#like her left arm is wrong in reference to the original painting but i f

[creatediana]

A half-assed whiteboard imitation of Evelyn de Morgan’s The Love Potion (1903), done in a few minutes in Expo marker on 12/05/2022

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

The Golden Hand

° Assassin’s Creed Odyssey Imagine °

Chapter 3

Fem! Reader

Central Masterlist | The Golden Hand

Just how was he to take you back home when he didn’t even know where to start? Alexios had not the faintest idea on how to do that; pray to the gods? They don’t always answer, and when they do, it’s just downright confusing. His only choice was to continue on his journey and hope, that by some miracle, the answer would reveal itself soon. However, as such worries and doubts continued to plague his mind, they were soon drowned out upon his eyes falling on you.

He had to admit it.

You were utterly adorable.

Your eyes, round and soft, peered at the lively scene of the marketplace with star-like sparkles. Your lips drew apart ever so slightly, a smile merrily making its way on them as you expressed a fondness to how ancient, how....different this world was. He wondered how you felt about it all. Surely you were experiencing some extreme form of cultural shock. Two days could not possibly remedy it. Perhaps your joy was a façade, a guise for the truth of your feelings.

“Ah, yes! This tells of Odysseus’s voyages and his battles.” “And this?” “That one refers to the miracles of Zeus and the gods.” “They’re so beautiful.” You murmured, admiring the paintings on the pottery. By now, Alexios had shifted his attention back to you, pushing his thoughts all the way into the back of his mind as he came to realize that he has subconsciously followed you to the front of a small pottery stand. He watched as you kindly interacted with the clerk, the elder blushing at your beauty and compliment.

“Why thank you! Although my hands and body have begun to age and wrinkle, my passion for art has yet to fade.” You smiled. He watched you for a few moments before briefly turning his attention behind you. There, not far from the two for you, was Phoibe waving her scrawny arms around as she tried hard to get the misthios attention. Chuckling under his breath, the man leaned into your ear, breathing a short, “I’ll be back” before moving away from you. Heading over to the young girl, he gave her a look. 

“How’d it go with Markos?” Phoibe asked. With a small grimace on his face, he replied, ”How it always goes. I didn’t get my money and I’m running another errand for him.” Humming, she settles herself on top of a nearby rock. Crouching to her level, the conversation continues. “Why did you let him boss you around?” Her words earned herself a gentle glare from the older male, “I owe him a debt. From the past.”

“Did you borrow drachmae?” Oh the innocence of youth.

“Not that kind of debt. Few people would take in a runaway they caught thieving. I was just a kid.” Unbeknownst to him, you had accidentally caught his words. 

“Huh. I’m just a kid. And I’ve done pretty good for myself.” Phoibe stated with a sense of pride earning a snort from the man. “What do you want Phoibe?” She looked over to you,” Well, I was going to ask help first but -- who is she?” Her eyes ran down you figure, sparkling with curiosity. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t stop the small smile blooming on his lips as he watched you speak with another civilian. “She is...a friend.” 

“She’s really pretty. Is she nice?” Alexios chuckles. “I only met her yesterday but I believe so. Now, what do you want Phoibe?” Getting back on track, Phoibe continued, ”You know Kausos?” He squinted his eyes in confusion, “The town on the other side of the island? Why?” She answered, ”People there are sick--my friend Kynna is too. There’s a blood fever. They say it’s a curse and that they need help from the gods.” “I told you, I’m not a god.” “But Ikaros--”,”Is a bird.” With an exasperated expression she yelled,” That doesn’t mean you can’t help!” 

There was a moment of silence. It was his hardened expression against her own puppy yet desperate eyes.

She won.

“Agh! All right, I’ll look into it.” With that said, Phoibe let out a grin and a loud ‘Thanks!’ before running away. Sighing, the man ran a large hand over his head, massaging his temples in annoyance. First you and now this. Just how was he to-“Alexios? You okay mate?” Your voice was soft yet clear as you now stood beside him. With a glimpse he could see your concerned expression, your groomed brows knitted together. It was then that an idea struck him.

“(Y/N), since you are from the future, your people must’ve conjured many cures for various illnesses, no?” You gave him a look but nonetheless nodded. “Do you bear any knowledge of your time’s medicine?” “I’m no expert but I do have some knowledge. Although, you have to take into account that medicines are more advanced in my time. What we have, we have because of technology.” He nodded.

“We shall journey to Kausos, a town on the other side of Kephallonia. There is a blood fever. Hopefully, you can help.” 

He had now realized that the two of you have managed to reach the docks. Lightly nudging you, he quietly whispered into your ear, ” 

“Hopefully.” 

Why did you get the feeling that today was going to take a turn for the worse?

...

The journey there was hell. There was no other way to describe it. What you could only imagine once lush and green and full of life and festivities, now seeming barren and full of death and burnt flesh. The putrid smell of corpses and of blood’s iron burning your nostrils to the point that you could barely breathe. Desperately trying to muffle the scent by placing your hand to your nose. And as the horse galloped, you watched the scene around you. Whole structures were burned either to the ground or near to it, smoke billowing out from their interiors in large clouds of black and grey. A pile of bodies, clothed in blood stained fabrics, laid beside the burning buildings, waiting to be cremated. A ring of black surrounded the pile from underneath, the dirt having been scarred from a previous cremation.  

“By the gods, what has happened here?” You heard Alexios mutter under his breath as he took in the scene. Judging by the tone in his voice, you could tell that the sight had, too, taken him by surprise.

You stayed quiet, trying to focus on your breathing rather than the sound of the crows cawing loudly above your heads. It was then that you heard the cry of a man burst through the cawing, it was loud and clear.

“You’re murderers! Murderers!” What? Diverting the horse over to the origin of the voice, Alexios forced the animal to come to a stop right before a small bridge. Helping you come off the saddle, he led you over the bridge and into a situation you never thought you were ever going to be a part of.

 “If the gods won’t help you, the sickness must be destroyed by our hands! We have no choice.” Spoke a man wearing dark clothing and a bow fastened around his torso. Two other men at his either side of him, surrounding what appeared to be a family.

“Help us!” Yelled one of the children as the two of you made your way over to them. His arms bound by rope.

Oh god.

“He won’t let us go!” Shouted the father. 

Keeping your distance, you stayed behind the burly man. Rubbing the palms of your hands together as a way to comfort your hammering heart. Thoughts racing through your head. Alexios was expecting you to somehow save these people, but in all honesty, you had not the slightest clue as to how herbal medicine worked. I mean, you did know just a few things based on videos you had seen on YouTube but nothing that can truly save a person, much less a fucking village. Shit, now panic was setting in and that wouldn’t do any good. Steeling your nerves, you turned your attention to the conversation. Only managing to hear the last few sentences of the man’s explanation.

“...We couldn’t keep up with the bodies. It was spreading --- we had to intervene. “ He said.

“They killed our brothers! Our neighbors!” Countered the father, his wife adding on, “We survived the massacre, but he’ll kill us now!” The man, who you had now realized was most likely a Priest based on the clothing he wore, continued, “The gods have abandoned us. The sick must join the dead f we are to save the living!”

“You burned the whole village?” Alexios asked in disbelief. The Priest looked down in shame before answering,” Many nights were lost praying. We had to take action --- to scorch the blood fever out of Kausos.” 

“Is there no hope for a cure?” The Priest shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh as he answered,” Nothing has worked. Sacrifice, prayers...” The wife interrupted,” Healers won’t come near us, soldiers won’t let us leave...The gods won’t answer our prayers!” Alexios sighed, shifting his weight to his left as he spoke, “But I know nothing of the plague.”

“There is nothing you can do. If you intervene, I will be forced the defend the gods’ will.” he priest warned. “We aren’t even that sick! We’ll get better!” “Nobody gets better! This is the only way all of Kephallonia will save itself from extermination!” It was then that the Spartan turned to you, his eyes having the slightest glimmer of hope. 

“(Y/N), is there anything you can do? Is there any chance that you can save them?” His voice soft and quiet. It was almost drowned out by the crackle of the fires. 

You gave yourself a moment to think. If this was a virus, then the only thing they could do was ride it out... but....shit, you’re not a doctor. The hell were you suppose to do, much less say? 

You could feel a knot form in your throat, a bubbling sensation blooming within the pits of your stomach --- anxiety. There was a slight tremble to your hands, but why? Why were you feeling this way? This place was a game, no? It had no real consequence, right? No, no that kind of thinking doesn’t apply here, because while to you it will always be a game, you are still quite physically present in it. There are consequences to your actions. There are right and wrong answers. So what now? 

Taking a deep breath in, you briefly looked back up into his own. And with the slightest shake of your head, he knew your answer. 

Sighing, he spoke, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be involved in this.”

“We don’t have to die!” The mother protested. Slamming her bound wrist onto her lap.

You wanted to say something, anything. But nothing would come out. Your lips moved, but not a sound was made. Instead you hid behind Alexios, your lips sealed shut, as he spoke with the priest once more before motioning for the two of you to walk away. It was after ten steps that they’re screams were heard. 

And, as if to add salt to the wound, a lone figure ran up to you.

Phoibe.

“You...you didn’t save them? What about Kynna? She’s my friend!” You felt a tug at your heartstrings upon seeing her heartbroken expression. Alexios, who stood just a foot in front of you, tensed his shoulders. A frown on his face.

“How could I make that-”, noting the increased volume in his voice, you placed a hand to his bicep. Upon feeling your touch, he breathed. “ Listen Phoibe. I know you’re sad about Kynna --- it’s a big loss. But look around you. You want this to be like this everywhere?” He gestured to their surroundings.

The young girl frowned, “No...but maybe Kynna would get better. They could be wrong about her!” “And maybe the sickness would take the family tomorrow. It’s impossible to tell.” The misthios argued.

Folding her arms, Phoibe looked to the ground, “I hope you’re right.”

You didn’t know what compelled you to speak, you just knew you had to say something to the young girl. Licking your lips, you kneeled down to her height. A saddened look on your own face.

“Phoibe, I know we have just met but...sometimes, good people die. No matter how much we don’t like it.“ She stared at you for a moment, her eyes flickering about your face. It was a only a moment later that she allowed herself to lean closer to you.

“I know...I just wish it wasn’t true.” And with that, she walked away.

Watching her figure slowly dwindle to nothing but a mere shadow, you breathed. The smoke still burning the inside of your nostrils. 

“Alexios?” “Yes?” “Let’s...let’s go...please.” Your voice quieter than the occasional breeze. You heard him grunt, “ Of course.”

Realization didn’t come quick. 

It was only after you had mounted onto the house, with your hands gripping tightly onto his armor, that the realization came to you.

You had killed someone. Rather indirectly, but still.

Innocent blood was on your hands.

How did it come to this? You were but a student just a day ago. 

How did everything change so quick? So...in the blink of an eye?

Alexios would never tell you, but he could feel your tears dampen his clothing.

...

(A/N): Sorry this took so long, I’m still trying to figure out how I want this story to play out and for how long.

Hope you enjoyed!

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

A Dash of Morticia

PART THIRTY-SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of anxiety/panic attacks please read with caution, yelling, mentions of familial abuse, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5K

Summary: After an argument with Jess, Ella storms out of the apartment.

A/N: The descriptions of panic attacks in this chapter and in this fic are based on research and my own experiences. Everyone is different. If you need to talk, I am always here. I just felt Gilmore Girls always kind of ignored Jess’s trauma, and the after-effects it would have had on him.

A few stray streaks of blue paint had dried on her forearms, but Ella was eager to get home and had done a haphazard job of washing up after class. She had sent the kids home with their final projects, the extra time at the end of the day used for free painting time. It was bittersweet to say goodbye to the kids she had spent all three months with, exploring all different mediums through the summer art program at the college. But she was glad to be only two weeks away from the beginning of her final year of grad school. The end of her time as a student was so close, she could almost taste it. Still, though, she found it hard to believe at some point her life wouldn’t be dictated by study guides and test scores.

Her keys stuck slightly in the lock, as they always did, as she entered the apartment. The clock read half past six already; Ella had been too caught up clearing out her room at the college to leave anywhere near on time. The walk home had been calming, the sky just beginning to turn a pinkish orange hue. Her heart was light as she set her keys on the counter and bag on the coat rack. Jess sat on the couch with the third draft of his book in his hands, a crease of concentration between his brows and a red pen in his hand. He hadn’t looked up at the sound of her coming in, but she wasn’t surprised. Lately, he had been totally absorbed in his work.

Over the course of the summer, she had watched his nerves growing over the new project. Though she did her best, she found it hard to understand why. He had already sent preliminary published copies out to certain vendors, and most responses were enthusiastic. The more she found him startling awake in the middle of the night, or snapping at herself or their friends over the smallest things, or growing quiet at things he would normally have spoken to her for hours about, the more she suspected his behavior had little to do with the book. Even when he wasn’t working on his writing, he was stand-offish. Distant. It was though he was somewhere else. A place which made his hands shake and his eyes dart around anxiously.

She chewed at her thumb nail as she approached the couch. The longer she felt out of the sync with him, the more frustrated she grew. If it had been anybody else, she would have told him off months ago. But she knew she needed to be patient. Each time she felt the old, familiar anger rise in her throat, she reminded herself of where they had come from and the way he always listened. But she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit her faith in his ability to recognize what had been going on with him for more than just the past few months was wavering.

Letting out a small sigh, she plopped down on the couch next to him and ran her nail-bitten fingers through the ends of his hair, her hand on the back of his neck.

“Hey, cutie,” she said quietly.

Still, he didn’t look over at her. But he let a small smile cross his lips. “Hey.”

“We got Thai last week, so do you wanna get Chinese or Mexican tonight?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.”

Ella furrowed her brows and scoffed in disbelief. “But we always get takeout on Friday. It’s universal law!”

“Well, you pick,” he said, underlining something on the page.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she took a long pause and a deep breath. “Jess, just take a break. You’ll make yourself nauseous reading it over and over again.”

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back distractedly.

“At least look at me,” she continued, insistent.

He heaved a sigh and finally tore his eyes away from the words. He smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows expectantly as he faced her. “I’m looking at you.”

Ella took a look back at him. She just couldn’t help it as she rolled her eyes and stood up from the couch. “God, you’re such a dick sometimes.”

“Great, so I guess we’re fighting now?” he asked, tossing the manuscript on the coffee table in annoyance.

Ella turned back to him before she could make it to the bedroom, crossing her arms over her floral t-shirt. She huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I guess if that’s what it takes to get you to talk to me.”

“Okay, Norma Desmond, since apparently we’re acting like we don’t talk to each other every day, what do you wanna talk about?” He shot her a thin, sardonic smile. “You wanna talk about how you’re allowed to get invested in your work but for some reason I’m not?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. For a moment, she thought about apologizing and letting it go. But, then, she realized she didn’t know what she would be apologizing for. The gnawing hunger in her stomach after a long day of work did nothing to help her mood, either. She’d come home excited, ready for some dinner and to celebrate her last day of summer camp. And Jess had played the part of the storm cloud over her head once again. She’d had enough of it.

“Y’know what?” she wagered.

“What?”

“You don’t get to do this,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t get to act like you wouldn’t feel the same way if I was doing this. If I was barely saying a word and being a jackass to everyone and having nightmares almost every single night!”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth and rose from his seat. “Oh, I don’t get to, huh?”

“No, you don’t!” she said, voice raised. “This thing of ours is a two-way street! You can’t shut me out like this!”

He sighed. “Eleanor-”

“Stop it, Jess. Just stop bullshitting me. Just tell me what’s really going on.”

“Look, I’m sorry if this book thing is bothering you, but I-”

“It’s not about the book!” she yelled, cutting him off and throwing her hands at her side in anger. “I know publishing a book takes time, okay? Hell, I’ve edited the book twice already! But something is up with you! Something’s been up with you for months! Just spit it the fuck out!”

“Nothing is up with me!” he countered, matching her volume. His brow was heavy with agitation. “I’m just trying to get the damn book published! What can’t you understand about that?!”

She shook her head again. “I am so sick of you making excuses, Jess! Just tell me! If you tell me, I can help you, alright?”

Something passed across his face and Ella could practically see the walls go up around his heart. “You are so much like Luke sometimes.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, exhausted and dejected.

“Maybe I don’t have a problem, maybe you have a problem,” he said, crossing his own arms defiantly. “Maybe all of this is just so you can ignore how upset you are about what happened at Adam’s graduation.”

Ella almost took a physical step back, surprised at the accusation. “I’m not upset about that.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Have you called your brother since then? Or Lane? Or anyone in Stars Hollow? Or have you just been too busy here trying to create problems to solve instead of the ones you already have? I mean, just look at your hands! You’ve barely got any nails left!”

“Stop trying to change the fucking subject!” she spat out, a bite growing in her voice. “What the hell are you so afraid of? Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong so we can figure it out?”

“I’m not a project!” Jess shouted. “You can’t fix me, Eleanor!”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Jess! I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong...I’m trying to get you to talk to me before I wake up one morning and you’re gone!”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They stood across from each other, the coffee table in between. Outside, the light continued to wane. Jess’s face flushed in embarrassment and anger.

“That was five years ago! I was a kid! My dad showed up after-”

“I know!” she shrieked. “I know! Believe me, I know! You were upset, so that made it okay for you to leave me without saying a fucking word, I know!”

“That’s not what I said!” Jess matched her volume, breathing hard.

“You didn’t have to!” she shot back. “And maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about it if you weren’t pulling your Holden Caulfield bullshit again, but you are! This is just like it was then! But, guess what? I’ve been trying so hard, but I can’t deal with it anymore! I’m not doing it again!”

His eyes darkened and a frown deepened on his face as she stormed towards the door. “Where are you going?!”

“I don’t know! Maybe to California!” she growled, tugging on her converse and throwing her bag over her shoulder again. “When you’re ready to grow the fuck up and be honest with me, then call me! If not, then just leave me the fuck alone! You’ve been getting pretty good at that recently!”

The door shut with a hard slam! behind her before Jess had a chance to respond. As soon as she was out of sight, his chest became tight. Out of breath, he felt his heart beating hard against his ribs. He almost ran after her, but he chose to relish in his anger at her instead. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he struggled to decide what to do with himself. After a moment, he looked down off the balcony and saw her car was gone. Satisfied at the low chance of running into her on the way out, he grabbed his keys and stomped out of the apartment, a five-dollar bill burning a hole in his pocket. A pack of cigarettes from the corner store was the only concrete thing on his mind.

.   .   .

Thumbing through Mabel’s copy of A Streetcar Named Desire, Ella tried to quiet the restless buzzing of her nerves. Almost two whole days without a call. Not that she’d expected him to come grovelling to her, begging for forgiveness. But she hadn’t expected to stay at Mabel’s the entire weekend. The air was balmy and the sky was full of thunderheads, but no raindrops had yet fallen. There was the constant threat of a summer thunderstorm, but it hadn’t yet come. She was sprawled across the light pink couch, doing her best to concentrate on the words in front of her.

Outside the window, she caught a flash of lightning out of the corner of her eye. A rumble rolled through the air, vibrating the ground. Ella sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment and staring up over at the vintage French ad hung up behind the couch. The apartment was beautiful; decked out in feminie floral patterns and extravagant accents. Mabel had welcomed Ella with open arms, even after Ella insisted she would just find a motel or something. Or perhaps go back to her and Jess’s apartment. But the idea of stepping foot through the door without Jess calling her made her blood boil. She could no longer feign ignorance, especially when she knew something was wrong. Tough love. That’s what she told herself. He just needed a dose of it, along with a bit of his own medicine.

His words echoed in her head. It was true, she hadn’t called anyone in Stars Hollow since the graduation. She didn’t care to. The thought of ever visiting the town again made her stomach do a flip, as did the thought of seeing her father once more. She had hardly had time to decipher what her actual feelings were, between the summer camp job and her worry over Jess. She only knew they were unpleasant, and she didn’t much care to dwell on them. Was it worth it to think about it more? Was she just projecting? Certainly she wasn’t. Something was up with Jess. It had been for a while and there was no denying it. But she couldn’t shake the pit of guilt in her stomach. Part of her knew he was right; at least somewhat. It would all have been better if she had been able to talk it out with Jess, if they were able to press pause on the fight somehow and just be best friends. But they couldn’t. It was the hardest part of being away from him, and it made her feel even more bitter.

Everything would be so much easier if he didn’t loom so large in her heart. She would care less about her constant, sinking worry about him leaving. About him realizing he wasn’t happy and taking off for somewhere new without a word. Or any other consequence of whatever his recent problem had been. His inability to open up to her as he once had. An amorphous, nondescript fear which was recently always whispering in the back of her mind. Having the time to ruminate on her thoughts for such long periods of alone time, with Mabel off at work, seemed to only be making her feel more conflicted. And Ella was aware actors sometimes had erratic hours, but Mabel had been at Sunday night rehearsal for five hours.

Her sketchbook had not seen such angry, horrifying drawings in a significant number of months. At times, the thought that this was the fight which would break them up crept into her mind. Surely he would be able to find someone less quarrelsome, who would be more patient for him. She wasn’t it.

The sound of her cell phone broke through her train of furious and fearful thoughts. She jumped slightly, startled at the noise. She put the book aside without saving the page; it was no use trying to read. Her heart jumped into her throat for a moment, wondering if Jess had somehow managed to call her just as she was thinking about him. But when she made it to the kitchen table and looked at the screen, she deflated. It was Matthew.

“Hello?” she answered, hand on one hip of her faded blue dress, borrowed from Mabel. Mabel was taller than her, and the dress hung loosely on her frame. The only clothes she’d brought with her were the ones on her back as she left the apartment, now stale and stuffed into her purse.

“Ella? Are you still at Mabel’s?” Matthew asked, voice with a slight, frantic edge.

She furrowed her brows. “Yeah? Why?”

“Look, Jess said you guys are fighting. So, I don’t know and I...can you get over here?” Matthew said, struggling to get the words out.

Ella felt her nerves beginning to course through her veins. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed through the receiver. “We were at Truncheon having a few drinks. Everything was normal. But then Jess started getting really upset and now he’s saying he can’t breathe and he’s shaking like crazy. But he won’t let us take him to the ER or anything, and-”

“Okay, just hang on. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Try to get him to drink some water and tell him I’m coming,” Ella instructed him, phone between her ear and her shoulder as she slipped her shoes on and grabbed her bag.

“Is he okay? He said he was fine, but-”

“Yes, Matthew. He’s fine. Just don’t panic and keep him calm until I get there,” she continued hastily, locking Mabel’s door and shutting it behind her. She’d have to shoot Mabel a text as soon as she got off the phone. She was just starting to pick up on the slight slur in Matthew’s words. He could handle his alcohol much better than Chris or Jess could, but she still felt herself doubting whether Matthew was capable of helping Jess through a panic attack at all if both of them were plastered.

“I’ll try,” Matthew said, noncommittal, before bidding her goodbye and hanging up.

Her face was set in determination as she rushed down the stairs of the apartment building, texting as she went. As she hurried out the front door and tried not to let her car keys slip through her fingers, she felt the first drops of rain finally falling.

.   .   .

The drizzle had turned to a downpour by the time Ella made it to Truncheon, nearly tripping on the sidewalk in her worn converse as she ran from her car to the front door. She was met with the aged, familiar smell of the main room as she entered, immediately heading for the stairs. Her steps were heavy and she was damp and out of breath when she made it to the door of the apartment. She didn’t bother knocking. Instantly, she saw both Chris and Matthew huddled together across the living room, casting nervous glances at Jess, who sat on the couch with his hand on his chest. Several empty green beer bottles sat on the coffee table, glowing lowly in the yellowish light of the lamps. A full glass of water, untouched, also sat on the table directly in front of Jess. Ella shook her head softly and clicked her tongue in concern, throwing her bag down by the door and going to Jess.

His eyes were glassy, and she saw a couple tear tracks shining on his stubbly cheeks. The words tumbled from his mouth in short, panting bursts. “Elle...you...we’re fighting...don’t-”

“Hey, Mariano, don’t worry about it, okay?” she said, offering him a small smile. She sat down on the couch next to him, so close their knees were almost brushing each other. She kept her tone and face even as she looked over her shoulder at Chris and Matthew. “How long has he been like this?”

Chris blinked at her hard a couple of times before processing her question. He squinted down at his watch. “About twenty minutes. Maybe more.”

Ella nodded, facing Jess again. She could smell the scent of beer wafting off of him. It was the drunkest she had seen him in a long time. “Okay, that means the worst is probably over. And you’ll be fine in just a few minutes.”

He shook his head, hands trembling violently. Chills rolled through his body, making him shake more. The palms of his hands were slick with sweat. His chest was tight and painful, and there was a wild fear in the back of his mind that he was having a heart attack. He had never had a panic attack which felt so intense before. Intoxication certainly wasn’t helping. When it first started, he had truly wondered if he was about to die.

“I…” he began, swallowing harshly, “I told them...not to call you...I-I don’t…”

“Cutie, don’t worry, okay?” she repeated, soothing and slow. “Can I touch you?”

“Y-yeah,” he replied after a moment, shaking so bad his teeth were nearly chattering.

Her kind smile grew a little as she cupped his face with her hands, wiping his tears with the pads of her thumbs. “Hey, just listen to me. Everything is fine. You are wasted. And you’re having a panic attack. But everything’s okay. You are okay. All you have to do is breathe, Jess.”

“I can’t-”

Before he could continue, she shifted her hands from his face to his wrists. Gently, she brought his hands to her chest and began breathing, long and slow, just as she had at the courthouse months earlier. He began to mimic the rise and fall of her chest as soon as he recognized her movements.

“Breathe with me, honey,” she said. Then, she began counting in fives as she inhaled and exhaled. She could feel Jess’s tremors with his hands in her grasp.

About five minutes of breathing, and the fire in his lungs finally began to burn out. He was still having trouble catching himself and his breath, but the tears had stopped. He did his best to choke out even words.

“I’m fine, Elle,” he said.

“You sure?” she asked, releasing his wrists.

His gaze was wavering, but he nodded and sniffled, running a hand over his mouth. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Good. You did so good, James Dean,” she murmured, leaning in with her hands on either side of his face again, pressing a long kiss to his forehead. She smoothed circles over his back as he turned forwards again, finally taking a few sips of water. From their spot across the room, Matthew and Chris still looked unsure, nervous. Ella shot them another smile. “Everything’s fine, guys. Thank you for calling me.”

“And here’s hoping you’re both too drunk to remember this tomorrow,” Jess muttered, downing the rest of his water and staring down at the carpet with a flush of embarrassment reddening his cheeks.

Matthew only shrugged sheepishly.

“Oh, I definitely am,” Chris said, nodding. His eyes were bloodshot against his pale skin, and he had a goofy grin on his lips.

Ella rolled her eyes. “Shocker.”

Breathing a sigh, Jess rubbed drunkenly at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

After another moment of slightly awkward silence, she rose from her seat and held a hand out to Jess. “Let’s go home.”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, his mind swimming. “Really?”

“Really.”

.   .   .

In the morning, rain was still pattering steadily on the roof of the apartment building. Drops raced down the window in the bedroom, glistening with muddled gray light from the cloudy sky. The constant shower warmed Ella’s ears, mixing with the whisper of her name, as she crawled out of her dreamy sleep. For a moment, her heart sank into her stomach. She wondered briefly if Jess was waking her up because of another nightmare, another panic attack. But her fear dissipated as she cracked her eyes open, blinking a few times, and saw Jess sitting upright on the side of the bed, facing her.

He didn’t look particularly rested, but his brown eyes were clear with sobriety, if red. She could see the slightly greenish tint of his skin. The severity of his hangover didn’t surprise her. After practically dragging him up the stairs, he’d collapsed on the bed before she could shove any pills down his throat. The best she could do was prop him on his side, pillows in a protective wall behind his back as he snored. The recovery position. She remembered it from the times he’d put her to bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly as she finally awoke.

She cleared her throat, sitting up against the headboard. “Hi.”

Licking his lips, Jess brought one nervous hand out from behind his back. In it, he held a bouquet of dark purple tulips. Slowly, she took them, raising a doubtful eyebrow. It was still pretty early, and she wondered if the sun had even been up whenever he’d gone out to buy them for her.

“There’s thirteen,” Jess said as she inspected the flowers. “For good luck.”

She laughed half-heartedly. “Thank you,” she said, taking one last look at them before placing them on the nightstand beside her. “Pretty Nora Ephron. Even for you.”

“Look,” Jess began, glancing away from her with shame. Her voice didn’t have any anger, but also held no amusement. She sounded tired in a way that struck him and made even more guilt weigh on his shoulders. “I’m really sorry. About all of it. I know I’ve been kind of a wackjob. I’ve been freaking out and having those nightmares and-”

“That’s not anything you need to be sorry for,” Ella interjected, tone firm but not unpleasant. Her face was stoic as she waited for him to continue, raking her fingers through her hair.

He swallowed thickly, then went on. “And I’ve been shutting you out and...I’m sorry I didn’t call. I started to about a million times, but I just...I didn’t want you...to be disappointed in me. Though I know you already are. I wasn’t ready to...have to hear it.”

She felt slightly taken aback. Such naked, plain speech seemed like a rarity for Jess. Usually, his inner world was cloaked in metaphor and wit as a makeshift mask. But, in the gloomy light of the morning, she was seeing him just as he was. And, this time, he was actively deciding to show her.

“Jess, I’m not…” she paused for a moment to take a deep breath and collect her words, “I’m not disappointed in you. Not even a little bit. I’m just...I’m so worried about you. And it’s fucking...it’s just so fucking difficult to have to sit back and watch you...put yourself through something you don’t have to be going through alone.”

“I know,” he said solemnly, nodding.

“And I know I push you. I mean, I’ve pretty much always pushed everyone. I’m sorry I’m not patient enough with you sometimes,” she said, biting at the inside of her cheek. “But, seriously, Mariano, I feel like I kept quiet as long as I could on this one.”

Jess let a small, fond smirk pass over his lips. “I know, Stevens. It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to...sometimes it’s just hard for me to actually listen when you’re telling me something I don’t wanna hear.”

She matched his smile. “Well, that’s because you’re a jackass.”

He shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

Ella chuckled in response, smoothing her hands over the gray quilt which still covered her lower half. “As valiant of an effort as the flowers and the apology were, Jess, I’m still more interested in what’s wrong. Whatever it is...it’s okay. Just...please tell me.”

Nodding again, Jess ran a hand over his mouth. He brought his legs up from the side of the bed and sat cross-legged in front of her, their knees only inches apart. “Ever since Doula was born...I just can’t stop thinking about my mom and...everything that happened in New York. I mean, when Liz was pregnant it wasn’t great. But since we met Doula? Since I actually got to see her...it’s just been so much worse. When I think about her having to...fight with a stepdad, or get left with some stranger across the hall, or wander the library alone all day while Liz goes off to work or God knows where else…”

Ella placed a hand on the knee of his jeans as he paused. He bit down hard on his lip again. He didn’t feel as though he deserved that kind of affection from her after what had happened over the past few days. But he swallowed down the nerves which rose in his throat and continued.

“I just keep remembering and thinking about it and...I can’t get it to stop sometimes. And now I’m even remembering in my sleep...I’m remembering so clearly. It’s like...there’s never gonna be an end. I’m never gonna actually get away from it all,” he explained sheepishly, fighting the lump in his throat and the way the tips of his ears burned.

“Hey, James Dean,” she said, and he finally looked up to meet her eyes again. “You did get away from it. You did. I know it doesn’t feel like that sometimes, but you did. No matter how bad you’re feeling, you’re safe now. We’re both safe now.”

He scoffed out a doubtful, tearful laugh, but managed to keep himself together. Sometimes, the simplest reminders hit him the hardest, shocked him the most.

“And we can figure this out, okay?” Ella continued earnestly. “I know you still don’t have insurance, but this is a big city. There’s bound to be some kind of free service somewhere. And even if we can’t find anything right away, I’m always here. You can talk to me. Whatever it is. Whenever it is. I’m not gonna be as good as an actual counselor, but I’ll do my best until we can find you one. I’ll do some research.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, Jess,” she said sternly. “I need you to hear me on this. I want you to talk to me. Nothing you could say would disappoint me, or anything like that. I mean, I know you got attacked by a swan. What could be more embarrassing than that?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little, though he couldn’t hide his amusement. “My God, every chance you can get...”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s just too easy sometimes.”

“Says the girl who once took a bite out of a decorative apple.”

“Says the boy who took a whole month to figure out how to pull a coin out of my ear,” she retorted.

Then, with a moment of giggles exchanged between them, Jess’s expression shifted back to one of sincerity. “I’m sorry, Elle.”

“It’s okay,” she replied easily. “I’m sorry, too. I know it’s not like it was in high school. I know you’re not gonna leave. I trust you. Sometimes...I just get so caught up and I don’t...sometimes I forget who we are now and I go back to being the little girl whose mom died overnight and whose dad never calls.”

Jess tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with an affectionate gaze. “But, hey, she turned out to be the next Georgia O’Keefe. With a dash of Morticia Addams.”

Ella shrugged. “Her boyfriend exaggerates, but she’s trying.”

“Thank you,” he said after a comfortable beat of silence. “For last night and...pretty much everything else since the day we met.”

She snorted a laugh at his hyperbole, rolling her eyes. “Don’t mention it.”

[waternilly]

The End of an Era

Ship: Blackleg Sanji x f!OC Language: english Word count: 1.5k Warnings: none Ao3 link: here | Wattpad link: here Summary: Musicals! But what if this time the rivals were lovers in real life?

Many weeks and hours of hard work had come to their end. Tonight was the big finale of the musical Florence had built with both old and new friends over the semester. It hadn’t gone without troubles, but they had made it in the end.

As she waited between the wings on the side of the stage, the young woman let her mind drift off.

She thought back about the moment Mozart l’Opéra Rock had been announced as this year’s project. How all the students who would graduate in June shared the same excitement and thrill at the prospect.

She remembered the audition and how learning the lyrics to “Si Je Défaille” had been easy, being engraved in her memory ever since she was ten. She also remembered when she had to show up at the next audition to sing “Tatoue-Moi” on demand of her professor.

Florence had already performed as a male character in a previous project and she knew the professor’s demand was far from innocent. They had something in mind.

And she was right. The next week, once auditions for both singers, actors and dancers alike were over, the results were published.

1. Florence Moire ..... Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

A smile had crept on her face instantly. But what made her even happier was the name just two lines under hers.

3. Sanji Vinsmoke ..... Antonio Salieri

Not only would she perform as the main character of what was probably her favourite musical. The one to act as her rival was her own boyfriend.

Images of her sweet Sanji in black hair and eyeshadow had immediately crossed her mind and she couldn’t wait to see it happen.

That evening, the entire crew had gone to a local student pub and celebrated all night long. Florence lost count of how many times she got congratulated or all the teasing her and Sanji had gotten for acting out rivals.

It was one of Flo’s favourite memories. Everything felt right. No pressure or stress related to the production, school or the internship yet. Only pleasure, joy, excitement.

Rehearsals had started the same week, beginning with a script reading. Songs from the original musical were played whenever they were reached throughout the session. A few voice cracks and poorly acted sentences were uttered, but they were laughed off.

Florence and all the singers then went through some coaching first. Even though they were all decent already, they were still merely amateurs. Some had gotten such lessons the previous years, but everyone welcomed the tips from the teacher with open arms.

While those were reaching their end, they simultaneously started rehearsing with the actors. Their friends had already started learning their lines and now it was time for them to do as well.

To help with that process, Florence would often play the entire musical as background noise while studying or working on anything, to Sanji’s greatest amusement.

He early on realized that the one he tenderly referred to as ‘princess’ was nervous about the pressure put upon her shoulders. He often reminded her that the professor wouldn’t have given her the part if they didn’t believe her to be capable of it. He also loved to add that she would make for a great Mozart and an amazing rival, which would often help her calm down, at least temporarily.

As the dates approached and the rehearsals became longer -every song being performed in their entirety, accompanied by the dancers- the pressure among the whole crew rose. People started worrying about costumes or set pieces not being finished on time, about black outs on stage, about wigs falling off or ladies tripping over their massive dresses.

All of these faded shortly after luckily and everything was done in due time. The final rehearsal in full costume and make up also reassured everyone about what they had created. Which meant, representations could start. But not without some last minute preparations.

Bonney was left with her bright pink hair despite the professor’s reclamations who feared she would steal the show. The young woman’s determination was stronger however and she refused to incline, making her the very first pink haired Constanz Weber.

Luffy, who interpreted everyone’s favourite comic relief, Rosenberg, got his hair coloured grey with sprays often used for Halloween. It was slicked back and his face was painted bright white with two outrageously red spots on the cheeks. All of it, topped off with pencil-drawn eyebrows and two fake moles.

Sanji agreed to changing his style for the occasion. He got his hair dyed in a dark brown and slicked it all back except for one rebellious lock. Needless to say he was a sight for sore eyes like this. But every evening, before the representation, the benevolent make up artists who were fellow students painted his eyes with black eyeshadow, crayon and eyeliner. Black lipstick had also been considered at some point but was eventually discarded. And aside from all of that, he also walked around with black painted nails for a week.

As for Florence, the main thing she had to do was get a haircut. Her pixie hair had grown out during the semester and it required some touch ups. She was the one who had the wildest, most natural hairdo. It only got comped and sprayed to create some extra volume, but nothing too perfect. Her eyes got the same treatment as her lover’s however, which they liked to point out.

And then it was time.

The premiere.

Everyone was nervous to their core while simultaneously trying to help their friends calm down. Singers and actors alike reunited back stage to warm up their voices, a loud buzzing sound filling the room. Dancers took that opportunity to stretch and prepare as well. The entire crew was in its own bubble, in symbiosis with each other. Any conflicts that might have existed before were forgotten for now.

“Are you nervous, my love?” Sanji had asked his girlfriend just before she had to walk on stage.

“Yes,” she admitted.

With a smile, he had said: “You’ll feel better once you’re up there.”

She thanked him with a smile.

“Maybe turn on your microphone before it’s too late though,” he had teased.

Florence agreed, flipped the switch and ran up on stage. Sanji had been right. Merely seconds later, as she was uttering her very first line, she was calm, confident, poised. Every movement, every sentence flowed naturally. She felt good, at home.

To everyone’s surprise, nothing went wrong during the entire first act, which their professor naturally pointed out backstage during the break. They also complimented everyone’s acting, singing and dancing, clearly ecstatic with the result.

Flo knew what would come next. Someone started playing music while another person shouted to turn off the lights. Everyone jumped around and loudly shouted in unison with the music. A few even climbed on the table in the middle of the room to dance on it in a silly way, making the whole crew laugh.

That little tradition remained during the entire week of run, lasting the entire entre act every time. A twenty minute break of partying halfway through the musical.

Except it was now time to walk back on stage for the last time.

A loud ominous music played and Florence stepped into the light.

She gave everything she had in her, jumping and running around on stage.

Sanji then walked up himself, followed by Bonney who gave her best vocal performance yet.

Before long though, they reached the end of the musical and with it, the famous “Vivre à en Crever” scene. The only time Flo got to sing with her boyfriend throughout the entire performance.

She started, careful to keep a steady and clear voice. Then Sanji joined in. And ultimately, they sang together.

It was always one of the most poignant parts of the show and Florence had lost count of how many times she had almost kissed Sanji during it, never giving in however. Until now, whoever didn’t know them personally couldn’t have guessed they were a couple.

But that was about to change as it was time to salute and Florence had an idea in mind.

Once everyone had bowed in their usual position, they all started singing the most famous song of the musical -”Tatoue moi”- to celebrate the final representation. Florence took advantage of the context to ask Bonney to switch places with her since she was traditionally between her and Sanji. Florence wondered if the audience would react and how if they were to. By now, majority of the public wasn’t even from their college.

She started by just tangling their fingers but soon enough they were smiling at each other while singing eye to eye. When they reached the end of the song, Florence stood on the tip of her toes and pecked Sanji’s lips. He only grinned down at her before kissing her back.

Audible gasps, soon followed by extra cheers, could be heard throughout the audience. The public’s reaction was even better than what Flo was hoping for. She imagined the surprise it could be to see two people you pictured as rivals during the past two hours suddenly kiss. It amused her as well.

It might have been her last performance with this great crew of people but Florence had no reason to be sad. They had all gone out with a bang; Ace, Kid, Bonney, Sanji, herself. That night wouldn’t be one of mourning the end of an era. It would be a night to celebrate what they had achieved.

A/N: Bit of a cheesy ending yes, but oh well ^^” Please let me know what you thought of it, I haven’t written 3rd person fanfics in English in literally so long! Also, yeah, OC! Long time since I last wrote one. Any comments are welcome ^^ Thank you very much for reading <3

[missmeikakuna]

(GL/Yuri) Shoujo Heroine... and Friends Chapter 19

Gitan’s plan gets put into action. Please comment your thoughts and like this chapter if you, well, like it.

Rated: T

Fandom: Original story

Relationship type: F/F with some F/M

Description:

Sahana is friendly, innocent and optimistic, making her the perfect shoujo anime heroine… except she’s not the main character of this story.

When school prince Toyomi asks her out, she starts hanging out with him and leaves her friends behind. Prim and proper Masami and tomboyish slob Kunie don’t seem to have much in common outside of their friendship with Sahana, but they try to make the best out of a lonely situation. So why is the god of love and marriage watching them, red string of fate at the ready? CONTENT WARNING: Some homophobic language and bullying.

Chapter 19: I promise the service won’t be long

Sahana had three tickets in her hand. ‘You’re free on Saturday night, right?’ she asked Kunie, who was sitting in the classroom at lunch. ‘Toyomi and I are going to this comedy festival. It starts at 7:30. Want to come with?’

‘Uh… sure? Are you sure you don’t want to just go with Toyomi?’

‘Well, I’ve already got three tickets, right? Masami can’t go so that leaves you. Oh, and we’re meeting there at 7 just in case. Plus, that way we can chat before the show. Should be fun, right?’

‘7. Got it. Thanks for inviting me.’

On the other side of the classroom, Fumie asked Masami, ‘Would you be able to come to church service on Saturday night at 7? They need to fill more seats. You don’t need to be a Christian to go. I promise the service won’t be long.’ She gave her the address.

Masami agreed to go, having no clue that Christian church services are usually on Sunday mornings. Fumie and Sahana looked at each other and nodded.

On Saturday night, Masami looked at Fumie with a confused face. ‘So, uh, where is the church?’

The meeting place turned out to be a small convenience store squished between a closed two-story karate dojo and a run-down graffiti-covered bookstore. The area smelled of rubbish and old paint. The closest thing to a biblical reference that Masami could see was a devil spray-painted onto the bookstore.

Fumie put her hands together in prayer and muttered, ‘Lord, please forgive me.’

‘Why would he have to forgive you?’

Fumie looked up with the eyes of a first-time criminal under interrogation. ‘For lying to you.’

‘Where’s the damn comedy club?’ a familiar voice asked. Masami turned around and saw Kunie.

Fumie began walking away. ‘I’ll leave you both to it.’

Masami reached for her desperately. ‘Wait, why is she here?’

‘You need to talk things through. I don’t wish to see the outcome myself, so I must leave.’

Once Fumie had disappeared into an alleyway, Masami snorted like a horse, though with her mouth rather than her nose. She faced Kunie.

‘Any idea what’s going on?’

Kunie shrugged. ‘I was supposed to be going to a comedy festival with Sahana and Toyomi but…’ she took out her ticket and noticed the cheap way they were printed as well as the lack of a name for the venue. ‘Those damn… Okay, looks like it’s just us.’

Of course, Sahana and Toyomi were there, just hiding in the convenience store behind one of the racks and watching the scene unfold.

‘So…’ Masami began.

‘I’m going home,’ Kunie interrupted.

‘Wait, no, Fumie was right. We need to talk this out.’

A sigh left Kunie’s lips. ‘Fine. What is there to talk about?’

‘You’ve changed. Wait, that wasn’t supposed to be what I was going to say, uh… you know what? You have changed and it scares the hell out of me. You were so confident and that just disappeared. I miss the old you.’

The memory of Kuri’s words fluttered through Kunie’s brain. ‘You… you do?’

‘Yeah. I miss that and spending time with you. I finally found someone to talk about Takarazuka with. Plus, you accepted my weird cooking habits and listened to me when I was struggling. You even forgave me when I was acting really strange and was avoiding you.’ A chuckle from Masami tickled Kunie’s ears. ‘I guess I got payback for that since you quickly started avoiding me.’

‘Why were you avoiding me anyway?’ Kunie spat. ‘You kept saying it was because of school work but that sounded like total bullshit.’

‘It was my first time having a crush on someone, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it. It’s not like you handled realising you were gay well either, Miss ‘He’s your entire life’! Jealousy is not a good look on you. But you said you don’t like Sahana that way, so who do you even like? How’d you find out you were gay?’

Kunie bit her lip and moved her eyes in every direction. ‘Do I have to tell you?’ Masami put her hand on her hips. ‘Fine. It’s you. I fell for you.’

Warmth travelled from Masami’s heart up her throat until it reached her face. ‘Wait, let’s get this straight. I like you and thought you like Sahana and you like me and thought I like Sahana. Is that right?’

Kunie nodded, The two stared at each other silently for a moment before bursting into laughter. Laughter that brought a tear to Masami’s eye. She held her hand up to her eye to wipe it away but Kunie took over that job and wiped the teardrop herself. Masami was too busy drinking in the moment to worry whether Kunie could hear how fast her heart was beating.

‘But I thought you said we had nothing in common, which is totally wrong, by the way,’ Masami rambled. ‘We had enough in common to be friends even without Sahana there. And I could learn to live with your slobbiness. Or you could get used to me getting annoyed at you being a slob. Whichever’s easiest. Oh, but I’ve never been in a relationship, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. What if you grow to hate me or-’

Her words were interrupted by Kunie’s chapped lips. When the short kiss ended, Masami touched her own tingling lips, which felt like clouds charged with electricity.

‘Sorry for interrupting, it just seemed like you wanted me to kiss you.’ Kunie’s confident grin was back. ‘I mean, you were so worried about us so I wanted to ease your fears.’ The grin faltered a little. ‘Oh, I am so sorry-’

Masami kissed back, wrapping her arms around her neck and holding the back of her head. Kunie caressed her cheeks then brushed her hands down her back until she reached the small of it, which she used to push her closer to her. Masami giggled when that happened.

Kunie, for some reason, smelled like roses. Masami, whose brain was intoxicated by the kiss, figured it was the power of love. In actuality, it was Kunie’s deodorant.

Masami broke from the kiss. ‘Wait, I’m actually not the first girl you liked. It was that Takarazuka actress-’

‘Do you want to talk or kiss?’

‘Sorry. Carry on.’

As they continued the kiss that was verging on a makeout session, Sahana turned to Toyomi.

‘We should probably leave them be. I feel like a voyeur.’

‘Fair point, but how are we going to get out of here?’

As if answering their question, Kunie turned her head and shouted, ‘Hey, Sahana, Toyomi, wherever you are, get out of there!’

Sahana and Toyomi sheepishly shuffled out of the convenience store. ‘Sorry,’ Toyomi said on instinct.

Kunie wrapped her arm around Masami’s shoulders and pulled her close until they were standing right next to each other. Did Masami blush even more?

Ding Ding Ding! If you answered yes, you are correct!

‘You kidding me?’ Kunie asked Toyomi with a laugh. ‘Thanks to you, I got to kiss this one right here! I’m buying you two snacks. What do you want? Oh, Masami, do you want anything?’

‘This is enough.’

The new couple walked into the store, still attached at the hip. ‘Wow, that’s pretty cheesy, Masami, not gonna lie.’

‘Oh, shut up!’

They both giggled. I twisted red fibres around each other until the string of fate between the couple was repaired.

Gitan, you brilliant bastard.

[nyklifsondiviiportfolio-blog]

A note from the editor:

I am the editor, not  a very good one at that. I purposely have changed certain letters to misspell words to hide a secret message for my long lost love. This is a lie, I just am quite horrendous at spelling. I use my dictionary as a pillow but my skills have not improved. Oh well. I was getting about the same amount of sleep either way. This is the story of Iphis as told by Iphis, for Iphis. I use it pronouns because I am a shape-shifting dragon which makes pronouns quite pointless. For me, at least. Everyone else makes quite a stink about it all. I think there is prime potential in just using a single pronoun for everyone but that is also an unpopular opinion. Anyways, enjoy the book and have a splendid day.

drink a cup of tea, and all that.

A forewarning; Iphis is not your typical hero or princess and this isn’t really a typical story. Or maybe is it extremely typical and you will laugh at me when it is all said and done. I’m not called Maktabe the Foolish for nothing. Well, i am not really called that...so it is for nothing. You can call me that if you like. It would give my weary skeleton a good rattle. Now it all started during an unexpected summer of flames…

Prologue:

Crochet lace drapes. Her grandmother had made them. Each stitch sewn in

candlelight before bed. The curtains framed the first floor window that always was flooded with sunlight from dawn till dusk. They had been dyed dark blue with the juice from zilchberries that had been deemed unfit for fermenting. Now, from swaying in the sun's rays all day, they had softened to a baby blue. Next to this window was the stairs to the cellar and bedroom.

The forest opened up to a field where the town of Dilchlam grew. Grasses and wildflowers ran amuck.

Zoom in, the scene awakens as a soon-to-be-mother comes back to from the depths of her nap. She is drenched in sweat. She is sitting in a tub of liquid. Not actually a tub, a rocker. The rocking chair had hollow that would fit to form, that was now filled with this. Colorless. Odorless. The baby kicked. She rocked back and forth a few times, droplets ker-plashing onto the floor and sprinkling onto the forgotten book about medicinal kelps. The book had walked to sleep for her afternoon nap to fight off morning sickness. The baby is coming. She takes another swig of reality when she looks out the back window. The sky is black, and the forest is orange. Trees aren’t

orange or red or yellow? Fire. Everywhere. She panics and jumps out of her seat only to fall to her knees.

Everything had to be hacked. That’s the noise axes make hak hak hak. Every day on the outskirts rang the song of the spitting and cursing of lumber laborers sweating under the sun. Building a town from scratch. Carving a community out of the endless woods. The ancients. Their history was sealed in the wood chip insulation and in between the cracks of the floor boards. In the grain of their homely furnishings.

She had made the cradle out of wood; a group of villagers had chopped some birches with the intention to create stools. Luece loved the feeling of her overworked muscles after sanding down the pieces for the crib. After it was puzzle-pieced together the couple had placed it lovingly by their own bed upstairs. So excited, so scared, so different. This piece of furniture was how she came to terms with the prospect of being called mom. She was prepared, the baby had a place to sleep. No more.

Luece is on the ground, coughing coughing cough. Her lungs are on fire. The world is on fire. Dilating. Pain. Not now. Not here. T his isn’t how the baby was meant to come into the world, b ut that is where Luece is wrong. The ancient pines can only grow once the seeds are put through immense heat. This child could only be born in these exact circumstances, and from the ashes will rise a magic that has been forgotten, but dearly needed. She crawls past the book shelves and banister to get to the cellar, her only salvation from the heat that threatens to collapse her walls.

The books they owned were mainly different herb identification books, anatomical reference, and Jeb’s joyous historical-fiction romance novels. He would tell

neighbors they were Luece’s because he was embarrassed for having such an odd guilty reading pleasure. Across the room behind the extendable table and left of the tiny tea-kettle of a stove stood the proud dish container, the ceramics cabinet. The cabinet was barely dry from the fresh stain painted on two mornings ago. The wood was leftover from Cercie, a kind neighbor’s, flooring. Jeb had used his whittling skills to carve two love birds into the center of the doors, the lock was hidden in one of the eggs in the roost. A small brass master key hung on the hooks next to the door, polished from continuous use every day. There were two other nails, one for Luece’s ring and one for Jeb’s.

Jeb, a farming man, had a key to the two town silos on his ring. Both had an mid-sized iron latchkey to get into the house. His nail had a bit of fuzz stuck on the end from catching on his sleeves. He would hang his keys up while taking off his jacket to put into the book shelves and coat peg collection next to the bits of metal budding from the wall. Thus, every damn one of his long sleeves was frayed at the ends. Lucinda and Jeb gave up on patching them after realizing they needed--at the minimum--daily repairs.

The basement has mud floors and rafters that serve them well as a cloth and herb drying rack. Without trying to outdo the community’s healer, Lucinda had acquired more natural cures to ailments than any other being within fifty miles. She was suspicious of anyone who practiced seithr-based healing and always aimed to be prepared for any circumstance. Albeit, except for natural disasters. But this firestorm is nothing close to what nature intended it to be. This is a ritual, the coming of a new age.

This fire is searching. Searching for the woman who lives in this cosy home. This house, you see, is burning down. By tomorrow there will be little left besides the stove, a hole in the ground, and quiet country dreams left in the ashes.

There hadn’t been a summer of flames in over a hundred years. Why now? Why? WHy? WHY? pangs pangs pangs pangs pangs pangs of pain. the baby was coming and we were destined to go up in flames. She felt the cool mud floor against her cheek. She grabbed a rag often used for holding vegetable shavings and wiped her brow. She inched her way over to the potatoe sacs, never having her face more than two feet from the ground. Her ears were filled with the roars above her, the fire was feasting on her and her husband’s hard work. W e are going to die...at least I will not burn alone. Her vision became as hazy as her brain, f rom the smoke? When did the room become this smokey? Her thoughts were replaced with overall nausea from inhaling toxins and at the horror that she was glad that her offspring was not meant to make it into this world. She hugged the potatoes needing an anchor and salt water leaked from her eyes. I would give anything to take his place. He? Her body convulsed. She vomited into the peel bucket. No mess yet. Easier clean up for later.

Ironically, their house is the perfect kindling, made of wood floors and wood walls. They, at it’s conclusion, called it their little slice of log-heaven. In this state, it more resembled hell. The home is a simple and sound design. A gopher lives under the one

stair that they labeled the porch. They had named him Samuel. Jeb, good-naturedly would talk about making samuel a hat “one of these days...” The step was actually just a large, smooth rock. The structure was painted evergreen in reference to the origins of the materials. It sat ten miles away from the ‘hustle & bustle’ of the town-center. That’s how they liked it. Alone with each other. But w here is Jeb? H erding cattle into the town hall, wishing for the fireproof enchantments hold. Praying lovely Leuce and the baby-to-be are safe.

Unheard sobs and ripping of fabric. Lucinda is chewing on stingers to numb her insides. She usually makes tea out of this fowl root for women in labor, but unfortunately she is nowhere near the probably-melted kettle. Her fingers twitch. Both eyelids are glued closed and lines have formed battalions on her brow. P lease don’t let us burn to death, she begs the powers at work. The fire hears her cries, but inches closer, hoping to meet an old friend. Screams under earth. Screams under a burning skyline. Screaming. Screaming. A head and two legs. A body of flesh.

Persiphis was born from the overwhelming heat that may be seen as a wall of destruction, but the resins of the past have melted away. The pine seed has awoken to a new world with a bit less decay and a hopefull future full of new growth on the horizon.

A pinecone when overrun by hellfire itself will trigger a mechanism, from within create the chance to bring about life.

Fire is the agent of rebirth. Fire is a magic that brings new paths and life. Luece flopped over and crawled to her baby, wearing bright pink new skin. They are red and radiant surrounded by flames. It must have been the vapors poisoning her brain but she thought she saw small lines of flames curling around her baby’s arms like a garden snake coiling in comfort. How did we survive? And then it all goes blurry.

Chapter 1 The first spark Iphis grew. The house was rebuilt, smaller, sturdier. In the aftermath of the fire, there was no wood left for log designs. So mud bricks and ash paste became the main construction method, except for old Macus’ place. He used straw and ash cakes. Said it would have better insulation. Dirt floors and moss rugs. Iphis grew. Among flames of chaos Leuce had managed to not explain Iphis’ odd birth and both their survival story. No one seemed to care, the villagers were just grateful that the medic did not die and was somehow well enough to tend to the many burn victims who had not been as lucky. Between making salves and draughts; not to mention how day and night Leuce was wrapping and unwrapping and rewrapping and boiling bandages. Jeb was in charge of helping make sure enough food had been safely stored for winter and shepherding the animals that had gotten loose. Both were so tired by the end of each day they would fall asleep in their clothes right after a lukewarm broth dinner. They were a quiet newborn. Always warm, not with fever thankfully. The baby was strapped to either parent’s back for half the day and then the bundle would be handed off. Breastfeeding was done on the move. Rush rush rush. How’s the baby? Still eating? Still pooping? Still breathing. Good. There was no panic. Every person fell into a job. And that was life. The burned wild began to heal with each water replenishment. The stream came back with a roar. The waterhole was usable again. Harsher crops were planted for the next foretold season. Iphis grew. The town had now restarted and order was returned. Daily lives had more structure. A grey season passed into a windy season. Many nights were spent in the cellar hoping the roof would hold. Please hold. Please. Mother would pray. Father would close his eyes and fall asleep listening to the winds howl in heartbreak, trying to infiltrate every home in search of a lost love. The pair would read to Iphis and tell them stories. They would coo and gurgle in the ways that infants do in appreciation of art. Then would slumber.

Iphis’ mother used fireweed to cook instead of fire. It grew in plenty replacing grasses and shrubs in places the flames had gone higher-than-roofs. It only needed a single spark and then would ember for hours. This intrigued the baby to no end. Their eyes would turn orange in the glow. Townspeople had all but converted to fireweed due to it’s abundance. Only Luece noticed the change. She added it to the list of unmentionable (why?/unexplainable) traits her child possessed.________________________________________

Iphis learned to crawl. And crawl they did. Anywhere and everywhere. For a small being who has no sense of direction, they managed to find more ways to get lost than found. Under cabinets, on shelves, behind desks, in buckets. “The child needs a leash or watcher, we are gonna lose her--if I do not lose my mind first...”Leuce began to scrub her child’s already soiled dress. Jeb let go of his pile of fabric when he heard the tears hiding behind her eyes, “With the amount of dirt that accrues on this kid I say we just make her clothes dark” a chuckle ends his sentences while maneuvering around their awkwardly placed stone table. He hugs her from behind. Leuce hiccups. She looks at the crib stained black with soot that will not wash away. She let out all the air in her chest. Turns around in his arms. Eyes closed. Face to shoulder, face to collar bone. They sway, like seaweed in an underwater forest.

Meanwhile, the topic of these first time parent’s, has awoken from their nap. Bright green eyes crumple and blink. The world is too bright. So much stimulation, big yawn. Lips widen to show teeth coming in. Bright red gums, raw from their efforts. Little white pearls poking out on all sides. One sharp incisor is fully in. A gum-filled smile. As if they broke their teeth into bits chewing on rocks. One fist shoots out from the blanket, a test. All clear. “A-chew” A small nose squeaks out after inhaling dust not quite cleaned up from the weekly sweeping. They fell asleep in a pile of fabric scraps that morning. What was a comfy spot then, became a prison of inter-knotted bits that tangled around them whilst dreaming. They squirm and twist and plunge their limbs in many directions. Until, they are freed from the final bits of flannel that held them. Iphis rolls onto their hands and knees. They wriggle like and eel zigzagging across and off the sewing corner’s carpet. The floor is dirt, a normalcy, comfort. Bits of grime dot their legs, feet, and hands as they scooch towards a smell. Familiar. Bump bump bump. They see a toy in their periphery, it’s their belt-bat. For teething. They can chew on the leather head and wings cut from old belts. And cuddle with the stuffed

body. Two button eyes-one bright orange glass. The other is iridescent, made from a barnus’ greyish shell. A mud-feeder found in the shallows of smaller bodies of water. But, they ignored this distraction and reached a large basket with a lid.

Iphis recently reached that in-between where they can not walk, but they can stand a while if holding onto something else for stability. They touch the intricately woven reeds shaped into a diamond pattern using the contrast between different stalk shades. They reach out and run their hands over the small ridges. The smell is coming from here. The babie’s curiosity is heightened with the fact that this basket has a lid on it. Most baskets in the house are open with a handle. Or they are clay urns. What is this? What is inside?

Iphis grabs handfuls of floor and spreads their legs real wide for balance. Similar to a drunkards sense of balance, they dip this way and that, landing again and again on their butt, trying in vain to stand up. A sleeved arm leans against the cold stove. Perfect prop. In a series of pushing each limb out to full length with all their might Iphis stands and with one hand on the side of the stove they grab at the lid with the other, bouncing to stay balanced. They are reach-reach-reaching. Their stubby fingers barely graze the lid enough to push it back. Victory. “EEE!” Their back dips back and they fall forward grabbing onto the lid. The basket rocks. A little bit towards the wall. A little bit backwards. Swaying, like the couple downstairs. This is a precarious position where Iphis stomps a foot for strength, but the socked toes slip. They impact with the basket. With one support beam gone wild Iphis tries to hold onto the edge more. The basket hesitates and seesaws, Iphis is knocked onto their back. “Wumpf.” The basket topples over with their combined weight. “Crash!”

The contents tumble out. ------------------------------------

“Pitter-patter-pitter-patter.” “pit pit pat” The couple look towards the ceiling. “Speaking of infuriating infants...”

The two lock hands and give each other tired smiles. “Bum-bamp!” Now worried looks are exchanged, “thu-thud thu-thud thu-thud thu-thud thu-thud” of taking the ten stairs two-at-a-time. The wash forgotten, left to soak. The scene unfolds as Luece’s eyes take in damage. First, Empty blankets, at least Iphis is not being strangled by them. Then, no baby choking on fabric. Different snippets of jackets and patches were thrown about, to the left of their mattress on the floor. A single bit from the hem of a yellow skirt has landed on her pillow. Next, chairs are all upright not crushing her child. With each discovery she feels relieved simultaneously while her anxiety heightens. Where? Where? “Persiphis? Sweeety?” She starts to move to see behind the table--“ack”--Leuce swings her head over to Jeb. Mid cringe--“I stepped on the bat.”

They both hear a giggle that echoes off the stove. Red bursts across the room, blinding the adults. Both stagger. Leuce’s eyes adjust, dotted with black spots. The room dulls to a calmer hue of red. She cautiously walks over to the stove. There lies Iphis, covered in fireweed, the waxy leaves have already been used up as a natural wick. Each little spiral burned up while the stem continues to burn at a low flame. The light changes and each small patch of stalks flicker. They are dotted in whispers of light blue.

Blue sparks. Blue blood. Blue fire dancing in the afternoon light.

The baby wasn’t crying. No smell of singed hair or flesh alight. “Is this a dream?” The color had drained out of Luece’s face. She began to shake. This woke Jeb from his shock. He has got to do something. Help. Get water. He began to put out the danger. Pouring water on the plants ring by ring. Circumambulating his child until he reaches a sleeping Iphis. Not a single burn on their soft skin.

With tears in his eyes he picked up the infant. “She’s breathing.” He looks at them as if holding a wild dozaerk and not his flesh and blood. Turns.

Leuce’s eyes are just as puffy. She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

Deep breath. “I think...I need to tell you about what happened…when Persiphis was born.”