#i regret not taking it off but alas. capitalism.

[inkskinned]

for the longest time my family used to host one of the biggest haunted houses on my block: elaborate, themed amateur haunts that pearled out along our lawn for one-night-only. spinning circus wheel-of-terrors and walkthrough alien crash-landings and spiders that arched over our driveway, leaking venom onto your feet.

we didn't have a lot of money; and honestly i don't know how we afforded what we did have. there were not going to be pneumatics or projectors or any supply over 20 dollars - and even 20 was a stretch. we were lucky, and we lived in a town that had a "swap shed", where people would drop off any banged-up-but-usable items that they wanted to get rid of. the whole year, my family would pick over someone else's discarded fans and lights and weird decorations, asking each other - what do you think? for halloween?

we would strip the motors out of rusted fans and spraypaint vases and saw broom handles in half and apply a very thick coat of cardboard and duct tape to everything. for our pirate year, i made the mistake of individually drawing woodgrain onto each strip of cardboard that made up the ship. i then gently painted and distressed the "boards" so they'd each have lichen and cracks and unusual patterns. i hid eyes in the knots and shaped skulls. you couldn't see any of it in the dark, even under our "spotlight" (someone's target-branded workshop flashlight).

i have a lot of very strange skills as a result. i know how to make a flying ghost appear both physically and in the mirror. i know how to make a witch's brew that stirs itself. i know how to burn and cut and paint until there is an iron throne you can sit on, or an alien brushing your ankles, or a hearse trundling along. i can't say we ever made it beyond our local newspapers, but we tried so hard that the town would regularly shut down our street.

i can't put any of these skills on a resume, and i haven't been able to put them to use for a while. i live in an apartment, there's no lawn for me to decorate. for years i've wanted to do an alice in wonderland theme, and have been collecting ideas like coins in a fountain. at other houses, i am transfixed by 12 foot skeletons and paper mache spooky lanterns; easily wooed by the knowledge of how much time people put in.

someone asked me once - so what was the point? and why didn't you guys charge anything to show up?

in truth, we probably needed the money. for years there, we were a 1-meal-a-day kind of a family. i was being polite earlier up in this essay: we furnished both our house and our halloweens using things left a recycling center. we live in new england and still didn't turn on the heat until the end of november, no matter how low the temperature.

every year we would collect donations for unicef and other charities. on an average year, we would collect enough to pay for our food for weeks. every year, without fail: we donated every penny.

this endeavor took months to plan and design and execute. we had to organize any volunteers and check safety and hope-for-the-best. it took at least 24 hours to set up, a week to take down. the motors and fans and lights all had to be packed tight. the cardboard would scatter, pangea in the rain and sleet. i remember picking up a plank from that pirate ship, the paint blown clear off, all my hard work completely erased. a new kind of driftwood.

if this was a poem, and not a memory, i could wrap this up prettily. i could say that these skills landed me a cool job in the haunting industry or that it taught me the value of friendship and responsibility. but i actually think it's something better, something very pretty: there wasn't ever a moral to it.

the night was a long one. yes, there were assholes, people who broke stuff. but mostly it was just kids like us in cardboard costumes, dressed as an incredibly niche kind of truck. good parents who were friendly and laughing. teenagers who slunk in at late hours, wide-eyed and secretly delighted; who asked us can i help next year? like, do y'all take volunteers, or whatever? every year more people came, and told their friends, and offered to pay. and every year we said maybe next year and meant absolutely never.

we did it because it was enough to love something, and to make that love visible. we did it because there is very rarely an excuse to have fun. i think maybe especially, for me - we did it because every year, there was one first "customer" somewhere around 3-4PM, while we were still putting on the final touches. the sun would still be up, and we were frazzled and always-running-late, and these kids saw our vision unfinished in the bright light of day.

something about their parents murmuring say thank you and telling my mom this setup is so sweet while this little kid would grin up at us, dazzled by our artistic mediocrity. the fall air and the chill and their coat-over-a-panda-princess-costume. that first phrase of the night awkwardly managed over a pair of overly-large vampire teeth: a beautiful and excited trick or treat!

[robbyrobinson]

Spranne Against the World

Eighty-three years. It had been 83 years since the Calamity Girls had returned to their homeworld and the friends they had made in Amphibia. Life for both worlds went on per usual. If there was ever a chance for either world to connect again, rest assured that either side would jump the gun without a second thought.

Sprig dwelled in his deathbed having reached the ripe old age of 94. To his side was his signature hat that was also aging its lens stained yellow. Sprig pulled his blankets over his frail, thin frame when a gust of cold air tickled his skin.

He looked to the walls of his room with a flair of contentment. Framed photographs told a story. True to the words of his dear, dear friend, he embarked on many adventures each more grandiose than the last. All detailing the escapades he and his beloved Ivy went on in the continent untouched by any amphibian.

Sprig sighed in deep satisfaction at having lived a full life. He thought back to his happiest moments. His marriage to Ivy was dream-like with nearly all of Wartwood attending. They had four tadpoles together who all grew to enjoy adventuring. That was a long, long time ago.

Wartwood had changed during that time along with its capital. Just like how the town had a statue dedicated to Anne, the remaining two Calamity girls had statues as well. Due to how many years had passed, some of the amphibians almost assume that the girls were beings of pure myth.

Sprig knew that the sun was about to set for him. Dying itself was a natural consequence of life, any amphibian knew, but he was unafraid of it. If anything, he was overall content with his life. Even then, there was that one nagging feeling at the back of his head that, even with no regrets left unturned, he had this sense that something was missing.

His ancient gears shifted in his mind. His memories were fading starting when he turned 70 and just grew worse over time. While he may have forgotten new faces, there was one person that he was confident he would never forget.

Yes. Her. The savior of his world Anne Boonchuy. He never once stopped thinking about his first friend in his long, long life. Fate always seems to put people together for a reason, something that Sprig himself acknowledged when he reminisced on the time her first met Anne. To think that some stranger from another world would change his life is crazy.

Yet, he earned to see his friend again just one last time. Alas, the Calamity Box was destroyed taking the shards of the gems with it. Anne promised him that they would never be apart, but it was 83 years ago. She would have long since gotten herself a life and lived it out until her time was up.

From the corner of his eye, white light shined in the corner of his room at first bathing the room in a spectacular display. Then blue, red, and green balls manifested and danced around the white light coming together to form a solid figure.

The light blinded Sprig who was already losing some of his vision to begin with. As the lights dimmed down, Sprig lifted his bushy eyebrows hiding his sunken-in eyes.

"Anne?"

Anne wore a flowing gown adorned with shining crystals. Her body glowed like a blazing supernova. Her eyes were fireballs making it indiscernible what was on her mind. Leaves fluttered around her head with no wind keeping them airborne.

"Hello, Sprig."

Sprig rubbed his eyes with his long, skinny fingers. Wrinkles patterned his body each one seeming to tell a story. Sprig arched his back, but doing so made the blanket fall off. "You came back."

Anne nodded. "Of course, buddy, I always promised that we would never be apart."

Anne allowed her eyes to wonder at the many photographs of the Plantar family in its later years. Polly became a mechanic and has overseen the production of Frobots. Hop-Pop remarried with Sylvia and lived out his golden years with her. She last set her eyes on Anne and his family. His kids had all grown up and had several children of their own. She also noticed the journal that Sprig used to document his adventures.

"When did HP die?" she asked. She had a noticeable air of sadness in her tone. She would be a fool to think that Hop-Pop would be around long enough to be reunited with his honorary granddaughter, but life was never fair.

Sprig looked down. "When I was reaching 30. But he had no regrets."

Anne nodded. "Who runs Amphibia now?"

"Gary surprisingly," the elder frog remarked, "apparently he's really diplomatic."

They shared a laugh before Sprig sighed. He laid his back against his mattress fulfilled. "How were things on Earth?"

"Oh, I did keep in touch with Sasha and Marcy and we hang out a few times, the usual." Anne sighed. "Outlived both of them. I couldn't attend their funerals."

Sprig nodded. "So, what's with your new look?"

"You may not believe me when I say this."

Sprig looked at Anne with his failing eyesight. "After all the adventures we had been on and this is the one time you expect me to not believe you?"

"Touche. After I defeated the Core I met the creator of the Calamity Gems. Apparently, they were made because he wanted to see what mortals would do with such power."

"Well, that sounds completely irresponsible."

"He retired and when I turned 91, he reappeared to me and asked me if I could succeed him. And I am pretty sure you know where this went."

"I am glad that you did visit me again even though the whole god thing is kind of hard to follow."

His fingers tapped the blanket. "Please go. Nobody should watch their best friend die."

Anne reached out her hand and held Sprig's wrinkly one. "There is a reason why I came here, Sprig."

Sprig glared at her. "What is it?"

Anne smiled her grin sending a wave of comfort to the dying frog. "I want you to come with me."

Sprig's eyebrows lighted. "You want me to come with you on your journey? But why?"

"Sprig, I never forgot how much fun our adventures in Amphibia were even if it was just a short time. When I first met the creator of the Calamity Gems, I had no idea how grand the multiverse was. There are many secrets and discoveries to be had, and it would be cool if my best friend experienced it all with me."

Sprig smiled. "You know what, Anne, I'll take you up on that offer."

He wrestled his aching joints in place and curved his body to get off the bed. Anne gently held his fragile shoulders and helped him up. Hand-in-hand, Anne led him towards the corner of the room bending down to hug the decrepit amphibian. Leaves swirled around their bodies in a counterclockwise display of glowing colors.

Sprig felt lighter and revigorated. Looking at his fingers, he could see the wrinkles disappearing with his natural skin tone becoming more radiant. The thin veil over his eyes evaporated. The clock was turning back reverting the effects of aging.

"Spranne against the world?"

Anne smiled warmly. It had been too long since she last her their nickname. "Spranne against all worlds."

[tendous-socks]

do you know, the muffin man?

platonic baji and chifuyu x reader 

title has nothing to do with the actual plot lol

not proof read

saber is my dog who passed when i was little and i missed him.

idk what's going on with the capitalization, 

a warm up of sorts ;)

“That's what a mommy’s boy would say” “Hey”

It was summer nights like these you'd never forget.

The crisp air that danced in your lungs when you took a deep, filling breath. Or the gathering of stars overhead that watched you as you made your way home. like your own personal guardian angels.

Lights flickered off one by one as the night grew older and the street lamps stood proudly in their stead. It was nights like these that made you feel at ease. So much so that you felt that saber, your fat, lovable mush of a dog would just love to go on a midnight walk.

Although midnight was… less than ideal, you didn't plan to stay so late at cram school, the janitor nearly kicked you out himself when he saw you so absorbed in your homework. the furrowed look etched upon his face when he asked why you were doing all that on a friday evening, when you should be home with your family, or out doing illegal things with your friends.

You gripped the straps on your backpack just tighter just thinking about it.

you'll just have to stay up and finish it later then, after talking your beloved golden out for his much deserved walk.

Rounding the corner, you spotted your apartment complex as it stood tall amongst the houses surrounding it. Almost out of place.

The lights illuminating the road almost like a pathway home as you continued on. Your silent footsteps duetting the chirping of cicadas.

Pesky little things liked to choir all night singing melodies of long before as they woke up from their decades of slumber.

my god you couldn't get home fast enough.

which wouldn't be a problem if you didn't hear an excruciatingly loud cackle from your complex.

and due to the light of the street lamps, if you could squint hard  enough you could see the silhouettes of two people sitting on the stairs that allowed you to go up…

damn it

this was gonna be weird 

as silent as a church mouse, you trudged your way over to them. Thoughts a second as you scratched your brain for something to say

something that you wont wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat regretting saying.

“uhm excuse me… i need to get up there so, yeah” you said, knuckles white as you felt your body heat up. 

You didn't bother to catch a full glance at them, only noting their black uniforms and that one had long, black hair and another had a yellow undercut.

“Oh yeah sure! Sorry about that..” You chuckled nervously as the yellow one scooched over a bit allowing you to squeeze your way up 

“Yeah no problem”

Taking the first few steps up, making sure not the disturb the two, you debated neither sprinting up or just quietly walking. Of course all plans were thrown out the window when another, raspier voice asked “why’re you out so late? “

Your foot stopped almost immediately.

What?

You gulped thickly. “ oh, no reason, i just had cram school and lost track of the time ya’ know?” No of course they don't know because they obviously don't go to your cram school !

Almost as if he had an epiphany, the longer haired boy shot up like a rocket as he turned to fully face you.

“ wait a minute- that means you're smart right?”

“Baji no-” “ hey you mind helping us with our midterms? I don't wanna fail them and make my mom cry again, wouldn't be right”

“Oi baji! Who said I needed help? I'm the one who's tutoring you!” the blondie argued back, voices echoing up around and through the staircase as you finally looked at the two of them.

chifuyu , who you now recognize as a delinquent and baji… who you've never seen in your life both apparently went to your school as you faintly recalled a morning announcement of both their names being called and summoned to the principal's office.

As well as the rumors that surrounded them both as you remembered the whispers upon whispers of gossip dripping from your friends mouth like sugar coated honey, too tempting not to take a bite out of.

All in all, they were trouble.

“Uh haha yeah, I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be of any use to you since I'm not the brightest of people, I'm sorry I have to go, have a good night though.”

And like cinderella you dashed off up stairs. Not even bothering to look back or hide your footsteps as you heard baji call and complain for you to come back and how chifuyu ruined his chances of passing his terms.

but of course, you were back downstairs… not exactly downstairs as you were on one of the landings that separated the floors, the soft fluff of sabers tail wagging excitedly as you held onto his blue, rope leash as you stared down the stairs wondering why exactly the two of them were  still. here.

You groaned internally as you took a step back, pulling lightly on his leash as you went to go back down the hall and into the safety of your apartment. Already thinking of excuses to tell your mom why you didn't take your baby for his daily walk.

Plop

…. 

You tugged on the leash a little harder, only to no avail as your lab stared up at you with a little smile..

This son of a bitch.

“C'mon saber lets go, I promise I'll take you on two walks tomorrow, so please let's just go” you whined, crouching down next to him as you went to softly push at his side. 

But like the anchor he is, he didn't budge.

“Please saber c’mon i wanna go home now lets go you fat little man” you moaned as you stole a glance towards the stairs, hoping to god you didn't alert the two.

But alas, you were met with a pair of blue and golden eyes staring at you curiously. Though the curiosity in their eyes didn’t overshadow the way they loomed over you and you little man, both of them blocking any whisper of light that tried to escape through as it haloed blindingly around them.

‘ oh it’s you- i didn't know you had a dog” baji said as a smile grew on his face as he slowly knelt down as your dog’s tail quickly went to whipping your side as you just gawked at him.

“Oi baji, you have to ask to pet him, er her. ``Chifuyu went to look at you, eyebrows raised as his friend simply ignored him and continued caressing your dog.

“do they bite?” was the only response you got from the black haired boy, his eyes meeting yours briefly as his smile stood pride on his beaming face.

“I do well, I guess it's fine. Don't worry about it, Saber, he’s really friendly and loves people, so he won't bite '' you spoke as chifuyu hesitantly went to start touching his golden fur, the dim midnight lighting doing him zero justice.

Though when you were nestled in your bed with your big ol’ security guard crushing your feet to the point where they'd both turn shades of blue and purples, you could really see how vibrant and golden his fur really was.

Smiling softly as the saber excitedly sniffed baji’s hand as the latter held a smile as big as the sun and eyes creased like a young boy who just got his favorite candy.

you noted how his other hand was scratching exactly where you knew your dog was ticklish, his leg going to scratch the same spot as he let out a low chuckle.

Quietly looking at chifuyu, you saw him quite engrossed in what baji was doing as he stared at where your dog was battling baji’s hand for scratching rights.

“ You really love him, yeah?”

“Hm? Pardon?”

“You’re dog…” “Saber”

“Yep. i can see it all over your face and his body that you spoil him like a little rich kid”

You laughed at his little comment as you went to play with his floppy ears “yep/ he’s my little spoiled brat who loves food and cuddles and will absolutely die if you don't take him on a walk or two during that day”

“ sorry about earlier, baji is just very… passionate about his grades” “ oh is that so?”

“ yeah, that and he doesn't want his mom to be upset about him being held back… again” With a light squeeze to the saber's ear, you took a risk as you opened your mouth.

“Oh, so he's a mama’s boy then?” “Exactly” “Hey I'm not! “

You and Chifuyu looked at each other and hummed in agreement.

[the-firebender-girl]

I See the Light (Zuko x Reader)

Inspired by that one scene from “Tangled”

Note: This is my very first fic soo I do apologize in advance if it’s still bad and for the grammar mistakes which I could’ve made somewhere along the story since English is not my mother tongue. Feedbacks are appreciated and I hope you enjoy it♥️

-> In which Y/N is a part of Azula’s gang and also Zuko’s long lost childhood bestfriend who has had a crush on him since they were little.

The infamous banished crown prince is now back, up and running alongside his father and sister again. This news spread like wildfire all over the capital of the Fire Nation, both pleased and opposing reactions equal in numbers but alas everyone can see that Prince Zuko is now back in the Fire Lord’s good graces.

The noble families are preparing a ���welcoming back’ celebration in his honor. Surely it was just another act to suck up and earn his favor, but whose to say that he can’t still enjoy it and bask in the festivities? after all he deserves this right? no matter what the means and motives behind it.

It was the morning of the day of the festival and Zuko is just about to begin his day after getting prim and pampered into his Crown Prince’s attire when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

“Who is it?” He raised the tone of his voice a bit so the person behind it could hear.

“Why don’t you take a guess?”Is what he heard back, a voice that he hasn’t heard for far too long of a time answered.

Not waiting a second longer the person behind it swung his ornate door open and entered the room.

Y/N stood in all her glory wearing the finest of red silk traditional garment, hair neatly weaved into a braided bun. Her (Y/E/C) eyes twinkled with mischief as a small smile tugs the corner of her lips up.

She hums and take a good look at the grown boy in front of her, whatever journey that he’s been through surely did him good.

“You look good”

“Well I sure hope so, after all it’s my first day back as the crown prince isn’t it?” He replied sheepishly, cheeks tinted red at her compliment.

“If the verdict comes from me then it’s safe to say you’re ready to dazzle the whole kingdom and have all the maidens fawning all over you Prince Zuko” She said as she grinned a cheshire cat smile.

“Ughh stop with the compliments Y/N, I can’t even tell whether you’re teasing me or not anymore” He replied back as he rolls his eyes.

“It’s been a while since I saw you” All mirth lost from her tone as she whispers this out.

“Yeah.... way too long for my liking” His eyes softens as he stares back at her.

Their little moment was broken as Azula poked her head from behind the half-opened door and decided to join the party.

“Whatever is taking sooo long? you’re even worse than us girls when it comes to vanity, Zuzu” The princess said as she saunters in all cat like, movement smooth and calculated.

“I was done a while ago Azula, me and Y/N was just catching up” Zuko grumbled.

“Well do the catching up later then, we need to grace this festival with our presents”

“Fine by me, off we go now Y/N” Zuko said as he beckoned for Y/N to follow him.

Y/N falls in line besides Zuko and they exited his bedroom with Azula trailing not too far behind them.

———————————————————————

Despite it still being bright and early, the festival is already in full swing. Unlit lanterns decorated the streets, carts selling fire flakes, extra spicy fire noodles and various other traditional food can be seen here and there, the sound of singing and various musical instruments reverberated through the air.

Y/N walks side by side with Ty Lee, meanwhile Zuko chooses to position himself beside Mai in the back, Azula’s leading the pack all by herself in the very front.

The bubbly girl leans in to whisper in her ear, “Soo did the two of you get to talk?” Ty Lee asked curiously.

Y/N sigh, “No we didn’t, I was just about to when Azula decided to ruined the moment”

Y/N sneak a discrete look to the couple behind them who’s too busy basking in each other’s presence to notice, “And now he decided to spend the whole day with Mai instead” Letting a bit of annoyance and hurt creeps into her voice.

Ty Lee looks at her dejected bestfriend encouragingly, putting her small hand on one fo her shoulders and give it a few taps, “There there... i’m sure he’ll come around, this festival is gonna go on for a while, at some point he’ll be alone”

But she was wrong. Zuko was never alone, not even for the smallest of moment. He was always dotting on Mai, looking at her with this sparkle in his eyes. I guess even time sometimes can’t change some things.

———————————————————————

Night rolls around as the sky darkens and the streets are lit with the red and gold glow emited from the lanterns.

It’s now time for the finale and the highlight of this celebration that people have been waiting for the whole day. A boat ride across the small lake in the capital to watch the release of lampions into the sky.

Here they are now standing on the wooden dock and about to enter their respective boats when Ty Lee decided to do a little sprint towards Mai and weave herself right into her arm.

“I’m tagging Mai and it’s final! I miss her, I never got the chance to do any of the activities together earlier” She said, feet stumping like a child, lips pouting.

“Uugh fine do whatever you want, Ty Lee just stop with the antics” Azula said as she looks at her judgingly, “You won’t mind, would you brother?” A hit of teasing malice evident in her tone as she challenged him to say something back.

“No, of course not. I’ll take the boat with Y/N” He replied flatly, trying hard to maintain the tone of his voice and not give into her trap.

Azula claps her hands, “Well great then, that solves the problem, off you all kids go now”

“Wait you’re not going with us?” Y/N asked incrediously.

And to this the princess raised one of her perfectly groomed eyebrow, “And what in the world makes you think I would participate in such..... frivolous activity?” She bites back.

“Come on Y/N let’s just go, she has no fun bones in her” Zuko said as he gently tug at her elbow to stop what could be an escalating argument.

And so the prince and his childhood bestfriend make way to their boat. He goes in first then extend a hand out for her to take, to steady her.

“Thanks Zuko” She said gratefuly, after stepping into the boat and taking a sit.

“Couldn’t let you fall now could I?” He replied teasingly.

The two of them takes the paddles and row their boat towards the middle of the lake, trying to secure the best spot, which is left empty anyway once the people saw who’s currently on this boat. Some giving a small bow of their heads in respect as they passed.

“It’s peaceful out here” She started, slumping a bit in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Zuko sees her constantly shifting into different position asks, “You okay there?”

“Yeah it’s just that my body is kinda aching from the day activities and walking, I couldn’t really sit still upright now” She confessed a bit embarassed.

Zuko lets out a low chuckle and beckons for her, “Come here”

She throws him a questioning glance, to which he gives a nod.

Y/N gets up and wobble a bit towards Zuko, rocking their boat, and she almost took a tumble when his arms wraps itself over her waist.

“I got you,” He said, making her took a sharp breath as her cheeks flooded with warmth.

Zuko then guides her into a seating position in front of him, half cuddling her into his chest. Her head settling in the crook of his neck as he lazily drapes his arms on her side.

“Comfortable enough for you, your highness?”

She rolled her eyes and hit his chest playfully.

“As a matter of fact, I am very comfortable right now”

The both of them look at each other and share a smile.

“You must regret not being in the boat with Mai instead, this setting is a bit too romantic for two childhood friends isn’t it?” She asked, testing the water, head tilting a bit to look at him properly and try to gauge out a reaction.

“Well I already spent the whole day with her anyway so that’s fine, i’m usually not into this whole romantic boat ride thingy but I guess if it’s with you then i’ll just bear with it” He replied back in good humor.

She just hums back in respond and decided to let the comfortable silence envelops them.

The sound of pipa (琵琶) a four-stringed musical instrument with frets like those on a guitar could be heard through the air, followed by other instruments, and soft singing voices of the hired singers on a boat not too far from them.

All those days watching from the windows

All those years outside looking in

All that time never even knowing

Just how blind I've been

A melodious voice sings the first few lyrics out.

“I’ve never heard this song before, it’s lovely” Y/N said quietly.

“Yeah... me too” came his reply.

Now I'm here blinking in the starlight

Now I'm here suddenly I see

Standing here it's all so clear

I'm where I'm meant to be

Y/N takes a glance at Zuko, watching his features looking content and relaxed for the first time in a while. This boy doesn’t realize just how handsome he is, does he? how much power he actually has over her.

And at last I see the light

And it's like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it's like the sky is new

And it's warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted

As the first light from the lampions started to illuminate the night sky, awed gasps can be heard from all around them.

Lampions are released to fly into the sky, bright golden glows surrounds the boat everywhere, it’s like the sun itself is here, in the middle of the night.

All those days chasing down a daydream

All those years living in a blur

All that time never truly seeing

Things, the way they were

Now she's here shining in the starlight

Now she's here suddenly I know

If she's here it's crystal clear

I'm where I'm meant to go

Zuko had spent a huge portion of his life wandering aimlessly. Yes of course he has the whole ‘chasing the avatar’ thing on his agenda and yet it never felt quite right.

But being here, with her, someone who probably knows him best of all the person in the world besides his uncle, for the first time he finally feels like he belong.

And it's warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted

All at once everything is different

Now that I see you

Zuko watches every emotion flickers across her face, it’s beautiful, she’s like a living art.

“Is this how uncle feels when it comes to his tea?” He wondered to himself.

He always knows that he loves her as a friend, he’d do anything for this girl, but could there possibly be something more between them? especially with this weird feelings that he now has in his stomach while looking at her, and the tightening of his chest, and how he felt warm watching her happiness at such simple things.

Now that I see you

“Stop looking at me Zuko, you’re staring at the wrong thing” She said embarrassedly, trying to hide her face into his chest.

“Nahh i’m mighty sure i’m looking at the right thing, what’s more worthy of seeing anyway” He whispers back to her.

She raised her face so fast she almost got a whiplash, about to retort something witty back when she sees the honesty in his face. How he actually means what he says.

“I see you too you know.... I always have, not the composed prince, just you, just Zuko”

Zuko raised one hand hesitantly, stopping it mid air to ask for permission and when she shows no sign of wanting to stop him, he lets his hand cup her cheek gently.

“I know... that’s why i’m scared to lose you, I thought by keeping this all to myself, I wouldn’t ruin whatever we have right now”

“Just let me in Zuko, that’s all I ask” Y/N said as she rubs a comforting touches on his arm.

“But what about Mai?” She starts again, “I thought you like her”

“I thought I did too, but it would never have worked out anyway between me and her, we both want and crave different things, and I was too scared to admit to myself that you’re what i’m looking for all this time”

“Soooo?” She asked, drawling out the O’s while looking at him expectantly.

“Sooo?” He said back, grinning at her clear frustration.

“Stop being coy with me! so where do we go from here?”

He takes both of her hands in his and clasp it firmly, looking straight into her eyes.

“We go forward, together.”

“Always?” She asked again, vulnerabilty evident in her voice, asking for his devotion.

“Always. Until the very end” He said in a final tone, giving her his promise.

And so the both of them shared their very first kiss, under the light of a thousand lanterns, and the moon in the distance as the witness of their everlasting promise to each other.

[permian-tropos]

Daniil - Liberosis

Didn’t think this prompt word would become so poignant so soon. The subject matter wound up kind of surreal and taking whatever path I thought might be interesting but sometimes it’s nicer to let other people search for meaning in something. 

IDK yeah I just wanted to publish this. Contains canon-typical misery.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

-

It rains again, always with that damn rain, and inside of each puddle in the street is the reflection of a man with cold eyes. They’re a little bit sardonic, as if the protective cloth tied over his mouth obscures a world-weary smirk. They track movement deliberately, and never dart or flash.

When did this happen? When did his features freeze in place like this? It’s interesting. The last time Dankovsky saw his own reflection, he was burned out like a candle stub.

This is better. You’d rather see a second wind from the Capital doctor on his rounds, a man who cares less and does more, even if what he does isn’t much use to anyone. It’ll give people less reason to panic.

The plague is spreading on the wings of panic. That’s why the patrolmen show no mercy to the sick, those shambling mummies, when they stray into the streets.

Dankovsky never gave such an order. The man in the puddle wears his intentions well: But I wouldn’t countermand it.

When you think about it, the only way to fight the plague is to resist your natural human desire to seek help, or even the comforting touch of another; instead you must succumb in solitude, to save others.

The nature of epidemics really is to target the most precious aspects of our being…

“What do I do? What do I do? I’m lost…”

Dankovsky first expects that wheedling voice to come from a child, but it’s too knowing, like it’s playing a game.

Sometimes they’re called mimes, but they talk too much. They’re more amused by the circumstances than the name Tragedian suggests. Subconsciously, Dankovsky has gotten into the habit of treating them as if there is not a human under that patchwork black cloth, but paper stuffing, or an animated wire frame. They’re an oddly useless counterpart to the orderlies, and they certainly don’t answer to the Bachelor.

“One of you?” he sighs, backing up a few steps. “What do you want from me this time…? Get it over with.”

The masked man dawdling under the streetlamp tips its head slowly one way, then the other. “His Excellency thinks I spoke to him?”

“I’m the only one on the street. Unless you’re raving, in which case I have no time for lunatics.”

“How cruel. In any case… I’ve lost my mask.” The Tragedian shields its eye-holes from the rain with a hand, and looked far and wide.

“It’s right on your head,” Dankovsky grouses. “Now what’s my reward for finding it, a bag of marbles? Or wait, you’ve lost those too.”

“Oh, no, not this. This is my face. You see how blank and plain it is? It wants a character, a role to play. A mask, a mask.”

Dankovsky folds his arms. “What about playing a man who doesn’t leave his house… wherever he comes from, his burrow, his den, and doesn’t get himself into trouble?”

The Tragedian offers an apologetic shrug and spread palms. “I tried it but alas, it weren’t for me. I didn’t know my lines, and came too late…”

The Bachelor mutters, “You’ll be a dog soon – playing dead.”

“I’ve lost a mask of careless cruelty… I think it would be fun to wear a while. It grins at simple victories and doesn’t shed a tear for those less fortunate. I’d like to be the one who laughs in Hell…”

“Fine, I’ll look for something like that… I suppose.” It wasn’t the first bizarre request he’d taken, and been able to fulfill despite not understanding it at first. Whatever the Tragedian was looking for, it would turn up eventually.

Now the Tragedian was clasping its hands together, pleading. It was remarkably expressive for having, as it said, such a blank face. “But if perhaps you’d let me borrow yours…”

“That’s completely unsanitary.” What kind of idiot request was that?

“I mean the one behind the cloth, the visage that regards the world so icily…”

The Tragedian pokes an impudent, spidery finger right between the Bachelor’s eyebrows, which pinch together in great chagrin.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at… but I get the impression you’re not asking for a real object.” He slaps the finger away. “If you want to wear my face, playact all you like. Just don’t impersonate me to anyone important, or use my name for any stupid ventures. Or you’ll regret it.”

Dankovsky leaves the actor to mime out his gratitude, head fervently bowing, clasped hands pumping up and down. He’d expected to get something out of this exchange, but perhaps it’s a longer-term investment. Or it’ll be quite the farce when the thespian starts wandering around the town pretending to be him. He’s not sure what he’s given away.

Signal fires mark the start of an infected district. He tightens the cloth around his mouth and nose and rushes in. There’s one house in particular he has to visit, so he very much intends to keep his head down all the way there.

His ears are assaulted by wails of the dying, carried far even by stagnant windless air.

At first he doesn’t understand why his skin is prickling. Senseless paranoia.

I gave away my mask…

It doesn’t mean anything!

But something’s changed in him for sure.

Even though it’s illogical, he’s shivering like ice has been poured down his shirt.

His eyes catch movement and he jolts away at first, because he’s learned to flee whenever a human shape stumbles across his path in districts like these. One filthy touch from any of these walking corpses could pass on the infection.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t come near me…”

“Help us…” the mummy gabbles. It’s sobbing under the linen wraps, but those cries might be of relief as well as pain. “Please, please, you’ve got to help us… I’ve been looking all over for a doctor… You’ve got pills, haven’t you? Kind sir… spare us something… even just a sleeping draught…”

Dankovsky should be fleeing, and he’s frozen instead. He should do the compassionate thing and put a bullet through this faceless cloth-wrapped head, and he cannot. He has the unsettling thought he would rather turn the gun on himself.

The supplicant takes his inaction as permission. Its hand has seized him and is crawling up his forearm, creeping as surely as a mold on a wall.

“There must be something…” the infected one pleads. “If only to… I just wanted to… oh, but it’s so… my head’s spinning… I can hardly hear myself, can you hear me? Am I speaking? Are you there?”

More dying souls are shambling out of the alleys and either they can smell healthy skin like sharks smell blood or they’re spotting him through the gauze over their eyes and immediately recognizing him. Two have emerged from behind one building… a third and fourth from a park…

The dead come to drag him down into the earth. Rain pours down his cheeks.

“Hey!”

There’s someone behind him, shouting, but he doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until—  

“What do you think you’re doing, dummy? Dummy Dankovsky!”

“Hah?” He’s unstuck when that strident childish voice pierces his ears through the white noise.

In comes charging none other than the wandering saint girl, shoes pattering and splashing through the sodden pavement. She spreads her palms out like she’s pushing out a great wave of force from them, some kind of heavenly wind, and even though no immediate magic goes off with a theatrical bang and puff of smoke, the sickened townsperson withdraws.

Clara catches Dankovsky’s arm. Her grip is mighty steel.

“You didn’t think you could heal them with your touch, did you?” Her tone is either mocking or heartachingly sincere. She’s too peculiar to ever be one thing or another, so maybe it’s both. “Don’t… don’t get those funny ideas into your head, okay? You’ll make people worry about you…”

Of course he finds her words ironic, but not surprising. It’s the usual way that young people parrot the things they’ve been told by others, as a way of expressing concern.

Especially ironic now that she’s extending her free hand towards the bandaged wretch, with a strained but beatific smile, flashing white teeth. Her fingers unfurl, flexing, preparing for an incredible sleight-of-hand.

“Don’t be scared,” coaxes the Changeling. “I’ll take care of you!”

“Careful—!” the Bachelor croaks, voice stolen by panic. But he still waits with bated breath, wondering if he’s about to witness a miracle.

But as soon as Clara’s palm brushes the gauze-wrapped fingertips, the infected person’s hands turn to claws. They gasp and clutch their chest, rocking on their heels, head bobbing.

It’s almost as if they’re trying to express a profound devotion and love that cannot fit inside them. Then they exhale without a word, collapsing in a heap, like a thread over their head has been snipped.

Clara’s smile shrinks by millimeters. Water droplets slide off it, dropping from the corners of her lips.

“Why…?” Her query is a quiet chime, a small tolling bell.

“Leave it, leave it. It was a myocardial infarction,” Dankovsky mutters. “Plainly, a heart attack. It’s usual for them to die like this in the end… Perhaps they were startled by us… Overwhelmed by a moment of hope.”

“I thought I was the one who healed…” the girl says, eyes fogged with confusion. “I mixed it up… Even we can’t tell us apart anymore…?”

Damn this… The girl’s delusions are only going to worsen now. Whoever’s been letting her roam about without supervision needs to rethink their priorities. She used to irritate Dankovsky with her proud preaching, and he was afraid she’d be able to stir the town’s population into a fervor. They come out of their homes in search of her sometimes.

Still, it’s possible she’s been witnessing frightening things for days — or longer? who knows where she came from or what she’s suffered to be without a family now — and has convinced herself she must have a purpose. Whose mind doesn’t falter like that in the face of an insane world?

The Bachelor doesn’t think he’s nearly as paternal as his rough-and-tumble counterpart, the favorite of the orphan underclass, Burakh. But Burakh’s not here right now.

Dankovsky slings a strict enclosing arm around Clara’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do it, Clara…” he commands her to believe, as his heart keeps minutely panging in that new way that he’s not accustomed to. “Don’t think about it. Pull that ratty scarf over your mouth and nose and keep moving.”

She’s stumbling after him, reluctantly keeping apace. “But can’t you see I’m not her…?”

“Whoever you are, I don’t care,” Dankovsky mutters. He stares only ahead, at the distant waterlogged signal pyre marking the invisible border between poison and safety.

[soradragon]

Sugary Comfort

Art’s not mine I found it and credit goes to the wonderful owners of this master piece of a drawing!

First Mikey x reader! I am proud and content with this one!

Thank you my sweet new beta reader for helping me edit this fic I love u and your amazing! <3

Warnings: sensory overstimulation in the beginning, lots of fluff, one pun

Mikey x f! reader

Check out my main masterlist if you liked what you read and wanna read more!

If you want to be tagged in the upcoming fics don’t be afraid to ask me! ^^

Anyway, enjoy^^

~~~~

You gazed at the reflection of a girl. She looked utterly exhausted; bags under her eyes like she hasn't slept in ages. 

Her lips were tilted up in a sneer; it was evident that she was repressing the urge to scream. But instead of giving in to the voice begging her to do just that, she drove her foot through the water's surface. Not only disfiguring the reflection of the girl, but also dirtying the dress you nitpickingly chose to wear this day. At the time you felt beautiful wearing it. Proud that you chose the right clothes to fit with the dress, completing the look you wanted.

Now, you just didn't care.

You didn't feel pretty nor proud.

You choked out a sob, rubbing the back of your hand against your face harshly.

You wanted all the white noise to stop, wanted the crying to stop, wanted the searing headache to stop. Why couldn't time freeze? Then, maybe the chaos in your head would finally end.

You had tried everything you knew that normally should have worked. Out of all of the times for those methods not to work, why did it precisely choose now when it actually matters?

You followed all the steps. You even rehearsed the steps as you did them.

Step one: When you feel an episode coming, go to a quiet place with dull, even colours. 

You had almost dropped your project when you felt everything becoming overwhelming, muttering an explanation to your teacher before almost booking out of the school building, to the most calming place you could recall; the park.

Step two: Once you have found a quiet place, go sit down and use your headphones to block out all of the sounds.

The headphones did not work.

Your never-ending trains of thoughts took the place of the noise and multiplied it by two. 

Images that flashed before your eyes every time you closed them were too bright. You were unable to figure out the meanings behind the words your mind screamed at you. 

All of it only worsened the already painful headache.

After only a moment you tore the headphones from your head.

Step three: Try even your breathing, and count to ten to ground yourself.

This was the only step that worked. You managed to calm yourself and stop your ragged breathing but it took effort. It took two attempts of counting to ten before it succeeded.

This whole fiasco petered you out mentally and physically. You just wanted this unnecessary sensory to decrease and quiet down to at least a tolerable level. But alas, the world did not want to cooperate this time.

You sighed, casting your gaze to the heavens. 

The sky was beautiful this evening - painted in orange and pink - and you would have taken the time to admire it, had it been in a different situation.

After hearing a familiar yet obnoxious 'ping' coming from within your bag, you cursed under your breath. You snatched your bag from behind you crudely, zipping it open with a huff. As you turned it on, you flinched at the bright light of your screen.

One unread message from 'Mom.'

She was worried sick no doubt. You felt guilty for worrying her, and wanted to reassure her that yes, you were safe, but felt like trash and were in the middle of an episode that wouldn't stop. No matter how hard you tried, all the obnoxious and illogical sensory your brain's been picking up did not stop. Though, on the other hand, you just wanted to ignore the message and skip the whole situation of explaining everything altogether and just turn off the screen and put notifications on mute. You sent a quick 'k' to whatever she had messaged you and moved on to the mute button.

Your finger hovered above it when a notification popped up, causing you to hesitate.

One new message from 'The great Mikester dude!'

Without thinking, you pressed on the notification, staring with big eyes at the message he had sent you: Guess who and where dudette. :P

"Mikey." You gasped out, manoeuvring your head in all kinds of directions, eyes skimming all over the park, trying to find the one in question. You felt the tingling and buzzing feeling of hope and glee pool in your body, replacing the sadness and anger.

All problems were forgotten or pushed to the back of your mind.

The white noise died down suddenly when you heard a low thud and the slight rustling of leaves. 

There was no other explanation; they were here...You were sure of it. 

Only they could stop the chaos when everything else failed, though you didn't know how, nor the logic in it. 

You guessed it had something to do with their ninja nature or something. (Even though Donnie told you multiple times that it might have been because of the aura they carried with, them, being half turtle and all that jazz had its side effects on some humans, like how a pet could soothe its owner simply by being near them. You still blamed it on them being ninjas.)

With your mind settled down, you could think clearly again. 

You briefly acknowledged the fact that you most certainly were a dishevelled mess. Puffy eyes from crying, clothes covered in mud, and hair all over the place, considering that you've pulled and tangled your hair in frustration. Despite all of this, you didn't care.

You were too busy thinking of a plan to lure them - you guessed it was all of them, though it could be only Mikey - out of their hiding place.

You accidentally placed your hand on your phone, making it vibrate, and your hand shot back as if it had burned you. A few seconds after, a song piped up.  A lot of curses could be heard from the tree where the music came from, the leaves rustled like no tomorrow. Mikey fell out of said tree not long after, hitting the ground with an 'oof' followed by a groan. You stared at Mikey for a couple of seconds before doubling over in laughter as the realisation hit you:

You had accidentally called Mikey!

Well, it sure helped you find him!

You counted that as a win on your part. And it seemed that Mikey was on his own, for normally one of the brothers, cough Raph cough would have jumped out from their hiding place and scolded Mikey.

He rolled into a sitting position, giggling with you.

"Yo, dudette! Fancy seeing you here. Don't mind me dropping in," he said, peering at you with an expecting smile, seeming to wait for a reaction. 

It took you a hot second or two for you to catch on, eventually groaning at the pun and face-palming yourself for your delayed comprehension. He did jazz hands and everything.

The great ninja Michelangelo just punned...

You wanted to kick yourself, you completely forgot that April had warned you about Mikey using puns. She had messaged you not too long ago about how it was a "Big" (with capital B) mistake of Casey to teach Mikey "The Art of puns." For Mikey had become obsessed with them. - Throughout the whole exchange, Casey had managed to steal April’s phone a few times and messaged you some words. Three guesses which one was Casey’s input on the matter. - 

You had no clue what they meant with "mistake" throughout that whole exchange. 

You appreciated a good pun.

This was not a good pun. 

You could just imagine the brothers’ reactions to Mikey's newfound fixation: Raph screaming desperately for Mikey to shut up. Donnie being hella annoyed with something pressed against his (ears?) to drown Mikey out. Leo would definitely try to ignore him, probably without success, because you knew...oh, you knew Mikey would take every chance he got to make a pun.

Your heart went out for them. Needing to go through such torture was horrid, yet it was a funny sight to be completely honest. Not that you would ever tell them, heavens no.

You were not going to poke three bears with a stick - in this case, mutant turtles. You were not ready to die three separate times.

"Dude, that was so bad,” you said, making a face as if you had just been forced to smell Raph's feet. You still regret going through with that bet.

"Dude!"

Mikey frowned, throwing his hands in the air. You knew he wasn't really offended, just a bit pouty.

"It's the truth, dude," you retorted absentmindedly, casting your gaze from left to the right before it rested on your bag. Smiling slightly, you snatched it, hauling it over your back before turning back to Mikey who sat contently against the tree. 

"But," you emphasised the word by pointing your index finger in the air, "you can get better,” your grin widened as you spoke.

 “And I, Y/N, know how it's really done."

Mikey's pout vanished and a wide, child-like grin overtook his face. You had his full attention, as he observed you expectantly from his cross-legged position. 

The long uncut grass rippled towards and caressed Mikey, the blades of green curling slightly forward and creating an image of what looked like nature sheltering Mikey from the harsh reality outside of this garden of paradise. 

The green-filled branches of the tree hovered above him, leaves gliding down every now and again, covering Mikey in small dapples of shadow.

Dusk's hew engulfed the image before you in a soft purple radiance. Mikey's skin practically glowed, making him look like a forest fairy.

It was a captivating sight. 

You could mistake it for a painted fairy tale that had come to life. Whoever the painter was had made sure that each tiny detail captured the magic and beauty of the image before you.

A magic-filled world coexisting in the harsh one you stood in... what you wouldn't give to cast all worries aside and join that world.

You were so lost in the moment that you almost forgot to continue.

Shaking yourself free from the enchanting sight, you carried on, albeit flustered, "a-and I could, um, teach you a thing or two. If...If you want me to, that is."

Mikey almost jumped right in your face before the words had completely left your mouth. There were practically stars in his eyes! He actually looked really adorable.

"Really!? You would!? Y/N, you are the best!!"

Mikey engulfed you into a hug, his body nearly covering your entire body from the world.

You gave a chuckle as he kept his arms circled around you, letting you sit in his lap. You didn't mind at all, feeling cosy in his arms.

"Of course I would Mikester. It would be my pleasure!"

You raised your hands to Mikey's cheeks, giving them a couple of pats before you continued.

"That way, you have a reason to end patrol earlier so we can spend more time together," and it would give the others a break from the barrage of bad puns, but you didn't voice that out loud. 

Mikey seemed to agree. He didn't waste any time to establish when and where this 'class-session', as he called it, would be taking place. He wanted it to become, without a shadow of a doubt, a weekly thing, like movie night at the turtles’ place with everyone.

Mentioning movie night brought up some nasty memories of last time -the movie night itself wasn’t bad, just one of your episodes got out of hand -  and Mikey changed the subject promptly after seeing you wince slightly. 

He told you about all kinds of new skateboard tricks he mastered and invented.

After a little while - when everything had been said about skateboarding - Mikey started to eagerly talk about random topics, bringing up stuff like how his training went this morning or what he encountered on patrol. Just little things to draw more time spending in this position. You kept in mind that this peaceful moment couldn't last forever, for both of you would have to separate sooner rather than later. 

You needed to go home to your no doubt worried sick parents, before they would start search parties. And Mikey...had to wait till the next time you two could hang out. (Which wasn't as often as both of you desired)

You listened to his voice silently, only humming a reply whenever Mikey asked for your opinion, snuggling deeper into his embrace as you lost track of time. Drowsiness tugged at your consciousness, beckoning you to close your eyes and let sleep take over. The way Mikey held you close to him made you feel loved and safe, with you resting your head against his chest to hear his heartbeat. He rubbed soothing circles on your left shoulder with one hand, making it impossible to resist the urge to let sleep take you away to dreamland. 

You vaguely heard Mikey's voice murmur in your ear, "Sweet dreams, sugar muffin..." You felt soft lips brush against your forehead before sleep took you over.

*(*)(*)*

Michelangelo stayed seated for a little while longer, looking at your sleeping form with loving eyes. If the world would have let him, he would have stayed like this forever. Alas, the moment was broken when your mobile pinged inside your bag, vibrating like crazy.

Mikey panicked. Jumping to his feet (surprisingly without stirring you) without thinking. He opened your bag in such haste he had almost dropped you trying to grab the vibrating phone before it would wake you.

He sighed in relief when the phone stopped its obnoxious buzzing after he managed to keep you from falling. He shifted you gently onto one arm to hold you delicately, yet tightly to his chest, as if he was protecting you from the world around you.

Once he made sure you were nestled comfortably in his hold,  he glanced towards the device lying in his palm. Mikey held it at an arm's length.

One question drifted inside his mind: Who in their right mind would call you this late in the evening?

It was a question where he could get an answer, but Mikey didn't want to pry into your private life without your permission.

But the curiosity gnawed at him like he would do with pizza.

He shook his head and chastised himself for goggling the device longingly. "No, bad Mikey...Be the better man, you can do this," he muttered, moving to put the phone in your bag until your phone buzzed again, displaying the number of notifications on the lit-up screen.

It made him halt in his tracks. 

Mikey knew you were having a bad day today. After all, he saw you crying by the pond in the centre of the park. It was a mere coincidence, patrolling around the park at the time. He had seen you crying and decided right then and there that he would cheer you up. But he had no idea you had that kind of bad day. 

There were seven unread messages and three missed calls from your mother. All of them showed how worried she was about you, asking where you were and if you had one of your sensory overstimulation episodes.

Without really thinking about it, he typed a reply to your mother: Batteries died, was with a friend. Coming home through the fire escape forgot keys.

It wasn’t a  grammatically correct message, he knew. It was the best he could do with one hand and one thick tumb.

Mikey glanced towards you with gentle eyes and a soft smile after sending the message and put your phone back in your bag.

He moved you gently, holding you with both arms again and cradling you against his chest.

You, in turn, stirred and snuggled deeper into Mikey's chest, making his heart soar.

"Time to get you home, sugar muffins..." he whispered softly, brushing a couple of stray hairs out of your face.

Mikey moved swiftly yet precisely, ensuring you did not wake or feel uncomfortable during roof-top-hopping. You needed all the rest you could get; the bags under your eyes made him even more certain of the fact.

Your home came into Mikey's field of vision far too soon. Opening the window and laying you softly onto your bed felt too fast for his taste.

Mikey took extra care to tuck you in. He even attached a little note to your bag for you to find when you would wake up. 

He really wanted to stay longer, but the sound of your parents coming up the stairs told him it was time to go. He opened the door of your room slightly so your parents would know you were home. Michelangelo climbed through the window before your parents could see him.

He watched your parents turn on the light from a rooftop across your window. Your dad gave you an extra blanket before the two of them turned off the light and left your room.

Mikey stayed there on the rooftop for a little while longer before leaving, looking over his shoulder one last time and then he sprinted over the rooftops towards home.

*(*)(*)*

You found the note the next day. You smiled brightly at the words hastily scribbled on the pape. You texted Mikey a reply before you went to look out your window. Your eyes draw towards the morning sky, which was painted in a soft orange hue.  

You repeated the words inside your head, making you excited for the next time you would see your turtle in orange...

Yoo, dudette! Can't wait for the pun-session upcoming Friday! 

I'll pick you up at ten alright? It's a date! ;) <3

~~~~

Thank you for reading, and keep soaring high!^^

Forever taglist

@theincaprincess​ 

[princeaemontargaryen]

~Roses of the Dawn~

«In this alternative story, Margaery Tyrell is a noblewoman who, from the age of seven, was sent to serve Princess Daenerys Targaryen as her lady-in-waiting and become her playmate. But they became more than that, going as far as becoming the sisters they never had within their own families. 

That way, Margaery grows close to Daenerys and remains in her retinue of ladies, especially after she married Prince Rhaegar. However, with Robert Baratheon's rebellion and the uncertaintity of Rhaegar's death, Daenerys is forced to flee to the Free Cities, specifically to Essos, and Margaery with no second thoughts decides to accompany her mistress and friend to the forced exile in spite of herself. 

There also comes with them Rhaegar's closest friend who also happened to become a King's Guard. Ser Arthur Dayne thus makes sure that the depart of the apparently last Targaryen princess is successful, for his friend and lord who was supposed to be the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms told him that he should first and foremost protect the princess, his wife.» 

--

Essos, the Green House.

It's been a long year for the loyalists, Margaery knew it well. She remembers bitterly of the long days spent at a glorious court where she was the center of every poet's ballad and every courtier's eyes. She remembers how richly she used to dress, how fancied she used to be. The endless flirtatious, the dances until late of night, the strolls in beautiful gardens…All of which seems to be part of a world that is now ruined by the war-axe of Robert Baratheon. Her grandmother tried to persuade her to go back and marry him, becoming queen herself, but alas! Would it be worthy to so easily swift loyalties? 

One should always do whatever it takes to survive, even if it must to play these games of thrones, would say the Queen of Thorns. But Margaery would not become Queen at the cust of Daenerys Targaryen, who needed her the most at such a perilous time. Thus she declined to make it true the dreams of building a family of her own. A regret that she would not carry to her conscience, however, seeing whom Robert Baratheon managed to become as the new usurping king of Westeros: a whoring and drunkeous lad with a crown over his head. Rumour has it that he loved Lyanna Stark, the reason why he waged a war against the Targaryens. Margaery wondered if Dany was aware of it, but she decided this was a matter where she should not speak of it.

She sighs in thought. That day, she was spending her leisure moment in the gardens of the house of one of the Braavosi men who was living for his own reasons in Essos. He had been an ally to the Targaryens and was formerly contacted by Rhaegar when he sensed the Rebellion was more deadly than it appeared to be.

The man, named Asouri, was kind enough but Margaery could tell he was uncomfortable for receiving such persons in his household. Robert Baratheon likely knew it too, and it was only a matter of time before he sent someone out there to kill them all… A risk that Asouri reasonably feared. But it was thanks to the gold of Margaery's family that was paying his silence and granting his loyalty. Discreetly, and in concord to the Martells of Dorne, that was how she was surviving… She and the Princess who was more than a mistress to whom she owes obedience, but a reliable friend.

In such thoughts was Margaery, who decided to let her auburn curls fall loose for an instance. Essos was very warm, so that day she was dressing a green gown with no sleeves and very loose from her belly down to her legs. She decided to have some time for herself whilst Daenerys had her own business to attend. In contemplative mood, she did not see Arthur Dayne coming.

The bearer of the Sword of the Morning and the most skilled Knight of the whole Seven Kingdoms, Ser Arthur of the House Dayne was accepted into the King's Guard when in earlier days Elia Martell was betrothed to Prince Rhaegar. There were festivities and when the Dornish were received in the capital, one of the greatest honours was bestowed to such a man who, ever since from Starfall, had been keeping up with his chivalrous reputation. However, from the days of exile, Ser Arthur had been more discreet and certainly doing what he can to help the princess.

On that particular morning, however, he was making the usual round of the household to make sure there would be no enemies found sneaking at the backyard as it sadly happened in the first months of their arrival… or when Daenerys was close to be poisoned at the local market. It was when then Arthur noticed Margaery. He was well acquainted with the Princess's favourite lady-in-waiting, whose friend remained loyal to the Targaryens and kept sending gold, cloth and food whenever it was possible. He also knew her merry, talkative moods. Admittedly, though, he's been observing her more than he would care to admit.

These moods had been swifting, however, and that brought a concern to himself. But because he does not know how to approach her when she is not speaking to him, he usually prefers to be in his own place. Aye, they were both highborns, but an oath prevented Arthur for taking further steps.

Yet, on that particular morning, there was Margaery, beautiful in her green gown and contemplative. Starting at the sea, certainly missing her home. Arthur was observing the auburn curls that dropped loose against her porcelain skin, wondering how soft must it be to touch her… And whilst such unprogrammed thought crosses his mind, a blush runs out of nowhere over his features, which by misfortune is perceived by the aforementioned damsel, who, noticing his presence, exclaimed somewhat amused:

"Ser Arthur! What is it that could be making you blush?" She waves gleefully, a warm smile lightening her features. Such scene gives Arthur's unexplainable chills.

He approached and bows his head as costume dictates.

"My lady, I fear you might have confused it with a tun. How could it be otherwise when I've been daily exposed to this sun?" He laughs at himself. "Has it not occurred you how hotter this is than our homeland?"

Margaery is not convinced, but she is not in the mood to persuade him otherwise. 

"Is it hotter than Dorne, though?" She inquires, her head tilting to the right side, her chocolate eyes filled with curiosity.

Arthur steps forward again, but not daring to take a seat next to her side.

"It is, I think. A different kind of heat. Although Starfall is not any like Sunspear", he laughs.

Margaery smiles. She likes the sound of his laughter, and appreciates his undying chivalric loyalty to the Targaryens. She also happens to notice how introspective is the sound of the words of Arthur. How shy his gaze can be when running out of her decisive eyes. To perceive this makes her blush, but she turns her look away briefly, so he does not notice it.

"Do you miss it?" She inquires gently, her thoughts going back to High Garden.

Arthur looks deep into her eyes, for a moment they share a long gaze, a very significant one because they share the same sentiments. Sentiments that were stolen by the Baratheon who unjustly rules Seven Kingdoms who are not his by right.

"Aye. Every now and then. But duty comes first above all", says he, resignated. Margaery, to her own surprise, finds herself saddned by these words.

"I agree", and before she holds her tongue, word roll out. "Some might even say that duty is the death of love."

Arthur is stunned at her words, and wishes he could counter-say that, but before he could say anything, comes Ser Jorah Mormont inquiring after them both.

*                                   *                            *

Margaery knows her mistress has been melancholic as of late, although good news--as both ignored--are on the way (which will be most propriatedly exposed in another story), she decides to cheer her up. In order to sweep away the thoughts that more than lately have been carrying herself to Arthur Dayne, she occupies herself with a small festivity.

"Marg, I don't think it's a good Idea" said Dany. "We rely too much on your family to cover the custs of this stay, but…"

"That's not the point", Margaery gently cut her off. "You have been too sad these days, reasonably so, but people cannot forget that a Targaryens remains alive."

Dany, despite the good heart of her dearest Margaery, is hesitant to agree.

"That is how we become a target, Marg."

"Did you not attract one in the market? We cannot hid forever, Dany. There is good cause to celebrate, is there not?"

Dany is six months pregnant of Rhaegar, but she barely had time to share the news joyfully due the circumnstances that forced her to go to Essos. Despite the lack of news on the part of Conningham about Rhaegar’s state, she knows life cannot hold for long. Looking right into her friend’s eyes, Dany finds in Margaery the hope that she had thought long abandoned her own. In them, she is reminded of life and hopes. So there is going to be a feast, after all. 

It does not escape Arthur’s own eyes the swift in Margaery’s mood and it makes him smile to himself. For it’s long been gone ever since the royal household held some festivity of the sort and it’s good to see the ladies warming their hopes, in spite of all. He, for once, finds himself very captivated by the lady’s spirits and every now and then he is encouraged by Margaery’s own gaze never to run off from her own.

The day of the feast finally arrives, though, and the once captain of the King’s Guard and close friend to Prince Rhaegar is found looking for the princess’s confidante and lady-in-waiting. But there is not too much for the waiting, however, and soon a sweet voice reaches his ear:

“Looking for someone, my lord?”

It’s a new sensation to feel it within, and Arthur is not quite sure how to react. He turns his head slowly, his heart pounding against his chest, only to find Margaery Tyrell and her auburn locks before him in a beautiful dark-blue silk gown. On her part, she cannot help herself admiring the tall, elegant and tanned-skin Dornish male, whose chivalric ideals reminds her of the stories she spent her childhood reading. Although advised by Dany of her involvement with a man as Arthur, who was linked with his vows through the fact he’s now the Captain of the Princess’s Guard, Margaery’s heart has long decided which road to follow. 

“Not entirely, my lady”, he lies, rather unsure how to behave before her forwardness. Even so, a smile gives in amidst the shade of pride that conceals his true feelings. “I was merely around.”

“Oh.” Margaery could not hold back the disappointment. Once used to be very admired by all men, she feels her heart pounding... and not in a very happy tune. But she is quick in hidding it, though not enough to go unnoticed by the Dornish male. “I see. Is the feast of your liking?”

Trying to amend things, although quite awkwardly, he says:

“I am not one of feasts, I’m afraid, but it’s very enjoyable to see a smile set on the princess’s face. Hope is returning and all of this scenario reassures it.”

“I could not agree more. She has to have her moods lift up, so the baby can come properly”, says Margaery, sensing there’s no particularly way to flirt, but nonetheless wishing to remain in his company. “If a boy comes, do you think he’ll take the grandfather’s name?”

Before he could hold back his tongue, so says Arthur:

“By the Seven, I hope not. I mean...”

Margaery chuckles and leans almost unconsciously against his arm, her soft hand patting his shoulder gently. Arthur, in turn, breathes the smell of roses that, should not surprise him, is so typical of a Tyrell as herself. It also gives another warm sentiment that a man like him is not used to feel. He shifts uncomfortably.

“I understand what you mean, there is no need to concern yourself, Arthur. We are friends, are we not? Loyalists, as some would call.” She says confidently, but only to mask the hurt she noticed when he took a slight away from her. 

“Aye.” He smiles, but very timidly. And the moment ends when the door opens only to announce the arrival... of the prince himself. Rhaegar Targaryen /is/ alive, after all.

*                                                                 *                                                         *

There is preparation to move out of Essos, maybe going to Braavos. The destination is uncertain, but Daenerys, as Margaery observes, regains confidence with the return of Prince Rhaegar, who now styles himself King Rhaegar. Daenerys is now Queen.

But in the midst of such gleeful moment, a tragedy occurs. Mercenaries sent on the orders of King Robert attempted to assassinate the princess... ignoring the fate of Rhaegar. In the midst of the chaos that comes from it, there is the prince and his men (or some of them anyway) prompted to defend themselves and the princess. However, as a result, a violent fire rises. 

Margaery is in the princess’s chambers, who is refusing to leave because of the eggs of the dragons, trying to convince her to leave when the next moments happen too fast. Arthur comes to her rescue and so comes Rhaegar after Daenerys. For some reason, though, Daenerys remains behind. Margaery does not remember quite well, for she had lost her conscience due by inhaling smoke. 

*                                                               *                                                     *

There is a new scenario that is rising hopes. Margaery, to her joy, is glad to be there to see in first hand. However, as promised to Dany, no word of the dragons that came out of the fire would reach even the allies that await in Westeros. Despite the miscarriage, the legend of the Targaryen ancestors seems to relive. Daenerys, even Rhaegar could tell, is no longer the young princess whom he married three years ago. She is now a woman, a queen, his equal, his partner. His lover. 

In the meantime, Margaery is saddened by the new distance between herself and Arthur. She wonders whether she should question him about it, but decides otherwise and shield her heart. Yet, by the time she is Braavos with the small court, when Dany and Rhaegar are sleeping, she escapes to the outdoors for a brief time only to play the lute. Thinking to be alone, she sings:

“No merriment in the world

Can warm the cold

Brought upon the damsel’s heart with a sword

By a knight who left with no word.

Could every smile conceal the pain,

Then shall my eyes tell no longer the same

Of the soul this knight took joy as he came

Yet to the mundane 

Is where he might remain.

For duty, it is known, 

When set the love upon

Causes immediate death

Of what may have been sown...”

“I wonder who might be the terrible knight who broke the damsel’s heart”, says Arthur, who, ever since the fire day, despite the distance he took from her for the sake of himself, remained attentive to her ways. But when the lullaby reached him, something... changed.

Unused to be caught off guard, Margaery’s cheeks bright in red as a result. She, however, does not look away and says:

“Oh well, must we speak of it?” She laughs, trying to dismiss the subject and recollecting the lute. “It is late and I should be off to my chambers, but...”

“...she is occupied with her wifely duties”, he smiles weakly. “I came here to talk to you about how unfair I have been to you. I should have not been so rude, but there is a reason for it.”

In other days, Margaery would have aquiesced and listened eagerly for the words to be spoken of his part, but she, by now, is not prompted to it. Not anymore. 

“You are forgiven for whatever you have done, my lord. I should go to bed”, she insists, now looking down as she tries to make her way.

But he does not let her. Not anymore. So Arthur very gently turns her at him and says:

“I love you.”

Margaery, far from expecting to hear what she heard, could not keep the mask at her face anymore. She places the instrument somewhere aside and stares at Arthur in complete astonishment.

“Arthur, what are you saying?”

“I... I’ve never loved a woman as much as I love you”, he professes such words with a passion that to him would one day sound absurd, but he cannot wait for more time to pass and colect any more regrets. “I’ve taken the vow seriously for all my life, and yet, your smile, your manners, your eyes... Make me down on my knees and pledge to make another vow to you.”

Margaery’s eyes begin to tear, her eyes barely blinking when encountering the purple eyes of Arthur. Her heart amends, she can tell, but even so...

“You cannot be serious. I would not wish you to break your oath.”

“I’ve been released from it. Even if I were not, for you I’d do it myself.” He speaks so intensely his chest seems burning inside. “Be mine, lady Margaery. For you I give ardently my love and devotion.”

He would not have to ask any longer. Margaery could not refuse him, her love for him is too high to pay the price for a foolish pride. She leans towards him, then, and presses her full lips against him. As if breathing relieved, Arthur places his arms around her and kisses her in turn passionately so. 

*                                                             *                                                             *

Posface: years later.

Margaery Dayne, lady of the Reach and of Starfall, was greatly rewarded for her services by Queen Daenerys and King Rhaegar after years of loyalty, which she continuously displayed throughout her life by the side of the man she loved. She and Arthur had ten children, of whom only one did not reach adulthood. These were their names: Arthur, Loras, Daella, Ashara, Rhaegal, Leo, Luthor, Maya, Jeyne and John. 

[arsyeong]

make me fall for you first | ijb. (1)

t w o  /  t h r e e  /  f o u r  /  f i v e  /  s i x  /  s e v e n

summary: you’ve caught the eye of the campus fuck boy and you could only think of one way to get out of it. word count: 1,031

a/n: ANOTHER. jaebeom fic. and it’s a SERIES. man. and on christmas eve too.

A chorus of screams erupt by the main entrance, interrupting your early morning calm and causing you to hurry getting things from your locker. The noise signaled the arrival of a group of seven men, and a certain one of those lads you were aiming to avoid. Alas, just as you’ve clicked the lock in place, a voice speaks up from behind you in a teasing tone, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“I told you not to call me that,” you grumble, frowning even though he can’t see your face.

“Why?” he chuckles, amused, “Are you ashamed of having caught my eye?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, and you tighten your grip on your books before turning to him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve attention from such a man like you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, babe.” He smirks and winks; you grimace at your failed insult. You should have known he’d see it that way. Lim Jaebeom’s mind works in favor of his ego and pride; you regret your words.

“So, how about it?” His cool voice cuts through your internal scolding and you look up to him again. “Have you thought about my offer?”

“I don’t need to think about it,” you seethe, “My answer is a firm ‘no.’”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Other girls are dying to be in your shoes and you’re turning me away?”

“If you’re aware that there are other girls who want you,” you go, eyes narrow as you spit his name out in disgust, “go to them.”

“But I want you, princess,” he says lowly, eyeing you with lust, “Don’t you want to have the best night of your life?”

“Not with you,” you spit before turning to the student body president standing a person away from him, “Are you really condoning this behavior, Jinyoung?”

“I’m not,” he says with a shrug and, directing his gaze to his friend, goes, “Detention.”

“Just like that?” you ask in disbelief and he nods at you, leaning off the locker. You scoff, “Shouldn’t the administration be suspending him for harassment?”

“They’re working on it,” he informs you, but then he turns to Jaebeom again, “If he doesn’t stop, I’m afraid they’d have to kick him out.”

“Let them,” the man says nonchalantly, “I’ll just find another school.”

“Find another country!” you fume before thundering past the circle of men formed around you and briskly walking to your first class.

“Hey there, honey.”

You put your utensils down and glare at him. “What do you want, Jaebeom?”

“You,” he says, smiling cheekily as he slides down to the spot beside you. You watch warily as he sadly stares at his food then looks to you. “I could be eating you right now instead of this cafeteria food.”

“Jaebeom.” Jinyoung appears, tray in hand, staring at his friend with a warning.

“And here comes the boomer,” groans the man, rolling his eyes before turning to you again, smirking, “Wanna get out of here?”

Your anger is at its peak. He’d been annoying you for weeks, outright asking to get in between your legs without any shame nor remorse at all. And it all started after he had seen you walk out of a fitting room; you weren’t even wearing figure-hugging clothes!

At this moment, you decide you’ve had enough. It’s too much and, while he’s desperate to have his way with you, you are desperate to make this entire thing stop.

And so, you say, “Yes. I do.”

His eyes sparkle at your words, and you’re revolted to your core. Fuckboys had always been your least favorite characters, and you’ve read a wide genre of books. Cocky, full of themselves, handsome but egotistic – what could you not hate about them?

When you’re outside of the cafeteria, you stop in your tracks, and your turn to him is so slow that you only hear his whine at the pause instead of seeing his face. “What’s the matter, baby?” he asks, taking a step toward you.

You take a step back. “What’s the matter?” you repeat, “You are asking me what’s the matter?”

“Uh, yes?”

“You are the matter!” you exclaim, your finger briefly pointing at him in your emotion, “You are the problem, Jaebeom.”

“Ouch,” he says, placing a hand over his heart as he feigns pain, but he’s smiling, “Words can hurt, sweetheart.”

“And you don’t think your flirting with me hurts?” you scream in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed, “You don’t think your constant humiliating of me hurts?” When he just raises an eyebrow, you can’t help but shout, “You selfish fuck!”

It echoes throughout the corridor and, though it’s empty, you suddenly begin to worry about it reaching anyone. “You’d be screaming something else when you let me take you, babe,” he says and you glare at him with all you’ve got, though part of your brain thinks, if your voice had reached a teacher, your life was over.

“Are you alright, love?” he cuts through once more, “Imagining tonight alrea–?”

“Make me fall in love with you first,” you interrupt, and his eyebrow lifts as a hint of surprise. You run a hand through your hair and straighten up, trying to forget your worries as you address him, “If you’re so desperate to have me in between your sheets, make me fall in love with you and then I won’t complain.”

His eyes glint mischievously and his lips curl up in a display of confidence. “Oh, mi amor, I bet you’ll fall in love harder than you’re asking for.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Lim,” you say, and then you hold out your hand, “Phone.”

“Spicy,” he comments, taking it out, “I never pegged you as the dominant type. Perhaps you want to try being a submi–?”

“You talk too much.” You take his opened phone harshly and quickly save your contact info on it. As soon as you hand it back (shove it back, actually), you walk away, only calling out, “Don’t change my name.”

“It’s my phone,” he talks back, “I can’t let you save yourself here as just ‘(Y/N)!’ And with proper capitalization too!”

“Don’t change it!”

n e x t

[farplane]

pall

mars 2020: i don’t have any fancy commentary about this except that i haven’t played 5.2 yet and this was written between the hours of 3 and 6 am on a monday so this is as good as it’ll get, i just felt some type of way! ffxiv:shadowbringers (5.2) spoilers (i guess?); sort of wol morgana/sairsel au but fits within my non-wol canon as well. 1,084 words.

“What is it?”

Raubahn sighed and pressed two fingers to his brow, letting the parchment fall limply back onto his desk. “A message from Maxima,” he said, his voice taking on a somber note that usually did not accompany talk of the defector.

He respected Maxima—Morgana could not go so far as to say she felt the same, but she hadn’t spent the last twenty years attending matters of state. It was enough for her to simply accept that his intentions in standing against the Empire were genuine. She didn’t doubt his honesty; only his character.

“Since when does he send letters? He could have just walked over.”

“He must be keenly aware of the sensitive nature of his information and the resulting proposition.” Raubahn gazed up at Morgana. She still sat perched on the edge of his desk with both feet on a chair, but she wasn’t reaching for the letter. “I believe he’s afraid of you.”

Morgana snorted. “Then I’m doing my job right. So, what is it exactly that he’s too craven to come suggest in person?”

“He means to arrange a meeting to discuss information brought forth by another defector from the Empire. The word is he’s recently returned from the imperial capital having witnessed events that will have repercussions throughout Eorzea—and, sooner rather than late, Ala Mhigo.”

“Are we to make friends with every grease-slick rat that slips out from Garlemald’s bowels?” Morgana asked with a huff, crossing her arms. She considered the lingering furrow in Raubahn’s brow, then frowned herself. “So let him come to the border—not Ala Mhigo itself. We meet him at Ghimlyt, make certain he’s stripped of weapons and watched when he so much as takes a piss, listen to what he has to say, and turn him back out once it’s done. Is Priscus entirely certain it’s good intel?”

“He doesn’t need to be,” Raubahn said.

He leaned back as he spoke, and Morgana’s curiosity got the better of her: she put her fingertips to the parchment to slide it towards her, tilting her head, and gave the letter little more than a cursory glance.

The chair under her feet fell over as she moved off the desk and to her feet, snapping into a wild-eyed fury.

“No,” she said thickly.

A more reasonable woman might have seen the titanic restraint it took Raubahn not to let his own anger be swept up into joining hers, but Morgana had never been one to contain herself with reason. Especially not in the face of the name Baelsar.

“We choose our friends, but it is not so simple to choose who is the enemy of our enemy,” he said, too sensible; breathing too evenly.

“That man will never be anything but our enemy!” Morgana snapped. “You cannot be considering this. Raubahn. Please.”

“If Gaius Baelsar—who has taken up the cause of hunting Ascians as few but the Scions have—comes to us offering information on ‘dire happenings’ at the very heart of the Empire, we would be fools not to listen.”

Morgana shook her head again. Her fingers itched for the weight of a blade, but where might she turn it? Perhaps Maxima had been wise to keep his proposition to writing.

“I would drown in my own blood rather than to allow Gaius van fucking Baelsar to step foot on Gyr Abanian soil again.”

“And how would that punish him?”

“Don’t.”

“I spoke to Lord Hien after he resurfaced as Shadowhunter in the Burn. I do not believe he exaggerated when he said he nearly dislocated Sairsel’s arms to hold him back from making an attempt on Baelsar’s life. How did that punish him?”

“It would have if the little princeling had bloody let him,” Morgana scowled.

“We do not have the luxury of pride, Morgana,” Raubahn said, his voice rough with bitterness. “Ul’dah has taught me that.”

“Ul’dah has taught you to sit and take it like a beaten dog,” Morgana said. She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them, but it was pride that kept apologies from her mind even as Raubahn’s jaw tightened. At the very least, she forced a slow breath through her nose and swallowed, so that her next words might come better measured. “How can you accept this?”

“I accept nothing. I am enraged,” he said slowly. 

She frowned at him; he continued.

“There is no unwriting the last twenty years. There is not a single act of Baelsar’s that will be forgotten when he stands before us. He will never be able to fool himself otherwise—just as we cannot fool ourselves that refusing a mere conversation could ever be enough to make it right.”

Pride would not take down the Wall; anger would not keep it from ever having been built.

Morgana averted her gaze, turning it up at the griffin standard behind Raubahn’s desk. For a time, it had been the emblem of the mad king; she remembered the banners burning in the streets when the rebellion rose. None who fought then forgot, but it was the very same standard that they hung outside the gate to Little Ala Mhigo once stark Garlean whites flew all across Gyr Abania.

She almost understood the reason that guided Raubahn—almost. 

“And justice?”

“There was a time when a man could walk away from his own hanging if the rope broke before he died—because the sentence merely said ‘hanged by the neck.’ It was considered that the sentence had been carried out, and that it was Nymeia’s mercy,” Raubahn said. He sounded as though he were speaking more to himself than to Morgana. “Baelsar has survived his first hanging, but I would not call it Nymeia’s mercy. We have learned to give the sentence ‘hanged by the neck until dead.’” 

That was little comfort to Morgana, but it was not the commander’s duty to comfort her. And for now, that was all Raubahn could be.

“I’ll request the attendance of the Scions,” Raubahn added after a moment, in the face of her silence. “I won’t have you stand in that room; I swear to you.”

Morgana barely even heard herself speak; she did not know what moved her towards the decision. “No. I want to look into his eyes.”

And when Gaius Baelsar came to Ala Mhigo once more, Morgana stood at Raubahn’s side—at his left, as she always did—and they both looked Baelsar in the eye, unbroken and unblinking.

[onwesterlywinds]

Noble Gold and Silk

Part of my Godhands series.

Features Madelaine Lachance, a character from @llymlaenscompass.

"It's good to see you," said Élodie. The girl had brought flowers - an array of Rhalgr's gold - and as Sigrid accepted them, she lifted them to her face to take in their scent: wild, fresh, shaped in the terrain and breezes of the Peaks.

"So kind of you," she said, and meant it. Yet for all the clutter in the house, she could think of no vase in which to place them; instead, she held them upon her lap and resolved to find a worthy carrier at the market. "And I appreciate your coming."

"You're truly leaving Ala Mhigo, then?"

Sigrid had found her resolve a week ago, and the truth of it had yet to fully sunk in. She had made few preparations for the house - her linens sat unwashed, the pantry remained full, and her parents' relics sat untouched in the loft - with the result that the place looked much as it had when her father had still been alive. Sigrid had wondered for a time if the ghosts of the past would abate if she were to live under another roof, and she had gone so far as to find lodgings in an inn to put the theory to the proof. Yet her dreams had only grown worse. Better to imagine her father's curses and bellows from the basement forge than the whisper of an Undercity lord stirring her from her dreams.

"I must, Élodie." The words pained her, but they carried with them the promise of liberation. She could not stave off what she knew she must do because it would hurt.

"Who else knows? Ashley, I assume, but-"

"You're the first I've told. I meant to send word to Marco later today."

Élodie tucked a strand of her dark hair, so very much like Sigrid's own, behind her ear with a shy smile. "...I'm honored," she said at long last. She carried herself differently in private, with a youthful sort of slouch. Sigrid had once been much the same: accustomed to stooping through Undercity passages, or else lowering herself for the shorter men in her vicinity. Hopefully Élodie, too, would grow out of such habits; Sigrid's heart clenched with the knowledge that she would not be around to see for herself.

A silence drew out between them, and Élodie did not sit. She stared around at the crates stuffed with tomes and the faded rug and everywhere except at her, and her pale eyes had begun to fill with tears.

"What is it?" Sigrid asked her gently.

"Was it not enough?" Élodie blurted out. "Was it all for nothing?! After so long, why do you have to-"

"Because, Élodie," she replied, as firmly as she could muster, "there is a world far beyond Ala Mhigo that I could not even have hoped to conceive of as a servant. My mother was a learned, well-traveled woman; I have always sought to follow her example in that regard. I've gathered excerpts from her diary - records of the places she loved best, and others she never saw." Places with names like Voor Sian Siran and the Sea of Spires. "I wish to see them as well, before I am too old and too afraid to take the chance."

"It doesn't have to do with-"

Sigrid shook her head, a gesture sufficient to cut off the remainder of Élodie's sentence. "If it has to do with anyone in the city, it's Theodoric. Though I suppose I should thank him. He was as good a reason as any to go into retirement."

Élodie offered up a smile, though the expression did not reach her reddening eyes.

"Come here." Sigrid took up the flowers from her lap as she stood, and opened her arms; Élodie threw her own around her, and her lanky frame shook from unshed sobs. "I'll have to write to someone of my adventures, won't I? Marco's whereabouts change by the bell and Ashley hardly ever responds, so it'll have to be you."

"I want to hear from you every week."

"You know I won't be able to promise that." She hesitated, still holding the young woman close. It was perhaps the warmest embrace she could recall in her recent memory, at least since her stint in the Undercity. "...I had hoped to leave the house to you."

Élodie did not break the contact, yet the whole of her body stiffened. "I know what you mean to do."

"Élo-"

"It isn't going to work. I'm embedded now - living in the Undercity full-time."

"Élodie, please."

"I'm making my living, for the first time in my life, and I love it."

Sigrid held the girl at arm's length, staring her straight in the eye for a time before she spoke again. "I, too, loved the Undercity when I was a girl. Even when I was your age. I hungered for it - for its thrills, its dangers, and the things it could show me about myself. But it steeps you in things that no woman as compassionate as you should ever have to endure." Élodie made a noise that might have been a cough, but Sigrid resolved to maintain her contact. "Whatever the Undercity offers, it comes at the cost of a life full of bitterness. It is too much for any one person to change alone, or even to try. I... I meant to step away from it all, even my mother's sigils, when I found Brynhilde. I say this knowing that I would never seek to order you onto any given path, but I hope that you will listen and heed me."

"I am listening," said Élodie. "I listen, and I will remember. But I will not accept this house."

Sigrid's heart sank.

"Leave it to Ashley," Élodie continued. "Or Marco. Or even the both of them. They'll appreciate it, and they'll put it to good use."

Leave it to Ashley. For all her love for Brynhilde, the idea of giving her late partner's son a house to replace the one her death had taken away had not occurred to her. The suggestion settled somewhere deep in her gut, along with all of her suspicions that she was now giving up the last of her father's hopes for her - and she nodded her agreement.

The captain shuffled across the Merlose's deck, uneasy despite their mooring. Madelaine Lachance could hear her steps all the way from the bow. The woman's stealth had been legendary only a few moons ago, to the extent that many wondered if she could teleport throughout the ship at will for the purpose of delivering rebukes; yet her fall had taken much and more, including her mobility, and her full recovery was yet an uncertain thing.

Madelaine breathed out a little sigh but turned to greet her superior nonetheless. "So much for staying in bed."

"I ran out of water and didn't want to trouble you." Sure enough, as the captain approached unsteadily toward Madelaine's vantage in her favorite silk dressing gown, she held a full glass between her bony brown hands. "Lovely morning."

And it was at that, for nothing on Hydaelyn could compare to a sunrise in the Diadem. The region had an atmosphere of its own, as unpredictable as any sea; the aether all above and around them offered different marvels with each waking and with every turn of the head. That morning, the day dawned in a burst of heavy pinks and violets, like the bloom of some all-encompassing flower.

It was only the two of them aboard the Merlose, at least for now. The crew had been small from the first, and comprised entirely of women - less through strict doctrine like the Sanguine Sirens, and more through a string of pleasant coincidences. The other crew members had all departed within the past fortnight, however, to make their preparations for other ventures - leaving only a hold full of plunder, the captain, and Madelaine in the unexpected position of being first mate without any inclination of how long she herself was to remain aboard.

"Where to from here?" Madelaine asked. "Ala Mhigo?"

The captain tilted her head, as if to listen to the wind, but she shook her head. "Not yet."

And for a time, that was all she said as they watched the aetherial sunrise and sipped at their respective drinks. Madelaine was content to stand in silence, a buffer to the northerly winds as the captain's silvered hair whipped across her shoulders.

"Thank you," said the captain at last. "For accommodating all of my dallying. And I hope you know you're under no obligation to follow me to Ala Mhigo."

Madelaine shrugged. "Someone has to help you bring the Merlose into port."

"Perhaps so," the captain replied dryly, as if unconvinced. "A note of sentimentality, then: of all the regrets I've carried throughout my life, perhaps the heaviest of them all is that I often did not express thanks to those I loved before the chance to do so was long past."

"That is sentimental."

"Blame it on this beautiful sunrise. Now, when was the last time you dropped a line to that ranger of yours?"

Madelaine whirled around to the captain in time to see a lock of hair obscure a very self-satisfied smirk playing across her Highlander features. "Don't you try and turn this back onto me."

"I'm quite serious."

Madelaine rolled her eyes. "I imagine now that Ala Mhigo's been freed, he'll be returning at the rearguard." Timing had never been among Sairsel Arroway's virtues. "What about you? Who's waiting for you back in the capital?"

"No one anymore." Somehow, it was the definitiveness with which the captain spoke that struck Madelaine, more so than the bitter reality she conveyed. "Which means that while I may consider paying a visit to your good friend the Grand Steward, I'm in no hurry to return."

If the stories were true, Ashelia Riot had led her force against the Garlean viceroy himself. Perhaps that tenacity would be enough for her to handle whatever business the captain had with her.

"I'll be here until you're ready," Madelaine promised, and found herself meaning it. "But we'll be going nowhere until you park your arse back into bed."

Again the captain scoffed, though she began her slow retreat back to her cabin. "Oh, very well. Boss me around all you'd like, while it's just the two of us; I imagine you've earned it."

Madelaine fired up the Merlose's propellers and charted their course through the resplendent color before them, and only much later did it occur to her that the captain had expressed her love in no uncertain terms.

[thinkofduty]

; split

After Schism, they avoid temples.

An easy thing to do, and one they do not need to discuss. The idea of seeing yet more spirits is not high on Orella's list of wants, and she suspects Helisent feels the same. The cloister had been claustrophobic and dusty, and being under the sky once again is a great improvement, though by how much, neither can say. Theodoric's old cruelties yet mar the land, still there, though buried under Garlean tokens, just as terrible to behold. Gyr Abania makes no attempt to hide her scars, content to let frequent storms scour them clean and fresh over and over.

Orella points out each and every landmark they pass, knowing the weight of each one, and knowing too that Helisent could never notice without guidance. Each bare patch of earth she espies tell ten-part stories to her: dirt where crops ought to be growing, once a farm, long since salted; piles of stone, monuments turned ruins turned rubble.

Almost out of nowhere, Specula Imperatoris' towers loom suddenly in the distance, still conquering the horizon as they have for a full score. The travellers have been taking shelter from a two-day storm, finally able to make tracks, and Helisent stops in hers when she sees the monstrosity.

"What is that?"

Orella follows her gaze, notes the towers without any real regard, and tells her.

"It's the... ugliest thing I've ever seen," Hel adds, still staring. "How long has it-"

"Long enough," Orella interrupts. "Long enough for me to be grateful for it, now. I've not once lost my way since it was raised."

Her charge falls silent, and it's the bird that urges them onward, testy for the lack of shrub to graze. Orella lays a hand on Kurva's rump, and the chocobo warks at her, annoyed, refusing to stop. "Come on," she says to Hel, "Before your bird decides it is too good for our company. Don't," she adds as Helisent takes the first step, and it's sharp enough to draw her attention. Orella knows what will come next if she does not speak: apologies and silence, and she does not have the energy to entertain either of those things. She prefers the questions, endless though they are. "Don't think for a moment that I think of them as anything but..." and she struggles, knows there aren't words enough to describe her feelings. "Terribilis kahrolasi," she settles for, a mixed curse, almost spat with how furious she is, suddenly.

Her eyes are drawn back to the triple towers, then, and she knows Helisent will be watching her. Orella's outbursts are few and far between. "... But I cannot deny that I grew accustomed to them," she says reluctantly, and feels an urge to kick stray rocks out of the path. "None of this is welcome," she adds, and takes her hand off the chocobo.

"I think I understand," Helisent murmurs, and takes several wider strides to match the great bird's pace. "It just seems..."

"I know."

And Orella must heave a great sigh, knows no other way to expel her fury. It doesn't quite work. Hel, tugging on Kurva's reigns, does not look back at her, and Orella wonders if the girl thinks she needs privacy during these moments.

The chocobo, annoyed with the request to stop, warks several times, and Helisent tuts at it loudly. "Let me get something to eat," she grumbles. "We'll walk again in a moment, just let me open the damn saddlebag."

While they idle, Orella stares up at the towers, wondering just what to make of them. It has been such a long time since it was of any regard to her: it feels as though the emperor's watchtower has always been there, always watching, though she knows it is not so. She can remember a childhood in the Peaks where such a skyline did not threaten the land below.

"What was it?"

Helisent's voice, muffled around whatever she's pulled form the pack, pulls her from her reverie. Orella, startled, looks at her, and shakes her head when the farl is offered her. "Hm?"

"The towers. The mountain. What was it? Before, I mean?"

And the old knight finds she must wrack her brains for the old name. Before construction had begun, the Garleans had called it simply Mons Altum. Some of her brothers had called it the flat, once upon a time, for the land had been unremarkable except for the ascent, and the village at its peak.

Ingvald had called it home.

"I don't remember," she says. Somehow, it doesn't feel like her truth to give. "Beneath regard. A mountain. Nowhere I ever visited."

"Not even as a girl?" asks Hel, who latched onto every scant mention of Orella's wayward childhood with almost savage glee. Those memories are easier to give, though she is not used to talking about herself at length, and cuts her stories short more often than not.

"Not even as a girl, no," Orella says. The chocobo warks again, and they keep walking. "Though my village was only a week's travel, if you were so inclined. You'd have had to share a cart with stones bound for the capital, and bumpy rushes past the wildlife, though."

"Was?"

It takes Orella a moment to realise what she's asking about now. "Oh," she starts, and brushes her hair back. The day is hot and humid after the storm, and her brow is sticky. "Ala Mera. A small village, south of here. The rock is different there. Great red cliffsides, looked like burning in the sunset." She pauses, remembering. "It was destroyed by a landslide."

"Oh," Helisent says, clearly having expected more. Orella shrugs.

"Not everything is some great tale," she says. "Not even here. It was three years before Theodoric's reign bested him. I was honour guard already, by that point. Twenty and a summer, I think. I was granted leave to help with the relief, to help rebuild. I'd been living in the capital for years, already. Ala Mera wasn't my home any longer."

"Was it? Rebuilt?"

"Gods, no," Orella says, and actually laughs. "The entire cliffside fell away. Rock was softer than everywhere else. Not a good place to build a home, as it turns out. Weakened by rain, I heard. Most people got out. We were used to the earth shifting. We knew when it was bad. ... Stupid place for a village, really."

"Oh," Hel says again, but she sounds relieved, this time. Orella can't help but privately mourn the loss of the girl's heritage. Any Mhigan that knew the land would have known they'd have gotten out, or all perised. Adapt or die; the Ala Mhigan way. "Then your family...?"

"Moved to Ala Ghiri."

There's a silence. Helisent clearly wants her continue, and this time she will not oblige. The refusal hangs in the air between them, thick and cloying like the air itself. Orella wipes at her brow again and thinks of the Velodyna, several days travel behind them, of the Slow Wash, yet longer ahead. She desperately wants to bathe.

It stretches out and out and out until Helisent can do nothing but relent. She has much less practise than Orella at being obstinate. "I still think it's an eyesore," she grumbles, and tension Orella doesn't even know she had bleeds from her. So defensive, and over what? An honest question?

She ignores her charge in favour of her memories again, wondering if perhaps a visit to the old rocks is worth doing. Just to see. Maybe an offering-

"Do you miss it?" Helisent asks suddenly. "Your village."

And Orella cannot offer her an answer right away. She thinks about it deeply, takes a deep breath and lets it out through her nose.

"I don't know," she says after some time. "I barely remember it, truth be told."

But that's a lie. She remembers it like she remembers the weight of the griffin on her back, of mercy at her side. Like she remembers the touch of her father, warm on her shoulder, proud at her back. Like the taste of pride bubbling within her, how it flavoured her oaths in the solemnity of the Sali.

If Helisent sees through her, she keeps the knowledge to herself, and the rest of the way they walk in silence.

The campfire blazes happily through the night, cracklling as though chatting away with an old friend. On watch, Orella sits far enough away that it cannot spit embers at her; turned away from the flames on its other side is Helisent, slumbering peacfully, chocobo almost close enough to be touching.

"You aren't coming home, then."

Orella isn't startled. She thinks she's starting to understand.

"No."

She doesn't need to turn to know who stands behind her. It feels almost as though they're inseparable from her, in some way. She can feel the weight of their amour, the weight of their regrets. Heavy is the head that wears the helm.

"You could learn a thing or two there."

Orella snorts. It disturbs Hel, who murmurs in her sleep and rolls over to face the fire. Both wait for her to settle, breaths evening once more. "I don't think so."

"You could."

"Ghosts can't teach me shit," Orella says, quiet, sharp. She places her hand on the hilt of her blade now, for comfort as much as a warning. "I'm not walking so far just to look at rocks."

"They could," Ser protests. "You've much left to learn, Steelhand. And you're not learning by playing at being a mentor."

"Oh, bugger off," she grumbles. "What're you getting from this? She's an innocent. Leave off her, or I'll teach you a thing or three."

"And just what makes you think an innocent can help you?"

When Orella turns, she's alone but for the crackling of the campfire. And there is no one, she makes sure of it. The blade remains drawn, her hands sure around the hilt. Somewhere along the way, she got used to its weight, and now it feels a welcome extension of her own arm.

It does not matter now. She searches, pacing, looking, jumping at every tiny sound the night provides, no matter how innocuous. Ser does not exist here, except he does, he must, for-

Something about her manner rouses the bird. It lifts its head, warks sleepily at her, and waits for her to stop pacing before tucking its head underwing once more. She watches the movement, feels her heart racing, knows her breath comes hard.

What do you want, Steelhand?

She doesn't have an answer worth giving. She doesn't have anything worth giving except herself, and she cannot help but wonder just how much there is left to give.

They'll double back on the morrow. She'll insist. Back to the Reach. Back to Ingvald, back to safety, back, back.

Besides, she has an appointment to keep.

[defunctblogtobedeleted]

05/27/2021, 05:58 am - new ends, new beginnings

I’m approaching the precipice of departure.

In 4 short weeks my time in North Carolina will finally be coming to an end. I suppose it’s only appropriate that this blog is coming to an end as well.

I always meant to catch up with what quarantine was doing. but getting back together with jill and watching a million shows and playing games weren’t exactly noteworthy writings. Even still it almost seemed like it’d be a cool time piece, since it was a pretty historic event, the year we spent indoors.

Instead I found the inspiration to take weilin up on learning how to code. I quit my job in february, and I’m spending the next year bouncing around friends and families houses hoping to practice hard enough that I can get a good job next year. switch careers. get out of healthcare and into a new field where I can actually take advantage of the potential I have. 

It’s kind of sad to be wrapping this blog up. I never really expected to end it. But to be honest I’m kind of afraid of its continued existence. Not for the personal shame or anything, but for the first time I’m seeking out work in a field where they might try to pore over this content and deem me unfit. 

Pretty weak and fearful a reason. Maybe I am a little embarrassed. Partially of my obsession with andi at the end, moreso my potential objectification and degradation of the physical form. We all need to grow up from our mistakes, but I’d rather my growth continue to be personal and not corporate, I suppose. I just am so afraid of it being tied to my online personas and divulging more personal content than I’m comfortable with. Even more afraid than my fetlife for some reason. It’s weird, my fet is so much more explicit, and yet I feel like it’s so much less compromising lmao. Maybe that’s foolhardy logic though.

I’m really sad. Goodbyes are always the hardest. And the worst part is every time I get sappy and start to cry a little I think of that time at Brown summer camp when I cried in my dorm with the door open and two more popular kids saw me and laughed. I could have been crying about anything, though. Maybe they’re just assholes. But I get embarrassed nonetheless. 

The relationships I’ve built up here in NC I’ll cherish for the rest of my life. I really hope I manage to keep them going long distance. Unfortunately I know many of my smash friends are fallen to the wayside already... bar friends from greensboro forgotten... raleigh friends soon to be departed... but there are the few from each avenue of life that will stay in touch, I’m sure.

It’s sad that many of my thoughts these days are plagued by how frustrated I get with my roommates’ behavior, and moreso how they’re similar to my own and how I regret how I once acted. I wish I had spent more time with Aaron and Ash instead of trying to start those weird streaming ambitions. I wish I had been quieter when playing league and hadn’t kept my downstairs neighbors and jstu up all night when I lived in brewer. I wish I had been a better person when speaking of the opposite sex when I was drunk in gboro. I wish I had been more tolerant and understanding of andi’s mental health issues, and less of a bitch about money all the time. I wish I hadn’t been so shitty to Kailey when things were over and I was resentful and angry, and I wish I had been more vocal and deliberate about the boundaries that I had set, and more understanding when they were crossed because they were so arbitrarily and lackadaisically set. I wish I had done my goddamn dishes the same night I made them dirty at literally ANY other point in my life prior to now. God, I’m such an excuse making lazy fuck lmao. But here we are. And I own all my mistakes and there’s no way to make amends than to continue to become a better person every day. 

It’s too hard to end things. I meant to split things off with Jill at the end of March. and April. and now may. But as excited as I am to move on to independent living and focusing on myself and my work, I really haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her I can’t see her anymore. Why can’t I just be stronger and work harder on myself AND spend time watching shows with her? well poor self control, for sure. Why can’t we continue to see each other long distance or something? mmph. I don’t know. Jill’s character has developed a lot and she really has authentically taken an interest in many of the things I love, and it’s brought us closer together. We put 420 hours into the witcher 3 and it was one of the best gaming experiences I’ve ever had in my life. But I still don’t see us compatible long term, and our sex life has faltered from month to month. I guess I am excited for something new. Will I always? I still wonder if I’m destined to be alone, like my father or (maternal) grandfather. Get it from both sides, I suppose.

To be honest I still daydream that one of my last days here I can hang out with MJ and have a one night stand. I don’t even know why anymore. We’ve sort of stayed in touch through quarantine. The only bar friend who really has, I suppose. But with quarantine that’s as much my fault as anyones. for the first time in my life I’m not seeking people out and checking in, pursuing friendship or time together. But I don’t know MJ still kind of fascinates me. I always wonder what would’ve happened if I had tried to make out with her the first time we met... but alas.

I kind of see this year of being 29 as a redemption arc for myself, academically. See if I can really be successful and actually try, put aside all the social ambitions and dedicate myself to something better. Staying with my friends and family makes it easier, I think. I’ll get to catch up and live with some of the people I’ve cared most about in my life. Sad that I never really felt comfortable asking if I could stay with manu maya and christina though... with their new baby on the way I’m just worried it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to crash on one of their couches. I don’t want to be a burden on them or anything, and I know as good as a houseguest as I intend on being at everywhere I stay I’m just... not... that good. I’m so much better than I was a decade ago, even half a decade ago. I’m finally an adult lmao. But it seems like only in the rearview mirror am I able to see how frustrating a person I am to deal with on a long term scale.

Maybe I’m not as bad as I think... Jill seems to enjoy my company now... But now that I’m unemployed I feel myself starting to fall into annoying greedy money behavior. She offered to pay for me to get sushi a couple weeks ago and really nearly started bawling. I cant afford to reciprocate anymore and it had felt so freeing to actually have a shred of money to throw around with my old job. and it’s so touching that she understands how I feel and really just wants to help me how she can. I’ve finally gotten over feeling like I can’t take anything from her and over my savior complex of trying to help her, but it still feels pretty sad to be the one that needs help again. 

But I guess I did pay for our vacation to lake week, which was a blast as usual. It’s not as one sided as I imagine, it just always feels worse than it is.

Soon things will be better, though. I have confidence in myself that I’ll be successful, and this will be one of the best undertakings I’ve ever done. I’ll find a new path for myself, and reach a new height in this silly capitalist conventional life, and all the happy little tidings that come with it.

Also random thought, but my DUI finally worked out, but I’m not gonna publish that story anyway due to laziness. Just cost another $1000 having to go through trial. Fuck the legal system, fuck capitalism, fuck the government. I’m ready for the singularity to occur and for machines to take over the earth and I’ll just be a little housepet for them, communicating in my scraps of javascript lmfao.

There’s so much more potential than I ever had. Even with my RPSGT and knowing I could go to work anywhere, there was too much inertia here to actually want to move away. Now, I can really go wherever opportunity takes me. And once I find a career somewhere maybe I’ll find new romance and friendship and excitement. But with google moving down here I wonder if I’m just destined to come back, eventually. Who knows.

But for the first time in a long time I’m ready to break free and put my all into becoming something new. 

Wish me luck 💕💕 I’m gonna need it.

[misskazehana]

Here’s the last update for now, I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading as always.

Lady Catherine urgently reminds Sir Phate it only takes one touch of the plague to infect one person. She brings up that the gates are usually locked after they’ve been open for travelers. Meaning, there’s a strong possibility that a plague victim could be trapped inside the capital and palace area- a breeding ground for disaster. The worried general chimes in about a similar tragedy in a now destroyed town Brunstine. 

Despite understanding her reasoning, he’s forced to obey orders to avoid being suspicious. The weary brunette  wonders why would such a order be made in the first place. Her new found ally fills her in about the twins, who she hasn’t seen in ages. He briefly recounts their prolonged stay in the ruined city of Windshed. Supposedly they were meant to quell Alos’ bloodlust. Alas, they hadn’t returned and Sir Olric was sent to scope things out. His hollow eyes look down somberly as he quietly reminisces on days lost to the ages. The man he used to call friend wasn’t a good one. Yet, he cared about him all the same. He originally thought he might’ve...passed due to receiving no word on the situation. He couldn’t check it out himself since he had paperwork duty forced onto him. He seems a little more hopeful with the thought that Karnefur and Ursalis’ return. That Olric would be with them as well. Moving on from the somewhat depressing topic, Sir Phate brings up the subject of rumors. Rumors of those two being on their way and wonders if they’re going to make it.

In the middle of a dense forest, two shadows are fleeing into a maze of foliage. Only with the light of their horns, Lord Karnefur and Lady Ursalis make their way quickly with an unconscious Astrid in their arms. Karnefur urges his bratty twin to pick up the pace in fear of being caught. She curtly brings up what went down in Windshed. He retorts with the lack of time for arguing as they move forward. She bluntly points out the blatant stupidity of him kidnapping a sleeping lad and fleeing the scene like some thief in the night. Karnefur pointedly claims he wasn’t going to leave someone he believes to be his own family behind in Muna. Ursalis brings up the fine point that they barely know Astrid at all aside their initial interactions in Windshed. Her stubborn brother shakes all criticism off as he continues to run. He earnestly views himself and her having deeper ties to Astrid than the people who practically raised him. His viewpoint is rendered invalid in his nasty sibling’s mind. She compares him to the delusional Lord Astirov while expressing disbelief over this stupidity. Karnefur rapidly snaps back with a demand for her not to make false equivalences. Their quibbling is cut short when they hear the sounds of a rowdy search party on their heels.

Meanwhile, Lady Yancy is having a nasty fit over the apparent incompetence of her follow staff members. The fearful fools try to explain how their targets had manage escape due to faulty trackers and dense woodlands. Yancy isn’t having it today as she rides their asses. It gets so bad that the conversation ends with her breaking her mask against the wall as if it was a well aimed beer bottle. Her threat of medical dismemberment is more than enough to get those workers back to their search. Still steaming, the demon assistant hisses bitterly over this. She stops when Lord Phos beckons to her from his canopy bed. He seems quite weakened as wires are plugged into him. Yancy regretfully informs him of the current status surrounding Astrid’s whereabouts. The bedridden lord tries to assure her that him and the twins probably haven’t made it too far yet as Muna is quite far from any major towns. He watches his dear partner lament that the kidnapping and escape is still a thing. She grimaces bitterly over what those two idiots had done. It’s implied they had something to with Lord Phos’ current state and she vows to punish them for it. Her plotting in interrupted when he brings up the fact they still need to work on the cure.

Her beloved lordship remarks solemnly that he’s in no condition to continue researching. He feels utterly useless for allowing Astrid to be taken so easily in the aftermath of Sir Olric’s death. Knowing fully well that the young lad’s a ticking time bomb without intervention, he fears the worse if they can’t get him home soon. He stresses it could be worse if the stabilizers give out and the excess magical radiation mutates the plague in Astrid’s body. Lady Yancy is forced to watch the somewhat broken man self deprecate. He regrets allowing things to get as critical as they have. 

Out of the blue, he beseeches a favor from her. Lord Phos acknowledges his body is  and has been falling apart for a long time. A rather sad truth that is followed up by a seemingly selfish request. He’s fully aware that Lady Yancy wouldn’t leave his side unless he asks. Which, is exactly what is happening here. She tries in vain to argue with him, claiming him to be priority over anything else in her eyes. That if she leaves him, she wouldn’t be able to protect him like before- when the twins had attacked him to escape. Phos bares himself to her as he realizes his time may be up soon and knows she’s fully capable of taking over things if the day arrives. With that, he begs her to save Astrid as he drifts off to sleep. Lady Yancy silently dwells on the important request given to her...

Plague belongs to me, misskazehana

[margridarnauds]

For the fandom ask meme you reblogged today: your top three favorite musicals

Thanks! This is super hard for me since I generally shuffle between favorite musicals all the time, but in no specific order: 

1. Friedrich 

my beautiful cinnamon roll too good for this world fave: Young!Fritz and Wilhelmine. 

my trash-shit fave: Augustus and Voltaire. Like, yeah, they’re probably not the best influences on Fritz, but they’re FUN. And Voltaire is the last thing before The Pain. 

my I love to hate them fave:GRUMBKOW. The moment when Fritz says it’s a good thing he died before he took the throne is one of my favorite moments because...I’m with you, Fritz. I’m with you. 

my I hate to love them fave: One of my favorite things about this musical is that it was released to celebrate Fritz’s 300th birthday and yet it spends half the time calling him out. Old!Fritz has done some pretty despicable things for fame and glory but...it’s really hard to hate him and he’s such a grumpy old man (his most iconic moment probably being in his introduction where he swears to stay alive out of spite) that I still like him. Also,if you go with my very specific headcanon of Ghost!Katte not being Real!Katte, then he’d count, since even as he does everything he can to edge Fritz closer to death, he’s not...wrong? And he calls him out so beautifully. 

my I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire non-fave: Friedrich Wilhelm. Like, need I say more? 

my I didn’t care about them either way at first but the fandom makes such a big deal about them now I can’t stand them non-fave: What fandom? Me, you, and a few people who came for the Fritz/Katte content? Or who I suckered into watching it? 

my I could take them or leave them kinda non-fave: I can’t really think of anyone I’m that neutral on, tbh. The closest I can get is Orzelska, but in her case it’s more a mixture of being frustrated and annoyed by the plotline we got with her (FRITZ IS STRAIGHT. VERY STRAIGHT. LOOK. GIRL.) while acknowledging that she had potential rather than true apathy.  

my I will go down with this ship and I won’t put my hands up and surrender, there will be no white flag above my door. I’m in love and always will be fave ship: Fritz/Katte

my dirtybadwrong fave ship: Augustus/Friedrich Wilhelm. It’s god awful and I’d be perfectly happy in a world where Friedrich Wilhelm dies loveless and alone, but...

my they’re cute together and I dig them but I’m not all that terribly invested kinda fave ship: Orzelska/Wilhelmine, though I’m not really sure “cute” is the dynamic I’d give them. I’m really intrigued by this dynamic (Fritz isn’t the only one in the family who likes music, after all!) But it’s also harder to map than Fritz/Katte since there’s less material for the two of them (The recurring problem with femslash in most fandoms, alas.) Like, I have a few ideas for what their dynamic would be like, but it’s hard. (Also, there will always be that one little historian voice in my head saying “It never happened!” which I usually quickly silence by reminding it that if the writers of the show decided Wilhelmine/Katte would work as a ship, I can make this one work.)

my I didn’t care about this ship either way at first but the fandom makes such a big deal about it now I can’t stand it non-fave ship: As per anything else, there isn’t really a fandom for Friedrich and what little there is seems to be sympatico with me as far as shipping? 

my MAKE IT STOP non-fave ship: Orzelska/Fritz; Katte/Wilhelmine; Fritz/Death Coat

I had my debates about putting 1789 here because I spend most of my time talking shit about it, but let’s be honest here: I’ve spent a considerable period of my senior year with this musical; I have 50k words devoted to it in my Scrivener file, and it accidentally tugged me right back into the French Revolution. I talk shit about it, but I also love it for what I can do with it. 

my beautiful cinnamon roll too good for this world fave: Olympe deserves the world. It’s such a good thing that in every. Single. Version. of the musical she survives. Every. One. 

my trash-shit fave: Lazare de Peyrol has just. So much wrong with him as a character but he is also my son who has very skewed priorities and needs several good kicks in the pants to get him back on track and half my time is spent trying to get him on that track and the other half is me seeing how badly I can derail him. (Note: In the sequel to Ah, Ca Ira, he’s going to derail HARD.) Like, I have a playlist that’s just called “Peyrol NO” for him.  

my I love to hate them fave: Charles d’Artois basically lives and breathes “love to hate.” I personally blame Miya Rurika’s performance because DAMN does that woman know how to play sleazy.There’s a reason why in the Modern!Disneyworld AU I have him getting stranded on It’s A Small World. 

my I hate to love them fave: I told myself I wasn’t going to unreasonably project onto another human disaster after Bres took over my life, but no. I had to imprint on Lazare. Which would make more sense if he was given A SINGLE REDEEMING TRAIT IN CANON. Also, even though I have many ambiguous feelings about Danton, French!Danton (and, heck, Takarazuka Danton too) is just too much fun for me to entirely hate. I wouldn’t trust him to walk me home, but he’s fun to watch. 

my I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire non-fave: French!Ramard. One of the best things I think the Takarazuka cast did was shift the role of antagonist squarely onto Artois and relegated Ramard to comic relief, because him doing both was...unfortunate. He had all of Charles’ sleaziness, but none of the slickness, and it was all caked in terrible jokes (because harassing Olympe is hilarious, oui?) and double entendres and freaky furry conventions. 

my I didn’t care about them either way at first but the fandom makes such a big deal about them now I can’t stand them non-fave: Not the fandom, since it’s the same essential problem as with Friedrich BUT the more the Takarazuka version tried to capitalize off Rose of Versailles by shoving Fersen in our faces, the more I hated the little heroic shit. Also, I can only like Ronan under very specific circumstances at this point. Namely, (1) He’s not in a relationship with Olympe, (2) They use the Takarazuka characterization because French!Ronan is unsettling, (3) Lazare doesn’t spend any more than 1/3 of his screentime doing moustache twirling villainy, especially related to Olympe, (4) His relationship with Solene is addressed, bonus if groveling is involved, and (5) You can’t easily substitute any of the One Direction cast for him with no major changes. 

my I could take them or leave them kinda non-fave: Takarazuka!Ramard is cute, but other than that I don’t really have an opinion on him. It’s pretty telling that the only universe I currently have anything planned out for him and the Secret Police is the Zombie Apocalypse AU. 

my I will go down with this ship and I won’t put my hands up and surrender, there will be no white flag above my door. I’m in love and always will be fave ship: Peyrol/Ronan; Olympe/Solene (I’m rapidly working my way towards understanding this dynamic courtesy of the one prompt you sent me and I’m really liking it.)

my dirtybadwrong fave ship: Charles/Fersen. I have no regrets. The Abomination has also given me lovely tidbits like The Marquis de Sade/Papa du Puget and like. I could go for it, but also no.

my they’re cute together and I dig them but I’m not all that terribly invested kinda fave ship: Camille/Ronan is cute and I can see it, but it’s not my thing. Likewise, Antoinette/Olympe. It’s sweet, there’s a sort of tragedy to it, but it’s one of those things that I ship more as a part of Olympe’s past rather than necessarily wanting a version where it worked out? Like, that was a part of Olympe, I think it helped her, but it’s not something I really *ship*. 

my I didn’t care about this ship either way at first but the fandom makes such a big deal about it now I can’t stand it non-fave ship: I’ve read way too much bad Ronan/Olympe fic for me to ever like it, especially given the problems with that ship in general. And it’s not just the fanbase. It’s (allegedly) canon. Which is always hard for me to remember because I’ve created a very snug little canon for myself so I’ll routinely see them shipped together and be like “Ronan with his sister in law? Weird’ before. Remembering. 

my MAKE IT STOP non-fave ship: Solene/Danton creeps me out, Charles/Olympe is a given; I once saw Danton/Lazare and NO

And, finally, Elisabeth. 

my beautiful cinnamon roll too good for this world fave: This is a musical with very few cinammon roles, but Young!Sisi and Rudolf. Before. 

my trash-shit fave: LUCHENI. 

my I love to hate them fave: Again, probably Lucheni. 

my I hate to love them fave: Der Tod speaks to my inherent weakness for morally ambiguous, vaguely otherworldly goth blonds. 

my I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire non-fave: Sophie. 

my I didn’t care about them either way at first but the fandom makes such a big deal about them now I can’t stand them non-fave: No one that I can really think of? 

my I could take them or leave them kinda non-fave: Franz Joseph. Depending on the actor, I can either like him or find him annoying. He’s mostly just...there. Pining. Then cheating. Then pining. I’m going to be really interested with the new Takarazuka Moon troupe production with Miya Rurika as Franz, since she’s sold everything I’ve seen her in so far and will probably manage to smash my heart into a thousand pieces. 

my I will go down with this ship and I won’t put my hands up and surrender, there will be no white flag above my door. I’m in love and always will be fave ship: There’s nothing I really ship in this THAT strongly. Elisabeth/Death is a ship of mine, but it’s not one that I feel absolutely DIE HARD for. Like, with, say, Peyrol/Ronan or Olympe/Solene, I’m more or less monogamous with shipping them (Though with 1789, I can ship almost anything that isn’t the canon ships). I can toy with other concepts, but I can almost guarantee that I won’t write anything because I like the chemistry they’ve already got established. With Elisabeth/Death, though? Not as much. It’s very gothic, very romantic, and I get pissed off at every production that leaves her lying on the ground, but it’s also not my be all, end all for the two of them. 

my dirtybadwrong fave ship: Death/Rudolf. Goddamit, I shouldn’t like it given that he’s been stalking Rudolf’s mom for years and he’s pretty obviously manipulating Rudolf to cause Elisabeth pain (though, as with anything, it can vary based on the production), but, at the same time...Die Schatten Werden Langer. 

my they’re cute together and I dig them but I’m not all that terribly invested kinda fave ship: Franz/Elisabeth can be ADORABLE depending on the production (looking at the Korean in particular), but it’s also just...there. They could have been happy, they weren’t, and history knows the rest. 

my I didn’t care about this ship either way at first but the fandom makes such a big deal about it now I can’t stand it non-fave ship: I ship pretty much all of the major ships, so I can’t really add anything here. 

my MAKE IT STOP non-fave ship: I don’t think I really have any NOTPs in Elisabeth, to be honest? None that I’ve come across yet, at least.  

[wesleyv21-blog]

Galapagos: Been there, done that(;

Hello once again!

Quito has never felt quite like home until now. After about 6 hours total of travel (including the hour I lost due to the time difference) from the Galápagos back to the Andes, I’m very glad to be back home-loosely speaking. There’s so much to tell yet so much that words can’t express, but I’ll give it my best shot to review everything that was our excursion to Guayaquil and the famous Galápagos Islands.

Last Wednesday we flew from Quito to Guayaquil, Ecuador’s largest city. Nicknamed the Pearl of the Pacific for its beauty and the pride of its inhabitants, Guayaquil is the financial hub of Ecuador and really always has been. It’s named after the legendary figures of Guayas and Quil, an indigenous couple who according to legend led the resistance against the Spanish in what is now the area around the city. It was damn beautiful—and hot as hell compared to Quito! Upper 80s with 100% humidity and no clouds! Our first stop was the centrally-located Parque Histórico, where we took a tour of the zoological/botanical gardens that featured animals and plants from all over Ecuador. Crocodiles, otters, parrots, mangroves, monkeys—it was pretty cool! After that, we ate lunch on the famous Malecón (Boardwalk) that sits right on the River Guayas. Then, we toured an art museum that housed an impressive collection of pre-Columbian art from all around Ecuador. Ecuador is home to the first culture in South America to make pottery (the Valdivia culture). The Ecuadorian coast can also boast to be the home of the Manta-Wantawillka culture, the best and only ocean navigators in the southeastern Pacific. In addition, the infamous Spondylus shells are found in the depths off the Ecuadorian coast. These shells were traded as far north as Baja California and as far south as Chile and formed an important part of the economies of various ancestral societies. Alas, our time in Guayaquil was limited to a day, but what a day we spent! It’s a beautiful city that doesn’t have a tradition of tourism interestingly enough, yet I couldn’t recommend it more.

Thursday was the big day, the one we were all looking forward to: the arrival in las Islas Encantadas, the Galápagos Islands. The word “Galápagos” comes from old Spanish and means a saddle; it originally referred to the various species of tortoises that inhabit the islands and then came to refer to the islands themselves. We spent Thursday and Friday in San Cristobal, the capital and home of the oldest human settlements on the islands. Unlike mainland Ecuador, there is no history of ancestral communities living on the islands. Even though the Manta-Wantawillka were the first to discover the islands, they didn’t settle them because they’re very inhospitable. Only 2 islands have natural sources of fresh water. Only 4 are inhabited. I never knew the meaning of “desert island” until I came here. Yet they’re a curious mix of tropical, desert, and high altitude. On the same island (such as San Cristobal or Santa Cruz), you can encounter 5 different micro-climates, each with their own vegetation, animal life, and weather. And then there are the islands that look like they’re otherworldly, such as Bartolomé or Baltra. Bartolomé is red and rocky with an occasional cactus sprouting out of the lava flows and this scraggly grey lichen sprawled out over the entire surface of the island. Baltra has completely red soil, like deep red soil, and the same grey lichen except in much vaster quantities. There are also ruined buildings all over the island—probably dating from the WWII U.S. military base—which give the island an Old West-type feel.

But anyway, Thursday we spent on San Cristobal. We checked into our hotel and chilled the rest of the day, heading down the boardwalk to the beach and swimming with sea lions (which are called lobos marinos in Spanish, or sea wolves, which to me makes a whole lot more sense than sea lions). Sea lions are literally everywhere on San Cristobal—on the benches, on the beaches, on the sidewalk, on the outdoor patios of the restaurants, sometimes on the street. They’ll chase you sometimes if you get too close—as some of the students found out! The way human settlements work on the Galápagos is that 97% of all the territory of the islands is reserved as the national park, leaving 3% for human development. San Cristobal boasts a population of about 8,000 people; Santa Cruz is the biggest in population with around 18,000. So yea, Thursday we spent exploring and swimming and trying to avoid sunburn (which would prove a losing battle the entire trip, as there was hardly ever a cloud in the sky all the days we were there. The sun would be roasting us from 8:00 a.m. until 7:00 p.m. every day).

On Friday we took a boat out to a tiny rock called León Dormido to go snorkeling! This was the first time I had ever gone snorkeling and it was amazinggggggg. We wore wetsuits, flippers, and masks—the whole outfit lol. The current around this rock was such that you could just float effortlessly while looking at all the wildlife literally right below you. We swam with schools of fish, sea lions, sharks, and even sea turtles! It was absolutely incredible to be only 10 feet from all these animals you see at the aquarium or on TV. One of the students brought a GoPro camera and got the whole experience—including the animals—on video! After eating lunch on the boat and taking a wonderful nap in the sun (which I later came to regret due to sunburn), we returned to San Cristobal to hear a talk by a local political activist about the tourism industry and local relations of power. This to me is far more interesting than the wildlife, although it’s never emphasized. The activist told us that some people come to the Galápagos not realizing that people actually live on the islands lol, which is indicative of the image projected to the rest of the world. There’s basically 4 entities that run the islands. There’s the Charles Darwin Research Station, which has the most funds of any of the entities I’ll discuss and enjoys the most privileged access to all of the islands—such unrestricted access that not even the local politicians or national park people have. Their agenda, which is ostensibly one of conservation and study, often prevails over the local interests of the people who inhabit and try to make a living on the islands. Second, there’s the Parque Nacional Galápagos, which is the administrative body of the national park aspect of the islands and is overseen principally by the Ministry of the Environment. Their agenda often meshes with that of the Charles Darwin Station, yet the key difference is the amount of money the two have. Whereas the Parque Nacional is funded by the state (meagerly), the Charles Darwin Station is an NGO affiliated with the Charles Darwin Foundation, which receives much more money from international donors. Third, there is the political system on the islands which includes local governments for each of the 4 inhabited islands as well as an overarching political body. Whereas the local governments are elected directly, the Minister of the Galápagos is appointed by the president and thus often a) is corrupt, b) is unpopular, c) does not govern with the interests of the local population in mind, or d) some combination of a, b, and c. Finally, there is the tourism industry, which really comprises two sets of individuals and companies: local and foreign. The foreigners are technically not allowed to operated in the islands by law, yet one always sees the fleets of international cruise ships circling the islands like vultures with their tourists on board. The corrupt politicians allow the international cruise lines to operate illegally, and the fucked up thing is that the conservationist agenda usually goes along with it because the rhetoric of tourism in the Galápagos is ostensibly to minimize the environmental impact of tourists by having them take up as little space as possible for as little time as possible. So, it’s very common for a trip to the Galápagos to be spent almost entirely on board a Royal Caribbean cruise ship or another similar one, which then lays anchor at various ports only long enough for tourists to disembark to take pictures, buy things, eat, etc.

We’re not taking this route obviously. In fact, this piece is important for yall to know in case you ever want to come to the Galápagos or have friends/family who do. It’s vital that visitors to the islands DO NOT rely on big-name, international travel agencies to visit the islands. In addition to the environmental impact these companies leave behind, they siphon money out of the local economy. Only 1/3 of the money spent in the Galápagos stays in the pockets of the local galapagueños. Even though the islands are the richest province in Ecuador, they should be a lot better off. Instead, their environment and their jobs get auctioned off to foreign companies because of corrupt politicians and because tourists don’t know any better and go with the household names over the local establishments and tours. The latter is wayyy more fun, trust me. And part of the fun lies in knowing that I’m contributing to a responsible tourist ethos. I came into this trip thinking that tourism was inherently exploitative. Now I understand that that’s not the case. However, when big transnational companies appropriate the livelihood of the local population, that’s when tourism becomes a problem. Now yall know and can plan a smart, eco-friendly, and relatively sustainable trip to these magical islands.

On Saturday we arrived on Santa Cruz, the biggest island population-wise and the tourism hub. We stayed on land and checked out the Center of Environmental Interpretation, a system of trails with cool information about the formation of the islands as well as sociological information about the human aspect of the islands. We hiked up breathtaking (literally and figuratively) trails and spied frigate birds, boobies, big spiders, marine iguanas, giant cactuses, etc. I found out that the colonists as the residents are called have their residency pretty much for life; the only way they can lose it is by failing to renew it once every 10 years or so. Yet obtaining residency in the first place is tricky: one must marry someone with residency or be born to parents who have residency. Living on the islands is so exclusive so as not to upset the delicate ecosystems or overburden the economy. This whole time we had been eating fabulously. I’ve never had seafood so fresh in my life. Lobsters, tuna, shrimp—out of this world delicious. At dinner some of us met this random U.S. dude touring the islands after having just graduated college. He rubbed me the wrong way from the beginning, but then he mentioned how he really wanted to try ayawaska recreationally. Ayawaska, or ayahuasca, is an entheogen that combines two vines found in the Amazon—one contains a neurotransmitter released at birth and at death, and the other contains an enzyme that allows for the metabolization of the neurotransmitter. This combination is distilled into a drink and taken by shamans (yachakuna in Kichwa, where the term ayawaska comes from) of various Amazonian nations in order to divine the future, receive instructions or warnings, or cope with loss or other powerful life events/emotions. It is a sacred plant, and partaking in an ayawaska ritual requires years of dedication, preparation, and for outsiders, trust and bonds of communion with a local population. It cannot be taken recreationally, and the fact that this tourist expressed an interest in doing so even after one of us pointed all the above out to him just really irritated me. However, it’s important I use him as an example and continuously strive to root out my own ignorance and prejudices toward cultures different than my own.

Sunday was the best snorkeling day by far. We took a boat from Santa Cruz to the little island of Bartolomé, which is home to perhaps the most iconic image of the islands (Google Galápagos and you’ll probably see it, or check out my Facebook as I posted a picture of it). Bartolomé is so inhospitable that it’s been used as a site to film movies that take place on Mars. There’s dried lava plumes, ridges, cliffs, and tunnels everywhere, and the sparse vegetation only adds to the merciless landscape. With no trees and no clouds to shade us, we were sizzling as we climbed up to the summit to look down on the bay. But it was all worth it once we jumped in the water! We snorkeled and swam with penguins! The second smallest species in the world. They were adorableeee! And they zoomed in the water right past us as we snorkeled! We also saw numerous sharks lurking on the seafloor, as well as seastars and tons of fish. There’s this giant fish called a parrotfish that is as brightly colored as its namesake. They are absolutely breathtaking. And the water was a bright turquoise—I’ve only ever seen water that beautiful in the movies haha. We also ate lunch on the boat (an incredible experience), and on the way back to Santa Cruz (about a 2 hour ride), I sat up top with the captain and jammed out to his playlist of reggeaton classics while the wind whipped my hair and the sun beat down on my back. Simply beautiful.

Monday was our last full day. We visited two sinkholes that are named Los Gemelos (the Twins) because they’re right next to each other. They were pretty cool but uneventful haha. Then we visited the famous Charles Darwin Research Center. We toured the tortoise breeding program and saw baby tortoises! They were absolutely the cutest things ever—only like the size of your hand, moving all around their enclosures exploring to their precious little hearts’ content, and eating leaves like you’ve never seen anything eat a leaf. The day passed far too quickly and left us all with sadness and nostalgia. We played classic group games like Hot Seat and the question game and games of that sort through the night. As we were leaving today, I couldn’t help but feel that this is an adios and not a chao—a goodbye forever and not an “until next time.” I certainly would love to return but I just don’t see how I’ll ever be able to for the rest of my life. Then again, I’m one of the 1% of the world population who has ever visited the islands. And what a fulfilling trip it was. Still though, returning to Quito has filled me with a profound sadness. It’s not just leaving behind such a paradise and knowing that I’ll never be able to recreate that experience in the same way. It’s also returning to the daily grind of classes and homework. But even more than that—being in an airport for the first time since January has filled me with homesickness for one of the really only times so far. I can’t really explain why beyond that just physically being in an airport made me recall the flight to the unknown that took place what feels like eons ago. The domestic and international arrivals share the same exit point, so I was literally back in the same place I was when everything was so new and I didn’t know anybody or anything. It was a weird feeling.

So, there ya have it—the Galápagos episode over and done with. These words fail to do justice to the sights, smells, sounds, emotions, and thoughts that comprised this trip. I encourage yall to go and see for yourselves, because the Enchanted Islands will certainly enchant you—as they have done me.  

[my-dear-hammy]

Falling Through Time: Book 1

Masterpost

Jamilton Series Masterpost

Basking in Candlelight

Part Ten

Dix

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AN

Hey, I'd just like to let everyone know, the positions I change in the battles are actually to better portray the opinions of the real founding fathers. Like in the first one, Jefferson hates slavery, and in this one, you'll see.

----

Warnings: Again, just always assume someone's cussing

----

"Are you ready for the cabinet meeting, Hamilton?" Jefferson asked, prancing up next to Hamilton.

"Since when am I never ready?"

"Well, there was that one time-"

"Okay, shut up and go away."

"Awww, after all I've done for you? That plan would never have passed without my influence behind it," Jefferson reminded Hamilton.

"And you never would have gotten the capital without mine," Hamilton responded smugly, looking over his notes.

"I don't know about you, but I'm surprised Lafayette's revolution turned into this," Jefferson said, changing the subject.

"Save it for the debate," Hamilton replied, reaching a door and closing it in Jefferson's face.

"That wasn't very nice!" Jefferson called through the wood.

***

"France is on the verge of war with England. Do we provide aid and troops to our French allies or do we stay out of it?" Washington's clear voice called to the room. It was a simple room, white walled and a long table for each of the Secretaries to sit and discuss. "Remember, my decision on this matter is not subject to congressional approval. The only person you have to convince is me. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir."

Jefferson pushed his chair out to stand and began, "When we were on death's door, when we were needy, we made a promise, we signed a treaty. We needed money and guns and half a chance. Who provided those funds?"

"France," Madison answered in the background, some how managing to remain unnoticed as he stood against the white wall in his black clothing. If Jefferson was being honest, sometimes Madison scared him.

"Without the French, we would have been dead. Now that being said, the soil of France is covered in red. If we get involved, nothing good will come of it, but we just can't up and call its quits, it's all about the politics. Don't do a thing, not even proclaim ourselves neutral. The treaty stands and we have to be truthful. We don't want to send a refusal that will end with a nationwide duel. It'll only add more fuel and the French may still prove useful."

Jefferson sat down, indicating he was done. "Hamilton, your response," Washington said, the room's attention turning to Hamilton.

He stood slowly, everyone was ready for him to burst into the passionate shouts like he always did. He placed his hands on the table dramatically, "I agree," he said simply and sat back down.

"What?!" Burr half shouted from the back of the room, having had snuck in and was standing next to Madison.

"Burr? What are you doing here?" Washington asked, whirling to face him, his eyes still somehow managing to skip over Madison. "This is for cabinet members."

"Sorry, sir, I just wanted to be in the room where it happens, sir." Washington rubbed his face. He was so done. "But, sir, I find it hard to believe that's all Hamilton has to say. He always has an opinion," Burr went on.

"Burr," Jefferson warned.

"Sir," Hamilton stood back up, "if people want to know details, I shall enlighten."

"God dammit," Jefferson and Washington sighed.

"Thanks, Burr," Madison murmured from next to Burr.

"Madison?" Washington asked, incredulous. "When did you get here?"

"Oh, I've been here longer than him," Madison jerked his thumb at Burr.

"Just forget it," Washington said, "Hamilton if you please,"

Madison leaned over slightly to Burr, "Way to go, you got us caught."

"At least we didn't get kicked out," he whispered back.

"We signed a treaty with a King whose head is now in a basket, his body didn't even have a casket. The treaty died with him and his wife, the nation can't be held to it for life. Proclaim our neutrality proud and clear for everyone in the world to hear. What do we have to fear? The whole world is against the French, what are they going to do? They're too busy to get revenge. Their streets have a too powerful stench called chaos anarchy where there used to be a monarchy. We don't need their treaty-"

"Don't you think you're getting greedy?" Jefferson interrupted, pushing himself out of his chair.

"This about to get good," Burr murmured.

Madison held a bucket out to Burr, "Popcorn?"

"Where the hell did you get that?" Burr asked. Madison shrugged so Burr took a handful.

Jefferson was still going, "The treaty is with the people and the people lead, there is still a chance for them to be freed. They bleed and fight indeed, so did we, who are we to impede what they say they need? The king and queen are without heads, but the people are not yet dead, the treaty stands-"

"I'm afraid you've misread," Hamilton cut him off,"the situation somewhere in your head."

"Three shillings say Jefferson wins," Burr said quietly to Madison.

"Five says Washington sides with Hamilton," Madison replied.

"You're betting against your best friend?"

"I'm sure as hell not betting with him."

Hamilton was still making his case. "Perhaps you should go back to bed before you lose it, I hear the French love to behead. Instead, we shouldn't let anarchy spread. Our nation hangs on a delicate thread, proclaim us neutral, that's enough said."

"If France-" Jefferson began.

"Enough, enough, Hamilton is right, it's time we picked up a quill and write instead of starting another fight. Hamilton, declare our neutrality, let the people see the reality."

"Pay up," Madison said, holding out his hand. Burr grumbled and slapped five shillings into his hand. "Now shut up, after Washington leaves, that's when they actually start insulting each other." Burr grabbed another handful of popcorn.

Jefferson approached Hamilton, a scowl plastered on his face. "Did you forget Lafayette?"

"I don't see what that has-"

"Have you an ounce of regret? You accumulate debt, you accumulate power, yet in his hour of need you forget."

"Lafayette's a smart man, he'll be fine. And before he was your friend, he was mine. But his position has nothing to do with our condition. We're neutral, you weren't going to help him either. Take a step back before you get a fever."

"We could still have freed Lafayette from rotting in jail, if we weren't neutral, he doesn't even get mail. He's a breath away from death and you sit there acting like Macbeth."

"Grow a spine, he'll be fine."

"So quick-witted,"

"Alas, I admit it,"

"I bet you were quite a lawyer,"

"My defendants got acquitted,"

"Huh. Well, someone oughta remind you,"

"What?"

"You're nothing without Washington behind you."

"Hamilton!"

"Daddy's calling."

Burr winced, "That had to hurt."

Madison nodded, "Oh yeah."

Hamilton walked away, following after Washington, flipping Jefferson off as he went.

"Who does he think he is?" Jefferson asked the now empty room. "Some hot guy, flipping his silky hair, thinking he'll get his way? If Washington hadn't practically adopted the kid, the nation would be better off. Why does Washington only listen to him? Aren't I good enough to listen to too?"

"It must be nice to have Washington on your side," Burr agreed.

"Holy Shit, Burr! Where did you come from?"

"Why do people keep asking me that? I've been standing here the entire time."

"Shit, did you hear anything I said?"

"Yeah dude, you talk too much to yourself, you should get that looked into."

"Fuck off, Burr."

"Sir."

"Oh my God. Stop. Where's Madison?"

"Right next to you," Madison replied. "Wants some popcorn?"

"Holy fuck! How do you guys do that?" Jefferson asked, taking some popcorn and popping it in his mouth.

Madison ignored him, "Hamilton has to be embezzling. Have you seen any of his check histories?"

"I know," Jefferson agreed, "With how little he makes combined with the expensive house, the flashy and fashionable clothes, and the way he likes to live? There's no way he can pull it off."

"If we look in the weeds for his misdeeds and see where it leads, we're bound to find some evidence," Burr proposed.

"Weeds Burr? You couldn't come up with a better analogy?" Jefferson remarked, "Nevermind. Let's just take care of this corruption and then I can be done." Jefferson looked around, "Where'd Madison go."

"Jesus Christ, I didn't even move."

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