#kiwi crossposts

[waferdog]

tanghulu dawg

i love the mandarin it looks so yummy bro

speedpaint on my twt and insta!

[miaqc1]

Kiwi and large earthworm (92 words) by MiaQc Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Original Work Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: None in this story, None - Relationship Characters: Original Animal Character Additional Tags: Birds, Forests, late at night, Cute Ending, POV Third Person Limited, Slice of Life, Microfic, Hunters & Hunting, Gen Work, No Dialogue, Kiwi bird, Kiwi birds, Earthworm, author is autistic, Cross-Posted from AO3, Betaed – No, Wordcount: 0-100 Summary: A cute flash fic about a male kiwi.

[fromthedeskoftheminister]

The unassuming growth of moss on a rock

Find it on AO3

Moss!etho. I hope.

He leaves bits and pieces of himself behind everywhere he goes.

Sometimes it’s intentional, a slow steady creeping thing as he relaxes and sprawls and takes his time investigating and incorporating the new resources that he finds. He wanders through the structures of himself, part of but separate from the world he lives in, emerging where he chooses depending on what he wants to look at. It startles the others sometimes, when he decides to check on his far flung pieces. After all, to them, he simply appears from nowhere and past experiences have taught him that redstone is much easier to explain than his own workings. Not that he hasn’t tried. Doc and Stress were the only ones to even slightly understand the last time he tried.

Other times it’s… really not. Intentional that is. He…. Sheds. for lack of a better term and as embarrassing as that sounds. those bits are carried off by the winds and the rains, settling wherever they find a place. Most times, they land in places already familiar. New to him but places he’s already existed. Those he leaves alone to grow for the most part. Sometimes they land and anchor in interesting places. The Badlands, the Modlands, the Deep End once or twice, and when the whim takes him he’ll do as he always does and grow himself anew then wander off to explore once more. Sometimes, he ends up being carried, unintentionally for the most part. Those normally die off on their own but others he maintains. Not much, or to any great depth, but it’s a very unobtrusive way to keep track of his friends. Very few of them know enough to notice the green fuzz he leaves behind when he inhabits an area for too long. Those that do…. Well. He knows Doc for one, has simply forgotten or doesn’t care if he hasn’t.

Interesting places and interesting people doesn’t always mean things are safe for him to grow. Still the risk and reward are often worth occasionally losing pieces of himself. Life is like that sometimes. He stares down at the book in his hand. Grian‘s Life experiments even more so. 3rd life had been a happy accident, he had simply been curious to see what so many of his friends had been doing in those unassuming plains away from Hermitcraft. Last Life had been happenstance. Double and Limited life had been intentional. The chance to play, to grow, to experiment, without worrying about wasted resources because he would loose that piece anyways? And the knowledge gained? It’s worth the emotional stuff he thinks as he signs the invitation book to let Grian know he’s accepted.

Task done, he relaxes spreading his toes into the dirt beneath him once more leaving minuscule traces of himself behind. One thing still puzzles him as he turns back to digging up clay for the bricks he needs. Given everything that happened in the life experiment He still doesn’t know how to feel about Cleo‘s awareness and apparently willingness to continue to carry him.

Hello hello! I dont know if ive been here yet but!! Dont mind me spreading some moss etho arctic bdubs propaganda here :> for the fanon swap that is pffffffff

(if i have been i apologize! Ive got some memory issues going on and ive been sending a lot of these out ehdhehdhrh)

Hi hello! You’ve not sent me anything yet and I appreciate the hermit propaganda. I am a writer tho and not much of an artist and the idea of moss etho was so very very fascinating that I’ve now written a bit on my phone as I sit in transit. I’ll be adding it on to this post via my writing tumblr in like a couple of minutes. Couldn’t do much for the arctic Bdubs bit though, sorry about that. He’s not one of my hermits and I do not trust myself to get his voice right. I’m not even sure I got Etho down, but I hope you like it anyway.

[maybege]

Drunken Words Are Sober Thoughts - FBI 11

Summary: The birthday celebration continues but the morning after does not look as fun.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, hopeless yearning, Josh is annoying af and so are “your” parents

I am not dead and neither is my Hotch obsession, so I am slowly (very slowly!!!) trying to get back into this fic. Let me know what you think, your comments these past months were always an absolute joy to read 🥺

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

You did not know how many cocktails you already had thrown back, each one more colourful than the last.

What had started with a Kiwi Splash had turned into a Sex On The Beach and something else that Emily had pushed into your hand with a grin and a wink. It was hot pink and tasted like sour candy on your tongue. Delicious.

The night went on, the music got louder and you did not know a lot of people in this karaoke bar that the group had chosen but with Penelope and JJ on the dancefloor, you were certainly in good company.

Someone was blaring an offkey rendition of Britney Spears’ Toxic but you could not care less. Your dress was twirling around you, you screamed along with your friends and the rest of the bar for a moment you finally felt like you had found your people. Like you had settled in this strange city away from home with a group of colleagues with whom you had always wanted to fit in.

And how could you not feel welcomed when Penelope threw her arms around your neck and professed her undying love to your dangly earrings?

“Let the birthday girl breathe, Pep,” JJ joked, rocking her hips to the beginning tunes of Get Busy.

“I just think you are beautiful, darling!” Penelope shouted over the music, “Inside and out and you are so lovely and nice and you deserve the best things and I hate to think that you think you don’t deserve the good things this life has to offer you.”

Trying to hide how close her words hit home, you swallowed back the heavy feeling in your chest.

“All right, Garcia,” Emily interjected, taking your blonde friend into her arms, “I think that is enough drinks for tonight. How about we go looking for your hunk somewhere, huh?”

You grinned, pressing a wet kiss to Penelope’s cheek before making your way back to the table the rest of the group was occupying. While drinking all night may be a fun distraction from your usually so boring life, you knew yourself enough to know you needed to drink lots of water if you wanted to function tomorrow.

Though “function” might be too big a word.

The glass of cool tap water – condensation pearling off at the sides – was calling your name and you fought your way through the crowd. It had not seemed this packed with people when you were dancing with your friends but the moment you tried to get to a specific place, your way was blocked by dozens of people just as (if not more) drunk than you.

You were about to squeeze your way between two people (the last hurdle to your table) when they suddenly stepped away from each other. You almost toppled over, squeaking in surprise when your heel got caught in a gap in the creaky floorboards.

It would have made for a nasty fall if it had not been for two strong arms catching you around your waist, gently helping you into your chair.

“There,” Aaron Hotchner's amused smirk greeted you as you looked up, “Drank a little too much, did we?”

“Me?” you asked, finding yourself in the mood to joke, “Never!”

A real, genuine laugh escaped the man before you and you were sure you had never seen anything more beautiful than him laughing. His entire face lit up and the crinkles next to his eyes deepened. You grabbed the fabric of your dress, keeping yourself from tracing the lines of his face with your finger.

Not appropriate, you reminded yourself, So not appropriate.

“Pretty sure you are, though,” he teased back, pushing the glass of water towards you. You smiled in thanks, quickly gulping down a few sips. “You are laughing more than usual, entertaining Reid’s monologues on aviation in the early twentieth century and I am pretty sure,” he looked down between you, “Just like I thought. You are wearing the heels I only ever saw you wear when we celebrated Emily’s birthday at that high-end sushi place.”

“Are – are you drunk profiling me, Agent Hotchner?” you gasped in shock, unable to hide your smile.  

“What happened to Sir?”

Hoping he did not notice the heat spreading through your face, you fiddled with the neckline of your dress, trying to get some air on your body. “Don’t tease me!”

He looked … relaxed. Open. A slow smile spread on his lips as he turned the half-empty glass of scotch in his hand. He was the epitome of confidence and relaxation with how he was leaning back in his chair. You tried to remember the last time you had seen him so … not on edge. No moment came to mind.

You crossed your legs, trying to satiate the pulsing need that had formed in your core. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you tried to remind yourself to not give him anything to read you by. Which seemed impossible considering the man could read you like an open book.

You just hoped you could hide at least a few essential chapters.

The dark-haired man leaned forward then, resulting in his head hovering right next to yours. The proximity was dizzying and intimate and you could not help but breathe him in. He smelled of the scotch and something so masculine it made you daydream about burying your head in the crook of his neck.

 “You sure?” he mumbled, his lips dangerously close to your ear and you audibly gasped for breath, the back of your neck feeling warm as you stared up at him, “Because I have the feeling you rather like me teasing you.” He was so close, looking down at you as his nose almost touched yours and shit you wanted nothing more than to –

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Pen!” you gasped in shock, plastering a big grin on your face in the hopes that she would not see the sheer need written all over your face.

Luckily, your friend seemed to focus on your lack of dancing to notice anything else. She did not even spare a glance at Hotch when he slowly pulled away from you. “Oh, don’t tell me you are getting tired,” she whined, grabbing your hand and dragging you up, “C’mon, let's go back to dancing! Swing those hips, sweetie, we have all night!”

You followed her with a laugh, happy to have the distraction, but not without looking back at Hotch.

And seeing that he still looked at you with a smile.

*

Waking up with a headache was not normally a cause for joy but the morning after your birthday, you still woke up with a smile on your face.

Never in your wildest dreams had you expected the night to turn out the way it did.

The team had shown up with you, not once but twice and even then, continued to make you feel celebrated the entire evening. Hell, Rossi had insisted on covering your tab on the condition that you brought your self-made banana bread to work again. Emily and Derek (and a very drunk Penelope) had sung you the loudest rendition of Happy Birthday you ever heard with Reid and JJ acting as backup dancers/singers.

And Hotch had been the one to see you to your cab when the night had come to an end, making sure you were before nodding at you with a small smile.

A smile that was now on your face as you made your way to the kitchen. You caught a glimpse of the chaos in the living room. Chaos that had not existed when you had left last night. Empty bottles and glasses stacked on top of plates that were not quite as empty and the remnants of the pizzas Josh seemed to have ordered yesterday.

The smell of stale leftovers hung in the air and you hoped that a few slices were left over so you did not have to meal prep for the week.

The kitchen greeted you with much of the same sight and you took a deep breath when you saw your roommate already sitting at the table, a few slices of pizza before him. It wasn’t that you were unhappy to see him, really. You had just hoped to have a few more moments to yourself before being confronted with the events of last night.

“Morning,” he greeted you, chipper as ever.

“Hey,” you greeted back, browsing through the tea drawer. Peppermint? Berries? Earl Grey? You settled on a ginger and lemon brew, hoping that it would help you to wake up.

“That was one hell of a night, huh?”

“It was,” you agreed, “The bar we went to had like three birthday parties at the same time, it was a lot of fun.”

A moment of silence followed and you did not need to look at him to know he did not know what you were talking about. “Oh good,” was what he finally settled on and you closed your eyes, trying to hide your annoyance.

How could it be that the person you had long considered to be your best friend suddenly just … wasn’t the person you knew?

Remembering Derek’s comment from the night before, you decided to take another deep breath and do something you had avoided for a long time: Confront your best friend.

“Josh,” you started carefully, turning around and leaning your hip against the counter, “Can we talk about last night?”

“Sure,” he took another bite of his toast, “What about it?”

“The comment you made in front of my colleagues … That was not okay.”

“What comment?”

For a moment you could feel the doubt creeping up. Was this the right path to go down? Was this worth a conflict with not only your best friend but also your roommate? Was it really as bad as you thought it was? What if he had meant well?

My experience is that the people we need to clarify that about usually don’t care if they mean well or not.

Derek's words echoed in your head and you knew you were right.

“The comment where you implied that I was bad at my job. In front of your friends, my colleagues and my boss,” you recalled, feeling, “That was humiliating and hurtful, Josh.”

A frown formed between his brows. “Why are you so angry? Yeah, so I made a misplaced comment, I am sorry, but didn’t we talk about this already? Besides, it was at a party I organized for you, I think I am allowed to have some leeway here.”

You could feel your eyes bulge out of your head. Was he for real?

“I really appreciate what you were trying to do,” you said calmly, wrapping your hands around the mug and focusing on how the ceramic was warming against your skin, “Really, I do. But did it not occur to you that the only people you invited were your friends?”

“You know them too.”

“I do and they are very nice, I'm sure. But you could have asked if I would have liked someone to join. I left before midnight to celebrate somewhere else with people that I invited.”

He scoffed. “Look, I'm sorry you feel that way,” he threw his hands up, “I was just trying to do something nice and apparently that backfired.”

It did not escape you that the language he used was manipulative as fuck and you bit your tongue from throwing words in his face you would not be able to take back.

“I don’t think this is very productive,” you finally said, “I am going to take a shower and I would really appreciate it if we could talk about this sometime when we are both more clear-headed.”

Though as you made your way to the bathroom, the steaming mug still in your hands, you had the sinking feeling that any following conversation would not bring the closure you hoped it would.

*

As if your day could not get any better, your phone rang just as you stepped out of the shower and into your bedroom.

Recognizing the picture on the screen, you accepted the video call, wrapping your bathrobe a little tighter.

“Hi.”

“Happy birthday, honey!” your mom appeared on the small screen. The living room wall behind her looked just like it had done your entire childhood and you spotted the variety of family pictures she took great care of dusting every week.

“Thank you.”

“Did you have fun?” she asked, “Did you get to go out with Josh and your friends?”

“Yeah, uh,” you hesitated for a moment, “Josh organized a little party here but I ended up going out with the team later. We went for karaoke and it was awesome.”

“You certainly look like you had an awesome night,” she teased and you bit your lip to keep from grinning.

“So … how are you feeling?” she asked and you immediately grew suspicious. You knew that tone and you knew when she was worried.

“Good,” you replied carefully, “Like I said, I had a fun night.”

She hummed and avoided looking at you for a moment and you knew what was about to happen when you saw your father sitting down next to her. Even hundreds of miles apart, you still felt like a child when your parents sat together on the sofa like that one time when you accidentally put a dent in the family car.

“Remember our conversation from a few weeks ago?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I am feeling a lot better now.”

“And I am so glad to hear it,” she smiled and you could tell the genuine worry from where the crease never quite left her forehead, “I talked with your father and we – we think it might be best if you come visit us for a while. Come back home, check

“Just because you don’t think I can't make it as an agent –“

“Hey,” your dad interrupted you gently, “No one is prouder of you than we are, sweetheart, and we know you make for one hell of an agent. But the fact remains that you were miserable for the last couple of months and it might not be a bad idea to try and get to the root of things.”

And by the root of things they meant that you re-discover your passion to become an English teacher at your local middle school.

“I am an adult woman,” you tried again, “I love you and I love that you worry about me. But we need to keep in mind that I made a big move for a job that I was not wholly prepared for. The adjustment period was … longer than I wanted, for sure. But I finally feel like things are moving for the better and this makes me feel like you do not believe in me.”

“We do love you, honey,” your mum assured you, “And I apologize for making you feel like we don’t trust your decisions. I know you are incredibly proud of the work you do and you should be! But I am worried and I would feel better if you took some time off and came to visit us. Allow yourself the grace to breathe, you have been working non-stop since you moved away. There is no way that is healthy.”

You ran your hand over your face, trying to get yourself some time to think over your answer. The horrible thing was you knew your mother was right. Even if you did not want to admit it, you knew that you had been overworking yourself, that ever since Dr Johnson had voiced her doubts, your brain had been on edge and that a break might not be the worst idea.

Especially considering you had not taken any time off since you started your position.

“I hear you,” you started, feeling your eyes sting with tears. But you refused to cry in front of your parents lest they thought they were right and insisted that you come home as soon as possible. The last thing you wanted was to worry them.

“Can you just give me some time to think it over?” you asked, “Taking time off is not as easy as it sounds and I want to make sure that I don’t miss anything important at work.”

“Of course, darling,” your mother agreed, “Let us know anytime.”

But you knew that her anytime meant that your time was running out.

[chickenmetenders]

☀️🌊🍧[ MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S dayDREAM ] 🌺🏖️🦀

Summer's almost over, but before it ends, we're celebrating with a summer-themed collaborative MAMIYA fanzine!!

Featuring blazing hot art & fic from 11 creators!

Read it digitally or print it out yourself!

⚠️ DDD spoilers

Get it here! ➡️ Google Drive (pdf)

Twitter crosspost here ➡️ link

See our previous zine, FALL(ING)DOWN FOR YOU, for instructions on printing/binding.

Contributor credits below!

CONTRIBUTORS

Mio (twitter @ nifocide) Alle (@tindoiimu) Gizzia (twitter @ GizziaAobara) kiwi (@kiwifie) Ace (twitter @ malasdose) WovenSnow alti (@altimysart) Madhu (@bunycube) Cha (me) Skyler (twitter @ Grimm0_ , tiktok @ Skyly_lum) Tico (instagram @ kiaroscur0)

[akiwisfics]

In Bloom Chapter 2

Notes: Cross-posted from AO3. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes. Hey, if you’re a fan of KirarixSayaka, check our discord here .

Description: Mary accepts an invitation to watch from the president, and learns far more than she ever wanted.

Pairings: KirarixSayaka, MaryxRirika

---

The mask was never really hers to begin with, she thought. Ririka had looked on it with such ugliness as a child, bitter but needy-- like a starving man forced to drink salt water at sea. The more the ocean pulled and pushed her raft, the more desperate she grew to its poison. She had no other sanctuary, no other out. Perhaps it would’ve been better to die of thirst than to die of madness.

But it was there, a second skin and more familiar a face than her own. It looked far too large on her tiny frame as a child. The holes didn’t quite fit her eyes and there were inches that it went past her chin, almost covering her neck.

She always wondered where Kirari got it, but she had been far too afraid to ask. Disguised as an offer of freedom. Now a different form of shackle.

Ririka assumed it was better than being devoured by her own twin.

--

The separation hadn’t been official technically until that day. They sat, tea set perfectly placed with a precision she had always expected from Igarashi-san. She studied her more than she would care to admit. She moved back and forth across the council room so much more like her own stage, orchestrating a performance meant only for an audience of one-- but two. Her constant presence had become familiar in the couple of years that they’d been in power, and rarely had it meant anything beyond the admiration of her dedication.

She didn’t know when it changed, but Ririka knew exactly when she noticed it. Her tea had been left untouched, all too aware of the humor in her twin’s eyes as she studied Ririka, naked without the comfort of ceramic. She was never much for green tea anyway. It felt too much like soil in her mouth-- all too thick and all too bitter.

“She’s quite remarkable, isn’t she?” Kirari had asked, always digging for more than she should.

Mary was different. All too trusting, yet carved her own path. It wasn’t righteous fury. It wasn’t anything more than a desire to have her own choices. It was a conviction she both admired and envied. She could never hope to emulate the fire in her brown eyes, the way her blonde hair shimmered in the open sun. The way her smirk widened and head raised high in certain victory. It was easier to fake someone she knew so well.

Kirari was more predictable than she’d want to admit. The gaze was waiting for something she could gain from Ririka’s words, whether that would be a new perspective, a secret, or something that would blossom into a strategy later. Her mind was simple, focused. One that just simply craved chaos behind its wake. “Runa told me everything when she came back,” she continued, undeterred by Ririka’s stillness. “It’s true Miyo and Miri underestimated her, but they haven’t met anyone outside of our family that would handle poison so nonchalantly. She kept a good face.”

“Why do you like her so much?”

She took some small pleasure in the way Kirari was taken aback by the question at first, pausing mid-sip of her tea and setting it down with a small clink. It soon gave way to a chuckle however, making whatever show a small victory for her. “Why don’t you tell me?”

A trick question, maybe? There was a reason her sister wanted them together, collaboration-- independent from her. The first thought was an evaluation. Once they won the election again, the council would need to be reorganized. It was true Mary would be a prime candidate for one of the seats, but… “She already said no before. Not under you.”

She tsked at the response, disappointed. “Who’s to say? I hope for a challenge at least.”

“That’s all?”

That smile-- it showed life in her eyes, almost natural. She missed those glimpses. “Better.”

“President, if I may?” And suddenly Igarashi-san existed. She had a good habit of that-- something Ririka could almost say came from her. She would let herself exist in the periphery, letting events take its course until she was needed, or had something to say. Not all of it was useful to her, given all things considered, but the emotional consideration in it was at least respectable.

But in that moment. In the day in which Ririka would see Kirari almost alone, she saw the smile of a person as she outstretched her hand and offered the seat beside her. Igarashi’s smile was shakier, fragile-- but there wasn’t any redness or hesitation as she gently sat herself down. Not much space either.

Something had changed. Something she hadn’t noticed before.

Igarashi-san took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts before speaking. “I’m aware it’s unlikely Inbami and Yobami-san would go against Terano’s orders at this point, but…” Ririka had known the suggestion before being given. Igarashi-san, the natural logical mind that she had. The dedicated, servitude attitude. “... I think I’m more suited to open your mail from now on.”

“Oh?” Kirari humored it as she reached across the table and took Ririka’s untouched, cool tea to offer it to Igarashi-san. Ririka hadn’t bothered to look perturbed for the sake of it. The tea was likely to go to waste at this point. “Why would I do that?” She expected the obvious answer. Answers that she had heard from Igarashi-san before. They were the same reasons that got her the taser hidden away at her hip, intimate knowledge of Kirari’s daily routine and schedule (and perhaps a bit of her own). A bit of safety, a bit of peace of mind for her own secretary and for the school. It wouldn’t do well to see the president poisoned during a crucial moment of the election.

Igarashi-san held her gaze with confidence. “It’s not worth entertaining the small games at this point, and..” she eyed the cold tea a bit warily before declining the cup herself. “I would hate for you to lose out on what you enjoy because the sisters wanted to set an unknown time limit.”

That wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

Kirari looked to Ririka, almost taunting-- waiting for a reaction of some sort. It was out of many years of experience that she remained as placid as she could. “At least go over the invitations before rejecting them?”

“Of course!”

--

Mary still avoided her.

She didn’t think she was skipping classes, but there wasn’t any sight of blonde hair as the classes let out each day. It only made the stone weight of guilt sink deeper inside of her. She wished she could fix it.

But to be Kirari? It was all second nature to her.

--

It had only been a week before Ririka sought her twin once again. The president’s absence, at so pivotal time in the election, had been keenly felt. She paid little attention to the rumors that circulated around the president ordinarily, but this time-- this time the rumors were loud. The well of votes was running dry, and what little dreams that pets had of clawing out of their status were quickly dashed as the placements became more and more concrete.

And yet-- the votes weren’t with Terano. They weren’t with Ririka, or indeed, even the president. Without tally from the election committee, it was hard to know where exactly those votes had gone to.

Her first thought was Mary, accruing what she needed in case her and Ririka’s falling out was permanent. It was impossible to know for certain, but the fact that she had yet to run into her gambling partner inside school grounds made that very unlikely. Not when she was so purposefully looking for her. The girl either didn’t actually care to win the election, or expected to reconcile at some point. A comforting thought, but one Ririka kept with cautious optimism.

The next suspect would be Yumeko. The girl had a magnetic attraction that drew the oddest and weakest to her, allured by the idea of freedom and her previous escapades in tearing the council asunder. Even now there had been tales of her using matches as a way of letting pets earn their freedom once again. That precisely was why she was an unlikely target though. Her votes and ranking fluctuated as much as her moods did. It would not be so noticeable a difference, nor would that feeling remain so long at once.

No. This adversary was new, and for right now, unknown.  The prevailing rumor was Kirari, or perhaps Igarashi-san, was gaining the votes by proxy-- planting players on her behalf while she dealt with some unknown business. Once she returned, she would then grab the votes via staged games.

But the longer the absence went, the longer people saw the truth that the rest of the top ten already knew. This wasn’t some grand play on her part, unveiling herself as the victor in some grand gesture. The president was missing. Her second in command was missing with no one left to defend it. It wasn’t hard for students to assume that this was Kirari’s resignation.

As to why the secretary was gone as well? Those rumors were at least somewhat darkly humorous. Some suggestions that she had become a recluse, that the quarantine the other day was a scene of some hideous suicide or murder by her finally snapping from the constant orders. More boring ones were that she had been disowned by her family or that her family had become destitute. Not one dared to try to connect the two disappearances, lest they risk the wrath of the president upon her return.

However, there was never anyone that Kirari didn’t know, especially one making waves like this. A clue or two could prove advantageous. There were also more pressing questions, ones that had been weighing heavily every time she came home to an empty mansion.

Her steps were quiet as she made her way up the stairs to a private, closed off section of the hospital. No doubt a personal expense on Kirari’s part. Gone was the chatter of overworked nurses and the moans and pratter of other patients. What staff that stayed at the station kept their lips sealed and eyes downward as Ririka passed them. She didn’t pay it a second thought, already used to being ignored by most anyone whenever she was away from her sister. It wouldn’t be hard to find the room. The one the nurses ignored the most, and the scent of burnt tea leaves were the main indicators.

However, she hadn’t expected to see Terano wheel out of the very room, pushed by a somewhat somber Yumi-- a rare sight to behold and mull over later. They met eyes, almost reluctantly by them both. Even Ririka found the air stale in that moment.

“I suppose even you would be curious,” Terano stated plainly.

Her fingers twitched, subconsciously looking for a mask she had forgotten. It didn’t feel right. “How is Igarashi-san?” she deflected, eyes flickering to the door behind Terano.

“Asleep, but healthy. I doubt she’ll need to stay much longer.”

“Good.”

She had eyes like Kirari’s. Sharp and never straying from their target. It dug and dug until there was nothing left. It took everything not to look away. “It seems I have to come up with a different method. Even with Igarashi gone, no one seems interested in selling votes anymore.”

The timing was odd, wasn’t it? She had thought the poisoning was a last ditch effort by the sisters to gain power over the branches, but Terano had something to gain. Whether the target had been Igarashi-san or Kirari, whether it would succeed or fail-- it would lock her biggest competitor out.  Though Terano’s methods tended to have more finesse than this, Ririka wouldn’t put it past the girl to take advantage of Miyo and Miri’s recklessness. Momobamis were opportunistic in nature, with few glaring exceptions.

“Did she say anything?” Ririka asked, softer this time as not to alert anyone inside the room.

Terano sighed, “What do you think?”

Ririka wasn’t sure anymore. The answer was usually no. Usually something obtuse, a tease perhaps. Kirari rarely spoke what she meant in plain, direct gestures. It was really the biggest difference between the two. Terano’s mind was just as sharp, perhaps even more clever than her twin-- but she spared very little time for eloquence. Especially not with those that irritated her.

Her sister could’ve said something. Terano may know who it is already. If that were the case, she doubt the information would be passed along easily. She kept an air of nonchalance as she slipped past her rival to the hospital door.

“Ririka?”

Her hand paused, fingers brushing against the handle.

“I don’t know what her game plan is. But if you really are looking to stop her, meet with me later. Bring Saotome-san.”

Mary would have to talk to her again first. She was still working on that. Even then, she didn’t think she could trust that idea. It seemed too much like an invitation to open old wounds. Create new ones behind them. It was hard enough to be independent for the first time in years-- she didn’t want to spend that time forming questionable alliances. Kirari’s orders or not, she at least trusted Mary. She couldn’t say the same of Terano.

She didn’t respond, electing to instead open the door finally and peer inside the hospital room. Terano’s dark eyes bore into her back well after the door had been clicked shut behind her. The clan was familiar with dangerous games. All of them. It wouldn’t do well to dwell on offers like that. She could only figure Terano was trying to consolidate votes now that buying them was no longer an option. Introducing a new player wasn’t a bad solution to that-- one strong enough to garner so many votes so quickly.

But that was a better question for the occupants in the room. The desk was an… interesting new addition. Pure dark mahogany, one she recognized from their own personal collection at home. She had come by at some point then. Almost every inch of it’s top had been covered in various papers and junk. Empty tea cases, voting chips, life plans, and various correspondence from contacts all made an appearance somewhere on its surface. Kirari bothered with none of it, instead hunched over a laptop with brow furrowed and deep, frustrated scowl on her features.

Ririka tried not to smile at the sight. The position of secretary had been a priority position to fill when they had started for this very reason. Kirari had a long, passionate hatred for paperwork. It was nice to see that the fact still stood. Hopefully she was kind enough to not disturb the privacy curtain behind her over a signature or two.

“You can stare or you can sit down,” Kirari quipped, never moving her eyes away from the screen. The blue eyes that scanned words on white page looked strange with the screen reflecting back in the irises that mirrored her own. No trace of make-up, perhaps left forgotten in her deserted bedroom. The cleanliness was as much a ghost to her as the absence.

Ririka bowed her head sheepishly as she sank into the wooden chair across from her, noting the slight quirk of Kirari’s lips as the chair scraped across tile.

“And quiet. I just convinced her to sleep.”

“How was the visit with Terano?”

She stopped a moment, shutting the laptop lid with a click. Ririka knew she would receive little more consolation. “She isn’t a fan of burnt tea.”

“And?”

“It’s interesting. How can you be afraid of your own questions?”

“I thought you liked dancing around subjects.”

“This? This is procrastination.”

Ririka noted the hard lines of Kirari’s posture, not unlike a cornered animal, and realized that neither of them wanted to be here. Blue eyes sharpened, guarded -- as if forgetting who was it that set Ririka free in the first place. “... What are you doing?” she asked. It was her that came, her that took that first step. It might as well be her to start.

“Working.” Kirari picked up one of the many scattered life plans as if to emphasize her point. She dropped it onto her laptop with an unimpressive flap, only half-heartedly keeping the charade going. “So if you could get to the point, dear sister?”

She tried to bite down the accusation that Kirari was procrastinating too. It was easy to accuse her of hiding from her own consequences, that perhaps the election was more than she could handle, and now that her last remaining support had been put out of commission temporarily, she was keeping her head down in the hope that whatever strings she pulled in the background would save her from plummeting. It was all there, ready to burn from her throat like an inferno, the last little bit of servitude inside her ready to turn inside out. But then-- then it wilted inside at the sight of icy eyes staring back, retreating into the crevices of dark thoughts entertained in those empty nights.

Ririka looked to the privacy curtain again. “... You haven’t been sleeping here, have you?”

Kirari shook her head. “Like Sayaka could actually recover with me being here~. Imagine me cramming in that tiny bed? It’s just not practical.”

Practical was a strange word from her. “So where--”

Her ears picked up the shifting behind them, just as Kirari placed a finger to her own lips. With feather light movement, Kirari slipped from her own chair and pulled the curtain back just a moment. Then drew the curtain behind her.

Ririka averted her eyes out of courtesy, even with the curiosity burning inside her and the lack of anything she could actually see with the sheet of fabric between them. When had the dynamic changed? She tried to think of the nights spent apart-- how it seemed so little as Ririka spent her time at the main house, enacting the very desire that had been brewing deep in her twin’s heart for so long.

What had happened at that tower? Had the fall jumbled her brain, putting it back together with the pieces haphazard, broken in different ways?

She didn’t look back until her twin had taken her place back at the other side of the desk, fingers naturally reaching for a cup of cold, burnt tea. As soon as she remembered the lack of steam billowing though, her fingers dropped. “So Saotome-san has stopped talking?”

It didn’t surprise Ririka that she was checking on her still, even without Igarashi-san’s wary eyes cataloguing their every move. “Does it surprise you?”

“I expected better.”

She always did. Ririka could write a book from the names of people that had disappointed Kirari in some way. Always particular, but needs simple when granted. She didn’t enjoy counting the years in which she catered to her every whim. “How?” she asked, even if she already knew the answer, “What was the point of bringing her over at all? You made the decision already before the phone call.”

The chuckle in response only unsettled her further. Ririka didn’t enjoy the feeling of being just slightly off-balance, the way it sank and settled long after their conversations were finished. “You’re angry!” she noted, almost exuberant at the thought, “How long did it take you to want more than just partners, Ririka? The election hasn’t been that long--”

“What are you doing here, sister?”

The teasing stopped, but the smile never faded from icy eyes. She gathered the life plan and laptop, and settled it to the side, joining the growing pile of discarded paperwork and signatures. The silence that suddenly fell over them was one of the worst she’d ever experienced, heavy and tempting to break-- as if held together by glass and nothing else. Ririka hadn’t wanted to come out with it, and she didn’t consider what it would mean for Kirari to pull those questions out. Yet, still, she gathered more items-- tea sets and tea boxes joining the disheveled pile with little thought or direction. The space that formed beside Kirari’s seat only made the dread inside her worse.

Her twin tapped just one on the wooden surface, chipping the manicured nail. Ririka picked up her chair and moved it to the other side of the desk to join her. She sat daintily back down her new seat, knees brushing against her twin as they faced each other. She gulped, visibly.

Kirari didn’t make mention of it. “It’d been a while since we played together, hasn’t it?”

Ririka nodded quietly in response, and wasn’t surprised by the coin fished out of Kirari’s pocket. It was a game that they often played together as children, practice that had been drilled into her heads before they had the presence of mind to gamble properly.  The coin was a two euro-- Austrian if she remembered right. The mix of silver and gold that bordered it stuck out as a sharp contrast from typical yen coins. One side had the depiction of mozart emblazoned proudly as its head, and the other a map of Europe with stars streaking downward on the other side. The number ‘2’ was the most prominent feature on its tail. It helped to keep those defining features in mind as she predicted.

The euro had been a gift from their mother, to whoever won their first game against the other. She would be proud to know that such a prize was turned into a gamble too.

“We both have questions we want to ask. I assume it’s just as easy to let the game decide who asks first.”

“One question per victory?” though it didn’t need to be asked. As much as Kirari had changed, there were still so many things that became predictable.

“That’s fine. I’ll go first.” Kirari offered the coin in her outstretched palm, smile placid and deviously devoid of the thoughts playing in her mind. Ririka plucked the coin out, nails lightly scratching similarly pale skin.

She looked to Kirari once and sighed. There wasn’t any backing out now, she supposed. Ririka steeled herself as she placed the coin on the table, balancing between her thumbnails. What would anyone say, seeing them play such a childish game like this? Now, of all times? She supposed she should be grateful that there wasn’t anything beyond information being gambled between the two.

It was, at least, deceptively simple. There wasn’t much she could do as she let loose the coin in a fast spin, knowing full well that the ball was in her sister’s court. The objective of the game was simple-- predict which side the coin would fall after it completed its spins. There were ways to slant the odds on Ririka’s end, and ways for Kirari to predict accurately on hers-- things that as children they couldn’t manage on their own. At least, not immediately. Over time, Ririka would notice how flicking the coin a certain would give her heads more often, and over time still, Kirira would notice the changes.

They taught themselves how to gamble just as much as their family did, but Ririka had learned early on that her twin always learned just a bit faster.

“Tails,” Kirari said, just as the coin shot out between them, spinning its dizzying circles against the wood. Just as much as her finger or spin could alter the outcome, so could the surface. Like any true expensive piece, the desk had a natural finish to it, smooth enough for papers and work-- but the edge of a coin, even one as thick as a euro-- was thin.

The coin’s arch was interrupted by a telling groove of wound, smacking it unimpressively against the desk. The coin shuddered a few beats, but the ringing noise was only a prelude to Ririka’s fate. As the sisters peered on, the face of the coin’s ‘2’ was obvious to both players.

She glanced to her sister once, and hoped that whatever question came was something Ririka knew how to answer.

“If you were so worried, why did you come at all?”

Kirari was pulling back. The question was nothing, but the fact that someone like her wouldn’t start out strong was surprising on its own. The answer didn’t need any subterfuge. “Because I wanted to help you.”

“We’re competing against each other now.”

“If it was about the election maybe…”

--

Kirari could only lie so much. She knew exactly what she saw back then, alone in the hallway together. She remembered watching as Kirari put herself back together with trembling hands, eyes never focusing on one thing in particular, and something in her heart that could be described as fear. She remembered how human she looked, and perhaps, for once, the idea that the perfect world she had set up for herself would slip through her fingers.

Ririka had been stuck on the idea that it was losing Sayaka was her idea of that perfect world breaking. She didn’t know anymore than Mary or anyone else did, but there had been something different in the way Kirari turned to her. The way she looked… alone.

She didn’t help a competitor. She had helped her sister.

“We should switch places,” Kirari had said, as if the words were enough to dispel the awkwardness of seeing her in such a state. “I have a spare jacket in the council room. If you could grab that, and--”

“Are you alright?” Though Ririka had spoken it, the words still felt foreign. She couldn’t remember any other time she had asked.

The question had disjointed her, maybe. The way she stopped, fingers picking at the lace of her sleeves. A breath, and she had stood a bit straighter, shoulders back. A handkerchief out of her skirt pocket to wipe the smeared lipstick. “Yes. The jacket, please. Make-up is in the drawer by my chair.”

She did as she was told, even as the nagging thoughts never strayed far from her mind. They stuck to her-- well beyond the conclusion of their game, as Kirari terrorized Miyo and Miri with her face, even as Mary continued to avoid her for days, and even as each night, she returned home to emptiness. She hated what this election had become for both of them.

She hated that she even doubted how truly gone Kirari was.

--

The hand was open to Ririka once again, the coin ready to be returned to its rightful owner. The half-answer was sufficient then, but it only made Ririka more nervous. She'd either use it to her advantage-- answer with half-truths herself or force Ririka's guard down enough to get something truly damning out. All things considered, it was probably a bit of both. She would have to be considerate of Mary as they continue.

"Always the nervous one," Kirari remarked, a touch of amusement in her voice as she rolled the coin between her finger tips. "You know it's only going to get harder from here."

She spun the coin with grace and ease-- the prospect of losing never once crossing her mind. "Tails," Ririka spoke, voice whisper quiet as they watched the coin spin and spin between them.

Heads.

"Do you enjoy having the mask off? Where is it now?"

"Two questions."

"Fine-- the first one then. I imagine you just have it at home."

If Kirari had been at home, she would know that already. It sat at her desk, slowly gathering dust the longer Ririka pretended it wasn't there. Walking through the hallways had proved to be the most difficult, laid bare by the student population. Sometimes, she would catch the less subtle ones gawking at her before turning their head away, embarassed at being caught.

And yet, people looked at her. They were forced for the first time in years to recognize her presence. They had to look her in the eyes to see that she wasn't Kirari. And Ririka had to force herself to look back. She had to dig something out for herself, become someone.

But she enjoyed the way Mary looked at her most.

"... Yes," she admitted. Nothing to be ashamed about, but...

Kirari looked pleased. She offered the coin once again, but Ririka hesitated this time in taking it.

"You were the one that gave it to me," she said.

"You needed it. Obviously, you don't anymore."

That wasn't how she remembered it. The idea had been suggested, forcefully, as a way to face opponents head on. But it didn't take long for Kirari to use it for her own means-- as things often did when Kirari gave gifts. Over time, the mask had become unnecessary. Mannerisms, behaviors, just the way Kirari viewed and studied each person became memorized and ingrained. Still, somehow, they were here, and in just a few weeks, Ririka seemed to forget who her twin was.

She took the coin, and spun it.

"Heads."

It took her a moment to realize Kirari was wrong-- but what observations Kirari made weren't infallible. Now that she had it, Ririka wasn't sure what to ask first. Should she go for something easy? Kirari wasn't the sort to shy away from the worst, but it was so easy to doubt herself now that they were in this position.

To start-- perhaps back to their earlier conversation? "What did you and Terano talk about?"

Kirari shrugged. "The new player."

That confirmed her suspicions at least. Someone that wasn't so different from herself or even Igarashi-san. Just in the background until they had something to say. A name came to mind, but if it was true... Ririka would find out soon enough. She offered the coin back to her sister, and promptly lost the next spin.

The quick intake of breath wasn't lost on Kirari. "You need to focus more-- I heard you and Terano talking too. What would Saotome-san say to such an offer?"

She would have to talk first. It didn't matter right now, but that could be why Kirari was asking at all. She wanted her to think about it. Someone like Mary? ... She wouldn't consider the offer at all. Maybe even find it a bit insulting. The offer was only extended after they made a name for themselves, only after victories against key family members on their own.

She would scowl, and make sure that the refusal would be as easy on Ririka as it was for her. Instead, Ririka mirrored the shrug, earning a small laugh from her sister. "Much better. Then again, I know the answer already."

The next spin went better on Kirari. Something had pulled her attention away-- another shift of the bed sheets behind them. When she snapped her head back, noticed the heads before her, Kirari didn't cry foul-- simply sighing in bemusement.

"Do you think you can win this?" Ririka asked once their eyes met again. She watched for any change in her expression.

Blue eyes retreaded back to the curtain, still as ever. "... Isn't it more fun not knowing?" More guarded. It wasn't like Kirari to show her hand so early. Still, Ririka saw it.

Another spin, and Ririka bit back a smile at the correct call. They weren't done. Not yet. "What do you think will happen if you lose?"

"Now we're getting to why you're here, aren't we?"

"Kirari."

"Fine, fine." She took the coin good-naturedly. "I suppose if I'm not dead by a gamble, I'll be devoured by my own aquarium, won't I? It seems poetic enough. I hope no one disappoints."

Deflection with grandiose speeches. She'd seen it all too often to take it seriously. This would require a different approach then. The fact that she was falling back on something so obvious was... telling, to say the least.

Ririka waited. The spin was sloppy, and it was easy to call the heads well before the momentum had come to a stop.

An eye twitch. Even better.

"And Igarashi-san? If you lose that is..."

Kirari let the silence hang between them, its spectre continuing to gnaw at the nerves of them both. She could deflect much the same way-- easily admit the truth of the matter. Guilt by association was already a realistic result, but Igarashi-san was never just an impassive observer. She made deals, taunted those that fell, defended the president's honor. She was the executor of the president's will, even if Kirari hadn't always voiced those thoughts.

She'd seen it time and time again, and would still now, if not for the current division. The Bami clan may come after Ririka when it was all over, but the school? They knew her as Mary's partner now. If anything, the directive absolved her of Kirari's eventual devouring.

She couldn't, wouldn't let herself believe it was on purpose.

Kirari picked up the coin again. It glinted under the hospital overhead lights. That was it then?

Ririka looked further, only growing more frustrated by the nothing that she saw in her sister's gaze. Cold, detached as ever. "Do you know what the school is saying right now, with you gone?"

"Of course."

"They'll find out why sooner rather than later."

She looked pensive. Something deep in her thoughts, turning-- far and away out of Ririka's reach. The smile was gone. "One more game?"

Could Kirari afford it? She hadn't waited for a direct response. She supposed the fact that Ririka remained had been enough. She spun the coin with a graceful flick, and there was something wistful in the way she watched it.

"Tails," Ririka called.

The light chuckle that came out was foreign to her. They both watched the coin spin and spin, languidly slow compared to the rounds before. Ririka was already forming the next question in her mind-- even as she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to it. There was so much left in the air, so much that still dug in.

Kirari had changed, and as the coin finally stopped its roll, her hand slammed down on it palm down, covering the result for them both.

Ririka blinked. "Wha--" She snapped her attention back to her twin.

"Are you sure?"

Her voice, her questions. All of it wilted the moment she saw them.

--

It must have been fate that she would find Mary now. Ririka had still been reeling from her time spent with her twin, one of the first private conversations they had in weeks. It had been routine that took her to the spot outside of Mary's classroom, routine that had her looking through the sea of faces to find fiery brown eyes staring back. She almost thought it an illusion at first. The sympathetic wince from Suzui-san as he slipped past next, recognizing the tension in the hallway, was very real.

"Mary--"

The blonde snatched the collar of her blazer and dragged her through the corridor, away from prying eyes. Ririka remained submissive to the yanks and pushes. It would take a careful hand to talk her down from anything considerably dangerous. The fact though that she was willing to talk at all now was a very good sign.

The twist through corners and hallways was haphazard, but by the time they finally stopped, it seemed sufficiently deserted. There were a few students that milled about, but ones that seemed wisely -- if not politely-- ignoring the two of them as Mary did an about face, only a few inches from Ririka's shrinking form.

"We're cutting the bullshit, got it?" Mary snapped. "No excuses, no nothing. If I get any of it, I'm out."

Ririka nodded.

"Alright, so what the hell was that about?!"

Too vague a question, but she understood well enough. She almost welcomed the reprieve after the tense conversation from yesterday. "... She wanted the attention away from her, so she asked me to switch places."

"I get that, but the fact that she mimicked you so... I didn't think she could show anything other than.. you know."

She understood how her sister gave that impression. Often times, Ririka would forget herself. The detached air. Some sort of cocky smirk. The reality for them both was much, much scarier she thought.

Mary still looked angry. Very angry. "Has she ever switched places with you since we started working together?"

"No. I hadn't spoken to her since--"

"How can I believe that?"

Ririka winced. She couldn't blame her. It wasn't as if she had been there to see the decision play out. They hadn't known each other long enough for her to notice tells-- smaller mistakes or nuances that Ririka couldn't replicate without several days of pretending. She wasn't sure if even Sayaka could-- even after knowing them for three years at this point.

Mary's eyes were as sharp as ever, daggers in her heart. She hated this. Hated this all so much. "You've been Kirari's understudy this whole time," she wished she didn't do this. "I know you mean well, Ririka. It might be the dumbest decision, but I trust you. We can't just keep doing this though... Why would you be in this election if you weren't working with Kirari? There's no way in hell you want to be president."

She was right about that.

"I doubt anyone would let you anyway," she huffed, arms crossed-- as if working out the riddle herself without input. "Why me? Kirari already had some... weird fascination, but I barely knew you before the--"

"You're right," her voice was meeker than she wanted, but Ririka couldn't deal with the speculation. She had grown so tired of being a shadow against the wall. Mary was the first person to see her, it felt like.  She didn't just take her as a Momobami, take her as her sister's double. She took her as a person-- someone that needed to prove herself against the sea of adversity that faced them.

Ririka had been proud to rise to the occasion. Had been proud to stand beside her as her equal, and she thought... she thought...

Wasn't this what Kirari wanted too? Didn't it seem like it? But why did she keep pulling the chain back?

Mary waited, eyebrows drawn and patient-- and Ririka couldn't appreciate that more. She knew it was so against her nature to be.

"... I think she needs help."

Her partner looked as bewildered as Ririka felt. "Help?! She did this to herself!"

"I know, but..."

--

Kirari had never cried.

At least, Ririka couldn't recall a time where she did. There had been these... shifts in behavior though. Ones that were difficult for her to describe, especially as, like with gambling, they started as children. They were swift and immediate, and often, Ririka would notice they came with little consideration to their consequences.

The first time had been at their mother's wake. She knew they were small, and the kimono felt too tight against her waist. Ririka had cried. She had shed more tears than what their mother likely deserved according to their elders, but there had been some semblance of love-- something Ririka keenly felt and believed in at that age. At first, she thought her twin had felt nothing in return-- as if she had taken that grief for her instead.

But when she looked into her icy eyes, they looked... wild. Unfocused. A predator pacing its cage, watching and waiting for the next hapless prey get too close to its bars.

Maybe it was how their mother died that did it. Shamed and hanging herself from the ceiling. Kirari was the first to find her in her bedroom, trying to pull her for breakfast. Ririka had been spared from the sight, even as Kirari expressed nothing other than the news of their mother's passing-- She would find out the details later from a retainer or a cousin perhaps. It was difficult to remember the details there.

Or that their mother lost against a Totobami.

Either way, Terano had come by, and after some mild discussion, they were secluded away-- out of sight and out of reach from Ririka. No one had minded the absence-- as clan members rarely did unless it involved one conflict or another.

She would see those wild eyes later though, staring down at every family member below her with fire from her bedroom balcony-- a fitting, temporary throne as their family observed the horrific scene before them. A crumpled and unconscious Terano, five cards clutched tightly in tiny fingers.

No one had taken the Momobami spot since.

But still...

Still.

To see the tears slipping down those wild eyes was a startling and mishapen image, especially to have that attention turned toward her-- those few inches between them, and Kirari tightly, tightly clutching the desk where the coin laid.

Ririka wished she had said no. She hadn't realized how much it meant to see her vulnerable-- sudden and stark in the stillness of the hospital room.

Her words were gone, but without thinking, Ririka had still reached forward, bridging the gap between them and gently slipped a thumb underneath Kirari's palm. Her twin didn't flinch, didn't move. Her breathing was steady, but Ririka's heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Her thumb found her twin's pulse, felt the steady beats against her own, and turned Kirari's hand over with no resistance.

The heads that stared back seemed to mock her. Ririka had lost.

Kirari took one look at the coin and began to laugh, loud and jubilant, even as the tears seemed to flow quicker and steadier than ever.

--

"Ririka?"

She blinked and shook-- and realized all at once that there wasn't any way she could naturally explain it to Mary. Not without explaining every sordid detail of their lives. Not without going over what she saw, when Ririka wasn't even sure of it herself. She saw the confusion still plain as day on Mary's face, and sighed slow, each piece of it an attempt to dispel what anxiety that brewed inside her at the memory.

"I... I don't know," Ririka confessed.

She was surprised to see sympathy tugging at Mary's features. "... You would know better than anyone, I think."

She wasn't sure anymore. It just took a few weeks, but it seemed Ririka had forgotten everything there was to her twin. Tears pricked at her eyes, useless and stupid for something so-- Kirari wouldn't have cared. She was just as much a subject to her whims. But she was her sister. Her twin. And right now? It all felt useless against what little time they had been separated from each other.

Mary took pity on her at least, cutting the inquisitive silence first. "Alright, alright. I'll bite," she sighed. "... So the preside-- your sister is having issues with the position. What's the point of the election then if she can just resign? A really shit cry for help?"

"If I may interject, Mary-san?"

Yumeko's airy voice had been the last thing Ririka expected, and with a jump, she snapped to a more stoic, straight posture-- fingers itching for a mask that still wasn't there. The new visitor had just rounded the corner, red eyes dangerously inquisitive and smile more calculating than Ririka wanted. The last person she needed to hear this conversation was the other wildcard in the school.

Yet, Mary humored her, regarding her classmate casually with one hand to her hips. "Figures no one can have a private conversation at this school..." she mumbled to herself before addressing Yumeko directly. "How long have you been listening?"

"I was just curious is all~. You two left in quite the hurry, and I wanted to invite you to town after class!"

"Yeah, right," Mary scoffed, but didn't push the girl away as she casually latched onto her arm, molding herself into the conversation. Every alarm was going off in Ririka's mind despite it all. Every bit of her wanted to flee. Right now. Where? Didn't matter. This was bad. Their conversation proceeded, undeterred by Ririka's distress. "... And?"

"Well, it's about the gamble the other day, correct?"

"Not all of it, but..."

"I imagine you can't just quit being a clan member, Ririka-san?" The question had been off-putting at best.

Ririka swallowed. "Well, no. But you know this already, Jabami-san."

"Huh?" Mary interjected, but Yumeko proceeded nonetheless.

"This is all speculation, of course, but the election is quite a spectacle for a resignation letter, isn't it?" The suggestion wasn't far off from Ririka's own thoughts, but to hear them spoken out loud was quite the experience. It churned her stomach. "... Igarashi-san's pool of resources is also quite large for her family history. She's a prosecutor's daughter, yet she was able to buy out Totobami-san without issue?"

"And? She could be using student council resources, maybe," Mary suggested, "The student council is still collecting on house pet debt during this whole mess, and I hadn't heard of the election committee keeping it to themselves in the mean time."

"They could be betting on another victor, you know. An outside bet-- just with enough cash-- and regardless of losing or winning, the president could have the cushion to live comfortably outside of the clan."

Ririka frowned. Something didn't sit right with her about the theory. If that were true, then the decision to turn her twin loose would make sense. Without saying anything, she could assist and push Mary to victory, thus winning the bet. Her opponent would have to be someone with just as much resources as herself to do that. The only person she could consider with that much power would be Terano... but there was no way she would take such a bet on.

There was also another issue entirely. "The Bami clan doesn't settle debt by money. Not always," Ririka remarked, "With as much as Kirari and myself have done? If it's not blood, it'll be our freedom at least."

"I won't let that happen to you, Ririka." The declaration had been unneeded, yet pleasantly unexpected from Mary. The surprise must've been too obvious as the serious set of her frown had given way to light flash of cheeks and a playful wave of her hand. Something she could look onto later, when there wasn't an audience.

Yumeko wasn't lost on the interaction as she smiled, suppressing the barest of giggles. "In any case, the president is back in school. If you're that curious, I'm sure you could ask her yourself."

"She's back?" Mary echoed her thoughts perfectly. "When??"

"I just saw her come in this morning. Sayaka-san looked remarkably well too. I'm glad the poison didn't keep her down for too long."

"Thank god! Maybe I can finally get someone to gamble again! Everyone's been so shy with votes lately."

"Oh! You haven't met them yet?"

Mary paused, "Who are you talking about?"

Ririka waited, even as she knew at this point that it would just confirm the truth in her eyes. A new target had been placed. It was a clever move on Kirari's part during her absence. It dried up the vote buying, and provided a convenient distraction while Igarashi-san was recovering. It was simply a matter of who could beat them, or perhaps, join them.

Yumeko's grin was wide. "Why, Rei Batsubami~."

[datura-tea]

here's my other player character ocs on social media:

kiwi - fully a fashion influencer, has thousands of followers on tiktok and instagram. thrifts and upcycles clothes and makes them look avant garde. they pull off every outfit they make!!

avery - posts pictures of his adventures into abandoned buildings to his instagram feed and sometimes reels. also faceless thirst traps on his stories

gwen - i hate to say this but she'd be on reddit commenting on am i the asshole posts and posting pictures of her pets in the appropriate subreddits. she's also on twitter fighting with bigoted randos and telling ai bots to self-destruct

sofia - has a robust collection of boards on pinterest. posts only happy things on instagram, which are crossposted to facebook so her family can see them

i think i have a post somewhere about my ocs on social media, and i said that moz wouldve been viral on vine for the weird shit that she does and that happen to her, but thinking back on it... she wouldnt have a social media presence at all. maybe she'll only have an account because her friends asked her to make one, but there wouldnt be a lot of posts by her. there'll be a lot of posts where she's tagged though

in contrast i think ulysses would be a youtuber or a podcaster :) he wouldnt do any shortform videos though. tiktoks, reels, and shorts won't be able to handle his locquacious swag... also he's still on twitter making threads that are a mile long

[justmaghookit]

crossposting from my twitter because i am big mad

As your resident Bird Enthusiast I would like to publicly express my outrage and disgust at the treatment of the Kiwi Paora by the Miami Zoo. This endangered animal is not a prop, it is a cultural treasure of the Māori and should be treated with respect.

I of course cannot speak for the Māori people of Aotearoa. But I know animal mistreatment when I see it, no nocturnal animal should ever be dragged out into the daylight or under bright artificial light to be manhandled by the public

Animal experiences with ambassador animals are important to conservation and education, but there are other species far better suited to it than the Kiwi.

I ask my American friends and mutuals to make as much of a noise about this as it deserves. Let our Māori friends know they are not alone in their outrage, and let the Miami Zoo know your disgust at their behavior. Paora deserves better.

[worstjourney]

THIS WEDNESDAY (8 March) I'm livestreaming with @ink84books! INTERVIEW – SHOW & TELL – Q&A! Sign up at ink84bookshop.co.uk to watch live 20:00 GMT/15:00 EST/12:00 PST/9:00 NZDT (9 March for you Kiwis) AND/OR get a recording! #graphicnovel #art #artist #illustration #artistsoninstagram #comics #books #comic #creative #book #comicbooks #drawings #characterdesign #reading #comicart #comicbook #livestream #bookevent #theworstjourneyintheworld #makingof #interview #asktheartist Crossposted from Instagram: https://ift.tt/lmjHJWK Please allow me a few hours to fix the tags for Tumblr.

[redandfranticfeelings]

leela’s nightmare (fic)

a fanfic i’ve wanted to write for a while, and have crossposted on ao3 and ff.net, but since tumblr hates external links now, i figured i’d post it here too <3

set during “teenage mutant leela’s hurdles” while leela’s de-aged and living with her parents, and has bad dreams about her past.

Leela woke up in an empty concrete room, with no memory of how she’d gotten there.

She hadn’t reverted back to adulthood. Her clothes still felt loose around her teenage figure. But she’d fallen asleep in her parents’ house, in a room they’d built decades ago, months before she was born. The bed was built with discarded pipes and the sheets were stiff and sewage-stained, but she’d slid into it feeling like she belonged.

In this new mystery room, the lighting was considerably better. The structure seemed a bit more stable. No cracks, no leaks, no unholy smell.

This wasn’t right.

She rubbed her eye, but the surroundings didn’t change. The girl stood up and got a better look. Not much to notice besides concrete, until she turned towards the fourth wall. Or rather, where she assumed a fourth wall – and maybe a door? – would be. Instead, parallel lasers stretched from wall to ceiling, leaving no room for even a teenage girl to slip through. Leela reached a hand out, but a familiar voice echoed, “I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”

Fading in seemingly from nowhere, an older man appeared on the other side of the bars. Gray suit, gray hair, kind eyes that may have once reassured her, but later became synonymous with bad news. Her old warden. “Unless you want to get stunned. In which case, go ahead.”

“Mr. Vogel?” Leela asked. “Where the hell am I?”

“Hey, watch your mouth there!” Mr. Vogel scolded. “It’s already an uphill climb for you to get adopted without adding a nasty attitude to the pile.”

“Adopted?” Leela could hear her heartbeat in her ears. “Are you senile? I’ve been out of the orphanarium for years .”

“I had legal jurisdiction over you as long as you were a minor. And, due to recent events…” The warden gestured to her body. “...you’re technically a minor again. So we took you back while you were sound asleep.” The room suddenly shook, though Mr. Vogel stood oddly still. “The cargo ship’s on its way to the Orphanarium as we speak. Should be there within the hour.”

“But I already found my parents!” Leela shouted. “Parading me around is just pointless!”

“Technically speaking, you weren’t re-adopted. In order for that to happen, your parents would have to visit my office and file some paperwork, but they’d be arrested the second they stepped on the surface.” He shrugged and frowned. “Sorry, Leela. I don’t make the law, I just tell you about it. This hurts me as much as it hurts you.” The ship hit turbulence again, throwing Leela roughly into the concrete ceiling, then back onto the floor. Vogel remained perfectly still and grounded.

“I won’t stand for this!” she yelled from the ground. “I’ll get a lawyer, or a letter from my boss–”

“You don’t have anybody. You ran away cuz you thought you’d get your life back. Kind of stupid if you ask me.” He threw a small juice pouch through the bars. “Anyway, here’s some Capri Sun to keep you from starving. They’ve upgraded the pouch and straw for maximum fun and flavor. Have fun re-living your adolescence!” He waved and then walked into nothingness.

Leela stood up, shook herself off, and stared hard at the laser bars. They seemed closer than usual. Had the walls closed in on her? Didn’t matter. No way she was wasting four more years as a ward of the state. Maybe this was all a bluff?

She took a sip of her Capri-Sun for energy (mmm, strawberry-kiwi), then took a few steps back, and ran towards the lasers. When the time felt right, Leela raised her leg to try and jump-kick her way out. “Hi- yah! ”

Then her whole body went stiff and she fell to the ground, stunned. The lasers were active, and she was not strong enough.

Her parents were trapped underground, unable to help her. Her warden wasn’t willing to fight for her. And her friends probably had no idea she was in danger at all.

She was alone. Just like she always had been.

As Leela lay unable to move, trying her best not to cry lest her prospective foster family notice the tear marks, the Capri-Sun straw extended towards her mouth, allowing her to take some refreshing sips. The delicious sweet taste of real fruit juice was probably the only silver lining of her situation. She heard another voice echo through the small cell:

“Even if you’re all alone, let the flavor be your friend! Capri-Sun, now made with 10% real fruit juice and extendable straw technology!”

And then Leela woke up in a smelly dank room, under a stiff comforter sewed together from discarded fabrics with no regard for style.

What?

***

Thank God.

She was still in her younger body. Maybe that’s why she felt more nervous and sweaty than usual. Logically, she knew her dream was just that – a dream. Usually she could shake off her orphanarium nightmares and go back to sleep (with the help of a night-night pill if she was really having trouble relaxing). But there were too many uncertainties with the new house and the new body. She didn’t even have Nibbler to cuddle.

This time, Leela didn’t just feel young and vulnerable again. As far as some people were concerned, she actually was . What if her fear came true?

All she wanted was one simple thing.

***

“Mom? Dad?”

Leela slowly crept into her parents’ room, heart still racing from her dream. She hoped she was going about this the right way.

“Leela?” Turanga Munda’s eye flickered open, focusing on the small figure in the doorway. “Is something wrong?”

“If you need rat poison for your room, it’s under the couch,” Turanga Morris added as he slowly stirred.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Leela said. Her mom patted the bed, presumably a sign that it was okay for Leela to step inside and stick around. “I had a nightmare, and I just…” She sat down at the end of the bed. “I just wanted to see you. Just to remind myself that I’m still here with you.”

“Oh, sweetie…” Munda stroked Leela’s bangs. The feeling of her slimy tentacle on her face was all Leela ever wanted. “Would you like to sleep in here?”

“Really?” Leela reeled her excitement back in. “I mean, is that weird? I thought fourteen was too old to sleep in your parents’ bed.”

“Well, you’re not gonna get any younger, right?” Morris said. “At least, I don’t think so.”

He and his wife scooted towards opposite sides of the bed, making room for their little girl. Leela carefully crawled under the musty blanket, settled onto the grimy mattress, and let her eye close. Within seconds, she felt her mother’s tentacle on her shoulder and her father’s hand on her hair.

Leela felt like a little girl again, but for once, it wasn’t scary at all.

[blairsanne]

Goddess of Sex

Summary: The Norse Gods aren't the only ones in Auckland. How will meeting the Roman goddess of sex impact Anders?

Anders x OC, lots of added lore, story spans all 3 seasons and beyond, slow burn.

Crossposted to AO3.

Chapter 1: Gala

Avi stared at her reflection in an opulent full-length mirror. Her hair and makeup people were packing up, and she had changed into a lacy pink evening gown for the gala evening her brother had invited her to attend. She hadn’t been in Auckland long, but already the hotel suite she’d rented out felt like home, the scent of roses grounding her. She felt powerful, ready to take anyone she chose. She twirled, watching the way her skirt fabric flowed, then ran her fingers up her bodice and over her chest. She smouldered at her reflection, wondering if she should bring them back with her, or go to theirs.

-

Anders adjusted his bowtie and tuxedo jacket as he entered the gala venue. He quickly scanned the elegant tables and busy dance floor, locating the bar despite the dim mood lighting. “Meet you at the table, Dawn,” he announced, not waiting for her as he went to get himself a drink. “Sure.” She stuck her chin out as she made her way.

Anders surveyed the guests as he waited in the impossibly long line. Industry moguls were outnumbered by extremely attractive young adults. He was eyeing up a cute blonde in a green cocktail dress when he noticed her attention caught by someone, involuntarily chewing her lip. Anders followed her line of sight and sucked in a quick, short breath.

A brunette in a pale rose gown was making her way through the crowd, shoulders back and smiling softly at the guests who seemed to stare as she passed by. Anders couldn’t tear his gaze from her. The rest of the world seemed to fall away as she got closer, the music fading to a distant tone. Who are you? There was something familiar about her in a way he couldn’t place.

When she walked up to join him in the line for the bar, she made eye contact and stopped abruptly. The man before Avi had the most striking, pale blue eyes. She wasn’t sure how long she looked at him before blinking.

She couldn’t help the quick once-over she gave him, or the way her lips curved into a gentle smirk. He was definitely a contender for tonight’s company. Still, she simply gave him a small nod and turned to face the bar, as though to wait while ignoring him. She rolled her shoulders and slightly arched her back while tilting her head to elongate her neck.

Anders narrowed his eyes. Cheeky. Her regal bearing seemed at odds with her innate sex appeal. He moved closer and leaned in, turning on his charms so that his voice echoed magically in her ears. “This is quite the line up. Wouldn’t you much rather I take you to the dance floor while we wait for it to clear up?”

She batted her long lashes at him slowly, drawn in once again by his icy irises. “I do love to dance,” she conceded. Curiosity flickered across his face. What’s that accent? He nodded toward the floor. “Let me show you a good time.” She licked her lips and put her hand on his arm. “Lead the way.”

Even as the dance floor packed around them, they were lost in their own world. Avi felt an unnatural pull to the striking Kiwi, every graze of his fingers on her bare skin making her come alive. She pressed against him in the thrum of the crowd as the DJ played seductive music.

Anders swallowed as his new friend ran her nails teasingly down his neck. He’d barely spoken to her, and she already seemed to be completely at his mercy. No, it’s the other way ‘round, he thought. Her floral perfume made his head swim pleasantly, and he felt at any moment she might lay him on the floor and have her way with him. He gripped her waist, shrinking the space between them as he sank into her deep seafoam eyes.

She tilted her chin up toward his face, her arms wrapped loosely over his shoulders as they continued to move along with the music. What was it about him that made her feel like she needed to be closer? She stared back, enamored. Do I know you? His gaze flickered to her lips as they parted. She closed her eyes and felt his breath on her skin as he leaned in, seemingly magnetized.

The music abruptly muted, startling them both. The DJ requested that everyone take their seats. Avi withdrew herself from Anders’s grasp, straightening her posture to stand before him with her index fingers linked. “Thanks for the dance,” she breathed. He reached out to gently touch her arm. “Wouldn’t you like to find someplace private?” he cooed. I’m not done with you. His words tempted her, but she took a deep breath. “I would, but- I have guests waiting.” Anders frowned, confused why his persuasion hadn’t worked. “Of course.”

They stared at each other, rooted in place as the other attendees moved around them to find their tables. “What table are you at?” Anders asked. “One.” His brows raised, the smile returning to his lips. He put his arm out chivalrously. “Then we’re tablemates. Allow me to escort you.” She bit her lip as she took his arm. “Thank you, Mr….” “Johnson.” He smirked. Her brows raised now. “Anders Johnson?” He let out a small laugh as they moved through the crowd. “Does my reputation precede me? Nothing bad I trust?”

She swallowed and put some space between them as they continued on. “Ciro speaks very highly of your work.” He picked up on her change of demeanor. “Ciro Gallo? He’s a god among men.” She laughed, and Anders swore he heard the sound of tiny bells. “I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that.” He glanced over at her. “How do you know Ciro?” Affection filled her voice. “He’s my older brother.” He did a double take. “Oh?”

When they arrived at the table, he flashed a grin at Dawn. “Ah, you two have met. How lovely,” Dawn offered, standing before them. She held her hand out to Avi. “I’m Dawn. We spoke on the phone the other day.” Avi grinned and let go of Anders to shake Dawn’s hand. “Dawn! So nice to meet you in person. I’m looking forward to working with you.” Dawn smiled back, trying to hide a wince when she saw that Anders had no idea what Avi was talking about. “Anders, you recall that Avi Gallo is our new client, with whom we have a meeting booked for tomorrow?” “Of course,” he lied. “How lucky to get to have dinner together tonight as well, hm?”

Dawn caught the glance that Avi threw Anders’s way when he lied. “How was your flight from Canada?” Dawn offered. “Long.” Avi laughed. “But no complaints otherwise. New Zealand’s even more beautiful in person. I’m completely in love.” “Oh, I’m so pleased!”

They were soon joined by three others. Ciro Gallo - a tall black man in an immaculate white suit - was flanked by another man and a woman. The frumpy-looking Kiwi woman with black hair approached and put her hand over her heart. “Oh, Vee, you look positively beautiful. I do hope you let the event photographers get a few shots?” Avi smiled warmly back at her. “Of course I did, Mar. I’m sure they’ll have them to you by the morning.”

She gestured to Dawn and Anders. “These are the public relations experts from JPR that Ciro recommended. Dawn, Mr. Johnson, this is my personal assistant, Marilyn Harris.” Anders turned up his work persona and shook Marilyn’s hand, telling her how much he looked forward to their meeting the next day, and to working closely together.

When they all took their seats, Avi found herself between Ciro and Anders, Dawn at Anders’s right, and Marilyn at hers. Between Marilyn and Ciro was their final tablemate, a handsome Greek man with brown curls that Ciro introduced as Demetri Christidis, a music producer.

Ciro nodded his head and gestured. “So. Anders, Dawn. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do for Avi.” “So am I,” Anders schmoozed. “And can I just say how pleased we are that you would trust us with your sister.” “Half-sister,” Ciro corrected. Avi rolled her eyes. “Ciro.” “The white half, clearly,” Ciro smirked. Avi looked over at him, irked. “Speaking of white, I think some wine might be in order?” “Ah, yes, we can’t leave the queen thirsty.” He gestured, and a wait staff member was upon them immediately.

The conversation continued easily, eventually revealing that Demetri had produced Avi’s album that JPR had been hired to promote. Anders appreciated that Dawn seemed to be well aware of all the details, butting in to make them look prepared whenever he was at a loss as to how to reply.

Avi sipped the white wine that had been served alongside their first course. She smiled, closing her eyes. “Mm, Siegerrebe. An excellent pairing for the vichyssoise.” Ciro smirked. “And your favourite wine.” Avi gaped and turned to face him. “How did you remember that?” Ciro reached out and gently tapped her nose. “It is the job of the older brother to dote upon his baby sister.” She let out a bright, warm laugh, and Anders gaped as once again, he was sure he heard a chiming alongside it. “I do love to be doted on.” She took another sip of the wine, smiling to herself. Then she turned to Anders. “Mr. Johnson-” “Please, call me Anders,” he cooed, turning on his Bragi powers.

She fought a smirk. “Anders, then. Do you like Siegerebbe?” He nodded, having not recognized what sort of white wine he’d been drinking with his cold soup before her comments. “It’s nice.” She raised a brow. “Do you know much about wine?” He tilted his head and licked his lips. He hoped his intense gaze would hold hers. “Some, but I’m always happy to learn more,” he purred. She grinned. “Me too. A dear friend of mine is the sommelier at Chateau Frontenac, and I could listen to him explain wine for days. I probably have.” He noted her seamless accent switch on the french words. “Where’s this Chateau?” “It’s a luxury hotel in Québec. Canada.” She sipped her wine again. “I lived there for a while.” Anders smirked. “Queen indeed.” “Cheers to that.” She held her glass toward his.

The night went on in similar fashion until Ciro’s phone distracted him from all talk at the table. He was receiving and replying to texts at a rapid rate when Avi leaned over, placing a hand on his arm. Anders noted the soft concern on her features. “Daphne?” Ciro shook his head, frowning. “No, just business.” Her shoulders relaxed as she pulled her hand back, nodding.

Ciro cleared his throat and stood. “Thank you so much for joining us this evening. Unfortunately I have a call I need to take now.” He gave a slight bow to the guests at his table while they all offered simple replies of returned thanks and well wishes. He turned to leave, but paused and bent down to speak quietly to Avi. “Text me if anything comes up.” “Of course.” “You’ll be alright on your own?” She snorted and offered him a bright smile. “Yes. Go take care of business. I know how to reach you if I need to.” “Ta. Night.”

Anders waited until Ciro was out of earshot to lean toward Avi. “You two seem close.” “Oh yeah?” She grinned, brows raised. “We only met a few years ago. We’re still playing catchup.” He nodded knowingly, smirking. “Ah, just wait then. Brothers get more annoying in time.” She snickered. “I hope we can get that close.” “Why didn’t you know each other before?” “We lived on different continents? Our father got around. My mom lived in Canada, his lived here. We didn’t know about each other ‘til Dad died. Ciro sorted out the estate. And then…” She shrugged. “We had other things going on. Hard to find time together.” Anders nodded, then took a sip of his wine. “Now you’ve both got business here.” She smiled. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.” He raised his glass to her. “To conquering Auckland.” “And then the world,” she joked, raising hers in reply.

-

As the night wound down, Demetri excused himself as well. Dawn and Mar agreed that it was getting late and that if they were going to be ready for their meeting the next day they ought to have a good rest. They stood and approached their bosses, who were deep into a conversation about the last marketing campaign of a designer brand that they both liked.

Dawn tapped his shoulder. “We should probably head out, Anders.” Anders noted the slight pout on Avi’s face. “Nonsense, we haven’t even danced yet.” He stood and offered a hand to Avi. “Be a shame not to get a few songs in, eh?” She chewed her lower lip and glanced to Mar. Mar hummed, wincing. “We really should call it a night.” Anders turned to Mar, leaning in to murmur with his supernatural charm. “Nonsense. A half hour of dancing isn’t going to make us too knackered to talk tomorrow, eh?” Mar blinked up at him slowly. “I suppose a little longer won’t hurt.” “Chur.”

Anders offered his hand to Avi again, who took it this time. “I’m going home,” Dawn huffed. “Night Dawn!” Anders didn’t look at her as he led Avi to the dance floor.

The other guests on the dance floor noticed their arrival, but Avi and Anders were in their own little world as they touched and swayed to the music. As the songs went on, it was harder to keep their hands off each other and their bodies apart.

Through their intense eye contact, he felt drawn once again to her face. If she’d said the word, he’d have taken her to any suitable place to get his end away. He licked his lips, glancing briefly at hers before leaning in closer.

She held her index finger up, pressing the painted nail to her nose, blocking access to her mouth. Her teal eyes burned up at him. “Just dancing.” He smouldered down at her, his voice echoing low. “You may want to reconsider.” She bit her lower lip, batting her lashes as she fought a giggle. “Do behave, Mr. Johnson.” He winced, playfully sucking in a breath. “Never been great at that.”

She let out a bright and breathy laugh, hands resting on his chest as they continued to move to the music. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his hands on her hips. “Much more fun to misbehave, don’t you agree?” he purred. “Mmm.” Her hands moved up his chest to his shoulders, sliding under his jacket. “That’s true.”

She knew she shouldn’t give in to her desire for him if they were about to be working together, but she wanted to. She could imagine his breathy voice saying filthy things as his hands found new places to touch her.

He flashed her a sly grin as his hands moved up to her waist over the lace of her dress. He let his Bragi powers come through his voice once again. “Why don’t we find someplace private?” She tilted her chin up, pressing against him until her cheek was beside his. She saw Mar approaching from over his shoulder. Her voice was a wistful whisper. “Just dancing, Mr. Johnson.” She pulled away, her lips slightly parted as she stared up at his baby blues. “Goodnight.”

His brow furrowed slightly as she stepped past him. He was left disoriented and alone on the dance floor as he watched her leave with Mar, her eyes darting back to him occasionally until she was out of sight.

---

Chapter 2 here.

[tealin]

Temperatures

As always, when you see one of these posts pop up you can head straight over to twirlynoodle.com/blog to see it properly formatted and with pictures. Tumblr didn't even take the crosspost last time so I don't know what's going on!

It’s all well and good to share photos of Antarctica – after all, it is a beautiful place, and we are predominantly a visual species. The photos can give you a sense of what it looks like, but not what it feels like. If people know anything about Antarctica, it’s that it’s cold. But how cold? And what kind of cold?

I cannot speak to the full range of Antarctic weather.  I was down for exactly a month, in early summer, and aside from the first week, the weather was unusually calm and mild.  To my great disappointment, I didn't see a single blizzard!  But I did get enough to compare the feel of Antarctica with other places I have been, and I hope that by making those comparisons here, I will bring you a little closer to understanding quite literally what it feels like to be there. 

Temperatures are misleading.  A number can only give you an impression of what one might actually feel when one steps out the door.  Humidity, sunshine, and wind are external factors that affect the perception of temperature; this can be further influenced by how much sleep or food you've had, BMI, resting metabolism, your accustomed climate, where you've just come from – so, 6°C can feel different from one day to the next, or to two different people standing side by side.

There are roughly two types of cold: dry and damp. The influential factor is water, because it takes a tremendous amount of energy to make water change temperature – this is why it takes so much power to boil a kettle, and why we bring hot water bottles to bed instead of hot gravel bottles. In dry environments, there is less water vapour in the air to suck up the heat coming off your body, so you get to keep more of it for yourself. It may be well below freezing, but you will feel the cold merely as a sensation on your skin, where it meets the air, and not something that goes right through you. Damp cold, because of the energy-hungry water in the air, feels a lot colder. It’s not enough merely to cover your skin, you need layers of fabrics that have moisture-repelling properties (wool is key; cotton is useless). Your precious body heat will leak out through any weak point in your clothing. Because of their different properties, dry air can be much colder than damp air and yet feel more comfortable. In my experience, damp cold is the worst when it’s above freezing, because below freezing the air can’t hold so much water. Damp climates, however, tend not to get much below freezing, so when people from damp climates imagine very cold temperatures, they imagine the insidious cold they know, only much much worse. It’s not necessarily like that.

Even the objective numerical value of a temperature presents a problem: my historical sources, and the United States of America, report temperatures in Fahrenheit, while the rest of the world operates in Celsius.  Scientists prefer the metric system, but McMurdo is an American base, so it's functionally bilingual.  I tend to think in Celsius, but as the historical record was in °F and I wanted to be able to compare what I was experiencing with what my guys experienced, I paid more attention to °F while I was down there.  In this post, I will report actual temperatures in both, so you can look at whichever one you understand best. 

When I left Britain in mid-October, we had been having a very mild autumn, after a hot summer.  My hopes for hardening up a little on the way to Antarctica were dashed when Vancouver, though objectively colder, felt merely fresh and delightful, I assume because it was unseasonably dry.  LA is always dry in the autumn and usually hot, so that was no surprise; Christchurch however was much warmer than expected, and because it wasn't as dry as LA, felt even hotter.  After several days' delay there, I feared my blood was much too thin to be hurtled into ice and snow. 

It is regulation to wear one's Extreme Cold Weather gear on the plane to McMurdo.  Aware that I'd just had a fortnight of heat to thin my blood, and that they were just coming out of a cold snap down there, I was only too happy to take this precaution.  When the plane landed, everyone piled on their balaclavas and tuques, and when the door opened, an icy-looking fog formed as our pent-up breaths met the cold air from outside.  Here we go, I thought.  As I approached the gangway I braced myself for the smart of cold air on exposed skin and the stiletto keenness as I inhaled, but . . .   

. . . it was fine. 

In fact, it was so fine that when I was allowed to change out of my ECW, I put on my street shoes, not even my cold-weather hiking boots.  I knew dry cold from Utah and Alberta, but I was coming to understand that in an Antarctic context, “well it was -20, but it was a dry cold” isn't a joke, it's just a statement of fact.  +6°C(42°F) would be miserable in damp Cambridge, but -6°C(21°F) was quite comfortable at McMurdo – if it wasn't windy, one could happily go about without a coat.

One always had a coat to hand, though, because the wind could turn up at any time, and it made a big difference.  The first time I went to Cape Evans it was so mild as to be balmy – I was in snow pants because they were required for the snowmobile, but on top I stripped down to just my base layer and a medium-weight sweater, and was even a bit warm in that.  It was -1°C/30°F, but I could happily have sat down to a picnic. 

Before we left, I wanted to make a quick trip up Wind Vane Hill.  I got hot climbing it, but while on top, a breeze kicked up, and before long I was wishing I hadn't left my jacket at the bottom.  The reason I have my hands tucked in my snow pants bib in the above photo is because they were beginning to feel quite nippy.  I always had a jacket with me after that, even if I cursed its dead weight the whole time.  (It was usually my trenchcoat, not the big red parka, for this reason.  I will go into more depth on clothing in a future post.) 

A similar thing happened on my Basler flight.  I'm afraid I don't know the actual temperatures where and when we landed – we were at the inland extremity of the Barrier, though, so everything I'd read told me it ought to be noticeably colder than McMurdo.  It might well have been.  But the only clue that it wasn't a perfectly warm summer day was that the slightest stir in the air breathed ice on my hands.  It felt much the same at the much higher altitude site of CTAM.  The interior of the continent is even drier than the coast: apparently, in the absence of wind and on a bright sunny day, this makes temperature barely perceptible at all. 

A windless day is a vast exception in the case of Antarctic weather, though, and besides chilling a human body, the direction of the wind makes a big difference to the objective air temperature.  A north wind, arriving from over the open sea, was comparatively mild.  Most of the time, however, the wind was from the east to south, coming cold off the icy interior.  This sends it funnelling through The Gap straight at Hut Point. The Hut Point Wind was infamous in the Heroic Age; even now it can be a pleasant day at the station, but one must remember to kit up just to walk around the corner to the Discovery Hut. 

It did make for some great photos, though, because if the conditions were just right – which they were a few times in my month there – the wind would kick up some freshly fallen snow and things would look so very Antarctic.  The funny thing was, on the days when it looked quintessentially polar, it was actually comparatively warm.  The snow was so powdery that a fairly light wind could lift it, so it didn't have to be brutally windy to look brutally windy.  The cold really sets in when a high pressure system stays in place for a while and keeps the air still; if there is turbulence, there is warmth, and if a weather system moves through – such as the kind that delivers snow – the temperature rises considerably.  So in order for there to be fresh snow to blow around, there will have been a recent warm spell, whereas if it's starting to get cold again, the new snow will have compacted enough not to blow around.  The strongest winds I encountered in Antarctica were at Cape Crozier, but you'd never guess it from my photos, which haven't a speck of drift.  I am sure there are exceptions to this, but this was a dependable pattern in my time there. 

Above: two images of light snow blowing off just after a snowfall, when it was comparatively warm. Below: 30-knot winds at Cape Crozier, but you'd never guess.

One of my oddest temperature memories was in one of those balmy drifty situations.  I had been asked to give my history lecture over at Scott Base, and I was to wait for the Kiwi truck at a designated pickup point on the road coming over from The Gap.  There are three official categories for weather in Antarctica: Condition 3 is when everything can operate as normal: it can be cold, it can be windy, but visibility is fine and the ordinary precautions will see you through.  Condition 2 is when things are starting to get serious: drift and/or winds are reaching dangerous levels, extra precaution is necessary, and venturing outside is discouraged.  Condition 1 is when everyone is required to stay indoors except on vital business as merely venturing outside is a life-threatening risk.  During my month there it was always Condition 3, but within the hour of my pickup a Condition 2 had been declared on the Scott Base side of The Gap.  My ride said she would be coming anyway, as she would be overwintering and needed the practice of driving in Condition 2, so I went up to meet her.  I was hoping I would finally get a blast of Antarctica, but it gave me a surprise.  For one, it was warm.  And, yes, it was windy, but not desperately so, and the wind had a damp sweetness that, weirdly, made me think of swelling streams and crocuses.  The Condition 2 had been called purely because of the drift, which was obscuring the road and therefore made driving more hazardous than usual.  It was surreal to hear my driver checking in with her radio operator as if she were chasing tornadoes when it was really quite pleasant out.

My first few days at McMurdo were by far the coldest of my whole visit.  When I first visited the Discovery Hut it was -18°C, or just below 0°F, and rather windy on the way back.  That was when I learned that one can be feeling really quite cosy all over but one's outermost extremities can still suffer the cold – I distinctly remember wondering why my fingertips were tingling when I felt so warm, and a little while later my toes went numb and I had to stamp them back to life.  The dryness, not sapping your core heat, can lure you into a false sense of security, and nab your digits while you're not looking. 

After that, daily highs mostly hovered around the freezing point, and lows rarely dipped as low as -10°C/+14°F.  This was really very mild – indeed, the people who'd been down since September could often be seen flitting about in t-shirts – and was an amusing irony for me personally.  Twice in the past I'd visited Calgary in search of 'Antarctic' cold and hit, instead, a relatively mild spell; it turned out that in Antarctica I was getting exactly the same weather that I had thought un-Antarctic in Calgary.  Not only was it the same weather on paper, but it felt exactly the same as well – the light, fresh kiss of frosty air on one's cheeks, surprising warmth in the sunshine but a breeze to keep you honest, and even the same granular texture to old snow.  Altitude can give you the same feeling, as the thinner air cannot hold as much moisture as it can at lower levels, so if you've not been to the Prairies but have been on a ski holiday, you can use that as a reference point as well. 

It is much harder to draw parallels with damper climates.  At home in Cambridge, I have a sort of 'misery zone' between 4°-10°C (40°-50°F) where it's too cold to be warm, but not cold enough to be crisp, and the damp seems to seep through every layer to reach in and chill. As the thermometer plunges towards freezing and below, it is, ironically, more comfortable weather, because the colder the air is, the less moisture it can hold.  In Britain I have sometimes found myself taking off layers as the mercury falls.  When imagining Antarctica, people often extrapolate from their own experience of cold temperatures: If your base measure of cold is the 'misery zone' in a damp climate, such as Europe or the Eastern US, then you may think 'If 6°C feels like this, then -6° must feel that much worse' when in fact all the other factors at play can make it preferable.  Even the cold days on my arrival at McMurdo were nicer, experientially, than a misty morning in deepest February back home.  At one point, Cherry describes Antarctic summer weather as resembling a crisp sunny morning in September, and indeed from a British perspective Antarctica often felt more like a bright and breezy 13°C (55°F) than anything closer to freezing.

This gave me some perspective on the early explorers.  If they had spent their lives on this chilly island, and then travelled to Antarctica over a chilly sea, they would be coming at it with all the assumptions one acquires from experience with humid cold.  Finding not an amplification of your worst experiences, but instead a wonderland where the thermometer seemed to exist in a different reality – certainly the case when they arrived in midsummer – would encourage some overconfidence that we might consider reckless.  Some, like Scott, had been down before and knew how deceptive the weather could be; his journals are full of chiding his team for not taking Antarctica seriously.  But there were many who were new to it, and even after an Antarctic winter, sheltered as they were in an insulated hut by the sea, they did not fully grasp how dangerous things could get inland and how narrow the margins were.  A breeze may be thrilling when it brings the truth of -10 to exposed skin warmed by the sun; when the truth is -40 it's instant frostbite.  While I didn't get temperatures that low, my experience with higher ones can, I hope, help me imagine how that would go. 

The dryness that made the cold so bearable granted me a reprieve from an opposing worry.  Outside of Britain I generally find buildings overheated in the winter – I have to remind myself to pack light 'inside clothes' or else I suffocate.  This is especially the case in the States, and McMurdo being an American base I foresaw having to strip five layers off and put them back on again every time I entered or exited a building.  They may have been overheated, but I don't know – dry air saps the potency of heat as well as cold, so it was as comfortable to wear three layers as one, and that saved me a lot of time in the cloakroom.  Thanks, Antarctica! 

I had got so used to the nip in the air that I thought I'd be inured to cold for the rest of the winter, but once I was back on this cold damp North Atlantic island, the misery zone was as potent as ever.  I may not have picked up thermoregulation superpowers in Antarctica, but I did come back with two secret weapons: merino wool base layers, and an utter disregard for my appearance so long as I was warm.  I highly recommend both to anyone in a disagreeable climate. 

[miaqc1]

Kiwi loving kiwis by MiaQc - Kiwi Clicker (Video Game) http://squidgeworld.org/works/60275 via @ao3org

In the kiwis' kingdom, Kiwingdom, lives a cruel king. This royal kiwi (the bird) is loving kiwis (the fruit).

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Masterlist

Haikyuu AUs

A collection of one-shots crossposted on Ao3 and Wattpad written once a week in collaboration with my friend Kiwi

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A few stars, a plant, a kiwi, and a Tōtara - from last night up in Banks Peninsula (crosspost)

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A few stars, a plant, a kiwi, and a Tōtara - from last night up in Banks Peninsula (crosspost) via /r/spaceporn https://ift.tt/2nv8Nj6