#i personally enjoy constructive criticism so yes please tell me how to improve but i also enjoy knowing you simply liked what you read <3

[ursbearhug]

One of the reasons why I enjoy watching/listening to people read books (more often than not, bad book or badly written books) or movies or any kind of media really, is because I get to think how I would handle the same story, or if I can really take criticism thrown, most often, author's way rather than at a book and the story itself.

For instance, few drafts I have (yes, including currently frozen wip of my fairy porn parody), do feature queer characters. But when I was writing them the idea of featuring trauma or hardships of being queer do not occur to me as a leading idea or a plot. For two reasons; for one while my stories might not be the easiest, they're far from being really difficult. My reputation as a faggot by far outran me in my hometown, so I knew that a lot of wrong people knew my face and my name. But at the same time my queerness never was a core reason anything bad happened to me. Living under pressure and danger is not the same thing as actively experiencing it. I never had to fear my family rejecting me and kicking me out either. And secondly, I personally think we have enough trauma stories to get old. Why queer people only get to show how they suffer or deal with hardships? Can't they show how joyous they are too? Again, I'm kind of aware that experience of being called faggot over milion times or held at knife point, aren't exactly the most traumatic experiences, and my lenses might be tinted very pink, but things I conflate with queerness is a lot of happy memories. Why book about queer experience *has* to be about pain? Just so it doesn't get review bombed by people with 0 literature literacy?

This stroke me the most when I've read reviews of few books that had the audacity to tell stories of queer abusive relationships. But why was it a bad thing? Oh, right. Queer people don't get to marry or be publicly accepted because they got rights and what happened? They abused it. As if straight relationships have not. Queer folks also get to experience sharp end of the stick when it comes to the healthiness of their relationships, myself included. Turns out people can be pretty shit regardless of their sexuality or gender identity.

And yeah I'm pretty notorious for not taking criticism without crying (it's a joke, please). But that seems like pretty natural reaction to me. From little age we're taught to feel superior or inferior to others based on some arbitrary rules, so no wonder that when we put ourselves out there, in a vulnerable state, our feelings and pride will be at risk. But last time I was sharing my WIP, I was desperately looking for some critism, constructive or not, to improve. Yeah, the whole thing was meant to be a joke at first, but I want my jokes to be well crafted too. Which is why I struggle at this parody too; because writing purposefully bad things strike at my pride too, lmao.

Anyway the point I wanted to make is; more messy and juicy queer stories and less constrictivness for first triers. (Even if their modern retelling of greek myths are 'daring' and lame)

[himadrics]

મુસ્કાન [Muskan]

(My Feminist Commentary Part - 5/5)

I was fourteen when my school had put a ban on boys and girls' playing together during the PT class. "We all like playing ખોખો [Khokho] (a national game). We are all peers. So why can't we all play together? Our school authorities are being orthodox. It is ridiculous!" I complained to my father. "You think of boys as your peers?" he asked with a smile. "Obviously! Will you come to the school to protest against the ban?" I asked. "Learn to protest on your own." he replied. After pausing for a second, he added

"It is good that you think of them as your peers. Keep up that attitude. But they might not necessarily think of you in the same way!"

Time and again, I am reminded of my father's words when the men around me crack sexist jokes, eve-tease, belittle, and catcall me because I happen to be a woman. I wish we had an option to unsubscribe from such nonsensical things that come as a part of the deal of being a woman!

Women’s condition has been improving with every generation in my family. And I have a comfortable baseline to inherit from my mother. I am also quite ambitious to make a big leap and push the baseline much further. And I have found a nice hack to do that! Instead of starting from my mother’s condition, I start from my father’s condition. Because I believe that my father has the highest amount of privilege, and he enjoys the highest amount of freedom in my family.

On a typical evening after work, one can find my father sprawling on the sofa in the living room, wearing a baniyan (one type of undershirt) and half pants, farting-burping-itching as he pleases, sipping some tea, reading the newspaper, criticizing the government and the younger generation, and enthusiastically expressing his opinions on anything and everything.

If you tell him that “You are showing too much skin”, you will either receive a hostile “How much I cover or show is none of your business” or a friendly debate on “Clothes are just a social construct :p” depending on his mood. If you tell him that “You are too opinionated!”, then he will laugh and say “Obviously!”. And if you give him unsolicited advice on how he should live his life, he will outright ask you, “What is wrong with you?” and show you the way out.

Unlike my mother, my father is quite protective of his personal space. He is definitely not brainwashed by the idea of service and being the primary caregiver of the family. If you expect him to do the dishes, then he will expect you to do the cooking in return.

So unless my period cramps remind me of my gender and my age, I like to go about my day-to-day personal business with a sense of entitlement to the world like my father. In the remaining part of this commentary, I analyze various events from my life in a chronological order that demonstrate my social conditioning, and whether it helped me or not in developing this sense of entitlement.

Let’s start with Cricket!

When I was in the elementary school, I spent most of the evenings playing street cricket with my friends. I was not particularly good at the game but I had a real bat ;). Given that my friends' other option was to play with a washing paddle, they tolerated my bad game.

Our best player was Chhaya (yes, she and my mother have the same name!), a girl who lived across the street. She was an all rounder. It was quite difficult to take her wicket when she was batting. So she would easily score more than 50 runs every time. She could easily take wickets of others when she was bowling. She could run very fast. And she never dropped catches. So obviously, she made a great fielder as well. It was hard to beat her in most of the other outdoor games as well. So let's note that from the age of five to twelve, the best player in my neighborhood was a girl.

Mummy, what is a “rape”?

I had a habit of reading the local newspaper when I was in the elementary school. One day, a strange looking word appeared in the headline. The word was “rape”, and the headline was “A five year old girl got raped”. The town was shook by the news. And my mother had to explain to me what is a rape.

A lot of things changed after that incident. I was given a new set of rules to stay safe. 1. Prefer to play in open places like street or the front-yard. 2. Never go inside a friend’s house if his/her mother is not present at home. 3. When playing indoors, always stay in a room where the mother or the grandmother is present. 4. Narrate the entire day to mom over dinner every evening.

Once I got flashed by a priest, and once a male neighbor tried to lock me in a room. I was able to report both the incidents to my parents. So let's note that I knew what was a rape, and I was taught how to stay safe when I was in the elementary school.

The washing machine

While I was not doing my homework, or playing in the street with my friends, or reading some children's book/magazine, I used to tail my mother around the house annoying her with my endless list of questions and stories about the day. All such memories include my mother doing chores in addition to entertaining me. And being the daughter in the house, it was obvious for me to join her in doing the chores.

I was little and not of much help. But I had learned that laundry in particular can be quite tiring by watching my mother do it on every single day. We did not have a washing machine so she used to wash the clothes of the entire family by hand. Washing of bed-sheets, blankets and sweaters required additional help from my father if he happened to be around or by the women in the neighborhood.

The day my mother could finally buy a washing machine was very special. She had been saving for it for months and I still remember the joy on her face when she did the first load of laundry in that machine. So I also learned that a washing machine is a quite important gadget for a woman.

A woman can run a school!

The principal of my elementary school was a woman. She did not just run the school, but she also owned it! So she was the highest authority and her word was the command. She was very punctual and quite strict.

She had an office with a big desk and a nice chair. Most of the times, she kept her office’s door open while working. So I could often see her signing on some files and conducting meetings during the recess. Except for this school, all the other academic institutions where I have studied were led by men.

કરિયાવર [Kariyavar]

(Wedding gifts for the bride from her family)

There was a house behind the school building, and we could see what is going on inside the house from the balcony of our classroom (yes, the classrooms had a balcony!).

When I was in the sixth grade, I saw a display of shiny new utensils, furniture, clothes, jewellery etc. in the front-yard of that house. The girl who lived there was getting married, and the things on display was her કરિયાવર.

I returned home with many questions for my mother that day. I started with the most important one, “When I get married, what are you going to give me in કરિયાવર?”. “Your master’s degree certificate!” she replied with a smile.

I was a bit disappointed because instead of giving me shiny things, my mother was going to make me spend ten more years in school! So let's note that the eleven year old me fancied those shiny things, and she was not thrilled about spending so many years in school.

A girl must speak

In addition to written exams, the school also took oral exams. There was a girl in my class who never spoke much. And for some reason that puzzles me till date, she refused to speak at all during the oral exams.

The teacher called her mother in order to force the girl to speak during the exam, but the girl continued refusing to speak. So the mother asked the teacher to slap the girl in order to make her speak.

First slap, she still didn’t speak. Second slap, she started crying but still didn’t speak. The mother and the teacher gave up after six slaps. The girl failed the exam and returned home with her mother for more beating. So let’s note that I might have made an extra effort at being good at speaking out of fear of getting slapped.

Sex education

In the same year, our science textbook had a chapter on the human reproduction system. However, our science teacher, a young man in his 20s, was too shy to teach that chapter to a class of six graders. When parents protested about his initial plan to skip the chapter entirely, he took help from a woman teacher.

It was a co-ed school, but for this particular lesson, boys and girls were taken to separate rooms. The male teacher delivered the lesson to the boys, and the female teacher delivered the lesson to the girls. Since I saw the teachers being shy and uncomfortable about the lesson, I also felt shy and uncomfortable. Probably the entire class felt that way and we all just wanted the whole thing to end. No one asked questions, and there was no discussion during this lesson.

However, at home, my mother explained the entire chapter to me, and I could ask her all my questions. Moreover, my father brought a medical encyclopedia, and sat down with me to read everything about the reproduction system. So, let’s note that though the school did not do a great job on the topic, my parents compensated for it. However, things like safe sex practices, consent and how to use a condom were never taught to me in schools or at home.

Periods, Religion & Superstition

During this time of my life, all my friends came from religious Hindu families. It is a common practice for Hindu women to not engage in any religious rituals during her periods. We all were told to follow this by our families. And as a result, we all refrained from participating in any kind of religious activities and entering temples when we were on our periods.

Whether we used sanitary napkins or not depended on if our families could afford sanitary napkins for their daughters. One friend of mine came from a poor family in a small village. She was not able to afford sanitary napkins and she always used a cloth. Another friend of mine, who could afford the sanitary napkins, still chose not to use them because of superstition. She was told by her mother that if an insect or a snake crawls over a woman’s menstrual blood, then the woman goes to hell. So my friend was afraid of using sanitary napkins as insects might crawl on her used sanitary napkins in the trash.

For those of us who used sanitary napkins, our options were quite limited. We had to choose from a less than six products. Tampons and menstrual cups were not available in the city. Most of us did not buy sanitary napkins on our own, and relied on our mothers to buy them for us.

Menstruation awareness

My family moved out of the town so I could attend the high-school in the city. One day a few women from an NGO visited my high-school to spread awareness about menstruation. Boys were sent home early that day and the girls were gathered in a room. The session was conducted behind closed windows and closed doors in secrecy. 

Sanitary napkins were distributed at the end of the session. Most of the girls refused to take them. The ones who could not refuse, threw the napkins away before going home. So let’s note that even in the high-school, boys were excluded from the session on menstruation, and the girls were too shy to bring home sanitary napkins.

Buying sanitary napkins 

We were on a school trip when one of my friends got her first period. The high-school staff with us did not carry sanitary napkins, and we also couldn’t find any sanitary napkins at the place of our visit. So I had to go to a medical store and buy some sanitary napkins for my friend. Another friend of mine joined me in this adventure for moral support. However, upon reaching the store, she bailed out on me because she felt too shy to talk to the male shopkeeper. She even refused to enter the store with me and stood far away pretending to not know me. 

I went inside the store alone. “Give me some sanitary pads.” I asked the shopkeeper. He gave me a packet, I gave him the money and I left the counter. "Don't you need a black polythene bag to wrap it?” he called me back. “Why would I need it?” I asked a dumb question. “Because people always wrap it like that!” he looked uncomfortable. “Fine! Wrap it then.” I surrendered. 

The friend who had got her period was hiding inside a toilet the whole time. We delivered the packet to her. “No one saw you bringing this, right? Especially the boys?.” was her first question. She was relieved to discover that the packet was wrapped in black polythene and no one else knew that she had got her period. Let's note here that this was the only time I bought sanitary napkins on my own until starting college.

Women on the Dojo

There was a karate Dojo in our new neighborhood in the city, and my brother wanted to join it. I was sent to the Dojo primarily to keep him company, and I was not thrilled about it. However,  joining the Dojo added a lot of value to my teenage years. It was a traditional Dojo with well-experienced instructors who made us train rigorously. Just like cricket, I was not particularly good at Karate either. But nevertheless, I ended up reaping the physical and mental health benefits of being a Karateka who trained a couple of days in a week.

The women I got to train with at the Dojo provided me with the examples that I missed in my family. No women in my family could spare the time to do some sports on a regular basis. I trained at the same Dojo with those women for about ten years. Some of them were university students when I joined the Dojo. I got to see them graduate, start working, get married, have children etc., while still managing to continue their training. Some of these women even inspired their husbands and children to join Karate. So I even got to train with such Karate families! If it weren’t for these women, it would be hard for me to believe that a woman would find the time to do some sports despite being married and having children.

Domo arigato gozaimasu Sensei

My Sensei took a personal interest in the development of every student on the Dojo. He soon noticed that my height was increasing fine but I was not gaining much weight. So one day he talked to me about it. 

“I hope you are not falling for the zero figure nonsense that is going around.” he started. How many Rotis do you eat? Lentils? Vegetables? Fruits? Dry fruits? Milk? How much do you sleep? Do you feel fresh when you wake up? How energetic do you feel during the day? How often do you fall sick? He had a long list of questions.

Upon listening to my answers and finding them more or less satisfactory, he said, “Don’t pay attention to the nonsense you find in newspapers, magazines or TV. Girls of your age are not supposed to care about petty things like body weight. You are a martial artist, you should be caring about improving your technique and self-discipline, building strength and immunity, and staying fit and energetic. Do you understand?”. “Oss, Sensei!” I replied.

Nisha

I was assigned the official responsibility of cleaning the house just before starting the high-school. This included dusting the furniture, sweeping + moping the floor and cleaning the toilets on a day to day basis. So I used to spend an hour cleaning everyday!

When I reached the 10th grade, an important school year, my family decided to hire help to take care of the cleaning, so I can spend more time studying instead. The lady who started working at our home also brought her daughter, Nisha, who helped her in the cleaning. Nisha and I were of the same age and it was an important school year for the both of us. I often offered her to study with me while her mother was cleaning, but Nisha never accepted the offer and always chose to help her mother.

It is important to note that my family was supportive of my education and protective of my time during this particular school year. I was sent to one of the best schools in the city and also to some extra classes. I was encouraged to spend most of my remaining time at home studying. So it is no wonder that I was able to get a good score.

On the other hand, Nisha could study only during the school hours. Her family was poor and cleaning houses was their primary source of income. Nisha contributed to chores at her own house and then she also helped her mother in cleaning other people's houses. At the end of the year, Nisha also took the same exam as me, but it is simply unfair to compare her score with mine.

We both were fifteen. I came from a Brahmin family and Nisha came from an OBC family. My mother had a master's degree, and her mother had not even finished high-school. While it was obvious for me to be ambitious and aspire to become an engineer, it was unclear if Nisha would even attend a college. While I agree that our reservation system needs a revamp, but it is also important to note that the reservation system would have helped Nisha to get into a good college despite her low score. A score that decides our admission in universities without considering our backgrounds, struggles or privileges.

Red nail polish

If you want to study engineering in India, you spend most of your time during the last two years of your high-school studying Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics. It was a regular school day and I happened to have painted my nails Red. As usual I was trying extra-hard to pay attention to the Chemistry lecture (I dreaded Chemistry). I was seated on the first bench and the teacher was using my open copy of the textbook to refer to. I was holding the textbook so he noticed my nail.

“Why have you applied such nail-polish? It is so distracting!” he exclaimed in the middle of the lecture. I immediately hid my hands, and I spent the rest of the lecture feeling embarrassed. I also failed to concentrate on what he was teaching after that. The important thing to note here is that a man in his 30s was distracted by the nail polish on a teenager’s hands. Moreover, he felt the need to interrupt the entire class to tell her about it!

The swimming pool

During the time between the end of high-school and beginning of the university, my father declared that I must go and learn how to swim. So my cousin and I enrolled at the public swimming pool. There was only one woman swimming instructor and she was available for only one hour during the day. So women of the city could access the public swimming pool only during that one hour. However, men could go to the pool during the entire day except for one hour reserved for women. Men and women were not allowed to use the pool at the same time.

Before starting to take swimming lessons, I was used to wearing clothes that fully covered my legs. So it had never even occurred to me that the hair on my legs is something to be concerned about. I was having a decent amount of fun on my first day at the swimming pool until a stranger came to tell me that I should be concerned about the hair on my legs. She said, “They look bad, you should get rid of them if you are coming to the pool!”. My cousin and I had plans to watch a movie the next day, but instead we spent most of our time getting rid of the hair on our legs. So let's note here that it was not any woman from our own family who made us start removing hair from our legs, but it was a kind lady on the swimming pool who took care of it.

Half pants

By the time I entered the college, I had adapted a regime for removing body hair (and I was not enjoying it). In addition to my short swimming costume, now I had also started wearing half-pants during the summer.

My university did not impose any dress-code, so it came to me as a big surprise when a male professor spent good five minutes during his lecture to exclaim about my wearing half-pants and commenting on my legs. Once I was also interrupted while writing an important end-semester exam on a hot summer day, because another male professor found my wearing half-pants inappropriate. Their sense of authority to tell an adult woman how to dress was quite remarkable!

One more rape

They were six and it was a teenager this time. The incident happened not too far from my home and the girl was almost my age. The case was reported in the police station close to the apartment where I lived. Entire neighborhood had gathered in the streets, balconies and terraces to watch the police punish the rapists. One could feel the rage on people’s faces. 

I stood on the terrace and watched as one of those faces. The police kept charging the rapists with Lathis. First round, Second round, ... and then I was no longer in a mental state to count. I saw the rapists screaming, crying and begging for mercy. I also noticed tears flowing down from my eyes. 

I don’t exactly know why I was crying. Maybe the whole things was just too traumatizing to watch, or maybe I was thinking about the girl who had got raped, or maybe I was thinking about the fact that given the proximity of the place of the incident and the age of the girl, it could have been me instead of her. Let's note that the city never stayed the same for me since that day. From being a careless teenager, I became a woman who started feeling concerned about her safety.

The driving test

My family did not own a car. Upon turning eighteen, my mother taught me to drive her gear-less scooter, and my father taught me to drive his motorcycle with gears. After a couple of lessons, I applied for a driving license of two-wheeler with gears so I can drive both the vehicles available at home.

“You must be mistaken. Women can’t apply for this category.” said the man at the RTO counter. “What do you mean by women can’t?” I exclaimed. “I mean, women generally don’t. Do you even know how to ride a motorcycle?” he seemed annoyed. “How about we see that at the time of the driving test?” I was also annoyed. “Fine! We will see!” he told me with a smirk. That smirk made me angry.

When I entered the track with my father’s motorcycle for the driving test, I heard someone shouting, “Hey! Come see! A girl is giving a driving test for the motorcycle!”. There were already about 50 people near the track and many more gathered to see this spectacle. It would have been so cool if I could tell you that I showed them all what a great motorcyclist I was! But instead, I was just an eighteen year old who had taken just a couple of lessons with her father. So yes, I failed that test :p. And yes, the crowd dutifully mocked me.

After my flop show, my father found me trying to hold back my tears. “Do you want to cry? It is okay if you want to!” he said with a sympathetic smile. And like most such occasions, I decided that I was not going to cry, but I was going to get some ice-cream instead. So we got some ice-cream and we kept practicing until I got my license.

The girl on a motorcycle

I needed a personal vehicle for going to my college. I wanted to get a motorcycle because 1. Riding a motorcycle is way more fun than riding boring gear-less scooters, 2. Motorcycles give much better mileage than gear-less scooters. and 3. The price of the motorcycle was a bit less than the price of the scooter. My mother’s scooter could barely run for 25 km in 1 liter of petrol, while my father’s motorcycle could easily run up to 50 km in the same amount of petrol. I wanted to save on petrol so I could afford to watch a movie without asking for extra pocket money (in order to avoid a long lecture from my father about how TV and Cinema is an utter waste of time and money for a student).

Despite all my protests, my mother got me a scooter instead of a motorcycle. Just like high-school, she wanted to protect me from unwanted extra-attention a girl gets for riding a motorcycle on Indian roads. I still managed to ride my father’s motorcycle quite often. And I also often got harassed on the roads because I happened to be a woman riding a motorcycle. I now prefer to ride bicycles and use public transport, but it is important to note that riding a motorcycle was quite stressful for me because of my gender.

The lousy student representative

Our college had a gender cell which had appointed student representatives. The purpose of having such a body was to provide a safe environment to report and seek help against gender based discrimination and sexual assaults. The student representatives were supposed to be approachable and proactive in taking actions in such matters. However, our student representative (i.e. I) was lousy at doing her (my) job.

There was one serious incident of sexual abuse involving a student happened outside the campus. But the student refused to talk to me about the incident, and refused to seek help from the gender cell. One of my close friends got molested near the campus. She confided about the incident to me, but she also refused to report it to the gender cell. Another friend of mine was stalked by a male student for a long time inside as well as outside the campus, but she also never filled an official complaint. 

Yes, as per the university guidelines, our college had a gender cell. And yes, I failed to do my part in making it functional. In fact, the only thing I managed to do was to organize a self-defense workshop and to start a Karate Dojo in the women’s hostel. I wish that I knew better, and I had more courage to somehow persuade those women to report those incidents. Let's note here that I understood it very well during my first few years at the university that such incidents happen with women more often than you realize, and women often don’t report it.

What becomes of women engineers after graduation?

On most days, I did not face much discrimination at my college. Most of the students genuinely wanted to learn and most of the professors genuinely wanted to teach. There were approximately 40 women in my batch, and we all graduated with a bachelor’s degree in engineering with a major in Computer Science. Ours was a new and developing college, so the exposure and opportunities available for these women were not even remotely comparable to that of women graduating from elite engineering schools like IITs.

As the time of graduation approached, I discovered that most of the women in my batch were open to the idea that their families are soon going to find suitable matches for them, and they might get married by the next one or two years. Most of us wanted to work and we actively searched for jobs. However, many were unwilling to move to a different city or a different state to find work. There were not enough technical jobs available in the city, so as a result, many of my us did not land a technical job despite graduating with an engineering degree. Most of us were unaware about the remote job market.

One of my best friends got married before even graduating and she deliberately chose to become a homemaker. Another girl from my batch was forced by her family to discontinue her studies and she had to leave the program. Only a few of us actively searched for a master’s program, and in the end, less than five of us enrolled for a master’s degree.

A campus with gender equality

I moved to my state’s capital city to pursue a master’s degree. I got to live as a campus resident on the beautiful green campus with peacocks and other majestic birds. I had joined this new university during one of its most important feminist movements. The women students were protesting for equality in the rules for the campus residents.

The university offered separate on-campus residences for men and women. While the men enjoyed a 24-hour access to the campus and its various amenities, the women were forced to return to their residence by midnight. So the women were protesting for an equal right to 24-hour access to the entire campus. I remember signing a petition during the very first week of my arrival. The protests had been going on for a while and the women finally won.

I remember attending the warden’s declaration, and the claps, cheers, hugs and tears that followed after that. Though I was new and I had missed most parts of the protest, I was glad to be present in that amphitheater that evening. It was the first and the only equality that I got to experience without fighting for it personally. 

For the first time in my life, I was able to step out of my room without checking what time it was, without worrying about if I was wearing enough clothes, and without worrying about my safety (It was a non-public campus with big enough security staff). I could go for a walk at 2 AM in the night and meditate under a tree at 4 AM in the morning. It made me realize how much of my headspace was freed by not having to constantly worry about my safety. Let's note that I got to experience how right it feels to be treated as an equal on that campus.

Filter out the misogyny

While my sense of entitlement to gender equality was getting consolidated on the university campus, life also kept giving me reality checks about omnipresent misogyny from time to time. This helped me in developing the survival skill of filtering out the misogyny from the opportunities to learn.

Once I shared a car ride with an uncle of mine. We were going somewhere in his car and he was driving. It was a long ride and at some point he started recounting a story of him motivating a cousin of mine to work hard. "So I told him, you must work hard, specially when you are young." said my uncle. "Hmm" I nodded thinking that it was indeed some good advice. "If you don't work hard, then others would get ahead of you, even the women! Then you will have no choice but to work under a woman. So you better work hard". It was no longer good advice and I wondered what was he trying to imply by telling me this story! Obviously I felt offended and I even briefly considered abandoning the ride.

But then I had to remind myself that he had also taught me import things about personal finance (that I was not learning at school, or at home, or from friends) during the same ride. And if I stayed in the car, then I could finish listening to the audio book on finance that we were listening together. So continued my free ride and extracted some more personal finance wisdom from him by asking many questions.

But wait, Isn't it possible that he was not really teaching, but rather just mansplaining? Well, as long as I am learning something important, I don't care! When someone explains something to me that I really want to learn, I am willing to put up with their condescending tone. Does my willingness to learn from a misogynist (instead of cancelling him) makes me a bad feminist? It is debatable!

Lake Geneva

My mother took her first ever vacation this summer. We spent a lazy afternoon reading some poems and playing with the water and pebbles at the lake Geneva. There were many Swiss women around us, some were bathing in the sun, some were reading, some were sipping wine, and some were swimming. Most of them were bare-chested. It felt surreal.

There is a pond just 10 minutes of walking distance from our home in my hometown. And there is a beach just 40 minutes from our home in the city. My parents often took us there. My father and my brother would always get bare-chested before jumping in the water. My mother and I would always have all our clothes on.

It is nice that at least some parts of the world have made enough progress so that all members of a family can enjoy a swim bare-chested regardless of their gender. And I hope someday (maybe in the next 100 years?) the families of my town and my city also get to enjoy a swim like that.

Mr. know-all

We then went to visit CERN, which is located not too far from the lake Geneva. We signed up for a guided tour and I was delighted to find out that our tour guide was a young researcher working on one of the experiments at CERN. She was also a woman of color.

We were joined by a white man in his 60s, who introduced himself as a well-known chemist working at a well-known place. He also claimed to know a lot of things about particle physics. During the entire tour he tried really hard to show that he knows more than our tour guide. He interrupted her on every possible occasion. Once he even quizzed her in order to test her knowledge (despite knowing that she had a PhD).

It was quite interesting to see how our tour guide handled this gentleman. She saw no signs of frustration (maybe she was used to encountering such know-alls). She neither avoided his interruptions not entertained them. She just kept on doing her job of explaining about various experiments to the group. At some moment during the tour, she, my mother and I had an exchange of smiles mixed with some eye-rolling for the gentleman acknowledging that we all know what he is trying to do, and we all also know that she has got this.

Conclusion

I am twenty-seven years old while writing this commentary. And I like to believe that I have succeeded in developing the entitlement to being treated as an equal to men. And unlike my mother, my ambitions extend far beyond my role within my family.

My mother provided me with a great example to start with. I also grew up watching a woman MLA in my city, a woman chief minister in my state and a woman president in my country. Now I am seeing one more woman president in India. And the Indian economy is soaring under the leadership of a woman finance minister.

The headmaster of my elementary school was a woman. The head of the computer engineering department in my college was a woman. The commissioner for higher education in my state was also a woman. When I went to work in a software company, I worked under a woman manager with a team which had as many women engineers as men. I then went on to do a PhD under the guidance of a woman adviser, who is also the head of our research group. 

The particular piece of software that I happen to be curious about (the Linux kernel) surely has a reputation of not having many women contributors. But then I also see carefully designed and well-executed programs (like Outreachy) to welcome new women contributors. At some conferences I happen to be the only woman in the room, but then I also see women delivering keynotes and presenting talks in the same conferences.

Recently, I have been living in Paris and traveling across Europe. So in addition to Indian women, I am also getting to know women from different countries and cultures. For the first time in my life, I am able to test my ideas far away from my home and my usual social circle in an international environment. So I am now motivated to study feminism with a global perspective with the spirit of a scholar.

I am engaging in more conversations, I am listening more, and I am paying more attention to the lives of women around me. I am also reading more, and lately, I have been motivated to write. My own feminist ideas are still evolving with time. I hope to keep writing similar commentaries after every two decades of my life in order to capture the evolution of myself as a woman. In the meantime, following my mother's footsteps, I am trying to write some fiction. So I can take creative liberty in telling the stories of the women around me.

I no longer have even the slightest amount of self-doubt that I can not do or achieve something because of my gender. I also reject the idea that I need to work harder or more just because I am a woman. When it comes to my personal relationships with the opposite gender, I refuse to take on their care-taker’s role. In conversations with the opposite gender, I know that it matters that I assert myself, I say what I have got to say, and I express my opinions as freely as they do, because women are conditioned to not behave in this way. When it comes to carnal relationships, I feel entitled to my orgasms. And when it comes to domestic partnerships, I refuse to do more than my 50% .

On most days, and as long as it is not impacting me personally, I let the eve-teasing and sexist jokes slide. When I get catcalled on the streets, I take a deep breath and I keep on walking. I am not on a mission to fix everyone and everything. I don’t preach to people that they should be a feminist. Many people in my social circle are misogynists and I patiently put up with them from time to time.

Feminism is a relatively new ideology for humanity. And I understand that it will take a long time for every women in the world to achieve the same amount of equality as that of the Swiss women on the lake Geneva. Some parts of the world are still practicing female genital mutilation, some parts of the world are denying women from their right to education, their right to work, and their right to drive. So we have a long way to go.

From the constitutional point of view, Indian women are in a relatively better position. An Indian woman has a right to education, a right to vote, a right to drive, a right to work, a right to equal pay, a right to engage in consensual sex, a right to get contraceptives, a right to abortion, a right to own businesses and properties, and a right to inherit from their parents. We have laws in place to protect women against dowry, domestic violence and rapes. We have policies in place like free education, free textbooks, free nutrition supplements and and free contraception for women. A new law also brings equality between men and women in minimum age for marriage. Many government schemes are in place to empower women in various fields like science and technology, agriculture and entrepreneurship. However, the Indian society still promotes ages old discriminatory traditions and expectations from women.

I believe that I am an equal and therefore I am. And it is a relief that my country's constitution and policy makers share this belief. But I also understand that many people in our society don't share this belief. And in that case, I don't share my life with them. Sometimes it comes at the cost of calling off a wedding and losing some friendships. But at the end of the day, it ensures that I don't get reduced to my gender by people whom I call mine.

[thunderboltage]

unpopular opinion (apparently): i love all of the attention and love my writing gets and could never really be bothered much that it only gets likes or that people comment what they wanna?

[lover4fictionalmen]

Its always been you

a/n: Please keep in mind this is my first post and I'm a little nervous! Constructive criticism is welcome but not rude comments. I always want to improve so if there is something I could improve on, lmk! I will admit I have a habit of slipping in and out of tenses so if you pick up on that, shoot me a message and I'll try to fix it. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!! ♥︎♥︎

pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

summary: You're at Spencers apartment, working through a case with him when he admits his feelings for you.

content warning: 18+, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, p in v sex, dirty talk, swearing, slight teasing, no use of y/n.

word count: 1.08k

Spencer and I have been working on a case at his place for the past three hours, sat at his dinner table with files and papers splayed out everywhere. We were on our own, doing more research on a missing persons case.

We had been quiet for about ten minutes until Spencer put down the paper he was holding and faced me.

"Say you want me, and I'm yours." He said.

I had just taken a swig of my coffee and almost spat it out when he said that.

"What, Spence?" I uttered once I had tamed the mouthful of caffeine that almost flew out of my mouth.

"You know what I mean, we've been at this for almost four hours and the tension is unbearable. We're always sharing glances, and I know you feel it too, I hope that you feel it too."

I looked down at the files in front of me, avoiding eye contact with Spencer, not knowing what to say or how to reply. It's always been him, since the day we both met and he was blurting out facts and statistics about random things. Everything about him is perfect.

"Tell me I imagined it all and it's all in my head and I'll never say anything about this ever again, I'll drop it completely." He said in a pleading tone.

I turned and faced him, finally meeting his gaze and making direct eye contact with him. God his eyes are beautiful. He was searching my face for answers, waiting for a response.

"Don't you know what you're doing to me, Spence? Everytime I'm near you, my chest feels like it's going to burst."

"I um- wait, really?" He looked at me, probably waiting for me to yell out April Fools, got you! But it never came.

Our knees were touching and had been for the past two hours as we progressively got closer and closer to eachother.

"Yeah. I've liked you for a long time Spencer I just didn't know how to tell you."

He got flustered all of a sudden, stood up and began pacing around his apartment.

"Hey do you want something else to drink? I can refill your coffee or run to the store and grab you someth-"

"Shut up and kiss me already."

At that point Spencer marched towards me and placed his hands on my jaw. He then looked down at me for some sort of reassurance that he was doing something right. I stared right back up at him and closed the space between us.

He tasted of mints and coffee and his lips were soft and gentle against my own.

We slowly made our way towards his bedroom, my fingers gliding through his brown curls as I was gasping for air between long kisses.

"Tell me what you want." He said.

I was sat on the edge of his bed and began unbuttoning my shirt while staring up at him.

"I want you, Spence."

I really did, I wanted everything he had to offer.

"What exactly is it you want from me?"

Oh he was enjoying this.

"I want you to fuck me Spencer, I want you to make me cum and then fuck me some more."

My shirt was fully off now and I had thrown it somewhere on the floor. Spencer came closer to me and started nibbling on my neck and whispering in my ear.

"You want that? I'll give it to you."

In a matter of minutes, I was undressed except my panties and bra and Spence was shirtless but still in his work trousers.

He unbuttoned my jeans, pulled them off and placed his hand over my clothed pussy.

"Is this okay?" He looked into my eyes and didn't move until i responded.

"Yes, of course, keep going."

His fingers made their way beneath my panties and began making circles on my clit. My lips were tightly pressed together, holding in any noise I wanted to make.

"No one's here, we can be as loud as we want, sweetheart. Fuck you're soaked."

His cold hands, that were slowly warming up, made laps up and down my folds.

Moans escaped my lips and I pulled his face to mine to kiss while he slipped a finger inside me. Then two. Then three.

"Fuck, Spence, your fingers are so long!"

"I need you inside of me!"

"I am inside of you." He responded.

"No, Spencer, I need you to fuck me, please."

I palmed his crotch and he was rock solid already. I unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them off of him, leaving only his Calvin Klein boxers. His cock was tented, begging to be freed.

I slipped my damp panties off and then pulled down his boxers, his cock sprung out and I took a hold of it, needing both hands as it was so large.

"Shit, can I fuck you now? Do we need a condom?"

"No, no condom. I'm clean and on the pill."

Spencer groaned and jerked his cock in his hand, he lowered his hips and began smacking his tip on my clit.

"Oh shit, Spence don't tease me, please!"

He gave me a smile and began to stick his dick in me. I used my fingers to help guide it in but he already knew what he was doing.

"Ah, oh, you feel so good around me."

"Can I move?"

I nodded my head between moans wanting nothing more than for Spence to fuck me as hard as he could.

He pushed himself all the way in, it was euphoric.

"Spence you're so big!"

"And you're gonna be a good girl and take it though, aren't you?"

I liked this side of Spencer. You know what they say about the shy ones.

He used his thumb and started rubbing my clit, hard.

"Oh, fuck, baby I'm gonna cum." I moaned.

"Shit, you feel so good, so good, I can't stop!"

"Don't stop, I'm so close, keep rubbing my clit! Yes, yes, yes!"

After a few seconds of rubbing, I came and could feel Spencer was about to too. His hips became slower and jerkier.

"Fuck!" I could feel him release his come into me, it was hot.

"You're really good at this, Spencer." I spoke while panting.

At this point we were just laid on his bed, completely vulnerable, in each others arms.

"You're pretty good too, sweetheart," "Can I take you out tomorrow? A real date?" Spencer asked.

"I'd like that, yeah." I answered.

I'd like that a lot.

[thecharlestonroyalfamily]

Here’s the thing about the royal simblr drama..

So I feel like I’m a fairly neutral party in the middle of all this drama (kinda fitting considering that’s what I build my nation as as well). I know and have worked on my story both with the people accused and those who haven’t. All of them are lovely people who I’ve enjoyed working with and who gave me no hard time. Now sadly I’ve found out that this isn't the case for everyone. However as I too care about this community I want to help and make it a better place.

Here are some points of observation from someone with years of studying and first hand experience in psychology about the situation: (It’s a long post)

1. The “cliques”. Now we as humans naturally tend to form “cliques”; groups of like minded people who we share interests with. This is completely normal and nothing to be ashamed off. And we as people also tend to not get along with everyone. This too is also fine and completely normal. It is completely okay and acceptable to vent about people/things/concepts you don’t like or find annoying to your friends. We all do it. Yes, even as adults, cause guess what we don’t all get along and that is fine. Is this an excuse to treat someone like shit? No and that’s where the problem begins. 

2. Power corrupts. Shortly when we as humans are placed in a position of power aka a situation where we feel we have the upper hand or are in some form “above” others it gets to our heads (take the 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment as an example). Now I’m not saying that these people necessarily think themselves better, I’m saying that with bigger follower number and more influence your behavior might change. Maybe they don’t even consider themselves being mean or gatekeeping.

3. Original ideas. There is no such thing as an original idea. All of us have had our stories inspired by other stories, real or fiction, to some extend. However this does NOT mean you can flat out copy someone else’s storyline. But what is counted as copying? If you take another creators scene, plotline, etc. and add it your story without making any or barely any changes THEN you’re copying. “But I have a scene just like XXX and now I’m being blamed for copying.” If you didn’t intentionally do it, it’s not malicious copying and you can still fix it. If you’re unsure talk it over with the other blog and/or just re-take the pictures from a different angle or re-write dialogue. Being inspired by others if fine! Just know and learn the difference between inspiration and copying.

4. Gatekeeping. Now this is a tad tricky. You see those who first started telling royal simblr stories, and in doing so created this community, might have had or might still have ideas and wishes for what this community looks like. However since this community is this large it’s simply impossible to have those wished granted. We all have different sets of skills and amount of time to put into our stories. While to some this is like making their own book or tv show, others just want to take pretty pictures of sims in grand palaces and tiaras. Both of these approaches are fine and valid! The problem is that when you hold something in high value to yourself and see someone else just “mess around” with it you feel hurt. How can they not take this seriously?! But the thing is they are, just as you. They just have a different set of goals and motivation for their story. Not every book is a bestseller and that is okay.

5. False positivity. False positivity helps no one however there’s a difference between being falsely positive and being supportive. The main difference? What you wanted out of the conversation. A person looking for criticism to improve their work does not want or benefit from just supportive comments alone! If that’s all they get they’ll get frustrated and that’s where bad feeling towards other start. Same thing other other side, a person looking for encouragement does not want criticism! What they need is your thumbs up emojis and a few positive words. If they get unasked for critique they don’t receive it as such, to them it’s easily just bullying. 

How to fix the situation:

Now please note that these are just MY individual ideas. There’s no simple solution to this and it surely doesn’t happen over night but change can be made.

1. Make two separate channels on the server; CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM and ENGOURAGEMENT. Those looking for support can choose which variety they want and need. Now this also means that if you go to the criticism channel that’s what you’ll get! Everyone needs to take personal responsibility on this and not go on the channels they don’t want. If you don’t want criticism from complete strangers DM a friend, or ask a specific creator if they’d have the time to give you critique. 

2. Own what you’ve said, and apologize. Those that have said mean words need to own up to them, apologize from the individuals affected and stop. Private messages shared between friends is fine (it’s human nature), however if your discussions revolve around judging and/or belittling others you might want to reconsider. Also if you’re not directly involved or asked keep your opinions to yourself. No one likes unsolicited comments.

3. NO MORE GATEKEEPING! Now this is should be obvious to everyone. This is a community which means people are going to do things differently. Don’t follow blogs who’s stories you’re not interested in. Don’t send anon hate cause you don’t like what they do. Unlearn the idea that there’s only one way to tell a royal simblr story. If you can’t do that, grow up.

4. Say no. If you don’t want to collab with someone say no. Seriously. Going around this will only create more behind the scenes trash talking. And if you’re told no, accept it. Most of us are adults, we can or at least should be able to handle a no. It sucks when the other person doesn’t share our enthusiasm for an idea but that happens. With so many stories out there sadly not all of them are going to align. Luckily we’re a big community so the odds that someone out there likes your idea is quite large! Which brings me to the last point 5. Keep an open mind. As said we’re a big community of different people from all over the world. We come from multiple ethnicities, religions and countries, we’re individuals of different sexualities and genders. We all have our own set of ideals and ideas we’d like to see. We’re storytellers and readers, weavers of massive intricate worlds, or people who just like to keep it simple. Our difference is a richness. You might not like every idea but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea. Let people be and do their thing.

So that’s it for me. I hope I didn’t cross any lines with this. Thank you for taking the time to read what has been the longest Ani’s rambling ever. Let’s work towards a more healthy and welcoming community. My asks and anons are on.

Love, Ani

[deepdonutkid]

I have reached my next milestone. Yes, 300 follower and I’m beyond grateful! Thanks to all the people who keep supporting me and who enjoy my content and who talk with me and tag me on stuff. Big hugs and cuddles for you!

Just 10 years ago, I started writing and I had a rough start back then and I made serval mistakes. And thanks to some wise and older readers, I don’t make those mistakes anymore. When I started writing on a German page, it was so common to support young writers by giving them advice and I loved it, because I needed it. Really, my writing sucked back then.

Now I’m here on tumblr and I noticed it’s not so common to give advice or constructive critique to other writers and I talked to some people and they struggle, because they don’t know how to improve their writing… like I did years ago. This makes me very sad, because I see potential in those people.

And I’m a beta reader for about 6 years now and I have about six people I help with their stories, so I would be tempted to say, I know about a little about writing and I might be able to help some of you, who think they need advice and help.

So, I’m making a contest, not a challenge. I had so much fun participating in those years ago, even if I didn’t win.

A contest, or this contest, is going to have winner and the winner gets a free wish, like a fanart or a fanfic or head canon or whatever the person wants. And if you are the winner and you don’t have a wish, that’s okay for me as well.

This contest is not for people, who are already super good at writing, but I won’t stop you from participating. There won’t be a rule like: “You need this much followers or you shouldn’t have written more than 3 stories” Nah, that’s not my type. So, anybody, who wants, can participate, but make sure you want this, because you are going to get a full review and a voting.  If you don’t like critics, maybe you shouldn’t participate. This is mostly for people, who want to get advice and who want to improve themselves.

Therefore, there won’t be a theme other than… Peaky Blinders, because I want everybody to write, what they can do the best, whether if it’s fluff or angst or smut, I don’t care, I focus on other stuff and I read pretty much everything.

You can write with a reader, with an oc, with canon x canon characters, without any romance platonic or whatever. It just has to be fictional, so no meta posts and involves at least one character from the canon.

To participate, please write me an ask or dm me, I don’t care and you can just say you’re participate and if you want to, you can tell me your idea. I will be available for talking about your fic the whole month.  

The contest will start on 16.06.2021, you can apply until then. You have one week to contact me and tell me you want to participate. NOBODY HAS TO PARICIPATE!

Then you’ll have one month to write your idea. Deadline is the 23.07.2021.

After the deadline is over, I will reveal my voting. (Maybe I get another juror too)

And because I want to avoid being called biased, I will reveal the voting chart under the cut.

Have fun writing!

X from total 10 points

6 points on speech

3 points on grammar (word repetition, correct grammar, spelling and punctuation)

3 points on style (beginning of sentences, speaking pattern, choice of words)

4 points on content

2 points on atmosphere (feelings, fitting the chosen topic, the general vibe)

2 points on storytelling (is there a good structure, with introduction, middle and ending, does the ending fit the story, are the characters in character)

2 possible extra points for everything that doesn’t fit in the categories above (probably won’t be used)

I will give you a full review, so to say, and these are just points for orientation, and don’t take any of this personal. This is not against you, I want to help you.

tagging: @retromafia​ @haileyybird​ @justalonelyslytherin​ @bonniesgoldengirl​ @casualwritersblog​ @oddshelbyout​ @annoyingarcadeperfection​ @stxdyblr-2k @peakywitch​ @amysteryspot​ @peakyblindersxx​ @sympathyfortheblinderdevil​ @rachelsteapot​ @thomashelbyswhore​ @ysmmsy​

[klvbxlove]

home (iida x gn! reader)

a/n: after months, i have finally came out with another iida x reader! i’ve actually been trying to write one for the past month, but every time i tried to write, my ideas just didn’t work and i’d end up deleting it. today, i wanted to try to do something a little different and write some angst!  this is my first time doing it. feel free to give me some constructive criticism of how i can improve. i’m sorry if this is a bit shorter than my other 2 writings. oh, and by the way, i’m considering publishing all my iida x reader drabbles on wattpad! in case you’re interested. my username is the same as my tumblr username. anyways, hope you enjoy reading!

reader-type: gender-neutral

genre(s): angst

trigger warning(s): mentions of death, slight mention of suicide

summary: all iida wants is for you to come back home, even though he know you won’t.

word count: 1k words

♡ ♡ ♡ (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*) ♡ ♡ ♡

key:

(f/a/c) = favorite anime character (y/n) = your name

♡ ♡ ♡ (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*) ♡ ♡ ♡

   It was only a few months ago Iida enjoyed coming home from work or anywhere else. Now he hated it.

   Well, hate is a bit of an understatement. Iida loathed it.

   With the keys jingling as he opened the front door to his apartment, the only thing that would greet him was silence as he stepped inside. He had to dwell in the sadness and sorrow as he proceeded to do his routine. Change out of his hero costume, shower, eat dinner, brush his teeth, and then read a book before going to bed. 

   Iida couldn’t even bear sleeping in his bedroom. Hell, he couldn’t even look inside it! It was only a reminder that no matter what, Iida will always be the only person sleeping in it. Even if he could hold your (F/A/C) plushie or the pillow you used as he slept, why would he want to? Did he even want to try to hurt himself emotionally more? No! There was no need for it!

   The most Iida could do was stand outside of his bedroom door and stare off into the distance. Now that he was not at the workplace or a public place, he could finally let his waterworks run. All the sobs and cries bubbling inside him exploded. But this time, there was no one there to soothe his sorrows away. 

   Why?

   Oh, that was simple.

   You were no longer there with him.

   Sure, people say that you can still feel the souls of a person who died. But to Iida, that wasn’t the case. He felt absolutely nothing. Well, if you counted emptiness. Then yes, he felt emptiness. It had gotten to the point where Iida felt like the only way to get out of his misery was to join you in whatever place you ended up, so you would be reunited.

   Despite his close friend group and family members attempting to comfort him throughout this time, it didn’t work. Nothing made Iida crack at least one tiny smile. There was no longer a reason for smiling without having you by his side.

   But if anything, Iida felt like it was his fault for your passing. He was supposed to be a pro hero. And what do they do? Protect people from danger and prevent crimes from happening! Yet, he could still remember that day the infamous villain attack occurred. You and your friends just so happened to be at the location.

   The chaos that happened, the terrified screams of civilians, so much as happening. Iida gave it all he could to stop the villains from causing more harm. If anything, it seemed as though he was winning! With the help of the other pro heroes, they would be able to arrest the villains and bring them to justice!

   Well, that would’ve actually happened until one of the villains decided to pick you as his next victim.

   Suddenly, Iida found himself unable to move. It was as if someone decided to freeze his entire body. In his ears, there was nothing but the sound of your petrified screams, begging him or someone to help you. ‘Move Iida Tenya!’ he had screamed internally, ‘For the love of All Might and other pro heroes, MOVE! MOVE YOUR LEGS!’

   But he couldn’t.

   Instead, he had to watch with his blue eyes widened, and his mouth hung agape as the villain proceeded to use his quirk to end your life. And unfortunately, it was quick. The only thing Iida could do now was to wait for paramedics to arrive as he held your dead body in his arms. He felt his own body shaking as he called your name out multiple times and begging you to wake up. It was evident that you were long gone, but he refused to believe it. You just had to wake up!

   When paramedics arrived, there was nothing they could do to bring you back. And it gave Iida the realization that everything was his fault. If he had not been in complete shock, he would have been able to save you. He failed you, not only as a pro hero but as your boyfriend.

   He was so pathetic, wasn’t he?

  If someone like Bakugo were there to tell him how much of a complete dumbass he was, he wouldn’t even scold them for insulting him. He knew he deserved it.

   Bringing himself back to reality, Iida found his hand gripping onto the handle of the bedroom door and opening it wide open. Flicking on the lights, he looked across the room. Everything stayed the same as it did before. Nothing moved, nothing removed, and nothing added.

   And on one of the walls was a small collage of polaroids. Hanging above your desk, you and Iida have taken almost all of them through your relationship.

   Iida walked over to the bed and sat down on it, staring at that one wall with his eyes, which was already devoid of its blue color. He looked at the many small items he had bought for you that still stood on your desk. One of which was a miniature (F/A/C) statue Iida bought for you on your birthday. Another was a set of cards with images of your favorite artists (he thanked one of his former classmates, Jiro, for giving him the idea of a Christmas present). 

   All of these were the only things that Iida could keep in your remembrance, and he wouldn’t dare himself to give or throw them away.

  Taking off his glasses and putting them next to him, Iida buried his face into his hands. “(Y/N),” his voice barely came as a whisper. “I...I’m so sorry, my love. It’s only been months since you died, but I know you would still be here with me had I not let that villain kill you. What kind of a hero am I for letting that happen? I’ve let you down, I know. And I’m sorry.

   “It hurts me deeply to know that you’re not going to return. As much as I want that to happen, it won’t. But (Y/N)...” Iida felt his body starting to shake, and his eyes were beginning to produce tears. It was a process he’d been struggling with for these past few months, and he had no idea when he’d be able to stop.

   “Please, I’m begging you. Oh goodness, please...”

   Once the river of tears started to trickle down his cheeks, Iida didn’t stop to wipe them. He looked down at the floor through his blurry vision.

   “...Come back home.”

[bb-kawa]

A crack drabble to celebrate Matsukawa’s Birthday. I do enjoy funny humorous fics, it is another poor quality of my personality. Here’s a small piece of Matsukawa x y/n x Oikawa. I have the same birthday as Matsukawa so this really just self indulgent humor.

Summary: Y/n and Oikawa celebrating Matsukawa’s birthday with a very cute cake they made together!

Warnings: Crack, Polyamory ft. Oikawa. Hints at something sexy at the end of this but it’s a one sentence joke

Also constructive criticism is fine. Especially in my inbox on anon. Just don’t make me cry. I really only write for fun and don’t necessarily care for notes but I would like to improve.

All characters are aged up. I do not own the characters. Do not re-post my stuff. Also don’t rec my stuff on any other sites (tiktok) (not that my writing is good enough for that but still needs to be said nowadays. Dont rec people’s stuff without their permission. Especially on tiktok.)

You and Oikawa gazed over to look at the 3rd member of your little group. Matsukawa was sitting in the living room, waiting patiently for his lovers to bring him whatever his birthday surprise was. 

“What if he doesn’t like it?” you whispered to Oikawa as you starred warily at the cake currently resting on the counter. 

“What is there not to like, y/n? It’s literally his favorite flavor of cake.” Oikawa snappily answered, though based on his expression he was also having some doubts. 

Both of you were fairly good cooks but when it came to baking you both tended to fall off the bandwagon. Much to Matsukawa’s dismay, you and Oikawa together were chaotic at best, with him being the more patient and mellow one. 

You were positive though, that the cake probably tasted good, but it maybe wasn’t very pleasing to the eyes. Oikawa had gone a little intense on the frosting and the makeshift stick figures you had drawn to represent the three of you looked less than artistic. 

“If he loves us he’ll enjoy the cake.” Oikawa declared, though he still looked rather skeptical. 

“Right…. That might just be.. an excuse.. To forgive our failure” you responded. You figured it wasn’t as bad as it seemed since the cake was probably edible. 

“It is better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.” Oikawa declared, gracefully picking up the cake to begin the march to the living room. 

“That’s not how the saying goes and that also makes no sense for this situation!” you harshly whisper out giving Oikawa an incredulous look. He seems to give little care for your words though as he turned past the counter. 

You nervously followed after him. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal if he hated it. The real party was on the upcoming Friday, where he would be getting an actual cake from an actual bakery. This was just a little 3 person party you were having, since Matsukawa’s birthday was on a Monday and you couldn’t fully celebrate your lover’s birthday on a dull Monday. 

“Happy Birthday Mattsun! We made this cake especially for you, with our amazing baking skills.” declared Oikawa as he placed the cake down onto the coffee table, the candles flickering about. 

“Yes! Happy Birthday Mattsun. Our love is baked into every piece of that cake.” you offered as  some sort of support to Oikawa’s dramatic entrance. You hoped the mention of love would at least help Mattsun come to terms with the less than ideal looking cake in front of him. 

You glanced nervously from Oikawa to Matsukawa and back again waiting for something to happen. Would Matsukawa like the cake? Or would he tell you it sucked ass and he’d rather swallow a knife. You figured the last scenario was a bit dramatic but it was still a possibility. 

A fond smile graced the features of Matsukawa’s face as he let out a soft chuckle. 

You and Oikawa nearly melted on the spot. Seeing the happy expression on your boyfriend's face was worth all the trouble you and Oikawa went through. Even if the cake looked like crap the tenderness in his expression showed he didn’t care, which gave you some relief. 

“You guys are too funny. Is this supposed to be Oikawa?” Matsukawa asked, pointing at one of the icing stick figures, before you could answer Matsukawa dipped his finger in, swiping at the Oikawa replica and then placing the finger into his mouth to suck off the frosting. 

“He sure is tasty.” Matsukawa spoke out again with a wink. 

“Matsuuuuun, you’re supposed to blow out the candles first before eating the cake.” Oikawa whined out, plopping down next to him and leaning his head onto Mattsun’s shoulder. You could tell the complaint was really just a cover for the slight embarrassment he was feeling. The reddening on his cheeks didn’t do a good job of hiding anything. 

You felt Matsukawa reach out for your arm, bringing you down onto the couch with them. 

“Thanks guys, my birthday wouldn’t be the same without you two.” Mattsun said, gripping one of yours and Oikawa’s hands as he leaned over to blow out the candles. “Let’s eat this cake and then afterwards you both can feed me something even more delicious.” 

“Mattsuuun stop teasing.” Oikawa whined again, and you knew that even though it was a Monday, there was still plenty of fun to be had. 

© prettyy-kawa :  do not repost or alter in anyway without explicit permission.

[frostsinth]

Royal Flush - Pt 12

Part 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11 - MasterList - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - ... Art - Art - Art  ( #obsessed)

... I cried writing this part. I’m not going to lie. I felt like there was so much I wanted to put into words, and I couldn’t quite seem to get it all out. But this is the second to last part. 

I hope you guys enjoyed all this... let’s call it ‘seriousness’, shall we? Part 13 will conclude the story. I’ve already got it mostly underway. I appreciate you all so much for sticking with me through this and indulging my obsession. These are my boys, and I’m right along with you guys on the roller coaster they brought us on.... I hope you can hang on for the final plunge...

If you want a happier chapter, I wrote an alternative Part 11 that spins off in a better, NSFW direction. Fully in character, but it was a “what could have happened” alternative timeline. That is available on my BuyMeACoffee which you can access through my MasterList page above. Only a few copies available, so be sure to get them while you can!

Anyways... I won’t say enjoy... Because I think that’s the wrong word for this chapter...

I stood before the small gathering of goblins, turning over the information just relayed to me in my head a few times. They waited in silence with bated breath. I could tell they were not used to that; I was sure “silence” was not a thing they experienced often with Grier as their King. The thought set a bitter soreness in my chest, and I tried to brush the memory aside before it could overwhelm me. I noticed them exchange a few looks as well, as if trying to ascertain what to do. Hibik’s eyes flicked to Damjan at the corners, and then he even turned slightly to look at the Master Healer and his apprentice. Damjan shifted, clasping his hands behind his back, and I saw Seoc’s hands wringing in front of him.

They appeared very unnerved by me. I could read it in their faces plainly. All their anxiousness, their fear; I could see their thoughts etched into each flick of their eyes and twitch of their expression. But I knew they would not be able to pull a thing from the mask I had constructed. I had carefully stacked every last grain of mortar and chip of stone back into place. A masterpiece perfected over a long lifetime of necessity. A face sculpted from marble and polished as smooth as glass. I considered them each one more time, and they became somehow even more restless beneath my scrutiny.

“You are certain?” I said finally, and they all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. I was happy my voice was flat and emotionless... considering the fear that pulsed through me at that moment. I felt faint, and my heart raced to try to provide the same blood currently rushing as fast as it could away from my head.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Hibik replied, bowing slightly. “We have confirmed it... The King has contracted the Rotting Sickness.”

“How is that possible?” I asked, my voice still flat but still firm. “I was told this sickness could not affect goblins. You have no record of it in your cities.”

Hibik hesitated, then glanced at the Master Healer, who bowed low until his long white beard scraped the floor by his toes. I tried to remember if I had been given his name, but felt as though I was swatting at drifting ash in a pitch black night. 

“In its natural form, we cannot, Your Highness,” He explained, “However, it seems to have… mutated.”

“And your magic?” I demanded quietly, and I saw him wince.

“This mutation… it seems to have targeted His Majesty's own innate magic. Turning it against him.” He glanced back towards the bedroom door, where the King in question lay in a potion induced slumber. “Therefore our healing magic is ineffective against it, save to help temporarily alleviate his symptoms.”

My heart thundered in my chest, pounding relentlessly against my ribcage. I became distinctly aware of each crescendo of my breath, crashing in my ears like the waves of the ocean upon the shore. For a moment, I couldn’t do anything else. I stood, trying to bury the sinking dread that threatened to drag me beneath the cold waters. Trying not to linger on thoughts that grabbed at the corners of my consciousness and shook me for attention. I stubbornly pushed it all down, and stood like a statue for another long moment as I did.

I realized belatedly the tension rising in the room again at my silence. They were at a loss, I realized. None of them knew what to do... They were all waiting for me to decide. To command them. I flicked my hollow gaze to Hibik briefly, then returned my attention to the Healer. Trying to fight my way through the numbness to force sound from my lips.

“Then what is the King’s prognosis?” I barely recognized that the words came from my own mouth. They sounded distant and hollow, even to me.

“... The next few days will be critical to His Majesty’s recovery.”

My whole body stiffened at his words. I adjusted my tongue in my mouth momentarily before continuing. “And what are his chances?”

I saw the Healer hesitate, and glance to his second. I didn’t need to hear his words to know his response. It was written plainly across his face. My blood ran cold. “I am afraid… they are not good.”

It took every last ounce of my strength not to collapse. I had imagined myself into stone, and embodied a statue of a man instead of one made of flesh and blood. Withdrawing deep into the walls of my own design. Ones I had begun to turn a critical eye on.  Ones I had dared to start to disassemble. Now ones that I needed almost as much as the air I drew in; elsewise I would melt into a helpless pool of gelatinous goo.

“What can we do to improve them?” I inquired stiffly. “What treatment are you attempting?”

“Rest.” The Healer spoke through his teeth, and I could see the sorrow lingering in the corners of his eyes. “Broth, when he can manage it. Keeping his temperature down… The majority of the battle will be up to the King alone now.”

I nearly bit my tongue to keep from snapping it at him. That was it? That was the best they could do? No teas, no potions. No magical charms or amulets or anything else? He was a King! Surely no expense would be spared for his treatment. There must be something more they could do. Honestly, I would settle for spiritual circles and prayers to dead ancient gods… The realization that it was because it didn’t matter who he was did not settle well on my shoulders. I quickly sought to think of something else and shifted my gaze to Hibik.

“The other goblins who came with us to the human Capital. Have they shown any signs of the sickness?”

He shook his head so hard his big ears flopped audibly. “No, Your Highness.”

I nodded curtly. “They shall be quarantined as a precaution. And warded, if possible. Any and all preventative measures put into place.” I looked back at the Healer and considered him with a harsh eye. “I do not want this to spread. Any spare resources will be utilized for researching a method to combat it. And I want a Healer to certify the Princess’ warding is still in place.” 

Both Hibik and the Master Healer bowed. “Yes, Your Highness. Right away.”

“Consider all non-essential duties on hold for now.” I continued. “Everything that can proceed without approval or review may do so, but everything else must wait.” I looked at Hibik sternly. “If it is an urgent matter that cannot be suspended, bring it to me. I will trust these matters to you. Seoc shall take over your duties in the capacity of serving the King’s personal needs as well as my own while you handle those affairs. In the meantime,” Now I turned to Damjan. “Word of the King’s condition should remain within these walls. Only individuals who absolutely need to know will be informed. I want the guard doubled, I want reconnaissance and intel efforts increased, in case this was somehow intentional. I will not have us caught unawares.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Damjan bowed his head as well, seemingly pleased with my orders.

“Then go. Bring a report as soon as you have it.” I dismissed them, and watched as the Healer and his apprentice left. The former assuring they would be back soon to check on the King. The other three lingered. I steeled myself, reaching out one hand to the back of the couch as casually as I could. Pretending I didn’t need it to keep myself standing. “Is there more?”

The King’s Secretary hesitated, and he glanced over to Damjan for reassurance. The General stepped forward, jerking his chin at me.

“There is a matter of state that requires your attention, Your Highness.” He told me.

I clenched the back of the couch to prevent my hand from shaking. Looking off towards the King’s bed chambers again. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be gone. To run, perhaps. To run until I couldn’t breathe. To find some dark hollow place and crawl into it. I wanted to be alone, but feared that as much as I feared letting anyone see the crash of emotions inside me. I couldn’t access my head through the cloud engulfing me. I couldn’t handle the pulse beneath my skin. I couldn’t handle the throb in my chest or the aching numbness there. It was only a lifetime of practice that kept my feet beneath me and my mouth returning formal and practiced answers.

 “Go on then, General.”

“The King has no heir.” He told me curtly, and my eyes jerked to him. “We need to be sure we are prepared-”

“The King lies ill-” I interrupted him sharply, my voice flat but heavy with denial “-No more than a few feet from where you stand. And you would speak of successors as if he already rests on his deathbed.”

I nearly choked on the word. But Damjan’s heavy brow furrowed, and I heard Hibik sniffle sadly, shaking his head. My lips pursed as the apprehension settled like an iron shroud. Dragging us all down towards the ground. Seoc shifted, his own face bleak and morose. I couldn’t settle my gaze on any of them for the pain of their expressions, plainly evident on their features, and so stared at some distant point beyond them.

“... The King requested this himself.” Damjan finally said, his voice thin, his face hard. He seemed to be trying as hard as me not to let his emotions overwhelm him. But he didn’t have my practice.

“Requested what, exactly?” I demanded, pleased that my voice didn’t reflect any of the storm inside me.

The General didn’t answer. Instead, Hibik tentatively stepped forward. Pulling a rolled parchment from under his arm. Holding it out to me gingerly. I took it as carefully as if it might explode at any second. I glanced around at them warily, then slowly unrolled the parchment. My eyes skimmed across it, hardly reading at all. Certainly not comprehending the majority.

Ice cracked through my veins as I realized what I held in my hands, and my whole body finally went completely numb. I blinked at it stupidly a few times, staring at the King’s signature at the bottom. Re-reading the final line several times over... 

“...With their mutual consent, and in the presence of Witnesses, are entered and joined into lawful and holy wedlock...”

“... A-a marriage license?” I stammered before I could catch myself. Unable to hide the disbelief.

Hibik nodded slowly. “His Majesty had me compose it this morning after he spoke with the Healer, and signed immediately thereafter before he…” He swallowed loudly. “I-it was his wish that you sign it as well. That you might be named his-”

“That is preposterous.” I raised a hand, silencing him before he could finish his thought. “Dowager Queen Morag still lives. Certainly she-”

“The Dowager Queen was forced to step down from the throne when the King was 19 due to her waning health.” Now it was Damjan’s turn to interrupt me. He took a long step forward, standing beside Hibik and pulling my attention to him. “I can assure you, Your Highness, it has not improved in the last decade to warrant her a viable heir.”

I stared at him, then shook my head slightly. “I am human, I cannot-”

“You are the only one who can lead us.” The General snapped, his voice raising with each word. “If you do not sign this contract, and the King dies-” A shudder went down my spine at the word “-the Kingdom will be thrown into a bloody civil war while various factions fight for the throne.” He took another step forward, looking more and more desperate. I craned my head back to look up at him. “The noble houses will tear each other to shreds, and the economy will fall into ruin. And your Peace Treaty will become null and void. Leaving the human Kingdom vulnerable to attack.” He reached out as if to grab my wrist, his face contorting into a pained snarl. “If you refuse to sign, you will be condemning both Kingdoms to chaos and-”

I smacked his hand away soundly, my stance instantly becoming guarded. I held the parchment out to the side, as if to keep him from reaching it. My eyes flashed hot and angry.

“Grier is NOT dying.” I told him, and couldn’t help the sharp edge to my voice. He searched back and forth across my face, and I pursed my lips. “... I will not sign.”

With that, I turned, dropping the contract on the nearest end table. As if it were a hot coal searing into the tender flesh of my fingertips. I heard a bustle of activity behind me, as the goblins all began to speak at the same time.

“You are dismissed.” I said coldly, ignoring their sputtering, pausing briefly at the door to the bedchambers. “All of you.”

I didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t leave room for one in my command. I simply shouldered open the door and pushed it closed quietly behind me. For a moment, I leaned against it, working hard to compose myself. From across the room, I could hear Grier’s labored breathing, and each breath stabbed like a knife into my chest. I took my own shuddering attempt at it, felt my knees wobble beneath me. I choked on the air I tried to force into my lungs, and shook my head stubbornly. By the time my skull did clear a little, there were no sounds beyond the door behind me. I let a heavy hiss of air pass through me, but it crackled audibly as it fell from my mouth.

As quietly as possible, I made my way over to the bed. Stumbling as the numbness in my chest reached my legs. An armchair had been pulled to his bedside, and I slowly lowered myself into it. Then dropped my face into my hands.

 Why was this happening? What had I done wrong? I raked my brain over and over again. Going over every minute detail of the previous two days. Had it been our time in the village? Or had the sickness already spread to the castle by the time we had arrived? Perhaps Lord Tipp had been a carrier. Grier had never told me how he got rid of the irritating noble. A great hook jabbed into my heart as a flash of memory reminded me of the little girl in the lower city who had hugged me. Then later that same day, Grier had also…

I rubbed at my face, then ran my hands over the back of my neck. It didn’t matter how anymore, I told myself. And there was no way to know for sure. I tried to push it aside, sneaking a glance at the goblin out the corner of my eye. He shifted slightly, as if sensing my gaze. Though I knew the draught the Healer had given him would keep him in a deep sleep for some time yet. I swallowed my anxiousness, sitting up and reaching over to pluck a washcloth from beside the basin set on the bedside table. Needing to do something to stave off the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm me. As soon as I leaned over him, I could feel the heat pouring from his body. It set the ache back into my chest, but I gritted my teeth and pushed his hair back out of his face. Gently, I dabbed at the sweat lining his brow. He sighed in his sleep, turning slightly, but otherwise laying still. I watched the shape of his eyes move beneath his lids, and wondered what he was dreaming about. If he was dreaming at all.

I stroked the cloth down the side of his face, tracing the edge of his jaw distractedly then down his damp neck. They had dressed him sparingly, with only linen trousers, and had laid him on top of his heavy blankets. A thin sheet covered him to keep off any drafts, but the soft fire that snapped in the small fireplace at the edge of the room kept his chambers warm. Bathing them in a dim orange glow. The enchantment on my eyes struggled with the shifting lights, playing games with the shadows at the edges of my vision. I paused, lingering with the cloth poised by his cheek again. My thumb came out, and I brushed the pad gently across his hot skin. My heart lurched in my chest, and I swallowed a painful lump.

I stood suddenly, dropping the cloth onto the edge of the basin. Unable to sit and watch him struggle to breathe. I blinked rapidly, then strode off. Only to halt a few paces away. Unwilling to leave him there alone. I hesitated, looking back over my shoulder. Torn in half by the two pains; one of seeing him in this state, the other of not being able to see him at all.

I stared at the ground blankly for a few minutes before my eyes actually saw the crumpled shirt there. Slowly, without thinking, I bent down and picked it up. The spicy sweet scent of him wafted off the cloth, and I had to resist the urge to bring it to my nose. Instead, I folded it, carefully and delicately. Then looked around. A small basket of washing seemed to be by the door… I paced over to it slowly and placed the shirt inside. Another glance found a pair of trousers just shy of the basket. I took those up and folded them as well. Then another shirt. Then… a jacket, I supposed, though it was hard to distinguish based upon what seemed to be an extra sleeve.

Soon I found myself organizing and sorting the other various items in the room once the clothes had all been piled in the basket. I ran my hands over each, imagining what Grier might have to say about it. Wondering how he had come upon it, or what significance it had to him. I fabricated a few stories to entertain myself as I worked my way around the room. There was certainly no small supply of things to resituate and reorganize. I found some semblance of order amid not only the chaos of his personal belongings, but also the chaos swirling in my head. I let my mind wander, thinking hard and deeply for a long, long time as I worked. Returning to the bed every little while to reach out and reassure myself I was not imagining the strangled breathing, and that Grier was still there…

...

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw you?” Came the weak voice from the bed.

I spun, nearly dropping the small chest I was holding. Beady red eyes peered at me from amid the billowous blankets. My breath skittered from my throat, and I was hard pressed to draw in a new one with how tightly it constricted behind the first.

“You should be resting…” I told him, placing the chest quietly back on the table. It was the first time he had opened those scarlet eyes of his all day, and I couldn’t help but move to the bedside despite my words. “I-I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He gave me a small, feeble smile. “Did I?”

Slowly, I sat in the chair beside him, leaning over my knees to better make out his quiet voice. “... Did you what?”

“Ever tell you?” He pressed.

His voice was thin and breathy, as if each word took the entirety of his lung capacity to speak. I shook my head carefully, glancing down at my hands in my lap. 

“... You mean in the throne room? When I came-”

Now it was his turn to shake his head, and he did so sluggishly. “No. That was the second time.” My eyebrows raised, and he grinned a little more, still half the strength of even his smallest usual smile. “The first time… must have been almost three years ago.”

“... Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered. “W-we… It’s only been maybe a month-”

He hummed softly, and his eyes drifted closed. But his hand moved, reaching out from beneath the covers until the fingertips brushed my knee near the side of the mattress. I glanced down at them, and my heart skipped. At first, I thought perhaps he had fallen back asleep. Then his soft voice petered from between his thin lips again.

“I had been told there was a Prince at the frontlines. Though the messenger couldn’t say for sure which Prince… I assumed not the Crown Prince. He rarely left the castle…” The corners of his mouth twitched into a tiny smirk, and he mumbled around its shape. “We didn’t know much about the human Royals then. Only that the King had three children. Two of them Princes… it had never been anything we cared to know more about.” His eyes cracked back open, and he rolled them to look up at me. “I insisted on going to see. No one could talk me out of it.” His teeth flashed beneath his lips briefly. “... I can be very stubborn.”

The goblin moved his fingers again, grazing against the folds of fabric on my pant leg. I noticed beads of sweat beginning to drip down his brow again. Noticed his wild hair was nearly plastered flat to his scalp. I turned, plucking the cloth from the water basin on the end table. I squeezed it out, then gently dabbed at his forehead. He sighed tiredly as the cool cloth touched his skin, and his eyes drooped closed again. I rolled the cloth over the back of his neck, and pushed his hair out of his face. I could feel the heat still pouring off him, and it set the ache in my chest throbbing once more. Though that hadn’t let up since that first morning a few days prior.

“Damjan and his lieutenant escorted me,” He continued, and I almost started at the sound of his voice, I had been so lost in my thoughts, “To the crest of a hill, right at the disputed boundary. They cast so many defensive spells and charms on me, the air felt electric… Still, they had me keep low, out of sight, and we were… a few hundred yards away?”

“Shhhh.” I told him, refreshing the water on the cloth and wringing out the excess again. “...Save your strength.”

He ‘hurmphed’ softly, his only acknowledgement of my words before he promptly ignored them. “There was… a thin line of trees lining a trail that ran parallel to us… They looked like... like twigs… it was autumn, so there were no leaves, and everything was grey and bland and…” His voice faded weakly. I could hear the dryness, and returned the cloth to the basin.

“Here.” I told him, scooping my arm gently beneath his shoulders and propping him up as I brought a goblet of warm, watered-down broth to his lips. He sucked at it greedily, but only managed half before he fell back against my arm. I slowly lowered him to the pillows as he licked at his lips.

“... I had never seen so many humans in one place before. They all looked… broken. Worn and battered. Covered in mud.” He continued, and his eyes sought mine as I settled back into my seat. “Most were limping… I could almost smell the blood on the air.” He blinked slowly, and his gaze became distant as he fell into the memory. “I remember thinking… that they looked like they were behind bars… because of the trees and shadows… And they trudged single file down this muddy stretch. Those that could, anyway. All but indistinguishable from one another.”

I was surprised by the vibrancy of the scene he described, and more surprised to find it a familiar one. I had a pretty good idea of the time he was talking about; and my heart dropped at the memory. It had been a long trek back from the front. Defeated, discouraged. Injured and weak. I wracked my brain to try and think of the particular day, as they all blended together. I had been so lost in my sorrow then... Goosebumps shot across my skin to think there had been an audience during that solemn trudge. My brow furrowed as I recalled it, and I glanced at him sidelong. Wondering where this was going.

“...I was told we had missed the Prince. We’d have to move further up the line if I wanted to see him… because there was no way he would be with the injured men below. Damjan was positive we wouldn’t see him at all.” He sighed weakly, his head lightly tossing to and fro. “There was no glory. No fanfare or bright banners. Just blood, and filth, and mud, and…. Nothing for a Prince, he had said.” He sighed again, his breath even thinner. “Damjan sent his lieutenant to scout ahead. To try and find out if the Prince was further up. But I stayed to watch… I was… horrified by what I saw. I don’t think…” His eyes closed briefly. “I don’t think I had ever really… understood what the war meant. Until that moment.”

“...Grier…” I started to protest, readying an argument for him to save his strength again.

“Then, one of them fell.” He persisted, still ignoring me, his face scrunched. “There was a lot of shouting… we couldn’t make it out from where we were… chaos and noise and...” Suddenly his eyes came back, and he looked over at me, a small light in their scarlet depths. “And then… then you were there… You came up from somewhere near the back of the line. I didn’t realize who you were at first. Damjan had to point you out… I saw the men fall silent and part like water to let you through. No bowing, no fanfare. Just… quiet respect.” I flushed, starting to shake my head. His hand came out, and I glanced at it as it lingered next to my knee again. When I checked his face, his eyes were closed. As if to see the moment more clearly. “You were nearly as muddy as they were, but I think you were wearing a different color than them. I couldn’t see your face though. You had your back to us…” His voice petered out again, and he gave a breathy sigh.

As the silence stretched for a breath too long, I reached out. Tentatively brushing my fingers against his wrist. As if to assure myself he was still there. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and I struggled to keep myself from being overwhelmed by the pang of sadness that sight brought. His hand slowly closed around my fingers, and I ached at the weakness of them.

“Within moments, you had organized the chaos… You sent someone for… a healer, I’m guessing. But you crouched down next to the fallen man. Called for water… wiped the mud from his face with your sleeve…” I slowly turned my hand in his, listening quietly to his words. I couldn’t remember the day he was talking about. Not specifically… there had been many such moments. I tried to remember the trees, and the hills. I started to shake my head again. He gave my fingers a feeble squeeze, stilling me. “And then…” He drew in a sharp breath, and a smile split his lips slowly, his eyes opening. “And then you turned… and… And I swear it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds…”

“Grier…” I mumbled again, uncertain what else to say, my ears hot.

“I decided it.” He declared softly. “Right then and there… I decided to end the war… I saw your face and…”

“Y-you should get some rest.” I stammered, and carefully began to untangle his fingers from mine. “... You’re not making any sense.” I shook my head a final time. “You act as though you were looking for me.”

“I was.” He breathed, nodding groggily. “I wanted to see you.”

I frowned down at him, but his eyes were struggling to stay open. I pushed his hair back out of his face one more time and tucked his hand against his body. My lips burned with questions. Instead, I sat back in my chair, watching him quietly for a moment as he fought with the fever that dragged at his consciousness.

“Sleep.” I told him. “... W-We can… we can talk more when you’re better.”

He scoffed groggily at that. Then his eyes fluttered shut. And I was left alone with just my thoughts and his ragged breaths to fill the silence.

....

“Your Highness,” Came Hibik’s soft voice, “The Princess is here to see you.”

I nodded dumbly, rubbing a hand across my face and moving to stand with as much care as if each of my joints were made of glass. I glanced back over at Grier as the smaller goblin came deeper into the room. 

“I will stay with him, Your Highness,” Hibik assured me gently, “You can see your sister. And get a real night’s sleep.”

I said nothing for a moment, simply watching Grier without moving. But the King was still sleeping, despite the voices around him. It had almost been two days since the last time he had woken… Finally assured that was still the case, I turned back to Hibik.

“... I’ll be back after I speak with Morgana.” I told him.

“Your Highness, you need to rest too-”

I shook my head. “You need not concern yourself, Lord Hibik.” I assured him. “I am fine.”

Hibik looked me up and down. “... Your Highness, you have been at his side since he first… I-it’s been days. You have barely eaten-”

I waved him into silence. “Keep an eye on him. I will return shortly.”

Morgana bounced excitedly to see me again, but quickly remembered where she was and became more solemn. Hibik had lit the candles and fireplace of the King’s foyer, and there was plenty of space to sit now that I had begun to properly clear it all. I had even sorted through the huge armchair of discarded clothes and sent everything off to be carefully washed. Apparently he had a large closet off his bedroom, though one would’ve been hard pressed to tell based upon the state of his wardrobe scattered across the rest of his rooms. My sister skipped over and gave me a hug, which I returned distractedly. My eyes lingering on a familiar piece of parchment, still where I had left it on the end table after Hibik had given it to me to read... 

“I brought you some uyapik,” she told me, pulling a wadded up handkerchief from her pocket, spotted with grease, “And a story to read.”

I turned back to her and ran a hand over the top of her head. “Thank you, chickadee. You are very sweet.”

She led us over to the armchair facing away from the bedroom door and sat me down. Then stood with her hands on his hips until I had eaten both uyapik to her satisfaction, before carefully climbing onto my lap. I wrapped my arms gently around her, and she pulled out the book as she rested her head in the crook of my neck.

“Is Grier getting better?” She asked me softly as I flipped through the pages to the spot she had bookmarked for us.

I stiffened slightly at her words, then swallowed a lump in my throat. “... He hasn’t gotten worse, at least, chickadee.” I replied honestly, my voice thin. I pushed her hair back out of her face. “... How is Safa? Is she taking good care of you?”

I heard the smile in her voice as she responded. “She’s very silly. She tells me all kinds of fun stories, and we’ve been all over the castle.” She said. “But she insists on wearing these big poofy dresses, and she can’t move very quickly. And she always wants to play with my hair. She says it’s very thick and soft and pretty. I told her only you can do my hair. I don’t like when anyone else does it.”

“She sounds nice though.”

“... Can you come out with us, Niko?” She asked softly. “... Maybe Grier can come too. Safa says fresh air can be good for sick people. Maybe it’ll help.”

I gave her a weak squeeze. “I-I… I don’t so, chickadee… He’s needs his rest...”

“Oh…” She sounded so sad, I felt my eyes grow damp. It was too close an echo of my own sorrow.

“Perhaps you can bring him some flowers instead,” I suggested, trying to distract myself as well as her, “That would help, I am certain. Bringing a bit of the outside in.”

Morgana bounced a little, reaching up to ring her arms around my neck. “I can do that. I’ll get him the biggest, smelliest, most colorful flowers I can find.”

I buried my nose in her hair. “That sounds wonderful, chickadee.”

“And I’ll bring you lilies, Niko,” She told me, “If goblins have lilies. That way you can feel better too.”

I choked back the tears again, and nodded. Letting her take the book from my hand in her usual impatience and flip through the last few pages to reach her bookmark. I listened quietly to her while she babbled, alternating between reading the passage and adding in her own flourishes. I even managed to close my eyes, leaning my cheek against the top of her head. I could almost forget when I was with her. Could almost pretend everything was still right in the world. Could pretend I didn’t constantly worry about what the future might have in store. For both of us now, I remembered with a stab of guilt, since I had brought her here with me. And I could almost remember that strange but lovely warm feeling I had been starting to enjoy before… 

I almost missed the soft click click click on the stone floor marking someone’s approach.

“Well now, is this the Onsakin I have been hearing so much about? Pah!” Came the thin, wiry voice. “She looks just like you, mo shiba.”

I turned in surprise to see the Dowager Queen standing a few feet away, cane in hand. Quickly, I moved to stand, gathering up Morgana in my arms as I went. For her part, my sister looked curious, tilting her head to the side. I saw her taking in Morag’s voluminous skirts and dozens of jewelry bits and bobbles. She clutched the book to her chest as I slowly lowered her to the ground.

“Welcome back, Your Grace-” I greeted her respectfully, bowing as I placed Morgana back on her feet.

“Ina Morag, mo shibaba. I have told you this many times.” She tapped her cane on the floor to emphasize her point. 

Morgana tugged on my tunic, glancing up at me and then back at Morag. The question lingering in her curious eyes.

“Ina Morag, may I present my sister, Princess Morgana Delarosa Marie of Geriveria.” I intoned, hoping my voice didn’t sound too heavy with my exhaustion. I rested a gentle hand on the top of Morgana’s soft hair. “Chickadee, this is Dowager Queen Morag.”

“Pah!” Scoffed Morag. “You shiba have such long names. I do not have the breath for all this!”

Morgana tugged on my tunic again. Shyly waving me down so she could whisper in my ear. “What does ‘dowager’ mean?”

I slowly straightened. “‘Dowager’ means she was married to the old King,” I explained, “This is Grier’s mother.” I pretended like I didn’t almost choke on his name.

“You’re Grier’s mother?” Morgana said a little louder, sounding fascinated, her eyes going wide.

Morag nodded. “Yes, Onsakin, I am his ina.” She cocked her head to the side, her jewelry jangling as she did. “I have been wanting to meet you since you arrived.” She tapped her cane on the floor angrily. “But this abhama has not brought you to me yet!”

“What does Onsakin mean?” My sister asked, swaying from foot to foot as her excitement began to build. Her little mouth moved over the strange word tentatively, forming each syllable with great care.

“Ah, it means, ‘Little Princess’, I believe.” I told her.

Morgana put her hands on her hips. “I am not little!” She scoffed, then stood a little straighter. “I’m taller than you!”

“Morgana!” I scolded, but it lacked any strength behind it.

“PAH!” Laughed Morag, tapping her cane again. “I like this one! She is like you, she has spirit! Mian’we boshta!“ I felt the corners of my lips twitch, longing to smile, but feeling far too heavy to manage. The Dowager Queen considered this, and her scarlet eyes flickered to the bedroom door. “... How is mo apawi?”

“... No better, Your Grace.” I murmured softly, dropping my eyes.

She let my slip go by unaddressed, giving a soft ‘hmm’ instead. It sounded so much like Grier’s, I had to ball my fists to keep the quiver from my hands. I still could not bear to meet her eyes. I felt Morgana’s hand wiggle between my clenched fingers, and she gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I returned it gratefully, but had not the strength for more than that. I felt the tickling edges of shame that my emotions and thoughts were apparently so plain to read, and swallowed nervously.

“He is strong, mo shibaba,” She assured me gently, then nodded herself, “He is young. He will pull through.” Her confidence seemed to wave momentarily, but then I felt her cane come out to tap the tip of my boot. “... He has a good reason to.”

“If you are Grier’s mother,” Morgana chimed in, “How come you are so small? Why is Grier so much taller than all the other goblins? Did you use magic to make him bigger?”

“PAH!” Morag laughed again. “Perhaps someone did put a charm on the boy. You should have seen that abhama when he was born, Onsakin. He was so tiny, you could fit him in your pocket.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? Are all goblins that small?” She glanced up at me. “I thought maybe Grier’s mother might be an orc, like Damjan’s.” Her attention turned back to the Queen. “Was his father tall? Or did you really use magic?” I noticed her eyes narrow. “... You’re not an orc, right?”

Again, another melodic laugh. But in spite of its jovial ring, its familiarity stung. “PAH! No, Onsakin. I would be a very small orc indeed. They would have left me out in the cold as a child.” She rubbed her hands over her top of her cane. “His father was tall. Not so tall as your brother. But tall for a goblin.” She gave a toothy smile, sounding distant in memories for a moment. “And very handsome.”

“Apologies, Your Grace,” I interrupted before my sister could launch any more questions, “I am certain you came to see your son again. We will not keep you longer; I know you get tired easily-.”

“PAH!” She smacked my leg with her cane, just hard enough for me to jerk in surprise. Morgana giggled. “Do not tell me what I am to do, mo shibaba. I came to see you.”

“You came to see Niko?” My sister asked, bouncing on her toes a little.

One slender eyebrow raised at her nickname for me. But then she gave a small nod. “Yes.” She tilted her head back to the side. “He does not sleep. He does not eat. That blasted fool Damjan is worried, as is Hibik. As is Seoc, and Paye. And all the other lives you have touched since you first came here. They whisper of you in the halls.” She nodded again. “It has reached my ears.”

I stiffened again, feeling a slight flush at my collar at her implications. “I can assure you, Your Grace, I-”

I jumped onto one leg with a soft shout as her cane came out to whack me again. “Ina Morag, abhama! PAH! I have told you this.” Her scarlet eyes became hard. “You need to sleep, apawi shiba mo. To eat. You cannot wither here.”

“You can come with me, Niko,” Morgana put in, tugging on my hand lightly, “We can go to the gardens, then you can take a nap in the sun, and Safa and I can make you a picnic. It will make you feel much better!”

I glanced at both of them. Then over their heads at the door to Grier’s bedchambers. It felt like it loomed. A hollow shadow, and staring at it made the edges of my eyes tingle. I swore it shifted and warped as I watched, and I adjusted my tongue in my mouth. I realized belatedly that the two were talking still, and blinked stupidly at them. Trying to sort through what they were saying. It seemed to be some sort of plan for me; getting a bath, some fresh clothes. A shave. Morgana insisted I would sleep better out in the gardens, but was persuaded by Morag that could be saved for another day. Their banter was light hearted and quick; a stark contrast to the slow thrum of my own mind. I heard their words distantly, my mind wandering back to the dark room beyond the door...

“... I’m fine where I am, though I thank you both for your concern.”

The pair fell silent at my flat and formal words, spoken in the middle of some exchange I hadn’t fully comprehended nor bothered to register. I felt Morgana tug at my hand again, and looked down at her belatedly. Realizing she had done so more than once already. Her hazel eyes were wide, and her little bottom lip quivered. She stomped her foot softly.

“You’re my brother, Niko! I’m tired of sharing you!”

Had I been able to feel any part of my body at that moment, rather than feeling like a head detached and floating around, I might have winced at her words. Instead, I managed to find some command of my palm, bringing it up to cup her cheek gently. I tried a dozen words in my mind, tossing each aside almost as soon as they occurred to me. I thought to tell her that I wanted nothing more than to go to the gardens with her. Or have her tell me another story. To do anything and everything to make her happy... I thought to try to explain that the thought of leaving his room for more than a few minutes made me feel like I was falling apart. And had I been given the choice, I would’ve traded places with Grier in an instant. He would have managed all this much better than I…

“Pah!” Exclaimed the Dowager Queen, tapping her cane against the floor. “We’d best leave this one be, mo Onsakin.” She told her, and my sister glanced over her shoulder at the Queen, her pout still in place. “Sometimes it is better to wear away at stone slowly when you want to polish it...” Her scarlet eyes darted to my face. “Elsewise it might just shatter instead.”

I didn’t want to meet Morag’s eyes, as grateful as I was for her understanding. I was too afraid of the soft familiarity of them sending my heart into a deep ache again. Instead, I pushed Morgana’s hair out of her face, pulling her attention back to me.

“Why don’t you go with ina Morag for a little while?” I told her, then felt my gaze drop to the side sadly. “I-I think she’d be much better company than me right now.”

Morgana tugged on my hand again, her face starting to scrunch up. “No! I want to play with you, Niko!”

Again, when I found myself at a loss for words, uncertain how to calm my sister’s growing agitation, it was Queen Morag who came to my rescue.

“Tch, child!” She scoffed, and Morgana looked over her shoulder at her again, her nose all pinched. “The boy is sick too, can’t you tell?” She tilted her head to the side, making her many glittering bobbles jingle and clink. “Don’t you think if he could, your brother would like nothing more than to be with you?”

That gave Morgana pause, and she looked me over almost curiously. “You’re sick too, Niko??”

I started to shake my head, but made a soft exclamation of surprise instead as Morag’s cane smacked my calf. My sister’s face twitched out of her irritation slightly at the sound. 

“Of course, Onsakin!” She declared. “Your ibu is sante’fet. He cannot be anything else while his manwe is unwell.”

Morgana considered her, taking in the strange words she spoke with a thoughtful ear. “... He can’t?” She hesitated, then looked sidelong up at me. “... What does all that mean? Is that some weird grownup thing?”

“Your Grace, I-”

“INA MORAG, suit abhama!” She snapped at me, as did her cane, and I yelped again. This made Morgana giggle once more. The former Queen turned to my sister, nodding her head conspiratorially. “Come, Onsakin. I will tell you more. I know a great many secrets, you know.” She gave me a very similar sidelong look as my sister’s, and my brows shot up slightly at the sight. “More than this abhama, I am certain.”

I saw the curiosity in my sister’s matching hazel eyes and she squeezed my hand indecisively as the Queen started to make her way out of the foyer. At the main door, the old goblin paused, looking back before giving a jerk of her head to further entice Morgana.

“... Ok Niko… Maybe we can play later…” She told me after a moment. She tugged my hand, and I obediently dropped down to her so she could give me a hug. “... Feel better soon. I’ll come back to check on you and I’ll bring you those flowers.”

“Thank you, Chickadee.” I replied softly, returning her hug gently.

It was all I could manage. Not even a proper goodbye, or gratitude to the Dowager Queen for soothing my sister and entertaining her when I couldn’t even manage any semblance of a smile. I lingered where they had left me, having accidentally gotten trapped in the red glimmer of Morag’s eyes as she left. And feeling as if my heart was ripped from my chest at the almost familiar sight.

Slowly, I straightened, making my way sluggishly back to the King’s bedchambers. I dismissed Hibik distractedly. He said something to me, but I didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear anything but the sound of something in my chest cracking as I settled back into the armchair beside the bed.

I stared at the ground between my feet for a long time. When I had finally built enough courage to look over at the sleeping goblin in the bed beside me, I instantly found it shattered back to pieces as soon as I laid eyes on his quivering, sweaty form. Half buried amid oversized and overstuffed blankets and pillows. Shuddering and shivering with each breath. My eyes burned, but I stubbornly pushed that aside. Desperate to return to a statue, and feeling like I was trying to stick each piece of my walls together with sand.

The memory of his mouth came unbidden to my mind as I stared, my eyes drifting around his face. I remember the last time I had felt his against mine… A sloppy morning kiss, almost three days ago now… I felt a heavy weight inside me as I suddenly feared that was the last kiss we would ever share… Not even a proper kiss. One I had been too shy to return...

That anguish heavy on my heart, I stood, stubbornly, then bent over the bed. Reaching out with faltering fingers to skim along his jaw. I pushed back his damp hair, saw his eyes flicker beneath his lids as I leaned down... 

It was like kissing stone, and as soon as I lightly pressed our lips together I regretted it. Regretted that this was now the memory etched into me. Not his warmth. Not the taste of his smile. Just something clammy and still... I fell into the armchair, dropping my face into my palms. It was too much… I couldn’t… I shivered, then swallowed hard. Trying to steady myself. Trying to push away the fear that maybe… maybe he wouldn’t get better after all… and the fear of realizing exactly why that thought hurt me quite as much as it did...

....

I stirred at some point, dragging from the listlessness of sleep. Pulling my head out of the realm of dreams and floating back down to my corporeal form sitting in the armchair like a feather falling onto the still surface of a pond. For a long moment, I forgot where I was. I didn’t remember falling asleep. Perhaps at some point the numbness had simply dragged me from my consciousness, but I didn’t know when that had been. My eyes blinked, adjusting magically to the dark of the room. I wasn’t sure how I could tell; perhaps it was the strange heaviness of the air. Or some quality of its stillness. But I knew it was late.

The ragged breath of the King sent a shiver down my spine, and I looked over at him in the bed beside my chair. I sighed quietly, rubbing a hand at my face. My limbs were weighed down by unseen lead chains, and struggled to pull air into my lungs. When my hand finally dropped, I started slightly as I found a pair of bright red eyes now watching me. I recovered, straightening myself.

Y-you’re awake...” My voice barely above a whisper as if to preserve the stillness blanketing us. Depending on what day it was now, it had nearly three days now since he had last opened his eyes. “... How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” He mumbled, then blinked a few times sluggishly. “Heavy… Waterlogged.” A soft, petering sigh, then his eyes flicked back to me. “... Have you been there this whole time? How long has it been?”

I cleared my throat quietly, shifting. Casting my gaze away from him. “I-I just… I wanted... ” I swallowed hard, thumbing my palm. “I-I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“... Nikostratus,” He breathed my name like the first lungful of cold air after a warm cabin, and I jerked at the sound, “... I need you to promise me something.”

I was already shaking my head before he finished. “No.”

“Nikost-”

“Don’t.” I snapped, a little harsher perhaps then I intended. My eyes jumped to his, and I shook my head again before dropping them away once more. “I-if you start trying to… t-to…” I pressed my thumb into my palm until it stung. “... Don’t start talking like… like you’re not going to get better.”

He drew in a deep, wheezing breath. “...I might not-”

“Don’t.” I said, a little louder now.

“I don’t want to ask this of you.” His voice sounded pained, and not just from the effort it took for him to draw in each breath. “Gods know… you’ve had enough weight dropped on your shoulders… but I need to… I need to think of my Kingdom too…”

I shook my head once more. “I-I’m not a goblin… I’m not a King-”

“You are the most honorable and trustworthy man I know.” He wheezed, and his hand came out towards me. “...But in the end it’s your decision. I won’t demand it of you…I won’t even ask it of you... just promise me you’ll make sure my people… our people, are taken care of.”

“I’ll promise you nothing.” I almost growled, my voice harsh. “Because then everything would be settled and taken care of and-” I stopped short, my words choking me. “And you…. Y-you…”

“My young Prince,” He murmured weakly, both hands reaching for me now, “My sweet Prince… come here… please… I don’t have the strength to charm you into my arms,” a small, wry grin flicked at the corners of his lips, “So I suppose I’ll just have to swallow my pride and beg.”

I didn’t have the will to deny his request, nor did any small part of me even want to try. I crumpled forward, dropping heavily out of the chair to my knees beside the bed. His hands cupped my face, tracing along it weakly. I shivered beneath his touch, squeezing my eyes shut. With the feeblest of tugs, he pulled at me and I obediently sank down to him, letting him wrap his arms around my neck. Letting him bury me in his chest as I bent over him. Drawing in the scent of his sweat slicked body and feeling his ragged breath on the top of my head. I brought one hand up, hooking on his arm as if to free myself. But it fluttered and lingered there instead.

“Y-you can’t do this to me…” I gasped against him suddenly, feeling my eyes start to burn as a sharp heat bubbled in my chest, “You can’t… you can’t leave me now… I can’t…”

“... You’ll be alright.” He told me softly. “You’re clever, and strong-”

“I don’t want to be strong!” I snapped. “I’m tired of being strong!” My hands grabbed at his shoulders roughly, tugging him a little closer. My grip faltered and fluttered as I remembered the state of him, and I gave a shuddering breath. Burying myself deeper into his embrace. “I-I… I can’t… I can’t do this again…”

His arms tightened around me, and I heard his breath shudder against my ear. His hand came to the back of my head, and I felt him stroking it weakly. So softly I thought I might shatter. My heart threatened to do the same.

“I… I have so much left I want to tell you… but … there’s one thing I need to tell you… one you deserve to know.” He murmured softly. “... I need to tell you how… how I found you…”

I would have drawn back to look at him, but suddenly felt as weak as he was. So I laid limply in his arms. Listening to the ragged air pass through his lungs.

“A few years back... There was a young man… barely in his twenties if even that…” He explained in his thin and wheezing voice, “... He was badly wounded when we found him at the border… delirious… Half-dead already… The soldiers there did what they could for him, but he was… he was saying something they thought might be of import.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “They sent him to me.”

“... What was he saying?”

“He told us…” I felt his hesitation, and a strange weightless dread spreading through me at his reluctance. “He told us… he had loved a Prince…” I stiffened sharply, every muscle in my body becoming steel. “...And that for that crime… he had paid with his life.”

I jerked away from him, sitting up on my knees. My heart racing, my head pounding. I stared down at Grier, slack jawed and dumbstruck. 

“... I should have told you sooner. But I… I don’t know who he was to you. I-if he was anyone...” He stammered feebly. “And for the longest time, we thought he was just… just delirious. He never said his name, or anything else for that matter. Nor did we know what Prince he was talking about… We didn’t know where he was from… or how he had gotten there…”

I was lost in my memories for a long moment. Lost in dark hair and bright eyes. Soft skin and a wiry frame. And pain. So much pain I thought I might shatter from it. My walls started to raise, my shoulders stiffened. Seeking to defend my heart from that fate. I fought through the numbness that nearly overwhelmed me. Something about what he said was nagging me though. Snapping at the edges of my mind. Poking holes in the walls I tried to build. I blinked a few times, trying to steady myself. Trying to sort through my emotions and come back to just the words. I wondered if the click was as audible as it felt when the pieces fell into place.

“... Half-dead?” I breathed. “Y-you said he was wounded? Half-dead?” I shook my head. “N-no, that can’t be right… It couldn’t have been him… It wasn’t him… You found someone else.” 

“Nikostratus… I-I’m so sorry-”

“He died?” I cut him off abruptly, my voice thin as it pressed through the tiny opening that was left of my throat. “... Did… Did he suffer?”

Grier’s hand came to mine on the bed, and he shook his head weakly. “We couldn’t save him… but he didn’t suffer. We made sure of that.”

Just like that, the walls I had been trying to build imploded. Crumbling into hundreds of pieces around my heart. Without their protection, the emotions slammed into me. I stared down at our hands numbly for a long time. My heart ached, my head throbbed. There was an extended silence, while I tried to process everything suddenly hitting me full force. While I tried to pull the knife from my chest just enough to pull in a breath. It was too heavy. All of it. I couldn’t hold it... I felt my lips working to release the pressure; tasted the sound of my words even though I had not willed them forth.

“... I thought I was...” I told him, my voice whisperingly soft, “I-I thought… H-he was… He was my second… on the frontline…” I shifted, still kneeling beside the bed and staring at his hand on mine. “H-he… he was k-kind… and sweet… and s-soft…” My voice broke and I started to shake. “He… W-we drank too much… we forgot where… w-where we were… just for one night... it was just one night… and… and I… I-I forgot… I forgot who I was…”

“... Nikostratus…”

I squeezed his hand, then clamped my eyes so tightly shut I was seeing sparks behind my lids. “I-I thought I had… I th-thought he would… but… b-but he came back again…” I choked on a sad laugh. “He tried to come back w-when he knew we could… wh-when he thought we could be alone again… b-but… but…” I took a shuddering breath, unable to stop my confession. “They... th-they thought he was trying to… to leave... T-to desert… they-they caught him in the larder… they brought him to me ‘red handed’... t-to pass judgement...” I pulled my hand back, despite his attempt to catch it as I fled. He was too weak to pin me there, and his touch burned my shame deeper into me. But I met his eyes, my own rimmed with a redness to match his irises. “Th-the punishment for desertion i-is… is death-” I choked again, and shook my head fervently.

“... What happened?”

“I-I… I couldn’t... “ My lips were shaking so hard, the words refused to form properly on them. “I-I couldn’t tell… I couldn’t t-tell them… I let… so I let them…” I shook my head again. “Bread, Grier! H-he was just getting extra bread for us… f-for me… He was sweet… He was … so naïve… so hopeful… he… h-he was… and… a-and they wanted me to… t-to… to… they expected me to...” I closed my eyes again, and felt the tears drip down the corners. “I-I was t-too… too ashamed… I was t-too weak to… to tell them… to explain…”

“It’s alright,” He murmured, and reached to pull me down again, “It’s not your fault.”

I jerked away from his touch. “I-I couldn’t… I had to… I should have… I know I…  b-but… I couldn’t… I-I… I was... afraid… I was… I was s-so… I was so afraid...” I looked away from him, resting my elbows on the mattress and burying my face in my palms. “B-but… but I couldn’t let them… let them...“

“What happened next?” He pressed softly.

“I-I… I made a Royal Decree…” I gushed, “R-right then and there… I-I looked at him… I met his eyes… and… a-and I pretended I didn’t… I-I didn’t…” Again I choked, but shook my head, forcing the words out. “... I-I changed the law… and I banished him… o-on penalty of death, should he ever return… The fate for all deserters… f-from that day on…”

“... You saved him.”

“I betrayed him!” I gasped. “I-I looked him right in the eye, and… and when he needed me most… I pretended h-he was… he was n-nothing to me…” I dropped my head to the mattress, squeezing the back of my head with my hands. “The King was fur-furious that I had changed the law… and Gareth…” The name hitched in my throat. “... He knew… I could see it… in-in his eyes… He knew the truth…” I turned my head, so that I could look at him, even though my eyes were still damp and my throat still burned. “A-and now... And now you want me to… t-to…”

Grier’s hand came out, and he cupped it weakly against my jaw. “It’s not your fault-”

“H-how is it not?” I cut him off again, my words slurred and broken. “He had a family, He… He cared about me… he trusted me and I… and I-I…” I dropped a hand on top of his at my cheek. “And now you… y-you’re sick because of me… you’re sick because you tried to do something nice for me… A-and because… Because I let myself be... B-because I started to believe…”

“It’s not your fault.” He wheezed, and his fingers curled feebly around my jaw. Catching behind my ear. “Whatever happens, it’s not your fault. You deserve to be happy, Nikostratus.”

His hand tugged at me gently. I quivered, but let him pull me into his arms again. His palm slowly stroked at the back of my head. I slipped my own hands up, gripping his shoulders. I trembled beneath his touch, the feel of his hot fingers weakly tracing along the curve of my skull. The irony was not lost on me; that a man who may very well be on his deathbed was comforting me. It should be the other way around. I should not be pitching him my sorrow. I should be making this easier for him. I should be caring for him; I had spent my life putting others before myself, why couldn’t I now? Why was this time so different? So hard? I laid my cheek against his bare chest, feeling his damp skin against my face. My eyes pinched shut as they filled, burning as my throat closed up. A dark shadow loomed over me, enveloping my body in a hollow, unrequited misery. I felt his arms slowly wind further around me as the first tears dribbled down my cheeks and pooled on his chest. I tried to hold still, tried not to let my shoulders quake with the weight of my grief and guilt… I failed. And sobbed quietly against him.

“It’s alright… You’re safe here… It’ll be ok…” He murmured, and I buried my face deeper into his chest. Shaking my head. He stilled me with a soft ‘shhhh’. “I love you, Nikostratus. Nothing else matters but that.”

“Loving me is a curse.” I tried to pull back, but relented as his arms tightened, even weak as they were. “I should never have… I-I can’t…”

“If loving you is a curse, then it is one I will happily bear.” He breathed against the top of my head. “If loving you is a poison, I will drink every last drop, and writhe in agony for weeks. For years. Just to know this feeling for an hour.” He ran his thumb against my ear, and a shiver ran down my spine. “If your love is a dagger, I will plunge it deep into my chest until I can feel it in my heart. I don’t care what loving you is. Because it is mine. You are mine.”

“I-I’m not… Y-you can’t…”

“It’s worth it, Nikostratus. It’s worth every second. Having you here, with me…” His hot palm cupped my jaw. Running his thumb across the damp trail on my cheek. “Loving you… it is the best part of my life.”

I let him run his hands over my face and shoulders for a time. Feeling myself beginning to still once more. I felt empty, and hollow. A shell of my former self. I ran my own hand slowly over his shoulder. Numbly feeling the heat wafting off him and trying to push away what that meant.

“Y-you… I c-can’t… I can’t say… I won’t...” I tried to steady myself, breathing quietly for a time. “… I never got to say goodbye to him…” I murmured after a long while. “I-I always hoped he was… alive somewhere… happy, maybe…”

“... What was his name?”

I choked on my tears, shuddering slightly. “... Josep. His name was Josep Wolod… He was… he was 19…”

“And you?”

“... Maybe 22? I-I… I don’t remember.”

“You were both young.” His arms flexed weakly around me. “... You’re still young. They should never have…” I felt his swallow move through his throat and chest beneath my ear. “That you should be asked to condemn a boy to death...”

“I couldn’t do it… I never could…” I shivered again. “I-I banished him, b-but he was unharmed when… when…” My eyes widened even more, and the blood rushed from my face. I didn’t answer for several long, uneasy breaths. 

“When what?” He coaxed.

“When… when I had Gareth escort him to the border…”

I felt him draw in as deep a breath as he was able, and his arms wrapped as far around me as they would go. “If I ever see that man again, I will kill him.”

The hate in his voice was unfamiliar to me, and felt as foreign as the raspiness in his chest. I stayed still for a long moment, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks. Forgotten trails of my sorrow for memories I had tried to bury. For a grief I had never let myself feel. I blinked slowly, giving a soft sniffle. Then gently pulled myself free.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.” He rasped, fumbling for my hand. “Don’t apologize. Please, my young Prince... It’s not your fault.”

I wondered how much he would have to say that for me to ever have a hope of believing it. My chest ached dully at his words, and I closed my eyes for a moment to steady myself. Feeling raw and unnerved. 

“I-I... I’ve kept you up too long… you need your rest.”

“I need only you.”

“Grier…”

“...Lay with me awhile?” He murmured, his eyes starting to blink languidly. 

I was already shaking my head. “I-I shouldn’t… you need to sleep.”

“I sleep better… when you’re with me…” He replied, but let me gently lift his hand to place on his chest once more. I watched his scarlet eyes slowly work their way sluggishly up my body as I stood, until they met my gaze. “... You see it right? You understand it now?”

“... Get some rest.”

“No.” He grumbled, then slowly started to slide up onto his elbows. Weakly trying to prop himself up.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Lay with me.” He gasped, even as his arms shook beneath him. “I… I want to…” A pained look filled his eyes. “... I need to be near you...” I lurched forward, catching him before he collapsed from exhaustion. “I… I want to know you’re safe… I can’t sleep if...”

Slowly, I lowered him back into the pillows, my arms gently tucked around him. His long fingered hand came up, and he weakly skimmed it along my jaw. Wiping away the tear stains lingering there. My brow was tight, and I felt a powerful, painful throb in my chest at his touch. I caught his hand in mine, hesitating briefly. Then I pressed it against my cheek with the strength he lacked. I saw him smile, one so fragile I thought my breath might shatter it. I squeezed my eyes shut to dam the fresh pain that welled in them. I turned into his palm, even daring to place a gentle kiss in its center.

“Please?” He begged, his voice weak. “Lay with me?”

I couldn’t hide my wince at the fear in his voice. I kissed his palm again, then gently brushed his knuckles against my lips. Slowly, I opened my eyes, looking down at him. After another moment, I nodded, and his face flushed with relief.

“Only if you promise to sleep if I do.” I warned.

He agreed sluggishly, and I removed my boots and vest, then carefully crawled in behind him. The goblin quickly turned, tucking himself into my chest. It was like holding a small fire to myself, and I struggled not to flinch against him. I felt him sigh, felt him relax deeper into my chest. I hesitated before I dared wrap my arms around him. As carefully as if he might break into a thousand pieces. My heart thudded so loudly I worried it would keep him awake.

“... Do you see now?” He asked me groggily, his breath hot on the nape of my neck. 

“Shhh.” I told him gently, bringing my hand to the back of his head. “You promised you’d sleep.”

A soft mumble of something incoherent escaped his thin lips. “... But-”

“Shhhhhh.” I hesitated, then carefully stroked my hand along his damp hair. “... I’m not going anywhere… Sleep now.”

.....

I woke to a quiet knock at the door, somehow having managed to fall into a sleep plagued with nightmares. I shifted, then looked down to find the goblin still tucked in my arms. His breathing was shallow and raspy, but rhythmic, and his eyes were closed. Another soft knock had me carefully slipping from his grip. Sliding to the edge of the bed to clamber quietly to my feet. His fever had retaken him, and he did not stir at my movement. I blinked away the last of my pain, wiping my face down with one heavy hand in case any lingered there. Gods, I felt so drained and tired...

I didn’t bother to don my boots or vest, adjusting my tunic and heading to the main door. Hibik and Seoc stood there, quiet sorrow listing in the corners of their eyes. I nodded to them, briefly wondering at what sight had greeted them in my own eyes, but feeling far too hollow to care.

“Your Highness,” Hibik dipped his head, “Apologies, but there is… a visitor. From the human court.”

I blinked at him stupidly, forgetting myself for a moment. “Who?”

They exchanged a glance. “... Sir Gareth, I believe is his name. He has asked to see you and the King.”

I must have looked… strange to them, based upon their reaction. It was as though he had heard us speaking of him… had heard my confession… Though I realized now I couldn’t even be sure how long it had been. Hours? Days? Logically, I knew the timing made sense. I could suspect his reasons for being here, nearly a week since we had left the castle I had grown up in. Yet I couldn’t help the anger that bit at me at the sound of his name. The goblins exchanged another look as I stiffened. Straightening my back. A small scowl formed on my lips, and I saw them latch onto that emotion amid the stone of the rest of my face.

“...Send him away.” I told them coldly. “I do not wish to speak to him.”

Another bow. “I would, of course, Your Highness,” Hibik murmured reverently, “But he insists he is here on official business.” He shifted nervously. “I can still have the guard escort him out,  if that is your wish.”

I stared at him for a long moment. Trying to think amid the swirl of emotions that threatened to rip my chest open. After a long moment, I stepped back, pulling the door open and heading back to the bed chamber for my boots and vest.

“Your Highness,” Seoc bounded after me, and when I turned to face him, I found a fresh tunic, vest, and coat in his arms.

“Thank you, Seoc.” I told him appreciatively, though my voice tasted numb in my mouth. 

I didn’t bother for modesty, hardly caring anymore, and stripped my old tunic before them to pull on the new. Seoc scurried for my brush as I did up the buttons on the vest and pulled on the coat. He quickly polished the toes of my boots as I scrubbed at my hair for a moment. I moved without thought, my actions those of someone else. As I passed the brush back to Seoc, my eyes lingered on the distant shape of the bed in the bedchambers beyond. My heart ached, and I felt the corners of my mask slip momentarily.

“... Stay with him.” I ordered Hibik. “Fetch me immediately if…” If anything changes. I finished silently, but didn’t dare to voice. If he wakes... Or makes a turn for the worse.

Hibik nodded solemnly, straightening slowly under the responsibility and trust I laid upon him. I turned and followed Seoc out into the hall. Down through the castle. To the main throne room. 

I recognized it as soon as I entered, and looked about in a dreamlike daze. Had it really only been a month since the first time I had walked through those doors? I moved slowly over to the dais, standing at the foot of it. I stared at the pillows. The piles of gems and coins still strewn about. At the towering carved stone pillars. I remembered the first time I had stood there. Looking up at Grier, his face full of mischievous smiles and composed of a powerful air of command. I had been scared then, I knew now. He had terrified me. He had looked properly monstrous, the creature of nightmares we warned our children about. I remembered the room darker, more sinister. But now I saw the same braziers were lit as they had been then, and the entire hall was bathed in a warm glow. It was mostly stone, yes, but with the splashes of color the goblins were notorious for. And empty. There were no guards lining the chamber, though I knew they were likely just beyond the door. There were no attendants, no members of Court. I stood alone, returning to that seemingly ancient memory. I half expected to find cobwebs, the place felt so old to me. But it felt... familiar too. More comfortable than any room of my old castle...

There was a great creak as the main door opened, and I glanced over to watch Gareth be let into the chamber. A hot poker stabbed at the base of my spine, spewing its heat through my core. I squared my shoulders, waiting quietly as he approached. My mask already perfectly in place. Knowing the man I had once called ‘friend’ would not see more than a stone Prince before him.

He dipped into a bow, one tight with constraint. He looked older than I remembered. His face gaunt, his hair greying at the tips. There was an unkept scruff on his neck, and his shirt was ever so slightly askew. I eyed it disdainfully as he slowly raised.

“Your Highness,” He intoned, “Thank you for seeing me.” I watched his eyes dart about quickly before returning to me. “Shall we wait for His Majesty here, or are you to escort me to him?”

“Speak your business and be gone, Sir Gareth.” I told him coldly, ignoring his question.

Eyes flicked at that, and I saw his scowl at the edges of his lips. But he dipped his head respectfully none-the-less. “... I have come to fetch the Princess, Your Highness.”

Ice would have been warmer than the blood pulsing through me at that moment. “On whose authority?”

Another dip of his head. “By request of Crown Prince Valerianus.” He informed me. “He sends word. It is safe for her to return now. I am to bring her home.”

My jaw tightened, and I looked him over. My glare was biting, and I stared at him for so long in silence that he shifted. Moved weight from one wide foot to the other. I saw his hand rest instinctively on the hilt of his sword. My eyes narrowed. I knew this man. I knew this man better than he knew himself. I knew every twitch of his face, every short coming of his mask. I knew his mannerisms, his ticks. And now, I knew his thoughts, even as he sought to hide them from me.

“Do you think me a fool?” I asked him tonelessly. 

His eyes flicked a little wider. “Y-Your Highness-”

“You are lying, Sir Gareth.” I neatly tucked my hands behind my back, squaring off with him. “Prince Valerianus would have sent word ahead. He would have sent a full royal escort for her. Not a single disheveled guard.”

“I can assure you,” He quickly returned, deciding to stick to his lie, “I am here on his Royal Highness’ authority.” I saw him work his jaw briefly before adding. “Would you incite a war? Keeping our Princess from us?”

“Take heed how you use your tongue, Sir Gareth,” I replied coldly, not taking his feeble attempt at bait, “Or I shall have it removed from your mouth.”

His eyes widened slightly at that, and he even fell back a step. But then he shook his head stubbornly. “I am here for-”

“You are here for yourself.” I interrupted, snapping back at him so sharply he recoiled from my words. “You were not sent by my brother. And if you were sent by the King I care naught.” I did not break my glare. “The Princess Morgana is staying with me.”

The color of his face began to shift as his anger boiled up in him. “You would deny a direct order from the King?? Your true King?”

“He has no authority here.” I replied. “And as he has disowned me as his son, he certainly has none over me.” I looked the old guard up and down. “If this was your feeble attempt to regain your favor with him, then you may return a continued failure and disappointment. Be gone from my sight, before I have you forcibly removed from it.”

Gareth changed tactics. “... Let me see her,” He said softly, “Let me see her, and tell her I miss her. Let me-”

“No.”

“Nikostratus, please-”

“You will not refer to me in such familiar terms,” My voice did not raise much in volume, but the authority in it made it sound as though it had, “I am Prince Nikostratus to you. And soon I will be King. You will afford me the respect due to my position and title. I will not warn you again.”

His eyes flashed red, and his scowl broke over his lips. “A King who lays beneath a King.” He spat disgustedly. “A lecherous pet for a foul beast.”

I barely kept my own anger from bubbling over, though my jaw clenched. “Get. Out.” I ordered through clenched teeth. “Now.”

“You were a good Prince!” He cried, his face still contorted in a mixture of rage and repulsion. “You were obedient, and respectable, you were-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. He returned the step he had lost, and took another closer. “These creatures have corrupted you,” He explained, his eyes bitter, “Please, Prince Nikostratus, if you ever cared for your Kingdom, if you ever once thought me a friend… we served together. We fought side by side-”

“Like Josep?” I snapped. His name felt like fire on my tongue.

Gareth froze, his eyes going wide before he could catch himself. I was nearly trembling with rage. My hands came to my sides, balled into fists so tight the knuckles were nearly white. I could see him thinking. Trying to ascertain what I knew. How I knew. I saw him glance about suspiciously, as if the answer lay in the shadows around us. The old guard slowly straightened, his features cold.

“... I did what I had to. To protect you.”

“To protect me from what, exactly??” I snarled, rage crackling through me. “Being myself? Being happy? Having any emotions at all??!” My voice was raising octave by octave now, and my brow furrowed heavily as heat coursed through my veins.

“Prince Nikostratus, you forget yourself,” He dared scold, “Remember your temper-”

“MY ANGER IS JUSTIFIED WHEN YOU MURDER A BOY IN COLD BLOOD JUST FOR BEING IN LOVE!” I roared, my voice thundering through the vast stone chamber. “And if you think that is a crime worthy of death, then you should have killed me too!”

I saw his hand move. I heard the snarl of his anger, saw the hate in his eyes. He stepped forward, and there was a SHIIIINK that echoed loudly around the chamber as he drew his sword. At the same time, I heard the slam of the wooden door as it was flung open and the guards charged in at the sound of my voice. But the rest was a blur. It was a blur as I stepped to the side. It was a blur as I dropped down, and drove my shoulder up. It was a blur as my hand swept out at the same time as my foot swept in. It was a blur as I twisted the lunging sword from his grasp and deftly spun it in my hand.

The next thing I knew, I was standing over him, the tip of his blade levied at his throat. His eyes were wide with fear and shock as he looked up at me from the ground where I had laid him low. The clanking of armor filled the room as the guard surrounded us, their own weapons drawn. Damjan was at my shoulder, his eyes dark with malice. Gareth’s own eyes darted about in a panic, a cold sweat breaking across his brow. His mouth fell open, and I saw him shake in fear.

“Y-Your Highness, please, I beg of you-”

“Gareth of Geriveria, for your crimes against King and Crown,” I saw him wince as I began, and pressed the blade in a little tighter, “... I banish you. On penalty of death, should you ever dare set foot in my Kingdom again... And should I ever have the misfortune of seeing you again,” I met his gaze with a steadfast rage and confidence, “I shall take your head myself.”

I tossed the sword to the side, and the guards swarmed in. Grabbing the old guard and hauling him to his feet. Beginning to drag him off at spear and sword point.

“Your Highness, please!” He cried over their shoulders, “Your father lies on his deathbed! He only wishes to see his child; the sickness has-”

“If that is true, then he has only his own stubborn pride to blame.” I shot back, unfazed, and did not budge from my spot until the man was dragged away.

Damjan shook his head at my shoulder, his face contorted in outrage. “Your Highness, if-”

“Make sure he is brought to the border unharmed, General,” I interrupted, and glanced over at him stiffly, “Escort him all the way to the capital if necessary. I would not have him made a martyr, or start another war for his sorry hide.”

That stopped whatever he had been about to say, and his brows shot up. Then he grinned eagerly, and bowed. “Once again, Your Highness, you prove wise beyond your years.” He replied reverently. “I shall be sure it is done.” He tilted his head to the side slightly as he rose. “Though I do hope the bastard is stupid enough to attempt to return.” He mused as he turned to march out after his guard. “I would like to put his ugly head on a pike myself.”

“...General,” I called after him, and the taller man paused, glancing back at me, “If what he said is true, about King Tibertius... I want to know.”

Damjan’s face grew stern, and he nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

I felt my stamina quickly fading as Seoc bounded over, looking me over worriedly. I waved away his concern. “Bring me back to the King.” I told him. “And send word to my brother.” I continued as I followed him out the side door. “Let him know of the banishment. I have a feeling he shall issue one of his own in turn when he hears of the circumstances.”

A few moments later, my attendant bobbed and bowed. Wishing me a grateful farewell before darting off to do my bidding. I opened the main door, and at the sound, I heard Hibik raise from the seat in the chamber beyond. I met him in the foyer, already unbuttoning my jacket to slip it from my shoulders along with whatever of my strength remained.

“... How is he?” I asked softly, my previous rage draining from me so suddenly I felt light headed.

Hibik shook his head sadly. “I-I am afraid his fever seems to have returned in full force…” He glanced over his shoulder. “I can send for the Master Healer, but I am not sure-”

“There is no need.” I interrupted, slowly undoing the buttons on my sleeves to roll them up. “... I’ll take care of him.”

The goblin shifted from foot to foot, glancing over his shoulder again. “Your Highness, please, I beg of you to consider your own health and get some proper rest…”

I shook my head, then hesitated, looking off at some distant, unseen point beyond the floor at my feet. “... I thank you for your concern, Lord Hibik. But I will be fine. Though, I am most grateful to you for watching over him while I dealt with other matters.” 

Hibik bowed deeply, murmuring his own soft platitudes, if hesitantly. Then turned to slowly take his leave. My eyes drifted to the end table, where the parchment still sat, a quill at its side. I sucked in a tight breath, and found myself moving as if through molasses, my feet carrying me over to it of their own accord.

“... Lord Hibik…”

I heard him pause at the door, saw him turn out the corner of my eye. But I was in a cloud of my own making as I slowly made my way over to the table. I couldn’t even feel the quill between my fingers. Couldn’t see the page even as I dipped the tip in ink and hovered it over the parchment. I hesitated, staring for a long, quiet moment. Then slowly… carefully… I signed my name beside Grier’s.

The goblin quietly came up beside me as I straightened. Gently taking the quill from my frozen hand, and easing the license delicately from the table. I watched numbly, then turned my gaze away. Unable to reconcile myself with what I had just done, and feeling a heavy weight on my heart for having done so.

“... It seems in poor taste to offer you congratulations, My Prince,” Hibik breathed softly, somberly, “But I will offer you my thanks… and my sincere hope that this remains only as an unneeded precaution…”

I nodded, still not looking at anything on this plane of existence in particular. I was already moving before he turned to make his way to the door, but heard it click closed behind him before I had made it into the bedchambers. I closed that door as well, slipping off my boots and lining them up neatly with the numerous other pairs of his where I had set them. I eased off my vest, folding that and tucking it neatly on the bureau, alongside his own vibrantly colored tops. I trailed my fingers over them as I untucked my tunic from my trousers, letting it flow long and loose. I made my way over to the bed, my feet heavy, my heart dragging behind me. Quietly, I climbed in, crawling up to his side and resting my back against the headboard. As if sensing me there, the King shifted, rolling sluggishly. I carefully lifted him, laying him across my stomach. His skin was so hot it was still uncomfortable to touch, but I let him slide his arms slowly around me anyways.

I reached for the cool cloth, dipping it in water and brushing it across his bare, sweaty back. He shivered against me, and a lung quaking cough erupted from him. I pulled his hair into a soft plait, carefully laying it over the pillows instead of his shoulders, pushing it out of his face. He sighed, settling against my torso. Still in the fits of his fever induced sleep. Slowly I stroked the cloth back and forth over his skin, my eyes burning.

I sniffled softly, then cleared my throat. “... W-we’re married now, Grier…” I told him, my breaking voice barely above a whisper. “... I guess that makes this our wedding night…”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch at my voice. I closed my eyes, but was unable to dam the flow completely before one large fat tear rolled down my cheek.

...

UPDATE: Part Thirteen HERE

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Okay so I'm glad you responded to my ask and I read what people commented under it and that kinda hurt me because I wasnt meant to be rude to you at all? I feel like people are getting so defensive that you as a writer can't receive any criticism or feedback anymore because it's all 'bad and rude'. Me losing interest and telling you wasnt meant to be rude. It was more to let you know. I thought most writers would like to know how readers react to whatever they do related to their writing -🔥

Don't get me wrong the death threats and insults are in no way okay. But why can't I be upset about the fact that there hasnt been an update for awhile? I feel like everytime someone even mentions it they get attacked by every reader on here. I'm aware of all the things going on in your life and that things sometimes take awhile but I can't even say anything anymore about chapter 35 without hearing 'its for free don't be rude'. Sure it's for free, but I got invested and it never came -🔥

So I'm sorry I wasnt meant to be rude. But how people react to criticism on here is kind of a problem to me. Losing interest had nothing to do with not supporting you. It just happens. Anyway I hope you haven't blocked me so you can receive these. This is the third and last ask of the things I wanted to say. For people asking for my @ after telling you that I lost interest. I wont ask this one anonymously. I'm not scared. In my opinion I did nothing wrong. I hope you are feeling well! -🔥

I'm going to make this very clear; I'm not going to expose your @. I don't feel comfortable with it. 

With that aside, let's move on to the rest, shall we?

As a writer, I have received multiple critics and feedback. I think it is because of it; the story is the way it is. However, the problem is that people don't understand the difference between genuine constructive criticism versus entitlement/hate/personal attack.

You're no longer reading Limerence, not because of the plot, or character development, or anything of these likings. You're no longer reading Limerence because you don't like how often I update.

When I update doesn't affect the actual quality of the story itself. 

By this statement, I mean this;

if I were to update this story once every year until I finish it and you were to wait till it's all done and read it in one sitting, you would've enjoyed the story. Nothing in the actual story itself turns you off; what you don't enjoy is the update schedule.

This is why I didn't view your ask as valid criticism because your 'feedback' doesn't change the fact that I don't have time to update. I can't change time itself. If you were to say, 'hey, I don't like the pacing, I find that x and y part moves quickly and you should slow it down' then naturally, this is a valid criticism.

You gave me something to work with, you aren't invalidating me in any way, and it's useful. This is what you wrote;

Anonymous asked:

Hey, I kinda lost interest because not only does it take ages for you to update, you also don't keep your promises. Hope you're doing well, bye. -🔥

Reading this, you can not honestly say this was supportive feedback.

This isn't to invalidate your frustration for a lack of updates. Because I can tell, with the utmost certainty, my readers have made it clear they're also frustrated. We all are annoyed, but, here comes the infamous saying, 'this is free.'

I know it's a redundant statement, but there's a reason why it comes up often - and it's because it's true.

You invested yourself in this story, and because of this, you want an update. I get it, hell, I've been waiting for an update for a year for a fanfic I love after they tried multiple times to update, but it fell through. Do I get frustrated and annoyed? Yes.

However, just because I'm invested in a story doesn't entitle me to an update.

If you think you've invested into a story by reading it, how do you think the authors of these stories feel when they're trying super hard to write these chapters, but life keeps screwing them over? You writing 'I got invested and it never came' screams entitlement. Just because you read a story doesn't automatically mean you deserve an update.

If I or any other writer wants to, we can stop writing whenever we please.

I could, right now, delete everything, and my readers would be devasted, but they also know that I have every right to do it because it's my work.

If I want to kill off every character, turn this into some superman x ATLA crossover in the next chapter - I can do it. 

Authors love criticism because it's their jobs, but fanfiction writers? If they don't ask for it, don't give it. This is a hobby.

When you play a game with friends, your friends don't start criticizing your every move because it's all for fun! Unless you purposely ask for it or people ask if you're open to criticism and you accept, then it's wanted.

For future reference, don't criticize people's fanfictions without asking or knowing they want it - because, for many, this isn't a job, including me. I don't mind genuine constructive criticism; I even include this in my author's notes on Wattpad, Quotev, and Ao3.

I hope this explains why many people were upset by your ask. We've had discussions about my lack of updates on this blog, no problems in the slightest.

People got upset because the way you expressed your disappointment was laced with a tone of entitlement, you insulted me and suggested I'm unable to uphold promises (a personal attack) - and none of this has yet to improve my story-writing or Limerence as a whole.

[keiscait]

Hello! Can I have a matchup please! Preferably bedroom but if you see any kind of a platonic pairing for me I’d love that too! (🌻)

I use they/them and I’m bisexual!

I’m pretty forward and like to speak my mind, especially with my friends and partners. I’m EXTREMELY affectionate and shower the person I love with words and gifts as much as I can. Though I do lovingly bully people who I’m close to. But I make up for it with joking flirting and platonic cuddles. I’m a total brat in the bedroom, though I’m a bottom to the bone (heheh bone? Get it?) and don’t give up anything without a fight. I’m a Taurus sun and moon but a cancer rising and I’m a Slytherin with ravenclaw tendencies! In a partner I look for someone who will joke around with me back but doesn’t make me do all the work. And ideally someone taller than me since I like to feel small!

Hopefully that was enough info? I love how you run this account! Thank you!

Hello and welcome, my dear 🌻anon!! Thanks for clarifying that you'd like a male matchup - super helpful. So sorry for the long wait! Let's get right to it! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

Here in the bedroom, I've invited over...

(Runner up: Oikawa Tooru)

Tsumu here is a playful yet steady personality. He focuses his chaotic energy into improving himself, whether it’s honing his volleyball skills or people skills, and has his moments of being a reassuring presence for the people surrounding him.

- Atsumu sometimes comes off to me as a vain person, but in the most wonderful way possible. He’s self-assured and confident, and is prepared for whatever challenges he’s faced with

- Outside the bedroom, he can handle all your little quips and teases, would definitely bite back playfully, and has no trouble welcoming your affection with open arms

- Absolutely RELISHES in your praises and gifts

- That being said

- He loves that you’re also a handful in the bedroom ( 　･ิω･ิ)

- He’d be so good at taming you. You seen that thing he does with the Inarizaki cheer squad right before he serves? His COMMAND!!! Lord have mercy

- He’d have you quivering on your knees with ONLY his words

- DIRTY TALK!!! WITH THAT LUSCIOUS VOICE OF HIS!!!??? I'd CRUMBLE

- I headcanon that he’s SO GOOD at oral, both giving and receiving. Even though he’s already pretty experienced in bed, I imagine he probably has even more experience with oral, because he loves sneaking in quickies before games or in between your busy schedules 

- Would degrade you every now and then but will always call you “baby” in the end

- His touch is so soft but always firm and purposeful. Knows his way around your body

- Sometimes deliberately gives you no choice but to disobey him, in ways like ramming into you relentlessly even though you tell him you can’t hold on for much longer, JUST so he can punish you

- “Tsk tsk. Now I have to punish you for being a disobedient little thing, don’t I, babe?”

- Isn’t very elaborate with aftercare, but he knows the basics and will still make sure you’re well taken care of

- He’ll turn into a big subby baby afterwards. He’ll be the one asking for affection and cuddles, burying his face in your neck and humming lovingly. 

~

I hope you enjoyed that, my dear! Shall we head to the common room before I see you off? ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

We have some really good company here!

(Runner up: Suna Rintarou)

Our little tangerine here is fantastic at building relationships with even the most difficult of people. He’s brought out the softer sides of the likes of Yachi, Bokuto, Kageyama, and even AONE. He earns the trust of others by accepting them for who they are, and making them feel welcome enough to be themselves, all while keeping the friendships playful.

- Hinata is able to stand EVERY. SINGLE. TORMENT. thrown his way, without anything ever dampening his light

- He appreciates that you’re a straightforward and outspoken person, since people rarely even come close to matching his energy

- You could really say anything you want to him and he’d be like “haha! yes!! friend!! :D”

- He’d have his fair share of jokingly bullying you, but it will always be the lighthearted type of teasing, sometimes even becomes constructive criticism

- If you ever feel affectionate towards him, he’d match that affection with even more affection!!!!! (Tease him for being like a kid) 

- LOVES your competitive, won’t-give-up-without-a-fight attitude, because that is something the 2 of you have in common. You guys would support each other and cheer each other on, whether it be during his games or in bigger things like future plans/dreams. He’d be so excited for you to achieve your goals!!

~

I hope that was okay, darling! Sorry we only spent a short amount of time in the common room, I tried my best to work with what I have! Please don’t hesitate to stick around and chat, and visit again anytime soon!

Thanks for stopping by! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

[lilxberry]

Just wanted to say when u do “x readers” to be more inclusive! Like not mention “dainty hands” or being thin, etc; cuz it limits your audience to a select group :) but great writing otherwise

I really do try to be as inclusive as possible so this is extremely helpful. If anyone feels like I'm not being inclusive, they should never feel scared to tell me so.

Although (a good "although", I swear) ;

I know I've never used the word "thin" to describe someone's size, same as "curvy" or "large" or "slim", as I tend to exclude anything about body size to make others feel more comfortable, like how I try to avoid being descriptive with skin colour (I'm happy that I know personally that I've never described someone's size in that sense and mainly just stick to a more descriptive height, which I barely do either lmao)

I use the word "dainty" more in show of size compared to larger things but I can definitely see how it appears differently to others (I know these are just two examples what you've given me but I can imagine where I've done something similar with a lot of things in writing)

Honestly, it's just hard to make something that pleases everyone which flows and is so enjoyable to read all whilst following these mental guidelines I've created.

People want a descriptive story without much description, yanno ?? 👀

(Plus, sometimes people do specify the height or body shape for a character, so I will write what was requested.)

Anywho, yes, I can 100% see where you are coming from though and I can say that I indeed have been guilty of doing so quite often which I apologise for 😶

(I'm sorry if you didn't really want this posted but I thought I would post in the sense to apologise AND explain why I tend to write a certain way which accidentally comes off as non inclusive when I want it to be anything but)

Long winded and too many damn words, overall, I'm still learning in the form of writing fanfiction and I always will be learning and trying to improve my writing to not only better (and enjoy) myself, but for others to find it more enjoyable.

This is just another learning curve that I'm so ready to start following and I really do thank you for bringing this up as I know I won't get better without the odd constructive criticism ❤

(Also, I'm glad you like my writing otherwise 😅)

[jenetica]

A Brief Note from Our Sponsors: Us.

Greetings! If you’re here, it’s likely that you have questions or complaints about our decisions regarding the Calendar Girls series. An ominous start to this discussion, but truly, we welcome you! If you’re here, it means you have been emotionally impacted by our work and, even though this context isn’t the cheeriest, we are so, so grateful you (1) enjoyed our work enough to care about it, and (2) want to develop a better understanding of our process so that you can engage with Calendar Girl more.

First of all, we understand why you’d be upset with us! The cliffhanger at the end of AotM was a DOOZY and leaves a LOT of important questions unanswered, and we left you readers hanging for a LONG time. This post will, hopefully, assuage the worst of your fears without giving away too many plot points.

That being said, please note that there WILL be spoilers ahead. If you want to see the story unfold as we intended, do NOT read this post further. We will tell you now that the post addresses the Deadpool’s identity, our decisions regarding the construction of AotM and the final cliffhanger, our decisions regarding developing the sequel as a prequel, and our plans for future installments. And, naturally, the accusations of “queerbaiting.”

Let’s get started.

QUEERBAITING

It makes sense to open with the most serious issue, so let’s talk about queerbaiting. For anyone here who doesn’t know, queerbaiting is defined as the purposeful insinuation of a homosexual/queer relationship, only to backtrack/subvert that insinuation to avoid the queer relationship. For an example, see: Supernatural from Season 4 and on. 

We have received accusations of queerbaiting for about four years, based exclusively on the reveal at the end of the final chapter. Similarly, we have received complaints that we duped readers into reading hetfic. So, to get things out of the way, yes, Deadpool is Gwen. No, it’s not a trick of the light, or a mistake, or some odd resemblance. They are one and the same. HOWEVER, that does NOT mean that we have queerbaited anyone.

First of all, the tags of the story are honest, and they always have been. AotM is tagged as a “Multi” fic, meaning that there are relationships of multiple orientations involved, and it is tagged with Peter/Gwen as well as Peter/Wade. Careless Whisper is tagged as F/M. We have never suggested or implied that the story would exclusively be slash fiction. We actually left multiple hints that Wade enjoyed femininity, at least as a practice, if not an identity. iFlail and I discussed this issue at length as we wrote/edited AotM and carefully crafted the story with queerbaiting in mind. 

Peter is an unreliable narrator, he always has been, and he always will be. In AotM, Peter assumes Wade is a man and thus, for the purposes of the narrative, Wade is one. The truth, however, is less clean than that. We won’t get into the details here, but safe to say, gender is not binary, it is not permanent, and it is not inexorably linked to one’s biology. Wade has a complicated history and a complicated/unique sense of identity. We have always intended for him to be that way, just as we always intended for him to be notably, pointedly smaller than Peter. 

The accusations of queerbaiting and/or conning readers into reading “het” fic are exclusionary of the greater conversation of gender identity. It was, frankly, disheartening to see so many people assume heterosexuality based exclusively on the last word of AotM. We hope that our work will challenge readers to be more mindful of the expansive world of gender, and to avoid assuming that a specific kind of pairing might involve specific kinds of body parts.

If you have any questions or reservations about our queerbaiting at this point, you are either welcome to keep reading future installments of this work to learn more, or you are welcome to stop altogether. The choice is yours. 

CONSTRUCTING THE STORY ARC - PRESENT, PAST, AND FUTURE

With that hot-button topic out of the way, let’s talk about the greater concept of ending a story of a cliffhanger, our thoughts behind building this series, and our goals for future installments. 

The second part of the Calendar Girl series, Careless Whisper, was written first, and it comes first chronologically. I (Jenetica) initially worked on the story by myself, as an exploration into the concept of “Gwen becoming Deadpool” to see how it might play out. I ended up writing a story I loved, so I moved onto the next part of the story, set four years later. This ended up becoming Angel of the Morning. 

@iflailfic, a good IRL friend of mine from college, came onboard (after I wooed her with several stories worth of porn, as you can see through a jaunt through my posted works) to help me edit. She fell in love with AotM and, as we worked on first draft edits, she floated the idea of AotM coming before Careless Whisper. Honestly, I rejected the idea at first (not sure if she actually knows/remembers that part, lol), because I couldn’t fathom how we would be able to link the parts of the story together. But, eventually, I began to realize her point: AotM introduces our protagonists, develops the “current” world for the series, and has a more dynamic/engaging plot. 

The cliffhanger was a joke at first. My idea. I think my exact words were something like, “LOLOL what if we just ended on ‘GWEN?’ OMG IMAGINE hahahahaha.” But, as we continued to edit… it became the perfect way to end things. Anything that came after that point felt like trash. If we’d expanded any further, we ran the risk of falling headfirst into Part 3 and doubling the size of AotM. Let’s be real, the ending is, all waiting aside, an absolute nuclear bomb on the rest of the story. 

We talked about the likelihood of enraged readers. But we rationalized it by telling each other/ourselves that we had Careless Whisper written, so the wait wouldn’t be too killer.

Best laid plans.

I (Jenetica) take full responsibility for the time it took to start posting again. Over the last four years, I have gone through a number of experiences that challenged my sense of self and pushed me to become a different person, including moving halfway across the country, attending a relatively prestigious law school where I was no longer “the smart kid in the room,” and losing the relationship that I later learned was toxic and abusive. I lost my confidence in a number of ways, including my confidence as a writer. I became terrified that I would never produce anything that lived up to AotM, and that I would disappoint the many (many!) readers demanding answers. Luckily for me, through that adversity I found rewarding friendships, a beautiful partner who treats me the way I’d always fantasized/written about people like me getting treated, and an engaging career that leaves me with enough energy to write. My experiences are mirrored by iFlail, who went through a different, but similarly life-changing, series of events. But through this all, we never lost hope in this story, and we always planned to complete the series. We are wiser, stronger people now, and we both believe that the story will be richer for it. 

Which brings us to now, and our plans for the future. We do NOT intend to wait another four years to post X Gon’ Give It To Ya, the third and final installment of the series. We have spent countless hours brainstorming the plot, and all that’s really left to do is put it to paper. But, for people who are afraid of being burned twice, we will warn you now that Careless Whisper is JUST a prequel. If you want to know what happens after the “Gwen?” reveal, you will not get any answers until XGGITY (which I have, as of just now, decided to pronounce as “Ziggity”). We hope you stick around to watch Careless Whisper unfold, but we will understand if you want to wait until XGGITY to start reading again.

IN CONCLUSION - FINAL THOUGHTS

The Calendar Girl series has received more attention than we’d ever dreamed, and regardless of whether you liked or disliked our work, we want to thank you for taking the time to read it. If you made it to the end of AotM, we did something right, and again, we are so grateful that so many people have stuck with us this far.

We encourage everyone, moving forward, to keep a close eye on the tags that we use for our stories. We may not tag everything relevant, for the sake of preserving mystery about the plot, but we will be sure to tag everything that may be triggering or concerning, like self-harm, violence, or expected brand of romantic/sexual interactions. We will be adding this warning to the beginning of each story in the series.

Additionally, we want to acknowledge that there is a stark difference between legitimate concerns about the story and unfounded attacks on our character. Our decision to make this post is our attempt to dissuade the latter: We are not queerbaiting, and we have no interest in “forcing” people to read content that is not to their taste. However, that doesn’t mean that our execution of AotM, Careless Whisper, and/or XGGITY will be beyond reproach. The conversation on gender politics has evolved tremendously over the years that we’ve been working on this series, and it will undoubtedly continue to evolve as we progress into the future. We encourage constructive (!!!) criticism and open conversation on ways that we can improve our story, even if it involves tweaking published work to avoid mishandling deeply personal issues.

That said, if, after reading this post, you are still upset and/or unconvinced about our intentions for this series, we encourage you to stop reading it. We are not compensated for this work, and we have spent hundreds (probably thousands, by now) of hours striving to make the Calendar Girl series the best that it can be, for our own benefit. We believe that it may be the best fanfiction we will ever produce, and our satisfaction with our work is our priority. We will continue to post with that priority at the forefront, and with the demands of our reader base playing second fiddle. Similarly, we expect our readers to prioritize their needs above all others. We ask for your patience and your kindness moving forward and, if you cannot give us that, you are welcome to close the tab and move on with your life to other ventures that suit your interests better.

For those of you that choose to stay: You are in for a hell of a ride. We are both anxious to get through Careless Whisper, because we are both SO excited to share XGGITY with you. We believe it’s going to knock your socks off. We hope to see you there. 

Thanks, everyone, and happy reading!

[seokiloquy]

Red Pens Pt 1- Tsukishima Kei

AU: TA -> Co-workers

Word count: 1.7k

*I’m not 100% sure how teacher’s assistants work and they work differently with each school, so just go along with the fake system I created

*Nor do I know anything about physics so you’ll see me dodge some content about that…

Pt 1 | Pt 2

“You are required to have a teacher's assistant,” Tsukishima’s boss said. Tsukishima received a call that morning telling him to go to the Dean’s office after teaching his first class. “It’s part of the program at this university. These T.A.’s are going to be the next professors, the next people teaching. You need to have one.” 

Tsukishima frowned and pushed up his glasses. “But teacher’s assistants do all of the work. Aren’t I paid to teach?” 

“You are still going to teach,” his boss sighed. “Teacher’s assistants lessen the workload on you. They mark essays and tests, but you still get the final say on everything. Professor's want teacher’s assistants, Tsukishima.” 

He didn’t want one. He liked the work. He likes marking tests and essays, helping his students understand their mistakes to improve and rolling his eyes at the assignments he knew were done last minute. 

Maybe he could go through all of the assignments and only give his teacher’s assistant the ones that didn’t have any care put into them. Or maybe he’ll give in-depth tests that’ll make them want to quit. 

Tsukishima looked up at his boss. “Fine. I want a good one.” 

His boss waved him out of the door. “They’re all good, Tsukishima.” 

Tsukishima raised from his seat and turned to leave. “Oh, I bet they are.” 

Tsukishima fired the first teacher’s assistant. 

The second one quit. 

The third one was fired too.

And you were the fourth. Fourth time's the charm, right?

Despite your friend’s warnings to not take the teacher’s assistant position, you took it anyways. Once you walked into the room and sat where the T.A. sits, the students gave you a look of pity. One student even came up to you and wished you good luck. 

You heard the rumours about Tsukishima's past teacher assistants, that he scolds them constantly during class for not knowing the content when he gives them a chance to teach or that he sends them to get coffee. You even heard the rumour of the last teacher’s assistant asking out Tsukishima and them getting rejected, and being told he doesn’t date teacher’s assistants. 

You took the job knowing all of those things. You thought it was odd though, he had an amazing reputation for being a good teacher, one that helped students and listened to their concerns. You had seen it. One of your friends had dragged you to one of his classes to sit in on it and it was captivating. He spoke clearly and casually, made the students laugh and interested in the subject matter, and answered questions with careful consideration. 

Also, he wasn’t bad to look at, but you weren’t going to tell anyone that. 

Tsukishima arrived a few minutes late and apologized to his class and announced that they were going to start shortly. He saw you sitting in the T.A.’s spot and glared. It wasn’t required for you to sit in for classes since you already had your degree in education and a minor on the subject he was teaching (physics), so it wasn’t like you had to sit there to learn it. However, you didn’t see any reasons to not sit in for his class. It only deepened your understanding of the subject and where they were in the course. 

He placed his bag and coat on his desk and walked towards you. 

You straightened your back and smiled. “Hello.” 

“I didn’t want another T.A.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “It’s nice to meet you too. My name is (F/N) (L/N). And, well, you got one. I don’t think you can fire people on their first day unless they seriously mess up and I’m not quitting.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly but didn’t glare. You took this as a good sign or at least an okay one. 

“You should start,” you said, cutting him off before he could say anything else. “Your students are waiting.” 

Tsukishima walked over to the front of the classroom and quieted everyone down, which was surprisingly fast, and gave a short explanation of what they were going to cover in today’s lesson. As the student got out their laptops, he introduced you as the new T.A and began class. 

You enjoyed it just as you thought it would. You were tempted to take notes for when you had to mark assignments and tests, but thought that would give him a bad impression of you. 

Halfway through the lesson, Tsukishima turned to you, a barely visible smirk on his lips, but you saw it. 

He asked you a question regarding the material, testing whether or not you knew what was going on. Everyone’s eyes went to you. This is how he fired the first teacher assistant. He complained to the Dean that he didn’t want a teacher’s assistant that didn’t know the course content and that it would negatively impact the students. 

You hesitated for a second, preparing your answer — it wasn’t an easy question. 

“Do you not know?” He asked. 

“No,” you said calmly, “I want to give out a fully thought out answer.” You paused for another moment and said your answer. 

He looked at you and then carried on. 

You went through a couple of classes like that, Tsukishima asking you questions sporadically, giving you a second to think about it, and you answering. Sometimes he saw students write down your answers or nod to what you were saying. Some would add on to your comment and it would derail the class, but always in a good direction. 

You were still sitting at the desk when class was over like you did every day just in case he needed you to do something. He did ask you to get coffee for him, but he always gave you enough money to get one yourself. He only gave you tests to mark instead of essays. You could tell he didn’t trust you yet. You understood that, especially as an aspiring teacher, you definitely would want to double-check your teacher assistant’s work because you thought they would do it well. 

Over the next few weeks, you and Tuskishima had found an unspoken rhythm. You worked well together. You haven’t been fired, nor did you quit. You were reliable with your knowledge on the content, clearly shown when he picked on you, even though most teacher’s assistants stayed quiet during the classes, sometimes he would stop you on your way out and ask your opinions on marks for students or their work. 

Today, he had asked you to stay back. Tsukishima went behind his desk for a minute and took out a large stack of papers. He carefully placed it on the table in front of you and handed you a red pen. 

“These are the student’s essays from last week,” he said. “Mark them please.” 

“You want me to mark essays?” You asked, numbly taking the pen from his hand. 

“Yes? You’re a teacher’s assistant aren’t you?” He turned around and sat in his chair. He reached under his desk and brought up another stack of papers. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to do all these myself, so I created a system. I try to double-check things I mark because even I make mistakes, I'll do this pile, you do that pile, and then we switch when we’re done.” 

You nodded. “Do you want me to write any comments or just read it and give a grade at the top?”

He leaned back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you not know how to mark essays?”  

You rolled your eyes slightly. “Of course I do. Most professors have different ways of marking so I want to know the way you prefer it.” 

Tsukishima grabbed an extra red pen from his desk. “Are there professors who don’t add comments?” 

“You’d be surprised,” you laughed. “I’m assuming you add them then?” 

He nodded and started marking. 

Your red pen was flying across the paper. You added constructive criticisms as well as praises when something was well written. Since Tsukishima was the final mark decision-maker, you added a tentative mark to the top of the page in pencil and when you looked over at his desk you saw that he was doing the same thing, awaiting the second opinion. 

It was closing toward eight at night when you finished your stack. You leaned back and closed your eyes yawning, rubbing your hand that now stung from all of the writing. 

He was done his stack a few minutes before you and was rubbing his hand as well. He grabbed the papers off his desk and brought them over to you, sitting in the empty chair beside yours. 

“Double checking is easier,” he said, pushing up his glasses. He does that a lot, you noticed. “You look through it and make sure there isn’t anything the other person missed. When we’re done we’ll just put in the final mark.” 

“You want my opinion on the final mark?” You asked, taking a snip of your now cold coffee. 

He shrugged. “Why not? It’s always good to get a second opinion.” 

He was right, double-checking was easier. It only took you about an hour and a half to go through all of them, only stopping when there was a question about the mark given or the comments. He would laugh at the first few essays and say that you were a hard marker. 

He decided that most of your marks were sound, only giving a few percent increase or decrease and each time you asked why he did it. 

It was almost eleven when you were completely done. You had your jacket on and your bag around your shoulder. 

“I’ll see you next week,” you said and headed for the door. 

“Wait.” 

You turned around. Tsukishima turned off the lamp on his desk and caught up to you. “Do you want to grab coffee?” 

You yawned. “Sure. Do you want your usual? I’ll bring it to you for the morning class on Monday.” 

He grabbed your arm, turning you to face him fully. “Not for me. Do you want to get coffee with me.” 

You looked up amused. “I thought you don’t date teacher’s assistants.” 

He let go of your arm and laughed. “You heard about that?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll make an exception for you.” 

You laughed but shook your head. “Wait until I’m a teacher.” 

Thank you for reading! I hope that you and your family are staying safe!!! There could probably be a part 2 for this, but I like the way it ended - Kiwi

Posted: 03/07/2020

[wiebkesf1paddock]

Stuck Inside

A/N: Well hello there everyone!

Due to this isolation-Corona-situation I finally decided to come back to writing fanfiction after like 4 years.  So, please don't expect the best of writing, but I am surely trying my best!

This time I'm around with formula 1 oneshots. I do take requests (if I get some) and will try to do all of them (again, if there are any).

I will write solely about F1 drivers (and Nico Hülkenberg because I love him). Fluff imagines or oneshots literally about all of them, nsfw-stuff not about: Kimi, Seb, Perez. I simply don't feel comfortable with that.

If you have any requests, any constructive criticism about the plot or the style of my writing, please let me know! English is not my first language and I will try to improve wherever I can.

I hope I can get you through this shitty time with this. Have fun reading! Love you!

I hope you enjoy this first one with Charles. I was inspired by the movie 'Two Night Stand' for this one. I know that a government probably won't be this harsh with their rules, but let's just ignore that for the sake of the story. This one will probably have like three parts.

Wiebke :)

Warnings: none

Word count: 2328

Part 1

You woke up and looked around. Okay. Fuck. You were not in your own bed. Means that something bad besides your hangover happened last night. When you turned around in the bed, you found yourself face to face with a sleeping guy. A quick look under the blanket showed you that he was only in his boxers and you only had your top and some knickers on as well. You couldn’t remember going home with someone, only the kisses you shared with some dude last night at the party at your friends’ house. But you couldn’t tell whether it was the same fella or not. He was very handsome though; you could not deny that. Just as you wanted to slip away from under the blanket, his eyes opened, and he looked at you with a soft smile.

“Good morning there,” he spoke, and you could make out his French accent pretty well.

“Er…yeah good morning…” you were embarrassed that you did not remember his name.

“Charles,” he said, as if he was able to read your mind. “Strange…last night you knew my name pretty well. I actually think everyone in Monaco knows it now,” he teased a bit with a smug grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes at his remark but could not keep the blood from rushing to your face. “Well, it can’t have been this good, because I actually don’t remember any of it at all,” you countered and were pleased to see that that actually hit him off-guard.

He quickly gained his confidence back and grinned at you. “Touché. That was a good one. So, you are hungover, yes?”

The way he was speaking was so cute you actually had to shoot him a real smile. “Yes, a bit. And I actually have no memory of what happened last night. Sorry.”

Charles sat up and smiled warmly at you. “No problem. You can lie down again if you want and I get you some pain killers and water.”

“Oh. Yeah. That would be nice. Thank you. And after that I will go, I promise. Normally I don’t even stay this long.”

Charles cocked an eyebrow at you as he got up: “Normally? So, you do that very often then?” In that moment you could have slapped yourself for saying that. It sounded like you were having one-night stands on a regular basis. Which was not the case. Actually, it was the first one you had, since you and your ex broke off over one year ago. But what angered you even more was that Charles had the audacity to think that he had the right to judge you.

“What if? You just had a one-night stand as well. Who are you to judge me?” you snapped at him and he held up his hands in defense.

“Sorry. Relax. It was just a joke.”

He exited the room and you got up from the bed and took your phone out of your purse. You had ten missed calls from your best friend and some messages also from your family.

“What the hell?!” you mumbled to yourself as you sat down on the bed again to look through them.

Your eyes widened when you read what she wrote:

 Y/B/F/N: Girl I hope you had a good night! I sure did and your fella was so handsome! But call me as soon as you wake up if you haven’t read the news yet!

 Dad: I hope. You are fine and staying safe! We will try to get you back here as soon as possible! But you have to stay inside with Y/B/F/N!

 These messages didn’t make any sense and you thought that the best thing to do was to call Y/B/F/N. She quickly picked up the phone.

“Hey Y/N! So glad you called me! Are you safe?” she asked sounding concerned.

“Yeah I am. Are you? I am still at the flat of my one-night stand. Still deciding whether he is a jerk or not.”

“Well I hope he is a good guy, because you have to stay with him for a little longer. We all are not allowed to go anywhere right now. Monaco is on lockdown.”

“What lockdown?! What is going on?” You started to panic a bit not understanding what exactly your friend was talking about.

“Yeah lockdown! Because of the Corona virus. Someone tested positive here and now everyone has to stay inside for at least 24h so that they can test the relatives and friends of the person. First Corona case here. The government went completely nuts.”

“Oh shit, what?! No, no, no. Do you know how fucked up it is to stay with your one-night stand? Like…what am I supposed to do? Oh no.”

“You will have to deal with it, Y/N. I’m so sorry. At least he is hot. So, you could get it on a couple more times.” You could almost hear her smirk through the phone.

“Not helpful, Y/F/N!” you whisper-shouted; in that moment you saw, that Charles was approaching the bedroom. “Right, I got to go. We will speak later, okay? Stay safe!”

“You too! Call me if he turns out to be a creep! And remember to use protection!” Y/F/N laughed, and you rolled your eyes but had to laugh as well at the silly joke before ending the call the moment Charles entered the room, holding a glass of water with some aspirin already dissolved in it.

You put your phone away and tried not to blush at the sight you got. Charles was still only in his underwear and you hadn’t noticed before how fit he really was, but now his trained body was on full display and your friend was right. He was really hot.

“As much as I like that you are checking me out, I think you should check out this aspirin in water first. It will make your head less heavy.”

Instantly you felt the need to roll your eyes again. He was so nice to you but on the other hand he kind of acted like a douchebag.

“Thanks,” you said as you took the glass, he handed you. He had gotten himself a glass of water as well and sat down next to you on the edge of the bed.

“So, you know how I said that I would be leaving after having the aspirin?” you began talking, after downing the entire thing.

Charles nodded and looked at you, waiting for you to continue talking.

“Well…there is the first official case of Corona here in Monaco and we are not allowed to leave the flat for at least the next 24 hours. I talked to my friend on the phone and she said that the government went completely crazy and no one is allowed to go out for now,” you told him what your friend had said, “and I guess what I am trying to say is that I actually have to stay a bit longer.” You blushed again slightly when you looked at him because it was so uncomfortable for you to say that.

“Oh shit, what? I did not know that! I did not look at my phone yet. Of course, you can stay here! And just so you know, I did not ask you to leave right away anyway. So, I suggest I make a hangover breakfast and call my mother and brother and ask them if they are okay, and you can go and take a shower if you want. Towels are beneath the sink. I think I might also have a spar toothbrush in the cupboard next to the mirror. You can use that. And then we can talk about everything over breakfast?”

Now he was so nice again. You also weren’t sure he wanted to say that he actually did not want you to leave as soon as possible. But it sounded that way.

“Extra toothbrush, huh? So, you do this on a regular basis then?” you grinned and raised an eyebrow at him.

Charles chuckled lightly and shook his head. “I apologize for saying that okay? Let’s not bring this back. I make breakfast and you can get ready.”

“Alright. Sounds great. But I could help you with making breakfast. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or am using you,” you replied.

He shook his head and smiled. “Don’t worry. I would not think that. You go and take a shower and then we can eat. The bathroom is down the hallway on the right side” he said and motioned in the direction where the bathroom was supposed to be.

You nodded and smiled at him while getting up and grabbing your phone.

“Alright, then…I will see you in a few minutes” you said while putting up a hand to wave at him.

Charles laughed and waved back, getting up from the bed as well moving towards his dresser. You turned around and exited the room. You couldn’t believe you waved at him. Waved! What was the matter with you today? Maybe the hangover had gotten into your head. You looked around the flat while going the way to the bathroom that Charles had described, and your eyes grew wider with each step you took. This boy had to have some money. His flat was actually really big, you had guessed that it was quite large because his bedroom was already huge, but the part of the apartment that you got to see on your way was even more impressive. It was really bright, and his furniture and decorations were chosen tastefully. When you found the bathroom, your breath hitched in your throat because, as you had already expected, it was big. There was a massive shower with a showerhead that was rainforest-style, there was also a big bathtub and it just looked all so beautiful and expensive that you were actually afraid of touching anything. You found a towel for yourself and took off your underwear. You turned on the shower and put it to a chilly temperature to wake yourself up and make yourself feel less shitty. It felt amazing to feel the water on your skin even though it was a bit cold, but you already could feel the dizzy feeling from your hangover fading off slightly. You looked around the shower and after some contemplating chose to use some of his shower-gel to wash off the smell of the previous night.

Just when you had gotten out of the shower and dried off the water that remained on your skin, and had brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush, you remembered that you of course had no spare clothes with you because you didn’t plan on staying longer. However, you also did not want to put on your clothes from the previous day. You would have to ask Charles to use his laundry machine and probably remain in the towel in the meantime. Or maybe Charles could lend you some clothes. But that would be a bit strange. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything and you did not want to creep him out. It was already so kind of him to let you stay at his apartment (although there was no other choice to be fair). You wrapped the towel tightly around you, took your dirty clothes and tapped out of the bathroom and followed the hallway. You heard some whistling and followed the sound, guessing it was Charles. You entered a living room that was connected to a big rooftop terrace, which could only mean that you were in the penthouse. You looked around to find that the living room was also included an open kitchen and dining area. Charles was hustling in the kitchen with a pan on the stove. He had not noticed you yet and was concentrating on preparing pancakes. “Erm Charles? Could I use your laundry machine to wash my clothes? Of course, I did not bring any spare clothing and I don’t want to put on the dirty laundry,” you said, and he turned around when he hard your voice.

His jaw dropped a bit at the sight of you only wrapped in a towel some drops of water you didn’t catch still glistening on your skin.

“I…yes of course. I will wash them of course! Do you want some clothes from me? I mean…I wouldn’t mind you staying in that towel but maybe that won’t be too comfortable for you,” he shrugged and had this boyish grin on his face again.

You felt a rush of heat shoot up your cheeks all the way to your ears at his remark and could not even say something back. Instead you just chose to nod your head.

“Right, let me get some clothes for you and give me your dirty ones. In the bedroom was some more right? I will take that too, okay? You look after the pancakes and I will be right back!” he said coming over to you and taking your top and panties out of your hands and rushing out of the room already before you could say something.

A few minutes later Charles came back with a t-shirt and some sweatpants for you.

“I don’t have women’s underwear, sorry. But yours will be ready in like two hours. So, I hope this is okay?” he asked while handing you the clothing.

“I mean I hope you don’t!” you laughed and took the garments from him. “Thank you so much though, Charles. This is all very kind of you. I will definitely pay you back for everything!”

“No, don’t worry about that! I am actually glad that you are still here! Now put on the clothes and I finish making breakfast. Do you want tea or coffee?”

You grinned and took the clothes from him. “I will go with tea, I think. It’s easier on the stomach.”

“Tea it is then.”

[exeggcute]

i've noticed that you're around my age and that you're learning how to draw. how do you shut down the nasty feeling that it's way too late and almost embarrassing to be trying to learn how to draw in your mid-twenties?

gonna be honest... I really don’t! sometimes it’s overwhelmingly embarrassing and I feel super jealous when I see people with cool art styles who clearly have a lot of skill and practice under their belt (although it’s always a wake-up call when I realize that a particular artist I’m envious of is like, a professional with years of education and industry experience. like oh, right, they’ve worked for this! they’ve put in thousands and thousands of hours when I maybe sit down and Draw for like, an hour a week these days!)

in my case it helps a little bit that I have other “artistic” skills as a professional writer (granted, describing the kind of writing I do as “art” is a massive fucking stretch, but still) and can tell myself “well drawing is a fun thing, not a Work Thing, you have other stronger talents that you’ve worked for.” and even that is like (1) it may or may not be true, but being a writer (and in my case, a very specific and unsexy kind of writer) doesn’t get you the same rush of notoriety as being a visual artist, especially in today’s virtual day and age, and (2) I still get those exact same pangs of envy with talented authors. sometimes I read some shit that’s so good it makes me mad I didn’t write it myself, even when it’s like, a personal essay about something that would never happen to me in a thousand lifetimes.

that drifted a little too far from your question but what I guess I’m trying to say is that sometimes it’s hard to shut out the feeling, but you can try to take it as a constructive, motivational tool (”I want to get to this level!”) instead of an obstructive self-blocker (”I’ll never get to this level”). and as much as it feels like one, it’s definitely not a race in terms of like, being the Best Youngest Artist. there’s no quotient that divides your skill by your age and gives you a higher result if you’ve lived less years on earth. hell, even the kind of artist you look up to now (by which I mean “are jealous of”) will probably evolve over time as your own critical eye changes and picks up on new skills and techniques. and your ability to judge your own art will evolve, too--I’m not gonna embed the image here because it’ll get compressed to hell, but here’s a visualization I found really helpful for this kind of thing: the difference between your “art eye” and your “art skill,” and how the lag between the two can make it feel like you’re plateauing when you’re actually not.

I know I said earlier that this isn’t a race, but let me use a metaphor that... well, is very much a race in some ways. but I used to do competitive swimming (WAY back in the day), and as much as all the coaches would say “it’s not a race, you’re just looking to beat your own best time!”... of course we all treated it like a race. like, give me a fucking break! you got ribbons and shit based on how you did! 

but at the same time, there was something gratifying about shaving half a second off your record time. some of the very best swimmers were, without fail, the ones who really did treat it as a race against their previous times. (not that I was one of them by any means, lol.) yes, they would usually “win” overall, but they weren’t truly pleased with themselves unless they were making improvements on their personal records. they didn’t really give a shit about the people in the lane next to them--me swimming slower didn’t make them swim faster. being “better” than the asthmatic with a pinched nerve is one thing, but if you weren’t giving it your best then the victory rings hollow.

and you know, easier said than done. we all want to win. we all want those shiny swim team ribbons that gather dust in your parents’ attic for ten years. but the only way to really grow, whether as an artist or a swimmer, is to race against yourself. the other competitors are always changing, they may not even give two shits about you, and any “victory” you have over them is completely relative. setting your own personal milestones is hard, and the Bad Feelings may not go away, but when you look back and see your improvement it’s really gratifying in a way that comparing yourself to your peers never can be.

I’ve been a “self-taught” artist for basically forever, which means I was always slightly better at drawing than the average person my age (but not by a whole lot). only recently have I made much of an effort to like, go out of my way and start learning a lot of fundamentals I clearly never picked up on along the way. and I still have a damn long way to go, but looking back and seeing the improvement I’ve made over X weeks or months or years has given me a lot of motivation to continue that trend.

which is all just to say: I haven’t found a way to shut down that nasty inner voice, but you don’t have to listen to every word it says. it’s a test of endurance, not speed! keep at it, enjoy yourself, hone your skills, never stop learning. you don’t have to post everything (especially with how demoralizing the social media game can be), but keep all your shit somewhere so you can go back and see how you’ve improved over time. it makes a world of difference