#ill be back being active on here after finals this week i believe!

[citrusbatsandhoneybees]

-The Fading Star-

-Part 5-

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

A/N: Longer chapter Folks! I just kept going, and it seemed off to split it into two so here it is! Again, if you prefer AO3 it's on there now too.

Lucifer Morningstar X Female! Insert

Content Warnings: Swearing, Illness descriptions, Car Crash descriptions, more angst

Quick Synopsis: Tsuki was made to keep Lilith company during her marriage with Adam, but finds herself, unwillingly, falling in love with a certain archangel. Then after many millennia she reunites with Lucifer.

It had been a week and a half since Tsuki had arrived at the hotel, and if the tension in the air was thick before it was practically palpable now. She had continued avoiding me in every way, with our closest interaction being in the kitchen on her first day.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I paced beside my bed. I don’t understand why she was so insistent on not speaking with me; it was starting to have a negative effect on my Charlie’s friends at this point. Even they’ve tried to tell me to talk to her. Ha! Like I haven’t tried! Every single opportunity that presents for us to speak, even if it would be short, she shuts down immediately. Charlie has even attempted to help me with her. During her daily redemption lessons, she’s tried setting up partner activities, but of course Tsuki made an excuse to leave early. This is ridiculous, she can’t think that she’s just going to never speak with me again, does she? Just stay a whisper away from me for the rest of time?

My duck alarm finally starts to squeak beside me as it waddles around on the bedside table, and I close its beak. I summon my staff and grip it tightly as I get ready to head down for the day. Time to try again, I guess. 

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I’ve grown into a routine since I’ve arrived at the hotel: Wake up early, make breakfast, Charlie’s redemption lesson, grab list, help souls, come home, work on paperwork, sleep as much as I can, repeat. It was slowly getting more and more draining, but I could handle it. I’ve handled way worse; I just have to get used to the routine. It definitely doesn’t help that Lucifer has gotten pushier, talking about me and Eden in front of me with the other residents. He doesn’t get to decide when I speak with him. That’s for me to choose, and at this point he’s not giving me any reason to want to. It is strange though to not see Lilith, when I saw them last, they were practically attached by the hip. No one around has even mentioned her either. Maybe her absence is a sore subject for Charlie. She’s probably out doing something important for Hell, I’m sure; she is the queen. Luckily, other than Lucifer’s attempts, everything else at the hotel is going fairly well. Angel and I seem to always leave the hotel at the same time, so I talk to him every day. He’s really sweet to me, in his own way.  I enjoy Charlie’s lessons quite a bit; she’s so much like her father. Alastor has been quite helpful in the mornings, and our conversations are nice. Hopefully I can get closer with the others though. I’ve gotten a quick jist of what they are like through the small lessons I attend, but by the time I get back everyone’s usually in bed. Except for a few rare cases. 

Charlie rounds everyone to the lobby as normal, and everyone resides in their seat. Once I finally get comfortable in my spot, with a small twirl of glitters, I summon a crochet hook and small violet blanket that I’ve started. My hands rigorously work in a smooth rhythm, loop after loop continuing the row that I was on. This little project of mine has helped center my focus onto Charlie as she spoke for the past week.

“So... we still don’t have any new residents, and we believe that it’s because they’re still scared after the last extermination, so we need to show them that it’s worth it to stay at the new hotel! Vaggie, Dad, Alastor, and I have been talking, and we believe a good way to start is a banquet. That way we could show off the new hotel, and properly explain the hotel’s concept again before other fun things.”

A banquet? I haven’t been to one, but if I remember correctly Michael has told me about the events, he’s held for some of the higher-ranking angels in heaven. 

“Is this going to be a formal event?” 

Charlie turned to Tsuki after she heard her question. 

“Yeah kinda, we want everyone to be comfortable, but we’ll have a dress code, so we don’t have anyone coming with well….  erotic ideas.” 

“Ooooh so you’re tellin me I get to see whiskers here in a suit?” 

Angel turned to the cat demon and teased while adjusting his legs over him. His smirk grew further as Husk rolled his eyes at the one draped over him, but no one was lost to the smile that stayed clear on his face. Charlie smiled and giggled lightly under her hand before she continued. 

“Anyway… so to make this happen, I need everyone on deck. Dad already said that he would handle the food, and Alastor the music, but that leaves decorating and getting the word out. Angel Dust can probably help out Vaggie and I with invitations, so I need Husk and Tsuki to help out with getting this place ready for a banquet. Although if you two aren’t able to find something for it, I’m sure my dad can help with that too.” 

Lucifer puffed out his chest a little proud that his daughter was relying on him for his help again, and Tsuki let out a small sigh, and looked back down to her blanket as the conversation continued over what the banquet needed. It would be fun to help arrange an event like this, but she would have to find time to be able to do everything required. Excitement grew over the rest of the group as they spoke about what they could do for the banquet. Even Husker chuckled along with Angel Dust when he suggested dragging him out on the dance floor after the courses were over. Tsuki smiled down at her project while listening to the cheery dialogues ahead of her. Angel Dust nudged her side before she could get too lost in thought. 

“You know I’m gonna drag you shoppin too sugar!” 

Tsuki sarcastically huffed out a breath and laughed lightly in response. She wouldn’t mind spending more time with him if she got the time. Standing from her spot, her small project whooshes away with the sparkles of her magic before she offers her hand down to Angel Dust. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now I’ve gotta head off are you coming?” 

“Nah toots, I got the day off. But… you should consider talkin to your “old friend” over there he looks like he’s going to pounce on you as soon as you take a step.” 

She pinches the bridge of her nose as she allows a low groan past her lips. Of course she could feel the lingering stares. There was no way she was going to deal with this right now, so she pushed it off once again as she walked out of the lobby. Angel was right, Lucifer was quick on his feet to chase her outside the lobby. Just before he could reach her, she whipped out her wings and dropped through a portal. He groaned and stepped up to the portal, glancing into it for a moment before it swirls to a close. 

“Fuck.. Why is she so stubborn??”

His hands grazed through his hair to soothe his bubbling frustration as he walks back into the lobby. To which almost all of the rest of crew was staring back at him. 

“I’m assuming that his majesty wasn’t able to speak with her once again?” 

Lucifer grinds his teeth as he glares back at the radio demon. Horns threatened to grow from his forehead as bright crimson surrounds the sclera of his eye. Alastor’s has been clearly enjoying all the misery the king has been going through this whole time and didn’t skip any chances to rub it in his face. 

“You fucking filthy prick”

Lucifer was on his wits end with the radio demon, with the only thing keep him from ripping him into tiny scorching pieces being his daughter. Who was currently standing next to the radio demon. 

“I do wonder what you could have possibly done for her to shut you out your highness!” 

Lucifer only growls and looks away from him, attempted to fizzle down the rising anger that he had ignited. 

“Al-” 

Vaggie attempted to interject into the conversation, but was interrupted by Alastor’s continued interrogation. 

“I believe that everyone here can agree that she seems like a sweet girl, so I imagine that it must’ve been something quite horrible for her to avoid you like this.” 

“I didn’t... it- it wasn’t like that”

Lucifer’s words caught in his throat as he attempted to defend himself mostly for his own sanity as he looked away from the others. Alastor’s eyes narrowed down at the King as he tightens his grip on the apple staff he summoned. Alastor cackles at the fallen angel, and slips away into his shadows, content with the response he got. Silence fell heavy across the room once Alastor faded away, and everyone’s eyes turned back to Lucifer. He lifted his head to look to the others after taking a deep breath. His gaze stops on Charlie. 

“I’ll talk to her.. I promise.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tsuki was now in Micheal’s office as usual, scanning through each paper of the binder he set out for her. She let out a heavy yawn as she rubbed the exhaustion out her eyes. Across from her the prince’s eyes narrowed looking over her face. He dropped his pen, and quickly grasped her chin turning her head to look up at him. Her eyes widened in surprise from the sudden touch as she looked over the blonde’s face. She felt her heart pounding against her chest and palms getting sweaty as she watched the man scan over her features. I didn’t do anything different! Does he know? Michael raised his other hand to rub the darkening circles under her eyes. 

“Angel.. You’re overworking again aren’t you. Why?”

She swallowed, and she started to tremble from the sudden attention she was being given. He knew her tendencies after working with her for so long, and she appreciated his concern. However she could feel her long overdue breakdown surfacing, so she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and bit her tongue. Placing a gentle hand onto his, she responds. 

“I’ve just had some stuff on my mind, nothing to worry over.” 

The prince let her out of his grasp and let out a heavy sigh. Tsuki relieved to be able to separate from the archangel, took a step back from the desk and curtsied. Looking up to the prince, she could feel him still examining her every move.

“I- I’ll do better Michael.”

 After he had looked to her and given her an approving nod she abruptly offered him a thank you and goodbye before walking through the portal he summoned with a simple flick of the wrist. Tsuki had left to go into the human realm and settled her rapid beating heart. Taking in a quick breath she readied herself as she approached the first on her list. 

The deep blue sparks flicker around her as she passes through her first portal and assesses her surroundings. Her eyes settle and adjust to the bright LED lights that were held above her. Her lily-white wings beat and push her forward in the sickly white room toward the teal curtain that stood across the room. Gently she pushed open the curtain to approach the bed that was held behind it. Under the cotton covers held a small child, connected to machine that let out a soft beep every few seconds.

The young brunette turned her head to face the angel and held up her heavy eyelids as best as she could. Her breath was shaky, and she trembled from the aching that she held within. Tsuki allowed her wings to fall and proceeded to her place next to the bed. The sickly girl reached out her hand to hold her own. Keeping a hold on little one, Tsuki leaned forward and held the child’s hand in a soft embrace before placing the other onto her chest.

"It'll be okay."

She spoke softly to ensure that even if she didn't understand what she said, the little girl could still feel calm beside her. Violet glitters erupt from underneath her hand and spread throughout her figure, fading away as they slip into the child’s chest. The small brunette’s eyelids flutter close as she feels the soft fuzzy and warm feeling grow and flow within her. Tsuki smiles as she allows her magic to quickly finish and looks to the girl that was now sound asleep. The angel summoned a small towel and wiped away the sweat on her brow before placing the girl’s hand back to her side.

The clicks of sparks sound behind her, so she pulls the cotton cover back over her and turned back the other end of the room. Her sets of wings flap, and briskly drove her toward the portal that formed outside the curtain. 

Through the portal she landed onto cold concrete. She squinted as she turned to look past the streetlamp that illuminated the dark road that Tsuki stood on. Repeated pangs of pain strain against her torso and shoulder pulls her towards the edge of the road. As she darts toward where her instincts were leading her, garbled staticky guitar plays from below her. Her eyes narrow as she spots a bright flashing light down the hill. She races towards the flashes and sound and finds a deep green vehicle flipped onto its side.

The green hood leaned against an oak tree and the glass was scattered across the ground from the impact the vehicle took. Tsuki calmly advanced and hovered over the doors ripping it open to find a young unconscious couple. She repeated the same process of unlocking the seatbelt’s retractor and shoved her arms under the hook of their knees and behind their backs to pull them out of the compact space before setting them both in the soft grass. After she does so, Tsuki works her magic and focuses on healing all of the clear injuries that she felt. The blood that was pushing past the gashes across their shoulders, chest, and head speedily comes to a halt as purple stitches and fills the injuries that they held. Tsuki lets out a deep breath as she finishes looking over to her chest, watching as the small piece of her that had gone transparent fills with her natural color once more. The familiar sound of sparks erupts to her side. 

“No.. I need to get them some help.”

Tsuki flew past the oak, and towards the bright headlights that were running past the area below. Once she arrived at the edge of the highway, she focused her gaze onto a car that appeared past the curve.

Assuming a position in the middle of the street, Tsuki shut her eyes tight and pushed her hands together. Heat grew between her palms, and light pushed past her fingers as she held her grip together tightly. Suddenly she allows the pressure to push her hands apart and in front of her, causing a burst of light and start dust to fall from her palms. The vehicle that was approaching came to a hurling stop, and a door flew open. The guardian angel looked toward the accident and rushed towards it allowing more of the glitters to flow past her to form a path as she approached, once she finally arrived, she checked over the young couple. After she was sure they would be okay, she flew through another deep blue portal. She healed, and helped all the souls she could in the time she had. 

It was always like this rush after rush of healing and helping certain people that she was summoned to. The guardian angel was used to this routine after doing it for many millennia. She was quick on her feet as she helped all of the souls that the divine had assigned for her. Flying through portal after portal, finding soul after soul. Throughout her lifetime she had gotten quick enough to be able to get through her “list” before Tsuki felt the need to stop, so she would keep going against Michael’s best wishes. It wasn’t any different this time, so by the time the angel realized she got too caught up in her work it was nearing morning in Hell.

Tsuki rubbed her temples and summoned her paperwork and a portal to the Hazbin hotel in a few snaps. The angel groaned holding the stack close to her chest as she entered the lobby. Silence reigned over the space that she stepped into. As she let out a sigh, Tsuki blinked a few times allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and kept her footsteps light as she walked past the lobby and to the elevator.

Once she had stepped into the elevator, Tsuki leaned her back against the wall of the elevator feeling herself rise to the top floor. Allowing her wings to finally rest into and fold back into her back, a small groan of relief leaves her lips, and she rolls her shoulders back at the feeling. Once she arrived at her floor, the guardian angel strolls towards her room and searches her pockets. Her eyebrows raise and panic abruptly washes over her as she continues searching after feeling that it wasn’t in its’ usual place. In her panicked state, the paperwork she held tightly fell from her grasp, and scattered across the floor.

“Fuck.. Just what I needed.” 

A frustrated grumble leaves her as she realizes it must’ve still been in her room. Tsuki bent down feeling the soft carpet against her knees, and started arranging her papers back into their appropriate order. After checking through them, she sets a paperclip over the side of them. 

 Tsuki pauses and turns to position herself against the door, allowing a calm to flow over her soul. She leans her head back settling the back of her head against the wood and allows her eyes to close. 

I’ve already used so much magic today. Should I get Alastor? Mmm It’s so late, I don’t want to bother him.  

Tsuki stared down to inspect her legs, rubbing the outside of them gently. A small area on her lower calf was transparent. After finding this, she takes a gentle hold of her halo, and holds it above the area. Gentle stardust fell onto the area, and her color starts to emerge faster back into the area. It was a slow process sometimes. As she kept a watchful eye on her calf, a soft voice interrupts her focus. 

“Hey..” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucifer watched the clock as hours and hours passed by, sitting at the bar, and waiting for Tsuki to come back to Hazbin hotel. He knew that the way things were going between them couldn’t last much longer, so he was determined to change it. The first few hours, the others kept him company, but they slowly dwindled away. It was nearly midnight before Charlie decided to pull her dad away, and to bed. 

“Dad, maybe you should wait till tomorrow, it’s late.” 

He looked back to her while he fidgeted with the tea bag that sat in his cup. He gave her a comforting smile after seeing her concerned expression. Lucifer pulled her into a tight embrace. 

“Okay sweetie, I’m sorry about all of this.” 

She reassured him that he didn’t need to apologize, and wrapped her arms around him too. After a few more moments, they allowed their arms loosen and pull away. Vaggie had lead her tired girlfriend back to bed, and Lucifer left to go to his own suite. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he ended up in his workshop sat with his head in his hands. Brick by brick thoughts built on top of each other in his mind. He worried over his daughter. Charlie didn’t need any more of this stress; she had enough to worry about with the hotel.

He stayed in that position for a little while, fidgeting with a few of the ducks that he had brought to his new room. Lifting his hand, a sigh releases from his lungs, and he watches as golden glitters fall from his palm and pile up on his desk. 

Lucifer’s ears perk up as the silent ambiance of his room was broken by a thud, and mutters from outside his door. The fallen angel shakes off the dust from his hand and throws on his overcoat before heading out his doors to investigate. Once he had got past his workshop, and outside his suite, he turned his head towards the figure that sat in the hall, and approached it quietly. As he realized who it was, he fidgeted with the lapels of his coat and stood across from her. 

“Hey..”

Tsuki looked up from her leg and to Lucifer. Her heart stutters for a moment, and rapidly beats against her chest trying to break free. Shakily, she allows her halo to return to its’ normal spot and returns his gaze with her own. 

“Hello Lucifer” 

His name left her lips bitterly as she looked up to the man, and he notably shifted from her tone. Despite this Lucifer bent down a little, and offered his hand for her to take. Reluctantly she took his hand, and stood from her spot leaving the stack to her side. 

“I left my key inside.” 

Tsuki stated the obvious, and looked away from his eyes. Her chest ached being so close to him. She wanted to run from him again. Do anything to avoid continuing this conversation. 

“So you decided to work out here?” 

Lucifer glanced down at her arranged paperwork, then returned his gaze back to her. It was obvious from the outside how exhausted she was. He felt an urgent pull within him to help smooth out her hair and pull her eyes back onto his but continued to fend it off. The guardian angel shrugged and looked past him towards the dim light that hung on the wall behind him. Deciding to bite the bullet, she asks. 

“I didn’t want to wake anyone up, but could you help me?” 

She really didn’t want to accept any help from the man in front of her, but the exhaustion that waved over her overruled the tension her heart felt. 

“Yes, but we need to talk first.” 

Is he kidding? She  returned her gaze back to the man quickly with a small glare.

“What is there to talk about?” 

Lucifer scoffs, and returns her annoyance with his own.

“Really?” 

“Alright fine, but no.” 

She understood where he was coming from, but she didn’t want to allow him to force her into a conversation like this. The King looked back to her and shook his head to rid the bubbling frustration that grew within him.

“No?” 

Lucifer looked towards her with disbelief, but Tsuki felt the string of tension that had tightened day by day finally snap as she stood her ground. Her fists clench at her sides as she keep her gaze fixed on him. 

“No, you don’t to keep me hostage like this. You don’t get to decide when we discuss this! You’re the one who left remember!?” 

She snapped back at him. She felt the overwhelming feelings that have been stirring within since the moment she saw him again fumed out of her like a flight train. Decidedly her refusal to discuss became hypocritical as words came fumbling out of her, but it was too late to turn back now. 

“You two decided to throw me to the side while you did your big plan with Eve! Was I not good enough? Did you think that I would, what? hold you back?” 

Her words chipped away his own simmering anger as Lucifer watched her expression shift. He had never seen her like this, so resentful. The wings that had folded into the back her neck flung out. Her tone brimmed over with desperation and anger as she questioned the man. 

“No! Tsuki you have to understand. We didn’t want you to try to do it yourself. It was dangerous we all knew that.” 

She laughed in disbelief. Lucifer stood in shock as he watched her shifting anger. Her eyes were frigid, and stern. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to frame himself as in the right. To her, in the moment, it really didn’t matter why they did what they did. 

“Really? Because it seemed pretty fucking easy for you to ditch me. Isn’t that what you guys always wanted to do?

She paused as she ran a hand through her hair. They had never even told her what they were planning. No one ever made her aware of what they did. 

I wandered for years, searching everywhere throughout Eden for any trace of them. I was ill with worry for the two until insecurity took over. Whispers grew louder in the back of my mind of why they could’ve left. Was I too much? Were they hurt? Was I not enough? Not worth even saying goodbye to? I couldn’t stop searching if there was any chance that thoughts that laid engraved in the back of my mind were wrong. I cared too much for them to stop.

“I couldn’t leave Eden. Do you understand how isolated I was?  Do you know how it feels to be abandoned like that?” 

Lucifer’s heart quivered from her words, and he held his wrist tight with his other hand as he waited for her to finish. She had quickly pushed herself forward till she was directly in front of the King, pointing a finger directly to his chest she looked up into his hurt eyes. 

“I felt like nothing. You made me feel worthless.” 

A long pause of silence fell between the two as she spat out her last sentence. Catching her breath as she looked away from Lucifer. Her quick beating heart suddenly felt more evident as she tried to calm herself, and the wounded expression she last saw, hurt her more than she would like to admit. 

The painful moment feels like it could last forever, but Tsuki goes to take a step back and let her hand fall from him. However, before she could go too far, he took a gentle grasp of her hand. She snapped her head back to look back at him and examined his remorseful eyes. Logic told her to rip her hand away and step back, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.  

“I’m sorry.. We- I never wanted you to feel that way Tsuki.”

She paused. They had hurt her so badly. How could she feel so badly for him? It wasn’t fair for her. It wasn’t right. Why was her anger waning? Lucifer kept his hand around her own, and stared down at the hold. 

“It’s not the same, but I do know what it’s like to be left behind… I’m sorry that I put you through that pain.” 

What? What does he mean? Heaven maybe?

“Who-?”

“Lilith.” 

A strain pulled between the two. Lilith? No.. what? Confusion wrapped around Tsuki’s mind. That’s why she hasn’t seen her since she’s arrived. That’s why Charlie doesn’t talk about her. She knew Lilith. She wouldn’t do that. They were enraptured in love the last time she saw them; that couldn’t fade. Why would she do that? What happened? Before Tsuki could stop it the question that last built in her mind slipped through her. 

“What did you do?”

As soon as the question slipped past her lips, guilt weaved its’ way through her and she gripped his hand with her free one. If he truly felt the way that he described then she knew that he had probably asked himself that already too many times. 

“Wait I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Lucifer tried to brush off her comment as he looked away from her, and let her hand fall from his own.

“It’s okay.. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but maybe I could ask for us to be cordial? For the hotel, for Charlie?

Tsuki gave Lucifer a silent nod. Once he saw her accept his favor, his crimson eyes looked to the door past her, and with a small flick of the wrist, Tsuki’s door was open, and her paperwork was placed back onto her desk. 

“Good night then Tsuki.”

Lucifer gave her one last glance, and turned away. She remained in her place as his golden magic surrounded his figure and left nothing in his place. Her jaw clenched as she clutched the hand he touched with the other. Agony rooted it’s way to the back of her throat and her vision became blurry. 

It hurts, everything hurts. It’s not supposed to be like this. Is this pathetic? Am I pathetic? I’m supposed to hate him right? Why do I- 

Her knees felt like they could crumble underneath her as she stared off in the hallway. Deciding it wasn’t worth it to stay outside, she turned back towards the open door and took a few heavy steps through. Tsuki felt her mind going a mile a minute as she pressed forward until her eyes turned down to the crimson comforter in front of her. She placed a shaky hand onto it and pushed herself onto the bed slipping underneath cool sheets. Her eyes were on the ceiling as she tried to calm the burning that wouldn’t leave her throat.

If everything he said was true, where was Lilith? How long has she been gone? 

Tsuki gripped and pulled the hair on the back of her neck as an attempt to soothe herself. 

Eventually, after a few hours, she was able to fizzle down the fire in her throat, and rubbed away the tears that flooded her eyes. She fell underneath her weighted eyelids, and the cozy comforter that wrapped around her lulled her further slowly, drifting away until she had to face Lucifer once again the next morning.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

remember it once - final chapter

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Jack x Belle Rating: E Chapter: 7 / 7 Word Count: 4812

For today's @dodgerfoxweek prompt: happy endings/escape

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four | five | six

Belle’s free to be with him at the hospital as much as she likes now, and Jack’s free to feel all the strong emotions resulting from her being there. Never did he imagine that he would share his profession with his wife (never did he imagine marriage). He loves that he need only turn his head to find her elsewhere in the ward or to spot her through the windows in the doors. He worries, constantly, that she is at risk. He swallows the more uncomfortable fear that she is putting others at risk by being here.

She will be different from the others, those people he treated but could not save. Jack won’t allow it to be otherwise. In the days after Belle was bitten, he monitored the site of her injury. It could be that her diet is what keeps her well—the Governor’s daughter eats better and more often than a child like Alexander did—or that previous exposure, either in London or on the ship back, protects her. Jack doesn’t know whether the disease can be passed through the air. There isn’t time to study factors surrounding transmission, only to manage the effects on the people who come into the hospital. Unlike Prof, at least he orders the windows open to promote circulation of the air.

The possibility that Belle simply doesn’t share the affliction that brings most of Jack’s patients to his ward grows less likely. It’s been six weeks since Al’s death, two since the wedding, when Jack’s denial finally parts like curtains to show him a view of his wife that he’s stubbornly refused to see.

She’s working in the morgue. Once they discovered that the death of people with this particular illness wasn’t exactly binding, they stopped keeping the bodies at the hospital before burial. The room is now a place where Belle likes to conduct her research. Previously, Jack has entered to find her pacing the floor while she mutters to herself, or mixing solutions as she glances rapidly at an open volume on the table where they used to perform autopsies. Today, she sits beneath the window, gaze unfocused.

“Belle?”

“Hmm?”

Jack frowns and moves closer. Confused. It’s the word Charlie used to describe Al, the word Belle used in her story of the man on the ship. There’s some kind of mental decline that accompanies the decay of flesh, and it doesn’t begin with the aggression and physical violence that come immediately before an attack. If a patient can be watched closely, Jack believes, the signs of confusion can possibly be detected at an earlier stage. When one is willing to recognize them.

“Are you alright?” he asks his wife.

He crouches before her and quietly sighs in relief when her gaze sharpens and lifts to his face.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, of course. I was only thinking.”

“What were you thinking?”

“The child, Anthony—”

“The one who keeps escaping the ward?”

It’s a serious issue, but Jack can’t help his smile. Anthony was bitten by his father and has run to Sneed’s ward in search of him, dodging hospital staff three times. Where the father’s condition is such that a visit with his son would be extremely unwise, Anthony’s is significantly milder; his injury has visibly neither improved nor worsened under Jack’s care. Jack has fledgling ideas as to why this might be—could their biological connection be sparing the child more severe effects? Could the bite be shallower because the father was able to recognize, on some level, the identity of his victim even in the midst of the aggressive haze?

“Exactly.” Belle smiles too. Jack catches the way her hands smooth over her stomach before she folds them in her lap. “Physical activity. Perhaps all Anthony’s escaping is inhibiting the necrosis.”

“It has developed faster in our bedridden patients,” Jack notes thoughtfully.

“If we could have them move around more…”

“How though? That won’t exactly work in concert with our current protocol of strapping them to their beds.”

“Which is rather inhumane. Necessary,” she asserts when Jack opens his mouth to speak. “I know. But inhumane.”

At what point though, Jack wonders, do they acknowledge that these people—these strangers and neighbours, fathers and sons, wives—are suffering from something that is making them inhuman? When they turn on their fellow man? When they rise from the dead? Since meeting Belle, Jack has been locked in a negotiation of how much weight to give life and death. He insists on the harshest realities while she persists in an optimism he’s found more natural to give in to, though which is still not his first impulse.

“It’s a good thought,” he says. “The activity. I don’t know how it will work, yet, but I agree with your thought.”

And he does, and he’s grateful to her for continuing to devise theories when he feels stuck on facts. He smiles at her. She’s done this from the beginning, hasn’t she? Reminded him again and again that there is always another way, that new ways are constantly being discovered, that they can themselves be the innovators by counterintuitively accepting that they don’t yet have the answer to a problem. That’s all this is: a problem. A terrifying, horrific one, but as long as they remain focused…

“What is it?” Jack asks, because Belle’s returned to staring at nothing in particular.

“A thought.”

“Have you already solved it? More fair if you’d at least let me try before you just came up with the answer.”

Belle frowns.

“The answer to what?” she wonders.

“How to allow our patients more physical ac—”

“Physical activity!” she bursts out, brightening. “Exactly! Jack, you know the child, Anthony…”

He nods, but his heart isn’t in it; it’s a function of his body alone. Yes, he knows the child, Anthony. The one Belle mentioned just a minute ago. The one she mentions now as though she didn’t then, presenting him with the same idea he’s just heard.

“I’ll… I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” Jack offers, rising.

Numbly, he exits the morgue. If she were anyone but his wife, anyone he knew had been attacked and personally witnessed them displaying memory troubles, he would go straight to the ward for reinforcements, find her a bed, continue to treat her wound while privately accepting that he was watching a decline from which he’d yet to see a patient recover. But he can only step into the hallway and bury his face in his hands.

He’s been a fool, thinking it could last.

—

The next blow doesn’t so much nudge them—the hospital, the colony, Jack’s stoic equilibrium—gently across a delicate tipping point as shove them out a second-storey window.

Sneed is bitten.

He does something Jack wouldn’t have anticipated: he begs for amputation. The only bright side is that Jack gets to slap him across the face to stop him panicking in front of the patients. After that, he drags the man out of the ward and stares at him with exasperation.

“Are you mad?” Jack demands. “I need you here, damn you!”

It’s worrying that Sneed doesn’t preen at the words, or seem to hardly notice them.

“Only my foot, Dawkins,” Sneed insists with wide eyes, both frightened and frightening.

“Well, yes, if we’re ranking the extremities it would be least inconvenient, as a surgeon, to lose, the foot’s not bad. It’s not a hand. But I do not have time to wait for you to recover from an amputation!”

“If we do it quickly though—immediately—now—before the disease can spread… I know you won’t make a pig’s ear of it, Dawkins.” Sneed swallows. “I trust you.”

“You certainly weren’t in favour of amputation when Fagin shot you in the leg. Have you forgotten the bit where I would be putting a large blade to your skin and sawing like the dickens?” Jack mimes the operation.

This, at last, appears to penetrate Sneed’s skull.

“I… can bear it. I am the finest surgeon in the—” Jack gives him a look and Sneed amends, “I am the second-finest surgeon in the colony. I will endure the pain.”

“Are you certain? Because you did yelp rather loudly when I slapped you in the ward.”

Sneed doesn’t grace this remark with a response. Jack sighs.

“If it’s what you want, I’ll do it. You know I can’t promise it’ll save you, and that I must impress upon you that you are here to heal others. This hospital cannot afford to lose a surgeon. Not now. The wards are full, as are the graveyards. We’re exhausted, and one less surgeon would increase the strain. But I’ll do it,” he repeats.

Jack watches Sneed’s jaw clench before he nods, making up his mind.

“I’ll clean the wound and get back to work.”

Jack deflates, relieved, not having realized how tensely he was holding himself at the thought of carrying on with Belle already inhibited, and then without Sneed. They’ve been losing nurses as well—the staff who interact with the patients most. Jack is endlessly thankful that Hetty has never once walked into a ward without her wits about her.

He claps Sneed on the shoulder in thanks and they exchange a look. How much is Jack asking him to give up by talking him out of the surgery? His health? His life? Likely both, if Jack examines it too closely, but he sees the weary comprehension in Sneed’s eyes and believes he would have stopped the surgery as he did the last time, when a drunken Prof stuffed a wooden rod between his teeth and told him to bite down.

Sneed glances down and Jack follows his gaze as he lifts his foot.

“Bloody woman bit straight through my boot.”

“Wound shouldn’t be too deep,” Jack reasons. “It’s given you some protection.”

“Sod protection. I brought these from Oxfordshire.”

“Sneed, you make it very hard to tell how quickly your disease is progressing.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sneed retorts.

“It’s just that so much of what you say smacks of severe cognitive damage.”

This time, it’s Sneed who slaps Jack. He’s rubbing at the sting, disgruntled but willing to admit the justice of the act, when Hetty comes marching towards them.

“Whenever you’re both ready to be doctors again, gentlemen, the rest of us would appreciate your assistance.”

“It’s Sneed’s fault,” Jack feels compelled to say, even if it does come out sounding petulant. “Values his boots above his life.”

“Remind me, what is your position at this hospital?” Hetty asks archly.

“Head Surgeon.”

“Then I would suggest acting like it.” She turns and heads back into the ward, calling over her shoulder, “Or I’m telling your wife!”

Jack looks to Sneed—wrongly, but it’s an impulse—for commiseration, only to find the prat smirking at him.

“Tattled on to your wife,” he taunts.

“At least I’ve got a wife,” Jack snips back. “Back to work before I put you out on your ear.”

“You wouldn’t. You need me.”

Damn. So he did register that after all.

—

The day Belle tells him she’s carrying his child is the same day Jack meets with Governor Fox and the new Gaines to discuss barricading the hospital. To keep them out or us in? he doesn’t ask, because it doesn’t matter, because the danger is within and without, because Jack has Fagin watching Belle to make sure she doesn’t wander into a ward during one of her distracted periods. There’s far too much on his mind and he finds himself agreeing with the proposal.

“Perhaps if I had rerouted the drainage when Jane suggested… noxious vapours…” the Governor says vaguely. Jack pats his arm.

There isn’t much use in thinking backwards. He nods, knowing his approval isn’t really needed, that his disapproval wouldn’t have stopped the military doing as they please. He nods because it feels like control, even as he’s agreeing to a decision that Belle, in a healthier state, would berate him for, reminding him of the inhumanity already inflicted upon their patients by tethering them down where they lie. What’s another barrier between these people and their freedom when the worse barrier is the one the disease has been erecting in their minds, dividing men, women, and children from themselves?

It’s as if Jack sleepwalks to tell Hetty the news. He knows he can count on her to be measured in her response, outraged yet taking it in stride, because it’s what must be done. There are too many cases of the disease. Barring the hospital’s doors means some people who seek treatment will go without, but it will protect the safety of those inside—patients and staff. Jack’s heard terrible things; in a combined effort, Flashbang and Aputi have taken to blasting to bits any corpse that begins to reanimate. It’s horrendous—both physically and morally disgusting—but Aputi told Jack he saw one of them in the graveyard, saw from a distance as it found… well, a piece of what remained after you threw explosives into a shallow pit of dead bodies. They aren’t just biting anymore. At least not with their fellow dead. They’re consuming.

He's preparing himself to let Hetty know they’re about to cross an invisible boundary, beyond which he won’t blame her if she leaves. Unlike Sneed, Hetty’s always been important to him. Unlike Sneed, Hetty hasn’t been bitten.

Jack makes sure she sees him coming when he approaches her in the ward. They go to the office that became his when Prof retired.

“I’m going to be a father,” is what comes out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Hetty says.

It’s a kinder response than it might’ve been, considering even Jack finds it difficult not to immediately add, Of course, I know we’re doomed, or to defend himself, swear that it didn’t just happen, because sex has hardly been a priority, and since Belle was attacked, she’s slept in a different bedroom, locked herself in. The way he looks at Hetty begs, Help me.

Gently, she says, “You’d better hurry up and find a cure then.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“That’s because you’re exhausted. We all are.”

Jack shakes his head.

“It’s because concocting solutions is very much my wife’s forte. Whereas mine is…”

When nothing comes to him, Hetty supplies, “Keeping this hospital running. Barely,” she adds with a smile, “but running. Thank goodness we don’t have Prof underfoot.”

“He’d have been bitten the first day,” Jack has to agree. “Definitely for the best that he decided to wait it all out from the comfort of his libations cabinet. I mean, his home. Speaking of… you could as well.”

“Join Prof in a tipple?”

He knows she’s joking, and he humours her with a slight smile.

“Leave,” he says. “While you can. The military are going to barricade the hospital. Soon.”

And then Jack explains all the reasons why he went along with it while Hetty, rightfully, looks at him furiously.

Finally, she says, “I suppose you didn’t have a choice.”

“No.”

“And you want me to leave? Your best nurse? The most competent person in this hospital?”

“I don’t want you to leave, I want you to live,” Jack clarifies desperately. “Like Tim. He and Red—”

“No one’s heard from Red and Tim in days,” Hetty reminds him.

“They were smart. I’m sure they went to the bush, away from town. But you could leave another way. This is a port. Get aboard a ship!”

“And you?”

He hangs his head, avoiding Hetty’s gaze.

“Belle couldn’t go. When she worsens, she’ll be a danger to others.”

Hetty doesn’t argue.

—

They have dinner at Jack and Belle’s house, as a family. He still finds it incredibly strange to be hosting the Governor, to see Lady Fox and Fagin seated at the same table—a table that belongs to Jack, of all people. Sturdy and unscuffed. Never been anyone’s but his.

After Jack made the announcement to the rest of his staff, Sneed practically forced him and Belle out, stating that they needed a normal night. Possibly their last for quite a while.

His wife is at the table too, and he watches her parents and sister look at her in a way he knows she probably notices, even if she’s not saying anything about it. They know about her condition—both of her conditions—and regard her with expressions of mixed wariness and concern.

“How does Dr. Sneed fare?” Fanny pipes up during a lull in conversation.

“Well,” Jack is able to tell her honestly. “He was very fortunate to have had a barrier between the patient and his skin—”

“He was bitten through his clothes?” she asks, eyes lit up and speech a bit breathless. Jack stomachs the reaction with difficulty.

“Through his boot.”

“The bite was very nearly just a graze,” Belle contributes, “except that the woman who bit him had rather sharply tapered incisors, which were able to—”

“Yes!” Fanny says shrilly, smiling too hard. “Enough!” She dismisses the topic with an anxious flutter of her hands before apparently remembering some of her manners. More composed, she adds, “Please tell Dr. Sneed I wish him a swift recovery.”

Jack and Belle share an unsettled look.

“I am certain they will, darling,” Lady Fox assures her daughter.

Jack cares for his new sister, but he doesn’t believe in diminishing the severity of the outbreak in order to soothe her nerves. Spending so much time in the hospital, he’s forgotten to account for the fact that those who haven’t don’t know what he, Belle, Hetty, Sneed, and the others in the wards do. They might know people are dying, but not how many. They might understand that the hospital is attempting to treat people, but not that they don’t have a single recovered patient to show for their efforts. He’s trying to think of a tactful way to explain this when his wife jumps in.

“Actually, that isn’t likely, Fanny,” Belle says. “Dr. Sneed may not be seriously hampered by the disease for some time, but he will sicken, and he will die, like all the rest.”

“Belle,” Jack says, terribly soft.

“Like me,” she continues.

Total silence follows her words, until Fanny bursts into tears.

“That’s not very helpful,” Belle comments.

“Forgive my wife,” Jack says, hating to treat her as someone for whom he must take responsibility, but feeling compelled in the wake of her sister’s distraught response. “She’s not herself.”

“My husband is correct,” Belle tells their assembled family. “And I will be even less myself as the disease progresses. Without a cure, I doubt…”

Her bravado fails her. Jack sees her slip a hand off the table to touch her stomach. With her dressed, the curve is imperceptible, but he’s seen it uncovered. He’s sure she was about to say she doubts she’ll live long enough for the baby to be born. His throat tightens.

“We need to redirect our efforts, that’s all,” Jack says, fighting back tears. “Devote all our energy to finding a cure, as you say.”

“How?” Belle’s eyes are desperate, locked on his as they ignore the rest of the room. “You hardly leave the ward, and I need help. I don’t… trust myself. In the meantime, more people are contracting this disease.”

“I’ve heard rumours,” Fagin says, and they turn to stare at him. “Someone’s hired a ship. Standin’ in the ’arbour even now, she is.”

“How is this relevant?” Jack demands.

“Because it’s them who did it.” He’s carried on eating during the conversation, the picture of ease, and now he gestures to Governor and Lady Fox with his fork. “Getaway ship, I heard.”

“Getaway ship?” Belle echoes, turning on her parents.

The Governor starts to babble, but Lady Fox gets right to the point: “Yes. Our family is leaving the colony.”

“You can’t put Belle on a ship,” Jack says. “She has the disease.”

“Yes, and she’ll have you there to treat her.”

His mind stumbles over the fact that Lady Fox apparently includes him in her notion of family. He recovers.

“What, both of us leave?” he checks, baffled.

“I am sure Dr. Sneed is perfectly capable of taking care of things at the hospital.”

“No, he’s not,” Jack says. His voice is rising without his permission. “I don’t even mean to deride Sneed, but if there’s one thing he isn’t, it’s capable. And it’s not his bloody fault! The man’s injured, soon to fall ill, and it’s becoming mad out there.”

“Which is why,” Lady Fox says measuredly, “we will not remain here.”

Jack can feel it—he’s about to shove his chair back, jump to his feet, and start yelling.

But Belle says, “You’re quite right, Mother. You shouldn’t stay, it isn’t safe.” She looks to Jack as she continues to address her words to her mother. “You should take as many healthy people with you as you can.”

“There must be room for us to travel comfortably,” Lady Fox replies.

“Well, I’m not going, so that’s one space to fill.”

“Neither am I,” Jack says, feeling relief in his chest as it suddenly becomes easy. He smiles at Belle, but she doesn’t smile back.

“You are,” she says.

“No, Belle, I’m staying with you, wherever you are.” He thinks she might be edging into confusion, too much distress. He recalls the way their patients will become more aggressive with too much commotion.

Her eyes are perfectly lucid.

“I know that’s what you want,” she says, “but what you need is an opportunity to work on a cure. Somewhere you’re not exhausted and constantly interrupted and in danger.”

“I’d have no idea what I was doing!”

“You’ll take my notes. And Hetty. Hetty deserves a place on that ship if anyone does.”

“Yes, but—”

“Why don’t we all retire to the parlour?” Fagin suggests to the others. He throws a wink Jack’s way and Jack nods back distractedly.

“There are people who need you,” Belle says when they’re alone. She’s sitting sideways on her chair and Jack has drawn out the one beside hers. He clutches her hands between his.

“You’re not one of them?” he asks, hurt beyond words or measure.

“I need you to live. That is what I need. Let me save you this time. You will board that ship in the harbour. You will—yes, Jack,” she says when he opens his mouth to argue. “You will take as many healthy people aboard as you possibly can. Take the contents of the laboratory. Take my notes. Work on finding a cure and I promise you that I will do the same. This is not giving up.”

Belle smiles though tears roll down her cheeks.

“Keep my family safe,” she requests.

Jack takes her face in his hands.

“You are my family.”

They leave it there for now.

They leave it there for two days, and on the third day, a man with necrotic skin extending from raw wounds on his neck and chest gets past the preliminary guard the military have set up and comes barrelling into the hospital.

It’s chaos as Jack instructs Hetty to barricade their ward from the inside. He sprints to Sneed’s domain, but Sneed’s heard the intruder and already shut himself inside. He gives Jack a grim nod through the window, and then Jack is running, flying, to the morgue. To Belle. He can hear thudding, uneven steps behind him, like those of a drunken man.

Belle meets him coming up the stairs, and when she thrusts him aside, he isn’t expecting it and is tossed back. He sees the man—dull-eyed and intent on the pair of them—and then he sees him knocked off his feet, an arrow protruding from his chest. Jack stares at his wife in awe as she lowers her bow.

“That will’ve been enough to kill him,” he says dazedly.

“Unless he’s not the sort to stay killed,” she says. “Come on. Fagin’s been keeping my sword in your old room for me.”

All Jack can do is scramble after her, really feeling that he should be the one protecting her—except that he’s shit with a bow and arrow, and he doesn’t relish being reminded.

They retrieve Belle’s sword and go back to the man, who’s begun to stir.

“Very not-dead,” Jack diagnoses.

He stands aside and waits. When Belle doesn’t act immediately, he studies her face. It goes against their very purpose of doing no harm to intentionally kill the man before them. She shot an arrow into him in defence of Jack though, and he doesn’t think it would be possible to corral someone already so far advanced into the disease, to subdue him and take him to a ward, to strap him to a bed. It’s too great a risk. He’ll have to die (again?).

“Give me the sword,” he says to Belle.

Just then, the man lurches upright and his wife draws back her arm, slashing into his neck. It won’t be enough, and Belle’s breathing is quick and shallow.

“I can finish it,” she tells him before he says anything.

“I know you can.” They look at each other. He sticks out his hand and she thrusts the sword’s handle into his palm. “Don’t watch.”

—

At daybreak, the hospital will be under full military guard, no one in or out, food and bodies passed through a designated door—the one near the pit they used to dump amputated limbs into, where a strong solution of carbolic acid used to be enough to dissolve the dead without them reinvigorating and attempting to spread the disease they’re still trying to understand.

Behind him is the ship. Ladies Jane and Fanny Fox are already aboard. Hetty and Flashbang. Charlie and other children whose bitten parents cannot make the journey. Others, advocated for by Belle, who stood up to her mother to do so, who broke her mother’s heart by refusing to change her mind about coming with them.

Jack stands on the dock, knowing what they’ve promised one another, he and Belle. You told me once you would get on a ship for me, she reminded him moments ago. She’s more beautiful than he’s ever seen her, cast in the fleeting grey light before dawn. They hold hands. He can feel her ring.

I won’t be alone, she said.

Sneed will continue to work alongside her, of course. As will Aputi and Prof, who’s emerged from his stupor to recognize the severity of the situation and returned to the hospital in the position of Temporary Head Surgeon (Sneed is fuming, Jack knows).

The Governor has elected to stay behind as well, blustering about “going down with the ship, so to speak.” Noble, Jack thinks, if mostly a lie. He stays for his child. Jack longs to do the same, sliding his hand over Belle’s stomach as they embrace, but they’ve had this conversation. They’re doctors, formal credentials or not, both deeply loyal to the ideal of serving the people of Port Victory. Through separation, they double their chances of coming up with a cure. This is what they tell themselves. Jack holds Belle and never wants to pull away. He presses his lips to her temple.

When they draw apart at last, Belle rushes to her father, falling into his arms. Jack’s own father approaches him with his loping, unhurried walk. His eyes speak before his mouth opens.

“You’re still me number one, Dodge. Fancy Skirt’s just borrowin’ me for a little while.”

“Thank you. Fagin.” Jack chops up his gratitude, uncertain of his voice, which threatens to rend wetly.

“Just so you’re prepared, my dear, I will be suggestin’ your missus name the baby after Granddad”—he taps his own chest—“should you not scurry back in time to name ’im yourself.”

“Could be a girl,” Jack points out.

“Norberta, then.”

“That’s dreadful.”

“Piss off,” Fagin says, reaching out and giving Jack’s shoulders a fond squeeze.

There’s no finer farewell, as far as Jack’s concerned.

He sniffs and gives them another look: Belle bracketed by Governor Fox and Fagin, whose arm she slips her hand through when he joins them. Jack stretches out the moment, eyes on his wife’s face.

What if I don’t remember? Belle asked him.

I’ll remember it twice, he said. Once for me and once for you.

Remember it once, she requested, because love has bound us so tightly there is hardly a distinction.

Once then. I think I put my heart into your chest that day.

She took his hand and placed it to feel the beat.

And I have kept it. Jack turns and strides up the gangplank. The blazing sun appears, standing on tiptoe to kiss the horizon.

[nerdy-talks]

Warning : This post is going to be a very personal rage dump/rant.

There are heavy topics involved, including cancer and death. Also explicit language.

Out of consideration and respect to those of you who would prefer not to read it (since I completely understand why you wouldn’t want to), I will continue under the cut

Also pictures of my dogs, to break up the doom and gloom ^^"

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

I absolutely despise, loathe, hate toxic people.

Especially when those toxic people are the “wolf in sheep’s clothing” type.

Especially when those people don’t have the fucking balls to confront others directly and just choose to slink about behind the scenes like scummy little vermin.

So… my uncle Joe passed away a few days ago.

It was expected. He had been battling pancreatic cancer, which ended up spreading into his liver and lungs.

With that being said, even though he will be dearly missed, at least he no longer has to suffer.

I was close with my uncle.

In fact, it’s no exaggeration to say that I was much closer to him than I was with my own father (my Dad was a permanent presence in my life up until the day he died, but we had an extremely tumultuous, dysfunctional, volatile, abusive relationship.)

We visited my uncle Joe regularly ever since I was a baby, all the way up until somewhat recently. He spent countless hours at our place throughout the years. He was super close with my parents, doing tons of outdoorsy activities with them. I spent a good amount of my childhood with his family. When his wife passed away, my parents helped him and supported him. He helped us move twice. My Mom took his kids places when she was just dating my Dad. When my Dad passed away, my uncle Joe was there for me without me even having to ask.

Literally everything was good between us, and always has been.

It’s also thanks to my uncle Joe that we gained a new furry member of our family last year, who we named Dandy 💙 my uncle’s dog had puppies, he asked how many we wanted, so we took one lol

(I’ll include a few poor quality pictures because… well, I should probably break up this message with a little “positivity”, right?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was Dandy when he was still just a baby, 4 weeks and 3 days old.

Look at the cute little potato 🥹

We visited my uncle Joe every week to see him grow and develop, anxiously waiting until he was old enough to bring home.

And this was the day he finally joined our family ~

Look at how tiny he was compared to my one Black Lab (sorry for the terrible quality picture. Our carpets are old, but I swear they don't look that dingy ^^")

And here's Dandy today, one year and five months later ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyway! Back to my rage-fueled rant :

My uncle Joe met someone about a year and a half ago, and she moved in with him pretty quickly.

Which certainly wasn't a bad thing. We were genuinely happy for him.

She seemed very nice, sweet, accepting, kind, receptive, and welcoming.

But for whatever reason, the dynamic changed the moment my uncle fell ill and the control landed in her hands.

Since my uncle Joe was sick, we all mutually decided that it would be best if communication was between my Mom/me and her (we would text her to check in to see how he was doing, as well as find out if/when it was a good time for us to visit)

This is where some inconsistencies started to appear.

For example :

She would tell us not to visit because my uncle was too sick (which was totally understandable!), but then would tell us a few days later how he was doing great and had fishing trips planned all week.

I 100% believed her at the time.

After all, everyone has both good and bad days.

But then when we would visit, my uncle Joe told us how he couldn’t fish anymore because the chemo was causing neuropathy in his hands, and he couldn’t hold his fishing pole or cast/reel the line in.

Though we just assumed he discovered those issues after she told us about those supposed fishing trips.

But the true eye-opener happened during our one visit. My uncle Joe welcomed us into his home, we talked, found out some updates about his health (which was declining), etc. He was open/transparent with us about everything.

When my uncle went to the bathroom during that visit, his girlfriend made the comment “I probably should have told you guys not to come here, since he’s in a lot of pain today.”

Knowing my uncle, I didn’t budge from my seat. I knew that if he wasn’t up for company, he wouldn't hesitate to tell us to leave.

And I’m glad we didn’t leave… because literally 10 minutes later, her granddaughter came waltzing in to visit her.

My uncle came out of the bathroom, sat on the sofa doubled over in pain as he was talking to me and my Mom (at this time, we asked him directly if we should leave, since we knew he was dealing with a lot and we didn't want to overstay our welcome. He told us not to leave, that we could stay because he felt like shit regardless).

But as he was sitting there, clearly in pain, his girlfriend and her granddaughter asked him to get up and carve a watermelon for them instead of doing it themselves.

What sense does that make?

'I should have told you guys to stay away, but I’m gonna make him strain himself and carve a watermelon for us even though he’s already suffering and struggling enough'

…. Okay. Fuck you too.

We obviously didn’t say anything. We just visited for a little while longer, then left with a friendly/cordial “goodbye, nice to see you again” to her and her granddaughter, told my uncle that we would be thinking about him and see him again, and wished them a good day.

Two and a half months passed before we heard from them again.

Why? Because she refused to answer our numerous calls and texts.

She deliberately ignored us, which actively prevented us from having an opportunity to see my uncle.

And she knew damn well that we wouldn’t just show up at my uncle’s house unannounced because we didn’t want to disturb him if he wasn’t feeling up for company.

We only got in contact with him again after he directly called our phone and left a message saying “hey, just checking in. I hope you’re both doing okay, since I haven’t heard from either of you in a while. Stop by when you can”.

So we went to his house.

When we explained the situation to my uncle Joe/passive aggressively confronted his girlfriend, her excuse was “oh, sorry. The reception here is bad so my phone was probably just acting up.”

For two and a half months?

Even though she was literally using her phone in front of us, which appeared to be working perfectly fine?

Even though she’s always on her phone every time we see her?

Even though she could have reached out to us, yet chose not to? Not even once in two and a half months??

I call bullshit.

My Mom even told her that she was on the verge of sending a text that said “okay, cunt.” since we thought she was ignoring us after not responding to our multiple texts/calls.

We all laughed it off as a joke, Joe's girlfriend even said “hahaha, I probably would have laughed if I got a text like that!” … but it most certainly was not a joke.

(My Mom is extremely outspoken and normally doesn’t hold back, especially when it counts. She’s the type of person you either love or hate, but she’s definitely one of a kind and the perfect example of a strong, independent woman who gives zero fucks lol)

Anyway, that visit went well. We behaved like usual, talked to both my uncle and his girlfriend normally, caught up on stuff, etc.

After that interaction, his girlfriend miraculously responded to every single call and text (bad reception, huh? Funny how she had zero service issues after we called her out in front of my uncle)

But basically every time we talked with her, she would say “it’s not a good time to come by, he’s really sick.”

And we would always respond with things like “we totally understand”, “thank you so much for letting us know”, “we wish there was something we could do to help”, “we’re here for you if you ever need anything or anyone to talk to since we know this also isn’t easy for you”, “we’ll check in next weekend”, “please take care of yourself”, “we’ll be thinking about you”, etc.

Then finally, my uncle Joe told us to stop up again two weeks ago. So we did.

He was extremely sick and remained in bed, but we said hello and he told us that we are more than welcome there and we could just visit with his girlfriend. So we did. The visit remained cordial and friendly.

The next day, my uncle called and apologized for not getting up when we were there.

We immediately told him that he has absolutely no reason to be sorry, that we completely and wholeheartedly understand, that we would understand even if he told us to leave the moment we arrived, and that we were keeping him in our thoughts.

The week after that, his girlfriend said he was too sick for company (which again, we obviously understood and thanked her for letting us know, wished them the best, etc).

We didn’t visit my uncle Joe after that. He passed away before we had another opportunity to see him.

Now, here’s where my anger starts to come into play :

His girlfriend didn’t let us know when he passed away.

We found out from my other uncle, Mike, two days later. (My Dad had 3 brothers. His eldest brother is my uncle Joe who just passed away. His youngest brother is my uncle Mike who let us know what happened.)

So my Mom called her and offered her condolences, asked how she was doing, told her that we’re here for her, and asked about the arrangements. My Mom also told her that Mike was the one who let us know about Joe.

She made the comment “there’s going to be a small ceremony, but only for immediate family.”

Which didn’t make sense to me or my Mom. We were both very close with my uncle Joe, we are family. So that comment seemed a bit… off?

But we dismissed it and instead talked to my uncle Mike.

We asked him to please keep us updated, since we wanted to pay our respects to my uncle Joe and our family.

Well… I don’t know what the Hell that lady said to my cousin (Joe’s son), but he told my uncle Mike not to tell us anything else.

That snake in the grass obviously ran back and told my cousin that we found out about Joe’s passing from Mike.

But uhh... We deserved to know.

Now, we literally just found out this morning that the ceremony was held yesterday. We weren't invited (the day/time wasn't publicly announced).

We were excluded. We were denied the opportunity to say our final goodbye.

I blame his girlfriend. Completely and entirely.

I especially find it super interesting that she didn’t attend the ceremony either… almost like she was afraid that we might possibly show up and confront her (which we would never do, purely out of respect for my uncle Joe)

When my uncle Mike told us, he apologized. But we told him that we don’t blame him, since we certainly didn’t want to put him in the middle of it.

It just pisses me the fuck off.

Bad enough she actively prevented us from seeing my uncle Joe, even on his “good” days. But then to keep us away from the ceremony too?

And she HAD to have fed my cousin a bunch of lies and bullshit to cause him to tell my uncle Mike not to inform us of anything. (Luckily for us, my uncle Mike loves to talk so he didn’t mind spilling the tea. He just felt guilty for not doing so sooner. But I understand why he waited, and I hold zero animosity towards him)

It’s especially confusing and upsetting since we always remained on good terms with all of my cousins.

We saw my cousins regularly, got along well with them, joked around with them.

Literally nothing that we did or didn’t do would warrant such a reaction from them.

If there was any fault on our end, I certainly wouldn’t be angry about this situation or waste my time typing this up. (I'm not the type of person who plays the victim, I admit when I'm wrong and own up to my faults/wrongdoings. That just isn't the case here.)

So it’s seriously a mystery to me… which is why I blame my uncle Joe’s girlfriend.

Absolutely nothing changed in the decades of knowing my uncle and his kids. Literally the only recent change was her coming into the picture.

(I also want blame my cousin, since he’s older than me and has a mind of his own… but I also know that he’s grieving the loss of his father, so I feel like that bitch took advantage of the situation to say whatever she wanted about us while my cousin is vulnerable and not thinking clearly/properly).

Regardless of the finer details…. I am absolutely livid.

It’s like a giant “fuck you” to us, like we aren’t good enough, like our feelings don’t matter.

And that pisses me off beyond belief.

I’m debating whether or not I should confront her.

On one hand, I probably should just let it go and move on.

But on the other hand… I want to play dumb, call her, and be like “How are you doing? Do you know when the ceremony is?“ just to see what she says.

And then tell her to go fuck herself.

Is that immature of me? Sure.

But I’m angry. Annoyed. Irritated. Fuming. My rage is boiling, my wrath is building. And I feel like exploding.

Needless to say… my Mom was right. That lady is a cunt. A toxic, festering, diabolical, oozing, gaping, pungent cunt.

If you’ve read up to this point, I genuinely apologize for dumping all of this off here.

I just needed to vent a bit.

I also owe everyone who has tagged me a HUGE thank you. You have all given me a much needed distraction from everything, plus I genuinely love being tagged.

So I will absolutely start posting/replying to those a little later (I've already started on them and have them saved in my drafts, I just want to finish them all and post everything at once lol)

[theskella]

That's New - An Exocolonist Fic

I recently played I Was a Teenage Exocolonist, and I absolutely adore it.

But there’s criminally little fic and content regarding my good good Squat Queen.

So I wrote a fic myself.

The punishingly dry air of Dust stings Sol’s near-sleepless eyes as he finally leaves his room, having abandoned making up for lost sleep. Groggy and stompy bootsteps bring him out to the overly-familiar sight of the multicoloured Vertumnan sky above, and the colony he has spent eons building and rebuilding from just off on the sidelines below. The noises of late morning activity on the farm serve to lightly annoy the tired teen. Is it too much to ask that I be allowed a restful sleep every now and then? He thought. I mean these folks owe me that much, surely. There were a few lifetimes that Sol bitterly considered how little credit he was allowed for managing so many lives, caring for the tapestry of the exocolonists' story here. Having staved off disaster after disaster, all without being believed that he was the weaver.

Familiarity breeds contempt. An old adage he despised crept its unwelcome way to Sol’s forebrain. There was another that Sol learned – from a cartoon, no less – that he’d often turn to to quiet the worming, malicious thought.

When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all.

Sol looks over the railing to the colony. He’d subtly influenced so much to award himself this view, the greatest view of the colony, from where he could see all of his friends, and the infinite; though arduously realized, potentials they have. But chief among these, for this, the last, and so many other innumerable lifetimes, Sol’s eyes fall thus again to Nemmie. Her shock of vibrant red hair is easy to spot. Leading the jogging group of Helios, ahead even of Vace, a fact that – from its gilded frame in the hall of his most precious memories – reminds Sol that Vace seethes over. Sol chuckles, mentally viewing the thought, pondering over its fine-tuned aesthetic distance. When probed, Vace used to erroneously claim that it’s to ‘watch her go’, but Sol knows from thousands of lives that Nemmie is just naturally faster. Even he has struggled to keep up with her in their many foot-races from childhood to now.

Fortunately, Sol had already crested the hump, Nemmie had broken up with Vace a few weeks ago. This time an argument over having another man’s name tattooed on her arm lit the fuse. Nemmie’s stalwart defense of the personally important tattoo earned a terminal bout of silent treatment from which their already unhealthy relationship would not recover. Of course, Sol had to play a part. A part that once seemed difficult and uncomfortable; but with recitation and understanding of his motivation, he no longer felt or acknowledged that difficulty. Separating Nemmie from a woefully ill person in such a delicate time was the easiest of the boundless choices Sol makes.

Sol’s groggy waking movements begin to pick up as the still-overbearing heat of Dust bids his blood to pump. He passes Cal, pushing a heavily laden wheelbarrow outside Geoponics. Sol stops him from his work to hand him a Bobberfruit, clapping him on his unyielding shoulder.

“Man, Dust always makes me wish I had your augment!” Sol jokes as he repeatedly flaps the hem of his shirt to cool himself. Sol keeps up chit-chat until Cal idly bites into the fruit, letting Sol know that he’d devour it shortly. Despite his love of food, Cal’s dedication to work often has him skipping meals, a fact Sol has never quite been able to influence beyond joining Tammy in regularly putting food in his hands. As he jogs away letting Cal get back to it, Sol quickly pulls his holopalm up to update Tammy in the private chat they keep to let her know. A moment later she sends back two emotes, a sandwich, and the custom Tangent emote that Marz convinced Nomi to make as part of a set for all of them. Sol sends back a selfie: a single hand held in prayer in front of a bashful smile in thanks.

Next on Sol’s walk he passes Rex and Marz sitting casually on the steps up to Command. It’s always fun to try to get a reaction from the highly charismatic duo. Let’s see how they like this. Sol happily doffs his shirt with relief and enters their field of view, muscles aglow with beads of sweat, prompting a hearty, familiar and welcome howl from Rex. Marz soon joins in, similarly enjoying the show. Sol draws his hands up and down his rugged torso, mimicking some of the salacious videos Rex had shown him and Marz and taking more and more dramatic poses earning excited whoops and hollers. After wheeling around from flaunting his tush, the realization comes too late that Rex has advanced the bit and is racing toward him. It’s too late to brace and the collision brings the two young men to the ground, tumbling. All three laugh at the scene. From the ground for a brief moment, Dys can be seen peeking from over the hill the gate stands upon. Sol finds his eyes just long enough to convey a greeting in passing– Dys’ preferred morning interaction. Rex has gotten up and grips Sol’s forearm to pull him to his feet and brushes him off, cheekily spending more time than needed pawing at his body. 

“Sorry, can’t help but chase juicy pieces of meat.” Rex says with his wolfish grin, his eyes don’t make contact with Sol’s, choosing to linger elsewhere. The emphasis is a little too thick but that’s to be expected. Sol replaces his shirt, ruffles Rex’s piebald hair a bit and softly pushes his head back toward Marz. Looking to where she’s lounging on the stairs, Sol returns the smile and sultry wave she gives him as their eyes meet. Her attention turns back to Rex as he starts hustling toward her, before turning to give a goodbye wave to Sol with a huge smile on his face.

Moments later Nomi Nomi suddenly bursts into Sol’s’ vision in an eruption of shiny and colourful clothing, loud-but-lovely hair and inexhaustible energy.

“HEY SOL! Guess what! Guess guess guess!” They greet with far more energy than should be allowed this early.

Without even waiting for a guess they immediately launch into a story about a thread of comments that the stories they’ve been writing together are getting. People really seem to enjoy them, as Nomi all but squeals to him. 

“I can’t tell you how I know, but even some of the Helios kids are being nice!” Nomi pulls Sol’s sleeve to lower his ear to their face “I… snooped a little and they’re even writing fanfics based on our stories!” they say in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.

Sol encouragingly offers that perhaps the Helios aren’t as violent as they seem, and it’s a matter of perception that paints them as such. Nomi excitedly agrees and rushes off, yelling over their shoulder that they have a duty then, to encourage this creativity.

Gazing over to the Garrison shows the joggers are still running a few laps. I probably have some time then. He livens his pace a little toward the Engineering building. When he arrives he is happy to be greeted by Tangent and Tammy together in the hall. Tang is sat on the floor, busied by interfacing with her holo-eye, and taking breaks to chug from an energy drink. Tammy for her part is taking advantage of Tang’s hyperfocus to swap the energy drink for water, and keep a stream of idle chatter to distract her from the moments Tammy holds a sandwich half to Tang’s lips, prompting her to bite. Tammy catches Sol’s eye and gives a pronounced sarcastic eye roll and warm smile. Sol puts his hand to his heart and mouths ‘thank you’.

It didn’t take much to get Tammy to agree that Tang takes poor care of herself, but there was significant coaxing into convincing Tammy that Sol would help keep Cal fed if Tammy helped Tang in turn. Cal’s issue was in not stopping to eat, while Tang’s was thinking anything you eat would do for nutrition. Tammy’s significant culinary ability would be better spent keeping Tangent off of an all-protein bar diet. Tammy was reticent at first, knowing Tang’s past bitter refusal to be cared for. Sol did eventually convince her to give it a shot, saying that slowly but surely, Tang’s gotten over that attitude. As Sol approaches, he pings Tangent from his holopalm to ‘look up’. She does so, and is a little surprised by Tammy’s presence. Tammy reflexively stiffens, but Tangent is– however removed from the situation she may be– thankful for the food, and takes it from Tammy to continue eating. Tammy sighs in relief as she rises to her feet while being careful to keep the energy drink she’s protecting Tang from hidden behind her. The sweet girl places a gentle hand on Sol’s shoulder before excusing herself to the Creche.

“How are the tests for the modified pomoea batatas going?” Tangent asks, rapidly switching from tasks to attention to Sol.

“Things look good so far, they’re able to take to Vertumnan soil now. However, Cal let me know that they are also being singled out by an endemic fungus.” Tang curses under her breath as Sol speaks, clearly disappointed but in a way one could have expected.

Sol is mindful to mention “Cal thinks their enhanced nutritional load is prompting the targeted parasitism. You should talk to him about it, he’s really come into his own in terms of the science of farming.”

Tangent, quite without knowing it, pays Cal a compliment, “Yes, he has been helpful. I will do so.” It isn’t much, but Sol knows better than most to take careful measure of the words Tangent uses, she’s likely already considered their meaning 3 or 4 times before saying them.

Sol wishes her well as he leaves, watching over his shoulder to see Tang munching on the last bit of her sandwich with a surprising vim. It comes as a huge relief, she’s seemed much healthier overall, since Sol stood by her side against Lum’s push for a plague.

Sol exits the Engineering wing into the none-waned heat to see with shielded eyes the Garrison clearing out from the track. Nemmie is punching arms and waving goodbyes before she looks up and spots Sol, she exaggerates her waving to him in a way just familiar enough to when they were kids that it makes his chest flutter. A beat passes before Nemmie starts bouncing into a run toward him. He starts to bob along to meet her. Though, Sol notes, she’s gradually picking up the pace as she nears. Sol realizes then, this isn’t a run– it’s a charge! Ignited with a youthful flame, Sol sets his form like he used to when the Garrison was mostly an official excuse for him and Nemmie to rough-house. Before the fall of the Strato. Before the arrival of the Heliopause and before Vace made the entire space feel coarse and– ironically, alien.

Nemmie is approaching at a blitz, Sol looks for any sort of indication of the opening volley– a tackle? A flying kick? What’s her plan? The heavy footfalls Nemmie makes reach Sol’s ears now, his fingers twitch in anticipation. Nemmie is within 4 meters and his defensive posture stiffens, a stoic-looking Nemmie kicks off the ground, turning to the side and sailing through the air to deliver– nothing? She’s just flying toward– OH SHIT! Unsuspecting arms reach out to catch his friend, but the force is just a little too much and Sol is taken to the ground. Nemmie lands in a ball on top of him before bursting out laughing, a sound he hasn’t heard for far too long.

“You’re supposed to catch me null-head!” Nemmie’s eyes peer up from where her head rests on Sol’s chest, behind the tangled, beautifully chaotic mass of red curls that coil and tumble over his chest. The sight reminded him of more treasured memories, desperately and excitedly piecing together fractions of his wife’s face from behind those same curls, grown out and allowed to be wild once more. He forced his current-self to compose again, before things got inappropriate.

He fires back. “I was expecting you to hit me!”

She tosses her hair out of her face with the back of her hand, then presses into Sol’s chest to extricate herself. “You gotta be ready for anything, farmboy. Expect me to run this drill again.”

The smirk she wears now is knowing, Sol’s aware, she’s aware. Before leaving the Garrison, Sol outranked her– fair enough, he was intimately familiar with bolstering his performance– in fact thinking about it, even now she is one rank lower than he was, who is she to assign drills? She’s taunting him.

He’s not having it.

His fingers find Nemmie’s sides and rub, dig and grind prompting a flurry of jerky movements and fits of laughter. Despite all her training, Nemmie has always been ticklish. All the training did was make Sol have to work for it. The giggly girl desperately paws, punches and slaps away at the offensive, but to little avail. Soon Sol has pushed himself off the ground and over Nemmie, who is laughing and rolling about, fully at his mercy.

These dear, childhood friends carry this on for a few more moments, the less fun passerbys scoff and give a wide berth. Eventually Nemmie taps, completely robbed of breath and laying on her back to catch it. Sol is similarly posed beside her, relishing his best friend’s returning energy.

“Hey have you eaten?” He says, tapping his knuckles on her shoulder. “I’ve got Xeno Eggs at my place– Cal’s certain they’re for eating.”

Nemmie almost starts an excuse, Sol knows the tells. Her hand raises toward her head to run her fingers through her hair. But– it stops. Her hand is paused in the air. There’s a moment in Sol’s mind that feel’s… a bristling discomfort, almost a chill. Nemmie is up on her feet before Sol’s given a chance to dwell on it.

“That sounds great! I’m starving.” Nemmie reaches that same hand towards him. He cranes forward to reach for it, but Nemmie reels it back before his grip can find her, awkwardly spending Sol’s effort and making him look foolish. She’s back to laughing.

A classic Nemmie rug-pull. Her laughter plays like music in Sol’s ears as he grins and gets up on his own, playfully batting away renewed offers to help him up.

“But hey– I’ve gotta shower and change first, I’ve already worn these fatigues for a solid week, and I stink.” She says pulling at her collar and fanning her face in mock disgust. Sol hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s no big deal, You can shower at my place, and I think I still have a set of your sweats from last Wet. Clean, of course.” Sol offers up, not wanting to waste any of her time, he knows how dedicated she’s made herself to the Garrison.

The pair trek back, retracing Sol’s earlier walk until they arrive at his home. His parents are going to be working, so they essentially have free run. All the while through the walk, Nemmie is– at least by comparison to earlier this month, in high spirits. She asks about Sol’s expeditions, and how he’s doing with his photophoner practice. She’d gifted him that very same photophoner when they were kids, and he’s kept immaculate care of it since. Sol’s glad to talk about anything non-military with her. He’s surprised when passing Cal. Nemmie sends a small, brief wave back when Cal greets Sol. It apparently surprises Cal too, as he nods back at her with a quizzical look on his face.

Once inside, Nemmie beelines immediately to the shower. Calling back to Sol that she won’t be long and to just toss the sweats in when he gets the chance. Sol makes for the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients and supplies for omelettes from the fridge and preheating the pan. Swiftly, Sol retrieves the sweats that had indeed been left when Nemmie got caught in a bad rainstorm and sheltered here, wearing some yet-to-be-returned clothes of his to get back to the Garrison when there was a break in the rainfall.

Sol approaches the bathroom door, calling out “Delivery” before momentarily cracking the door and throwing in the clothes, then going out to the kitchen again.

Benefited by the lifetimes he’s spent helping in the cafeteria kitchens, it’s a trivial thing to prepare some Xeno omelettes. So his mind comfortably wanders as he moves on autopilot. Something’s been nagging at the very cusp of his mind since he felt that chill, but he can’t pin it down. He abandons the quest when he realizes he should ask Nemmie what cheese she wants, some colony kids take issue with floatcow cheese. He rounds the corner to the hall the bathroom door is in and is greeted with a Nemmie fresh out of the shower, just starting to pull the sweater down over her slick, rugged abs, freezing him in place.

“Oh, sorry!” Nemmie blushes, tugging the sweater down over her  “I rushed out when I smelled the food” she exclaims, trying to change the subject.

“Speaking of shredded; what kind of cheese would you like on your omelette?” Sol asks, holding the pan with the nearly cooked eggs inside. He punctuates with a teasing wink. She punches his arm in answer to this teasing when she walks over. 

“Floatcow’s fine. Stars, it really does smell fantastic in here. Lucky me– having a renowned cook-off champion as a best friend.” Nemmie boasts with a grin.

After finishing the omelettes with cheese and neatly folding them, Sol leads Nemmie into the den, choosing to eat on a comfy couch. The pair wordlessly adopt an arrangement they’ve had for a long time: sat facing each other, Sol cross-legged and reclined on the arm of the sofa and Nemmie laid out with the soles of her feet pressed against his stomach. Many cartoon marathons in the lounge of the Strato were enjoyed just like this. Between bites, Nemmie heaps praise on Sol for his cooking, and wishes she had the time to learn to cook like this. Sol offers to just cook for her and Nemmie lets out a singular laugh with her mouth full.

“Imagine, my own personal chef.” she says, a lilt of joking wistfulness in her voice before swallowing.

“Marz would be so jealous.” Sol points out before taking another forkfull. Something about Sol’s comment gives Nemmie pause, her eyes dart about and blink rapidly.

“Thank you, Sol.” Nemmie’s tone shifts, growing more serious as she continues, “I know that you put a lot of effort into making sure we’re all… just– thank you. You’re the best, most caring person on this planet. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her foot idly presses and rubs against his stomach.

Sol places his plate on the coffee table and gently places his hands on Nemmie’s legs, warming toward answering her sudden candour, “Nemmie is everything alright?”

She smiles somberly. Her eyes are cast down on the empty plate she’s fiddling with. She takes a few breaths before saying “Yeah. Yeah, things are… better. I’m just–” she pauses. A long moment ticks by in the measure of her breathing before she finishes her thought.

“Everything made sense to me when I was with Vace–” she puts her hands out defensively in front of her and quickly covers– “I know, I know, he was awful. But things were easy. It’s hard to describe. It’s like, I was already angry and hurting, so Vace just felt like more of the same. I could deal with it, it was just part of the norm. And I’m happier now, but– without Vace I can see how lonely I was, how alone I made myself by tying myself up in his approval, and I’m… I’m scared that the person I was– who I let myself be when I was with him…”

Sol’s squeezes on her calf, trying to silently convey his empathy, to make it more tangible to her that he was listening. Nemmie’s feet swing suddenly over the edge of the couch, she spins to her knees sending her plate clattering to the ground and her falling toward Sol, catching him in a hug. 

Her eyes are welling up, and she sniffles into Sol’s chest before continuing to speak, though the words are laden with effort to keep her tears back. “I don’t want to be that lonely person,” she manages to squeak out in a whisper. Sol’s arms went around her in reflex, and tighten now as he’s clueing into what she’s trying to say. He hushes her. Letting her know it’s ok. He lets her breathe for a moment, comforting her until he can compose what he wants to say.

“Nemmie. Nothing could change so drastically that I– or any of us for that matter– would hate you,” She wetly sniffles some more, trembling but still holding tightly.

“We know who you are, and… as bad as things seemed sometimes, we knew that it wasn’t– that it’s not who you are,” his hand cups the back of her head, stroking her hair. “We were sad, and it hurt. But I promise that we love you. And it’s because we love you that it hurt to see you acting that way.” His own words are beginning to choke in his throat, but he tries to keep it together.

“How can you know?” her question is heavy with worry.

Sol can’t tell her. Not that she’d even believe him, that he’s already grown up with them countless times, and nothing has ever truly torn them apart. They’ve strained, frayed at the edges and shown wear and tear, but the tapestry remains beautiful– mending, patches and all.

“Because I know my friends. You’ll have to trust me.” Sol offers instead, though it’s not what he wishes he could say. 

She lifts her head up to look him in the eye, though his chest is no lighter for it. Tears have left trails down her freckled and scaled cheeks. Her eyes are puffy and red and searching his. The hug tightens on her subconsciously.

“I– I do,” her voice is steady now as she answers.

Then, quite brashly and without warning– Nemmie brings her lips to Sol’s. A moment cast in the haze of elation passes before Sol gently separates her from him.

“Nemmie wait–” he’s at once cursing himself and eagerly encouraging his next words– “you’re… you’re going through a lot right now. Are you sure– I mean, I don’t want you to…”

The faintest expression of doubt passes over the face of his best friend. Sol didn’t want her to jump into something like this out of stress. Wait–

“You’re right, I’m a wreck right now,” she starts softly and straightens herself up, pushing back off of him. Sol wants to disagree with her words, but she doesn’t give him a chance. “But you’re here for me. You’ve always been there, even when I thought I didn’t want you to be.” She starts out whispering, but she reaches her hand forward, her fingers barely graze against the arms that held her, and the quiet voice dissipates as she finds her confidence. And her hand gently but firmly grasps Sol’s wrist

“I’ve been thinking about this. You’re caring, you’re funny, I–” she takes a deep breath. “I don’t feel lonely with you. You’ve been my best friend for as long as we could walk. You’ve never once forgotten my birthday. I can talk to you about anything.” Her words fluctuate in volume and tone, it’s clear that she has thought about it, but the thoughts are coming out in a random priority.

It’s adorable.

“And– you make me feel safe.” She finally exhales.

Sol’s neck hair stands on end, as he finally catches that evasive, errant thought. Or rather it rockets toward him, a collision that shakes every corner of his consciousness.

“I– I’m in love with you, Sol.” Her brilliant, purple eyes lock with his, and he feels unable to breathe.

She’s never been the one to confess–

That’s new.

And that’s all for now. I want to continue writing this, but I felt like this was a good enough point to post a Part One.

comments in good faith welcome

[softly-potter]

Little Love | Chapter 9: The After

Summary: When Wanda ends up pregnant a few weeks before their wedding, having an impending family shocks them both.

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 14,401

Warning: none

A/N: The final chapter! Thank you for reading :) keep up with all my fics on tik tok, softlypotter_ | Find the rest of the chapters here; Chapter 1: Two Lines | Chapter 2: All In | Chapter 3: Talking Bodies | Chapter 4: A Visit Before the Bells | Chapter 5: An Exchange of Air | Chapter 6: Week 20 | Chapter 7: The Best Team | Chapter 8: Terrible Timing

-

Chapter 9: The After

Being in active labor was something completely indescribable. Wanda could hear Bruce speaking to her, feeling someone move her legs and arms, a slight pinch on the skin between her elbows. She knew what she needed to do, but she couldn’t seem to do it, couldn’t make her muscles obey her.

“She needs to push now, Barnes.”

“She knows,” Bucky snapped, and Wanda heard the screech of metal against the floor. His face came into view as he sat down on a metal chair beside her, lacing his hands with hers.

“The baby could be hurt if she doesn’t start soon.”

“Make sure she’s not hurt,'' Bucky demanded, turning slightly. “Do you hear me? Her.”

There was pressure on her skin and she shifted, trying to turn her head and arm so she could remove the pressure.

But Bucky grabbed her chin forcly, turning her to look at him. “Don’t. You need that, honey. Just look at me. The baby is coming quickly and we need you to push.”

How was he so calm? He looked stoic, in complete, solid control.

Wanda blinked rapidly, looking at the doctors running around her, speaking about her as if she couldn't hear them. “I can't do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he tried to reassure her, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You can do this.”

“I-I can--'' She was cut off by a spike of pain, squeezing her jaw tight enough to crack teeth. This was too fast, she wasn’t prepared. She didn’t have anytime to get ready, they were so ill prepared.

“You're one of the strongest people I know,” Buck whispered, giving her one of his award winning smiles. “I’m so proud of you.”

“She needs to push now,” someone said, and Bucky's jaw flexed, but his eyes stayed on hers.

Gritting her teeth, Wanda pushed through another contraction, an unfamiliar pain striding up her spine. She felt disorientated, almost not believing she was capable of bringing this child into the world. Her resolve quickly hardened when she opened her eyes, because Bucky was looking at her so intently. She could almost feel his strength surge into her through their interlocked hands.

“That's it, sweetheart. Breathe in, keep going,” Bucky whispered, his voice the only source of comfort.

She pushed again, her head straining, chest heaving as she squeezed his hand. And for a split moment, there was nothing but blaring silence. Then a cry cut the air.

Bucky sagged against her in relief, cupping both her hands. “Thank God,” he mumbled, thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “Thank fucking god.”

Through her exhaustion, Wanda smiled.

-

When she awakened, she blinked quickly, the light too bright, streaming over her face. She looked around, relaxing a bit when she saw Bucky leaning against the door, his back to her as he talked to someone she couldn’t see.

“Where's the baby?” Wanda asksed, shifting.

They didn’t hear her, confining their conversation, and she strained to sit up, leaning on her side.

“James, where is the baby?” she demanded.

Bucky whirled around at the sound of his given name. He was by her side in a second, hands lacing together as he smiled. “They’re cleaning her up,” he answered, eyes shining. “Don’t worry. Banner is handling the whole thing. She’s in good hands.”

She. They had a little girl.

“Sorry for the wait, she just needed some cleaning.” Bruce approached the bed, holding a plush bundle in his arms. He said something else but Wanda was no longer listening, her entire focus on the baby carefully placed in her arms. Small and pink, already sound asleep, their daughter was absolute perfection.

Bucky moved his flesh hand lightly atop her head, his fingers dipping to her neck, and Wanda looked up at him. His face was soft, open, a new love showing in his eyes.

“A girl,” he hummed, searching Wanda's face before turning to the bundle in her arms. “We have a little girl.”

A thought wormed its way onto wanda and she blurted, “Your sister. What was her name?”

Bucky was still staring as he answered with, “Becca.”

Wanda glanced down again, raising a hand to run a finger down her baby's cheek. “Your name is Beck, little love,” she whispered, surprised at how soft she was.

Bucky turned to her, beaming, before pulling her to him gently, kissing her mouth and Wanda sighed with relief.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” Wanda asked tiredly.

Bucky nodded, easing next to her on the bed and cradled Beck's head gently, the base of her head fitting easily into his palm. “We’re going to be just fine,” he whispered, eyes bouncing between hers and Beck’s. “Me, you, and our little love.”

[thatonebirdwrites]

I finally got this updated and hope to go back to my regular schedule soon. Being ill has not been fun. :( I was really bad off this past week and weekend. Writing is how I cope with my chronic illness, so I hope to get back into my writing schedule. EXCERPT:

3 months, 1 week, and 6 days since Zaheer’s defeat  Spirit Oasis - 172 AG Winter

As agreed upon Desna led Asami and Kya from the port, surrounded by a cluster of guards, and to a vehicle. Asami noted it was Future Industries made, which meant her company’s export sales were fairing better than when she’d first left for her medical leave. That had to be a good sign. The port itself bristled with activity from laborers and cargo cranes that unloaded ships, while other sections held smaller boats like the fisherman's dinghy. Warehouses were built along parts of the port's streets, and on the outer edge of the port's bay large fortifications protected its narrow entrance. Reminded her of an icy and much smaller version of the Fire Nation's fortifications at Capital City.

“Pity I must escort peasants,” Desna said, in his typical flat monotone. “But at least you are the most interesting of my dear cousin’s crew.” 

“Interesting?” Asami raised her eyebrow. “I’ll take the compliment.”  

“Your choice of clothing is atrocious but pleasantly made. Hiding your hair and altering your accent a pitiful disguise, that oddly works.” Desna gestured to the streets outside the vehicle. The buildings here were similar to Wolf Cove in the fact they were covered in a layer of ice, but the roofs and walls were made of large slabs of earth. Very little color adorned them, unlike Wolf Cove, though hues of blue serenaded the landscape in an eerie monotone rainbow. 

“Her long black hair is signature Sato,” Kya agreed. 

Desna nodded. “Curiosity takes me however. Why do you wish to visit the Spirit Oasis?”

Asami clenched her jaw. She had no intention of telling Korra’s cousin her reasons, especially since the last time she’d seen him was during the peace treaties after the World War. They were hardly on the same side, even if in the end Desna had convinced his sister to go against their father. 

“Healing properties is well known,” Kya replied. “My mother did ask for a replenishment of her stock as well.”

Desna eyed Asami with pursed lips, and Asami knew the Chief did not believe Kya. She met his piercing gaze with determination, her chin tilted up in defiance. She planned to tell him nothing.

“Obstinate as always. Perfect foil for our cousin.” He leaned back and gestured to some of the plazas they passed through as they wove through the streets toward the palace. He named a few, described their significance, and offered tidbits of history.

[nillegible]

the JGY amnesia Fic

[AN: Someday I will come up with decent titles for my fics... but not now XD I hope you like this fic, the premise is that the issue with XY and NMJ happens before JZX’s death, and so the argument and the stairs moves up in the timeline! And JGY hits his head and gets TV-show amnesia, and remembers no one, not even himself, but is otherwise his sharp, suspicious self...]

He wakes up sure that he is dying, nothing else could hurt so sharp, agonizing pain radiating out from the back of his head, stabbing sharply every time he is swung, and he forces his eyes open. The light burns, but he can make out an earth green and brown collar, and a strong jawline. He is being carried by this man.

He doesn’t know who this is, but he feels… safe. Even though every step this man takes makes his eyes water.

He blacks out.

*

His name is Jin Guangyao. It rolls smoothly off his tongue, but sits wrongly in his mind. “Temporary amnesia,” the doctor had informed him, when Jin Guangyao could not tell him the answers to any pf his questions; not his name, or the date, or where they were.

A fancy young master in white-and-gold robes, who introduces himself as Jin Zixuan, is the one who sits by his side and tells Jin Guangyao the basics of his life. There is such an obvious lack of detail that it leaves him intrigued. And Jin Zixuan looks ashamed when Jin Guangyao asked if he was Jin Zixuan’s uncle. “No, I’m your older brother,” he says. “We… we share a birthday, but you’re a day younger.”

Jin Guangyao watches him for a moment, and wonders at the source of his brother’s shame. “I’m a bastard, aren’t I?” he asks.

“My father legitimized you!” Jin Zixuan protests. “You’re my brother.”

Jin Guangyao smiles at him. This man is clearly naïve, but has no ill-intent. The man who had named Jin Guangyao Jin Guangyao, however? He is yet to ascertain that.

*

Jin Guangyao’s memory doesn’t return within the first week. With his head injury healed, though, he’s allowed to leave the infirmary which allows him to collect a lot more useful data.

There is a lot of work piled up in his room. Disorganized, as if someone had gone through it to take the important paperwork to work on while he is <infirm>. That he was assigned so much work that was non-essential makes him wonder if he was actually pretty low on the social ladder, here. He goes through all of them anyway, most of it is useful information, painting a picture of Jin sect’s activities, and the sorts of projects that they allow to drag on for weeks. Jin Guangyao has left meticulous notes in a separate notebook about how to put everything into a more sensible order. That such reworking was required

His accessories, or lack-there-of, are even more enlightening. There’s also a scholarly-sort of hat, and only a few cheap hair ribbons. Nothing at all like the intricate jade hairpins or crowns with intricate metalwork and precious stones that Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun wore daily.

Jin Guangyao’s place here is… obvious.

He wonders who the man who had picked him up after his injury, was. No one tells him, not even Jin Zixuan, he just pats Jin Guangyao’s hand and says, “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” The implications of that are obvious, of course, that the stranger was the one who had hurt him. And yet it’s a subject no one speaks of, of how Jin Guangyao had fallen down the thousand steps of Koi Tower, and he hadn’t asked after the first two times. He stays wary, watching everyone. Someone had tried to kill him, and he doesn’t even remember which of his acquaintances might want him dead.

*

Lan Xichen arrives two days after his release from the infirmary, Lan-Zongzhu, according to everyone else. He’s beautiful, the most beautiful person that Jin Guangyao has ever seen. Since he remembers all of a week, this doesn’t sound like a compliment, but Jin Guangyao could probably search for decades and not find anyone more beautiful. It would not be fair.

They have tea together, after Lan Xichen – “Call me er-ge, you are my sworn brother, A-Yao,” – has checked him over worriedly, and checked his meridians, and pressed his fingertips gently to the back of Jin Guangyao’s head, to where his head injury had been, and ascertained that he truly is well.

“They did not tell me you were injured,” he says. “Da-ge had to, and this is the week of new students for the summer lectures, I could not leave. Jin Zixuan promised me you were well, though,” he says. Sincerity shines through him, and Jin Guangyao wonders what on earth he, an unwelcome child in his own family, could have done to make this man care for him.

So he asks.

Lan Xichen describes a heroic young man, who gave him shelter when he needed it most, who had smiled and laughed at him, and helped him with chores he could not do, and gave him the strength to fight a war. Lan Xichen tells him that this kind young man had gone into a war that did not affect him, only to help, that he had turned spy against a raging mad man, and finally taken off his head.

“So that is why my father took me in,” says Jin Guangyao. There’s a flicker of pain on Lan Xichen’s face as Jin Guangyao tells him what he’s surmised about how he’s treated here. “Did you know?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“I suspected,” Lan Xichen says softly. “But you were too proud to tell me. You insisted you were happy here. I visited when I could, but I never… I’m so sorry.”

Jin Guangyao reaches out to pat Lan Xichen’s hand, it feels so familiar, even if Jin Guangyao can’t remember doing it before. He must have, Lan Xichen’s sad face cannot be borne. “I’m sure I didn’t want to bother you, er-ge. You’re overworking yourself even now.” The signs are there, even behind his flawless composure. “You look so tired.”

“I had to come,” says Lan Xichen. “I was so scared that you…” He trails off, then turns his hand, holding onto him tightly. “If you don’t remember your place at Koi tower, do you want to return with me until your memory recovers? We’re still reconstructing, but Cloud Rececsses is still an excellent place to ”

“This Jin Guangyao is honoured, but what if it doesn’t?” asks Jin Guangyao practically. “I can’t just leave my home like that.” More quietly, he adds, “There must have been some reason I didn’t leave before.”

“You never said, exactly, but I believe it was because of your mother,” says Lan Xichen. “She wished that you would gain your father’s recognition, and a place at Koi Tower.”

“Do you know anything about her?” Jin Guangyao is not an idiot, he knows from the snide remarks, the way that people try not to touch him that he is of low birth, that his mother’s occupation was. That. He wonders if Lan Xichen will lie to him.

“She was an educated woman,” he says. “A renowned beauty. You’ve told me that you take after her, in many ways. She was skilled in the arts. She never taught you art but she was your master in calligraphy and music. She loved you very much and wanted you to have a good education because she knew… she knew that A-Yao is so incredibly smart and destined for greater things.” He squeezes Jin Guangyao’s hand. “Her life was not easy. She suffered, but she loved you. She would be proud of you, to know how much you achieved.”

It should matter, it does matter, Jin Guangyao’s heart squeezes, but it is from sympathy for what Lan Xichen is feeling. The dark honey-gold eyes are bright with tears. Clearly Jin Guangyao had loved her very much, before. But Jin Guangyao cannot find in him any love for a woman that Jin Guangyao cannot imagine. A woman with his face, a prostitute, but educated, talented. And ambitious to have Jin Guangshan’s son.

“My father did not take her in, I gather?”

“He did not. She died of illness shortly before I met you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” says Jin Guangyao.

*

Lan Xichen stays an entire afternoon, and readies himself to leave at dusk. Jin Guangyao accompanies him to the sky-pavilion on Koi Tower that the Jin disciples use to take off from.

There’s a last nagging question that Jin Guangyao hadn’t managed to slide into the conversation, as it meandered into cultivation theory and Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen had tried to piece out some kind of pattern in what kinds of cultivation knowledge he had retained, and what he had forgotten. It had been an interesting exercise.

“Er-ge, before you go,” says Jin Guangyao. He looks around cautiously, but no one is near enough to overhear. “You’re older than Jin Zixuan, aren’t you?” he asks, and Lan Xichen nods. “So our da-ge… you never said. Is he… did he die during the war?”

“No!” cries Lan Xichen. “A-Yao no, he’s not. He’s fine, he just could not find time to visit.”

Lie.

It’s the first time Lan Xichen has lied to him today, but Jin Guangyao is certain of it.

“No one talks about him, and I couldn’t find any letters from him. I did find a few of yours. No one even says his name. Who is he?”

“Nie Mingjue,” says Lan Xichen, sounding defeated. “Of course you would think to ask, but his name is Nie Mingjue.”

Everything falls into place. Jin Guangyao has seen some Nie disciple couriers on their way to private meetings with his father and the Jin council of elders. Hard faced and angry looking, they kept to themselves and departed the moment they could, without staying for a meal or entertainment.

“You think he pushed me down the stairs,” says Jin Guangyao.

“No,” says Lan Xichen. “We know he did. He kicked you down the stairs. He–”

“And you believe that?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“Of course I do,” says Lan Xichen. “Da-ge was the one who told me. I knew that things were difficult between the two of you, recently, but I had not imagined… It does not matter, we are looking through the records now, so that you can be free of your vows to him, and even if we can’t find something, he won’t visit Koi Tower again, Jin-zongzhu has forbidden it.”

“Oh,” says Jin Guangyao, mind whirring. “Okay then.”

“Is A-Yao afraid we’re covering something up?” asks Lan Xichen. Jin Guangyao is not sure what gave it away, he thought he’d kept his face smooth.

“Naturally I trust er-ge,” he says, smiling up at him. “I just remember him, vaguely. He picked me up. He saved me.”

It’s Jin Guangyao’s first memory, pained and fragmented though it is.

“He did take you up to the infirmary right after,” Lan Xichen agrees. He looks faintly puzzled, like he’s not sure why that matters to Jin Guangyao.

“I understand,” says Jin Guangyao. “Nie-zongzhu would of course regret his action after his moment of anger.”

“He does,” Lan Xichen assures him. “You should write to him, if you are willing to accept his apologies, but Da-ge is terribly sorry.”

“Thank you er-ge, I will,” Jin Guangyao promises. The relief on Lan Xichen’s face is too pure for this world.

He waves goodbye after Lan Xichen takes off, and steps back into the maze of Koi Tower, mulling over all the new knowledge that Lan Xichen had brought with him. He was right, he should write to Nie Mingjue.

But after some more research.

What could they have possibly quarrelled about so badly?

Jin Guangyao makes his way back to his rooms, keeping his face expressionless at the gilded opulence and overt unfriendliness of his home. He doesn’t understand his past self at all.

Why does he still live here, where he’s so clearly unwanted?

Why did he even care for the acknowledgement of Jin Guangshan, who from even just Jin Guangyao’s few interactions this week and the gossip he’s picked up, is a selfish, disgusting pervert who wouldn’t spit on Jin Guangyao if he was on fire.

Just because his mother wanted him to?

She was a good woman, he hears again, in Lan Xichen’s sincere voice. But Jin Guangyao doesn’t get it. She had to have been a fool, to believe in Jin Guangshan, or terribly cold and cruel to send him to Jin Guangshan knowing exactly what kind of derision would await him here. He is a war hero, and yet he’s treated like a servant.

Jin Guangyao is in the mood to be charitable, so he picks the former.

He still doesn’t know why he stayed.

[You can now read part 2 here!]

[bubble-tea-bunny]

i could make you care

[saiki kusuo x reader]

author’s note: i tried to incorporate as many characters into this as possible to make it feel like an actual episode and i got overwhelmed so fast lol i haven’t written this many characters in a story in a long time. in any case hope i did them justice and that you enjoy :’)

word count: 3,029

Today’s morning is bright, and Saiki’s walk is quiet. Typically this would be no cause for concern. A quiet walk to school is few and far between, difficult to come by given the company he keeps. (He’d much prefer a calmer bunch, if he were granted the chance to choose, but that is neither here nor there.) Don’t misunderstand: he’d bask in this brief peace, guaranteed to be broken the moment he passes through the gates of PK Academy, if the reason for this uncharacteristic period of silence comes about because of the absence of one particular person—someone who, if one could hardly believe it, Saiki actually prefers to have around more often than not.

He walks past the street which leads to your home, his pace never slowing because he expects you’ll join him, as you do every morning. You’ll wait for him on the corner and smile widely like you haven’t seen him in weeks then skip towards him, falling in step easily. He’ll remain nonplussed as you hug his arm, give it a brief squeeze as you greet him—Good morning, Kusuo!—and then promptly let go because you understand he likes his space but you just can’t help but indulge a little bit.

However, none of the aforementioned events play out this Friday. You’re not on the street corner, not there to smile and fall in step with him. There’s no arm hugging or a bubbly greeting Saiki pretends he isn’t affected by. But the truth is that he is, the routine coming somewhat as a comfort, even at the price of sacrificing some of his beloved personal space. So when you’re nowhere to be found his brows furrow and he wonders where you are.

His steps slow until he comes to a complete stop. He wants to check up on you, sooner rather than later. There isn’t much time to delay if he wants to make it to school before the first bell, but this won’t take long. He crosses his eyes, activating his clairvoyance, and he centers in on you immediately. You’re still at home. You’re at home, and you’re sick.

A box of tissues rests on your nightstand and you’ve pulled your small trash can right next to it from where it usually stands by your door. You toss used tissues into it before nestling beneath your blankets, pulling it up to just below your chin and hugging it close in order to retain heat. Your breath evens out quickly and he can tell you’re asleep. Your body must be exhausted dealing with your cold, and he’s confident this is the way you will be the rest of the day—drifting in and out of sleep, dealing with the sniffles and congestion.

He blinks and loses sight of you and now he’s staring once more down the road. Readjusting his bag on his shoulder with a sigh, he resumes walking and thinks about his plans for the day. As it was the last day of the school week, he’d planned to go to Cafe Mami for coffee jelly to celebrate. But now that he’s learned you’re sick in bed, he’d have to make adjustments. Momentarily he debates if that’s really necessary. You probably wouldn’t want visitors in the state you’re in, and knowing you, you’d tell him to go to the cafe without you to enjoy himself anyway. The thought is tempting, truly, yet he can’t shake the urge to check on you.

It feels less like an obligation and more like a simple desire of his own to make sure you’re okay. Saiki shakes his head, more amused than frustrated. There’s no one else for whom he would so willingly do this, or much else, for, and he doesn’t think he’d ever tell you because you’ll tease him the way you are wont to do whenever his facade cracks and he’ll let you have your fun because when you ask if you’re really so different as to make him act this way, the answer is, well, yes. You are.

He imagines this scenario and the corner of his lips lifts in a small smile. Good grief. You could be quite the handful.

“Hey, Saiki!”

Nendo’s voice is entirely too loud for the morning and Saiki heaves another sigh, one that sounds as though it belongs at the end of the day and not the beginning. Nendo is joined close behind by Kaidou and Kuboyasu, and they easily fill the silence with discussions about going to get ramen after class and the latest movements of the Dark Reunion. Saiki really only picks up words here and there that allude to the topic of conversation but it doesn’t require his full attention. It’s the same song and dance every morning.

The commotion once he arrives at school is much the same. During lectures he is afforded the temporary reprieve from having his ears talked off, since the only one speaking is the teacher, but at breaks, the noise resumes, and though he always stays sitting at his desk, in hopes the others will get the hint that he’s uninterested in chatting, they inevitably crowd themselves around it, until he is right in the middle.

Hairo has outlined a new workout regimen and in his louder than normal volume of speaking he shares it. He’s going to start it today, and if anyone wants to join, they’re more than welcome. It doesn’t look like anyone wants to take the offer, which is expected. Hairo’s exercise routines were… a little extreme.

In any case, Hairo is nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm from everyone else and remarks he can’t wait for the end of the school day.

“I think I’ve been losing muscle tone,” he laments, and he complements this statement with a casual flex of his arm, more so to point out the specific areas he thinks are getting soft rather than to show off, but even if he isn’t trying, his biceps are bulging and if his sleeves hadn’t been rolled up, they would have torn.

Saiki’s brow raises. Yeah… I don’t think that’s an issue for you, Hairo.

“I’ve just finished installing an indoor gym at my home, you know.”

Everyone turns to find Saiko has entered into the circle, a smug smirk on his face. When had he gotten here? Really it’s only Hairo who has any sort of reaction to this, eyes practically sparkling imagining the machines and equipment (or maybe that’s just the glare from the fluorescent classroom lights). All the same, Saiko relishes the attention, boasting of the privacy and space and how really, it’s so much easier to be productive if there’s no one else there but Saiki can only wonder if Saiko even works out at all. He doesn’t remember that being mentioned, and Saiki is nothing if not detail oriented.

Saiki doesn’t have long to ponder over this (not that it would’ve continued much longer because he doesn’t actually care about whether Saiko exercises or just set up a gym in his house to brag) before Nendo asks where you are.

Had he just noticed? You always join them on their walk in the morning. But Saiki can’t say he’s surprised it took this long. What he is surprised about is that Nendo had noticed in the first place.

“Oh that’s right,” Kuboyasu adds. “I thought she just went ahead of us today.”

Yumehara informs them of your whereabouts before Saiki does. “She texted me this morning she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed home.” Her phone dings with a new message and she glances at it, then looks back up. “But she says she’s a little more awake now!”

“It’s the Dark Reunion.” Kaidou’s sudden interjection draws everyone’s attention. He clenches his right fist, staring at the bandages wrapped around it. “They’re trying to get to me by going after my friends!”

Saiki remains expressionless but if he didn’t have such good control he would’ve rolled his eyes. Or maybe she just has a cold.

Upon Kaidou’s claim that a secret society is responsible for your illness, Saiki picks up Yumehara’s thoughts: I wish I was the one Kaidou was so worried about! Maybe if I got sick he’d worry about me too! Getting sick to grab Kaidou’s attention? That’s… going overboard, but Saiki can’t find it in him to be shocked, considering from whose mind this speculation has sprung.

“Poor [Name],” Teruhashi says, kind as always. She sets an index finger on her chin, gaze momentarily aimed upwards as she thinks. “I was about to suggest we all go to the cafe after school today and I wish she could join.”

This gives Saiki pause. Wait. The cafe?

“That sounds like a great idea!” Yumehara declares. Again Saiki hears her thoughts: If we go, I need to do my best sit next to Kaidou!

Whether a visit to Cafe Mami comes across as a good idea because it’s a fun way to celebrate the end of the school week or simply because Teruhashi suggested it, Saiki doesn’t know, but one by one the murmurs of assent resound through the group and he barely contains a relieved huff. He’d already changed his own plans from visiting the cafe to seeing you instead, and it’s a good thing too since it’s apparent his alone time would’ve been ruined. Now he has an excuse not to stick around.

Once the final bell rings, they begin their walk into town towards the cafe. The sidewalk feels crowded with all of them on it, and they have to split into pairs to keep the opposite side of the sidewalk free for people going the other way. Among comments from everyone else about how hungry they are, Saiki makes known his intention to just pick up food before leaving. There’s somewhere he needs to be.

“You’re going to go make sure [Name] is doing okay!” Teruhashi exclaims. It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s sweet of you.”

Saiki shrugs. “Sweet” is not the first word he would associate with his actions. It just seems like common sense to check on you. You’d looked miserable this morning, but he takes your message to Yumehara earlier as a good sign that you’re improving, slowly and surely. Still, he’d be more comfortable seeing you himself. He hadn’t gotten any other chances today to use his clairvoyance, but at least it wouldn’t be long now until he’d be heading to your house.

Chisato is working today and she seats everyone. Saiki goes directly to the counter to place his order—coffee jelly for him and strawberry mochi for you—and he stands off to the side while waiting for the treats to be packed. The others are sitting on the far side of the cafe (in his peripherals he sees Yumehara has taken a seat right next to Kaidou) but he can hear them clear as day discussing what food they should order. Yes, he’s certainly glad he won’t be sticking around. Spending Friday in the midst of that noise is far from ideal.

Holding the bag of coffee jelly and mochi in one hand, Saiki uses the other to push open the door, the bell jingling gently, and someone, Nendo it sounds like, raises their voice to shout across the room: Seeya later, Saiki! Then the door closes behind him, and all he can hear is the footsteps of other pedestrians and the low whoosh of cars.

He exhales slowly. Peace at last. He proceeds in the direction of your home, and when he thinks to himself that any longer and his ears might’ve begun to bleed, he’s only half joking.

In the neighborhood it’s much quieter, the only person he passes being someone walking their dog, and only a couple of cars drive past. He knocks on the door and he assumes you’re in your room and so it will take some time for you to open it, but you’re there faster than he expects. You open it just wide enough to stand in the gap, and immediately he notices the fatigue in your eyes. When you realize it’s him, they light up, and the fatigue fails to take away from the brightness of your smile as you open the door wider.

“Kusuo!”

Inside, he sees you’ve moved downstairs to the living room. That’s why you’d answered the door so quickly. There’s a pile of blankets on the couch and a tissue box on the coffee table. The television is on and playing an animation. He doesn’t recognize it, but it must be one of the new ones you mentioned wanting to watch. However, you’re not interested in it now that he's here and you grab the remote to turn down the volume.

“I thought you were going to the cafe today,” you state, head tilting.

Saiki shakes his head. Change of plans. Instead I brought the cafe to us. He holds up the bag of food and doesn’t have to tell you what’s in it. You squeal in delight that he’s come bearing treats, but the sound is a little raspy and awkward due to your sore throat. It’s still easier on Saiki’s ears than the earlier commotion he’d been surrounded with and, if he’s honest, it’s cute.

You plop down on the couch and wait as he joins you. He unties the bag and opens the box, first taking out the packaged pink mochi and handing it to you. Then he grabs his coffee jelly and the plastic spoon it came with before settling back against the cushions.

You sit cross-legged facing him and bite into your soft and squishy treat, humming delightedly. “Thanks, Kusuo.”  

Saiki chews a mouthful of coffee jelly and glances at you.

You grin and hold up the mochi. “For the snack and for coming to see me.”

He shrugs because it’s no big deal. Or, well, he tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you know him better than that, better than most others do, and don’t brush it off so quickly. You breathe out dramatically and set a hand on your chest.

“What must I have done for Kusuo Saiki to give up his quiet time for me?” Then you giggle, and  it’s punctuated at the end by a sniffle.

He tells you there would’ve been no quiet time at the cafe since the others had also decided to go, and that you’re much better company. Even when I’m sneezy? you ask him, and he chuckles. Yes, even when you’re sneezy.

His remark about coming to see you because he’d prefer to be here and not at the cafe with the rest of your friends is merely part of the truth. The rest of it is that he did genuinely want to check on you to make sure you were okay. Though to give this a voice felt like too much for someone typically so reserved in his feelings, but you understand perfectly fine as you smile softly. You’re appreciative of his actions, and it would seem Teruhashi had been right about them, for you murmur that he reminds you of the mochi you’re eating: You’re so sweet!

Grabbing your mug from the coffee table, you frown when you see it’s empty. “I ran out of tea.”

Saiki sets the spoon and now empty container back in the box then holds his hand out. You blink, momentarily confused, but when it registers what he’s doing, you give him the mug. As he stands to make his way into the kitchen, you call after him.

“Thank you!”  

Having been to your house a number of times already, he knows where everything is and starts brewing a fresh cup of tea. You’ve turned the volume up on the television again, but you have to rewind to return of the spot you were at before he’d arrived. Once he comes back with a filled mug, instead of allowing it to continue to play, you pause your show.

You’d snuggled beneath the blankets and have to finagle your arms out of the multiple layers to take the mug from him. You say thanks again and blow gently at the tendrils of steam floating from it. The ceramic is warm in the palms of your hands and you sigh contentedly.

“Sorry I’m a little high maintenance today,” you apologize suddenly. “I’d make the tea myself but I just have such little energy…”

Saiki wishes you wouldn’t apologize because there’s nothing to be sorry for. So he tells you as much. Don’t apologize. Besides, he’d offered to make that tea, and if you wanted soup, he’d offer to make that too. He does understand where you come from, however. You tend to be more independent, opting to do things yourself, and you also know his propensity for being alone and needing space. As such, you’re careful not to be overbearing, and the idea of Saiki doing even little tasks like brewing you tea bothers you.

It’s endearing, the level of care you take to make sure he’s comfortable too, but when he says you’re far from high maintenance, he means it. You immediately understand what he’s implying and laugh before scooting closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Okay, point made,” you concede. With a small smile, Saiki grabs the remote you’d tossed down on the couch and presses play.

He would struggle to call you high maintenance on any day considering who your friends are.  They’re loud and all over the place, practically bouncing off the walls. Life could hardly be tranquil when around them and their antics. It’s the total opposite of Saiki, who values calm and silence. If they were high maintenance, he was low maintenance. That’s the way he prefers to be, existing in relative quiet and as close to mediocrity as he can muster. But he can't say he’s opposed to the occasional interruption to the otherwise mundane, especially where it concerns you. You’re not to be found on one side or the other, but right in the middle, and to Saiki, you are just right.

[panicatthediaz]

40 (almost kiss) + 54 (secret relationship)? 🥰

Being in bed at 12:00 am will not stop me, I guess. Bonus Getting Together, I guess. Spent 3 or so hours at this. Ops.

Post S4. This is a disgusting amount of fluff. Unbeta'd (but self proof-read) as I wrote this from 12 am to 3:30 am.

On AO3

Years In The Making

Not that he believed it, but he was sure most people around him would say it was meant to be; something fated somewhere to happen somehow. Eddie didn't really believe that.

What he did believe was that they may have been too afraid (or maybe too repressed, in his case) to see what was going on, what had been growing for a long while. Years, maybe?

But getting shot (again) had given him a good shake, and he could say he'd been almost disappointed to see Ana by his bedside. No fault of her own, of course not, but...

He was pretty sure of what he wanted at that moment.

Breaking things off with her hadn't been that difficult, or painful, a couple of weeks after his return home. Ana's disappointment was clear, but she seemed to know as well as he did that they weren't going anywhere as a couple. With a promise to stay in touch, she walked out of his home one last time.

Now all he had to do was talk to Buck.

-

Buck had been cagey for the first few days when Eddie had asked him about Taylor. It took about a week and a couple of beers for him to blurt out, "She kissed me then ran out." He fidgeted for a couple of minutes. "Then she came back and we talked through it."

Eddie's heart sank, but he still put on a smile for the sake of his friend (if that was all that he would be for Buck, he'd make do). "And?"

"And we are at very different stages when it comes to romance." Buck shrugged, but the tiny frown was right there between his brows. "She became a good friend, but damn, we wouldn't have lasted as a couple."

Buck finished his beer and turned to Eddie, though not looking beyond the water bottle he was holding in his one good hand.

"She, uh... She isn't quite who I want." Buck cleared his throat, abruptly standing up and walking away from the dining table to place his empty bottle in the recyclable bin. "How is Ana, by the way?"

Eddie accepted the deflection well enough, watching as Buck stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, a stance that tried to project calm. Eddie doubted he was anywhere near it; he never enjoyed talking about failed relationships (including those that never took off).

"We broke up last week," he replied easily, standing up to refill his bottle in the kitchen. "Don't worry," he added, seeing the wide-eyed surprise (and dare he say, hope?) in Buck's expression. "It was pretty amicable and even. We both saw we weren't going to get anywhere and decided to split."

"Okay," Buck whispered, following him into the kitchen. "You okay?"

Eddie nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I'm fine." Though he had to ask... "Who is it?" Buck's confused, scrunched-up expression was pretty damn cute, making him look a little bit more like the Golden Retriever pup Hen and Chimney often compared him to. "You said Taylor isn't who you want, so who is it?"

"Eddie," he said on a groan, though he simply leaned against the counter instead of answering.

"See," Eddie spoke with a new bout of confidence (maybe just as ill-placed as the excitement he was starting to feel), standing against the sink across from Buck. "I'm kind of hoping for a specific answer here."

Buck didn't reply. Eddie had barely even noticed a shift in Buck's expression before he moved into his space, pressing a hard kiss against his lips, a huge contrast to how softly his hands cradled his head and how careful he was to not press against the sling and his injured shoulder.

Eddie wasn't sure if the bottle ended up on the sink or on the floor by their feet. What mattered was that he managed to get his hand on Buck's neck, drawing him even closer.

(Not that Buck let either of them press too close, and god, he loved him.

And he was distantly aware that he should be at least a little freaked out over the thought after one kiss - their first kiss - but, well... Years in the making and all that.)

-

One kiss became two, became many, and Eddie could see the same feelings reflected in Buck's blue eyes. Belonging, a finally and a home.

There was no need to go beyond kissing and cuddling, both of them content to sit even closer together, hands intertwined whenever they could.

It was... Soft in a way Eddie hadn't had in so long, intimate in ways he thought he wouldn't experience.

-

And they weren't subtle, weren't actively trying to keep anything a secret. Eddie was still off work, doing his PT as he should and Buck had been staying at his house (their home, he couldn't help but think every time) since Eddie got out of the hospital anyway.

But two months passed and the only two people aware of the change in their relationship were Christopher and Carla because they found them cuddled up on the couch, Eddie knocked out by painkillers and then too out of it to deny anything when his son questioned him about it.

(Christopher had simply nodded with a mumbled "Good" and left it at that. They still had no idea what that was about.)

The sling had come off a few days ago, though he still couldn't do that much, and it was driving Eddie up a wall. Buck was at the station, and he didn't want to think about the conniption he'd have if he drove there.

He knocked on Christopher's bedroom door, opening it slowly to see his son smiling at him from where he sat with his book.

"Hey, buddy." It was impossible not to smile back, feeling the all-encompassing warmth at the fact that he was still here, could see his son growing up for a while longer. "What do you say we pay a visit to the station?"

The frown he got for that was so much like Shannon's that he didn't know what to do with the pang in his chest. There was no guilt, not then, over the fact he missed her. He just did, she should be able to see how much their kid was growing, how much like her he could be sometimes. And maybe she was, if the afterlife turned out to be a thing after all.

"You are not supposed to drive."

And that tone was way too much like Buck's, just this morning, for Eddie to hold back his laughter.

"I was thinking we could take an Uber." He shrugged with his left shoulder. He might have been desperate to get out of the house, but he wasn't stupid; he didn't want pain and he didn't want to end up lectured by the entire team once he got there. "What do you say?"

Christopher considered it for a moment, then placed his bookmark and got up. "Let's go!"

-

"You better not have come in your car, Eddie!"

He rolled his eyes at the very much expected exclamation as Christopher giggled beside him.

"Don't worry, Buck," the kid said, walking ahead as Buck came downstairs. "I didn't let him drive."

"Thank God for you, kid," Buck said, kneeling on one knee to give Chris a hug. "Your dad is stubborn, he probably would have driven here if it weren't for you."

"Hey!" There was no real annoyance in his protest, but Eddie still said, "I get enough sass from my kid, don't you start, too."

Buck, in such a show of maturity, stuck out his tongue at him before turning to Christopher once again.

"Come on, buddy, let's go see the fun people."

Chris' laughter echoed in the station, and Eddie let the light atmosphere carry him upstairs to the loft where he was greeted by the rest of the team with hugs, and some friendly pats on (thankfully) his uninjured shoulder.

Chimney and Hen immediately walked with Christopher to the pinball machine, and Bobby had given him a plate of leftover breakfast to carry wherever he ended up sitting.

He chose the couch, where Buck had already made himself comfortable again and was currently watching the trio at the machine. They could hear Hen encouraging Chris to beat Chim's high score.

"Hey you," Buck greeted softly, an arm going around his shoulders as Eddie adjusted himself.

"Hey yourself." Buck glanced at the other side of the loft, then pressed a quick peck to his lips. Apparently, everyone was sufficiently distracted. "How are you?"

"So far so good." He took one of the biscuits from Eddie's plate, quickly popping it into his mouth as if Eddie hadn't sat here to share them. "I'd ask how your day is going, but it's obvious you're bored out of your mind."

Eddie groaned, letting his head fall back against Buck's arm. He was beyond bored, at this point, and no amount of movies or video games had helped. Buck's chuckle beside him was another pretty good incentive to get out of the house.

He turned his head to face him, his own expression undoubtedly soft as he took in the man that had been by his side for so long and for so many things already.

Buck's expression softened even more, somehow, his smile bright as the sun and even warmer. He leaned closer and-

And what sounded like a very undignified squeak interrupted their almost-kiss, causing Eddie to huff in mild annoyance and turn around.

Chimney stood by the dining table, gaping at them. Bobby was still in the kitchen and turned to look at them at the sound of Chimney's squeak.

"What's wrong, Chim?" Hen asked, frowning all the way from the pinball machine (where Christopher continued to play).

"They..." He gestured between the two of them. "Since when are you two together?!" He ignored Hen's own surprised exclamation. "They were about to kiss!"

"Yeah," Eddie confirmed, nonchalantly making himself comfortable in Buck's arms in the new position so he could look at the rest of their team. "And you had to ruin the mood."

Buck hid his face in his hair, and Eddie could hear the quiet snickering. They really thought the others would have caught up after two months of visiting Eddie at least once every few days.

"What about Ana?"

"We broke up two months ago, man."

"And Taylor?"

"Dude, we never started dating in the first place." The exasperation was clear in Buck's voice. "She's really just a friend."

Chimney nodded, satisfied for the time being. They had no doubt that there would be more questions later.

"When did this even happen?" Hen asked this time, walking over with Christopher.

"Two months ago," Chris answered before either of them could, smiling a little too innocently. "A week or something after Dad broke up with Miss Flores."

Eddie had no idea Christopher knew that level of details, but he had definitely been out of it when he told him. Maybe he said more than he remembered.

"Well," Bobby finally spoke up, walking over to their little family unit on the couch, now that Christopher was tucked on Eddie's other side. "I'm happy for you two." Eddie could feel whatever tension had been on Buck's body (not that there was much in the first place) drain out of him at Bobby's words. "And we can deal with HR and paperwork once you're back at the station," he added, directed at Eddie. Bobby's smile was genuinely warm, putting him even further at ease.

Years in the making. Maybe it was obvious to everyone else, but Eddie wouldn't change a thing about the road they took to get here. It had been hard and full of hurt, but what they had was solid and them and it was definitely worth it all.

Including the cheering, clapping, and whistles of everyone else when Buck pressed a kiss to his lips right there and then simply because he could.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

The Servant - Loki x Reader - Words: 4,568

A/N: Sorry for the late posting today, I had some personal issues this morning so I haven't really been online. Hope you enjoy it! 💜💚

You were orphaned at a young age, never even knowing your parents. The only thing you did know about them was on your 1,000th birthday you would receive a gift from them. Something they had planned to give you even before you had been born.

Growing up was, of course, difficult but thankfully, by your 800th birthday, you'd climbed the social ladder enough to be accepted as a servant in the palace. Surprisingly enough, after almost 50 years of working there, you still had not met the royal family. You chalked it up to working mostly night shifts and didn't give it much thought.

On the morning of your 850th birthday, having had the previous night off, you had planned on sleeping in some and then making the most of your day. However, you were quite rudely woken by 2 young maids, who you were somewhat friends with, rushing into your bedroom.

"Y/N!" They exclaimed. "Get up quickly! The queen has requested to speak with you!" You blinked a few times, not believing what they'd said.

"Did I get full last night and forget about it?" You muttered. They pulled you out of bed and selected your best dress from your closet. "What does she want to see me for?" You asked as they helped you dress. Suddenly you were feeling quite nervous and very sick to your stomach.

"We can't tell you," The one girl, Alexandria, said. "But I promise you it's all good things. You'll be very happy!" The other girl, Hildegard, didn't say anything but smiled knowingly.

Before you knew it, you were being shoved through a set of doors and staring at a table full of the most delicious breakfast foods you had seen. "Good morning," A voice greeted. You looked up at the speaker and realized Queen Frigga had been sitting at the table all along.

"Oh! My queen!" You gasped, curtsying quickly. "My apologies! I didn't-"

"Do not fret, Y/N," She smiled kindly. "Please, sit with me and eat. I'm sure you're hungry."

"I-" You paused, smiling gratefully. "I am actually. Thank you." You sat down and served yourself a small amount, not wanting to appear greedy. The Queen was surprisingly easy to talk to, asking about how various things in the palace were doing while in turn she allowed you to ask different questions about palace life. You found yourself smiling and laughing with her as you both ate.

"Do you know why I called you here this morning?" She asked.

"Not the foggiest," You admitted, shaking your head. "This is quite nice, of course, but I am a bit curious."

"Today is your 850th birthday, is it not?" You nodded quickly. The Queen took a sip from her glass, before continuing. "One of my sons is in need of a new servant. The previous one just got married to a young man from Alfheim."

"How nice for her," You smiled. Your brain, however, caught up with what Frigga was implying. "Wait. You mean you want me to be a servant to the princes?"

"Not the princes, dear girl. A personal servant to one. They each have a personal servant to care for their daily needs. You are not only qualified in skill and ability, but also in age. We never assign maids that are too young to the princes. They can be," She paused, chuckling quietly. "They can be a lot to handle. However, I think you will be just fine." You were speechless, staring at the Queen in shock.

"I-yes! Of course, your majesty. I would be honored."

I have not told you which prince you will be working for," She said, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise at your immediate acceptance.

"Does it matter?" You asked. "It is an honor no matter to be working for your family directly." Frigga nodded approvingly and smiled.

"Then you will not care when I say the position is working for my son Loki?"

"My Queen, as I said before, it would be an honor. I have never heard any ill spoken of you or your sons. So why should I care who I am to be serving?"

"Your attitude and innocence will either lead to your success or your quick demise. I wish you all the best. Now come, I will show you to your new quarters."

You and Loki became fast friends. He treated you more as a peer than as a servant, especially since you came to find out the two of you were the same age. You were surprised at how easygoing the young prince was. Working directly with the royal family, you did start to hear palace gossip about them and you were disheartened to find most of it was about Loki.

One day, when you'd finished with the daily chores you had in Loki's room, which was more like an apartment, Loki walked in and flopped down on the freshly made bed.

"Loki!" You screeched. "I just made that!" You ran over, trying to stretch the quilt where he was not laying at least. Loki smirked at you and your eyes widened. "No, no, no! Loki! I know that look! What are you up to-eeee!" You squealed as he pulled you onto the bed, officially messing up all the sheets. You both laid there for a while, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company. "Why are you back so early?" You finally ask.

"Thor was feeling sick today and-" He paused, looking away sadly. "The others had better things to do."

"They didn't want to fight with you?" You asked. He shook his head and you scoffed. "You are a far better warrior than all of them combined. They should consider it an honor to fight you."

"Y/N, love, you are too kind. But-" He was interrupted by someone opening the door.

"Prince Loki, your mother requests your presence," A young girl said. One of Frigga's maids you recognized.

"Of course," He sighed. "My apologies for messing up the bed," He said, turning back to you.

"It's alright, Lo-Prince Loki," You replied. It was sometimes difficult to remember to add the honorifics on his name after becoming such close friends. But the girl was watching and you didn't want to appear disrespectful.

It took about 2 weeks for you to finally figure out what was going on. Ever since that day in Loki's room, the other servants, with the exception of your friends Alexandria and Hildegard, had avoided you like the plague. But today it all came out. You were in the laundry about to fold the clothes Loki had asked you to wash when you heard two maids talking a few tables away. One was Frigga's maid and they were obviously unaware of your presence in the room.

"They were in bed together!" She whispered scandalously.

"No!" The other gasped. "Tell me more!"

"The sheets were quite a mess. You could tell there had been quite a bit of," She paused briefly, smirking. "Activity." The two of them laughed quietly. "And that isn't even the worst! She almost called him by his name without a title! And he even called her ‘love’!"

"Oh my!" The girl gasped. "I suppose it makes sense. She is Prince Loki's personal servant. And I suppose she should serve him personally," She winked. "Although I do not understand why he would be interested in a thing like her?"

"A whore does not have to be pretty to be talented," Frigga's maid replied. The other girl hummed in agreement.

Hot tears fell down your cheeks. You bit back a sob and hurriedly gathered Loki's clothes in a basket. You ran out of the room and straight to Loki's quarters. As much as you wanted to hide away you had to finish your chores but you couldn't stay there. When you reached his room you placed the basket on the bed as it was the best spot to use like a table. Looking at the bed though, you burst into tears, falling to your knees beside the bed.

"Norns! I've never wanted to stab someone so much!" Loki yelled, bursting into the room. You gasped, standing up quickly, trying to dry your tears.

"What happened?" You asked, turning away from him so he couldn't see your face and trying to keep your voice even.

"Odin! Blasted Odin! He dared to imply that-argh! That man, he dares to call himself a king much less a father-" Loki yelled. He was so angry he couldn't even finish a sentence. You patiently listened, trying to finish folding his clothes.

"What did he say?" You asked quietly.

"He implied things," Loki said vaguely. "About my behavior."

"Has he not done so before?" You asked, slightly confused as to what made him so upset today. Loki shook his head.

"Not like this. He-" Loki winced slightly, hesitant to explain. "He wasn't just talking about me in this instance."

"Ah," You said. "So who's honor has you so upset? Lady Sif's perhaps?"

"Why would I be upset over her?" He exclaimed, finally looking up at you. Rushing over to you he grabbed your hands, pulling you closer to him. "Darling! What happened? Why are you crying?" You pulled away quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Please don't call me that!" You cried. "I-I'm sorry, Lo-Prince Loki. I am not feeling too well. Could I be excused to my quarters? I will send someone to finish with your laundry." Loki nodded slowly, very confused, and you ran off.

As you ran down the hallway, you collided with someone and you both fell down. "Y/N! Where's the fire?" Alexandria laughed as she got up. She reached to help you and saw your tears. "Who hurt you?" She asked.

"I'm just not feeling well," You lied.

"That is a pitiful excuse. What is wrong?" She ordered. As you walked to your room with her, you explained everything. "Oh honey! I'm so sorry that happened! You stay here. I'll send Hildegard to bring you some food and I'll go take care of Loki's laundry. Ok?" You nodded sadly and laid down as Alexandria hurried out. A few hours later, after you forced down part of the dinner Hildegard had brought you, there was a light knock at your door.

"Come in," You said, voice hoarse from crying. Slowly your door opened and a raven-haired man peeked in.

"Y/N?" Loki said, stepping in carefully. "How are you doing?" You wanted to scream at him for coming. You wanted to tell him to leave. But you were tired.

"Sadly, I am alive." Loki chuckled lightly and sat on the edge of your bed.

"For that I am very much glad," He smiled, resting a hand on your arm. "Alexandria told me what happened." You stiffened at his comment, every worst possible scenario rushing through your mind. "That's actually what Odin was speaking of earlier. He said that I was of age now and, well, he said there would be no consequences if I chose to find, how did he put it? Comfort? In one of my maids?"

"I see," You said slowly. "That-that makes sense," You continued, sitting up in bed, hands in your lap. "After all you are the prince and you have more important things to worry about than where to sate your needs." You looked away, nervous at what his reaction would be. You would be lying if you said you didn't want to be with him. But you definitely didn't want to be an object. Something he simply used and then ignored when it was no longer needed.

"Oh my dear friend," Loki sighed. "Do you truly think so little of yourself? Why do you think I was so upset earlier? After my meeting with Odin?" He brushed the stray strands of hair out of her face, ones that had fallen out of place while she slept. Turning her head towards him he smiled at her, eyes brimming with tears. "You are far too precious to be treated like that. I would never want to treat anyone so,” He crinkled his nose, searching for the right word. “So insignificant.”

"I appreciate that, Loki," You replied, blushing slightly. "But that doesn't change what they think. I'm so sorry. It's not your fault. Perhaps I should go away. At least I wouldn't hear any of the rumors they have to tell."

"No! Please don't go!" He immediately said, reaching out to hold onto you as if you'd take off right then. Running one hand through his hair he sighed. "Perhaps this isn't a good time to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You asked, reaching out to touch his hand but hesitated slightly, nervous as to how he would react. Loki stared at you, watching your movement. He took you hand in his and chuckled dryly.

"I care for you deeply, Y/N. You're my closest friend but," He paused. "But I wish for more. I love you. Very much. If you don't feel the same way I understand. If you want a transfer or want to leave I can have that arra-"

"No!" You yelled, interrupting him. "No! I don't want to go! I-" You gasped. "I love you too!" You laughed happily. "I just never thought you'd feel the same way!" Loki grinned, hugging you tightly.

"I promise to love you till the end of time," He whispered. Stroking your tear-stained cheek gently with his thumb he smiled sadly. "I know things will not be easy for you with the other servants. And I will try my best to make things right. But please come to me, darling. I never want to see you suffering alone."

"Okay," You said, smiling gratefully. He leaned forward and kissed you softly, chastely.

"If I am going to court you, we're going to do this right," He said. "I shall speak with the Allfather and Allmother today."

To your great happiness, they allowed Loki to court you. However, to your surprise, they never agreed when he asked to marry you. 1 year turned into 10. 10 into 100. Soon you had found yourself having courted Loki for over 200 years. They had gone by in the blink of an eye it seemed and, though you both wished to marry, you were happy as long as you were by each other's side. Loki had asked for your hand so many times that Frigga and Odin began to answer him before he even asked. He never stopped asking though.

One day, as you neared your 1,000th birthday, you woke in the middle of the night to a loud clatter in the hallway followed by a curse. You giggled, recognizing Loki's voice, and ran to open the door.

"Loki!" You whisper-yelled. "What are you doing? It's 3am!"

"Y/N!" He exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I simply knocked over a-"

"Loki, it's ok," You chuckled. However, you noticed he was unusually quiet and wouldn't look at you. "Loki? Is something wrong?" He slowly looked at you, a cool expression taking over his face.

"I was leaving you a note on the door. You'll have a new assignment in the morning."

"Oh! Loki! Did they finally say yes?" You asked excitedly, running towards him. He quickly backed away from you, shaking his head vigorously.

"No," He said. "I-I think it best we don't see each other any more. Therefore I asked for a change in your assignment."

"I don't believe you," You replied. Loki's expression contorted into one of anger.

"If you don't believe me then go read the note I left you! After all this time you don't even trust me?" He yelled.

"Loki!" You hissed, grabbing his arm before he could back away. "I trust you with my life. Don't make this into that argument. We've been over it already. I meant I don't believe what you're saying. I don't think you truly wish our relationship to end. I think someone or something has gotten to you or threatened you and I think you're trying to 'make it easier on me' by making me hate you before you go. Well guess what? It's not going to work. We promised each other to be in love till the end of time and I, for one, am keeping my end of the bargain so if you don't get in here, sit down, and explain to me what's going on I'll go to Frigga myself and ask her."

"Okay," Loki agreed, suddenly looking tired and defeated. Following you into your room he sat on the edge of your bed, fidgeting with his hands. "Your birthday is coming up," He said.

"Yes, it is," You replied, sitting next to him. "What does that matter?"

"Recently, my mother told me that your parents left you a gift for your 1,000th birthday." You nodded, wondering where he was going with this. "I am," He paused. "Familiar with a custom of certain families, usually ones of higher ranking, that they give their daughters a husband on her 1,000ths birthday. And-" He took a shaky breath, looking away. "I fear that is why we've never been allowed to marry. I think Mother knows what your gift is."

"Oh," You said. "I-I never thought of that. I never dreamt-" You started to cry, suddenly afraid of being taken away from the love of your life. Loki pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead softly. No more words were exchanged. Loki and you eventually fell asleep reclined on your bed, you cradled protectively in his arms.

The day finally came. You were 1,000 years old by Asgardian terms and you were terrified. One of Odin's servants came to you with a request for your presence at breakfast and an excuse from all your duties that day. You bit your lip nervously. Not having to work today meant you had no real excuse to see Loki before breakfast. You hoped he would be there at least.

"Good morning, Y/N," Frigga smiled as you walked into the dining room. You curtsied and forced a smile back.

"Your highness," You greeted. Odin walked in the room and nodded at you before taking his seat at the head of the table. You curtsied again and then heard Thor coming in with his usual ruckus. Turning around you saw Thor physically dragging Loki into the dining room. The latter quickly walked in on his own when he saw you already there.

"Y/N!" Loki exclaimed, running up to you and hugging you tightly. You giggled and hugged him back. Odin cleared his throat pointedly and the two of you quickly pulled away. Frigga shot her husband a glare and then smiled softly at you and Loki. You all sat down, you and Frigga on one side, the two Odinsons on the other side, and Odin at the head, while the servants brought out the food. You tried to help them but Frigga tapped your arm and motioned for you to sit.

"You're a guest today, my dear girl," She said. You nodded, feeling awful for not helping. Eventually, the meal was finished, though you ate very little, and Odin stood up.

"Today is a special day," He boomed, smiling at you. "I will skip over a long and flowery speech since I care for those very little and I'm sure you are anxiously awaiting your gift." You looked away, a bit embarrassed that it was so obvious. "Do not be upset," He chuckled. "There is nothing wrong with your excitement." You looked up at him again and smiled slightly. Loki was right all these years, it was odd to see Odin happy. Somehow his cheerful attitude doubled your nerves.

"Are you ok, brother?" Thor whispered to Loki on the other side of the table.

"I'll be fine," Loki snapped. He shot an apologetic look at Thor and nodded. "Just worried," He added. Thor nodded and patted his brother's shoulder firmly.

"This paper, a letter," Odin said. "Was written to you, Y/N, by your parents shortly after your birth. As you can see, it is sealed with my seal and has not been opened. I, myself, as well as the Queen were present at it's writing." He broke open the seal and started reading.

"Our dearest Y/N, our love, our daughter,

You may not get to see it until much later, but to us, your parents, your eyes hold a bright future. You've yet to say a single word but you've got us wrapped around your little finger. We can't wait to see what a beautiful woman you'll become. We have lain a path for you before birth and now that you're here, it is time to take your first steps in this new and exciting world. No matter what, you will always have our love and support whenever your life shall lead you. Whether we're far or near, we will always be there with you, every step of the way.

As we said, we have something planned for you. Something that will allow you to fulfill your greatest dreams and something that we hope will give you all the happiness in the world.

Many moons ago, your father saved a man's life in battle. The man promised to repay that debt. It was agreed that our families would be joined by the future marriage of our children. The man later had a son, and we, of course, had you."

At this point, hot tears were streaming down your face. As happy as you were to hear how much your parents cared for you. You now knew Loki's fears were correct. This was why you'd never been allowed to marry him. Each word suddenly became as a stab to your heart. Loki, for his part, was not faring any better as he listened.

"That man was our wonderful King, Odin. We hope you, our lovely Y/N, find all the joys you could ever hope for in your marriage to his son.

We want you to know how much we love you and we wish you all the happiness possible as long as you live.

Your parents ~"

Loki's chair screeched as he stood abruptly. Your head snapped up to look at him but he was already storming through the dining room doors.

"Father?" Thor said uneasily, looking quickly between Odin, you and the door through which Loki had left. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Well, my son," Odin said with a wide smile. "It means that Y/N has been promised to-"

"No!" You exclaimed, standing up. "Thor," You said, looking at him. "I love you like a brother. You'll be a fine husband one day but I'd rather die before I marry you." Turning to Odin you saw a frown painting his face. "Throw me in the dungeons, kill me, whatever you wish, but I will not marry Thor. I love Loki and I could never hurt him in such a way."

"My child-" Odin started to say but you ignored him, running out of the room. "Guard!" Odin yelled, calling for one to go after you.

"Husband," Frigga said softly. "Let her be for now. Perhaps there can be a solution." Odin reluctantly agreed and Frigga sat beside him to reason with him. Thor quietly slipped out, feeling rather awkward.

He wandered out to a secluded part of the gardens, a spot he knew Loki loved to hide in. He smiled sadly when he found you curled up in Loki's arms at the base of a willow tree. "I won't do it," You sobbed, gripping his shirt tightly as you cried into it.

"You have to," Loki said, running his hands soothingly over your back. Although his was just as upset, he was trying to be strong for you. "It's been decided," He whispered. "At least you'll be safe and cared for. Thor may be my oaf of a brother but he'll treat you well."

"No I won't," Thor said walking up. "Well, not that I would-" He sighed frustratedly. "I mean that I won't take her." Loki looked up at his brother in surprise.

"Brother, what-"

"Loki," Thor said, sitting down beside his brother. "She refused me already," He chuckled. "Father was not happy but I believe Mother is trying to change his mind." He clapped Loki's shoulder and smiled. "She's yours. I would never dare take that away from you." The three of you sat in silence for some time before Frigga came and found you.

"My children, please come back to the dining hall. I have spoken with Odin and we've made a decision." Reluctantly you followed Frigga, holding tightly to Loki's hand.

As you walked into the dining room, Odin stood up and smiled at you. It was a forced smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Y/N, you have refused to marry Thor, correct?" You nodded immediately. "And Thor, you have refused to marry Y/N?"

"I cannot take her away from my brother, from their happiness." Odin nodded thoughtfully.

"Well then, here is my decision," Odin said. Frigga cleared her throat pointedly, shooting him another glare. "Our decision," He corrected. "This letter was written a few months after you were born, Y/N. Although we'd made the agreement before your birth, it did not go into effect until it was written." He sighed loudly and looked back at the paper. "And by this time Loki was already in our lives." Loki looked at you hopefully, squeezing your hand lightly. "And the letter does not specify which son you are promised to. So it is my great pleasure," He said somewhat sarcastically. "To give you to my son Loki as a bride. Will that be acceptable?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "Yes! Oh thank you!" You were nearly screaming in excitement. Loki was frozen in surprise, having never expected his father to give in to their wishes.

"Really?" He asked in almost a whisper. Frigga nodded at him and hugged her son. "Thank you!" He said. Turning to you he smiled widely, hugging you tightly and spinning you around. You laughed as he spun you, happy beyond your wildest dreams.

"Oh Loki!" You cried as he put you down. "I love you so much!" He grinned, kissing you earnestly.

"I love you too, my queen," He smiled. You blushed brightly, looking away.

"Enjoy your day together," Frigga said. "Tomorrow we can make the announcement and start making plans." You both nodded and hurried off to the gardens again, this time much happier.

"And to think all this started because your previous servant got married suddenly," You mused as you walked through the gardens arm in arm.

"Oh it wasn't sudden at all," He said. You stopped in your tracks, staring at him in surprise. "We'd been planning for her departure for some time. I had seen you working and quite liked you but you weren't old enough to be a servant of the royal family yet." Your eyes widened with every word. "I made mother wait to find me a replacement until you had your birthday."

"You chose me?" You gasped. He smiled, turning to face you and brushing a few stray hairs away from your face.

"I will always choose you," He said, smiling widely. "For all time."

"Always."

Loki

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[zuluc]

anonymous requested: i've been thinking about what to request for the past 3 days and i think i've finally got it. can i ask for kaeya or diluc with a crush that's a depressed bard that always composes sad songs and lyrics? here's the twist, though. their songs and lyrics start to cheer up as the two of them become closer friends!

pairing: diluc x gn! reader

style & genre: written; fluff

warnings: none

notes: i decided to do diluc for this one because I think it’d have a great impact on him as a person as well, and i’m here for more fluff with him 🥰 i made the lyrics myself for the sake of this fic please go easy on me all i know about music is playing the violin/viola also this is long

i changed the prompt a bit if that’s alright!

“Who are you exactly?” Diluc eyes you strangely when you look at him with a blank stare. In one hand you have a notebook and in the other is a lyre. You walked in only moments ago, actively avoiding anyone’s eyes as they knew you weren’t from town. You just wanted to go straight to the owner of the tavern and hope to share what you had in that book of yours.

“A bard,” you say. You look around to see a few of the townspeople staring back while the others cheer happily with each other as if an exciting thing had happened. “Do you have room for a performance?”

Diluc raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. You didn’t appear to have any double meaning or ill intention in your words, rather, your eyes were just void of any glint of mischief he usually saw in a certain person. But to waltz in one day and ask for something like this so casually, you really weren’t from there.

“Sure, just don’t steal anything.” He is skeptical of you as he is of any one else but you didn’t need to know that. You were used to it after all. He directs you to the side of the bar that was supposedly the “performance stage” but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was fine with you.

The townspeople gradually stop their chatter as you quickly tune your lyre, playing a chord once the strings were ready. The tune that escapes into the air effectively silences any remaining voices. The song you were going to start wasn’t one they would usually hear in this city of freedom and apparently cheerfulness.

Your fingers hook at the strings, releasing them with ease as a soulful melody fills the entire tavern. The chord was of the lower register and hummed deeply. Diluc flicks his eyes over to you as he cleans a glass and sees your own eyes are closed. 

When the night has passed

For then will I be free

Will they see me trample dust

Or let me keep my feet

Your book is open and he can see the words you were singing on the pages. It looks like you just started this line of work given how many pages were left in that book, assuming it was your only one as all you came in with were those two items and a small bag of mora. 

He doesn’t notice how much of an effect your song had until he scans over the tavern patreons. Your voice carries through, swaying through the people to where it grazes a piece of their hearts to reminisce forlorn memories. But your words felt soulful as if they had come from your own experiences. A thought passes over his head which causes his heart to pang before quickly shaking it off when he realizes the feeling.

Ah, so you were this type of bard. 

Diluc just thinks he’ll only see you one time so he lets the thought pass through.

Once your song ends the drunk townspeople cheer loudly among themselves. You are taken aback by all the noise but bow politely to them for their reaction. You take your things as they call out for you to do another song and you shake your head.

“Maybe another time,” you say with slight sorrow to your face or words. They accept the answer and continue on their night and when you turn to leave, Diluc can’t stop the words that come out of his mouth. 

“Why not stay for a drink?” You look at him incredulously and he crosses his arms, “Call it payment for your services. They seemed to enjoy it.” You make cautious movement as you make your way to a stool. Diluc sets out an apple cider vinegar drink and you sniff at it. Once you take a sip you notice his face at the corner of your sight. The edge of his lip is slightly quirked up as he sighs while cleaning a glass.

It seems they weren’t the only ones who enjoyed the song.

--

Mondstadt was a city that was very welcoming in comparison to all the other places you spent time at. The people were either unwilling to hear your music or had particular reactions to the pieces you shared. To them, it seemed you didn’t understand that bar music was supposed to be lively and something to dance to. Not something to feel sad about.

But you wanted to share it anyways for your songs are one of the few things in life that you are proud of. One of the few things that have filled the emptiness of yourself that you lost those years ago and maybe, just maybe, sharing them will help you feel in some way. To you, these songs are sorrowful, but they shouldn’t just make people sad. That’s why you were quite surprised at the reactions at Angel’s Share  as opposed to those from other places.

They should elicit emotions of nostalgia. Or maybe, you just hadn’t found the right experience to make them happier.

--

You come back a few nights later and Diluc is working the bar yet again. When he lifts his head, his shoulders sag in relief seeing that it is you. Venti had come by a few times after hearing about you and kept pressing the owner about letting him on the stage as well. 

He was rejected numerous times in tandem with being asked to pay up for his drink tab.

The same book and lyre are still in hand when you head towards Diluc like you did that first night. He places the glass in his hands down and gives you a nod of his head, “Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” You look around and see that the tavern is even fuller than the last night you performed. It seems word had got around of your songs and they had all been waiting patiently for nights now. That was what an attendee had said to you outside the door anyways. “Do you mind?” You gesture to the stage.

“Go for it,” Any sense of caution that seeped through his words when you met him was near to nonexistent now. Maybe it was the impressions you left on the townspeople and their word of mouth the past few days. A depressing bard in the city of freedom in comparison to the other bards was news, especially when this bar had a wonderful voice to listen to.

The bar quiets again with the numerous greetings and cheers in seeing you up there. You flip open your book and thumb through the pages before settling on one song near the middle. It was a two-parter.

Your fingers pick at the strings lightly, slowly adding pressure thus causing the volume to increase subtly. Diluc shifts in his spot as he tries to focus on the tasks at hand but there really isn’t anything he is going to lose if he wants to listen.

I ran far in the depths of that same night

They chased me off as they truly had hoped

But I lost my way and wandered far

Met and saw numerous things was how I coped

The townspeople are yet again taken by your voice and melody that they had started to move with the music. Diluc decides to abandon his tasks for a little while, now aware how your music allows him to reflect as you intended. 

He sees these events before him. The death of one close to him and the loss of someone beside him whom he thought he could trust wholeheartedly. You stop singing but continue with plucking at the strings that calms the atmosphere. It is solemn and relaxing, almost putting the drunkest of the bunch to sleep but through sheer willpower they stay awake to listen on.

Happy and cheerful those that I have seen

But they were not accepting of me

Sharing the harsh reality of these mysteries

How will one otherwise feel so free?

The song ends and a round of cheers erupts, louder than the first night as there were more people. Diluc snaps out of his thoughts and wordlessly fixes you another drink that you take again, albiet still a bit shyly.

“Your lyrics,” Diluc begins and you tense at the sound of his voice, “From experience I assume?” He is straightforward, you should know this from the gossip around town. There was nothing in it for you to hide anything from him or anyone else so you tell him.

“Yes. That’s what makes good music, does it not?” You take a sip of the beverage. It must be a different one as it is much sweeter than the apple cider vinegar. “When you can relate to the words yourself. I simply want to share that with the people for reasons even I am unsure of.”

Diluc hums and doesn’t look you in the eye for his next words.

“I see. Your voice is quite nice.”

--

You both managed to continue with light chatter that night and he learns that you are staying in Mondstadt for quite a bit. You had no set plans to be in a specific place at any specific time so what was the rush to leave? Among this he is aware of how you speak. There is an ambiguous sorrow in your words from the effect of your past, he believes, that share no optimism but realistic choices that would completely stop the conversation. 

But he was the same so it continues. 

His past is the reason for his own apprehension when speaking with strangers but you were a little different. You outright told him your objective and you were just a bard who wanted to share their experience. 

You learn this of him and it was the first time that you felt light when speaking with someone.

--

“Y/n!” They learn of your name after the third night you show up which is another few nights after the second. Some take your music as a lighthearted joke in contrast to their free lives while others pay close attention to the words and sway with the tune.

You give a small grin in acknowledgement before sitting in the stool in front of Diluc. Throughout the weeks you had gotten to know each other a little better besides the titles of The Sorrowful Bard and Diluc of Mondstadt. You were just y/n and he was Diluc.

You always make a point to talk to him before performing, giving a small insight into the meaning behind your words. Last time replayed the sleepless night and doubts as you wandered Teyvat and the time before that was a retelling of an animal that accompanied you for the last months of its life.

“It knew it had to go yet it decided to follow me, spreading that sadness of loss to me as I was attached.” You said to him that night with dry eyes.

All you tell him is that this song is a little different from your other ones.

He shows more of himself to you, actions he wouldn’t typically show to others if it weren’t for a certain motive or purpose. But you were not threatening nor wanted something from him. Diluc put a bit of trust in you for that.

You never sing more than one song each night because you want them to take in the words of each song carefully. Like that animal, you wanted to share the sadness but allow them to see the great memories.

This night contains your fourteenth or fifteenth song and it is fairly new. You wrote this in the early hours of the morning with a newfound emotion bustling inside your chest. You were scared when waking up, but felt reassured when there was a hint of melancholy there among an unfamiliar emotion.

The tavern goers look at you with hopeful and excited eyes. You feel warmth in your heart as you remember the times a few of them have come up to you telling you that your music has made it easier to sleep. That your music is inspiring; sad, but inspiring.

You play a chord and Diluc raises a brow in hearing a lighter tone. Underlying is that first low tone in your first night, indicating that you plan to keep a sense of your usual. 

Then I stumbled in, seeing the light there

Unexpected welcoming I was greeted by

At first there was nothing then passed a while

Uprising something foreign for me to finally cry

Even if your eyes are trained to the floor, they are in his general direction. You didn’t know what you were feeling and you sure didn’t want to push it. 

He has his entire attention directed at you. 

You pluck higher notes much different from the chords you were accustomed to, messing up in a few that no one seemed to notice. You straighten yourself and look over the entire bar, settling your eyes on him for a bit too long for him to notice.

And so thankful am I

To be able to do such as that

And never is it unwelcomed

The beats in my soul are no longer flat

Your eyes stay staring at him and the cheers drown out. Diluc’s hand raises a few centimeters from the counter but you have already picked up your book and instrument and left.

The drink is untouched as he follows after you, thanks to Charles.

--

You feel like you can’t breathe but there is physically nothing blocking your airway. You assumed it was due to the collection of body heat in the tavern but even the cool night air did nothing to soothe the burning in your face. 

Why did I look at him? Why was he looking back? What does this mean?

“Y/n!” You gasp at the sound of his voice and as you turn around you hope that it was just in your head. Your mouth opens and closes but you can’t speak. you don’t know what to say.

Truthfully, he doesn’t either. 

Diluc didn’t know what to expect when you told him it would be different. He definitely didn’t expect for the song to be about him. He had deducted this reasoning and confirmed it when your eyes met and to you leaving.

In that room he felt the same: his face was warm and his heartbeat picked up when you lingered your gaze on him. He didn’t know what this feeling was either. 

Neither of you are speaking, the breeze brushing through.

“I’m sorry!” You say, bowing your head so he cannot see the tears of confusion, frustration, and something else running down your face.

“Why are you apologizing?” He is near you now and he can feel you jump at his touch on your shoulder. When you don’t push him off he moves his gloved hand to cup your face to lift it up. This is the first time he’s seen you cry. 

Ironic, given your songs. 

Diluc lightly presses his thumb to your cheek to brush off a tear. “Apologizing is for if you’ve done something wrong. You have done nothing of the sort.”

“Are you sure?” You say without hesitation. It is an automatic response, built upon the hardening of your heart and soul through your travels. Diluc chuckles, a small smile on his face.

“I am sure.”

--

You strum lightly, a newfound lightness to you that almost everyone has noticed. Your songs still have that sorrowful reality to them but at the end they have changed. Seeing more of the graceful and fulfilling beauty of life.

Diluc still fixes you drinks after every performance and indulges you in conversation. This time around, however, he leans in closer and places his hand closer to yours.

And you are thankful to feel that emotion.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Guiltrip

So, my week has been hell. In addition to working night and day on final essays for my classes, I've been really busy at work lately, and the second COVID vaccine shot really took a lot out of me this week. And that's not even getting into the bureaucratic nonsense that comes with applying for the MTEL which is slowly making me wonder if I actually want to teach in the first place.

But, despite all that, there was a single light of hope this week that almost made it all worth it.

STAR WARS: THE BAD BATCH, BABY!

OH MY GOD, THIS SHOW IS AMAZING! I ALWAYS LOVED THE CLONE-CENTRIC EPISODES OF THE CLONE WARS, AND NOW WE GET AN ENTIRE SHOW ABOUT AN ELITE TEAM OF THEM? KICKASS! AND IT TAKES PLACE AFTER ORDER 66 WITH GRAND MOFF TARKIN AS THE MAIN VILLAIN? SWEET MOTHER OF GEORGE LUCAS, I CAN'T WAIT! I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT THEY TRADED IN THE COOL SNIPER CLONE FOR SOME LITTLE GIRL CLONE, I ALREADY WANT TO SEE MORE THAN THE TWO EPISODES WE GOT SO FAR! GOD, I LOVE THIS SHOW!

Oh yeah, there was also a new episode of Miraculous Ladybug that aired on the same day too, I guess. It was pretty good. Hell of a lot better than the past three episodes I've sat through.

Let's get into the fifth (chronologically the eleventh) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Guiltrip

We start off in the middle of class where we see Marinette looking at Adrien lovingly.

Because the writers are still trying to push the Love Square on us as if they were trying to sell us some death sticks. And yes, expect a few Star Wars jokes in this review. This episode did premiere on May 4th after all.

Rose suddenly gets a headache, and asks to go to the nurse, saying that “Miss Dora” is back. While walking there with Marinette, she explains that it's a code name she gives when her head hurts and can tell Miss Bustier without letting everyone know. She probably felt a name like “Maya Grain” would just give it away.

At lunch, Juleka gets a text that really upsets her, so Marinette tries to cheer her up. Keyword being “tries”.

Okay, yes, this is referencing the previous scene, where Rose refers to a certain snack at the nurse's office she eats to recover her health whenever “Miss Dora” visits called “Mr. Coffee”, but it's just bad timing. I get Marinette has a habit of not reading the room, but why did she have to use the term “Miss Dora” when she knows what it's being used for? Sure, she doesn't know that Juleka knows, but did she really have to say “Miss Dora”? She couldn't have used any other name instead? It's like making a chemotherapy joke when you just found out someone close to you has cancer. Even putting the context aside, what is this joke's punchline supposed to be? That “Miss Dora” will visit Juleka if she eats her lunch? Even by the humor standards of this show, the joke fails spectacularly.

Marinette bumps into Adrien, and although she stutters a little with a little exaggerated body movement, she does manage to take things seriously so she can have an actual conversation with Adrien about Juleka, who wants to be alone. She explains that the text she got was from Rose, who was sent to the hospital because of her sickness, and the entire class finds out because Marinette texted everyone to come to check on Juleka.

Goddamn it, Marinette. I usually defend you for getting screwed over by the writing, but you really aren't on your A game today.

Juleka explains that Rose got this sickness when she was little, which naturally worried everyone else. To make things worse, Juleka also says Rose made her swear to not tell anyone about her to worry her. Everyone else swears to not let Rose know that they know, and the act of support is actually enough to drive away an Akuma targeted at Juleka.

Unfortunately, nobody ever said anything about being overly affectionate to Rose, so everyone in the class tries to do things for Rose like carry her bags, giving her a pillow to sit on in school, helping her take notes, letting her cut in line at lunch, and giving her apples.

All of this makes Juleka remorsefully tell Rose that she told everyone else, which worries her because she hates all the special treatment, so she goes to tell them all about her illness. While they seem to accept her, the next time she sneezes, they overreact like, uh... how can I make this joke in a tasteful way?

Rose says she's had enough with all the treatment, which makes Juleka feel guilty. In the bathroom, she gets akumatized into Reflekta (yet again) with a Sentimonster named Guiltrip. And then Reflekta immediately gets sucked into the Sentimonster, which will cause it to go out of control. Nice job, Shadowmoth.

While it might not look like much, this is easily my favorite Sentimonster by far. Granted, that's not saying much, given all we've gotten so far for Sentimonsters is bootleg Mothra, sentient candy, a robotic doll, a frog with a body count, yet another evil doppelganger, and an eye, but my point still stands. Rather than actually confront the heroes, it's basically a portal to another world where it can trap people in bubbles that represent their regrets and despair, and turn them into copies of Reflekta.

It's a really strong metaphor which reminds me of the villains from Kamen Rider Wizard, who tried to drive their victims to despair in order to turn them into monsters. Ironically, that show's main villain is also some asshole in white who was risking countless lives just to save someone close to him. In general, the area inside of Guiltrip is visually stunning, and easily the highlight of the episode. It's just so surreal, and it really sets the tone the episode's going for.

Ladybug and Cat Noir arrive on the scene, and also get sucked into the portal, seeing some of the victims before they also start to fall into despair. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but this is one of the few times where Angstdrien Depreste is thematically appropriate. Cat Noir points out that if they had simply defeated Shadowmoth by now, none of this would be happening, which is a good point. He even attempts to kill himself using his Cataclysm, but unlike RWBY, they don't try to glorify it.

This also leads to Rose managing to fight off Guiltrip's powers with her optimistic personality (so I guess you could say she's A New Hope for the heroes), inspiring Ladybug to compliment Cat Noir. While I'd normally be pissed that this is yet another way to boost his ego, it does fit in with the episode's theme of positive thinking. Well, with the exception of one line where she points out what her time as Ladybug would be like without Cat Noir...

BEING A SUPERHERO IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FUN. Yes, there are certain benefits to being a superhero, but it is not a fun game you play when lives are on the line. Why are the writers so dedicated to validate Cat Noir's beliefs that being a hero is just a fun extracurricular activity? Has there ever been a superhero who shares a similar mentality and isn't treated like a complete jackass?

So Ladybug and Cat Noir break free of the bubbles, and after summoning her Lucky Charm, a pickaxe, Ladybug realizes she needs more positivity to break free from Guiltrip. As such, she pulls out the Pig Miraculous and gives it to Rose, who transforms into Pigella. Funny how she forgot her little headache condition when she bangs her head like a death metal singer while transforming.

The design is... wait, she's not wearing a skin-tight jumpsuit? She's actually wearing something different?

Yeah, I really like the Pigella design. There's a good mix of pink and white, and the skirt really brings the whole thing together. It really reflects Rose's optimistic and bubbly personality.

So the three heroes find Reflekta, who has been consumed by tons of bubbles. Pigella uses her superpower, Gift, to show Reflekta what her heart wants the most right now. So it's basically a more specific version of the Fox Miraculous? In fact, what do pigs have to do with optimism?

Whatever reason, it works, which helps Reflekta to break free of Guiltrip's influence, letting Ladybug de-evilize her. But because we need to have a fight scene in this episode, the Reflekta clones start to attack the heroes, but Ladybug uses the pickaxe to climb out of Guiltrip and purify the Amok.

So Rose hands the Pig Miraculous back to Ladybug, and the episode ends with everyone treating Rose normally in class, realizing she isn't as delicate as she thinks she is.

So yeah, I really like this episode. Aside from a few stupid things Marinette said this episode, I honestly don't have a lot of problems with the episode here.

I also really like the lesson this episode is going for. It doesn't shame Rose for rejecting the help, and it doesn't shame the class for being to overprotective of Rose either. It tries to find a middle ground, which is an important lesson to learn, not just for dealing with a loved one who has an illness, but for disabled people and other kinds of situations where someone has a disadvantage. Even as much as I ragged on Marinette for the text, it's clear that she isn't the only one to blame. In fact, nobody really gets blamed for anything this episode. It's more of a misunderstanding, and both sides find a balance on how to treat Rose.

It's overall a really good episode, and the second best one so far this season. And you know what? This episode taught me the importance of staying positive, so with that in mind, maybe I shouldn't be dreading “Queen Banana” when it comes out this week.

Wait, what? It got pushed back two weeks? Oh, THANK GOD! Now I feel like dancing. And I know exactly what song to dance to...

[billiedeanhwrd]

mind is just as frail as it's frame, you know i'd leave it alone

billie dean howard x reader

summary: you're fighting a losing game with your disorder, let's hope it's not too late when your ex-girlfriend shows up in your apartment.

warnings: eating disorders (bulimia), depression, sad ending

word count: 1730

a/n: this is basically a vent i dumped into my notes app in one sitting after not being inspired to write for way too long, so, pls don't judge too harshly and pls DONT READ THIS IF IT COULD TRIGGER YOU

gif credits to @mildredratchds

You had fallen into the dark, deep blue again. Time and time again you fell and you fought your way out, you fell and you picked yourself up again. Not this time though, you were drowning and there was nothing you could do to get back to air. You were trapped in this pool of misery as if it was locked on the surface, and there was no way you were getting out of it by yourself.

The last time it got this bad you had Billie, sweet, sweet Billie, who would've sacrificed her life to help you in any shape or form, but she was gone. Her departure left a cavity in your heart, yet you couldn't be mad at her. She had tried. But you locked her out when you needed her the most. There really was no one else to blame for the decaying of your heart, but you.

Nothing particularly bad happened that would've caused you to spiral this extremely, it was simply the fact that everything was bad, everything is bad, and everything would always be bad. In reality, your problems weren't getting worse, but the continuous strain of having to deal with the same troubles every single day was eating away at your resistance. You could feel the energy and willpower to keep going creeping out of your body, leaving you with the empty shell of who you used to be.

You hadn't talked to Billie in months, after repeated tries to break down your walls and being pushed away every single time, she gave up. You did it, you pushed away the one person who truly cared for you. Your mind was clouded by self-hatred and anguish, it was as if your eyes were shielded by a grey layer, making it impossible for the world to look anything but cold and loveless.

There was not a single thing that could spark up the joyous flame inside you. Nothing was even remotely good anymore. Nothing.

You were here, but at the same time, you weren't. As if you had taken a step back from reality. The feeling of not being real blurring the lines between good and bad. At certain moments the light inside you would flicker, pulling you back and guiding you to the right thing. But it was only a flicker. It was weak and it was temporary. The disordered desire to completely destroy yourself was starting to consume you.

Everything was blurry, the line between good and bad, the one between acceptable and inappropriate and most dangerously the one between you and your illness.

Were these your authentic thoughts or were they caused by a disorder?, was a question you often asked yourself, but never actually answered.

You had long reached past the point of not caring, now you wanted it, actively wanted absolute destruction. You resumed all your old unhealthy coping mechanisms and made no effort to stop your current ones.

Who would really care if you died? no one, at least that's what you made yourself believe.

Total isolation from friends and family was necessary so you could spend all your time focusing on your eating disorder.

Instead of spending your nights in the arms of the woman you loved, you spent them hunched over the toilet, hurling your guts out.

You felt weak and disgusting at all times, nothing about what you were doing was anywhere near glamorous. Well... except if anyone finds choking on your own vomit or all kinds of gross digestive issues glamorous.

You couldn't recognize the girl starring back at you in the mirror, who the hell even was this red-eyed girl? Her puffy cheeks stood out to you immediately. Snot, vomit, and bile were running down her face, probably picking at her skin. And her eyes... well, except for tears and popped blood vessels there was nothing in them. Not a single glimpse of happiness or remains of a person.

It was a heartbreaking sight that left you cold.

Dizzily you walked to your bed, too tired to do anything. The tiny remains of energy you had left you with the content of your stomach.

It was 5 in the evening and you were laying in bed, staring at the spinning ceiling, until your eyes fell shut.

Your friends had contacted Billie, she was the only one who used to be able to help you at least a little bit. She was there for you, always, and she never judged. She stood by you in your darkest times, supportively holding your hand and not letting go even when the going got tough. You were constantly terrified of dragging her down with you, the last thing you wanted was to rob the world of her angelic presence.

She would hold you close when you were down, which was admittedly most days. She would clean your apartment and do your laundry, things you didn't feel like you could do in the state you were in.

She loved you and you loved her.

Of course, you returned the favors, you were there for her as well, but you knew it was different. It was a bigger challenge being with someone so deeply intertwined with their illness, but she still did it.

She was your everything, and you had lost her.

Not only was she your light in this pitch-black hole others called life, but she was also your soulmate. The one you laughed with most. The one who got you, everything about you. You shared a myriad of beautiful moments that outshined any bad time for her. She wanted to marry you one day, of course, you didn't know that until you kicked her out of your apartment and discovered a red, velvet box weeks later when you finally cleaned out her drawer.

You were moody, irritable, impulsive, and horribly depressed. It seemed as if your actions didn't have consequences, life was a game of numbers. Calories in. Calories out. Nothing else mattered.

You felt no remorse when things ended with Billie. The realization only really hit you when you found the 18 carat Tiffany diamond.

For a second your eyes opened wide and your lips curled into a smile, despite having ruined the surprise proposal. Then, boom, it hit you and your heart crumbled. There was no surprise to ruin, anymore. You two were done. She didn't need you, she had moved on, appearing with a new side-piece on the covers of tabloids weekly.

Why would you even care though? You ended things. you could hear a painful laugh erupting from you, you didn't need her, you didn't need anyone, not when you had your innermost nervosa.

Eyes wide and dead, smile big and stiff, you looked horrifying. But what did it matter? Sanity was a hoax anyways.

When your friends called Billie she dropped everything for you, like she always had and always would. The second she heard how you were behaving, her heart rate went sky high. It was happening again, and this time, she wasn't there to throw you a lifejacket, this time, you were drowning on your own.

It was 6 in the evening, and you were laying in your bed, facing the now still-standing ceiling.

Billie chuckled to herself as she used the spare key you hid in your not-so-secret-secret hiding spot to open your front door. The apartment was just how you had left it.

After you had practically inhaled the kitchen until you were painfully full and then, of course, ritualistically aggressively forced your hand down your throat to un-do what just happened. That's what appealed to you about bulimia. The control. Life didn't have an undo button, so you had to create one for yourself. You cheated in the dirtiest games of them all and your pride overthrew every bit of rationality that was left. Not once did the thought "I shouldn't be doing this" enter your mind, this was after all normal to you, blurry, but normal.

It doesn't work that way though, you can't undo anything or cheat your way through life just because you're unable to give up control. And a part of you knew that, a part of you wanted to listen to what your therapist had told you. She was right, you could drop dead at any second, the chances of having a sudden heart attack rising after every heave.

The smell of vomit invaded the medium's nose when the door creaked open, and her heart sunk. She wanted so badly to help you through this, stand by you, and overcome this with you, but you wouldn't let her. You made it impossible for her to be apart of your life. She had no energy to keep up the fight and so she left, like you wanted her to, like you said you wanted her to.

She called out your name. no response. you must be asleep somewhere, she thought. Your ex-girlfriend made her way through the food packages and dirty dishes on the floor to the bathroom, it wouldn't be the first time she'd find you passed out on the cold ceramic tiles. She flushed the toilet and wiped down the blood and vomit-covered toilet seat before stopping in the doorway to collect herself. Fiddling with her pearl necklace before taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom.

It was 6:10 in the evening when Billie switched off the light in the bathroom and headed to the kitchen, her red pumps echoing through your deadly silent apartment. She stopped in her tracks and seriously considered cleaning for a second, like she used to do for you when you were dating.

She missed you, a lot. She missed seeing the relief on your face when you entered your freshly cleaned kitchen after beating yourself up for nights for not being able to just. Do. IT. She missed the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at her, she missed your bear-hugs and cuddles, she missed everything about you. Billie shook her head, cleaning could wait, she needed to talk to you.

It was 10 past 6 in the evening and you were laying in your bed, which was how Billie found you a few seconds later.

Because everything was just how you had left it. Dirty dishes on the floor. Lights on. Vomit in the toilet. A lifeless body facing the ceiling.

[mearcatsreturns]

/whispers/ So maybe I now have to ask for Ivan and the No Good Terrible Very Bad Day Attempting to Babysit a Grisha Child Who Can Summon Light and Shadow. How could this possibly go wrong.

Once again, this got long, so here's the first chapter of A Day in the Life of Ivan, Or: Ivan’s Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

The worst day of Ivan’s life begins years before the fateful day itself, if that’s possible. He’s grateful not to know the precise day, but he knows who—or what, rather—is to blame.

It’s the damn heterosexuals. They just won’t stop fucking, and they’ve made it everyone else’s problem now.

The heterosexuals in question are, of course, Kirigan and Alina, or as they’re known now, the Tsar and Tsarina.

&&&

About three years before the Worst Day™, Ivan is minding his own business, just trying to find some decent food after returning from a mission to the northern border. It wasn’t a bad trip; Fedyor had been with him and they’d enjoyed the opportunity to spend some time together outside the political games of Os Alta.

Nevertheless, Ivan is eager to eat some food that isn’t dried and to sleep in his own comfortable bed. He’s already debriefed with the Tsar and bathed, so he’s delighted to find it’s time for dinner. It’s to be a small group tonight, just the king and queen, Nikolai, Zoya, Tamar, Nadia, Fedyor and him. He can tolerate them all (except Fedyor, who of course is the light of his life), though Alina remains permanently on thin ice. She makes the Darkling light and happy, and it’s just unnatural.

They settle around the table and fall into comfortable conversation. Tolya is on an assignment and intends to travel to Kerch after this. Tamar and Nadia are beginning to formalize their union and are looking for a house. If their bickering and the obscene looks Zoya and Nikolai are giving each other are any indication, Ivan expects some kind of announcement from them any day. The Tsar intends to invite some dignitaries from Novyi Zem to the palace in a few weeks.

And Tsaritsa Alina is pale and...unwell. She looks queasy, and Ivan feels a moment of alarm. Grisha can’t get sick, not unless they don’t use their powers. Given that Alina is the Sol Koroleva, the renowned Sun Summoner, that seems unlikely. Few things lead to such ill appearances. Maybe some kind of poison? If she or her food are being poisoned, they need to know as soon as possible.

Ivan does his usual first step; he counts the heartbeats, checking their speeds. One, two, three, four, everyone is normal, five, six, seven, eight, nine...ah, the ninth is faint and fast.

Wait. Nine? There are only eight of them here at dinner, and the attendants have long since departed.

It hits Ivan like a lightning bolt, and he gasps aloud in shock and horror. The most reasonable explanation for the extra heartbeat and Alina’s ill looks is—oh, saints protect them all—a baby.

Everyone turns to look at him, as though he is the one who’s done something strange and dangerous.

Ivan gapes at Alina and points a finger accusingly, “You’re pregnant! With a baby!”

Beside him, Fedyor closes his eyes and shakes his head, letting out a sigh. Tamar and Nadia exchange a knowing, amused look, though they manage not to laugh. Zoya raises one shapely eyebrow.

Nikolai grins. “One generally is pregnant with babies, as opposed to anything else. Except perhaps with genius ideas, in my case and David’s. Alina, moi tsar, congratulations to you both.”

Alina glares at Ivan. What? He’s not the unholy saint about to unleash terror onto the earth from their womb.

Once he glances at Kirigan, though, Ivan stills. The Tsar is ashen and looks as though someone has dropped an iron on his head, or told him that his beloved horse is Grisha too.

“Aleksander, I wasn’t sure. I was waiting until I was to tell you,” Alina says, one hand on her husband’s forearm. “Are...are you all right?”

The Tsar opens his mouth, but no sounds come out.

Tamar and Nadia stand, hand-in-hand. “We, ah, think we’ll take our leave now. Thank you for a lovely dinner, Sol Koroleva, my King,” Tamar says, and she and her fiancée flee.

Zoya clears her throat and gives Nikolai a look that is very different from the hungry one Ivan so despises on faces that aren’t Fedyor’s.

With a nod at her, Nikolai stands and helps her to her feet. “Indeed. Your hospitality is, as always, boundless, though I can’t help but feel we’re trespassing on it every second we linger here. Erm, do let me know when I can get you a gift.”

“Congratulations,” Zoya says, and to Ivan’s disgust, she actually sounds sincere. He watches as she and Nikolia leave, one of the Lantsov pup’s hands at the small of her waist. One would think the heterosexuals would have learned from this evening that touching each other is dangerous, but apparently some of them are just utter fools.

Fedyor elbows him, and Ivan turns to scowl at his beloved. “Wha—”

A point of his head in the direction of the Tsar and Tsaritsa quiets Ivan.

Alina is kneeling beside her husband’s chair, stroking his arm. Aleksander Kirigan, King of Ravka, Shadow Summoner, the Black General, sits still as a statue, eyes wide with shock.

“We’ll head out now too,” Fedyor says.

Ivan nods, grabbing Fedya’s arm and hauling him from the room. Over his shoulder, Ivan yells, “Good luck!”

Fedyor smacks him, whispering furiously as they close the door behind them. “‘Good luck’?! You’re supposed to say ‘congratulations,’ or ‘have a nice evening,’ you utter troll.”

“I’m a troll now? See if I give you a massage when we get back to our rooms,” Ivan grouses. He pulls Fedyor along, pulling him away from where he seemed inclined to linger by the door. Eavesdropping, pah. He can’t believe he’s married to such a busybody.

Who would want to stay to hear whatever nonsense the Darkling and his wife are about to say or do? He’s had enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much.

Ivan shudders. The two most powerful Grisha on the planet, one a sun summoner and the other a shadow summoner, having a baby? The world is definitely doomed.

&&&

The next day, Ivan receives a summons to go see the Tsar. Dread churns in his stomach, and he rubs his eyes. He hadn’t slept well, especially after he and Fedyor had a tiff about “inappropriate behavior and outbursts.” And now he’s to see his boss, probably about said outburst the previous night.

He accompanies Anton, the young oprichnik to the Tsar’s quarters, and the boy brightens with excitement to be talking to one of the Tsar’s most favored Grisha. “Thank you, Andrei. I’ll make my way from here.” The boy’s face falls, but Ivan dismisses him with a nod. If the oprichniki got any more friendly, they’d start calling him Vanya without his permission. Appalling.

Ivan takes a deep breath, then knocks at the door. He’s long since learned the value of knocking after Alina and the General got together, especially now that they share their quarters. Unfortunately, no healer has yet to find something to wipe certain sights from his brain.

“Come in,” Kirigan’s faint, disembodied voice commands.

Ivan lets himself into the room, waiting while the Tsar steps around the corner from the bedroom he shares with his queen.

“Good morning, Ivan.”

“Good morning, moi soverennyi. I hope you rested well,” Ivan replies, tone funereal. Saints, he prays he’s not about to be sent to Tsibeya permanently. He runs his hand under his collar, annoyed to find he’s actually sweating.

Kirigan’s face gives nothing away. “I did, thank you. The Tsaritsa is with Genya and one of the healers.”

“And she...she is well?” Ivan gulps.

“Yes. She was apparently a bit surprised last night herself, as she’d only just begun to suspect she might be pregnant.”

As much as Ivan hates when the Tsar’s feelings show—it’s usually him making soppy, annoying faces at Alina—he wishes Aleksander would just say what’s on his mind.

“My apologies, sir, I was also surprised. She seemed unwell, and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t, say, being poisoned.”

“You thought someone might be poisoning my wife?” Kirigan is incredulous.

“Things have been very calm with Fjerda lately. I don’t trust it.”

The General mutters under his breath, something about not trusting anything.

Ivan waits. Finally, Kirigan breaks the not-so-silent silence. “Well, thank you for your concern. And, ah, the surprising news.”

“You’re most welcome,” he replies gloomily.

“You don’t seem thrilled.”

“Forgive me, moi tsar, but I don’t see a need for excitement at a natural result of your conjugal activities. Sir.”

Oh, saints, is Kirigan frowning at him? Ivan mentally starts packing his belongings when the frown becomes a smile and then a laugh.

Perhaps Aleksander still isn’t quite recovered from the shock of his impending fatherhood.

He’s not paying attention to Ivan anyway. Kirigan makes his way to the table, shuffling the papers there unseeingly. “I didn’t think it was possible, you know.”

“I did not.” And Ivan would like to keep it that way.

Alas, Aleksander seems inclined to continue talking. “In all my long life, longer than you know, I’ve never fathered a child.”

Ivan grimaces. The world is probably grateful, though now it has much to fear. “It would have been challenging to have had a child during the wars, sir.”

Kirigan waves this aside, and unfortunately continues speaking. “Still, for it to happen with Alina...I’m so thrilled, Ivan.”

“And I am...happy for you, General.” Make it stop. Ivan is queasy.

“Of course, it’s probably for the best that it didn’t happen when Alina and I first got together, especially now that I know how possible that was.”

Ivan wants to cover his ears and sing “la la la la la,” but the implications of what his boss is saying finally sink in, and his horror at this whole situation increases exponentially. “Wait. Do you mean to say you weren’t using, ah, preventative measures?”

Kirigan’s face grows sheepish. “Until my conversation with Alina last night after you all departed, I wasn’t aware there was such a thing. In my day, one simply planned around the time of the month or withdrew from—”

“I beg you to stop talking. Moi soverennyi,” Ivan adds as an afterthought.

The Tsar falls silent, and Ivan sighs with relief.

But something bothers him. “Did you not get any sort of talk about how to prevent pregnancy when you were training? Even I did when I was young, before everyone knew I wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“Like I said, there weren’t those kinds of options when I was young, as far as I know,” Kirigan says with a shrug.

Ivan begins to realize that his boss is, in fact, much older than he thought. That explains the herring and rye, too. He hesitates before venturing to speak. “Do...was Alina—the queen, that is, did she explain the different kinds of birth control, or…?”

“Well, I can’t get her more pregnant, Ivan.”

It’s too horrible to even contemplate, and Ivan shudders.

Kirigan laughs and slaps his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to give me The Talk. Alina was so upset I didn’t know that she told me everything last night.”

Ivan’s lips twist in dismay at Aleksander’s rapturous expression that indicates there was a demonstration of some practical applications. Ugh. “Small mercies.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll consider this next a mercy: I want you and Fedyor to stay close through Alina’s pregnancy, especially once word gets out.”

Staying in Os Alta won’t be so bad, but the idea of dancing attendance on Alina, all while some parasite hijacks and distorts her body...well, hopefully he’ll get a good field assignment once this pregnancy is over. “Of course, moi tsar. And when will it end? I mean, ah, when is the blessed event?”

“In seven and a half months or so, perhaps eight. She’s about five or six weeks along, the healer says. And that, well…” Kirigan smiles at what is clearly the memory of this child’s conception.

Ivan fervently wracks his brain, desperate to keep his boss from offering more information that will give him nightmares about heterosexual intercourse. “And is there any way of knowing whether the babe will be a shadow summoner or sun summoner? Or both?”

A stricken look comes over Kirigan’s face. “Both?” He clearly hasn’t considered this possibility yet. “But that…” He doesn’t continue, instead going to fall into his chair and stare into distance.

It’s going to be a long few months.

&&&

It’s roughly eight months after that when Ivan is rudely pulled from sleep by Genya bursting into his and Fedyor’s room like she has the right.

It’s obscenely early in the morning, Ivan is, as is his usual habit, sleeping on his side facing the window. Fedyor, as is his usual custom, sleeps with his arm slung over Ivan’s waist and his head buried between his shoulder blades. It’s very soothing, normally.

Not today, though. The door opens with a bang, and Genya yells, “It’s time! She’s here!”

Ivan, suddenly wide awake, goes to jump out of bed. Instead, he finds that Genya has slowed their heart rates enough that hurrying is impossible. He glares at her. “What the fuck are you doing in our room? Who is here?”

“The baby is here. The tsarevna.”

“It’s a girl?” Fedyor asks with a smile.

Genya grins back. “Yes. She’s adorable.”

Ivan does not smile. “I’m glad she’s arrived. But why are you here in our bedroom at—” he glances at the clock and continues, “4:52 in the morning?”

“Everyone is going to see here. You’re the Tsar’s right-hand man, Ivan, so they’ll be expecting you.”

“Well, Genya, darling, you’ll have to let our hearts do their normal thing if you want us to do that,” Fedyor adds.

She shakes her head and drops her hand. “Of course. Sorry. See you there in fifteen minutes, and please be wearing pants. And shirts.”

Ivan grumbles, but gets out of bed. It’s difficult to want to leave when Fedyor is looking over him like that, but Kirigan probably will be upset if they don’t come to fawn over his spawn in what he deems a reasonable amount of time.

He and Fedyor make their way down the halls of the palace to Aleksander’s and Alina’s private apartment. The door is open, but Ivan nods at the guards and knocks anyway before stepping inside, Fedyor on his heels. He walks back to the bedroom, where he can hear hushed, happy conversations.

Alina is lying on the bed. She looks sweaty and disgusting, but in a radiant and maternal way that the Tsar seems to find beautiful, since he can’t look away from her. Typical, and exactly what got them into this mess.

The mess in question is wrapped in a blanket in her mother’s arms. Ivan glances at the small bundle, which seems to be sleeping. It is certainly very red.

Kirigan sits in a chair beside the bed, as close to it and his wife and new daughter as he can. He’s resting one hand on Alina’s shoulder, while the other trails along his daughter’s tiny head.

“The tsarevna is lovely,” Fedyor says, smiling down at the family.

Ivan thinks that’s a bit of a stretch, but he nods. “She looks like a baby. A healthy one.”

Fedyor elbows him, but Alina just rolls her eyes. “Thank you, I think.”

“She’s beautiful,” Aleksander says firmly, his face still disturbingly dreamy. “We’ve decided to call her Anastasia.”

Nastia. That seems about right.

Just then, the wee girl stirs and starts to wail. As her cries grow louder and Alina shifts to be able to feed her, shadows creep into the room. Then through the darkness, Ivan sees little flashes of light coming from the baby.

Fuck. This tiny child can summon shadows and light.

Nasty little Nastia indeed.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

so! a few weeks back, @linesofreturninggeese made a comment on my ao3 upload of the homecoming au, that au where maedhros and maglor go home at the end of the war of wrath, and everything is so, so much worse than that description should imply. it took me a while to respond to it, partially because of uni but also partially because it made me think up several new ideas for the au, the writing out of which took me within 500 characters of the ao3 comment character limit. i’m posting that comment here, along with geese’s for context

warning: this thing is under a cut because it’s very long, but also because the homecoming au is extremely dark and comes with many trigger warnings. at its core, this au is about a pair of very mentally ill people being emotionally and psychologically abused by their caretakers, an unhoped-for miracle slowly turning into a neverending choking nightmare. specific trigger warnings for these include more-explicitly-medical-than-usual abuse, removal of agency, mind wiping, self-harm, and brief mentions of disassociation and murder-suicide. there is some uncharacteristic happiness here, but also ever-more-suffocating pain. also it uses capitals because that’s the house style over on ao3 and i don’t really see the point in converting it over

linesofreturninggeese’s comment:

Damn. I can see this going so many different ways from here.

Simplest would be to just wash his hands of them now, decide that political stability isn't worth having people literally trying to kill him in his own house? Send them off to the Máhanaxar (or Mandos...)? I can even see him trying to influence valinorean nobility/society in his own favor to mitigate his potential losses/ameliorate any sort of pro-Feanorian loyalty. Talk about his longsuffering attempts to help the brothers move on, the way their initial melancholy seemed to turn to active resistance to healing even with such care and patience and imply that anyone who associated too closely with the brothers was taking a great personal risk. the gouges on finarfin's face turn to scars, stubbornly persistent. people shake their heads and whisper that it's because he's distraught, oh, look how much he cares about those boys, no, those beasts he brought into his home. clearly he blames himself (you can see the proof right there) but isn't that in itself evidence of his graciousness? finarfin's housekeepers never mention the flecks of blood on his sink some days, as if he scratched the area open himself. that's unthinkable, and they have no reason to be suspicious, after all  Pay social calls to the people who experienced makalaure's little performance and therefore saw the joy in his eyes as he screamed out the the noldolante, the way his voice only strengthened as people tried to distract him, how his eyes scanned the room to see the fear and misery of the guests--well, word spreads, and finarfin is well regarded. while the brothers were in beleriand dealing death and bloodshed finarfin was...perhaps not writing history, but if the feanorians' fingers are red with blood then finarfin's are on the pulse of valinorean society. he's familiar and stable and trustworthy and people are much more inclined to believe and sympathize with him than they ever would a pair of hollow-eyed and unkempt war criminals.

But that may not be the safest option after all. the valar are, though familiar, still the ultimate powers in valinor, the final makers of decisions. one of the feanorians could gain the ear of nienna or este or mandos, and though nelyafinwe is glassy-eyed and withdrawn he was once a shining political mind, able to see into the heart itself at times, or so it seemed. should he suspect all of finarfin's reasons for keeping them... well, another solution might be best. song works just as well on singers as on anyone else, after all. makalaure is overwrought, he's exhausted, he's hurting. a rest would do him good. and nelyafinwe scarcely sleeps at all, these days. let them both lay down, together for once. give them some peace, and everyone else in the household, as well for how long? ai, there's no need to rush. perhaps this is exactly what they need. just let them sleep

my reply:

Oh, yes, those are both so, so plausible. I feel like whatever Finarfin does next, it’ll have to be something he can justify to himself to be in the brothers’ best interests? Finarfin may have some… ulterior motives, but he does still think of himself as a good king and just generally a good person, the great reconciliator of his family. He can tell how wounded his nephews are, and beneath all the political machinations, he does sincerely want them to heal.

So I can see this whole incident bursting the bubble of pretty self-justifications and convenient delusions Finarfin’s built up around himself. As Maglor is hauled away by the guards, blood dripping from his dagger-sharp fingers, mouth twisted in a soundless scream, it finally pierces Finarfin’s skull that they’re not getting better. They never have been. The Noldor applied all their collective skill in the healing of minds, and it’s only made them deteriorate further. Finarfin cannot help them.

That’s a bitter realisation, but then he finds he finds himself reluctant to do the obvious thing and send them up to the Valar. He starts mentally probing that idea, questioning why, and when he finally hits on it it’s almost as much of a shock as the gouges in his face. Finarfin, I want to emphasise, does not want to be the kind of person who keeps two of his family members in a neverending vortex of torment to secure his throne! That’s - he doesn’t even have the words to describe that type of evil, it feels like something of the Enemy.

So yeah. Finarfin has a long dark night of the soul, probably talks it over with Eärwen (who’s seen the toll this whole enterprise has taken on everyone connected to it, and how little it’s gained) and Finrod (who honestly just wants to never have to think about the Fëanorians again.) Soon after, Maedhros and Maglor get handed over to the Valar, and hauled up the mountain to be judged.

And I do think that the custody of the Valar is the best place the brothers could go. Unless the Valar throw them into the Void, which I don’t think is likely, odds are good they’ll end up in some subdivision of Elf Afterlife Therapy, being looked after by the resident Maiar. Unlike the Noldor, the Maiar of the Halls (and the Gardens, and the devotees of Nienna) actually know what the fuck they’re doing as therapists and carers, and they’re focused on helping their patients reach a version of themselves they’re comfortable being, not bashing them into a societally convenient shape. Plus their family is there (Fëanor is Absolutely Determined to Never Fail His Sons Again, and their brothers - well, none of them are precisely healthy, but the less injured ones protect the more injured, that’s how they’ve always worked,) as well as the people who loved who they became during the Siege, even if not after. Maglor’s wife. It’ll be a long, slow, difficult road to recovery, especially with all the additional damage those clowns in Tirion did, and it’s perfectly possible they never will heal, but Elf Afterlife Therapy is the best chance they’ll have to get there, and the place most likely to accept it if they can’t.

Yeah, any version of this story where the brothers get the actual experienced professional help of the Fëanturi’s collective entourage counts as a happy ending for me. It’s probably the best outcome they could get at this point, an actual chance to recover among people who really understand what they went through. What’s above is my own off-the-cuff take on how Finarfin might let them go, but I could see your version easily, especially with a more politically cynical/less willing to admit how much of this is his fault Finarfin. (I especially like your description of how the wider Noldorin court/populace is reacting to all this, the initial post I wrote this AU as a reaction to went with the Noldor who stayed behind seeing the Fëanorians as poor lost children destroyed by the world outside, but there have to be people who distance themselves from the Kinslayings by pretending that Fëanor and his sons just did them because they were evil, rather than as an outgrowth of the ideas and cultural currents they themselves were involved with before the Darkening. They’d rather scapegoat than admit even the tiniest complicity.) But honestly? So long as the brothers get out of that nightmare, I don’t really care how or why or what they leave behind. Finarfin can completely demonise them and refuse to admit he did anything the slightest bit wrong, and it won’t matter because Maedhros and Maglor are finally, truly safe. There’s probably a story in how this Tirion reacts and continues to react to the inevitable deluge of Beleriand survivors, but this particular story has reached its conclusion.

Call that the good ending. Here’s the bad one.

Say that Finarfin doesn’t have that moment of clarity. Say, instead, that the lesson he takes from the incident is that any reminder of their life in Beleriand will - Finarfin phrases it as ‘cause them unnecessary emotional distress,’ but everyone can tell he means ‘makes the monsters resurface.’ Maglor wasn’t actually plotting to kill Finarfin, it rapidly becomes clear, he was just lashing out in the only way he has left. Once he’s calmed down enough to realise what he’s done, the rage in his face is chased out by sheer soul-deep terror.

The trap snaps back down on them, tighter and more painful than ever before. When I first wrote this, I didn’t have a clear picture of what happened next, I just knew that somehow it would get even worse. That idea of putting them to sleep is something that probably gets bandied around in the big what-the-hell-do-we-do-now meeting afterwards. I don’t think Finarfin would immediately go for it, though. It feels too much like giving up abandoning them.

I can, however, see the caretakers start to drug the brothers’ food, slowing their movements down, keeping their minds foggy. It’s primarily for the safety of themselves and the people around them, you understand, but it also stops them from working themselves up so much, keeps them nice and calm. They’re so much more tractable like this, they’re just easier to handle. You can get them to do anything for a walk in the sunlight or some time with their brother. (The fact that this only makes them even more dependent on their caretakers and even less likely to recover, the fact that it so clearly puts the lie to any argument that this is to help them, not control them - well, this is the bad ending.)

And - Finarfin does have enough brain cells to recognise that the Noldorin tendency to try and engineer their way out of everything usually causes more problems than it solves, but I can see him realising that what they’re currently trying just isn’t working - and that therefore, they need to try some new therapies. Shock treatment, sensory deprivation, all the new experiments the Psychologists’ Forum can think of, things that look so much like torture to the outside observer, but they have to keep trying until something, anything, works.

And if nothing does work, they do have other options. Hypnosis, memory erasure, if the brothers won’t leave the past behind it can always be taken from them. With the right sort of medical care, even their bodies can be reshaped, if not quite restored to their original forms, then certainly cleansed of all those sickening scars. Still, though, it would behoove their caretakers to be cautious. To prevent a relapse and to keep the peace, a reborn Maitimo or Makalaurë would only be told so much. If they figure out too much, or try to slip the leash, or start acting contrary to their own best interests - well, in this case they already have a solution.

Just, agh. There’s so many ways this AU could get even worse, become even more of an endless inescapable nightmare. The rational part of me knows this state of affairs is unlikely to last six thousand years, but the horrified part can’t stop thinking of Elrond arriving in Valinor to find that - all is well, Maglor is fine, Finarfin is very certain Elrond has nothing to worry about. Except it rapidly becomes clear that Maglor is just doing whatever he needs to do to not get hurt with barely any thought of his own left, or that he’s shoved all his darker aspects onto an alternate persona he is deathly terrified of ever letting out, or that despite the court’s best efforts Makalaurë knows something is wrong, no matter how many times his caretakers wipe his mind he’s figured out they’re hiding something from him and Maitimo, some great and terrible secret that’s worse than anything they could ever imagine.

Or Elrond could be told that when they were evacuating the palace during the Númenórean invasion, Maedhros dragged his brother into the flames.

[kaile-hultner]

Nihilism is so easy, which is why we need to kill it

(I initially published this here a couple weeks ago.)

So last night it dawned on me that, after over two years of being relatively symptom-free, my depression snuck back up on me and has taken over. It’s still pretty mild in comparison to other times I’ve been stuck in the hole, but after 24 months (and more) of mostly being good to go, I can tell that it’s here for a hot minute again.

How do I know? Well, it might be the fact that I spent more time sleeping during my recent vacation from work than I did just about anything else, and how it’s suddenly really hard for me to stay awake during work hours. I don’t really have an appetite, and in fact nausea hits me frequently. I don’t really have any emotional reactions to things outside of tears, even when tears aren’t super appropriate to the situation (like watching someone play Outer Wilds for the first time). And I’ve been consuming a lot of apocalyptic media, to which the only response, emotional or otherwise, I can really muster is “dude same.”

For a long time I was huge into absurdist philosophy, because it felt to my depressed brain like just the right balance between straight up denying that things are bad (and thus we should fix them, or at least try to do so) and full-blown nihilism. This gives absurdism a lot of credit; mostly it’s just a loose set of spicy existentialist ideas and shit that sounds good on a sticker, like “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

In the last couple years, while outside of my depressive state, I went back to Camus’ work and found a lot of almost full-on abusive shit in it. Not toward anyone specifically, but shit like “nobody and nothing will care if you’re gone, so live out of spite of them all” rubs me the wrong way in retrospect. The philosophy Camus puts out opens the door for living in a very self-destructive fashion; that in fact the good life is living without care for yourself or anyone/anything else. The way Camus describes and derides suicide especially is grim as fuck, and certainly I would never recommend The Myth of Sisyphus to anyone currently struggling with ideation. That “perfect balance” between denial and nihilism is really not that perfect at all, and in fact skews much more heavily towards the latter.

Neon Genesis Evangelion has been a big albatross around my neck in terms of the media products I’ve consumed in my life that I believe have influenced my depression hardcore. It sits in a similar conversational space to Camus’ work, in that it confronts nihilism and at once rejects and facilitates it. A lot of folks remark that Evangelion is pretty unique – or at least uncommon – in its accurate portrayal of depression, especially for mid-90s anime properties. The thing I notice always seems to be missing in these discussions is that along with that accurate portrayal comes a spot-on – to me, at least – depiction of what depression does to resist being treated. This is a disease that uses a person’s rational faculties to suggest that nobody else could possibly understand their pain, and therefore there’s no use in getting better or moving forward. Shinji Ikari is as self-centered as Hideaki Anno is as I am when it comes to confronting the truth: there are paths out of this hole, but nobody else can take that step out but us, and part of our illness is that refusal to do just that. Depression lies, it provides a cold comfort to the sufferer, that there is no existence other than the one where we are in pain and there is no way out, so pull the blanket up over our head and go back to sleep.

Watching Evangelion for the first time corresponded with the onset of one of the worst depressive spirals I’ve ever been in, and so, much like the time I got a stomach virus at the same time that I ate Arby’s curly fries, I kind of can’t associate Evangelion with anything else. No matter what else it might signify, no matter what other meaning there is to derive from it, for me Eva is the Bad Feeling Anime™. Which is why, naturally, I had to binge all four of the Evangelion theatrical releases upon the release of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time last month.

If Neon Genesis Evangelion and End of Evangelion are works produced by someone with untreated depression just fucking rawdogging existence, then the Eva movies are works produced by someone who has gone to therapy even just one fucking time. Whether that therapy is working or not is to be determined, but they have taken that step out of the hole and are able to believe that there is a possibility of living a depression-free life. The first 40 minutes or so of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 are perfect cinema to me. The world is destroyed but there is a way to bring it back. Restoration and existence is possible even when the surface of the planet might as well be the surface of the Moon. The only thing about this is, everyone has to be on board to help. Even though WILLE fired one of its special de-corefication devices into the ground to give the residents of Village 3 a chance at survival, the maintenance of this pocket ecosystem is actively their responsibility. There is no room or time for people who won’t actively contribute, won’t actively participate in making a better world from the ashes of the old.

There are a lot of essentialist claims and assumptions made by the film in this first act about how the body interacts with the social – the concept of disability itself just doesn’t seem to have made it into the ring of safety provided by Misato and the Wunder, which seems frankly wild to me, and women are almost singularly portrayed in traditionalist support roles while men are the doers and the fixers and the makers. I think it’s worth raising a skeptical eyebrow at this trad conservative “back to old ways” expression of the post-apocalypse wherever it comes up, just as it’s important to acknowledge where the movie pushes back on these themes, like when Toji (or possibly Kensuke) is telling Shinji that, despite all the hard work everyone is doing like farming and building, the village is far from self-sufficient and will likely always rely on provisions from the Wunder.

As idyllic as the setting is, it’s not the ideal. As Shinji emerges from his catatonia, Kensuke takes him around the village perimeter. It’s quiet, rural Japan as far as the eye can see, but everywhere there are contingencies; rationing means Kensuke can only catch one fish a week, all the entry points where flowing water comes into the radius of the de-corefication devices have to be checked for blockages because the water supply will run out. There is a looming possibility that the de-corefication machines could break or shut down at some point, and nobody knows what will happen when that happens. On the perimeter, lumbering, pilot-less and headless Eva units shuffle around; it is unknown whether they’re horrors endlessly biding their time or simply ghosts looking to reconnect to the ember of humanity on the other side of the wall. Survival is always an open question, and mutual aid is the expectation. Still: the apocalypse happened, and we’re still here. The question Village 3 answers is “what now?” We move on, we adapt.

Evangelion is still a work that does its level best to defy easy interpretation, but the modern version of the franchise has largely abandoned the nihilism that was at its core in the 90s version. It’s not just that Shinji no longer denies the world until the last possible second – it’s that he frequently actively reaches out and is frustrated by other people’s denials. He wants to connect, he wants to be social, but he’s also burdened with the idea that he’s only good to others if he’s useful, and he’s only useful if he pilots the Eva unit. This last movie separates him and what he is worth to others (and himself) from his agency in being an Eva pilot, finally. In doing so, he’s able to reconcile with nearly everyone in his life who he has harmed or who has hurt him, and create a world in which there is no Evangelion. While this ending is much more wishful thinking than one more grounded in the reality of the franchise – one that, say, focuses on the existence and possible flourishing of Village 3 and other settlements like it while keeping one eye on the precarious balancing act they’re all playing – it feels better than the ending of End of Eva, and even than the last two episodes of the original series.

I’m glad the nihilism in Evangelion is gone, for the most part. I’m glad that I didn’t spend roughly eight hours watching the Evamovies only to be met yet again with a message of “everything is pointless, fuck off and die.” Because I’ve been absorbing that sentiment a lot lately, from a lot of different sources, and it really just fuckin sucks to hear over and over again.

It is a truth we can’t easily ignore that the confluence of pandemic, climate change, authoritarian surge and capitalist decay has made shit miserable recently. But the spike in lamentations over the intractability of this mix of shit – the inevitability of our destruction, to put it in simpler terms – really is pissing me off. No one person is going to fix the world, that much is absolutely true, but if everyone just goes limp and decides to “123 not it” the apocalypse then everyone crying about how the world is fucked on Twitter will simply be adding to the opening bars of a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We can’t get in a mech to save the world but then, neither realistically could Shinji Ikari. What we can do looks a lot more like what’s being done in Village 3: people helping each other with limited resources wherever they can.

Last week, Hurricane Ida slammed into the Gulf Coast and churned there for hours – decimating Bayou communities in Louisiana and disrupting the supply chain extensively – before powering down and moving inland. Last night the powerful remnants of that storm tore through the Northeast, causing intense flooding. Areas not typically affected by hurricanes suddenly found themselves in a similar boat – pun not intended – to folks for whom hurricanes are simply a fact of life. There’s a once-in-a-millennium drought and heatwave ripping through the West Coast and hey – who can forget back in February when Oklahoma and Texas experienced -20 degree temperatures for several days in a row? All of this against the backdrop of a deadly and terrifying pandemic and worsening political climate. It’s genuinely scary! But there are things we can do.

First, if you’re in a weather disaster-prone area, get to know your local mutual aid organizations. Some of these groups might be official non-profits; one such group in the Louisiana area, for example, is Common Ground Relief. Check their social media accounts for updates on what to do and who needs help. If you’re not sure if there’s one in your area, check out groups like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief for that same information. Even if you’re not in a place that expects to see the immediate effects of climate change, you should still consider linking up with organizing groups in your area. Tenant unions, homeless organizations, safe injection sites and needle exchanges, immigrant rights groups, environmental activist orgs, reproductive health groups – all could use some help right now, in whatever capacity you might be able to provide it.

In none of these scenarios are we going to be the heroes of the story, and we shouldn’t view this kind of work in that way. But neither should we give into the nihilistic impulse to insist upon doing nothing, insist that inaction is the best course of action, and get back under the blankets for our final sleep. Kill that impulse in your head, and fuck, if you have to, simply just fucking wish for that better world. Then get out of bed and help make it happen.