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5lazarus · 4 years

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Anders in Autumn, Ch. 13

based off of n.13 of @cozy-autumn-prompts! read on AO3 here. Anders in Autumn, Ch. 13: Fenris and Anders prepare to return to Kirkwall, and for whatever might come next.

Merrill sends a letter with Varric’s messenger. Messere Pounce-the-Second is fine, the two apprentices made it out okay, Samsom drank all the lyrium he left in the clinic, and no one has died yet. Varric has paid the guards off, the bosses off, and reached a compromise with the strikers. Only two people have died, and only a couple have been maimed for life. The dockworkers have won their demands. Those injured will be paid their pensions. The messenger also brings two fine Free Marches Rangers, for them to ride into town. Varric’s got a foot in the horseflesh market now. They are free advertising to his munificence. The Dalish left the house without saying goodbye, and took half the kitchen implements and an apple sapling with them. Fenris says it wasn’t personal. Imladris has never been good at goodbyes, and Mahanon has always been a magpie. Anders is slightly offended, and irritated besides. It is hard to make dinner when Mahanon took all the best pans, and he thought they would have at least tried to recruit him. “No,” Fenris says. “You’re doing good work in Kirkwall. For now.” “Not enough,” Anders says.

“We’ll be home soon.” Fenris takes a bite from the one loaf of bread the Dalish left them. They’ll be able to subsist the day’s journey back to Kirkwall on apples, but still: they could have left some of the dried pork. Anders smiles at him uncertainly and reaches for his hand. He crept into his bed last night and they fell asleep together, that was it, and that was fine. Iit is fine, but he worries. Whatever is growing between them is still so fragile, and Anders worries that his luck will run out. Mages don’t get to fall in love and have a domestic routine. The whole situation is revolutionary, and he does not want Kirkwall to steal it from him. “Merrill says my cat is fine,” Anders says instead. “And she didn’t burn down the clinic, and no one’s run her out of town with pitchfork.” “Yet,” Fenris says. Anders snorts, and Fenris takes his hand in both of his. The tenderness sits between them. He’s happy. He does not want to leave, not yet, but he must. He always has to, he always has to move on. Fear wracks him and he draws back. This was all a moment of weakness. Fenris won’t want to take back up with him when they return home. The reality of their situation is too clear. He hates mages, or at least disdains mages, and hates mages who deal with demons. Justice isn’t a demon though Anders fears that he’ll make a demon out of him, but Merrill always says that it’s less about the Andrastian binary of good and evil and more about sacrifice. He isn’t like Merrill though. He believes in good. Anders looks at Fenris, ashamed. Does he know that? That he believes in good? Fenris looks askance. “Is something the matter?” He reaches for his hand again, and Anders closes his eyes. He likes the calluses of his hands “Are you comfortable?” Anders rushes. “Am I what?” “Comfortable,” Anders says, “with this. Continuing when we return to Kirkwall. With taking up with your local abomination. I thought you hated Justice. He isn’t going away. He’s a part of me. Magic is who I am. As much as the fight for freedom is. And I--I’m not like Merrill, I don’t condone blood magic, and I don’t go looking for spirits to pester. But this is what I am. I’m a mage. And if you’re not comfortable with this, it isn’t right for either of us to play at domesticity and pretend as if we’re not mutually opposed. Because we’re not. I don’t want to live in a world where the Imperium exists, and I’m going to change it.” Fenris takes that quietly. He brushes his thumb over Anders’ hand, a gesture so gentle it brings him to the brink of tears. He has lived his life on the edge of a precipice, from the Harrowing to his fugitive years, from the Wardens to Kirkwall, and now the wind is at his back and threatening to push him over. Anders almost says, say something. Please. Even if it’s you being an ass. I’ll take that over the silence. It’s unbearable, and he gets up and walks to the door. He wraps himself in Mahariel’s shawl. Hand on the door handle, Anders does not let himself look back. Outside the air is crisp and the constellations over the apple trees are bright. Anders walks to the orchard and lies down, arms crossed over his head, and watches the stars careen overhead. They were brighter at Weisshaupt. He really ought to have looked for his mother when Mahariel took him there. He sighs: but you can’t go home again. Everything is so fleeting, every bit of happiness. He wonders what it would be like to return home and hear his name called again. Perhaps his mother is dead: then his name is too, then. At least that is something the Chantry had not taken from him. He has kept it entirely to himself. Beyond the sky is the Brethren of the Air. That melancholy is Justice’s, Anders recognizes. The world is not as it should be. It can be righted. He can do it. He will do it. Not all mages are like the magisterium, and the magisterium will not last. Anders closes his eyes, brings his hands to his face, and sighs. He is not Danarius. He is not Merrill. He has not succumbed to temptation. He has kept Justice whole, even though there is no justice in the streets of Kirkwall--no. Merrill wrote that the dockworkers won. For once, something right, and he was part of that. He has healed the hurt and killed the killers. What does that make him? Right, for once, no matter what Fenris thinks. He opens his eyes and start. Fenris is staring down at him, eyes and tattoos glowing in the dark. “Maker’s breath, man!” Anders yelps. He scrambles upright, back against the tree. Fenris squats next to him. He moves as silently as a wraith, and glows blue like one too. Anders has always liked shiny things. Gloomily he thinks, maybe that’s why I like him. “Yes,” Fenris says. “What?” Anders has no idea what he is referring too. The night is cold, and he shivers and clutches the shawl closer around him. He likes the clothes Varric gave him but he misses his robes. “Yes,” Fenris says. “I am comfortable. With this. With a mage.” He pauses, and amends himself. “With a mage such as you.” Anders is silent. His brain has shorted out. He gnaws at his lip as Fenris slides next to him. He rests his head on his shoulder. “You know my life is for the mages’ freedom. For breaking the Circle. For liberation.” “As mine is to break the yoke of Tevinter slavery, yes.” Fenris kisses his head, and Anders blossoms at the touch. “As you said. These aren’t mutually opposed. I want you to know that I admire how you fight. For your people. For our friends. For people you barely know. Though I must admit that I am frightened of Justice and the power you wield. It is hard for me. But my sister is a mage. I remember...I need you to understand. This--I need time. I need this to be slow. I do not know what will happen to us in Kirkwall, but I am not used to...intimacy. With a mage or not. And I am not sure--I had another name, once. And I am trying to learn what that meant to me. I cannot give you everything. I need some time for myself.” Anders looks up at him. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Fenris. Are you saying you want me or not? I’m not asking you to marry me. Maker knows that’s illegal anyway.” He cannot help the anger creeping into his voice. It should not be illegal for mages to set up households. He should not have to look at what Mahanon and Imladris have and envy. It should be his right. He pulls himself up. The night is sweet and heavy with the smell of apples. There are a few more they have to pick in the morning, before they return to Kirkwall. “I will never pressure you into anything you don’t want.” He is insulted now. He has been as gentle as he can. He wants him, of course he does, but he is not a monster. He would never force someone to deal with him if they did not want to. He has had enough unwanted advances in his life, he would never do that. Fenris should know that. He should trust him that far, at least. He is not a monster. Fenris blinks. “No! I do want you.” Even in the darkness he can see him blushing. “I want this. This intimacy. But I need to take this slowly. I have known you a long time, Anders. I would like this to last.” Anders leans in to kiss him. Fenris runs his fingers through his hair. It is unthinkable that he has this tenderness. He is sitting under an apple tree, kissing a beautiful man, in a crisp autumn night as the stars blaze overhead and revolution broils in the streets of Kirkwall. In the Circle he never dared dream of this. Even in the Wardens he could not see this kind of peace, letting a crotchety elf from Tevinter make him tender. He undulates against him. He feels like he is melting. He has always fallen in love too easily. They break from the kiss and Anders rests his head against him. He says sadly, “I’m not sure how much time we’ll have. Things are getting worse in Kirkwall. And Varric can’t pay off the guards forever. If Meredith calls for the Right of Annulment, I’m going to burn that city down, Fenris. Cullen wants to make us all Tranquil. I won’t let them. I’ll bathe the city in blood if I have to, but I’m not going to let them fucking kill me and get away with it. Rip out my brain and sell me back to the Chantry. Do you understand? The Tranquil you see, selling trinkets for the Chanters’ Board, those are my friends. Were my friends. I can’t let that happen again.” Anger tears at him again. Karl deserved better. Karl deserved freedom. Karl deserved this sort of love, nuzzling under an apple orchard. Fenris says, “Do you think I will let them? Let alone my feelings for you--I know what they do to the Tranquil. I’ve seen Samson begging in the street. I know how the Blind Men get their wares. I know how many Tranquil pass through their hands.” He looks at him squarely, and Anders forces himself to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I did not escape Tevinter to stand idly by in the wake of such injustice. Magic is dangerous. We agree on that. But imprisoning people for life? Ripping families apart? Destroying people’s minds? No. Tevinter has chattel, Orlais has serfs, but in the Free Marches, you have the refugees and the Tranquil. I know a slave when I see one.” Maker he’s gorgeous, righteous in the pale moonlight. Anders swallows. “If you talk like that, I’ll fall in love with you,” he tells him. Fenris laughs. “Come to the community meetings in the alienage. My speeches are nothing compared to the hahren. And you never heard Mahanon speak. He could talk the dead into marching again.” He had not been able to hear the elf speak--Anders was too busy worrying to properly enjoy the action, before everything went to hell. He smiles wryly. He has always hated rallies. He can never hear the speakers, and staying so long in one place gave the guards time to prepare. He misses the sizzling fights with the other liberati from the Circle so much his heart clenches. He kisses Fenris: not alone for now, not alone right now at least. This tenderness exists. Anders says, “Have you ever read my manifesto? We’re going to try distributing it next month--it was supposed to be this month, but then, well, we had to leave town.” Fenris stills as Anders’s hands creep into his hair. The man’s even tense in his scalp. He strokes him gently. He can get him to unwind. “Mm,” Fenris manages. “Read it to me. When we get back.” When they get back: Kirkwall is sitting glittering down the mountain, hugging the bay, surrounded by those statues of tortured slaves. It’s horrible. There is so much work to be done. He needs to finalize edits, he needs to coordinate with the printer, he needs to find the liaison to that elf publication called Fen’Harel’s Teeth, someone called Slow Arrow wrote him and said they would publish a copy. Anxiety stirs up his heart beat. The Carta doesn’t like them trying to circumvent their printers, and there’s only one Carta clan who isn’t charging a legion’s worth of enchanted helmets, and they’re at war with the Thieves’ Guild right now. It can never be easy. No one can ever get alone. He should know. He’s the most obstinate out of all of them. “Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks. “I’m getting cold.” Fenris’ expression is almost unreadable in the moonlight. The wind stirs the applewood. The harvest is ending soon. Anders wishes he were a painter, to commit this to something more immortal than his memory, that he could enchant the smell of the woods and Fenris’ own earthier scent, the sound of the wind and his heart, and the crisp cold cutting away doubt. Justice says, a bit doubtfully, there is a way, but you wouldn’t be very good at it. Stick to your words. Justice is very judgemental. He snorts. Fenris says gingerly, “Are you talking to yourself?” “Justice thinks I would be a terrible painter,” Anders says, shaking his head. He detaches himself from him and pulls himself up. He offers Fenris a hand. Fenris takes it. Anders smiles and smooths Fenris’ hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. “He says I should use my words to tell you how beautiful you are. The way your eyes shine in the light, the set of your jaw…” Fenris says drily, “You certainly aren’t a poet. Try again.” They walk back to the house hand-in-hand, setting into bed. Fenris reads a little by candlelight as Anders combs his hair, frowning at the page. It is the first time they have decided to stay in the same bed together, rather than Anders just slipping in when it gets too cold. Anders hopes it is not the last. He cocoons himself in the blankets as Fenris traces the lines at the end of the page. Fenris looks down at him and snorts. “I’m cold,” Anders says petulantly. He thinks, you could warm me up. Fenris closes the book and snuffs the candle. He tugs at his blankets, so Anders loosens the wrap to let Fenris pull him in. Eventually they fall asleep, and Anders is smiling when he wakes up to Fenris looking at him wondrously. The tenderness in his eyes is so raw it hurts.

#co-zautumn #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #fanfic #da2 #fenders #fenris/anders #anders/fenris #anders #fenris #5lazarus #hes5thlazarus #dragon age fanfic

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amuseoffyre · 5 years

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Another ficbit :)

woodelf68 said: How about the Vikings’ sacking of Lindisfarne in 793?

Note: this may have been the easiest one so far, since I’ve actually been there and included some of the stuff I learned while trotting about the island :D

Lindisfarne - 793AD

The tall candle stand crashed as it fell, candles bouncing and rolling across the floor, spattering wax in their way. Flames licked at the edge of the monks’ desks and they stamped at them, trying desperately to smother them.

“This is–” One of their number – the only one to look more angry than afraid – pushed his way to the front of the huddle monks. “How dare you!”

The leader of the raiding party grinned at him, showing his teeth, as he raised his arm and his sword.

“Oi! No!”

The sword was swinging down too fast.

Aziraphale lifted his hands to miracle the sword away, but somewhere behind the armed man, someone snapped their fingers.

The angel blinked in surprise as the Viking – and the rest of the room – froze in place. He leaned sideways, squinting over the furs of the Viking’s cape. Another Viking was picking his way towards them, his red hair and beard braided and dark streaks of war paint around his eyes. “Crowley?”

The demon gave him a cheery wave. “All right, Aziraphale? How’re things?”

“How are things?” Aziraphale stared at him in outraged indignation. “Your people attacked my monastery!”

The demon’s gaze flicked from the frozen Vikings to the cowering huddle of monks, the light of the motionless flames gleaming strangely in his eyes. “Oh. Right. Yeah.” He offered a lop-sided smile. “Hazard of the job, isn’t it? Anyway, not my people. Just getting a lift back from Gotland. Not my fault your lot keep a bunch of gold and shiny bits and pieces, is it? Can’t help it if these lads – and Freya – are magpies.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh for Heaven’s…”

“What do you mean your monastery anyway?”

Aziraphale lowered his hand to glare at Crowley. “Any place that is a place of goodness, mercy, hope–”

“And big gold crosses and jewels,” Crowley put in helpfully, looking far too amused. “Don’t forget the worldly possessions. Can’t forget those.”

“Shut up.”

The demon flashed his teeth and wrinkled his nose. “Temper, temper, Aziraphale. Anyone would think you were…” He glanced about, then leaned closer and said in a stage-whisper, “Wrathful.”

Aziraphale was very tempted to give him a firm smack around the ear. “I’ve been working very hard here!” he said indignantly. “I can’t have you destroying what they’ve created.”

“Working?” Crowley wrinkled his nose again. “Not exactly challenging, is it? Religious people are the easy way out. What’s so special–”

Aziraphale caught him by the arm, transporting them to another room. There were more Vikings and monks there, several of the latter bleeding on the floor. Aziraphale’s heart ached, but humanity was humanity and people would kill and be killed as they always had. Ever since the first sword was placed in their grip.

Another thought came up quickly behind it and he squashed it.

It was no good worrying about the part he’d played in it all, when there were Vikings and blood on the floor.

“Here,” he said, stepping over the fallen men to the chest that contained Eadfrith’s life’s work. The catch opened smoothly and he lifted out the most precious of the monastery’s works. The book was thick and heavy and utterly beautiful.

For once, Crowley didn’t seem to have anything glib to say.

“They… made this?”

Aziraphale nodded, spreading his fingers on the illuminated pages. “One man and his followers. A testament to their faith and their love,” he said softly. “Please. You can’t let them destroy it.” He hated to admit it but his voice trembled. “I couldn’t bear to see such devotion burned.”

For several heartbeats, Crowley was silent. He ran his thumb around the shape of the head letter.

“They’ll want the cover,” he finally said. “Don’t think they’d even care about the book.” He raised his eyes to Aziraphale’s. “If you can encourage one of yours to…” – he hesitated, then mimed smacking something with his axe – “commit a mortal sin to get to it, I can get one of mine to show mercy to him – and it – so he can get it out of here.”

That sounded awfully like an offer made before, only now there was no time to moralise and speculate.

“I can talk to your friends–” He began.

Crowley glanced over at the bloody Vikings, a doubtful expression on his face. “You want to try?” He shook his head. “We don’t have time to debate the ethics. These lads are… well, they like a bit of a massacre. They won’t stop.”

He was right, of course. Blessings and guiding people towards the light took time, not something they had when warriors were in the throes of pillaging.

“My fellow will do what he has to,” he said stiffly, “but for the greater good.”

For a moment, the demon look at him with something like sympathy in his eyes. “I hope he knows that.”

The next day

The ruins of the abbey were still smouldering. Bodies were scattered on the ground. A lone monk was picking his way back across the path worn into the grass beyond the abbey. His face was ashen, his eyes red. Bloody hands cradled a bundle to his chest, carefully wrapped in cloth.

On an outcrop overlooking the ruins, an angel and a demon stood side-by-side, watching as the young monk stumbled towards the causeway, the tide out far enough for him to wade across to the mainland with his precious burden. In the pre-dawn light, they’d watched him gather the relics of the Saint too, ladening himself down for his flight.

“You all right, angel?” Crowley asked quietly.

Not for the first time, Aziraphale wondered if he deserved that title. He looked down at his hands. He had been twisting them over and over and by now, they should have been bruised and sore. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. His brow creased in a worried frown. “It– that–”

“Tempting,” Crowley murmured.

“Yes. That.” Aziraphale shook his head, confusion rife on his face. “It shouldn’t have been so simple.”

The demon nodded, gazing at him. “We’re two sides of the same coin, you and I. Same job in different directions. All you had to do was shift your perspective a bit.” One side of his mouth turned up. “No-score draw, eh? One for temptation, one for redemption. Doesn’t matter who did what as long as it got the job done.”

“Only this time,” the angel said firmly, though his voice was unsteady. “One time. Never again.”

The demon gazed back at the burning ruins. Scraps of tapestry fluttered in the wind. “He’ll come back.”

Aziraphale looked at him. “The monk?”

Crowley shook his head. “Leif Magnusson.” There was an odd, wistful smile whispering around his lips. “He saw the book. He’s… curious now. Fascinated.” He slanted a sidelong look at Aziraphale. “Made sure of that.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were round. “You… saved him?”

Crowley shrugged. “Can’t be sure. Maybe. Just enough of a nudge in the… right direction. May not end well for him.” He laughed, a little sadly. “Curiosity can get you in a lot of trouble.” He met the angel’s incredulous look. “Why so surprised? I was a damned good angel in my time. Been a while, but I still know a few of the tricks of the trade.”

The angel was staring at him as if he’d never truly seen him before. “Oh.”

The demon turned to grin at him, even if it looked a bit more forced than usual. “Sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer, now you know how bloody good I am?”

“Oh!” This time the sound was more indignant. “No!” The angel turned and stormed away from him.

Alone on the outcrop, Crowley watched him go.

#good omens fic #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #fic: crossing paths

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scorpio-skies · 5 years

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Interview with an OC -Nora Hart

(I was tagged by the lovely @lothrilzul and very likely other people but my inbox is messed up and I lost track T^T But thank you very much for thinking of me! ♥ )

Tagging: @eluvisen @mrninjapineapple @sociallyacceptablemadness @ariejul @alexaberkeley @marvilus73 @prezs @mars-colony @charomiami @leporidaefluff @solesurvivorkat (feel free to ignore if this is your second tag -- and if you have yet to do this dear reader, then consider this your invite and tag me >8D)

Important to note; this is Nora from an upcoming collab-fic and she’s not the sole survivor in this verse! (Honestly this is my favourite universe and story for her so there’s a lot different from her typical canon!)

1. What is your name?

“Nora Hart, at your service! Lucky to my friends!”

2. Do you know why are you named that?

“My actual name, not a clue. My nickname though? I once won several jackpots in New Vegas, survived a lot of things I shouldn’t and have yet to lose a game of cards. Scout tried to rig a game once and somehow his card ended up in my hand and I won again. It’s like magic! But that’s why they call me Lady Luck!”

3. Are you single or taken?

“Taken and part of a happy family -- I would introduce you to our daughbear, but Sarge is doing his side of the parenting right now.”

4. Have any abilities or powers?

“Well, there’s my luck, obviously. Kammie says I have gift for making dangerous friends but uh… we don’t talk about Richard. Oh! Also there’s my ability to get out of the boring jobs! Can’t be a member of Houdini Squad if you can’t break in or out of places, right?”

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

“...I’m Nora Hart? I thought we weren’t drinking in this interview… do you need a lie down?”

6. What’s your eye color?

“Blue!”

7. How about your hair color?

“Black -- maybe dark brown? It gets a little warmer in colour when I’ve been in the sunlight too long. I did not appreciate that Nuka-World sunshine by the way, no sir.”

8. Have any family members?

“Houdini Squad are my family -- and Kaelyn and Nate! If I had to narrow it down further, Sarge is my partner, Hayley is our daughbear, Kammie’s my brother. Sure, we’re not blood but our bond’s stronger than that and his Ma and cousin adopted me when I was in the Mojave, so!”

9. Oh? How about pets?

“Let’s see there’s the radstags, Sarge’s babies Maisie and Booker, Blanche the radgull who lives on our porch, Luna and Celeste the cats… You’re waiting for me to mention Hayley, aren’t you? Well, let me tell you that little bear is our daughter, not our pet. She’s also a member of Houdini Squad so… check your bag before you leave.”

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

“Needles, I… and I don’t like the dark overmuch, or ferals. Or raiders. I really, really hate raiders… ugh can we just… next question!”

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

“Good switch! So I like to hang out with squad, play hide-and-pray when we’re skipping duty and Sarge comes looking -- that’s gotten harder, by the way. Think he’s finally realised how to use that voice and those eyes and… and I also like raising animals! Training the radstags! Trying to teach Hayley to be better behaved, but let’s be real. Those big brown eyes and little round earses and pawsies! How can you call her a bad bear! She’s the best bear! Queen of the bears!”

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

“... I’ve hurt more people in more ways than I can count. And I don’t wanna talk about it.”

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

“Yeah. It was always in self-defence though, and you don’t survive a place like Nuka-World without getting blood on your hands...”

14. What kind of animal are you?

“A magpie. I’m gonna be straight with you. I see a shiny? I like the shiny, I take the shiny. But I do it fairly through buying or gambling!”

15. Name your worst habits?

"Oh boy this might take a while… so I clearly have a gambling problem. I mean, it’s not a problem coz I never lose but I know I do too much of it. I tend to want to adopt every animal we encounter, I guess I can be kinda judgemental, yet ironically I definitely befriended one of the absolute worst people on the planet...”

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“Sarge is one helluva leader and keeps us all together and I adore him. Kammie’s always had my back and has great intentions -- and Kaelyn. I’d be dead several times over and worse without her. She had to make some ugly but necessary calls and she always did it for everyone else, never herself. I don’t know if I could be so selfless, but I admire her greatly.”

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

“I’ve only ever been with Sarge, but I can appreciate everyone!”

18. Do you go to school?

“Never went -- feels like I’m there when Sarge makes us stand in the naughty corner to think about what we did and write him an essay though.”

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“I’d love to get married and have kids, yeah, but… I don’t know if I can have kids of my own, and I don’t know if Sarge is ready to get married yet. But that’s okay! We have our daughbear and she’s beautiful!”

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

“Well, not to brag but I did gain a small following in New Vegas who wanted to bask in my winnings! Kinda felt embarrassing though. Houdini Squad are all the cheerleaders I need!”

21. What are you most afraid of?

“Being abandoned and left alone.”

22. What do you usually wear?

“My hat, a duster, some riding gear and body armour with a few hidden weapons… yeah, I never grew out of the habit after Nuka World…”

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

“Snack Cakes! They’re just great, y’know? Sweet little pieces of heaven you can eat!“

24. Am I annoying to you?

"Nah. You’re nosy but I like you! You bought me lunch for this interview!”

25. Well, it’s still not over!

“Good! I don’t think the others are done setting up your ‘surprise’ yet.”

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

“Honestly thanks to the winnings in New Vegas, I’m probably high class. Definitely new money though, I mean the looks those Upperstanders give me when I prove I can buy their houses, sheesh!”

27. How many friends do you have?

“Too many to count! I have eight I can fall back on without question though, and they’re the ones that matter most to me.”

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

“Pie is second only to snack cakes -- Dandy Apple pies mm-mmm!”

29. Favorite drink?

“Sunset Sarsparilla! I mean, I love how Nuka-Cola flavours glow and all, not so much how they make your teeth and tongue glow too...“

30. What’s your favorite place?

"Ever been to Sunshine? Me, Kammie and Sarge own it. We’ve turned it into a beautiful ranch and its just an amazing place to live. Safe, beautiful and surrounded by my animals and family. Who could want more than that?”

31. Are you interested in anyone?

“Already told you I’m with Sarge, and I’m exclusive when it comes to relationships.”

32. That was a stupid question…

“Well, I mean, you called me Mary Sue earlier so its not the worst thing you’ve said so far...”

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

“Oh god how about neither? You ever seen a queen or king lurk before? How about a gatorclaw?“

34. What’s your type?

“Kind, compassionate, brave, intelligent, believes in the greater good and fights for those they care about… I don’t know, just go see Sarge! I never met anyone else like him, but he’s my type!”

35. Any fetishes?

“Yeah, okay. This is the most stupid question! That stuff’s private you kinky radrat!”

36. Camping or outdoors?

“Camping is more secure and you can get plenty of outdoors while camping, so why not both?”

#nora hart #fallout 4 #had fun with this ty for tagging me! ♥

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one-true-houselight · 5 years

Video

youtube

It’s me, doing stand up!

I cut out the spelling of my name for privacy reasons. Also, the bit that’s cut off the the end is just me saying that I never went skiing again, and that now I just do safe things, like trying to enter the adult job market.

Transcript under the cut, and if you are so inclined, my Ko-Fi is in my bio. Thanks!

Hello everyone, I am Erika, and tonight I will be performing All Star by Smash Mouth.

I’m kidding, no one would want to hear that. I cannot sing.

(from the crowd: I would!)

(laughter) You don’t want to hear me sing, I promise you.

Alright! Hi! In actuality, I am Erika (last name, pronounced ko-kek), and you’re like ‘ooh, we get a last name now, a mystery, and you’re like it’s an interesting last name too!’ That’s probably because you’ve never seen it spelled out. Let me walk you through my last name (ko-kek), alright, are you ready for this, are you ready: [redacted spelling]. Yeah! Four Ks! That’s a lot of Ks, and they’re in a real strange order. If you- if you noticed, uh, it’s the same set of four letters twice, it’s [redacted spelling] but you may have also noticed that’s not how it’s pronounced! Cuz you know, that would make sense. This is apparently from, like, changes in immigration, that you know happen, which, this is according to my uncle. But my grandfather, who lived in the Netherlands in the 40s (yeah, those 40s), pronounces it like Ko-Kek, so I’m inclined to believe him.

Now, having a weird last name in school is always kind of a crazy existence, though I will say, most of the time when people are like ‘oh, that’s a weird last name’, it’s because people are racist, or at the very least are being like ‘oh, I’m gonna put Western Expectations on things that shouldn’t have them’, but as you see, my last name, is Dutch, as I mentioned, and Dutch white people, which I am one of, have done some incredibly awful things, so I don’t feel bad mocking it. So we continue on. So, this, so with my last name in roll call, we could change my last name to [silence] and it would sound the same. Let me, let me walk you through…Let me walk you through a roll call, so like the teacher’s up here, and they’re like ‘Alright, let’s see…we have Ferris Beuller? Oh you showed up, very good, alright. Harry Potter? Oh, you didn’t die, that’s fantastic. And then, Erika…[long silence]. And I’m just over here like ‘oh yeah that’s me, hi.’ Now sometimes, I like to speed it up, and rather than say here or present or anything, I’ll just say my last name (Ko-kek) to like, speed up the conversation so it’s not like, uh, Erika, long pause, here, oh, how do you pronounce that?, Ko-kek, it just speeds up the process. So, I’ll go, they’ll go Erika… and I’ll say (Ko-kek). The problem is they’ll get confused sometimes. They’ll look at me and they’ll go ‘Oh, is that here in Dutch?’ No. But you did your best.

And not only does my last name have enough Ks to stop a substitute teacher dead in their tracks, my first name? Erika? Also with a K. My sibling is Kat with a K, my mother is Karolyn with a K, though that’s not her fault, she kind of like, came into it and was like ‘oh, I guess this works out’. And my father…is Doug. But, but, he has a middle name that’s very strange and has a K in it so it all works out, it’s fine. So, if you’re ever like reading something, and you’re looking at it and you’re like ‘huh, there should be a K in this word’, it probably wasn’t a typo, my family just needed to name another child and just like, stole it.

So, I do have to say I’m Erika with a K a lot, because most people will assume it’s with a C. Or, more recently, two Ks. Which is kind of fun, but it’s also at the same time like ‘I’m drowning in Ks, please don’t give me more!’ But no, so I say Erika with a K a lot, which means I realized something really really cool. That rhymes with Erika with a They! These are the puns the queer community was built upon.

I do use they/them pronouns, and I even wear a little tag for it, it’s right here, it’s very nice. Um, and, it’s just kind of weird sometimes, because people will sometimes not use my pronouns, which kinda makes me sad. But I’ve realized something. I was just assuming they were reading the tag and just being rude about it. But recently, I’ve realized that they’re just not reading the tag. The way I’ve realized this is I’ll be like, walking through Target, and someone will be, like, looking around, and they’ll see me and they’ll see the tag and go ‘A ha! A worker!’ And they’ll be like ‘Do you know where the towels are?’ And this is very strange for me, mostly because I know where the towels are. So I’ll go ‘Ok, they’re over there in that corner, but I don’t work here, please.’ And, and they’re like ‘Oh, I just assumed you did because of your name tag.’ Now there’s a couple of problems with that. My ‘name tag’, as they put it, doesn’t have a name on it, which means they clearly didn’t read it. The other big problem with it is that most stores or places of business have a sense of decorum, or at least consistency in their design. My tag, on the other hand, while I love it very much, how do I put this, it doesn’t look good. It looks like if an eight year old magpie with attention issues made it at summer camp. This is basically how the making of my tag went: I’m was just sitting there and I’m like ‘Alright, I’m gonna put five shiny things on it. Wonderful, wonderful, this random piece of gaff tape? That has to go on, that’s, like, that’s key to the whole pronoun tag process. Now, for the words. And I start writing, I’m like ‘they/them and-’ oh my god. What if I could fit more shiny things on it? I’m still writing, I don’t know what I’m writing at this point, it doesn’t look good. Oh, I could put more shiny things on it, maybe I could like, steal a rock and somehow affix that to it…And then I look down and I’m like ‘oh, I finished the words, guess I’m gonna just put it on my shirt!’ And it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. So, a lot of people don’t read the tag, but a lot of people do, and I have a lot of wonderful friends and family who support me very much.

Though, being openly trans can be, can get a little confusing sometimes. Sometimes I’ll tell stories about being in the Girl Scouts, and be like ‘Ha, that’s funny for obvious reasons!’ and people will be like, ‘oh, it’s the girl thing!’, and I’ll be like ‘no!’. Because the Girl Scouts are actually super cool about trans girls and non binary kids, which we appreciate very much, especially because it gives us a very good reason to buy Girl Scout cookies, beyond just buying something to fill the hole in your heart.

Crowd: support the gays!

Exactly! But no, the weird part about it for me is the scout part. Let me tell you a story. So one time when I was sixteen years old, I was a camp counselor for a bunch of small children, and we went to a playground one time. So I’m wandering around, like you do, like making sure the children don’t like, die, and I see two girls sitting under a tree, and they’re doing the whole, like, ‘rub two sticks together to start a fire’ thing. So I go ‘I’m gonna wander over and see how they’re doing’, and I’m like ‘How’re you doing, kids?’ And they look at me and they’re like ‘Erika? Why do you rub two sticks together to start a fire?’ and I’m like ‘Well, that’s a very interesting question, so you see, there’s a fire triangle, and the fire triangle has heat, fuel, and oxygen, and you have to have all three because fire is just adding oxygen-‘ And I just go on this like, five minute tangent about, like, talking about the science of fire, and you’re probably sitting there thinking like. Erika, explaining how fire works is like, the most scout thing you can do, and normally I would agree with you. Except. I talked for five minutes about the ins and outs of fire science, and neglected to mention fire safety. So I realize this, and I’m like ‘oh no, I’m going to start a wildfire by proxy’, so I just start yelling fire safety tips with absolutely no context. So I’m like, ‘You need a bucket of sand!’, I didn’t tell them why they needed the sand, I just said you needed one, and I’m like ‘build a circle of rocks on the ground!’, and they’re just gonna do that and go ‘I can build fires for the rest of my life, perfect!’ And then I’m sitting there, so like, another counselor is walking behind me like ‘two minutes left’, I’m like ‘Oh no, I have two minutes to like, save my entire town’, and I’m like ‘You should probably have an adult present’, and then I realize I probably should have mentioned that first, and I was like, ‘alright, just imagine I said adult present first, and just, and then put everything else, remember everything else, but remember adult first, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ So, luckily, my town has not had any reports of wildfires. But suffice it to say, I am not exactly scout material.

I am going to finish out the night by telling you a story from my scouting days. I was about eight years old, and we went on a ski trip. Now, let me tell you a little thing about eight year old Erika. You may have noticed that up here as a 20 year old, I’m a little bit lanky, my limbs do weird things as I run about the stage like an excited golden retriever. But see, I’m like, at a controllable lanky now. When I was eight, I was just gangly. My limbs just changed like, lengths every day, sometimes by multiple feet. So I’d be like, walking along, and I’d like just, kick a doorway, or like I’d be sitting and raising my hand, you know how like, you sometimes hit your hand on your desk, and you did it like, once a month? I did it twice a day. And people would be like, ‘Erika why do you keep hitting your hand on the desk?’ and I’m like ‘Cause my hand wasn’t there before! It was over here, I don’t know what’s happening!’ It was like I was living in a world of cartoon physics that I didn’t have control over. So I’m just like, ‘I guess I’m walking and my arms over here now, great!’ So my scouting troop looked at this, and was like ‘you know I think would be a great idea to do to this tiny, eight year old, whatever this is? We’re gonna stick a piece of wood, long, skinny, really slippery piece of wood on each of their feet, and then we’re gonna push them down a mountain.’ So, uh, you can probably tell where this story is going.

So, we get to the mountain, and I have my skis, we had to like, wait in a really long line, and I’m like, ‘oh, I’m so excited to go skiing’. So I’m walking around and I’m like, ‘alright, this is very exciting’, I see there’s a ski lesson about to start, and I’m like ‘I should probably do that because I want to make sure I know what’s going on’, so if you’ve never been skiing before, here’s what a skiing lesson is. You have a large group of people that want to learn how to ski, and you have a very excited person ready to tell you about skiing. So, you all go with them, you walk sideways up the mountain because you know, whatever. And the person, the very enthusiastic person, tells you a lot of really good skiing tips, and I, an eight year old with undiagnosed ADHD, sat there, and uh, kind of cycled between looking at the person, watching their mouth move, and having my audio processing like, on the ski lift, OR, I would be watching them, and a skier would go by, and I would watch the skier and be like, ‘oh, maybe I can pick up some tips from the skier’, absolutely ignoring the person that’s just giving me the tips for free. So I did not pick up a lot of good ski tips, but I did pick up one, and this is, this is, I will always remember this. He was like ‘alright, if you’re going down the mountain, and you want to slow down or stop, you make a triangle with your skis.’ And so I was like ‘alright, I’ve got it. I make a triangle with my skis to go slow, great, fantastic.’ So then, I’m like, ‘alright. I know everything there is to know about skiing. It is time to get started.’

So the first time I fell a lot, which, you know, of course you fall a lot, it’s you first time, and like, who knows what skiing is. The second time I also fell a lot and you know, I’m still getting the hang of it. Third time, also fell a lot, but you know, it’s fine. I’m just going to like, skip to the end, because I fell most of the times. It was less of me skiing down the mountain, and more of me just falling over and over again until I reached the bottom. But then, the last run of the day, I’m like ‘alright, I’m gonna do this’, I get about three quarters of the way down the mountain and I haven’t fallen once. And I’m just sitting there like ‘oh my god, I’m the skiing master. Oh my god, I’m gonna go to the Olympics. It’s gonna be great.’ So I am, I’m going down the mountain and, if don’t know if you know this about physics, because I wasn’t stopping and starting by just falling down constantly, I actually picked up a little bit of speed, which was really nice. But at this point, I was going a little bit faster than I intended to go, and I was like, ‘Huh. I kind of want to slow down now’, so I go into the little card catalogue that is my mind and I’m like ‘a ha! Triangle equals slow! Perfect!’ So I, I look down at my skis because I want to make sure I’m doing it right, and I’m like ‘alright, ready, here we go. Triangle.’ And nothing happened. Now the problem with this is, is that I was eight, and didn’t have critical thinking skills. So I looked at this situation, and I said, ‘huh. This triangle is not working. But it’s the only thing I know about skiing, and since I am a skiing master and know everything, this can be the only solution.’ So I double down on the triangle.

Now here’s the thing. I tell this story a lot, and one time I was telling it and I got to this part, and my friend looked at me and said the following: ‘You were doing the wrong kind of triangle!’ Which is a baffling thing to have yelled at you. So I was sitting there like ‘what are you ta- Was I doing an isosceles? Should I have been doing a scalene? Like, did you want me to yell the pythagorean theorem at it? I don’t know what you’re telling me!’ So she could not explain it, so we moved on. So then I told this story again, and another set of friends was like ‘Erika. She meant you had to do a triangle like this.’ And I was like, ‘oh, because that would actually stop the, oooooh.’ So now, twelve years after this story happened, I now know how to ski. So that’s cool, but back to me being eight years old.

At this point, I am going even faster than before, somehow, going much faster than any eight year old pile of limbs should ever be going, and I go ‘this is bad, I can no longer, uh, control which direction I’m going’, which is bad because I’m heading right for a circle of snowboarders. And so I’m I’m, I’m like, trying to turn and I can’t and I’m like ‘oh no’, so I just kind of look up at them, because I am approaching them at quite a speed, and I just start screaming, ‘HEY! YOU GOTTA MOVE! I CAN’T STEER!’ So they look up at just this banshee shriek from up the mountain, and they go, ‘huh. we should move,’ and they do, as well as they can, because they only have one piece of wood instead of the two that I was privileged to have. But they manage to make it out of the way, and I don’t hit anyone, and I continue down the mountain.

At this point, I literally, like, sit down on my skis and dig my hands into the snow in an attempt to stop myself, which works slightly better than the triangle, which isn’t saying much. So at this point, I have basically reached the bottom of the mountain, and I have reached, and at the bottom of the mountain there was a straight-away, and at the end of the straight-away there was a barrier of snow. Now the barrier of snow was about one, one and a half feet. The straight-away…I’m not really good with distances, but it was at least two feet, we’ll go with that. So I reach the straight-away, and I look up for this at least two foot distance. And I see this barrier of snow and I’m like ‘Ah. Here’s where my journey will come to an end.’

So I’m heading down this straight-away, I’m slowly slowing down, but I’m still going at quite a speed, and I’m like, ‘oh, it’ll be a little bit of an impact, but it’ll be fine.’ So here’s what happens. Here’s the barrier of snow, here’s me, here I go. Wheeeeee. And I hit the barrier of snow. And I go up and I go over it into the super secret special hill that they don’t show anyone, because it’s covered in bushes, and rocks, and leads to the parking lot.

So, at this point, I am now somersaulting down the hill, you know, fun times, and I’m grabbing bushes, I am desperately trying to like, not die, and at this point, I decide, I’m like ‘you know what would be a good, you know what would be good at this time? A flashback of my life.’ So my life flashes before my eyes, and it finishes I’m like ‘huh. That didn’t last as long as I thought it would.’ So I’m tumbling, and I’m just like ‘I’m gonna die! It’s fine!’ So I reach the bottom, and I kind of sit there and I take stock of everything, and I look around and I’m like, ‘Hey. I’m alive. I just wasted a life flashback, do you know how expensive that it?’ So I’m sitting there, and then I realize something. I realize that in my current state I cannot move because all of my limbs that change size all the time are tangled together. And I can’t get out of my limbs because my arm is so that like, I would have to hook it around my foot, but my foot is currently eight feet long because there’s a ski attached to it. So I’m-You know those like, Cracker Barrel things, the like, little metal puzzles that you play with for five minutes then give up because you want to play the peg game? I looked like one of those.

So I go into my mental autopsy, which you know, all eight year olds with anxiety have, and I go ‘we’re gonna just change the cause of death to…starvation.’ Which was very very silly, of course, because I would of died of thirst before I died of starvation. So I’m laying there, waiting for my eventual fate, and I look up into the parking lot I landed next to, and I see two guys walking towards me. And I go ‘huh. Interesting,’ and I go back to my mental autopsy, and I recross out starvation, and write ‘murdered in the snow, while tangled in my own limbs.’ So I’m just like, ‘there’s nothing I can do’, so I just kind of look at them, and they’re looking at me.

Luckily for me though, they were just coming over to help, because from their perspective, they had just seen a screaming ball of just, extremities, shoot over the barrier, tumble down a mountain, and then just lie there motionless for a while. So they walk over, and they’re very nice, they help me out of my skis, and they’re like ‘Do you, do you need to go into the lodge?’ and I’m like ‘Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.’ So I, so they walk me into the lodge and we find my mother who’s there, hello, hi mom, and, and she’s like ‘what happened?’ And I’m like ‘I don’t know.’

#mine #comedy #standup #standup comedy #skiing #pronouns #non binary #names #stories #LMAO IT ME #also you can literally play this video at .75 and it sounds normal #ooops

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snowwritesall · 5 years

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Writing update #2 Anathema + new WIP!

Hi folks, hope y'all have been doing well and staying healthy - I've had a pretty trying week and my financial situation is gonna be tight at best for the next few months but I'm still trying to maintain a positive outlook. With that being said, I'm gonna give you guys some updates and excerpts on my current WIP, Anathema, and a new novel that I started the other day (yes I'm well aware I have way too many wips but I'm dumb and listen to no one's advice :)

Anyway, that being said, onto the updates!

Anathema is my surreal sci fi novel that I came up with last year and has spent many months under development. A brief summary on the novel for you!

The tea on my novel:

I absolutely love the concept of my novel - keeping in mind that there is a lot of the plot hidden because I don’t want to spoil the entire book - however, there are a lot of things that need work. Seraph - my main character - still feels a little flimsy and underdeveloped - as well as my side characters, who have had limited interactions with Seraph throughout the novel as far - mainly due to the reason that I’ve been focusing on narrative rather than characters. The next thing that I’m finding is a problem is that there’s barely any dialogue between what character interaction I do have. I’ve been focusing a lot on the vibe and feeling of my book - I really want to create an eerie, almost alien feel, without being fully horroresque - think Coraline x Limbo.

The things that I do like about my novel:

- I really love the literary devices that I’ve come up with to help give the story that eerie vibe I want.

a) Really weird rhetorical questions

b) interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

c) POV of animals and inanimate objects

Here are some examples of both:

a) Really weird rhetorical questions

The wind seems strangely muted to Seraph, as if moving through a half-awake dream, or sinking in murky water that chills the bones.

Why does the water hurt? This is only one of the questions hurtling through his mind, but there are many more barrelling inside his head; a turbulent chamber of thoughts and unspoken quandaries that crescendo in the night hour. He is curious. And that - that, is what will save him.

ai)

The beetles crawl up the blackened bark, wings glistening from between the cracks. They make soft, chittering noises as they climb aimlessly up the branch. Their path is strangely linear, their wings a malachite soaked fluorescent in the bitter, fuse sharp breeze. If they were to travel down the length of Seraph's spine; their strange, crackled wings fluttering against his ashen, ghostly skin; they would calm him as they walked up the shallow curve of his spine and nestled in his hair, a dim saucer of moonlight that they would bathe in.

Is the moon ever lonely?

b) Interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

“What was it like?”

His voice shakes as he asks, still staring at his hands. Wilbur is teething his lip, his jaw hardening like clay left in the sun.

“Were there others? Are we the only ones left?”

Are we the only ones left?

They both look scared, don’t they?

No. Not scared. Doomed.

Why are they doomed?

Because they were never meant to be here.

Wilbur continues to stare out at the forest, and after a moment takes a few steps forward, shoveling his feet into the soil; the wind rifling through his clothes. He looks like a scarecrow made of marble, distant, ghostly - not real.

Were any of them real?

c) POV’s of animals

Seraph had stroked the snake gently, the scales cold and undulating under his fingers, the snake mothers eyes dark and pupils, her nose nudging the wings of the fledglings.

“Don’t eat your babies, mother snake. They love you. Don’t leave them.”

I have found my new children. My own children were buried in a sandstorm, and I milked my venom from my teeth on the carcass of a deer. There was no one to sing them to sleep as they died. I will listen to this strange boy. I will take care of my children.

I will not leave them.

ci)

The forest is very cold for us. Even we, with our wings like a shield and a fur coat, even we feel the wind. The bark splinters are like earthquakes under our feet, even though there have been no earthquakes for centuries. We remember. We remember when the earth shook and trembled, and when we would seek shelter amongst the splintering trees and scuttle for cover under broken fern leaves. He comes to see us. The boy with curious eyes that glint like the rock in the sky, his hands are as pale as the eggs the birds lay. He brushes his fingers across our coats, and we shiver; with a strange fear and an even stranger contentment. We are not alone.

He is not alone.

Here are some excerpts from the novel that I really like:

- POV of the boy that drowned in the lake. Seraph remembers this when he looks at the jars of butterflies that he keeps on his windowsill. The clear, glossy surface reminds him of how the lake looked when he watched some of the village men pull the boy’s body out of the lake.

- Seraph is remembering the first time that one of the children stuck their head in the guillotine in the schoolyard. He remembers thinking how odd it was that they would have something so dangerous where children could find it. Maybe they wanted them to use it.

Seraph is watching his school teacher polish the guillotine blade through the cover of pine trees. One of his friends, Beluah, creeps up behind him and startles him. They both watch the teacher and talk.

More commentary of Seraph and Beluah watching the teacher together:

Okay, that’s all on this novel for now, onto the new WIP!

Basically, this idea arose from two things - I felt like I was constantly writing in the same sort of style - ie, cold rivers, frost, rain, foggy forests - and I was majorly inspired by Fairytales for Wilde Girls by Alysse Near. This woman has an absolutely INCREDIBLE writing style - I would compare it to the bright and shiny treasures that magpies collect, and her plot and characters are amazing; so a big part of why I’m writing this is because of her.

The characters appeared really easily to me, and after only a few minutes, I already could feel them writhing around alive inside my mind. But, before I tell you about the characters, a summary of the novel for you!

When three dead girls show up at school with flowers where their eyes should be and birds living in their chests, Ariel isn’t sure what to think. She’s never really been sure what to think, since her mother sells beads and homemade jewelry for a living and her sister is a snake. Well, two snakes, really. Her parents keep strange things in the closet, like elephants with jellyfish swimming in their stomachs and siamese twins with leopard skins in the attic. And then there’s that strange girl that lives in the mirror.

When three dead girls demand to be brought back to life, you start to panic a little when you realise the closest things you’ve made come alive are the ragdolls in your toy chest.

It gets even worse when they tell you you only have a month or they’ll take you back to the underworld with them. Then you really begin to freak out. And begin to have a mental break down in the middle of class which involves involuntary tap dancing (Except the tap dancing is actually crying. Ariel doesn’t own tap dancing shoes. Not even doll tap dancing shoes.)

It doesn’t help when your best friends are literally ragdolls. She actually has a few real friends. I promise.

Now onto my babies/kids/characters!

Ariel Hakens:

has a big giant ball of curly red hair that she likes to dye a new colour every week. She likes glitter but also loves black. Big boots and shiny raincoats are a thing. She love to collec. She loves to garden, but her methods are...unorthodox, shall we say. Loves Edgar Allen Poe, and recites it to herself on the way to school. Does she ditch a lot? Maybe. Who knows. Can apparently see the dead and do weird stuff nobody should be able to. Favourite animals are mice and rats. Is fascinated with the legend of the pied piper. Is like a beaver in the fact that she chews pencils. They’re basically like a midnight snack for her. Favourite foods are peanut butter and cherry tarts.

(yes I am fully aware this is Leigh-Anne Pinnock from Little Mix, but this is what she looks like in my head)

Gwendolyn Spires:

She is as extra as the name sounds. She dreams of participating in an illegal dance competition in an abandoned subway tunnel. Her mother is the principal of a ballet boarding school, and highly disapproves of her daughter's skateboarding fetish. Her father is completely on board with it, and also her addiction to gumballs and love for all things haunted. Yes, those spell books are completely real. The amount of salt rocks she keeps in her bag would put a shaman to shame. African American.

Indie Brooks:

She’s basically a giant nerd, but covered with tattoos. And piercings. She actually needs those glasses, and she refuses to put in contacts for fear that the government will be able to read her mind. She has a conspiracy theory Youtube Channel, but her theories are really??weird??

Think: we are all giant animals living in a zoo for aliens

Does she have evidence: Yes. Is it sketchy evidence? Also yes.

May or may not have broken into area 51.

Native American/Latina.

Callum Prikhill:

pervy, but not in a sexual way. Will he sell you exam answers in exchange for candy? Possibly. Ironically wears caps. Unironically wears light up shoes. Likes sci-fi movies from the early 70’s. Skinny dipped and LOVED it. Is a theater boy. If he were an animal he would be a lizard. His mother is a low-end movie producer and his father is an accountant. Often stays at his nan’s place a lot because she has a hidden bunker under the house and he very much down for that. Because the acoustics are amazing.

The first time Ariel saw the three dead girls sway through the doors of Helkbud Senior Preparatory School, she was whistling Sissyneck while flipping through her collection of rained on vinyls that she’d chanced to pick up from the thrift store, her tanned dewy legs slick with snow and hail as she pushed hot pink cat eye sunglasses up her freckled nose.

They looked like nesting dolls all jumbled up in a lolly bag, corpse candy sucked dry of their colour and watermelon blush that should have twisted their cheeks into marionette smiles.

The girl in the middle wore poppy red heels that spun and shone like a disco ball at a teenage party where the parents were gone for the weekend and everyone was drinking punch mixed with vodka in cheap, crinkly red cups; and was the shortest of the three; yellow daisies and white crocuses growing out of her eye sockets, petals drinking salty tears out of a chipped watering can that dangled over her head.

Hope you enjoyed hearing about my WIPs, and I’ll keep updating about them as I continue to work on them :)

That’s all for now, folks!

- Bella.

#writing #writblr #writers #writercommunity #writeblr #reading #books #novels #lovewriting #wips #writingwip #words #my words #glitter #so much glitter in this one guys

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dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt · 6 years

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Even numbers :}

THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU CRAZY KIDDO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND YOU’RE A BLESSING ON THIS WORLD!!!!!!

2: is your room messy or clean?

It’s kind of a mix?? Like I leave my clothes folded on top of the drawers rather than putting them away bc the drawers stick and it’s just easier access. The messiest thing about my room is that I’m a human magpie who likes collecting shiny/interesting things so I have a lot of stones and bits of metal or ceramic and some nuts and bolts lying around pffft. XD But mostly I keep things kinda tidy.

4: do you like your name? why?

I DO NOW!!!! :DDDDD

6: describe your personality in 3 words or less

uUUUuuHHHHHh well-meaning, stubborn, energetic! :D

8: what kind of car do you drive? color?

I currently drive my parents’ car. It’s dark grey… not gonna say what model. XD

10: how would you describe your style?

Like, clothes wise? Either very simple n plain or outrageously colourful n quirky. Depends on the day. XD

12: what size bed do you have?

Double.

14: if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

Oof honestly just back home (in Victoria.) A part of me also wants to try out a big city?? I’ve always lived in the country and tbh I kind of hate big cities because they seem to be filled with rude busy people but I wanna live there just to have something different and so I’ll know for sure and to say I did, y’know? (lmao a friend and I joke that we’re gonna move to NYC together one day, so she can keep my li’l naive country boi ass from getting chewed up and spat out by New Yorkers. I appreciate it. X’D )

16: favorite makeup brand(s)

No idea. I’ve only worn makeup twice, and those times were when my Mum begged me for a solid year until I finally caved and let her do it… grumpily. X’D

18: favorite tv show?

S E N S E 8

20: how tall are you?

5′4. :)

22: do you go to the gym?

Nope, not enough money. I used to work out a lot at home and I got p ripped but because of my eating disorder I had to stop. Still haven’t started up again yet. :(

24: how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

21 bucks. :D

26: how many pillows do you sleep with?

2. One under my head and one to cuddle (shut up, I kNow. XD )

28: how many friends do you have?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ too lazy to count, however many people I interact with online. I don’t have any irl friends… god that sounds pathetic. XD

30: whats your favorite candle scent?

Absolutely no idea, we never have any. That’s actually something I wanna change when I get my own place. I like candles. They calm me.

32: 3 favorite girl names

God I am so shitty with names. My characters either name themselves or they don’t get names. X’D UUUUUUUUHHHHH, Amber, Ida, Carmen??? idk???

34: favorite actress?

Emma Thompson is an actual fucking legend and I would go to battle for her.

36: favorite movie?

How to Train Your Dragon or Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse! :D (If it has to be live action: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. :P )

38: money or brains?

Heart.

40: how many times have you been to the hospital?

For myself, personally? Lots when I was a baby bc I had chronic ear infections and would literally just scream 24/7 and never sleep, I was in so much pain (poor tiny Matt. :(((( ) Once because I had a really bad migraine around age 13 that literally would not go away and had me throwing up every other minute and in such bad pain I wanted to literally die. And once recently when I felt super sick for months and months and finally went only to find there was nothing wrong with me?? turned out it was my gluten intolerance but dear god I had never felt that sick.

42: do you take any medications daily?

Just my asthma preventer (and I forget to take that a lot and end up not being able to breathe as well as I should, bc I’m the World’s Biggest Dumbass :)) XD )

44: what is your biggest fear?

Physically: Not being able to breathe. Emotionally: The people I love ending up hating me just because I’m me. There’s a lot of irony to unpack there but I’m just gonna set the whole suitcase on fire. :)

46: whats your go to hair style?

Shaving the whole damn thing off.

48: who is your role model?

I don’t really have one?? I guess my parents?? But I don’t really wanna be exactly like them either? I think it’s unwise to put anyone on a pedestal bc nobody’s perfect.

50: what was the last text you sent?

Screaming to a friend about how cute her OC is. XD

52: what is your dream car?

Literally could not care less so long as it gets me where I’m going and it’s neon yellow. X’D

54: do you go to college?

Nope, dropped out of highschool early lmao.

56: would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?

Rural I guess?? But that’s only because I’ve always lived rural and don’t know any different. it’s quiet, I like quiet.

58: do you have freckles?

Yep! I don’t have them in big patches tho? I just have like, some random single ones scattered all over my body?? XD

60: how many pictures do you have on your phone?

Don’t have a phone and dear GOD I don’t even wanna know how many pictures I have on my laptop. Answer: too many. XD

62: do you still watch cartoons?

OF COURSE!! :D

64: Favorite dipping sauce?

idk I don’t really dip things in sauce? Maybe just tomato sauce?

66: have you ever won a spelling bee?

Yes, actually!! Woooo go bb Matt!! :D

68: can you draw?

Stick figures? Yes. XD

70:what was the last concert you saw?

Never been to one.

72: Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

Only ever been to Starbucks so I can’t really compare.

74: what is your crush’s first and last initial?

76: what color looks best on you?

I think blue does. 💙

78: do you sleep with your door open or closed?

Open. Sleeping with it closed freaks me out, idk why. 😅

80: what is your biggest pet peeve?

Being condescended to. :///

82: favorite ice cream flavor?

Mint choc chip! Or rainbow! XD

84: chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?

GIMME THE GAY SPRINKLES EVERY TIME.

86: what is your phone background?

Laptop background is currently THIS incredibly amazing beautiful accurate drawing Oli did of my OC Ben!!! :’D

88: do you like it when people play with your hair?

Y E S. I used to hate it when it was rlly long but now it’s heaven. ^-^ Unless I’m in one of my ‘being touched makes my skin crawl’ kind of moods.

90: do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

Just whenever I have my shower, occasionally during the day if I’m sweaty or whatever. Sometimes if my insomnia kicked me in the ass I splash my face n neck with cold water to wake up in the morning.

92: have you ever been drunk?

Nope, and I really don’t want to be. The idea of being out of control of myself, even just a little bit, is terrifying to me. No thanks. I also just generally do not like alcohol, idk why.

94: favorite lyrics right now

My all-time favourite lyrics come from Twenty One Pilots’ song ‘The Judge’ (even though I don’t actually like the song itself I love the lyrics):“When the leader of the bad guys sangSomething soft and soaked in painI heard the echo from his secret hideawayHe must’ve forgot to close his doorAs he cranked out those dismal chordsAnd his four walls declared him insane”

96: day or night?

*chanting* NIGHT NIGHT NIGHT NIGHT NIGHT N

98: favorite month?

Ironically, considering my character March is a giant dickwad, it’s March. XD The weather is just starting to turn cool after the grueling summer and it’s also my birth month! :D

100: who was the last person you cried in front of?

My Dad. Yikes.

AHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKIN, ALEX!!!

#Matt speaks #if you wanna get to know me read this lmao #looong #another interview that I love!!!#:D #<3 #BUDDY :D #bestest bud #I English speak good #X'D #asks #get to know me

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askthenerdyprincessofthejungle · 6 years

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ABOUT ME

Basics.

What is your full name? Alemayehu Tara Porter

What is the meaning/story behind your name? It is quite a long story. When my mother was expecting, but she was still unaware that she was expecting, an old woman from the Waziri tribe, a tribe deep in the heart of the jungle which I have yet to visit one day, gave my mother the news and told her I must be named Alemayehu. It means 'I have seen the world' or even 'I have enjoyed life'. Concerning Tara, my grandfather wanted to have a part in naming me. Tara is a name he always loved. The English version of the name means 'elevated place' in Gaelic, but after some research I found out that the Indian and Hindi meaning comes from the Hindu astral goddess and it means 'star' in Sanskrit. I was a little disappointed when I found out that grandfather was not aware of that when he chose the name. It would have explained my love of sleeping under the starry sky but then again it might be just because of the gorilla nests.

Do you have any nicknames? Friends call me Ale, father calls me monkey long story, and my grandmother likes to call me magpie when I hold any shiny object or feathers because she knows I do not enjoy it.

When and where were you born? May 28 in the jungle.

Current age? 17. What can I say, I am dancing queen! Kidding, I am horrible at dancing.

Physical.

What is your eye color? Blue.

Do you ever wear glasses/contacts? No, but I used to steal my grandfather's reading glasses because I really liked them.

Hair color? Medium brown.

Have you ever dyed your hair? No, I have not. But I was a little tempted to.

Height and body type? I have about 170 cm and, um, I guess... that it is a fit body type? I mean, I constantly do my jungle gymnastics and surfing, or at least try in this place, so I have the necessary muscle to pull and hold my weight.

Do you have any birthmarks? Yeah, I have some weird spots on my back. They look a little like a turtle's shell, but with more space between the irregular pieces and only in a small portion of my back, in the direction of my right ribs.

Any scars or other markings? Quite some scars from my adventures, broken bones, jungle surfing training and a little scar from when I stepped on one of grandfather's broken glass tube.

What is your favorite and least favorite feature? I like my scars. They each tell a story and hold a memory. As for least favourite... I do not find any aspect troubling.

How would you describe your style? Comfortable? Casual with a little sporty touch? I usually wear lively colours and I really like overalls, even if they are a little harder to move in when it comes to jungle surfing. Oh, and most important of all: no shoes. I really hate wearing shoes. So glad I am not a relative of Cinderella's.

Personality.

Positive traits? I am friendly and I love to be active and I usually learn quickly.

Negative traits? I am stubborn, easily offended and around people I can barely talk. I cannot dance because I have two left feet when it comes to beat. I am too curious for my own good and reckless many times. I do not think enough before I speak and do not know how to act around my own kind.

Are you more introverted or extroverted? I believe I could be called an ambivert. I've always been an extrovert around animals, sometimes had moments of 'me time', but with humans, well...

Do you have any talents? Does eating while reading staying hanged with my head down count? No? Okay, I guess I can count my gymnastics abilities.

Do you have a good memory? Um, sometimes. Sometimes I remember just unimportant details, like what flowers I saw in one particular day and then nothing else, but other times I remember a good portion of the events.

Any fears/phobias? I really really really don't like most loud sounds. People make me shake and sometimes I get nervous around unfamiliar waters. I am not a good swimmer, I got lucky to get used to the ones from my jungle.

What do you have a soft spot for? Flowers, lively colours, baby animals and the soft sun light in the morning.

Any pet peeves? Pollution, ignorance, rudeness, sometimes persistence, how many people treat pets, the word ‘pet’, and the concept of animals not understanding people and being stupid because of that. And being asked many times if I have a crush.

Are you a good student? Yeah, I do not have many problems with learning and tests.

What is your favorite/least favorite subject? I love zoology and botany, but I am not that great in music class.

Family and Relationships.

Who are your parents? Tarzan and Jane Porter.

How would you describe them? Father is a born leader, with a strong sense of justice and a lot of love and compassion for his family and dear friends, but he has his own fun side. He still likes to pull some harmless pranks or just get into competitions, especially with me. Mother is elegant, a true lady, but she loves with a pure heart and does things she would prefer not to daily, like doing some jungle surfing alone from time to time, all for the sake of her loved ones. She likes having tea and sometimes gets a little strict, wants me to be the best, and we might need to talk about some things, but she had been proud of me so far.

Who is your best friend/Who are some of your close friends? We are talking about humans, right? If so, I, um... Iris? It is very hard to understand if you are or not someone’s friend around humans!

What do you look for in a friend? Someone with patience that can make me feel comfortable enough to act natural around them. And I love funny individuals.

In you’re comfortable answering, what is your orientation? Um, I still have not thought much about it. I guess I am putting some other things above it.

Have you ever been in a relationship? Nope.

Have you ever been in love? With a book or two.

What do you look for in a partner? I have exactly no idea.

Do you believe in love at first sight or soulmates? I do not know so much about love at first sight, but soulmates... Just take a look at my parents and my grandma when she talks about Kerchak.

Do you see getting married and/or having children in the future? Possibly? Maybe with the right person? I just want some friends and sweets right now.

Favorites.

Top 3 books: I do not think that I can make a top, but these are some of my ultimate favourites: “The Da Vinci Code”, “The Chronicles of Narnia”, “How to Kill a Mokingbird”.

Top 3 movies: The Greatest Showman, Some Like It Hot, Paulie.

Top 3 foods: Ice cream, pizza, rice.

#askingdescendantstask #askingdtask001

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daebakinc · 7 years

Text

Elision

Pairing: Chanyeol x OC Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff Summary: You take in a down on his luck hybrid, never expecting him to burrow his way into your heart. Word Count: 6.1K

The first time you see Chanyeol is in the pub down the street from your apartment on the kind of rainy night that softens the street lights from harsh orange to quiet yellow.

The Foxy Lady itself is one of those magical places where you always feel at home no matter what part of the world you come from. The kind of place that beckons to you like an old friend to come and sit and rest awhile, to let the world fly by this small corner of comfort. Inside the classic brick exterior, the space is one long, wide room with walls painted an antique green that hit just the right balance of bright and comforting. An old oak bar stretches comfortably along the wall and chairs and tables are scattered around, their surfaces worn to gleaming gold and soft with long and faithful service. A small stage sits in the corner farthest to the door, ready for the any of the city’s musicians willing to accept payment in steady drinks, rich food, and good company. The kitchen, hidden by a wall behind the bar, emits delicious aromas incessantly, sending smells as tempting as a siren’s call onto the street each time the door opens.

Or perhaps it isn’t the building itself that creates such an ambience. It very well could be the bar’s owners, the inseparable husband and wife duo Jongdae and Sol. Between the two of them and their matching brilliant, teasing personalities, the sun never sets on The Foxy Lady. For reasons unknown, they’d personally taken you under their wing the night after you wandered in, forced out of your new grocery-scarce new apartment by the search for food. As you soon found out, any and all who walked through the door were treated with affable welcome by the stunning husband and wife. Everyone was a friend to Sol and Jongdae.

No one knows Sol’s real name because Jongdae doesn’t call her by anything else but the nickname he gave her, but one smile from her and you’ll forget you even had a question. But that smile always turns a thousand times brighter when she looks at her husband, and Jongdae’s return smile is no less adoring. If the two of them had lived hundreds of years ago, there would still be ballads and poems about the love they share. On your bad days, you’ll admit you’re a little jealous of that kind of bond, having never experienced anything close.

“Hello, gorgeous.” The smile Jongdae sends you when you slide onto one of the unoccupied barstools could win the heart of a stone. “How’s your day been?”

He doesn’t bother asking for your order, already scribbling it on a tab and adding it to the kitchen’s stack before reaching for a glass and filling it with your favorite, an elderflower Italian soda with a crazy straw.

You send him a grateful smile and take a long slurp from the straw as soon as he sets it in front of you. “Semi-productive. Got all my cleaning done for showing off the apartment to potential roommates next week, but then I lapsed and ended up binge watching half the season of The Flash for the rest of the day. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t realize the time and when I did, I decided I was too lazy to cook for myself.”

“You’re anything but lazy. You deserve a break.” Your friend laughs as he bustles about, transferring plates from the kitchen at each ding to a patron or to the server’s station for Jongin or Baekhyun to pick up. “Any promising leads for roommates?”

“No one stellar.” You shrug and sneak a mint leaf from behind the bar to pop in your mouth. “But I only put up the ad last week. Hopefully someone shows up, though Joy will be hard to replace.”

“We’ll find you a roomie just as good. Maybe Sol knows someone.” Jongdae looks over your shoulder as the bells above the door tinkle happily. His smile widens as he raises his hand to wave. “Hey! Glad to see you made it!”

Curious, you shift in your seat to look as well. When you do, you’re suddenly very glad you already swallowed your drink.

The stranger is one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen. Or do you mean cutest? At the moment, you can’t exactly tell. Even in a long tweed overcoat, his body seems to go on forever and the way the light is lets you see the shadows of solid muscles beneath his black turtleneck. His face is handsome as well, half in shadows from a wide brimmed hat pulled low, but his tentative smile, the smile of a child hoping he’ll be welcomed in a new classroom, softens your heart in the same way the sight of a puppy would.

“Hi, Jongdae,” he says, the baritone of his voice like a shot of dark chocolate to your veins. He shifts a guitar bag from one hand to the other with the care of a mother readjusting an infant. You can tell the bag is old, its once black color faded to a grey-green. “Am I on time?”

“You’re an hour early, Chanyeol.” Jongdae wipes his hands and rushes around the bar to engulf the other man in a hug.

You have to stifle a giggle when Chanyeol bends so he can put his arms under Jongdae’s even though he is significantly taller. It makes him look even more childlike.

Jongdae pulls away but keeps a hand on Chanyeol’s back as he brings him further into the room. “Would you like to eat first? We’ve still got awhile before the dinner rush.”

“I’d like to set up and I guess if there’s time, I wouldn’t mind something.”

“Alright. Don’t forget, you don’t have to play the whole night. You can take breaks when you’re hungry or thirsty, okay?” Jongdae’s voice fades into the white noise of other patrons’ chatter as he walks away with Chanyeol, his luxuriant fox tail draped over one arm to keep it out of the way, tapered ears flicking this way and that in merriment.

Your eyes slide away from Jongdae to Baekhyun and Jongin. Jongin’s round, soft umber-colored bear ears twitch slightly as he chats with one of the regulars, while Baekhyun’s ears are floppy like a beagle’s, his tail also cheerily swishing away. Hidden in the kitchen, Kyungsoo probably has his thick wolf’s tail neatly covered and ears tucked under a hat to keep his fur out of the food. Various patrons display the hybrid traits of animal ears and tails out in the open as well. The Foxy Lady is one of the few places you know several feel free enough to do so without fear.

When people started modifying their bodies with animal genes, people thought it was odd but accepted it with eye rolls and quick skitters across the street, labeling it a trend that would fade out. Then these people became parents and passed on the same physical traits to their children. For whatever reason, this was an entirely different matter in the eyes of many. The eye aversions became mutterings, and in the worst cases, the mutterings became violence.

Finally, humane and moral minds won out, leading to the ratification of anti-discrimination laws to protect and guarantee equality for hybrids. The passage of time has brought more societal acceptance of hybrids, but some still have issues finding jobs and housing, let alone decent treatment in certain pockets of the country, and unfortunately, in your city as well. You’ve seen Sol kick out a number of people for snide comments about Jongdae and the others. They got off lucky though; you’d heard a few of their remarks and they warranted a good bloodied nose in your opinion.

A plate of steaming home fries, buttered asparagus, and sage-rubbed chicken slides beneath your nose. Wearing a yellow T-shirt that makes her dark skin glow even more than usual, Sol winks at you as she pokes your forehead. “You look like you’re thinking about something unpleasant. Need to spill?”

You shake your head and smile reassuringly. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

“Well if it is, nothing a little bit of Kyungsoo’s cooking can’t fix, so dig in.”

“Who’s Chanyeol?” you ask, biting a stalk of asparagus in half and nodding your head in the direction of the stage. “I’ve never seen him before.”

Even when Sol frowns, she’s beautiful. “Jongdae found him a couple days ago playing on a street corner. Poor thing just came to the city a few weeks ago and still hasn’t found a job. Jongdae convinced him to come here to at least get a good meal in him. The man’s too skinny.”

Jongdae returns in time to hear the last part of Sol’s comment and grins, pecking her cheek as he scoots past her. “Not all of us can be as thick as your man, you know. Give me a week with him and I’ll have him looking like Pooh.”

“You leave that to me. What should I fix for him?”

“He said nothing yet, just wants some hot water with lemon and honey. I think he’s one of those ‘wants to earn his keep’ types.”

Sol snorts and heads towards the kitchen. “He’ll get it, but he’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s going to play hungry under my roof.”

When closing time rolls around, you’re still sitting in the same place, nursing your fifth soda. You really had intended to get back to your apartment after you ate to continue cleaning. You really had. But you hadn’t counted on Chanyeol. Jongdae was a generous man, but he wouldn’t have let Chanyeol play if he wasn’t good. The problem for you was Chanyeol wasn’t just good. He was pretty fantastic.

His deep voice became sinful liquid cocoa as it poured from his mouth through the microphone and into the room. Pair it with the rich honey tones of his guitar he plucked with the ease of hundreds if not thousands of hours of practice, and you were as hooked as a magpie who spotted something shiny.

Some of the songs he played you knew, but some you didn’t. Given the emotion in his voice, the way he closed his eyes when he sang them, you’d bet good money they were songs he wrote himself. And he played everything, taking shouted requests from patrons, tickling the guitar strings to play American rock one moment and Spanish lullabies the next. A few times you felt your mouth hanging open as you stared. You’d shut it just as quick, but hard as you tried, you just got lost in the music and it’d happen again.

The light flick of a wet rag on your arm snaps you out of it. Baekhyun snickers and uses the rag to wipe at a spot on the bar. “Alright, kid. We love you, but time’s up. Last call was thirty minutes ago. Some of us got places to go, people to see.”

“If by places to go, you mean your bed, yeah, you’re right,” you tease.

“Hey, my bed and I are in a very intimate and adoring relationship,” he retorts. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

“My deepest apologies.” You glance around.

You’re the last patron still sitting, the other stragglers pushing through the door into the misting night. Chanyeol is still on the stage, packing away his guitar, head slightly twisted as he speaks with Jongdae. You wonder what they’re talking about and if the tall, talented man will become a regular fixture at the pub. It’d be really nice if he did, you think. For a variety of reasons.

“Yo, Y/N, you’re not drunk or something are you?” Baekhyun asks, looking concerned at your spacing out. “Jongin and I can give you a lift home.”

“Sorry, just thinking.” You pat his hand. “I’m totally sober unless you count sleepiness as a form of intoxication.”

“With some of the places I’ve found Jongin sleeping when he hasn’t had a drop, I might.”

After a few more minutes of banter and catching up with Baekhyun and Sol, you finally slip off your stool and head towards the door. You notice with a small bit of disappointment Chanyeol is already gone. You’d wanted to compliment him on his performance, but you’ll have to wait until next time, you suppose. Hopefully there’s a next time.

When you step outside the door, you find that in the time you spent talking, the mist outside had escalated into heavy-drop rain. Not a torrential downpour, but enough to have you looking like a drowned rat by the time you get home.

With a sigh, you walk to the edge of The Foxy Lady’s canopy and tug up your hood, tying the strings together. Mentally mapping the neighborhood, you figure if you keep to overhangs and sprint between the breaks, you can reach your apartment with minimal soaking.

You arrive at the street corner with only a few scatterings of rain on your shoulders and head. Your shoes, however, emit sloshing, squishing noises with each step after an unfortunately placed puddle. Looking across the street, your apartment door within view in all its tempting dry socks glory, you brace yourself for the final sprint.

A sniffle alerts you that you’re not the only person taking shelter in front of the department store. You cautiously glance to your side. A tall figure huddles against the concrete wall, the wet canvas of the overhang touching the top of his hat and drops of water dripping off the brim onto his shoulders. A stuffed brown paper bag with The Foxy Lady’s logo sits beside a beat-up looking bookbag and an old guitar bag. Even in the shadows, you recognize him.

“Chanyeol?”

The man jumps like you prodded him with a stick, nearly collapsing.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” you quickly apologize, throwing your hands up, palms out.

“Do I know you?” Chanyeol asks. He inches towards the bags as if afraid you’ll snatch them.

“No. I’m sorry, I’m Y/N. I was at Jongdae’s earlier and I overheard your name. Bad eavesdropping habit. I listened to you play the whole night. You’re really good,” you offer with a tentative smile in case your apology wasn’t enough.

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles a little, sending a little flutter through your chest. “You’re a friend of Jongdae’s?”

“Him and Sol.” You don’t comment on the once over you notice him give you. “They were my first friends here. Are you waiting for a ride? You can wait in my apartment if you like so you’re out of the wet; it’s just over there.”

Maybe you’re a little crazy offering to let a strange man into your apartment, but Chanyeol looks like a lost puppy and only a heartless person would leave a lost dog in the rain.

“Um, I’m actually just trying to figure out where to go.”

“Like directions?”

“No. I- I, um,” Chanyeol ducks his head and mumbles, “I don’t actually have a place yet. Haven’t found one I can afford, you know. There’s a shelter over on 7th I could go to, but things didn’t go so well last time…”

“The shelter’s that bad?”

“Sometimes.” His tone doesn’t encourage questions about his experience with them.

“Why not call Jongdae?” you ask, knowing he and Sol would let Chanyeol crash on their couch without a second thought.

Chanyeol shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to get in their way and Jongdae already lined up a few gigs for me so I have a some money. I can’t ask him for more than that.”

His eyes move away from you to gaze out on the street. You recognize the defeated slump in his shoulders and the downward set of his mouth. It’s the look of someone who’s talking themselves into going through a repulsive experience because there is no other choice. You’ve made that kind of decision before.

Before you realize it, you make another choice. “Why don’t you stay with me while you get on your feet?”

Chanyeol’s eyes shoot back to you, so comically wide they remind you of Kyungsoo’s. “What?”

“My roommate had to move back home unexpectedly, so I’ve got a free room and month paid for the next two months, so it can be yours if you want it.”

“Really? You really mean it?”

“Yeah. I have an extra room, you don’t have a room at all. Jongdae trusts you, so I figure you’re a good guy. Not like you’re going to attack me in the middle of the night or something, right?”

“No. I’ve never hurt anyone intentionally,” he says in a rush.

“I wouldn’t think so,” you laugh.

“But you’d really do that for me? A complete stranger?” he asks as if giving you a chance to take your offer back but hoping you won’t.

Your smile fades a bit, unpleasant memories lurk towards the surface of your mind. “I promised myself once that if I ever met someone as down on their luck as I was at the time and I was in a better position, I’d do what I could to help them.”

Chanyeol picks at a lose string on his sleeve as he thinks your proposal over. You wait, shuffling your feet so they don’t get cold.

“You should know something about me first,” Chanyeol says softly. Avoiding your eyes, he slowly reaches up and takes the brim of his hat between his fingers. After a second’s hesitation, he takes it off.

Two bright wheat gold colored ears perch on the top of his head, pressed against his hair in anticipation of being rejected. If Chanyeol expected you to be surprised, he’d only be half right. You’d had your suspicions given Jongdae’s special attention and how he never took off his coat in the pub despite the heat that came with a room full of warm bodies.

“They’re very pretty,” you say.

Chanyeol lifts his eyes, his fingers stilling from crumpling his hat. You can read the shock there and want to hunt down whoever put that fear and expectation in his head. You also want to hug Chanyeol, to take away some of that hurt, but you’re afraid that may be too much for the poor man just yet.

When he doesn’t move, you walk over and shoulder his bookbag. The lightness of it makes you feel worse for him, but you mask it quickly. You hate being pitied.

Instead, you tell him, “Grab your other stuff and we’ll make a run for it, okay? It’s the brown door, right beside the lamppost.”

Clearly in a daze, Chanyeol picks up his guitar and bag of food, and runs after you across the street, up the stairs to your apartment, and into your life.

The first time you kiss Chanyeol is on your couch on a warm spring Sunday afternoon made for new beginnings.

All is quiet when you return from the grocery store, the only sounds drifting inside from the open living room window. Birds chirp as they industriously build a nest on the outcrop of the building roof, cars hum and chortle as they pass below. Spices from the Lebanese restaurant down the street and sugar from Kyungsoo’s Sunday pies at The Foxy Lady mix with the half-pot of coffee you made earlier.

The grocery bags crinkle loudly on your arm as you step around the pile of shoes in the entryway. Your flats and boots a tumbled mess with Chanyeol’s sneakers and loafers in a cozy, domestic scene that makes you smile.

That night you let Chanyeol sleep on your couch, you hadn’t expected he’d stay long. Every day he went out looking for work, only to return empty handed. But he never showed his disappointment, shrugging it off with an addictively wide smile and promising to try again the next day so he could start supporting himself. Chanyeol insisted on earning his keep by fixing things around the apartment and occasionally cooking despite your protests that he didn’t need to do anything.

A week turned into a month, a month into two, two months into just over half a year. After Chanyeol found a job at a music store run by Jihoon, a lemur hybrid, it made sense for him to just stay. Your apartment was already home.

You like having Chanyeol around. He always makes you smile. Every day you come home, he greets you with perked ears and feathery tail wagging. He listens to you talk about your day, sportingly joining in your complaining even though he has no idea what you were talking about or celebrating with you on a raise or just a plain old good day. Then there’s the music.

There was always music in the apartment with Chanyeol. Every day is an auditory adventure. He has some favorite songs you’ve learned to love too, but otherwise there’s always something different playing. Classic rock, house electronic, acoustic ballads, bubblegum pop. You name the genre, Chanyeol plays it. Your favorite days are the ones the music is Chanyeol’s own.

You’ll bundle yourself into a blanket burrito and sit on his bed to listen to the new songs he composes and records on an old computer. If you are really lucky, Chanyeol plays the songs for you himself on one of his guitars. You’d bought him a new one for his birthday, and he collected broken guitars to fix from work. There’s at least one in every room, even the bathroom for some reason.

By the time you put the groceries down, Chanyeol is still nowhere in sight, but bits of him are spread throughout the apartment.

The Ironman cookie jar you bought for him at the same secondhand store he bought his bed and desk. The black hoodie haphazardly laying across the back of the couch because although it’s his, you wear it just as often. The cheap neon yellow picture frame he won at a carnival last summer, a picture of the two of you from that same night inside, both wearing matching grins and arms around each other.

Your eyes slide to Chanyeol’s still closed door. It’s not abnormal for him to sleep late on a weekend off, but after last night, you’re worried.

It began innocently enough. Dinner out at The Foxy Lady because it was board night, an hours long board-game competition Sol held at the end of every month. You lost horribly to Chanyeol at Sorry in round three, but you had your revenge when Baekhyun beat him at one of the most intense Bananagrams games you’ve ever seen, spectators loudly cheering for their chosen side until they were drowned out by Chanyeol’s agonized losing howl and Baekhyun’s ecstatic victory yips.

Chanyeol was still sulking when you left, fluffy tail dragging on the ground. “I still say ‘quartzy’ can’t be a real word,” he muttered as he held the door open for you.

“Jongdae found it in the dictionary, Chanyeol,” you reminded him gently.

Your friend snorted before looking at you intently. “You’re going to help me practice for next month, right? Like every day. Next time, I’ll be the champion.”

“We’ll see.”

“Come on, Y/N,” he whined. He threw an arm around your shoulders and hugged you to his side. “Please? Pretty pretty please with a strawberry on top?”

You cursed your heart for still beating faster and your nose for wanting to bury itself in his chest. You buried your feelings for Chanyeol a long time ago when your friendship became one you couldn’t live without. But you’re only human and they sometimes pop through. You suspected deep down that they were the reason your dates rarely got a second chance.

“Isn’t it supposed to be a cherry?” you asked wryly.

“But you don’t like cherries. You like strawberries,” he replied, grinning down at you.

“Fine, I’ll help. Can you just slow down a bit? I feel like I’m being decapitated.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Chanyeol shortened his stride to match yours, but kept his arm in place, his hand curled around your arm in easy familiarity. The gesture was almost brotherly in nature and while it wasn’t exactly what you truly wanted, you love physical contact as much as the hybrid beside you.

As you walked past a group of men standing at the street corner and smoking cigarettes, an anonymous voice not so quietly sneered, “Freak.”

The rhythm of Chanyeol’s wagging tail skipped a beat and you felt his body stiffen beside you.

Your temper flared. It had taken a long time for you and the others at The Foxy Lady to help convince Chanyeol being a hybrid was nothing to be ashamed of with as many setbacks as leaps forward. You weren’t about to take some random asshole thinking he was being funny and better by insulting your friend.

You slipped out from Chanyeol’s arm, ignoring his soft murmur of your name to march back to the group of men. “Which one of you said that?”

“What’s it to you, sweetheart?” one of them asked. He sent you a smile you supposed he thought was charming. “Why don’t you lose the mutant and come home with me?”

“The only freak here is you, jackoff,” you hissed. You stepped close enough that discomfort flashed across his face. “You think you’re a big badass man calling another human a derogatory name? Newsflash, you’re not!”

You pointed at Chanyeol who still stood frozen where you left him. “That man is better than you’ll ever be in every single way. Every way, you hear me? All you’re doing by insulting him is proving you’re the subhuman piece of trash who thinks just because someone’s different, that makes them unworthy of common decency and respect. Go home and pick up a damn book so your brain might grow enough to be a human’s.”

For good measure, you plucked the cigarette from his hand and stomped it into the cement before tramping back to Chanyeol.

“Hey, bitch!”

Heavy footsteps came behind you, a hand roughly grabbing your shoulder to spin you around. A raised hand caught the streetlight. Heart stopping, you screwed your eyes shut and brace yourself.

The expected smack never came, a strangled cry sounding instead.

You opened your eyes to Chanyeol’s back. His tail stuck straight out, stiff and unmoving. Peeking around him, you saw your would-be assailant on his knees with Chanyeol’s hand clenched around his wrist.

“Touch her,” Chanyeol growled, the veins in his arm straining against as he tightened his grip, “and I will make sure you regret it.”

Chanyeol waited until the man gave a weak nod, then tossed him aside. He turned away, pausing when his eyes met yours.

An anger hotter than you thought your friend capable of was fading to embers, replaced but another emotion you could not place. When he didn’t move, you grabbed his hand and towed him along behind you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Chanyeol whispered when you got to the apartment door.

You took a deep breath, so your voice and face were calm when you turned around. Meeting his eyes, you said, “Yes, Chanyeol. I did.”

You hadn’t spoken really after that, both going to your own rooms to mull over your own thoughts. You don’t regret standing up for Chanyeol, but you’re worried you made him uncomfortable.

Tiptoeing to his door, you press your ear against it. There’s not a sound except the soft piano Chanyeol plays to help him sleep. You open the door wide enough to slip inside.

The only thing you can see of Chanyeol is the top of his head, dark hair contrasting with his white blanket and pillow. Carefully, you ease yourself down on the bed beside him and drag the covers away from his face. His Rilakkuma doll is still tucked safely in his arms, squished against his cheek.

Affection rises in your chest, tickling your mouth into a smile. “Chanyeol,” you murmur, reaching out to card his mussed hair.

He grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t open his eyes.

Your fingers continue combing his hair, working their way up to one of his ears. You rub the silky fur between your fingers. The gesture is as much for your pleasure as his. A moan rumbles from deep within Chanyeol’s chest and he leans his head into your touch.

His gaze is blurry with sleep when he opens his eyes, but they quickly focus on your face. He smiles. “Morning,” he mumbles, voice deeper than normal with sleep.

“Try afternoon,” you chuckle. You can’t bring yourself to reclaim your fingers as Chanyeol props himself, and continue to ruffle his hair and ears. “I got everything to make your favorite for lunch if you’re hungry. Tonkatsu.”

His smile immediately grows. “You’re the best, Y/N. I’ll help.”

When he grabs the blankets to toss them back and get up, you put a hand on his chest. “No, it’s alright. I’ve got it. You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll get you when it’s ready. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Alright? Why wouldn’t I-” His confused expression falls into a frown. “Oh.”

“The guy was being a dick to compensate for his not having a satisfactory one, you know. You are not a freak.”

“I know.”

“Good. I’d do it all again, Chanyeol, and I meant every word. You are incredibly important to me.”

You gaze into his eyes, trying to make sure he knows how sincere you are. The plan backfires. You’re suddenly far too aware of him. The depth of his chocolate eyes with golden flecks reflecting the sunlight. The smell of his cologne saturating the blankets, the room. The heavy beat of his heart beneath your hand on the firm muscle of his chest.

Snatching your hand and mind back, you smile and hope Chanyeol didn’t notice the growing charge. “I’ll get you when it’s ready, okay? Go back to sleep.”

Because you need to prove to yourself you’re in control, you lean down to kiss his forehead just as he shifts his body upward, saying “It’s okay, I’ll help.”

Your lips hit his lips instead of his skin. The contact lasts a second, but it leaves both of you frozen, staring at each other.

You scramble for an apology, the power to laugh it off, anything but the silence.

Chanyeol’s eyes flick from yours to your mouth. You have no other warning before his hand shoots up to cup your jaw and drag your lips back to his.

Chanyeol is kissing you. Chanyeol is kissing you. That’s all you manage to think before your body takes over. It sinks against him, seeking his scent, his taste. A high whimper of desire fills your throat as his mouth moves against yours, soft but starved. Kissing him is all you imagined but better. So much better.

With a gasp, Chanyeol pulls away, his hand staying in place, hot against your skin. His chest presses against yours with each pant. “I- I’m- uh…” he blinks several times. “I..”

You surge forward, kissing him again, and draw back just enough so your noses brush. With your eyes closed, you whisper, “You better not be about to say, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Okay,” you feel him wet his lips, “I was going to say… I’m, um, surprised?”

“You’re surprised? You’re the one who kissed me on purpose first.”

“Oh, yeah.” Chanyeol laughs and falls back onto his pillow, a hand over his eyes. He peeks between his fingers. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” You swing your legs up and lie down on your side next to him. “Is that something you’ve been wanting to do for a while?”

“Kinda.”

“Since when?”

“Since that night a few months ago when you fell asleep on me while we were watching El Dorado.”

You remember that night. A little. El Dorado was one of your favorite movies and Chanyeol was a quick convert. But it had been a long week, and one moment you were watching Chel seducing Tulio, and the next you rolling over in bed to sunlight peeking through the window. You thought you’d just walked yourself to your room in a stupor, but maybe not.

“I didn’t even notice you were asleep until your head hit my shoulder,” Chanyeol continues. He glances up at you, then away with a gentle smile. When he speaks, there are many little pauses, as if he’s lost in his own memory and has to savor it. “Then I looked down and… I don’t know. It was like I was seeing you for the first time. I couldn’t breathe. You were soft and perfect and beautiful. Your lips had this little pout, like you were upset at yourself for falling asleep during your favorite movie. All I wanted to do was kiss it away, but…. I didn’t. I just picked you up and tucked you into your bed.”

“And didn’t say anything after?”

“You’d just broken up with what’s-his-name, the freakishly tall one obsessed with Harry Potter. I’m not a jerk.”

“Seungjun. And he was the same height as you, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol shrugs it off.

“Would it freak you if I said I started liking you that first night at The Foxy Lady?” You chuckle at his dropped jaw and perked ears. You close his mouth with a finger. “You were super cute and talented; can you blame me?”

“Do you still think I’m super cute and talented?” he asks, glancing at you through his eyelashes with a teasing smile. He whines when you smack his shoulder.

“What do you think? I kissed you back, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol laughs and flips onto his side as well. His eyes roam your face and his voice lowers. “Yeah, you did.”

“What?” you ask when the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I’m just now remembering something Sol said.”

“And what did Sol say?”

“She caught me watching you one night and you know her. She got everything out of me. When I told her I wasn’t going to say anything, she told me impossible things have a way of happening anyway. Guess she was right.”

“Sol’s always right,” you giggle. “I’m really glad this wasn’t her exception.”

“Me too. So… why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, at first it was because I didn’t want you thinking I was trying to take advantage of you or something and you were still getting your life together; you didn’t need a relationship to complicate that even more. Then, I just didn’t want to risk losing you.” It’s a relief to get it all out, like a flood finally released from a dam.

“I didn’t want to lose you either. You’re one of my best friends.” Chanyeol tentatively reaches out to outline your face with a finger. “Guess I’m lucky I’m in love with my best friend.”

“Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat.”

He laughs and tugs you into his arms, rubbing his cheek against your hair. Your hands slide behind his back and curl up to his shoulders, your leg hooking around Chanyeol’s hip to bring him closer. His tail brushes your calf as it gleefully thumps against the mattress.

“You remembered,” he says.

“You only play it like every other day,” you retort.

“I do not.”

“Okay, maybe it’s one of my favorites to hear you play then.”

“I’ll play it every single day if you want.”

Laughing and shaking your head, you wiggle enough to tilt your head back and look at his face. “You could play anything and I’d love it.”

“Anything? Even ‘It’s a Small World’?” Chanyeol grins playfully and squeezes you. He starts singing, “It’s a small world after all, it’s-”

His voice goes immediately silent when you press your lips against his again. But you become as lost in the kiss as he is, the leisurely rhythm of it more addictive than any song you’ve heard. Pressed against his warmth, sinking into it. When you sluggishly pull away, his eyes are still closed, mouth slightly parted.

“Any song but that one,” you whisper lightly.

Chanyeol’s lips slowly curve in a smile and his eyes open at the same speed like a lazy dog waking up from a nap in the sunshine. His fingers tap a beat against your spine. “I think one’s coming to me right now. If I’d known kissing you would be conducive to my composing, I’d have done it a long time ago.”

“Then kiss me again.”

Chanyeol is humming when your lips meet again, some melody that’s new and exciting and somehow, it’s already your new favorite song.

#chanyeol scenario #exo scenarios #kpopwritingnet #boygroupwritersnet #kpop scenarios #chanyeol #exo #exo k #park chanyeol

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

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Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 13

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because convince Ethri not to abandon plot, goooo!

Last times in book: Amri and co are on a quest to unite all the Gelfling clans against the Skeksis and it is not going great so far? Maudra Ethri has decided that the Sifa are going to ditch and sail to a new continent guided by Captain skekSa, multi-talented voluntary exile from the Castle of the Crystal. Ethri tries to ditch early but Amri and co catch up to her and Onica convinces her to read the flames and see what they have to say.

Chapter 13

A very convincing flame-reading, a new objective, some frustration

So now its time to throw some herbs in a fire and read the flames to see what the Sifa should do. Every other sign in the world says sailing across the ocean is a bad idea. skekSa says ‘its fiiiiiiiiiine.’ What will the flames say?

Onica took her own bundle from within her cloak. She and Tae followed Ethri, and soon three blue-gray trails of smoke cut like pathways into the sky. Onica led them in the ritual, raising her hands over her head and drawing mystic symbols in the air with the smoke of the smoldering herbs. Triangles and spheres, spirals and many other shapes. Amri saw the signs of the moons and the suns, the sigils of the wind and fire, earth and rain. Ethri and Tae mirrored Onica, the maudra’s motions reserved at first but warming with every passing moment.

“Deatea. Deratea. Kidakida. Arugaru. We open our souls to the fire. We open our minds to the wind. We open our hearts to the water. We open our hands to the earth.”

The bundles of herbs are thrown into the fire and there’s a blast of heat that blows away the smoke just leaving clear flames.

Within moments, the hearth beat again. The hearth of the ship, the heart of the Sifa.

Nice play on words!

Everyone around the fire breathes in the scent of the herbs and hold hands. It sounds like a pretty cool moment.

Onica’s voice rose from the quiet, one with the crackling fire. She did not speak words. The song from her throat was wordless, harmonious. Amri opened one eye to see her, head tilted back, crimson hair alight with the red of the fire. Her song changed, as if she herself were transformed - one moment a Sifa, Gelfing as the rest of them - the next, a different being, made of dreams.

She bowed her head to face the fire, eyes open, seeing all and nothing. All were silent.

“A hero stands before the hearth fire of the Gelfling. But not alone. From the darkness that surrounds him comes... Wind. Lightning. Light. Earth, Shadow, Water... Fire.”

Onica’s brows crinkled in pain, a tear escaping. Her voice was transparent, rippling, not her own. Amri listened, rapt. Saw Ethri and Tae, Naia and Kylan doing the same, every breath hanging on the Far-Dreamer’s words.

“Great trials face us. Pain and loneliness, I see... Seven maudra. Seven of seven. Bearing the fires. Wind, Lightning, Light. Earth, Shadow, Water, Fire. In this way, the Seven become One. By Gelfling hand, or else by...”

Not even going to finish the rhyme? Man, Thra prophecies love the or else by none thing, huh?

And the seven Gelfling clans have elemental associations, apparently. Grottan for Shadow seems obvious. As does Sifa for Water. Or are they Wind with the Drenchen being Water? Are the Vapra Wind or Light? I’m pretty sure the Stonewood are Fire despite their name evoking Earth so much. And what about the Dousan? Are they Lightning?

Some of the clans feel like they’d overlap several elements but this is symbolic, not wholly accurate.

My guess is Drenchen Water, Spriton Earth, Stonewood Fire, Grottan Shadow, Vapra Light, Sifa Wind, and Dousan Lightning.

The Gelfling at the hearth fire also see a vision of the Sifa hearth struggling to push back the darkness until Gelfling come with torches and increase the hearth’s flame.

With an obvious meaning.

“My Sifa,” [Ethri] said. “My heart breaks with grief that I nearly let you down. Forgive me... I will stay, if you will stay by my side. So that we may stay by the side of the others who stand against the darkness. For Thra.”

Tae lifted her hand to the sky, Ethri’s fingers entwined in hers.

“For Thra,” she said.

All at once, the hands of the Sifa rose like wildfire.

A pillar of flame exploded from the hearth, sparks showering in a rainbow of colors. The fire burned in every color under the three suns, the whistling and howling of the air as it fed the flames resonating with a familiar, bone-deep song.

Kylan’s firca joins this song all on its own and dream-etches the Story Thus Far of Ethri, the Omerya, and skekSa’s ship into the deck.

The pyrotechnics end and Ethri has the Omerya return to the docks.

To Amri, Ethri finally looks like her two halves have been united. The youthful person that she is and the proud and valiant maudra leading her clan.

Also, look at that, two made one symbolism. It recurs.

Maudra Ethri tells Team Naia that when the time to rise up comes, the Sifa will be ready and asks where they’ll go next. That’s still up in the air.

And Naia reassures, kinda, Ethri that despite her fears of being the first to stand up, that the Vapra fire is already lit by All-Maudra Mayrin. And that neither were the first to stand up.

“You know, Maudra Argot of the Grottan was actually the first to hear our story and believe. And because of it, they were struck down. They lost their home. They’ve been in the dark and cold, alone. Waiting to know the other clans are out there.. and now, you are part of their hope. Your fires will guide them... You are not alone, and now, neither are they.”

As Team Naia leaves the Omerya, Amri realizes that somewhere under the waves there’s a skekSa who will soon realize that the Sifa have changed their travel plans. And he wonders if she’s going to be very angry or whether it won’t matter to her one way or another.

I suspect that he’s very glad that he isn’t the one who has to deal with that fallout!

The group goes to say goodbye to Onica, assuming she’ll stay in Cera-Na.

“I must go with Naia,” [Tavra] said. “But I will not forget our promise --”

Onica interrupted her with a sweet laugh. “Don’t be daft, my Silverling. You think I would let you go to light the seven fires of resistance without me?”

Awwwww (girl)frens!

Annnnd thennnn. Someone steals Tavra. Just bumps into the group and swipes her right from Kylan.

Geez, this was a feel good moment of the Sifa deciding to stay and Onica becoming a permanent party member and some random pickpocket ruins it!

“Why would someone steal Tavra?” Naia asked.

“I don’t know! She’s tiny, and shiny? You know, we never did figure out where Tae’s stolen jewelry went!”

Dang, I can’t believe I forgot that too!

The narration made a point that it was A Thing Occurring and then the explanation for Tae’s poisoning didn’t explain what happened to Tae’s jewelry.

I briefly wondered if maybe skekSa swiped it out of magpie kleptomania and that’s how the gang would turn the Sifa against her but that didn’t make much sense for skekSa’s character really. And then things got resolved with Ethri REALLY fast so it just slipped from my mind.

Team Naia plus Onica minus Tavra chase the thief off the beach and into the tropical brush between the beach and mountains.

Amri catches up to the thief first because of his great climbing prowess and tackles the hooded thief.

They rolled to the ground and wrestled until Amri came out on top, yanking back the hood. Beneath was the tattooed face of a Dousan boy. His face was pale and sand colored on the left, fading into a deep, glittering indigo on the right.

The Dousan bonks Amri with a rock but Naia catches him.

They get the jar full o’ Tavra and she reveals that the thief has Tae’s jewelry too, which ties up that mystery.

Naia stepped back, now that she had Tavra.

“So, what? You’ve just been sneaking about Cera-Na filling your pockets. What do you have to say for yourself?”

He shrugged. “It was worth it?”

Pffft

Naia is less amused by him than I am and drags him off to turn him over to Maudra Ethri.

So the Dousan changes gears, and introduces himself as Periss and says that he overheard the stuff about the seven fires of resistance and has seen the dream-stitched pink petals.

So he figures that they’re going around trying to unite the clans. And that they arrived on a sea ship that sails in the sea with sails. So Periss has a question.

“So... how are you planning on reaching the Dousan clan in the Crystal Sea? Without a, you know. A sandship, and a Dousan to sail it.”

Amri hated the smug tinkle in Periss’s eyes.

What a character, this Periss!

He’s a lot more of a shit than Rek’yr.

Tavra concedes that the little shit has a point. You can’t cross the Crystal Sea without a sandship and even if you did, out of Naia-esque stubbornness, finding the Dousan would be a hell of a challenge because they’re nomadic.

Amri looked up at the Claw Mountains that rose south of Cera-Na’s sandy shore. He had never seen the Crystal Sea in person, of course, but he’d seen maps and drawings. On the other side of the Claw Mountains spilled a vast desert of golden and white sand. The desert sprawled southeast, stopping only when its waves of sand lapped the border of the Dark Wood. Between the Claw Mountains and the Dark Wood, it was a world of light and constantly changing terrain. Desert creatures roamed the dunes. It was somewhere out there, navigating the constant storms, that the Dousan Gelfling had made their home.

“I think Tavra may be right,” Amri said.

Periss’s hands had drifted from the air to his belt, his expression of surrender transforming into a pompous smile.

What a little shit!

So now that they’re not going to turn him over to Maudra Ethri because they need him and now that he’s feeling smug about it, he presses the advantage and brings up the question of payment.

“We’re not paying you,” Naia retorted. “Your reward for helping us is knowing you took part in saving the Gelfling race.”

“I’m afraid good feelings don’t make my heart as full as a pocket of pretties. So, show me what you have to give, and I will tell you if you’ve come up short.”

Wow!

Takes guts to charge to help save the world but y’know, if they save the world then he has the payment. If they don’t save the world then it doesn’t make a difference whether he charged or not. Its win-win, of a sort.

Periss winds up taking Naia’s sweet metal dagger and Kylan’s bone firca as payment. Also, Onica has to read his fortune. For those three things, he’ll be their guide and transport as long as it takes to find Maudra Seethi and the Dousan.

Doesn’t seem fair. The firca is an irreplaceable magic item and the knife has sentimental value. Buuuuut they do need to visit the Dousan. They’re the only ones that haven’t been touched on yet.

The Dousan gestured with a broad smile.

“Congratulations, my friends. You’ve just bought yourselves a one-way trip into the desert of death.”

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #liveblog #Tides of the Dark Crystal #Amri #Naia #Kylan #Tavra #Onica #Maudra Ethri #Periss

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comicteaparty · 6 years

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March 7th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party chat that occurred on March 7th, 2019, from 5PM - 7PM PST. The chat focused on 2 for Joy by Abi Watson.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB START!

Good evening, everyone~! This week’s Thursday Book Club is officially beginning! Today we are discussing 2 for Joy by Abi Watson~! (https://tapas.io/series/2-for-joy)

Remember that Thursday discussions are completely freeform! However, every 30 minutes I will drop in OPTIONAL discussion questions in case you’d like a bit of a prompt. If you miss out on one of these prompts, you can find them pinned for the chat’s duration. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is fun and respectfully appreciating the comic. All that said, let’s begin!

QUESTION 1. What is your favorite scene in the comic so far and why?

i think at the moment that my fave scene is when art goes to the library. cause before the comic possibly toed the line about whether everything was conspiracy or coincidence. and thats the scene that says "nope conspiracy." i just also found it to be this really tense scene cause of the librarians talking about art like he was some super threat. which brave to making an activity like visiting library archives seem test. overall though, the part i like best is that it still leaves the question of what the one librarian guarding the archives wouldve done had art's rouse come to light

Superjustinbros

Ello~!

I have returned

RebelVampire

hey super~!

mathtans

I'm... kinda here for now. I did like the library scene, the librarian conspiracy was interesting.

Superjustinbros

https://tapas.io/episode/1159441

mathtans

I liked the cast moment there too, for the amusement value.

(Which arm was it? Whoa hoa...)

RebelVampire

yeah the cast moment was great, partly cause i was no expecting this random moment of humor to roll up

mathtans

As to my fave scene though, I think interestingly I'll need to go with the nametag thing. Because it was just kind of funny at the time, but had some significance later, with the gender change thing, and the not wanting to get him a new tag. Also explains (kind of) why he wears it upside-down.

Superjustinbros

It also gave me flashbacks to when I broke some fingers on one of my hands and had to go into a cast for about a month

back in middle school

mathtans

Ouch. I've never actually needed a cast for anything.

Also, maybe Tec is just waiting for the cast to heal before the fight, humm.

Superjustinbros

Yeah it was not pleasant. I'd go into detail about it more but this is a CTP

RebelVampire

yeah i really liked that on the side the nametag was made to be more relevant. it wasnt just some quirky character thing. which i mean the latter wouldve been fine, but i just like the element that these are characters who have been living their lives without art and the town didnt suddenly exist again just cause art showed up

https://tapas.io/episode/1121842 less a scene but i also really enjoy this page because of all the character reactions. like you got the whole circus of emotions going on and it conveys so much without needing any sort of dialogue

Superjustinbros

https://tapas.io/episode/1128546 and this one two pages later

mathtans

Also weird how Jack's name has dual significance.

Superjustinbros

"it means that makes a liar"

mathtans

I see what you mean there. (I'm not always good at picking up on artistic choices.)

RebelVampire

yeah. although that has gotta kind of suck. i mean i wouldnt want to find out a person i was named after was actually dead and i was just never told XD

Superjustinbros

https://tapas.io/episode/1296840 The latest bit also sparked my interests

RebelVampire

tbh, mike is probably just dumb/evil and not a liar. cause i severely raised an eyebrow to anyone who thinks they can cull birds from an area and theyll just never ever come back even for a short period of time

i really love art's dumb conspiracy journal

i am jealous and want one

Superjustinbros

yus

RebelVampire

but also someone needs to teach jack journalism does not actually involve journals XD

mathtans

Yeah, I don't think Mike's really got it out for anyone though. Maybe he's related to the librarians.

Art draws pretty well. He makes... art.

RebelVampire

an unfortunate nickname well suited to puns

Superjustinbros

"What did you name your son?" "Art"

"Is that really his name?" "No it's just a nickname he likes."

RebelVampire

but i really like how the journal shows art's thought processes and everything. like its a great way to build character without art smacking you with dialogue to put you in his head

Superjustinbros

lol

I never actually thought of that- to give a character a journal

and just have them jot down in it every once in a while

and show you what they write/doodle

mathtans

That's a good point. A little window into his view of the plot.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 2. One of the central features of the story is the vast conspiracy that seems to haunt Art’s hometown. Are the birds truly leading Art somewhere, or are they really just a coincidence? If the former, where are they leading Art to? Why were all the magpies culled and what does this have to do with murders and supposed cults? What was the one librarian scared of Art finding in the archives? Why is the other librarian willing to help Art? What does all this have to do with the forest and the various people who have gone missing in it? How do you think everything connects in general?

I think the birds are leading Art somewhere but im skeptical theyre actually birds. Cause conveniently nobody but Art sees them UNTIL Alice and Jack get involved. And then suddenly cause theyre part of the plot they can see them. So I kind of wonder if they arent birds but supernatural entities that look like birds

mathtans

I feel like that title "2 for joy" has something to it; I've never heard of the saying (rhyme?) before about the magpies, but there was a reference made. So turning it around, you need to have two people or the birds will get you.

Ohh, that's an interesting theory. I like it.

Maybe the missing people got turned into birds.

Superjustinbros

and then the birds haunt more people

and turn them into birds

it's how they spread

RebelVampire

thats an interesting idea. or more optimistically the birds are trying to lead art to a cure

mathtans

A cure for what though? He's not sick.

RebelVampire

actually if this was true itd explain why jack kind of got dragged in

one of those birds is his uncle

mathtans

Or a cure for the thing that turns the eyes white?

RebelVampire

i meant a cure for them

to be not birds

mathtans

Ohh, now I'm with you.

The librarians also used to be birds. That's why they're in on the conspiracy, they don't want to have to be birds again.

RebelVampire

the family secrets that cant be told are that art was patient 0 and really a ghost bird all along

on a more serious guess, maybe theyre leading art to ground zero though. like assuming there is supernatural stuff at work, when things like whats going on in the town happen, theres usually like an origin point. like a pentagram in the woods though probably not that.

mathtans

That's why they saved his life!

Superjustinbros

Good thinking.

mathtans

Maybe, could be something silver, what with the bird connection.

RebelVampire

arent magpies the ones who like shiny stuff?

mathtans

I think so? I don't know much about birds.

RebelVampire

google tells me yes but that this is a myth

and that scientifically them stealing the shiny things is not backed up by dedicated observation and testing

https://tenor.com/view/themoreyouknow-star-rainbowstreak-nbc-gif-4884642

which now leaves me torn cause i was gonna guess that theyre just leading art to their silver pile of treasure

mathtans

As Jack said, the true treasure was the friends they made along the way.

RebelVampire

ya know, given the title, that is probably all that matters

that through their quest theyre going to find joy

mathtans

And Joy will be the wife of that guy who was blamed for all the murders?

(Seriously though, it's interesting how deep the rabbit hole seems to go.)

Actually, now that I think of it, there was an X-Files reference too. Possibly just in the author's notes though.

RebelVampire

ya know

i would not be surprised if the wife's name did turn out to be joy

although id also find that kind of funny

mathtans

(off to crib)

RebelVampire

aside from birds though, im turning my attention to the archives. cause from the convo i gathered that besides other things, there were things with births and deaths art wasnt supposed to find? and given the one extra side page, i really wonder if it has to do with art's birth since hes adopted

(good luck)

RebelVampire

but maybe i misread the conversation. i mean maybe theyre just trying to cover up exactly how many people have gone missing in the forest. cause its too shameful or a high risk for crashing that small town tourism cash cow

or theyre trying to cover up the fact that the cult is still sort of active and something in the archives proves how deep the cult runs

mathtans

(back-ish) Yeah, I noticed the adoption thing and wondered briefly about it.

You think maybe the "murders" were just lots of missing people?

Superjustinbros

Yeah I wouldn't want that getting out inot the public

mathtans

A birb cult.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. In the recent pages, Jack and Art have decided they need to go into the forest and look around. What do you think will happen to the two while in the forest? Will they see more birds? Will the silver compass come into play? Do you think the two will be in danger considering the possessions that seem to have occurred to certain individuals? In regards to the conspiracy, what answers do you think the two might find directly in the forest? Lastly, do you think going into the forest will have other consequences? What if members of the town find out about their little expedition? What about Alice?

and it could be. that there are less murders than we think and everyone is just missing.

i do think the adoption thing is significant

Superjustinbros

more birds definitely

RebelVampire

i think what will happen in the forest is theyll get jumpscared a lot but then learn nothing. outside of the forest is spooky af. although i also think theyre gonna find something they dont think is significant until later and theyre like "le gasp signs of the missing ppl"

Superjustinbros

"forests are spooky"

the moral of the story

mathtans

(back-ish again) I wonder if going into the woods will cause a replay of the Hec stuff. Like Jack will have his eyes go white and try to beat up Art and then won't remember about it. Could put their relationship on the rocks a bit.

Or jumpscares with birds.

RebelVampire

tbh i actually assume if that were to happen alice would be the more likely possession target

like shell show up

scold

suddenly rolled back eyes

beat art up

mathtans

Ooooh. That'd definitely shake up the character dynamics. I wonder if the birds tried to talk to her first, but she didn't listen? Since she also left town for a while.

RebelVampire

maybe. although now im wondering how she and art both happen to coincientally be back in town. like we know kind of why art is there. but alice too seems a huge coincidence in a story where coincidences are actually conspiracies

mathtans

Hmmmm. Maybe she's not really there? Has anyone other than Art and Jack mentioned actually seeing Alice?

Maybe she's Jack's guardian angel or something in disguise.

RebelVampire

im trying

to recall a moment

i mean shes gone half the time and not able to interact with outside ppl

there was the one scene where theyre all eating together

but i dont remember if any outside person approached them

mathtans

Did Mike comment on her though? Because she only turned up when Art admitted to Jack that he was waiting for her.

(Is she a bird? Man, I can't tell if my conspiracy theories are totally crazy or not.)

RebelVampire

the only reference mike makes is later on when hes scolding jack and ask if its going to become another summer where he ignores customers to gossip with his "little friends"

so specifically plural

BUT

the context does not imply that there has to be multiple

more like the implication that more friends could show up even tho just the one is there

so it could go either or

mathtans

Indeeeed.

Oh, wait! The guy in the compass shop. He saw her, in the hat.

Mustache man... maybe he's in on it?

RebelVampire

darn it compass guy

mathtans

(Nice subtle detail in that scene by the way, him not recognizing Jack after the transition.)

RebelVampire

ruining our good alice isnt there theory

mathtans

Heh.

Alice and Art do prove that you can leave the town without just vanishing then.

RebelVampire

yes. until the town pulls you back

by crashing your car

i think jack and art going into the forest is going to attract unwanted town attention

i can hear that one librarian now going "i told you he was up to something!"

mathtans

They went swimming without incident though. As long as they play it off as camping or whatever, who would care.

RebelVampire

suspicious librarians

thats who would care

"They just went swimming who goes swimming that much they must be suspicious!"

mathtans

I wonder what the librarians do in their off hours.

Superjustinbros

sme tbh

RebelVampire

QUESTION 4. Among the conspiracies are a lot of emotional conflicts and changing relationships. Do you think Art and Jack’s flirting will go anywhere? Whether it does or not, how might their investigations and the revealing of certain secrets affect how they view each other? How might it change Art’s relationship with Alice given Alice is reluctant to buy into the conspiracies as much as Art or Jack? Also, how will learning more help or hurt Art’s ability to deal with Hec? Do you think Hec is in on the conspiracy or is Jack right and Hec just wants to fight? Lastly, why do you think Art was the one targeted by the birds, and how does Jack play into the ultimate roles that the supernatural events seem to have intended for them? How might Jack’s missing uncle come into play and change how Jack deals with the situation?

the nice librarian goes home and reads books. the mean one is obviously part of HOA and the neighborhood watch

mathtans

Related to the relationship stuff, it's nice how the gay angle was put in as a sidebar, just a statement of fact. I wonder a little bit if younger Art had a thing for Hec, which is partly why he sees the best in the guy.

Related to the bird stuff, the second appearance of the birds related to a baby. Not sure how that fits in.

Superjustinbros

i was surprised to see the gay comment, I'll admit

did Art drop that fact earlier on in the story?

mathtans

Yeah, when it was the four birds for Jack I think.

RebelVampire

yeah its pretty super early on

like not first page

but very early

Superjustinbros

aye

mathtans

Like maybe birth as the opposite of death? :/

RebelVampire

i worried it meant the baby was gonna die tbh XD

mathtans

Oooh, super serious.

RebelVampire

mostly cause so far the birds have an omen sort of tone and omens arent good

and they caused art to crash his car

soooo

Superjustinbros

and put him in a cast?

mathtans

But he was going to crash anyway, right?

RebelVampire

maybe? i mean art says the birds saved his life or something but that doesnt mean thats the objective fact of what happened

mathtans

Art and Jack seem destined to get together though, after the bit with Hec in the alley.

True. Wishful thinking?

RebelVampire

i do think in this case maybe

at the very least i dont think alice and jack are wrong in thinking some of this bird thing is about art kind of not coping with what happened

cause i def dont think art is dealing with it and that even though something is going on, hes also using it as a distraction

cause both can be true

maybe this comic is just the labyrinth and the birds are gonna spirit the baby away to turn it into a troll

mathtans

The baby is really Art. It's all time travel. He takes the baby back and gets himself adopted.

RebelVampire

so does that make the librarians the time police?

Superjustinbros

...That would be a pretty epic twist(edited)

mathtans

One of them is a grown up Jughead.

As to why Art was targeted, maybe Art has unfinished business in town.

RebelVampire

well id say hec is unfinished business. although maybe thats why. that art encountered the supernatural and lived to tell the tale and didnt disappear in the forest

so that proves he has magical supernatural immunity

mathtans

Oh, immunity, that's an interesting idea. Maybe it's because he was adopted and didn't grow up in town or something?

Maybe everyone has silver poisoning.

Superjustinbros

Oooooooooo

mathtans

Can that make your eyes go white?

RebelVampire

art is just the chosen one

idk

lets see

mathtans

I hope the Art and Jack thing works out. Art needs some grins in his life, and I gather the transition wasn't easy for Jack either.

RebelVampire

“Silver poisoning, medically termed argyria, causes ashen gray discoloration of the skin (and other tissues of the body).”

thats what the first result tells me

i think itll work out just cause its called 2 for joy and theyre the ones in all the banners

and they do seem to be mutually attracted to each other. although i do wonder if they solve the conspiracy if that will remain

mathtans

That's true... maybe the two of them will adopt a baby, whence the "2 for joy" relates to the birds too?

I suppose the specific species of bird is related too, but I don't know from specifics.

The real conspiracy, of course, is how that diner manages to have the best pancakes in town.

Superjustinbros

That'd be cute, just sayin

(or a young child)

RebelVampire

i liked the bit where jack was criticizing alice for making up ppl

but then art joins in

with an even more ridiculous chain

mathtans

Yeah, that helps to show the sibling angle too.

Superjustinbros

I guess since there's only a few minutes left, I'd like to take the time to say good luck to abi on getting this story worked on, it's looking great so far.

mathtans

Yeah, the characters are interesting along with the plot, like I don't think I've ever seen this sort of mix before.

Superjustinbros

Well said.

mathtans

Hope they bring pancakes into the woods to appease the birds.

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB END!

Sadly, this wraps up this week’s Thursday Book Club chat for now. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and joining us! We want to give a special thank you to Abi Watson, as well, for making 2 for Joy. If you liked the comic, make sure to support Abi Watson’s efforts however you’re able to~!

Read and Comment: https://tapas.io/series/2-for-joy

Abi Watson’s Redbubble Shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/abiwatson

Abi Watson’s Society 6 Shop: https://society6.com/abiwatsonillustration/s?q=new

Abi Watson’s Gumroad Shop: https://gumroad.com/abiwatson

Abi Watson’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/abiwatsonart?lang=en

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #book club #bookclub #webcomic book club #webcomic bookclub #comic tea party #ctp #2 for joy #abi watson

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smartalker · 7 years

Text

Magpie Bridge [6/10 - Papissa Joanna]

ENTITLED: Magpie Bridge FANDOM: Mass Effect Andromeda - Reyes/Ryder RATING: M LENGTH: 50k via 10 chapters GENRE: Romance/Sci-Fi/Drama/Humor, in that order SUMMARY: With the Kett subdued and Andromeda’s terraforming system running at full power, Kadara Port swiftly establishes itself as the trade capital of the galaxy. The city’s unique combination of affluence, corruption, and growing power inevitably earns the ire of both the Nexus, and Aya. Under tremendous pressure to disavow a known criminal’s legitimacy, Ryder once again returns to Kadara hoping to broker peace, but the Charlatan wants something very different from her… ALT SUMMARY: Two people fall in love, galaxy breaks.

No reception.

Ryder poked at her omni-tool again, hopefully. No reception. Damn.

Pathfinder, it seems likely that the canyon walls are interfering with our communications.

Brilliant. Ryder glanced back and around. Reyes had wandered back into the ship, likely doing something nefarious, but his pilots remained busy at the bridge. She cleared her throat. “Hey. Do you know when the signal will be back up?”

One pilot glanced back. She had neat, aqua dreadlocks. “You mean for private calls? We’re cloaked until arrival. Security concerns. We should arrive in about half an hour.”

“Oh. Bummer. Okay, thanks—” Ryder paused suddenly. Reyes had definitely been messaging someone earlier. “What about Reyes?”

The pilot shrugged. “Him? He’s always got some new tech. Loves his gadgets. Not sure where he gets it. Told me he built it himself when I asked once…don’t really buy it. Probably keeps a gang of Salarians locked in a basement somewhere.” She grinned. Her teeth were shiny, bolted with silver. She glanced at her screens, then nodded politely at Ryder before returning to her work.

Ryder scowled. Her omni-tool was top of the market caliber, the best money could buy. She hadn’t paid much attention to tech before, but she had a hunch that if the Collective had better tech than the Initiative, her engineers seriously needed to get their asses in gear.

She marched back into the ship, searching the rooms randomly.

“Need something?”

Ryder spun, grabbing his wrist. “Let me scan your omni-tool.”

“Why, jealous?” He lifted his arm away from her, catching her around the waist and pulling her forwards. “It’s pretty good, one of its kind. But I could make you a copy if you asked me nicely.”

Ryder narrowed her eyes. “Oh, can you?” She tried sneakily scanning his device and was easily blocked.

Reyes shrugged, now pinning her arms. “I like building things. Just a hobby.” He grinned into her seething face. “You’re cute. Very fiery. I like this.”

All Initiative engineers were officially fired. Ryder wriggled around, trying to look fierce. “Is this how you became so successful? This whole time, you’ve secretly been a gadget nerd?”

“Did you think it was all good looks and ruthless deception?”

“Yes.” She perked onto her toes, so their noses were tip-to-tip. His gaze faltered for a moment, surprised by her, and she let her weight sag forward so he was forced to catch her more tightly. She kissed him quickly. “Got you.”

He laughed a little breathlessly. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You. You like me. I make you nervous,” she told him, with glee. Reyes blinked.

“Did I forget to tell you?”

“You told me. I just didn’t really believe you.” She snuggled into him. “Don’t look at me.”

His hand found her ponytail, and tugged. She stayed resolutely hidden, as the pressure increased, as his voice began coaxing her, “Hey. Don’t get all shy now—”

The intercom buzzed suddenly to life, and the pilot from earlier announced over speaker, “Docking at Kadara Port, everyone hold on—”

They were too tangled together. Upon the abrupt docking, they both lurched into the wall, hips banging painfully against the hand rail. Ryder’s eyes smarted, her wrist and hand had both been smashed beneath his shoulder. “Ugh. Ryder down.”

“Sorry,” Reyes laughed, already helping to steady her. “Sorry,” he said again. “Dezzie likes a quick landing. I should have warned you. Where were we?” He reached for her face, and Ryder ducked away, her shyness returning.

“Disembarking.”

He clicked his tongue, following her back towards the bridge. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

She hit the outer door’s access button. “Are you?” She glanced back at him, and he wrapped an arm over and around her shoulders, catching her jaw so she remained angled towards him. He kissed her deeply, confidently, until she was leaning back into him and dizzy. And then he let her go.

“Not really,” he said. He wasn’t smiling. “Actually, I’m not patient at all.”

Ryder’s lips parted just as the doors slid back, and she was ready for him this time, she was going to answer—

“Hey,” said Scott, and Ryder’s stomach iced over. She swiveled, staring. Her twin waited at the end of the ramp, his arms crossed. She thought she felt Reyes’ arm clench a little. As discreetly as she was able, Ryder slid his arm off of her.

“Hey,” she returned. Casually. “Scott, have you met—? Okay, okay, nevermind, great.” Scott had already stalked away. Ryder glanced apologetically at Reyes.

“He’s very dramatic.” She whispered. “Of my immediate family, I would like to say that you really lucked out with me. Compared to the rest of them, I am extremely low maintenance.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Reyes said, rather pointedly. It wouldn’t have stung if he hadn’t spent the last week saving her ass, a pattern Ryder strongly disapproved of and would be re-evaluating, as opportunities arose.

Ryder suppressed her urge to reveal all the shit her brother had pulled over the course of their lives together. Suffice to say, there was a lot of shit. “I should probably go talk to him.” As though Scott hadn’t made that clear by stopping less than fifty feet away, sulking around some crates. Reyes looked as though he were trying not to laugh.

“I’ll wait for you. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Ryder nodded. “Right. Because we’re doing things together now.”

“Don’t forget,” Reyes called after her, as she jogged down the ramp. Scott pulled a nasty face as she approached, one she couldn’t help but return. They’d been running this routine for about twenty years now. It was hard to break old habits.

“Hey ugly,” Scott greeted.

“Moron,” Ryder returned. “You found me quick.”

“SAM let me know you were headed back to Port before coms were cut.” Scott shrugged. “I guess our link’s still open. Anyway, I’m here to collect you. You’re welcome. You look like shit, by the way.”

Absently, Ryder’s hand drifted up to her face. “Yeah. I kicked some ass.”

“Doesn’t look that way.” Scott glared at her. “SAM also told me you ran your dump of an astrology program again.”

What a fucking snitch. Words would be exchanged about this later. Ryder rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and did he also tell you that his combat program turns me into a God of War? Quit harping.”

“There’s literally like no part of you that isn’t beat to shit.” Scott sniped, before whispering, “God of War,” in an unnecessarily scathing tone. Ryder crossed her arms.

“Well fuck, Scott, sorry not all of us get to be born with perfect reflexes, must be my recessive genes or something.” She was laying on the sarcasm a little thicker than she had planned, but Scott was matching her, step for step. Why did they always fight?

“We have the same genes. We’re twins.”

“Right. Thanks for the biology lesson,” Ryder muttered. She glanced back at the ship. Reyes was turned away from her, discussing something with his crew. She hoped he hadn’t been able to hear her conversation and its exhausting pettiness. Even she was embarrassed. She turned back to Scott, his familiar features. Maybe her only family, if her mother never woke up.

They didn’t look that alike. It didn’t matter. Ryder smiled. “This is dumb. Dad would tell us we were being dumb.”

After a moment, Scott smiled awkwardly back at her. “That was about the extent of his emotional interventions, yeah.”

Ryder wrinkled her nose. “Whatever, you had it way better. You didn’t ever fuck up.”

Scott just stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ryder waved an arm, trying to flap away the emotional baggage she’d just dumped into their conversation. “Nothing. You know. You and dad.”

“What about me and dad?”

“Just.” Was he glaring at her? Ryder looked away. Unexpectedly, her throat had begun to close up. She squeaked a little when she said. “You know. You and dad. You were close. And you were, you know, you were a better soldier than I was. Am. If you’d woken up from your coma on schedule, if—maybe if you’d been on the mission—”

“What, dad would still be alive?” Scott snorted. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think there was anything you could have done differently. Don’t think like that, you’ll go crazy.”

“No, I meant—I meant, I think he’d have chosen you as Pathfinder. I think you’d have done a better job. I don’t know. I don’t want to make this a big thing. You’re right, what happened, happened.”

She tried to walk away, to just get some distance from a conversation she hadn’t meant to make so emotional, but Scott checked her path, and jabbed an angry finger against her collar. “What kind of stupid shit is that? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and I used to read your diary.”

Ryder bared her teeth, her face flaming. “Okay, I get it! I’ll quit whining!” She took it all back. Brothers were seriously the worst.

Scott was making an extremely unattractive face, in her opinion. “You’re so fucking annoying. I actually, intensely, wish I could just beat you up right now, except you’re already injured everywhere. Pathfinder my ass. You seriously think dad would have picked me? Because I can fight better?”

“Shut up.” She side-stepped him. Note to self: never confide in blood relatives. “Good to see your emotional illiteracy has lived to fight another day.”

“That’s what dad said too,” Scott yelled behind her. “And you’re an idiot for not figuring that one out, Sara! Pathfinders don’t need to shoot guns, they need to find a way forward when everything else is fucked.”

“I hate you!” she screamed back, which was maybe not that mature but also: fuck Scott. Her shriek did not go un-noticed. From across the clearing, Reyes and his crew were watching, with some concern, as she forced her appearance back to calmness. Sibling squabbles should be checked at the door. She took a deep breath, and then about four more. “Okay. I don’t hate you. You’re my brother and I love you. Sorry.”

Scott snorted. “Are you telling me or yourself?”

“Fuck off,” Ryder snapped. Scott grinned. This was officially the worst conversation to have in front of a romantic interest. Ryder squeezed her eyes closed. “Ugh. Ugh. Ignoring you. Tell me my extremely capable and talented crew has made headway. I’m betting at least two new couples?”

“What?” Scott looked taken aback. “New couples?”

Oblivious idiot. “Never mind. Crime scenes, drugs. Our investigation. Did you find anything?” she asked, hoping for at least vindication.

Scott grimaced. “Yes.”

She swung around him, trying to corner his expression into telling her more. “Yeah? And?”

Scott gave a disgusted sigh. “Look. Your drug base.”

“Sure?”

“There’s a lot of them. A lot. It’s not surprising you found one so easily.”

Ryder, now having flashbacks of her very inelegant cliff scramble, wanted to object to his use of the word ‘easily.’ Perhaps later. “And—they’re all on PX9…uh.”

“PX92230. And yes, they are, with some expected variations across strains. Which implies that there’s no branding or organization across sellers which, once we looked into it, turned out to be true.” Scott was rubbing at the early wrinkle developing between his brows. “They’re all small, independent sellers. Like people growing pot in their basements.”

Shit. Ryder strongly preferred the scenario where there was one bad guy. Extra points for clear DNA trails. She watched as Scott continued ironing his face, now wondering if she was growing some wrinkles of her own. “Okay. So. The drugs are a dead end.”

Scott growled a little. “Ugh. Do you get headaches?”

“Like all the time.”

“Me too. We should go to a doctor.”

Ryder huffed a little. “Scott, we don’t have a pre-existing condition. We have annoyingly high-achieving parents who died and dumped all their shit on us.” She winced as Scott punched her viciously in the shoulder. “Ow, alright! I’m an insensitive shrew!”

Scott glared for another moment, sternness emanating from every pore. Nursing her shoulder, Ryder privately thought that Scott might be more accustomed to her way of thinking if he saw how old he looked just then. “The drugs are more than a dead end.” Scott revealed. “This whole thing is bullshit. Unmanageable. It’s like the old war on drugs all over again.”

Ryder blinked. “Fine, so let them have their drugs. I just want to stop whoever’s landscaping with body parts.”

“No,” Scott said, sounding annoyed, “You don’t get it. That won’t solve anything.”

“I seriously beg to differ.”

“Sara, it’s not just one group.” Scott rolled up to his feet. “Listen. The exiles came out of stasis early, right? And then there was a meltdown within command, people didn’t get the psych treatment they needed. So they revolted, came out to Kadara with their manic depression and bi-polar disorder and anxiety and fuck knows what else—things they didn’t even have before stasis, things that happened because it turns out freezing someone for six hundred years isn’t great for their health, who knew. So now we have a bunch of people with mental health stuff that they don’t know how to deal with.”

“We’ve seen that before—Lexi was able to treat them—”

“No. Listen. They already treated themselves.” Scott was growing more agitated as he explained, beginning to pace. “They’ve been treating themselves with PX92230 except, which works fine in theory, expect that it’s got the potential to be crazy addictive, and loses its effect over time. We thought they were inducing a manic state, but actually, they were just trying to get out of bed in the morning.”

Ryder groaned. “Oh. Awesome. So I need a massive rehab program—”

“No. Because this isn’t your issue. I mean it is, but not in the way you think.” Scott abruptly stopped moving. He sort of hung in space, swaying on the point of taking another step, but not committing. Ryder wasn’t sure about the expression he was making – the odd, restrained sadness of it. “Look,” Scott said, finally. “It’s the kids.”

Ryder stared at him. “The dead kids?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” Scott sighed. “Lexi and Suvi went over the coroner’s notes. The victims all have traces of the drug, but…it’s not enough. So Suvi had an idea. When we factor in the chemical imbalances that were already present, the treatment becomes ineffective. For adults, their addictions are just a big secret no one wants to talk about. For kids—well, no one wants to drug up their kids. In fact, the drugs in their system wouldn’t have been nearly enough, if they’d reached a true psychotic state.”

Ryder stared at her brother. She had heard him, the words he was saying, but none of it—none of it made sense to her—

SAM flickered, at the back of her mind, whirling composites and threads and lost tangents into place. The Green Man, the god Dionysus, the circles and the rituals and the savagery, the blood, the missing element she kept returning to, wondering how does sex fit in, where’s the pervert doing this for a release?—and finding none, over and over again. But of course a child wouldn’t kill for a sexual motive, a child had no concept of such things, only a pure and surreal brutality, a fever dream brought about by fairy tales and stories and adventure, a chemical scrambling in a developing mind. Parents too stressed or too distracted or too dead to help them.

Myths were simple. The same story, the same patterns. A thousand Gods of Death. The things that children learned in grade school.

“No.” Ryder said.

“You know it makes sense,” Scott said. He looked almost sorry. “We’ve seen them. All this time. Gangs of kids. It’s likely not all of them need treatment—the Angara children, for one, they never even went through cryo—but they’re impressionable. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine them sucked into a group hallucination.”

She felt like she was having a panic attack. Ryder swallowed, once, then twice—she couldn’t think. She couldn’t shoot children.

“Do we have a plan?”

“Verify it.” Scott shrugged. “I’ve already authorized it. Figured there was no harm in checking. Lexi’s going to start doing diagnostics this afternoon, check blood work against brain scans. We’ll know soon.”

Ryder nodded. She felt worse than useless. She inhaled, held it. “Okay,” she managed, air squeaking against full lungs. She blew out. “Okay. Sorry. It’s just, you now. Jesus.”

“I know.”

“Yeah.” She slapped her hands absently against her thighs. Battery, battery. “Okay. I’ll head back with you. We need to regroup. Let me tell Reyes.”

Scott made a face, ready to argue, and so Ryder walked away a little faster than she might have done otherwise. Fuck. Fuck. Reyes had already seen her return, was motioning for his pilots to take a walk. He smiled at her.

“Bad news?”

“Yeah. Uh, yeah.” Ryder combed her fingers back through her bangs, held them there, yanking against her own scalp. “The worst possible news.” She told him, wrapping up with, “I need to get back to the Tempest. If this turns out to be true—I need to do something. Take emergency measures.” She hesitated. “I’m—I’m sorry. I know you wanted us to stay together. I did, too.”

He was still, arms crossed, gaze lowered. “No worries. We work on different sides of the law.” His gaze shifted for a second. “Your brother and you. You’re similar. Same nasty glare.”

“I don’t glare.”

“Hm,” was his comment. He was still watching Scott, absently rubbing his chin. “Be careful, Sara.”

She flushed a little. He didn’t call her by name often. “I’m always careful.”

“I don’t buy it.” Reyes shrugged. “Okay, sure. Everyone’s getting high on Kadara. We knew that. Cryo messes people up – also knew that. Your entire scenario sounds plausible enough, but I still think there’s something missing. I should have known about this. The fact that I didn’t means someone’s working pretty hard to keep me in the dark.” His gaze shifted back to her, a delicate frown pinching the edges of his eyes, narrowing his focus.

“What?” She’d meant to leave. There was something ugly lurking just beneath the surface now, something that twisted inward and away from her. In an effort to reach it, she flattened one hand against his chest. “What?”

And in less than a second he’d shaken it away. “Nothing. You should get back to your brother before he actually shoots me.”

“Don’t do that,” she protested. “Whatever it is, I can handle it. Please trust me.”

He looked down at her hand. Slowly, his own came to rest over hers. “You know what?” he laughed a little. “I actually do. See you soon.” Before she could say anything else, his face bent towards her and he kissed her again, longer than she’d anticipated.

And then he turned, and walked back on his ship.

She watched him leave, an uneasy clench still kicking nervously though her stomach. A feeling, a fear, as though maybe she wouldn’t see him again. She held herself still, her body poised as though tied to thousands of invisible strings, uncertain what reaction would occur by her hand lifting, her feet moving to take their next step.

And then Scott’s hand fell on her shoulder. And she turned back.

“Come on,” Scott insisted. “We gotta move.”

“Right,” Ryder agreed. The engines engaged on the cargo ship behind her, as Reyes and his crew pushed off. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to watch him leave.

Keema had left the Collective’s Base at Kadara Port behind her for a more secure, less obvious facility. She still had an overly dramatic chair to sit in, there were still steps that separated her from the rabble that would kneel in attendance. Reyes climbed the stairs, while she waved her bodyguards out of the room. He briefed her on the Pathfinder’s suspicions, the Initiative’s likely next moves. She listened well, interrupting only once or twice to clarify a detail. When he’d finished, she sat for a long while in contemplative silence.

Finally, she looked at him. “Tell me honestly,” Keema began. “Your best judgment. How many number among those who would use this distraction as a pretext to seize power? You and I both know that curing this sickness won’t be enough. It’s been too elegantly leveraged.”

Reyes paced, tallying the cartels, the murder sites, the supply lines and the guards and the children and the—

“At least a hundred.”

“Not a lot.”

“Up to thousands,” he admitted. He made himself face her. Funny, how much Keema’s approval had begun to matter, at some point. Her bright, gleaming eyes stared back at him, only listening.

“The problem, you realize, is not that they may number in the thousands. The problem is that you have no idea.”

“It’s—catching.” Reyes struggled to explain. “The idea that anyone could be the Charlatan. That no one is the Charlatan. I don’t know, it’s gone past just anarchy, more towards something like madness.” He laughed shortly. “I should have come down on them harder. I should have made an example.”

“It’s done,” Keema cut in. “You aren’t that person. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” She was looking through him, her eyes glassy. Slowly, her head began to shake, to deny. Somewhere, a gear was turning, a wheel spun. Somewhere, the beast woke up, the star ended. Keema drew in a breath, her body braced, her hand tracing the fresh scar tissue her body had worked so hard to produce, the hole it had closed in her shoulder. “I see,” Keema said, and nothing more. There was something there, some new wall between them. Reyes had never gone so far as to trust Keema with his life, but he’d trusted in her gambling spirit, her flair for opulence, posturing.

Now, she flinched.

“What?” he demanded. “Or are you waiting for me to leave the room before you divulge it all to the cameras?”

Keema’s fingers—her nails—traced light, careful patterns over her injury. “We’re over,” Keema said simply. She faced him. “The Charlatan. It’s over. We need to get out, now.”

“Before it’s too late?” Reyes mocked. He laughed tightly. “I didn’t know you were scared of ghosts.”

“Nothing kills a ghost,” Keema said, flat. “Did you know, the Angara have ghosts too? Human, Asari, Turian…it doesn’t matter. Everyone has a ghost. I think it’s because everyone knows they should be afraid, because there is nothing better at scaring children than something that doesn’t quite exist.” Her dreamy reflection broke, she faced him. “I was your face. The people know me as the Charlatan. Many assume I know who he actually is.”

“Not to sound glib, but you’ve never fled because of an assassination attempt before—”

Keema interrupted him, now rising from her seat, turning, turning. She spun out of orbit, dislodged. “Death is a fact. Fine, I accept death. A ghost doesn’t.”

Reyes frowned, following her from her audience hall, down the narrow passage. She lived and ruled Kadara as a queen might. “You’re getting in the way of your own metaphors.”

“I’m saying we’ve lost.” Keema snapped. “We went about it all wrong. Authority cannot be faceless while remaining illegitimate. We were wrong. We were strong as usurpers, not as rulers. It’s done. This isn’t a scenario where two Charlatans duke it out for the title—that’s over. Now there are three, thirty, a thousand Charlatans. It will never end. Not until the Initiative blows through us, until we’re all dust.” She was stripping off her jewelry, her beautiful clothes. He watched as she pulled on a set of dark, dusty fatigues. Her face seemed to shift, becoming something wary and old. She faced him, a shadow of Keema. “I’m not afraid of dying. But I’m not going out for no reason. When something’s over, you change or you get left behind to die with it.”

He walked her to the door. “So that’s it?”

Keema glanced at him, smiling wryly. Her face became her own again. “Darling, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not the type to stay quiet for long.” She clasped his hand. “Be well, my friend. Let go of your anger, and your Pathfinder. Both of them will kill you.” She turned to leave, her carriage graceful in spite of her ragged attire.

“That’s funny,” Reyes said mildly. “It seems more likely that you will.”

Keema stopped.

“You lied to me,” Reyes said. “You knew the rituals were performed by children. In fact—it’s too much. Theatrical. Someone planted the seed. Someone put the idea in their heads. Someone wanted to make such a spectacle of things that there would be no choice but to investigate it. The only thing I can’t figure out, is why?”

She’d turned to face him now, her expression cool, noncommittal. Reyes breathed a soft laugh, his chest tightening. He felt the stirrings of the sort of fury that could make a person crush a wine glass with their bare hands, and feel nothing. “Was it you? It doesn’t matter, really. You collaborated, either way.”

Still, nothing. An almost beautiful emptiness. Slowly, Keema spoke. “It was never about you, darling. You must realize that.”

“Don’t.” Reyes whispered. He folded his rage, like a blanket. He packed it away. Keema only watched him, waiting.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

“Tell me why,” Reyes insisted instead. “Why you went behind my back. Why you destroyed us.” He wasn’t as perfect as he would have liked. He couldn’t stop himself from slamming the door she’d tried to walk through.

Finally, finally, Keema faced him fully, a sort of challenge growing, blossoming across her face. “Because you fell in love with the Pathfinder,” she said. “Because you won’t let her die. And the universe needs her to. She’s too powerful for the Initiative, for Aya, for us. She’s more powerful than all the other Pathfinders put together and nobody can figure out why, or how, but it doesn’t matter because her decisions have written the rules for the entire galaxy.” Keema’s face began to quiver as she spoke, her eyes widening, dilating. “Step back from this, Reyes! You know it’s true!”

The story was locking into place. The trap that Ryder couldn’t resist, the danger she would ignore every time. And he was the bait. And he hadn’t realized, because he’d been stupid enough to believe that the rest of the galaxy was in awe of her as he was. And time was running out. “The Kett are still out there,” Reyes argued, whether to Keema or the universe, he wasn’t sure. “And worse. And everything—we have no idea what’s coming next, but the Pathfinder is our best hope—”

“I could smack you!” Keema hissed. “The Pathfinder is a hero, Reyes. She presides over this galaxy like a God, her decisions become absolute. Eventually, the Initiative and its allies will turn against her. Every hero must die, or else their legends will crush the people who stand near them. This is why I couldn’t tell you. This is why! She has warped you with idealism, when you were never a good man. You lose all objectivity!”

In less than a second he had her against the wall with an automatic pistol jammed against her throat, the blood roaring in his ears, deafening him, adrenaline spiking his vision up to its maximum capacity, so that every nervous twitch or shudder that Keema’s face suffered became prolonged, almost indecently slowed. He could kill her. He should kill her, the viper, the—

“She’s going to die. And you made me the reason why,” he said. He was careful, enunciating each word. Almost calm.

“I did nothing,” Keema whispered. “The galaxy is the one who betrayed her. You were the one who made her fall for you. There was always going to be an explosion, one way or the other. All I did, was get out of the way.”

As the seconds ticked hollowly on, and Reyes stared into the face of the Angara he’d trusted, so implicitly, so stupidly—he realized, it was true. It was all true.

He let her go. Keema, massaging where he’d held her neck, took a wary step back. She reached for the door. “For what it’s worth,” she coughed, voice hoarse from abuse and emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Just get out.” Reyes said. He went on staring blankly ahead, as she closed the door behind her.

The results were conclusive.

“So,” Suvi began breathlessly, “We were lucky. That victim whose tissue samples you collected was human. My specialty.”

“Mine too,” Lexi chimed in, almost happily. Ryder couldn’t quite contain her puzzled stare. Lexi blushed. “I—that is, I rather like human anatomy.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Suvi said, with the decadent relish most people reserved for describing double chocolate cake. “I’m especially interested in natural mutations. Webbed feet. Very cute.”

God these people were weird. Ryder focused on the projection of an adolescent brain, pieced apart and cleanly labeled. “So? What can you tell me?”

“Oh, right.” Suvi zoomed on the frontal lobe. “Well. Based on our chemical analysis of the victim’s brain tissue, our theory holds ground. Her neurotransmitters were all over the place, highly saturated. Her symptoms were likely similar to someone living with a severe form of schizophrenia – likely with massive audio and visual hallucinations. So, yes, someone with these symptoms, who is young enough to have only a tenuous grasp of morality, and existing in an extremely malleable stage of development—frankly, it’s very hard to imagine another scenario, at this point.”

Ryder blew up her cheeks, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Lexi laid a hand on her arm. “Ryder. None of this is your fault. But we need to act, and we need to act quickly. There is a massive population here that desperately need psychological treatment – we must establish programs from those people struggling with addiction, I would also recommend—”

“Yes.” Ryder interrupted. “All of that. Yes. Write the report, I’ll submit it with my full support. We’re going to need Initiative resources.”

“If they’ll agree to part with them,” Kallo mumbled. He rose from his seat at the bridge and move back to join their conference. Suvi frowned.

“These are children. Children who were essentially dragged in and out of cryo by their families. They haven’t made any decisions that might harm the Initiative—”

“I hope Tann will see it that way,” Kallo murmured. “The political situation on Kadara has grown too unstable. If he agrees he’s going to want a full surrender of authority.”

Ryder’s teeth ground together. The ugly thought that had been lurking at the back of her head. “Maybe we could act as a mediator—”

Lexi’s hand slammed down on the table, and she bolted straight up from her seat. “You cannot possibly think that anything is more important than helping these people! Who cares about the ruler of a stupid little rock when there are lives on the line?”

Ryder cringed. “I know, I’m just—”

But now it was Suvi’s turn to lay a gentle hand across Ryder’s, as she huskily murmured, “Ryder, we cannot ignore this any longer. You know it’s true. The situation is too unstable on Kadara Port in the hands of its acting authorities. I’m not saying that Tann or the Initiative are perfect, but what our people need now is order. And that means an authority figure that can be held accountable.”

“Not some weasel doing whatever they want in the shadows,” Kallo muttered. He looked startled by his own rebellion.

Ryder swallowed again, “Look I hear you, I agree with you, I’m just wondering if this is really the best solution—”

“Probably not,” Scott spoke from the doorway, and Ryder spun around to face her brother. She wanted to order him out, to point out that this meeting was for officers only, but Scott had already taken a seat at their table. He glanced at Ryder, at all of them. “There’s a reason Tann was an accountant, not a leader. He’s not likeable. He inspires no one. But he isn’t evil, and he’s mostly fair, and he has the resources these people need. And realistically, now that we know the cause, it’s only a matter of time until knowledge spreads to the public. We risk appearing incompetent, or heartless. We can afford neither. Sara, you are holding a bomb.”

“Alright!” Ryder yelled. The room fell silent, staring at her. Her heart was pounding unnaturally fast, frighteningly fast. Pathfinder – find the way forward. No matter the cost. Forget everything else.

She grit her teeth. “Okay,” Ryder heard herself speaking, surprised at how calm she sounded. “You’re right. It’s out of my hands, out of control. We need more people. You’re right. You’re right. Get Tann on the line for me.”

Suvi glanced at Kallo, her chin shaking slightly. Kallo blinked, twice. “I—of course, Pathfinder. What are you going to say?”

Ryder sighed. “Don’t you get it? You’ve won. It’s over. I’m calling them in.”

Kallo opened his mouth to say more, but Suvi threw out a long arm, knocking him gently in the stomach. Her bridge crew nodded, their faces solemn, even sympathetic. Ryder allowed herself one long, aching sigh as she headed to the conference room, carefully avoiding thinking about any of the things she was about to admit to the Director.

The light was blinking, ready, screen prepped. Ryder huffed up her chest, squaring her shoulders. She could do this. She was ready. Her fingers, rather than accepting the computer’s prompt, squished into fists.

It was all just fucked.

She hit the call accept command, and Tann’s gaunt face assembled before her eyes. He wasn’t real. He was just a bunch of hyperactive pixels. Ryder cleared her throat. “Director Tann. I won’t waste your time. I need Nexus operatives.”

Tann was silent for a moment, watching her. “I see. Well, nothing’s solved by us blaming one another. I’ve been keeping an eye on reports submitted by Scott Ryder. I think I have a general idea of the situation, but I’ll need you to submit a formal summary of your own activity for my review. If you would include your recommendations for the placement and personnel dispatch you deem most prudent, I will take that into consideration while forming the task force.”

Ryder swallowed once, twice. “I understand. I’m hoping that the Initiative will see this as an opportunity to extend an invitation to our allies on Aya. Perhaps rather than a strict military occupation, we could instead work through trade embassies.”

Tann was silent, long finger steepling. “I understand your point. I will at the very least keep Aya briefed on current intelligence and operatives. But trade embassies…it will be difficult to make that happen, Ryder. I can’t say until I review the paperwork, but my initial answer is no.”

She swallowed her shame, her well-grown desire for punishment in the face of failure. This was about more than her, this was about innocent people. “There are thousands of civilians leading blameless lives here—”

Tann’s eyes suddenly glowed with an old, painful fury. “They are traitors and deserters, the utter antithesis of ‘blameless.’ If it weren’t for the Angara I would have blown up their operations cycles past—”

She ignored his venom, his uncharacteristic emotion. “You just said the Angara will be sympathetic to their own. How will it look if we abandon those deserters?”

“Justified.” Tann snapped. “The Angara are not idiots, for all their obsessive return to emotions. They approved the Roekarr’s executions without an ocean of tears. Don’t hide behind diplomacy when there is no need for it, Pathfinder. Submit your reports. Understand that this operation has been excused from your authority as Pathfinder—you will be expected to provide support to the Initiative as deemed appropriate and necessary. You do not act without my orders.”

There was a long silence. Ryder said, felt, did—nothing. She endured until it was over. Tann, a million miles away, had screwed up his lips, now looking faintly uncomfortable. She could see him coaxing himself into speaking. “Pathfinder,” Tann eventually said. “I was unprofessional. I apologize. I will not minimize your achievements. There is no shame in admitting that you lack the resources to achieve something. I hope we will be able to work together.”

He stopped again. Hollowly, Ryder realized that she was supposed to say something—something obsequious, subservient. She lacked the energy. “Me too, Director,” she managed, and cut the feed.

In the silence that followed Tann’s call, Ryder emptied herself. She let me mind cloud over, filled only with the gentle hum from the Tempest’s distant engines. She bowed her head, and bent at the waist to slump her body over the conference table. There was a strange, almost sharp pain digging into the muscles behind her left shoulder.

She wasn’t going to cry. If she cried, it was because she was frustrated. But she wasn’t going to cry.

“Damn,” Ryder whispered, and forced herself back upright, keying in Reyes’ number. The call she wanted to make even less. The one she would gladly run from forever.

He didn’t turn on his video, but his voice patched in, surrounding her, “Yes?”

Good. She didn’t want to see him. Even more, she didn’t want him see her. Did he sound off? It was probably just her nerves. Ryder wiped at her cheeks. “Hey. I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

Ryder swallowed. Her hands were shaking. All of her, actually. She trembled. “I called the Nexus. I don’t have authority over this investigation anymore. I’ll make recommendations for a limited, discreet operation—maybe the establishment of some trade embassies—but, but I don’t know. I don’t have any confidence that it’s going to fly. Tann hates the deserters, I think he’ll try for a full military operation.” She bit her tongue. If she apologized, she’d cry. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t tell him.

He didn’t answer her for so long that she began to wonder if he’d hung up on her, if that was it. The end, without apology. “Why?” Reyes asked. He sounded genuinely puzzled, almost innocent. Ryder squeezed her eyes closed. He couldn’t see her. She slid to the floor, her back curling tightly around the conference table’s leg.

“Because—” her voice was shaking. Ryder stopped, swallowing. “Because I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live with myself, knowing how terrible this investigation is, how badly I’ve compromised things. I can’t—I can’t just let things fall apart. I can’t keep letting people be turned into victims. I needed to admit that I couldn’t fix things the day I landed on Kadara, and I didn’t. I tried, but things just got worse, and that’s on me. It’s because I let my feelings for you get in the way of everything else. Even now, I’m still calling you—” she broke off, her heart racing. The water ran from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words slipping free from her. She loathed herself, her own contemptible weakness. She pressed a hand over her nose and mouth, and held her breath. In the silence, she shook.

She could hear Reyes sigh. His breathing. He listened. “I understand,” he said. His voice was gentle, too gentle. “Okay. I understand.”

She shook her head, not speaking.

He went on, now asking, “Are you leaving?”

“No. I’m supposed to stay on Kadara, support the Initiative’s efforts.”

“Does Tann know how dangerous it is? For you?” his voice got an edge, a lilt of accusation.

“What? I don’t know. Maybe. He said he was reading Scott’s reports.” Ryder wiped her eyes again. She pulled her knees up to her chest. “It doesn’t really matter. Dangerous or not, either way we have to deal with Kadara. Whether it’s dangerous for me or for someone else—well, it’s all the same, right?” A suspicious wiggle of a thought began to take form, then collapsed. She was too tired, too emotionally strained.

“It matters.” Reyes said, beginning to sound dangerously removed. Ryder closed her eyes. Her body sagged. She waited. He was requesting video feed—like hell. She denied, wiping the black smudges of her eye make-up, her stupid, shiny eye shadow turned to glittery muck. “I want to see you,” Reyes insisted.

“My connection stinks,” she lied.

“I mean in person. I want to talk. I have to tell you something.”

Ryder almost giggled. Her shoulders, at least, lurched up. “Are you going to shoot me? Like Sloane?”

“Don’t joke,” Reyes snapped. “Do you really think I’d shoot you?”

“I don’t know,” Ryder mumbled. She wasn’t sure she really cared either, right now. “Where? I’ll come alone. Bring your sniper if you want.”

There was a clicking, sort of snappy sound, teeth snapping together. “I mean it. Don’t joke about that.”

“Okay,” Ryder agreed, now with a wave of fresh despair. “I can do that.”

“I’m not angry,” he said, perhaps in response to her dulled voice. Ryder sniffled.

“You can be angry. I called the cops on your party.”

“It’s fine. It’s over anyway. I’ll explain later, I promise. Just let me see you.”

She was off the clock, anyway. Ryder hauled herself upright. “I can leave in half an hour. Send me the nav-point.” It was rude to break up over the phone, anyway. She at least owed him that. Or a chance on her life, which she also wouldn’t necessarily begrudge.

“Fly safe. And don't worry. It's going to be fine,” he said, and hung up.

#mass effect andromeda #reyes #reyes ryder #reyes/ryder #reyder #sara ryder #reyes vidal #grosscreations #jarun tann #suvi anwar #lexi t'perro #keema dohrgun #scott ryder

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