black people are often far far worse; you just can’t compare my experiences with those of my friends of colour. As they are for immigrants who are deemed to be lower status or vulnerable; people whose English is still a work in progress, people in unstable employment, for example. So, the Polish cleaners (who look whiter than me, I’ll be honest) experience more abuse because they are vulnerable in other ways. My English accent and general middle-classedness matter in this context. Because the ways in which different ethnic groups have been stereotyped or treated has been different, the experiences we have differ wildly based on where we are, and the prejudices of the society we are in. However, you probably won’t have experienced the same things I have as a woman; the same constraints and fears and social pressures that I have. The pressures to have a career but also actively raise children, for example, and the judgement that comes with either. The pressure to dress in certain ways, or to live up to the image of what society tells us to is different depending on your gender.The very real ever-present spectre of sexual assault from strangers or loved ones is very different, depending on your gender. Many men might not plan their life around not being attacked when they are out at night. For example, my flatmate, a white man, gleefully walks home for hours from gigs or whatever at silly o clock with little thought or planning. I wish I could go through life with as little thought about my safety as most men seem to give it. Like, it doesn’t affect their dress, or their timetable, or their dates, or their way home? Intersectionalism is about recognising that we can be disadvantaged in some ways, and advantaged in others, and that the people who are most disadvantaged are usually in the most difficult situation and often have the least social power to make their issues known or have them addressed. So we need to work harder to ensure that they have a voice, and that we listen to them and encourage others to do so. The key is always to listen, and a space discussing oppression needs voices from all communities if it is to help them. So way back (was it my teens and early twenties?!) when I was spending time on feminst sites, I gravitated towards ones I knew had bloggers of colour and trans voices and people of different sexualities and ages and experiences. It’s not that those mostly run by white american women were bad as such; there was still some interesting discussion there, too. But it was that they focused on a much narrower range of issues and what it meant to be a woman. And my real education on my own privilege, and what I could do to help others, and what other people suffered, was from listening to the experiences of those more marginalised than myself. So you’re on a great journey, and you’re going to learn so much about so many great kinds of people, if you take the time to listen. There are lots of communities out there that take the time to explore these issues, and I recommend seeking them out; you’ll find places that feel right to you. But make sure they have diverse voices. It’s also a sad and angry journey; when you learn just how horrible things are for many people, you’re going to want to punch some walls and change the world (if you don’t already want to do both). Don’t punch walls, but do take that anger at injustice with you. People often complain that this means those with privilege are silenced, but I don’t think that’s true at all. It’s just that people with privilege about a topic usually don’t have much that is relevant to say; how can we talk about a problem we’ve not experienced? Doesn’t that sound kind of self-centred of us? It’s usually true that we need to listen first, to fully understand the topic. And that usually, the best expert on a particular topic is someone who is living the experience and has actual knowledge of it. It’s not to say people can’t ever speak about a topic; I’ve read some pretty enjoyable writing by male feminists who *get* it, and I’m not a believer in blanket statements that ‘people in X group can never have anything relevant to say’; they can, if they’ve given it deep thought and understand the limitations of their experience and stick to what they actually understand. Because we need people to work to address their own learned prejudices, and allowing for their thought or conversation in some contexts is a necessary part of that. In the right context. I want men to talk about women’s rights, for example. I want them to talk about how men around them have been sexist douchebags and how they are trying to call them out. I want them to reflect on how they are unlearning the problematic messages about women that they learned. I absolutely want us to talk about how gender roles also hurt men, and that these also need to be addressed. But here’s the vital part: it’s just important that this conversation isn’t used to derail conversations about women by women. And, for example, white people shouldn’t derail conversations about the ways POC are marginalised and disadvangaged and hurt. If you really think all lives matter, then you should absolutely agree that black lives matter and be listening to what they have to say about the ways in which they are being mistreated. It’d be great if more people who identify as cis or heterosexual thought about gender and sexuality rather than assuming defaults; I’d love to see people writing about dismantling their transmisogyny and homophobia and exploring how pervasive it is, and working to ensure that they are treating their LGBTQ friends supportively rather than hurting them through ignorance. But it’s not more important than the need for trans people and the LGBTQ community to be able to explore what their identity means to them, safely and without that conversation being taken over. And the list goes on. Society steeps us all in a stew of covert and not-so covert messages about people; it’s our job for our entire lives to try to undo anything hurtful and untrue that we’ve been led to believe. To question. To see the humanity in others. And to be kind; which means to help others as best as we can.

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone- Part Twelve

*gets on top of steep stool and shouts* LORDS, LADIES, AND NOBLE GENTRY OF NON-COMFORMING GENDER IDENTITIES, IT’S GETTING GAY IN HERE!!!

Welcome back! Sorry I’m a little late. I’ve been weaning onto some new meds, and it’s been a bit of a doozy.

But! Why worry about that when we can read fanfiction instead!

Last time, we watched the latest edition of “Politics suck!” starring our least favorite troglodite, President Donald Trump.

Trump smacked Okoye across the ass, and --yes--Okoye will get her revenge, but right now it’s gay time!

This edition covers Wakanda’s “Festival of Loves,” which includes Wakanda’s version of Pride.

Author’s Note: This is not me saying how we do Pride is wrong. I’m just playing with some different concepts for a work of fiction. Don’t eat me alive, please.

Rating: T for language and mentions of abuse.

Warnings: mentions of abuse/abusers, enough fluff to rot your teeth off, lots and lots of gay energy, and mild sexual content.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku, Shuri x OC, and background T’Challa x Nakia.

@the-last-hair-bender

Everyone has their own perspective on what makes the best source of power. Some will say wealth. Some will say strength. Some will say cunning.

All of those are fine and good, but know that love is the strongest power there is, my dears.

Love of self can lead one man to hoard away unimaginable wealth from the needy. Love of things can lead many to fill their lives with material objects --and a great deal of debt.

Love can also lead to beautiful art, powerful movements, inspired leadership, and healthy, tender individuals. This is why we celebrate love. It is a gift from Bast, as much as the heart-shaped herb.

It may seem contradictory, but keep love in your lives, my dears. A Dora who knows no love is no Dora at all.

Okoye had to force herself to keep from sprinting as she navigated the back halls of the palace. Try to stay composed. You wouldn’t want to actually run into someone.

Five minutes ago, Ayo had poked her head in her office to deliver the news she’d been waiting five days to hear.

M’Baku’s ship had landed.

Okoye allowed herself to up her pace to a brisk walk as she caught sight of M’Baku on the landing pad, walking towards the main palace entrance. But it’s not like I need to take the scenic route, either.

Two months. Two long, lonely months of separation. Two months of being relegated to video calls and passionate letters –M’Baku, as she had discovered, was something of a closet romantic. Two months of not being able to touch her lover, of not being able to feel his strong arms wrap around her, of not being able to hear his warm, deep laughter right in her ears.

Okoye jogged around a corner, then broke into a run as she saw M’Baku step into the hall, grinning widely.

M’Baku ran towards her, just as eager, and caught her in his arms. He swept her off her feet and spun her in a circle, kissing her passionately as he murmured praises to her and Hanuman. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Okoye wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing happily. “I missed you.”

A growl slipped past M’Baku’s lips as his arms tightened around her. “And I you.” He stepped forward, still holding her in his arms, until they were up against the wall.

Okoye inhaled sharply as M’Baku started kissing and sucking his way down her neck, his hips rocking against hers. “M’Baku, this is not the time or the place!”

“On the contrary. We’ve missed each other for several weeks. What could be a better time than now?”

“M’Baku. Please.”

M’Baku let out a disgruntled sigh and stepped back, carefully setting her on the floor. “I’ve missed you, Okoye. I don’t feel any particular shame in that.”

“Neither do I, but there’s something to be said for professionalism,” Okoye said as she straightened her armor. When M’Baku’s frustrated expression didn’t lift, she smoothed her hands over his chest in a soothing fashion. “Besides, I’m taking the second day of the festival off so we can celebrate together.”

M’Baku raised an eyebrow. “And the significance thereof?”

“The second day focuses relationships, romantic and platonic. I thought it was fitting.” She grinned up at him. “It also means that I get the night and next morning off. I don’t suppose you can think of something I could do with all that free time.”

M’Baku grinned down at her. “You could do me.”

Okoye chuckled as she leaned up on her toes to kiss him. “I like the sound of that.”

M’Baku sighed as they broke the kiss a few moments later. “How have you been, Okoye?” His expression darkened slightly. “How are you fairing from your run in with the American idiot?”

Okoye grimaced as they started walking down the hall in the direction M’Baku had come from. “I’m alright. I’ve been meeting with my assigned counselor. The White House hasn’t issued an apology yet, but the King’s legal aide is confident we have enough to launch a lawsuit at the President for sexual assault and emotional damages.”

M’Baku let out an annoyed huff. “He deserves worse. I’d love to see you kick his ass in ritual combat.”

“So would I, but I doubt they’ll spring for that.”

M’Baku ‘hmph-ed’ and took her hand in his. “Well, I’m glad you’re alright. And I’m glad that we’ll get some time together during this… celebration. What will be going on, exactly?”

“Well, the festival of Loves officially lasts for three days, though the entire month is dedicated to expressing love in all forms. The first day focuses on love among family, the second on love between platonic and romantic relationships, and the third is about queer identities and attractions.”

M’Baku nodded. “And what is the third day like?”

“Well, lectures about queer identity, expression, and history are held at the central library during the morning. During the hottest part of the day, the main news network runs a broadcast recognizing contributions to the arts, sciences, and humanities by queer individuals, and during the evening a parade takes place in the streets. Official functions break off after the sun finishes setting, but a lot of people will stay out and have fun.”

“And have there ever been… incidents on the third day?”

It was Okoye’s turn to raise an eyebrow as she looked up at M’Baku. “Do you mean incidents like your uncle?”

“Yes.”

Okoye shook her head. “Not really. Everyone uses different paints on their faces to indicate how they identify. Those looking for an ‘encounter’ wear a bracelet on their left hand. Those who aren’t wear one on their right. Everything’s pretty easy to understand, so miscommunications are rare. And, for the odd bigot or two that would be daring enough to show their face, we have a security team that is trained to escort them out or detain them, depending on what the situation calls for.”

M’Baku nodded, seemingly impressed. “I wasn’t expecting that level of thoroughness. Shuri already told me about the idea behind the third day. I thought it would be good for Dewani to be surrounded by that kind of support and positivity, but she was a little…”

“Nervous?”

“To put it mildly.”

Okoye squeezed his hand. “Well, don’t force her to go if she doesn’t want to, but definitely let her know that she’ll be perfectly safe while she’s there.”

“I will. Will I be able to see you tonight?”

“Actually, you will. The Queen Mother invited me to dinner with you, Dewani, and the family. But as for now, I have a meeting with Ayo to schedule the duty rosters for the festival.”

The corner of M’Baku’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Then I’ll see you later, my love.” He kissed her cheek, and let go of her hand with a squeeze.

Okoye smiled back and started walking in the direction of her office.

“…and that pretty much settles the security team rosters. We did manage to settle the two boyfriends that wanted to celebrate the third day together.”

Okoye frowned as she studied the list. “Are they working separate shifts or together?”

“Together. I was able to find enough singles who were willing to switch for one reason or another.”

Okoye nodded, then grinned. “Very nice, Ayo. You’ve done very well in arranging everything. How are the Dora looking?”

“Djabi and Aneka wanted to switch days. Aneka wanted the third day off to participate the parades, and Djabi wanted the first day to see her grandmother. I need your approval for that.”

Okoye nodded. “You have it.” She sat back in her seat. “This is the first festival that you’ve organized the entire duty roster for by yourself. How do you feel?”

“Satisfied.”

Okoye snorted as Ayo smirked. “A woman of few words. I’m taking the second day off, so I’ll cover for you on the third day, if you like.”

Ayo nodded. “I’d appreciate it. What’s the King’s schedule look like?”

“He’s making an appearance with the Princess, the Queen Mother, and Lady Nakia tomorrow at the main festival site in each tribe’s territory –save the Jabari. That’ll run from the morning to before noon, take a break for the heat of the day, then finish before dinner. From what I’ve heard, Chief M’Baku and Dewani will coming with.”

Ayo peered at the holographic display of the schedule. “Will the Chief’s primes be accompanying him?”

“Yes. On the second day, the King and Lady Nakia will be walking through the main plaza in Birnin Zana before a celebration at the palace with the tribal leaders and their partners.”

Ayo grimaced slightly. “Great. A building full of leaders with different opinions and no problem with expressing them.”

“It’s only for a couple hours. After that, the King and Lady Nakia will be enjoying a private celebration of their own, no guards required.”

“No guards will want to be present for that bit, trust me.”

Okoye smirked. “I’ll be off on the second day. Can you handle running everything for that long?”

Ayo nodded, the picture of stoic confidence. “Of course.”

“Alright. Since the Princess is out –and, given Nakia’s orientation—the family will be participating more directly in the parades on the third day. You’ll be off then, so there’s nothing there for you to worry about.” She groaned as her kimoyo beads started chirping, reminding her of an appointment. “I have to go. The Queen Mother invited me to dinner with the family, M’Baku, and Dewani tonight.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Ayo’s face as Okoye stood a straightened her armor. “Sounds like fun.”

Okoye grimaced. “It’s always so awkward.”

“Well, you ought to get used to it. I imagine you’ll be dealing with it more, since you’re involved with the Chief.”

Okoye sighed. “I know. It’s just… weird.”

Dinner was pleasant enough. Everyone was familiar enough with each other that the conversation flowed easily, letting Okoye sit back and watch as they moved from course to course. 

Dewani, however, was uncharacteristically quiet as she poked at her main course with her fork.

Shuri, amidst her excited chatter about the latest development in satellite technology, seemed to notice that her usually brash girlfriend wasn’t contributing to the controlled chaos and nudged her in the side with her elbow. “Hey. Why so glum?”

“What? I’m not glum.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve barely said a word!”

Dewani shrugged, eyes not leaving her plate. “Just tired. That’s all.”

Shuri pursed her lips, and she looked like she was itching to argue, but she settled at a warning look from her mother. “Well, I can’t wait for you to see the queer solidarity parades on the third day. There’s always fireworks, and a lot of dancing!” She grinned excitedly. “I actually get to participate this year! I don’t have to watch from the sides anymore!”

Nakia grinned back. “It’s a lot of fun. I remember my first parade. I was eleven, and my father carried me on his shoulders so I wouldn’t get trampled by the other, larger adults there.”

“Sounds like it’s quite the event,” Dewani said quietly.

“It’s awesome!” Shuri beamed at her girlfriend. “Did you ever get to do anything like that in the Jabari lands?”

Dewani’s mouth twitched into a frown. “Uh… no. I couldn’t really do that… with my uncle and everything.”

The table went dead silent at the reminder of F’Tendi and the abuse Dewani had suffered.

Shuri paled, bit the inside of her cheek, and dropped her head into her hands. “For Bast’s sake, how can I be a super genius and shove my foot in my mouth that badly?”

At that, Dewani laughed. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re excited. I just… don’t have the same confidence in my orientation, I guess.”

“No one says you have to be out at the festival,” Okoye interjected. “Plenty of people go without identifying because they aren’t sure how they want to identify or just don’t want to. You’re not obligated.”

“Yeah, but I know I’m a lesbian.”

“Yes, you are, but you can come out on your own time,” Nakia said gently. “Just because you know who you’re attracted to doesn’t mean you have to share it right then and there.”

Dewani pushed a few pieces of potato around on her plate before looking up at Okoye, an anxious glint in her eyes. “You’ve worked the festival before, right?”

“I have.”

“Do things… do people ever show up and try to… hurt anyone?”

Okoye sat back in her seat, running through her mental catalogue of all the times she’d served and attended the love parades. “I can only remember one time. There was an ex-boyfriend whose girlfriend had broken up with him for multiple reasons. He’d stalked her for a couple months, and tried to jump her at the parade.”

Dewani grimaced. “What happened?”

“Three other guys and the girl’s new girlfriend beat the shit out of him. He was arrested afterwards for stalking and harassment.”

“The parade is extremely safe,” Nakia added with a reassuring smile. “We all look out for each other.”

Okoye watched carefully as Dewani smiled back with a dim, nervous smile. Something else is going on.

Or maybe not. The girl had been abused most of her life by a homophobic, bigoted uncle. It could be past abuse and fear surfacing.

Well, it’ll become clear in due time, Okoye thought as she sipped at her wine.

Okoye rolled her neck and shoulders as the ship landed on a private dock in the Mining tribe territory. Last one. Last one, and then we’re home. 

The first day was always the longest. As the ruler of Wakanda, T’Challa had to attend the official family-honoring ceremony for each tribe. Each tribe had a different time reserved, based on their respective traditions and values that surrounded the concept of family. However, without fail, three things happened during each visit:

First, the King would be greeted by the entire tribe in the spiritual and ceremonial center of the territory.

Second, the King would give a speech –tailored to the unique values and beliefs of the tribe—about the importance of love amongst family, how Wakanda was a family as a nation, and how loving and supporting each other as Wakandans was important and in the spirit of the festival.

Third, the belief specific function –for the Mining tribe, it meant that the King would meet any new infants that had been borne before the festival.

She inhaled deeply as she escorted the King, his family, M’Baku, Dewani, and the Jabari primes to the center of the Mining tribe territory with the Dora Milaje on the roster for the day. Almost done.

The greeting and speech went well. Okoye watched carefully while two off the more recent recruits –to make up for the women she’d lost fighting Killmonger and the Border tribe—stand by the King and his family as parents of new babies brought their children up for the King to see. So far, everything was going well.

Dewani sidled up next to her, having opted to hang back instead of stand with Shuri. “Can I ask you a question, or do I need to wait until we’re on the ship?”

“Ask away,” Okoye said, careful to keep an eye on the crowd and the King.

“How safe are the parades?”

Okoye frowned. “How do you mean?”

Dewani looked down at her feet, rubbing her hand up and down her arm. “You mentioned the stalker guy…”

Okoye smiled slightly, trying to be reassuring while trying to appear professional and somewhat menacing at the same time. “That was a one-off, Dewani. And, like I said, everyone jumped him before he could do anything.”

Dewani didn’t seem too reassured. She quirked her mouth from side to side as she shifted back and forth before murmuring through gritted teeth “We have celebrations like these in the Jabari lands, too. My uncle always told me that if I ever went to them, he’d find out and remind me of my place in the world.”

Okoye kept her face neutral as she processed the new information. “And you’re worried about him finding you?”

“Or one of his supporters.”

Okoye mulled the idea over. “Well, any Jabari are going to stand out amongst the crowd. Are any others coming?”

“Just a few of my brother’s friends who were curious about the festival.”

“Then I’ll make sure they and the Primes are put in our system. Anyone who doesn’t match them will be watched. Is that good?”

Dewani swallowed hard. “I guess.”

Okoye bit back a frown as Dewani walked away. Feasibly, there wasn’t too much else she could do. She had no way of knowing who was a supporter of F’Tendi and who wasn’t. However, it stood to reason that he and any others who shared his views would pose a threat to the festival-goers, meaning it warranted some sort of plan. As Okoye watched Dewani lean against her brother out of the corner of her eye, she settled on a couple ideas.

First, she needed to talk to Ayo before she clocked out for the day.

Second, she needed to talk to M’Baku and see if he knew the identities of his uncle’s supporters.

Oh no, F’Tendi, Okoye thought as the King finished seeing the last of the new children. You won’t be interfering this time. Not on my watch.

Ayo was waiting for her in her office when she got back. “Nice shirt.” 

Okoye looked down at the low cut tank top she’d put on after showering. “Is it too much?”

“Depends. Are you seeing M’Baku tonight?”

“…Yes.”

“Are you looking to get plowed?”

Okoye stuck her tongue at her best friend. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Then it’s perfect. Your message said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes.” Okoye filled Ayo in on what Dewani had told her. “I’ll try to get any identities of F’Tendi’s supporters from M’Baku, and we can list the Jabari that are members of M’Baku’s and Dewani’s party, but there’s no real way of knowing who’ll be a supporter and who won’t.”

A shadow of frown flickered across Ayo’s face. “That is a problem. Do we need to put more Dora into rotation for the third day?”

Okoye mulled the idea over for a moment before ultimately shaking her head. “I don’t think so. The Jabari are going to stand out in the crowd regardless, and bigots are going to stand out even more. They don’t have any weapons outside of the ones they craft out of their sacred wood, and those can only do so much damage at a time. Besides, as ignorant and hateful as F’Tendi might be, I don’t think he’d risk causing an inter-tribe incident.”

Ayo nodded. “Alright. Anything else?”

“Actually, there was one other thing I wanted to talk to you about…”

Okoye knocked on the door to M’Baku’s room. 

It opened a few seconds after, revealing M’Baku’s massive form. He smiled when he realized that she was the one who had knocked. “Well, hello.”

Okoye grinned up at him and leaned against the door frame. “I’m off for the night. I don’t suppose you’d know a good place for me to stay?”

M’Baku grinned back. “You could stay with me. Actually, the Queen Mother offered to watch Dewani for the night so she and Shuri could hang out. I’ve got the suite to myself.”

“Goodness. I guess all that’s left is for you to invite me in.”

M’Baku scooped her into his arms, kissing her passionately as he carried her inside and closed the door behind him. “You’re always welcome to stay with me.”

“I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Well, then I guess it’s good that we’re standing right next to each other and have several hours of uninterrupted time.”

Okoye smacked M’Baku on the arm as he laughed, delighted with himself.

They were in one of the public parks on the outskirts of Birnin Zana. There were a few people walking here and there, but the lush, green expanse of grass and trees was largely empty. Between the shade of the tree they’d settled under and the steady, cool breeze, it was a pleasant morning –even by M’Baku’s standards.

“It’s about Dewani,” Okoye said once M’Baku had settled down.

“Go on,” M’Baku said, voice carefully neutral. He’d stopped looking at her, deliberately focusing on the park in front of them, and his shoulders had gone stiff.

“Relax,” Okoye said as she nudged him with her own shoulder. “We’re fine. I’m just worried about her, is all.”

That got M’Baku’s attention. He frowned down at her. “How so?”

Okoye told him about what she and Dewani had talked about the day prior. “I don’t know any of your uncle’s connections, and they could be a real threat to the regular festival goers if they show up. If you could provide me with any names and IDs, I’d appreciate it.”

“I can do that, but a Jabari is going to stand out among all you low-landers.”

“Yes, but I don’t know if any of your people are going to come down of their own volition. I don’t want them to be unfairly profiled because of what they wear or how they act, only to leave the festival with the belief that we don’t trust your tribe.”

M’Baku smiled and kissed the top of her head. “You’re wonderful, ‘koye. I’ll make sure I have a list for you by the end of the day.”

“Thank you.”

M’Baku resumed his scan of the park, far more relaxed than he had been at the start of the conversation. He jerked his chin at a stand of trees at the edge of the park. “You said there was a river over there.”

Okoye nodded. “It runs through the whole of Wakanda. It’s the same river that you found the King in.”

M’Baku stood. “Do you mind if we check it out? I’ve always wondered what it looked like at the other end.”

Okoye smiled, and took his hand as she stood. “Not at all.”

M’Baku stared at the page of colored patterns that had been set on the table in front of them. “What is all of this?” 

They had gathered in the formal dining room so that everyone could do up their festival paint for the evening. Nakia –already wearing the paint that marked her as pansexual—was laughing as she did up T’Challa’s ally paint. Shuri was beaming excitedly as Ramonda did up her paint for the lesbian pattern; Ramonda, for her part, looked like she was holding back tears of pride with considerable success.

“These are the orientation and gender identity marks that everyone will be wearing today,” Okoye explained, her face already painted. “Some people don’t use it because they don’t want to, but those who do use the patterns and colors that correlate to whichever identity suits them best.”

“Right. So, you’re this one—” he tapped at the woman’s pattern for straight ally “—and I’m this one?” He tapped at the man’s pattern for straight ally.

“Yes, but you have the wrong bowl. Here, let me help you.” As she started painting the right stripes on M’Baku’s cheeks, she looked over at two of his Primes, who were smiling and talking in the Jabari dialect as they painted the symbols for homosexuality on each other. “They look they’re having fun.”

“Yeah. They’re the couple I married while you were gone.”

“Oh! Cool.” She looked up as a servant announced that O’Chenga, advisor to Chief M’Baku, had arrived. “What’s he doing here?”

“I asked him to come,” M’Baku said. “To help keep an eye on things.”

As M’Baku introduced O’Chenga to the royal family, Okoye glanced over at Dewani.

The girl had sequestered herself off in a dark corner of the room. She was sitting so that she was almost crunched in on herself, a bowl of paint and the card with the designs in her lap and a mirror in her hand. Her hands were shaking, smearing the designs into indiscernible blobs all over her face.

Okoye was about to walk over and help her when the doors opened again. 

All of the Dora Milaje walked in, lead by Ayo. Her cheeks were done up with the bisexual symbols, and she was wearing a shirt that had a poem about queer identity and pride screened onto the front of it. Behind her, Aneka was done up with the asexual paint and a shirt with the pattern of the asexual flag.

All of the Dora, in fact, had come ready for the parades --face pant, parade appropriate clothing and jewelry, the bracelets, everything. Lesbian, pansexual, genderqueer, omnisexual, gender fluid, skoliosexual, transgender, demi-romantic, demi-sexual, non-binary, agender, bigender, questioning, polyamorous, queer, asexual, aromantic, bisexual, and allies… a united group of beautiful differences.

Okoye smiled, heart swelling with pride for the women she was honored to serve with and call friends.

“Commander,” T’Challa said, both caught off guard and impressed by the appearance. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I had some business to finish before I headed out to the festival.”

Dewani was staring at the rest of the Dora Milaje, mouth hanging open slightly.

I wonder if she’s ever seen this many queer people in one place before, Okoye thought.

Ayo noticed Dewani sitting in the corner and walked over to her. She knelt in front of the teenager and started talking to her, smiling gently and gesturing to the card.

After a moment, Dewani nodded and moved to a chair by the table.

“Aneka, can you get me a make-up wipe?” Ayo wiped off the smudged, bleary paint and started redrawing the symbols with the finesse of an expert. “I like your dress.”

“Thanks.” Dewani smoothed her hands over the skirt of her blue and green dress. “When… when did you realize you were bi?”

“When I was sixteen,” Ayo said. “I met a girl at the parades and realized she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And then I met a guy later that night who was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

Aneka chuckled. “Bisexual and weak.”

“Basically.”

Dewani chewed on her lower lip. “What are the parades like?”

“Honestly, I think you’ll like them,” Ayo said. “There’s a lot of music and dancing. And blacklights. The paint glows under them.”

“It’s basically a giant, city-wide street party, but a thousand times gayer,” Aneka chimed in.

Ayo nodded as she stepped back and handed Dewani a mirror. “You’re done. What do you think?”

Dewani let a tentative smile tug at her lips as she stared at her reflection. “I like it. It looks really good. Thank you.”

M’Baku grinned down at his sister and squeezed her shoulder with his hand. “You look good. Thank you, Commander.”

“Will you be at the parade?” Dewani asked as she stood and tucked herself under her brother’s arm.

“Of course.”

“And… you’re not worried?”

Ayo pulled a vibranium knife out of her pocket and flipped it open to reveal a glinting, six-inch vibranium blade. “Not really.” She winked as she flipped the knife shut and pocketed the weapon. “It’s a safe event. And, since you’re going with the Princess, you’ll be guarded by the Dora.”

Shuri sidled up to Dewani, resplendent in the same face paint and a shirt that read “Gay and Proud.” “See, there are benefits to going out with me.”

Dewani grinned and slung her arm around Shuri’s shoulder. “Oh, trust me, I already knew that.”

Okoye smiled as she watched Dewani and Shuri walked out of the dining room, surrounded by the Dora Milaje. She nudged Ayo’s arm with her elbow. “Thanks.”

“No problem. We have to look out for each other.”

O’Chenga stared after her as Ayo walked out of the dining room, mouth hanging open and an awestruck expression on his face. “Is she single?”

Music blared through speakers that hovered over the crowd. Fireworks burst into the air, in the colors of the Pride flags and the patterns that were painted on thousands upon thousands of faces. People danced together, face paint and smiles glowing under black lights that hovered next to the speakers. 

An undeniable energy of excitement and joy hung in the air, filtering through everything and everyone until every last person was swept up in the celebration.

Okoye smiled as she watched Dewani and Shuri dance together, laughing breathlessly as they moved and bounced to the beat of the music.

Off to the side, the two husbands that served on M’Baku’s team of Primes exchanged soft, gentle smiles as they swayed to the music.

In the background, she could see Ayo and O’Chenga talking while sitting at a bar. Okoye smiled when she caught Ayo’s eye, and waved subtly as Ayo lifted her glass.

M’Baku put his hand on her shoulder, jolting her out of her reverie. He smiled as he watched his sister, then nodded as he took in the excited, happy crowd. “I’ll admit it. This is amazing.”

Okoye beamed with pride as she looked out over the throng of people. “This is Wakanda.”