#seren already weirded out by the Everything Else but trying to be polite: sure okay

[astrocassette]

congratulations to vatnir on being the first person in the deadfire to make seren so angry they started shouting at someone (him)

[liukangmybeloved]

everyone else is fighting for second {Mortal Kombat (2021)}

SPOILERS FOR MORTAL KOMBAT (2021)

Summary: Canon Divergent AU. Crack & Fluff. The team develops into something of a found family, which happens to include Cole's actual family. They take a day off from fighting to go to the fair, where the biggest question is 'who is Cole's daughter's favourite in the team?' Besides her dad, of course. Kano is very competitive about this question.

A/N: 1968 words. I will take a meat-tenderizer and FIX the canon and make it SOFT. i love cole young and mk 2021, if you don't like that, you've been warned. everybody lives/nobody dies AU & kano isn't a traitor. also imagine there's just like.... more time before the tournament. enough to become a found family. like i said, fluff & crack. warnings for swearing.

If Cole had it his way, Emily and Kano would have never met. He would be perfectly happy letting everyone else on the team meet her, but he's yet to hear a single sentence leave Kano's mouth that didn't include some colourful variation of 'fuck', 'shit', 'wanker', or 'cunt'. So unsurprisingly, he wasn't exactly eager to let his teenager daughter near the man who Sonya had literally called 'scum of the Earth', but alas.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, pinky-swear!" Kano's grin was all teeth as he'd held his pinky finger up to Cole's glowering face, wiggling it a little when Cole made no move to finish the pinky-swear.

"If you say - cunt -" and the word sounds so uncomfortable coming from Cole, he damn well looks uncomfortable just saying it, "within a hundred feet of her, I'll get Kung Lao to cut you in half." And he gesutres over to where Kung Lao and the rest of their ragtag bunch of misfits; the man in question had forgone his usual weapon for a more modern, soft-brimmed sunhat, but his jaunty wave to Kano at the sound of his name still managed to be menacing. The Australian shuddered in horror at the mere thought; at least he took the threat seriously.

"You don't have to be jealous, man," the threat seemed to only have dampened Kano's jovial attitude momentarily, as he's got a spring in his step as he follows Cole to the rest of the gathered champions, "Uncle Kano's gonna set a fuckin' - flippin' -" he corrects himself as Cole shoots him a warning look, "great example." Sonya barks a loud, derisive laugh as Cole sees fit to remind him that he's not Uncle Kano.

"Emily's a good kid," Liu Kang assures, kind and sincere.

"Yeah, she never even believes me when I tell her Kano's a dirty, little rat," Kung Lao smirks in the face of Kano's sudden outrage, and Cole is pretty sure that, despite it being Emily and Alison's idea, to give the team a day of levity and to bond, this might be the worst plan he's ever agreed to.

"This is a day of bonding, not of infighting," Raiden's voice joins them, followed by the God himself only moments later, which is enough to unite all the champions in confusion at his choice of wardrobe for the day. While still sporting a majority of his usual attire, somehow he'd managed to procure a t-shirt with a meme of all things on it, a personalised meme!

"I designed it myself, I think it turned out pretty okay; whaddya think?" Kano sounded far too proud of himself, looking at the cartoon drawing of what could only be Raiden himself pointing awkwardly at Thor as depicted in Marvel Comics, who was pointing back.

"We are both Gods of Thunder," Raiden explained, pointing to his own shirt; Sonya had gone wide-eyed, unsure of how to react, while Jaxx was doing his utmost not to burst out laughing.

"I... didn't know you knew what a meme was," Cole admits, though honestly, once the shock had worn off of, it was rather charming.

"I didn't know you knew what a meme was," Kano fired back, equally confused.

"I have a thirteen-year-old, of course I know what a meme is -" but then it seems to hit him just as it hits Sonya and Jax, and the three of them turn to the pair of confused, cave-dwelling, internet-free champions. None of them knew where to begin trying to explain the whole situation, but thankfully, Raiden chose that moment to open a lightning portal, and they all headed through quickly.

----

The night that Cole and his family had gone home after everything had gone down, the fighting, Sub-Zero, and the man he's pretty sure is the ghost of his ancestor, Emily had looked him dead in the eye and called him a super hero.

And then told him that his friends were really cool.

This was a sentiment that his new friends seemed to share about his family.

Cole quickly comes to realise that family isn't something a lot of the rest of the team have nowadays; they have each other, but for a lot of them, that's mostly it. He sits on an invite to dinner that he'd already ran past Alison several days ago, before inviting Liu Kang and Kung Lao over, if nothing else, to repay the hospitality they'd shown him so early on.

Alison's rule was that there was to be peace on their property; no training, no fighting, but the team was welcome as long as they didn't bring trouble to the door.

So then it was Sonya and Jaxx, who brought dessert when they came over.

Emily once asked what Thunder Gods ate. Did they eat? Cole wasn't sure. He extends an invite to Raiden anyways, but it's politely declined. The next time, however, he took up Cole's invite, mostly for the company, and to thank Alison and Emily for their patience; having Cole away so often wasn't easy, he'd be the first to acknowledge that. Alison appreciated the sentiment, as did Emily, though she was also just bursting with questions for the God, and he did his best to answer what he could.

Then finally - finally - after so long spent with the team, of most of them coming to find comfort and serenity in his home on the occasions that they need it, Kano is invited to Sunday lunch too.

----

"I know us champions and our super powers are pretty cool," Kano says to Emily, the moment they step through the lightning portal and emerge into the sunshine and the noise of the fair, "but I'm your favourite, right? Besides your old man, of course," and he rolls his eyes a little at that, as does Cole, for very different reasons, while Alison shoots Cole a questioning look. Thankfully she still does not trust Kano as far as she could throw him.

For her part, Emily answers incredibly diplomatically, sounding much older than her thirteen years, and quite a bit like her mother;

"Kano, you're a grown man, my approval shouldn't matter to you," she sounds sincere, which is completely undercut by Kung Lao sliding into step beside Kano.

"Which means you're not her favourite," he teases, and Kano practically growls back, embarrassed, while Emily calls out to Raiden that she likes his shirt. He practically beams.

"Not a lot of people will really get it, though," she points out, and Raiden muses on that for a moment.

"But I get it, and it's mine."

"Fair point," Emily nods at that, as their strange group steps up to buy tickets.

---

Emily spends more of the fair of people's shoulders than she does actually walking, which delights her endlessly. Mostly she's up on Jax's shoulders, and charges her cotton candy for the ride, ripping a small chunk from the one Cole had bought for her.

"It's weird seeing you all look so normal," she says to Sonya, the two of them in line for the Dodge 'Em Cars alongside Liu Kang and Kung Lao. Sonya grins, knows exactly what she means, gaze turning to the two members of the Shaolin Order of Light, not that anyone would know simply from looking at them now. Where Liu Kang had found a pair of trendy, ripped jeans was beyond Sonya's imagination.

"You look cool, though," Emily amended quickly, "I didn't realise you all would come to the fair, but I'm glad you did," she's smiling brightly as they get closer to the front of the line.

"Who did you expect to come along today?" Liu asks, eyes wide and curious. It wasn't that he was as competitive as Kung Lao or Kano, but he still found the child's interpretation of their group to be interesting. She knows, in some capacity, what they're capable off; she'd watched her father slice, dice, and kill Goro after all. The fact that she could think so highly of them speaks a lot to her capacity for kindness, or perhaps her childish naivety, but Liu preferred to think it was the former.

Emily, however, goes quiet, seems to be a little embarrassed. She mutters something, avoiding eye contact with any of them, and Liu goes to ask her to repeat herself, but she interrupts him while doing so;

"I wanted Dad to have a day off," she admitted, before adding, "and... and Lord Raiden; I don't think he's had a day off this millennium."

"It's good of you to look out for them," Sonya tells her fondly, "our team can be pretty single-minded, but we needed this day off, I think." And she gives Emily a pet on the shoulder, and lets her steer the tandem Car when they finally get a turn.

----

"It's me, right? I'm your favourite," Jax asks Emily over lunch, not because he genuinely believes it, but because it riles up Kano, and to a lesser extent, the competitive Liu Kang.

"Jax is one bad day away from pledging his allegiance to Skynet, he can't be your favourite -" Kano grumbles.

"Dad's my favourite," Emily reminds them sternly, and Cole has to hide his proud little smile, before she adds, "and mom's my favourite too, the rest of you, well of course you're all badass as hell -"

"Is it Liu? 'Cos he's pretty and you're, yanno, a teenage girl," Kano scowls at the warrior who'd been attempting to just quietly enjoy his basket of fries. Both Cole and Alison are wearing similarly murderous expressions, and Kano raised his hands in mock surrender, dropping his gaze.

"Actually," Emily said pointedly, despite the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, though she was mirroring her parents intensity, "my favourite is Raiden because he's literally a God that shoots lightning out of his hands, and you're now my least favourite because you're a rat bastard."

"I taught her that," Kung Lao was grinning from ear to ear, and when he and Emily look to each other, they share a definitive nod.

"How come he's allowed to teach her words like bastard?!" Kano demanded to know.

"Because you're a bastard," Sonya interjects.

Kano is thankfully quiet for the remainder of lunch, sulking at his end of the table as chatter returns to normal, returns to talk of how everyone else had been enjoying the day.

----

At the end of the day, Kano shoves a large, stuffed kangaroo at Emily that he'd won at the booth where you had to knock over bottles.

"Didn't even use me eye or anything; lost an hour of my life and fifty fuckin' dollars," he was grumbling, while Emily was examining the prize.

"You won this?" She seemed endeared by it, endeared by the thought that he'd put the time into winning it for her.

"'course I won it, can I stop being your least favourite now?" He asked, and Emily tucked the kangaroo beneath her arm, giving him an appraising look.

"You can't buy my loyalty -"

"Wouldn't want it if it could be bought, I know that shit from experience," Kano interjected, crossing his arms defensively, ignoring where Cole was glowering at him every time he swore.

"But you put time in, and effort, so you're back to third with everyone else."

"As long as none of those bastards is beating me, I'm okay with that."

As they headed to the exit, to where Raiden had created a lightning portal for them all to go home through, Emily reached out and punched Kano lightly in the shoulder.

"Thanks, Kano, it's pretty sweet that you care so much."

"Don't tell the others," he grumbled back.

"We've been with you all day," Jax calls out, "we already know."

[cno-inbminor]

domus (epilogue)

a/n: alright, we’re trying this ONE more time before i give up for the week. seems like tumblr tags are having an issue! but anyways, some anons in the past asked for a sort of epilogue/bonus scenes so i wrote down a few as a birthday present to you all. thank you for all the love given over these months!! stay safe, healthy, hydrated and rested. 

wc: ~2.4k // part of the domus universe

First date:

“Where are you taking me?” You ask with a grin creeping onto your face. Your eyes capture the blur of the buildings, accustomed to the warm hand laying on your thigh. The appendages squeeze your flesh in a teasing manner, causing you to look over at the man behind the steering wheel. There’s a ghost of a smirk gracing his complexion, and you imagine there’s a twinkle in his gaze behind his sunglasses.

“Do I have to remind you about what a ‘surprise’ means?” He replies and you want to smack him across the arm.

“It’s our first official date, and the only clue I have is the 2 bento boxes by my feet. Are we going on a picnic?”

“Not quite. Be patient,” Keiji playfully scolds, causing you to huff and pout for a bit.

You’re still only 70% sure when he shows off his parallel parking skills, turning the wheel with one hand and another on the back of your seat. It’s slightly concerning how much you miss his touch, but perhaps it’s somewhat resolved when he walks around the front to open your door and offer a hand. You place a wrapped bento in his free hand and grab the other one for yourself, letting him drag you for a block or two.

The surroundings become more and more familiar until you finally spot the large characters on the wall of the building. You send Keiji a curious look and he just sends you a soft smile, walking around the border, through some back alleyway that you didn’t realize existed, until you’re within the walls of your high school. The nostalgia crashes over you, almost having you feel out of place for not being in uniform. But minutes later, when Keiji whips a key out of nowhere and unlocks one of the many side entrances, leading you up the stairs, you find yourselves on the roof.

Zephyrs whip around your figures until Keiji tugs on your hand towards the direction of the wall, the slight overhang of the structure providing some shade and recluse from the sun. He sits against the concrete and dutifully unwraps the meal he so nicely made this time, and you can’t help but lean over and peck him on the cheek. It’s full of delight and unbridled affection, so much so that Keiji can’t fight the slight blush rushing to his cheeks.

You hum around the food in satisfaction (because of course, Keiji is also a decent cook, it’s not fair for someone to be so good at so many things!), munching for a few minutes before asking, “Why here of all places?”

Keiji’s eyebrows furrow somewhat before the wrinkles smooth out. “I’d always wanted to have a meal with you out here when we were still in high school – but there was never a good way or time to ask, and I didn’t want to weird you out.”

“I would’ve said yes, you know?”

“Now I do,” he chuckles. “Eat up, you’ve had a long week.”

Keiji takes you on a mini-tour of sorts, pointing out the classroom he was in and where he sat. He still remembered where Konoha’s desk was, and though Bokuto wasn’t in the same year, he could still tell you which seat was the ace’s. The two of you exchange more stories about your years here, calmly walking down the stairs until he takes you to the gym. The squeaking of sneakers and yells of teenage boys become louder and louder, but before Keiji can push back the flap of the door screen, you tug on his hand.

“Are we allowed? I feel like we’re intruding.”

“Coach knows I’m here – how else did you think I got a key?”

He brings you in before you can protest again, making sure to stay out of sight until there’s a quick water break. Only then does Keiji make his presence known, politely greeting his old coach and exchanging laughs and smiles. He makes sure to introduce you and you quickly bow, unable to contain the smile when Keiji regards you as his girlfriend. The coach makes some small indication that you seemed familiar, and then introducing Keiji to the team. Some of their eyes light up when they hear about him being the setter during the reign of Bokuto Kotarou. It’s endearing, watching your boyfriend meld back into an element of the past that he so fondly misses.

About ten minutes later, the two of you wave goodbye and leave the premises, but not before Keiji makes a cheeky suggestion to go back to his former senior classroom and make out on his old desk. You ignore the flare that ignites in your gut and attempt to hide your fluster with a roll of your eyes. Instead, he pulls you into a secluded corner and crowds over your, leaving you nowhere to run.

But when his lips meet yours and his hands grasp your waist, you can’t imagine having it any other way for a first date.

First night sleeping in bed together

It’s a bit of an accident, if you’re honest. Usually, you’re always able to make it back to your own apartment. But then after the movie was finished and you were two wine glasses in, the alcohol in combination with the shit Friday at work depleted you of all energy. Keiji, ever the doting boyfriend, picked up on your lethargy pretty quickly. He stands from the couch and merely smiles when you whine at the loss of body heat, and with little trouble, carries you bridal style to his bedroom.

“I can take the futon, mmk? He whispers as he makes room for your body, setting you down gently on his mattress. Memories stir of your impromptu visit two years ago as he tucks you in. Despite your best efforts, a wide yawn creeps past your lips as you snuggle into his pillow, letting his scent wash over you.

“Sleep with me,” you murmur, patting the empty space next to you. Keiji can’t help the flutter of his heartbeat at your invitation.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re being silly. We’re dating now, the futon is a no-no,” you sleepily chide. Keiji looks down at himself to make sure he’s wearing clothes that’s comfortable enough to sleep in, then at you for confirmation again. When you’re still wiggling your fingers on his grey sheets, he succumbs to his desires and slides underneath the layers.

Keiji lays on his side facing you, struggling to hear anything over the pounding in his ribcage. You have a hand bent up near your face and the other in front of your chest, quiet breaths leaving your body. He mimics your posture and returns the small grin you give him, brushing away the strands that look slightly displaced.

The calmness that eases into his chest is a feeling he’ll never get tired of. It’s exactly what he’s dreamed of experiencing for the last few years, the serenity in falling asleep next to the person you love. He feels incredibly lucky to be here, in this time, with you of all people. In fact, he hadn’t felt that tired earlier, but exhaustion was quickly approaching him. Before Keiji can fully pass out, he makes sure to intertwine his fingers with your free, upturned ones, squeezing slightly as a gesture of affection.

And when you tighten yours in reply, Keiji closes his eyes in peace.

When Keiji confesses just how long he’s been in love with you

Your first year dating with Keiji simply flies by, and it feels like time won’t slow down soon. Initially he wanted to take you to some fancy sushi restaurant for your anniversary, but when you showed up at his apartment the night before listing all the ways your interim manager was being completely asinine, he figured you just needed something a little more comfortable and calming the next day. So he settles for taking you to your favorite ramen restaurant, the same one he ordered from for you three years ago. It’s small yet intimate – after all, you’re more than wise to understand the significance of this establishment and what it means for the two of you.

You’re quiet on the way home, a little too quiet if Keiji is being honest. Even though you’re just looking ahead of you, there’s a faraway, pensive curtain over your gaze. You’re not holding his hand as tightly as you usually do, and Keiji’s worried that he did something wrong. Maybe he was supposed to take you somewhere nicer, pamper you like the royalty you are, buy roses, gift some jewelry—

“Do you want some ice cream, Keiji?” You ask, ripping him from his mental spiral and pointing a thumb at an ice cream stand.

“Sure,” he nods, and to his dismay, when he fishes out the correct bills, you’ve already ordered and paid.

“Don’t give me that look,” you gently scold after thanking the worker and handing him his cup. “You paid for dinner.”

“It’s our anniversary, I should be paying for everything.”

“Not because you want to?”

“I want to as well, but—”

“And I wanted to pay for the ice cream, Keiji,” you chuckle, proving your point. “I appreciate the gesture though. Come on, there’s a park over there. Let’s go sit at the bench.”

It’s easy to fall into the small talk again, though you seem to think about your answers more. There’s a weight to your words, a carefulness that seems foreign to how candid you usually are with him. The worry returns and sneaks through his veins – he wants nothing more than to just blurt it out, but that’s pushing you and he shouldn’t do that—

“Keiji, you’ll be honest with me, right? You’ll tell me the truth no matter what?” You inquire abruptly, voice timid and hesitant.

Keiji shifts his body to face you better, ready to give you his full attention. Your questions alarm him a little though. “Of course.”

“Okay,” you say, chewing your bottom lip. “Are…areyoutiredofmeyet?”

As soon as the words are rushed out, you’re looking at anything but him. It’s impossible to hide from his stare of disbelief. Things just have been going so well, you couldn’t help the insecurity that was becoming known again. Yes, you’ve healed from the events of breaking up with Kuroo – but that didn’t mean there was a big, glaring scar across the heart on your sleeve. In times like these, it sucked the light out of you and you just needed some validation.

“Look at me,” he gently prods. You’re defiant, shaking your head. But as you always do, you surrender to his touch, succumbing to the pressure that of his hand against your cheek. It’s soft in its cradle, his thumb tenderly caressing over your cheekbone.

“What makes you think that I’m getting tired of you?”

When you show signs of defiance, Keiji leans in closer until his forehead rests against yours, but remains quiet. He wants to give you time, but also let you know that an answer is imperative.

“It’s…nothing specific, really. Just some lingering fear,” you mutter and wring your hands. “It’s happened before, so I guess I wanna make sure that I don’t mess up again or something.”

He shakes his head, mentally listing all the ways he can make you feel more secure in this relationship as time goes on. Keiji figured this was going to happen at some point, but he’d rather it didn’t. The last thing he wanted you to ever think was that he didn’t love you enough – even after all these years, he only feels that his love has reached immeasurable amounts, and it still continues to grow every day.

“I’ve loved you all these years, and I feel like that at the end, we still haven’t spent enough time together. I don’t think you realize how much I want eternity with you,” he whispers, fingers moving to brush your hair away. “You’re everything I want, and I can’t imagine this with anyone else.”

A watery chuckle leaves you. “You’ve really picked up some flowery language from work, haven’t you?”

“The shoujo manga department is just down the hall, I guess I’m bound to pick up something,” he jokes back. “Doesn’t detract from the fact that I mean every word though.”

“…I’m gonna seek validation, alright? It’s inevitable.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m gonna ask you things like, ‘Do you love me?’ or ‘Are you bored of me?’, and I’ll just need a yes or no most times.”

“Well, I’m hoping that I’ll be good enough so that you won’t even have to ask. But okay, I can do that.”

You surge forward and wrap him in your arms. “Thank you, Keiji.”

“Of course. You ready to head back?”

You let him drag you up by the hand, nodding in affirmation. Things are comfortably serene for the first few minutes – Keiji notices that your eyes seem more alive and brighter, a definite contrast to what they were before. But you’re gnawing on your bottom lip again, what’s on your mind now?

“So…um, what was that thing about loving me for years?” Math might’ve not been your strong suit, but you’ve only been together for a year and years is clearly plural…

“Ah, I guess I can’t hide it anymore,” Keiji sighs, though it’s more lighthearted than anything. “I started liking you my first year of high school, and then realized I might love you sometime during my third year. Hasn’t changed since.”

“…so even in the years when I was dating Tetsurou?”

His smile morphs into something gentler and more bittersweet. “More subdued since I accepted we might never be anything more than friends, but then everything happened and you unexpectedly called me to ask if I had dinner yet…I didn’t want to sway you in your decision, but I just wanted to show how much I’ve treasured you all this time, nothing more.”

“Sorry for making you wait,” you apologize with a pout and a squeeze of his hand.

“You don’t need to apologize – I consider it more to be lucky than anything. Incredibly, ridiculously, unnervingly lucky.”

“Well, I hope we have more lucky years ahead of us.”

[sometimesrosy]

Hello Rosy! This might be a difficult ask. Don’t know if you’ve already seen what’s going on on Twitter, but a white reviewer said she couldn’t understand a book because she started reading the sequel without reading the first book. It was a paid review, for a famous magazine. The book was written by a POC, and it was so enraging that suddenly a lot of reviews, written by her, with blatant racism started showing up. She’s said some pretty bad things, such as a white reader not understanding a different culture because it’s too exotic and was presented in a “non-white way”. She also said she clearly wasn’t the best reviewer for that book as she wasn’t of the author’s ethnicity. I think that’s super ignorant, because why can’t a white person try to understand a different culture? Anyway, this got me thinking. I love fantasy, and love it even more when it grabs elements and cultures of our own world. I love learning about different cultures than my own and just get to know them. I’m from a smaller country where most people are honestly ignorant about racism. I tend to believe I can easily put myself in other people’s shoes, and I never understood this white-privilege and need for everything to be about white-culture. I think it’s very dumb when we claim things need to be changed because we don’t understand them because we are white, and so POC should change their stories so we can “relate”. Reminds me of colonialism, tbh. I mean, the world is so beautiful and so diverse? Why do we feel the need to even dictate fantasy stories that way? What I wanted to ask is, as a white person, when does it become racist when trying to get to know another culture? Until a few years ago, I didn’t know the word “exotic” was bad, for example. Is too much enthusiasm bad? As an aspiring writer who’s white cis, when does it become disrespectful to write diverse characters and try to represent their culture in a respectful, truthful way? Thank you, and I’m sorry this is so long. (Didn’t proofread, hope it’s coherent!)

This is a difficult ask. Because it’s complicated and we are all right smack dab in the middle of this cultural upheaval. It’s had to get a clear perspective on it, because we’re drowning in it. I suppose I’ll answer it, not as if I have all the answers, but as if it’s a problem that I am sorting through and sometimes struggling with myself. I have been working on this answer for three  five days now so let’s see if I can wrap it up.

I did see the issue going around on twitter but I didn’t read the book and didn’t click on the review, because, well, sometimes I get tired of giving my attention to people who are acting in bad faith about issues of race and diversity. I saw a quote yesterday about the truth of a lot of people acting in bad faith. They can PRETEND they are innocent and ignorant and don’t know what they are doing, but a professional reviewer doesn’t bother reading the first book because it isn’t worth their time and then judges the book based on their ignorance?  That’s WILLFUL ignorance. That’s disrespect. Saying they couldn’t understand it because it’s not from a white perspective is both minimizing the humanity of the non white culture, the AOC, and the book, and also putting the white pov, the white audience and the white author ABOVE everyone who is not white. 

“I can’t relate to this book because I am not centered and it is not about people who look like me and are white.”

This is part of the “white default” mentality. This mentality says that the REAL human is a middle/upperclass, christian, cishet, abled, western white man, and everyone else is some sort of hyphenated person. The more hyphens, the less they count as human. A book about a hero, is about a white man. A book about a female hero-- or heroine, is a white woman. A Black hero, a Black man. A lesbian Black female hero. A poor, muslim, bisexual, Filipino, single mom... is apparently the kind of person that those at the “top” of the identity food chain can’t conceptualize as having universal human experiences. 

Because they are “the other.”

Saying that white people can’t relate to BIPOC in the content they consume is saying that white people and BIPOC do not share the same human experience. 

That’s one of the reasons why calling someone ‘exotic’ is problematic. Because it’s othering that person, saying they are odd or weird or unusual, not even in a bad way really, but in a way that makes them NOT a regular human. Perhaps something good enough for an exotic vacation or love affair or a night out at an exotic restaurant. It turns people into consumable goods that aren’t a part of the default human’s REAL world. Exotic is spicy and attractive and sexy and foreign. Something to be explored and then discarded when you go back to your real life.  

So yes it TOTALLY is akin to colonialism. And that reviewer, using their entitlement as the basis for their review shows a marked incompetence as a reviewer. That is a BAD reviewer who acted in bad faith to attack authors and stories that were different from their dominant experience.

Okay. So that’s the discussion about the reviewer and the BIPOC authors. Listen, the publishing industry is a MESS, and it has been for years. Publishers, editors, reviewers, marketing, book covers, agents, writing associations and, the worst one for the readers, the writers, too. Yes. It’s awful, every time you turn around you find out something horrible about a favorite creator. 

I think it’s because when we create, we use who we are, underneath our polite public personas, to create new worlds and characters. And that’s the part of us that is full of biases and unquestioned prejudices, wounds, resentments, fears and weaknesses. Those things come out in our stories. No matter who we are they do. But also when a person gets power and success, our cutlure allows them to abuse that power, and then we start hearing stories about what our favorite creators do with that power-- and we start to connect that abusive or toxic or racist or transphobic behavior back to the stories, books, movies and shows that they’ve created and then, voila. It’s all painted in black and white on the page or screen or whatever. 

I think it’s just part of the vulnerability of being an artist. You put yourself out there to be seen, and that means a lot of your ugliness is visible.  We all have ugliness. We’re all raised in a racist world. Not just those who are white and powerful, but also BIPOC who have all that internalized racism or racism against other minorities, or classism or homophobia or whatever. All that stuff is in there. 

How do we keep racism and other biases out of our work? We probably can’t get rid of it all, because humans are imperfect. And also, sometimes you want to write ABOUT that imperfection. Flaws are part of what make fictional characters interesting. And sometimes we want to address that. Sometimes we WANT to tell a story without explicitly saying, “this bad and shouldn’t be that way.” There is a reason to write about the bad, hard and unfair things in life, and they shouldn’t necessarily be erased from our fiction.

BUT.

As a writer, at this point in time, you really don’t want to be at the mercy of your unquestioned biases, blindspots, ignorance, bigotry, racism, homophobia, misogyny etc. 

We, as authors, want to be aware of how these things affect our writing and stories. So I guess the first step is to be pay attention when we hear about how racism etc is shown in the world and fiction. If you can see the problem of colonialism and exoticism in reviewers or authors, if you can see how taking, say, Chinese culture as a basis for your SF world, but not having any Chinese characters or actors in your show (Serenity/Firefly) is racist, colonialist, unfair, and tbh flawed storytelling, then you have to pay attention when you yourself want to use multicultural elements in your story.

I think one thing you have to look out for as a white author writing about other cultures is a kind of cultural tourism, where you look at other cultures and try to *use* the exotic elements to spice up your story. To indicate “the other.” Or perhaps something that is exotic and consumable. Even stereotypes that seem positive to you, powerful and beautiful and exotic can be dehumanizing. Like the “magical negro,” or the “spicy latina,” or the “tech genius east asian.” Why? Because they’re caricatures, not real people.  I have also heard that sometimes using religions in your work is considered offensive because they are closed religions. You have to be a part of them to understand them. I am not sure about this, because I am not from a closed religion. I’m from a buddhist tradition that was missionary in nature. (I however hate proselytizing and it’s one of the reasons I left that religion.)

Being a mixed race, multicultural person from a minority religion, who belongs to many cultures and so doesn’t belong to any, I personally think sharing culture, art, stories and influences is a good thing. I couldn’t exist if we didn’t. And I use influences from all over in my work. 

When does this enter into appropriation? I think that is a very good question. Using a native american war bonnet to fancy up your bikini so you can get drunk at a music festival definitely seems like appropriation. Writing a well developed, well rounded Lakota character who’s been well researched and stays away harmful stereotypes... maybe not.

I would NOT write a story attempting to Tell The Truth of what it is to BE another culture. Recently a part Puerto Rican, mostly white author wrote a novel attempting to do that with, I believe, the Mexican immigrant experience, American Dirt, and as far as I can tell, failed miserably. Maybe it was a good story, but it was NOT an authentic tale of the Mexican experience. I didn’t read it, but what I read about it felt as if she thought she could write an expressionist tear jerker about her impression of someone else’s experience. As someone who shares a similar background to that author, I would NEVER have had the temerity to write about that particular story. You’re from NYC lady. What do you know of border crossings? But if I HAD incorporated that experience into my stories (not trying to offer some sort of definitive narrative) I would have done more research from primary sources.

Now all authors are writing about other experiences. Other lives. If not, it would all be scarcely concealed autobiographies. We could only ever write about people who looked like us and came from exactly the same backgrounds and had the same experiences as ours and how boring would that be? This topic is SUPER complicated and I keep thinking about more things to address, but if I keep going I’ll never finish this and it will be too long for everyone to read anyway. 

Let’s sum up.

Can you, a white person, write about cultures not your own? Yes. With cautions.

be aware of your own biases and racism and assumptions

don’t attempt to write a definitive experience. Don’t write about what it’s like to BE Black unless you are Black. You can’t know. Even Black people don’t have the same experience.

stay away from negative stereotypes and be on the look out for less negative ones that are still dehumanizing.

don’t consume someone else’s culture and disrespect the people. 

remember to keep your BIPOC characters well rounded, realistic, and human. They all have pasts and families and fears and hopes and traumas and careers. Don’t treat them as a prop for your white characters. (although do remember that all secondary characters are there to support the MCs, so this can be tricky.)

RESEARCH. Simply basing a character or culture on someone you know is not enough. You should also be aware of history, culture, other depictions, the conversation about that culture, the voices of the people, etc.

Be willing to take criticism. Anyone writing BIPOC characters or cultures is going to get criticism. Period. It’s gonna happen, whether you’re a white author or a BIPOC. Sometimes AOC are more inspected than white authors. All the time, actually, from both white people and POC. 

BE RESPECTFUL. Write BIPOC characters as human as white characters who share your culture. 

oh I’m sure there’s more. but i’m hitting post now or I’ll never send this. 

[nonasuch]

also i wrote another 1500 words of ben solo vs. the darkest timeline and I have no chill and no patience so here you go:

The recruiting campaign started slow and quiet, taking them through parts of the Inner Rim that had never wavered from the Republic. Ma wanted to build a support base that could muster troops and amass supplies on their own steam, and without drawing too much of the First Order’s notice. Ben knew that was how Ma liked to work: tell her people what was needed, and trust them to do it right.

The First Order didn’t work that way, of course. There were reports already of worlds stripped bare for metals and water, shipyards driven to their limit, whole populations pressed into service. It was mostly vague, though, mostly broad strokes. Not much news of their internal politics ever made it to the free parts of the galaxy, and what there was came mostly from a small-but-steady trickle of low-level defectors. 

Apparently the new Supreme Leader wasn’t big on having his praises sung, at least compared to Snoke.

Ben wasn’t the one who suggested Naboo; that was Connix, who was shrewder about politics in his own universe, too. “It’s time for a statement,” she said. “They know we’re building up forces, so let’s show we’re not afraid to do it in public.”

Ma didn’t like it, Ben knew. She always felt a little guilty about recruiting from Naboo. Ben had never agreed with her about that. Sure, they were towards the pacifist end of things, historically, but it was a wealthy planet that could afford to help, and didn’t need much convincing. They had a weird mix of guilt and pride, there, that came from producing both the old Emperor and the mother of the Rebellion, and there had always been plenty of Naboo recruits in the Rebellion and the Resistance.

She agreed to it, eventually. They took the Falcon, and about half of the little convoy they’d managed to build up so far: not really a fleet, yet, but on its way there.

“While we’re there,” Ben said, “are we visiting Grandma?”

Ma gave him a sharp look. “I haven’t done that in years,” she said. “But if you want to.”

She couldn’t make time for it right away. They had a bunch of audiences with the current queen and the ruling council, which meant a lot of very formal dinners that Ben was thankful to be excused from. Apparently they were impressed by Rey and found Finn and Rose just terribly inspiring. Nobody mangled their pronunciations enough to upset the Gungan councilors. When Ben went walking in the lower city, there were a lot of people agreeing with each other that something had to be done, that Naboo had never turned its back on the free galaxy before and they weren’t about to start now.

After a few days of that, Ma could take an afternoon off to visit the tombs of Naboo’s queens.

Ben’s grandmother had a mausoleum that was almost half again as big as any of the others, a florid pile of early-Empire excess. It was, frankly, pretty ugly from the outside, but one of the first queens under the New Republic had ordered all of the Imperial symbols and regalia stripped out, and the result on the inside was spare and clean and peaceful.

The lid of the sarcophagus was carved to look like Padmé lying there atop it, eyes closed, hair fanned out around her face, hands resting on her round belly. When he was a kid, Ben had studied her, looking for a resemblance; he could see it in Ma, but not really in himself. Now Ma was so much older than her mother had ever been, with lines on her face that Ben couldn’t imagine in the smooth, serene marble.

At the foot of the tomb there was a brass-colored bowl, with a blue flame burning forever in it. Ma knelt down in front of it, and Ben knelt down beside Ma. He watched her unpin her hair, pluck a few strands free, and coil it back up again. Ben yanked out a couple of his own -- he hadn’t cut his hair yet in this universe, and he probably needed to -- and handed them to Ma.

She wound them up into a little knot, and dropped it into the blue flame, and lit a stick of incense to cover up the burnt-hair smell. “There,” Ma said. She brushed a bit of incense off her hands, let Ben brace her as she stood. Ben had done this with her a dozen or so times, and she never wanted to stay any longer than she had to.

But there was something Ben wanted to try. It had only ever worked the once, at home, but -- Ben had a feeling. “I’m going to stick around,” he said.

“If you like,” Ma said.

Alone, Ben sat down on the floor again, his back to the tomb, and listened to the Force. It was calm here, with hardly any living sentients nearby. There had been a time, once, when people came here to heap the floor with offerings of flowers and fruit, to spill out their grief and anger at what had been lost to the Empire. But that was long ago, and the Force had long since carried all of that emotion away. Ben could just pick up the echoes, if he tried, but they weren’t what he was looking for.

You don’t belong here, said a voice.

Ben opened his eyes. “Hi, Grandpa.”

You know I’m not really your grandfather, said Anakin Skywalker. For one thing, my grandson hasn’t listened to me for years.

“I know,” said Ben. “I’m sorry about that. Things turned out -- better, for me.”

Yes, said Anakin. He looked like the man he’d been before his Fall. Younger than Ben, except around the eyes. The Force is always bigger than we expect it to be, isn’t it? Turns out there’s enough room for everything to happen, somewhere.

“Yeah, I was surprised about that, too,” said Ben, as dry as he could make it. He didn’t get a laugh, but the corner of his grandfather’s mouth ticked up, just a little.

So, grandson who listens to me, what do you want to know?

Ben shrugged. He had his big heart-to-heart with his own version of Anakin already, and it had been weird and cathartic and nothing Ben ever wanted to repeat. “I was hoping -- do you know how I get home? Or even how to just, I don’t know, send a message, tell them I’m all right.”

But Anakin shook his head. Sorry, kid. For a moment he flickered, blurring into the way he’d looked at the end of his life, bald and scarred. There are paths in the Force to everything that’s ever happened, or could happen. But I’ve been dead for a long time. If I left this universe I don’t think I’d find my way back. And if I were going to go -- nothing against your universe, but there are other ones I’d look for.

“That’s fair,” said Ben. He could imagine the kind of universe Anakin would look for. Maybe one where, if there was still a tomb here at all, the effigy on the lid was a woman with more lines on her face than her daughter. How big a change would that universe need, to exist? As far as Ben knew, the only thing separating Ben’s universe from this one was that he hadn’t lost his shit at Luke and burned down the Temple. 

Was there a choice some other Anakin made, or didn’t make, that sent his whole galaxy down a brighter path? Which one was it?

“Do you know what he did, that I didn’t?” Ben asked. “I mean, besides the obvious. Why he did -- that -- instead of anything else he could have done.”

I think you’d have to ask him yourself, Anakin said.

“If we’re ever in the same star system, I’m going to be too busy trying to fucking kill him,” said Ben. “So if you’ve got any suggestions for how to stop wanting to do that, I’m all ears.”

I’m definitely the wrong person to ask about that, said Anakin. I think you might actually be this galaxy’s leading expert in not falling to the Dark Side.

“No,” said Ben. “Ma has more practice.”

Yeah, but you were pushed harder.

“Tied for first, maybe,” Ben allowed.

Sure. If you like. Anakin pushed up off the floor -- Ben noticed that, standing, his blue, semitransparent feet floated about a half-inch above it -- and said, I wish there was more I could tell you. But he’s been closed off to me for a long, long time.

“I get it,” Ben said. Which wasn’t exactly true, because Force ghosts never made any fucking sense, not really. But he knew that this wasn’t where his answers would come from. “So, uh. Should I go, or…?”

Leia’s waiting for you, Anakin said. He reached out to the tomb, his spectral hand floating a half-inch from the peaceful, unlined marble face. It’s okay. I’m going to stay for a while. May the Force be with you, Ben.

“Thanks,” said Ben. He left his grandparents to their rest.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1038]

Ellana watches with narrowed eyes as the Iron Bull casually starts to arrange her clothes near the fire so that they can warm. He straightens each garment out and lays it flat, or hangs it over the wooden chair he’s dragged towards the fireplace.

“Why are you being nice?” Ellana pulls a blanket around her shoulders, shuffling down the bed towards him. Is he trying to steal one of the vials of dragon’s blood the Inquisitor gave her? Is that it? She already told him no. She doesn’t think he’d resort to stealing it out of her pockets while she’s indisposed. “What’s wrong with you?”

Bull laughs, “I can’t just be nice?”

“No,” Ellana spits out, “You’re never just nice. What’s the catch?”

Bull glances at her over his shoulder before he returns to arranging her cloak over the back of the chair. “Watch it, Wolf. You’re going to hurt my feelings if you keep talking like that. I can be nice. I can be plenty nice. Ten minutes ago I was being very, very nice to you.”

“You aren’t arranging my clothes for me just because I let you put your mouth on me this one time,” Ellana retorts. “What’s the matter with you? Are you dying? Am I dying?”

Ellana casts a glance around the room. She’d politely told the Wolf to fuck on off when she decided earlier today that yes, she’d give Bull’s previous suggestion of a new type of physical intimacy a shot. But if the she’s actually dying she’s pretty sure the Wolf would have stuck around anyway.

No god to be seen.

Ellana pokes out a tendril of magic.

No god to be felt.

If he’s not here now she’s not going to try calling him.

Ellana leans against the footboard, trying to assess the Iron Bull for clues.

“I can be nice,” Bull repeats. “Not everything is transactional, Wolf. I got you a cat for your birthday. You don’t see me asking for anything in return. I’m not even asking you to stop using your cat against me like a projectile weapon.”

Ellana scowls. “Usually when you go out of your way to be nice to me it turns around to bite me in the ass. Do not literally turn around to try and bite me in the ass.”

There’s an audible click when Bull shuts his mouth against the lewd joke he was probably about to make.

“You’re nice to me when the situation arises,” Ellana admits. “You’re nice to people when it suits you and when the opportunity is in front of you to be. But you don’t go out of your way to find those opportunities.”

He can’t see her with his back to the bed, but Ellana finds herself pointing anyway.

“I don’t think you normally get out of bed after sex to start arranging your partner’s clothes so they’re nice and warm,” Ellana says. “If you’re getting out of bed I would wager it’s so you could leave.”

“I’m not leaving, and I’m not doing this because you agreed to try something in bed,” Bull says. “And you know I don’t lie to you. So you can conclude that I’m being nice just because.”

“You’re not nice just because,” Ellana protests, scouring her mind for any other explanation for this bizarre behavior. “Wait. No.” Ellana presses her thumb to the dip between her brows. “You’re nice when you’ve done something. What did you do?”

Bull slowly rises to his feet, walking over to run his hand through her hair. The heat of his palm feels good over her forehead, her hair.

“I’m being nice,” Bull says, “Because I feel like it. You’re reading too deep into it.”

Ellana pushes his hand off and flops down, pulling some more blankets around herself as she thinks. Bull picks her up and pulls her against his side, trying to take a few blankets for himself. She allows this, but she also pointedly kicks a few she hadn’t been using at him.

Bull laughs as he reaches for those, too, leaving her to think.

There’s no holiday or occasion coming up that she can recall, but Bull’s head is better for dates than she is so she can’t be sure. It could be that. But it’s unlikely.

This could be the prelude to him asking her to do something. But Bull’s rarely done that before. In fact, Ellana doesn’t think he’s ever done that before. If Bull wants something from her he just asks her. And Ellana will either say yes or no, and that’s it. Well. Sometimes Ellana will argue that there’s someone better equipped to do it, but then Bull will explain why it has to be her. And then Ellana will try to argue some more, but they both know that she’s going to do it anyway. Or. Bull will drop it immediately and never speak it of again unless Ellana brings it up herself.

Chances are he's done something and she’s going to find out soon. Or he’s about to do something and he’s trying to butter her up so she doesn’t get quite as upset with him as she would normally. That’s entirely plausible. He’s done that before. But not like this. Normally his attempts at bribery take the form of him laying low, lulling her into some sense of passive serenity, before he springs it on her.

“I’m going to get self-conscious,” Bull says, leaning his chin on top of her head. “Am I really such a shitty person that I can’t just be nice to you because I want to?”

Ellana presses one of her knuckles to her lips, her teeth.

“Hush, I’m thinking,” Ellana mutters.

“I need to re-evalutate this current persona,” Bull says, “Apparently I forgot to work in that the Iron Bull is capable of being nice.”

“You’re nice,” Ellana sighs, “But this kind of nice is very unusual and it’s put me on my guard.”

“I promise you, this is just because I felt like it,” Bull says. “It’s nothing more, nothing less. You can stop reading into it. There’s other things to talk about. Like if you found tonight’s experience okay.”

“It was wet,” Ellana deadpans. “And unhygienic. We both need a bath. Right now.”

“So we aren’t doing it again?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. You can find someone else to do that with, though, I’m sure.” Ellana shrugs. “Are you sure you aren’t up to something? No guilty conscience you’re trying to make up for?”

“If there is something to make up for then even I don’t know about it,” Bull replies. “But moving forward I’m going to have to try to be extra nice to you because you’re being very weird about me being nice right now.”

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 22

Read along on AO3 Here

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This time: Ezra demands answers from Eli.

Next time: Maybe Thrawn was right.

-/

The medbay was quiet when Ezra finally made his way in. There was a lingering fear of what he’d find, but he pushed it back. Nothing could have been worse than what he’d seen. Even aboard the bridge of the Chimaera, when the purgill’s tails held him in place, he’d never seemed truly helpless. And that, Ezra had decided, rivaled the Grysks he’d encountered in terms of terror. Beings like Thrawn just weren’t supposed to be like that.

Ezra quietly opened the door that separated the bay Thrawn had been assigned from the rest of the medical quarter. He wasn’t surprised to see Thrawn asleep, but he was surprised to see Un’hee. She moved fast.

The small Navigator had already pulled a chair up as close to the edge of the bed as she could so she could wrap her hands around the arm that was not being used to administer medications. She lifted her head when she heard him, her forehead bowed to touch the top of his hand.

“Hi,” He said softly to the girl.

“Hi,” She echoed back as Ezra inspected Thrawn. The slightest peek of bandages were visible, but they, like the sheets pulled over him, were a stark, unblemished white. “Did they tell you?”

“Yeah,” Ezra said in relief, grabbing a chair and moving it closer with an easy wave of his hand. He dropped into it on Thrawn’s other side. In Basic, he added, “Thank the Force.”

Un’hee dipped her head, almost seeming pensive, just for a moment. “Yeah,” She echoed. “I was really worried.”

Ezra didn’t reach out to touch Thrawn, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. They weren’t touchy people. He leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms, drawing the Force up and around them. Un’hee, he realized, felt weird. Electric. He’d never felt her like this before. Maybe it was a lingering panic? “Are you okay?” He asked her, tilting his head. “I know that was really scary,” He added.

She nodded slowly. “I am fine,” She said. “I was scared,” She admitted. “I still am. I don’t want anything like this to happen again. Not to anyone.”

“Me either,” Ezra agreed. “I’m going to keep an eye on him. This never should have happened,” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have turned my back on him. I never sensed his ill-intent toward Thrawn, not even at the end when he grabbed me.”

“Chiss are difficult to sense, even to each other,” Un’hee whispered warily. “I felt like something was wrong, but I didn’t know what it was until it happened.”

“You saved him, though,” Ezra said. “If you hadn’t known how serious it was - what it was,” He revised, “They never would have made an antidote in time.”

The Chiss girl frowned, looking into Thrawn’s sleeping face. Unlike Ezra, whose face went slack and serene when he was unconscious, Thrawn retained that same sternness, his lips held in a serious line despite the rest of his face being smooth and impassive. “I’m just glad they did,” She said softly, evenly. She pressed her forehead back against Thrawn’s arm where it lay above the thin white sheet and blanket and remained silent for a long, long time.

That was fine. Ezra used the time to immerse himself in much-needed meditation. The Chiss’s deep-sleeping breaths were a balm for his anxiety, and an anchor to prevent him from slipping down into the Force too deeply. He refused to let his guard down. If Ar’alani was concerned, this wasn’t a drill. Thrawn - hell, both of them were probably still in danger. Ivant might have thought that an attack would be directed at him, but Ezra couldn’t help but feel like an attack on Thrawn was more of a show of their displeasure at the Chiss bringing him back after things with the Empire went wrong.

He exhaled in frustration, all but hearing his master’s knowing hum. Right, Ezra thought. Get back on track. Give it to the Force. There’s nothing he could do about that now. He was here in this moment, and so was Thrawn. It was up to Ezra to make sure nobody got another opportunity to do something like this, antidote or not.

-/

“You need to sleep,” Vah’nya instructed him after a lengthy silence. She tucked her legs beneath her as she sat, having just exchanged his most recent mug of caf for a cup of calming wintermint tea, “Or, you need to get over yourself and go sit with him.”

Commenting on something else entirely, he began, “Where’d you-”

“The Admiral gave me a few sachets,” She admitted, then pressed, “She’s not stupid, you know. For now, all we can do is wait for the remainder of the chemicals to run their course.”

“I know,” Eli looked up at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Admiral said that, too. I just,” He sighed. “It’s easier said than done.”

The Senior Navigator exhaled slowly. “Do you wish to speak about it?”

“Not really,” Eli admitted.

Vah’nya hummed, rubbing at a scratch in the well-worn mugs she’d managed to get from the Admiral’s office. She didn’t look up at him right away when she spoke. “Your officers said you didn’t panic. That is a big feat,” She finished, gracing him with a smile. It was a bigger distraction than the more obvious topic, the actual big-ticket item: Un’hee and her newly manifested abilities.

He bit hard, and she saw through the mild irritation in his tone, “I couldn’t have panicked, Vah’nya. We’d have had bodies, plural, on our hands.”

She hummed. “Exactly. You are a good commander, Eli. Your actions-”

“A good commander would have seen what was going on before it happened,” The human spat. There was the temper. Vah’nya hid her smile with a pointed sip of tea. “Thrawn never would’ve let something like that happen to one of his officers.”

“Thrawn never would have known what that was,” Vah’nya reminded him. “Maybe he’d seen it in some report, but I doubt he would have known the amount that could kill someone instantly, like you and Un’hee did. It isn’t documented.” Her eyes were wide, their glow bright in the dim light of the empty ready room that would serve as his interim office. She leveled him with a serious gaze. “You didn’t hesitate.”

“No, but now I get the stigma of killing my second officer on the bridge of my own damn ship. As if being this,” He gestured to himself like he was some sort of freak, “Wasn’t enough.” Some of the more prejudiced Chiss definitely saw him that way, and he’d never quite gotten used to their open disdain.

“Well, if you were going to get heat for it,”Un’hee reminded him patiently, “Admiral Ar’alani would have already punished you herself. This is not your Empire. We are flawed, Eli, but I would hope we are better than the worst of what you’ve left behind.”

At that, the Captain leaned forward, finally picking up the mug of tea. “It is,” He began. “You are. I just-” He sighed again. “I don’t mean to be like this,” He said. “Not to you.”

“I know,” Vah’nya said. “Which is why you should go see him. You’ll never calm down until you do,” She reminded him kindly. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I saw him already, Vah’nya. I watched Un’hee work. I know he’ll be alright.”

“So?” She smiled again, both soft and understanding. “I know for a fact there is a difference between sitting with someone you care about with and without the Admiral watching. Not that I believe she would judge you, but, some things are private.”

Eli nodded, looking down into his cooling tea, as if the murky green-blue-brown color of it would hold some answers for him. If anyone understood that, it was Vah’nya. Vah’nya who had sat with him for so many of those long nights during his recovery, mindful of the boundaries between friendship enhanced by suffering and polite concern when others were watching. Theirs was a bond forged by mutual pain, by memories remembered if only to prevent the same fate from befalling someone else, and a determination to live when everything else had failed.

“Wanna go for a walk?” He asked her when she’d finished her tea. He was trying to be light about it, so she played along like a true friend.

She inclined her head. “Of course, Eli.” When he rose, she followed, stopping only to place her hands on his shoulders in a show of support. “You are not alone,” She reminded him.

Eli covered her hands with his. “I know,” He said, squeezing. “Thank you, Vah’nya.”

-/

Jerked from meditation by the sound of approaching footsteps, Ezra found himself meeting the gaze of a hesitant looking Captain Ivant. He rose, stiffening to attention. On the other side of Thrawn’s bed, Un’hee was asleep, curled in her chair, still halfway attempting to hold the unconscious Chiss’s hand. Somehow, Ezra knew if Thrawn were awake, he’d very much dislike the clinginess of it, but would probably bear the discomfort for the girl’s sake.

“Any changes?” Ivant asked.

“No,” Ezra said, sitting back down but not quite relaxing. “Any questioning you’ll need to do about what happened will have to wait.”

Eli frowned. “I’m not here to question him,” He assured. “I was just worried.”

“You weren’t worried when it happened,” Ezra accused quietly. “Convenient.”

The older human’s eyebrows rose. “What? What do you mean I wasn’t worried. Of course I was. He’s a part of my crew. He’s my responsibility.”

“Yeah, he is,” The Jedi agreed, careful to keep his voice low enough to prevent him from waking Un’hee. He seemed to consider something for a minute before finally motioning to the door. “I need to talk to you. Outside.”

Vah'nya appeared behind Ivant, her head tilted in a wordless question. Ivant shook his head once, decidedly. “Okay,” He said. “Let’s step outside.” To Vah’nya, he added, “Stay in here until we come back, okay?”

She confirmed she would, and Ivant led Ezra out of the medbay and into the nearest vacant service corridor. When it was clear they were alone, Ivant turned back to him expectantly. “What is it?” He asked, concerned.

“I guess I should apologize now, since you’re my superior officer-”

“Just say what’s on your mind,” Ivant waved away the Jedi’s attempt at formality.

Ezra evaluated him for a few seconds. “Well, why were you coming to see him? You knew he wasn’t going to be awake, so why now?”

A hint of discomfort echoed through Ivant’s tone, disguised as formality. “Is it alright if I worry about my subordinate, Jedi Bridger?”

“Yeah,” He began, “I mean, yes, sir.” He shrugged, then commented mildly, “I guess it’s like this is just… routine to you. Like it’s nothing that Thrawn almost died.”

Eli’s frown deepened. “It’s definitely not nothing, Ezra,” He relented. “But the situation with Thrawn is complicated, and not really your - or anyone else’s business.”

“Right.” Ezra said. “Well, all I’m saying is that you don’t get to pick when it’s convenient to care about someone. You either do, or you don’t.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Ivant refuted, meeting the steely gaze of his lone human counterpart, assessing how he appeared to be feeling.

“Right,” The Jedi muttered again. “Sure.”

“You’re pissed at me,” He said. “I get it. This happened on my ship, on my bridge. It’s my responsibility.” He considered adding that he was furious at himself as well, but it wasn’t the time. This wasn’t about him.

Ezra put both hands on his hips. His captain was absolutely right. “Of course I’m pissed, and yeah, this is on you!” That wasn’t completely fair, but with a target to direct his anger, Ezra couldn’t help himself. “How did this get under your nose without you knowing about it? He was your second officer!”

Ivant agreed, that was a fact. “He was. Commander Wes’lash’andi was a smart officer, and he would have gone far if not for what he’d done.” The Captain said, focusing only on the facts. Ezra was compassionate and strong. And more than anything, he was well and truly loyal to Thrawn, his entry point into this end of the Galaxy. He cared about helping the Ascendancy, but Eli knew it was deeper than that. Thrawn had been willing to abandon his principles to try and salvage a downright evil situation, for sake of what he believed to be the greater good of the galaxy. He’d lost his way, that was never a question. Still, he wasn’t irredeemable. Ezra’s being here proved that.

“And he almost killed Thrawn.”

“I was there, Bridger,” He replied immediately, an edge to his tone. “As for your question of how this happened, what do you think?”

“Well we can’t ask Commander Slasha,” Ezra’s eyes flashed.

“No, we can’t.” Then, in Basic, a language hardly any of the crew could understand, much less speak, Ivant continued. “He had Grysk poison, Ezra. We found more in his bunk. Not enough to kill everyone on board, but certainly enough to take out another fifty members of our crew. Do you have any idea how that much of something gets aboard a ship like the Compass?” He paused after asking, brows steep, eyes cold.

“I-”

Vanto spoke over whatever half-cocked answer Ezra was trying to formulate. “The answer is not alone. It would have had to have come through another ship. Another crew. Someone brought it to him.”

“What about when we were docked?”

“Doubtful. Copero is a military shipyard. Their protocols are too strict.”

Ezra considered. “Then via shuttle? We would have seen a Grysk ship.”

“It wouldn’t be a Grysk ship,” Eli said, resisting the urge to shake the young man by the shoulders, roughly. “Think.”

It didn’t take the Jedi long to put it together. “They - their client species,” He said softly. “One of them?”

“Correct.” Ivant crossed his arms. “Which one?”

“I don’t… anyone could meet him in the hangar with a non-descript ship.”

“We have surveillance in the hangar. Not anyone.”

“Well, the Chiss don’t just work with anyone,” Ezra sassed back, then recoiled, remembering he was speaking to his superior officer.

Eli didn’t comment on the tone, instead asking, “You understand now, Bridger?”

“Why would someone do this to their own people?” Ezra looked confused. Conflicted. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“There’s never just one.” Eli leaned against the wall. “Emperor Palpatine is willing to work with the Grysks to get Thrawn back. Both sides think they can work over the other to come out ahead.”

“And… you’re saying that whoever in the Ascendancy who is willing to work with the Grysks is thinking the same thing?”

The boy was smarter than he acted sometimes, Eli would give him that. He wondered absently if this was a bit how Thrawn thought of him in their academy days, when Eli himself had to be led point by point to a conclusion. He’d like to think he was a little more analytical, but he highly doubted it.

“Yes.”

“Do you think they can?””

To that, Eli frowned, his expression shifting from wary to stormy and dark. “No,” He said. “I don’t think so.”

“But you did. You and Vah’nya came out ahead.”

Unfortunately, Ezra didn’t miss Eli’s shudder. “Our escape from the Grysks, our ability to kill them at all was a miracle. Our survival even more so. If the Grysks are working with a faction or family within the Ascendancy, they will believe they have control, that they’re capable of the deception.”

“But you did,” He argued.

Eli stopped him there. “I didn’t. I supplied the data to find Thrawn. I gave them the formulas, the tools. I never gave myself enough access to key data, never let myself memorize it. So even if they ripped my mind to shreds,” He paused, something haunted in his eyes making Ezra swallow hard, “They probably wouldn’t have been able to find the Chimaera before Ar’alani got to it. It was just an added bonus that the Grysks were arrogant enough to think I was a mere hireling for the first bit. They won’t make that kind of mistake with actual Chiss. And certainly not with Chiss of any significant power.”

The Jedi toed a scuff on the floor with his boot, obviously trying to process that information, likely to inform Thrawn as soon as the other man was awake. “Ar’alani - er, Admiral Ar’alani asked me to keep an eye on Thrawn.”

“Good,” Eli said. “I figured you would have.” He motioned to the exit to the service hallway. “Can we go back and check on the Commander now?”

“I suppose.”

The look Eli received before the Jedi turned away from him was full of suspicion and defensiveness. Ezra might trust his judgement when it came to the Ascendancy and their enemies, but he clearly didn’t trust Eli personally. Eli sighed silently, rubbing at his temples as he followed along behind Ezra. It didn’t look like he would be able to visit Thrawn peacefully after all.

[siswritesyanderes]

What about a Yandere Luna Lovegood with a no-nonsense s/o? "Luna, how'd you know he was even talking to me?" "Oh, the nargles told me... They're quite ugly around him, seem to take after their owner..." "Luna... You've used nargles as an excuse to threaten seven people by now. It's getting old."

(I love this. Why have I never thought of this?)

You can’t really blame her. Well, you can, and you do, but you can at least understand how things escalated: She was lonely, and you were polite. “Kind”, as she put it, but you think “polite” is a more impartial assessment.

When you first overheard the other students making fun of her, you defended her. But of course you did; they were being ridiculous and ruining the learning environment noticeably more than her weirdness ever did. And when they were gone, you exchanged a few polite words with her and carried on.

And she carried on with you.

You didn’t mind. You were glad to be of help, keeping the bullies away. At any rate, she really wasn’t nearly as annoying as people made her out to be; her airy, unobtrusive presence was honestly enjoyable. And it was sort of flattering to have someone rush to walk at your side; someone eager to keep up with you even in the busy hallways, catching onto your robe at times; someone who ate faster when she saw you were almost done (even though at this point you always waited for her to finish her meal before leaving the Great Hall).

Maybe you were a little lonely, too.

Eventually, you started conversing with one another, when the two of you were in the Library or at meals. You were somewhat impressed by the fact that, despite her whimsical demeanor, she had quite a candid streak when it came to conversation. Frank, even. She was easy to talk to. Not just easy- rewarding. Everything you said to her came with positive reinforcement. You could ask her if she understood the Charms assignment, and she would smile as if your words had singlehandedly uninvented sadness.

Uncharacteristically, it took you a while to notice something that didn’t quite make sense:

“How do you find me after all of my classes?” you asked her one day. Not all of your classes were taken with her, but still she always managed to walk with you between them.

She smiled absently and hummed a one-note song. “The nargles tell me where you are all the time.”

“Nargles, Luna?”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes were on her hands, which were tracing invisible patterns on the table in front of her. Normally, when nargles (or whatever other creatures) came into conversation, she made direct eye contact, her tone earnest and excited. This distractedness bordering on evasion was new.

“I don’t believe you,” you said straightforwardly.

She sighed. “Most people don’t. That’s okay though.”

“You know what I mean; I’m not saying that I don’t believe nargles are real-”

“But you don’t, though.”

“I have no opinion on the subject. I’m saying that I don’t believe you’re telling the truth about how you find me.”

She smiled brightly, and now her eyes met yours. “You don’t have to believe me. You’re already the best friend I’ve ever had; trusting me might just gild the lily and make me too happy. And then where would we be?”

You were not inclined to continue the conversation.

Luna just seemed elated that you hadn’t rejected the title “friend”.

It was fine being Luna’s friend, although you worried it had adverse effects on your ability to socialize with other people. You joined a club for one of your interests, just to feel like you regularly spoke to someone other than her, which was apparently not the best of moves.

One day, Luna trotted up to you with a serene expression. “I have a gift for you,” she said.

“What is it?” If you were slightly wary, it was only because of course you were.

She held up a handful of brown hair. “I found this.”

“Found it where?”

“The nargles gave it to me. They said it’s from a boy called Orville…or Oswald…or Orson…something like that…And they said he won’t be going to your club meetings anymore.”

You were sure your expression was a delightful mix of stern, exasperated, and horrified. After two full seconds, you blinked, and the first thing you said was, “Do not give me human hair!”

“Alright.” She threw the ball of hair over her shoulder. “Just as well; I don’t think he washed it very thoroughly. Although they say the more hair you keep, the more whizmurgoblins you attract; that’s why I keep mine so long-”

“Luna,” you interrupted. “What happened to Osmond?”

“Oh, that was his name! Normally I’m not nearly that close.”

“Luna.”

“I told you, it was the nargles. You can ask again, but I’ll say the same thing. I’ve read that friends often have the same conversations over again, so maybe it could be fun.”

(You try to ask Osmond what happened, but he avoids you like the plague, and all of his friends either seem confused or give you dirty looks.)

Next time, she skipped up to you with a handful of short, pale sticks. “Another gift from the nargles!” she announced cheerfully.

“Merlin’s trousers, Luna. What are those?”

“Kimberly Penhallow’s finger bones; apparently she’s in the Hospital Wing regrowing them. And she’s quit the club as well. The nargles told me.”

“The nargles told you.”

“Oh yes.”

“Luna, are you attacking my club members?”

“I think the nargles might be. They’re awfully territorial, you know. But a lot of things are. When you value something or someone quite a lot, it makes sense to want them to be just yours.” (You suddenly recalled how your table-mate at Potions had up and moved tables one day for seemingly no reason. You didn’t even have Potions at the same time as Luna; how did she know?) “Especially when everyone else takes them for granted. Watching people fail to appreciate someone- or something -truly magnificent can be upsetting, I imagine.” She slipped her arm around yours to keep from being parted by the crowd. “But I don’t always know what the nargles are thinking.”

You didn’t shake her off, but you sighed. “Do not give me human bones,” you said.

Luna tossed the bones over her shoulder. Looking back, you saw that they had landed inside a passing student’s bag. “No more hair, no more bones.”

“Or blood or organs,” you added, because if she ambled up to you tomorrow and handed you eyeballs, you were going to be studying at Beauxbatons next year.

“No hair, bones, blood, or organs. Anything else?”

“I don’t know.”

The two of you exited into the bright sunlight of the Clock Tower Courtyard, now. The area wasn’t as densely populated, but Luna still walked as close to you as if it was. As if she might lose you.

“Can I tell you that I love you?” she asked lightly.

“No,” you said, because this was such a mad situation and she was still holding onto your arm.

“Okay,” was her easy reply.

Once you had had a night’s sleep and processed the facts of the matter, you were more exasperated than anything.

“I’ve quit the club,” you snapped at her, unprompted, the next day. “Alright?”

“I’ll have to tell the nargles,” she said, with an adoring smile. “Hopefully, I get to them in time; I already found three of Gregory Brown’s fingernails, and I suspect they’re behind it.” She held out the fingernails in her palm, looking almost as if she hoped you would be proud of her. Oh Merlin, they weren’t just clippings.

“Are fingernails not made from skin, Luna? Skin is an organ. I said no organs.”

“As a bodily structure, they’re more analogous to horns or hooves than anything. You don’t want nails either?”

You ran a hand over your face. “Why have I not reported you to Flitwick?”

“Because my attention makes you feel good about yourself, and you’ve gotten used to that.”

“You’ve been manipulating me.”

“You say ‘manipulating’ like it’s a bad thing, but the term itself is neutral. I take care of you, is all. Like you take care of me. We need each other.” She did a spin as the two of you descended a great grassy hill on the school grounds. Her face upturned to look at the sky and clouds for a second, but then her gaze returned to you as if she couldn’t help herself. She erased the distance that had been made between the two of you by her spin, both of her hands going to grip your robes even though this was the grounds and there was nobody within ten meters of either of you.

You sat by the water and did your Herbology homework: Write down ten species of plant found by the Black Lake. She wove weeds into your hair as you worked, then around your ankle, then your wrist. You glanced up from your writing, once, and saw that her lips were moving.

“Are you casting something?”

“Just talking to the nargles,” she soothed. “You can finish your work.”

Against your better judgement, you did, (in lieu of pursuing the topic) and once you were able to set your work aside, you leaned back and took in the lovely day.

Surprisingly, Luna did not lean back, but rather remained upright and cross-legged, at most seeming to take this new angle as an opportunity to stare at you full-on. Does she ever blink?

“Can I tell you that I love you?” she asked again.

“No,” you told her once more.

She seemed to ponder this, shifting position to sit on her heels. “I want to make you feel good things,” she said. “Being with you makes me feel really good, and sometimes it seems like I can never make you feel as good as you make me feel.” She finally lowered herself to the grass, then, on her stomach instead of her back, and she was resting along your side but still staring up into your face. Her nose was enfolded in your robes, and you had a suspicion that she was deliberately smelling you. “Tell me how to make you feel good things, and I’ll do it.”

For some reason, despite her unaggressive manner of speaking, this felt like a challenge; as if this was your one chance to prove that you knew what you wanted. As if your response now determined whether or not you would keep the already-tenuous control you had over her horrifying actions.

“Stop attacking people,” you said straightforwardly. “I would feel better if you didn’t do that anymore.”

She sighed, as if disappointed by your response, which did not bode well. “I don’t think you’re being quite honest with yourself, but I will talk to the nargles about it.”

“Luna, just put a stop to it. For me, alright? Could you do it for me?”

She sat up, and her eyes were wide and so focused that you felt pinned like a butterfly. “I could do anything for you,” she said, her hands going to frame your face and her thumbs massaging your temples. She sat down on your chest and leaned her face a bit closer to yours, but not yet intimately close. “Maybe sometimes it will be what you need instead of what you want, but I’d do anything for you.”

[beholdthemem]

I have like three separate things I should be doing for school right now and I don’t want to do any of them so have a (heavily inspired by Indigo and Rose Casson)

Larry’s Sister Lives AU

She’s born a month early and from her very first thin wail people are already warning Lisa and Jim not to get attached.

She is not a healthy baby.

And she’s so very, very small.

People sent baby gifts when Larry was born. This time, they only send flowers. Lisa politely accepts each new bouquet, and then personally throws them out as soon as the visitors leave the room.

They name the baby Evelyn, and against all odds, she lives. 

When she comes home, Larry’s not allowed to hold her by himself for a long time. He’s actually kind of okay with this. He’s always hovering by her crib and looking over Lisa’s shoulder for a better look at her, but she’s so fragile looking it kind of scares him. He has this feeling that if he tries to pick her up she’ll break into a million pieces.

He sneaks into his parents’ room at night and watches as she sleeps, tiny chest rising and falling, irrationally afraid that if he doesn’t check to make sure she’s still there he’ll wake up one morning and she won’t be.

“Get bigger,” he whispers staring at her little hands and wispy hair and face that has always seemed too delicate even for a baby, big haunting eyes serenely closed. “Get bigger, get bigger, get bigger.”

Little by little, she does.

When she starts crawling, Evelyn is almost immediately shortened to Evie, because yelling for someone to get Evie out of the garbage sounds slightly less weird then for Evelyn. Larry shortens it further within the hour.

“Larry, stop calling your sister Evil!”

“She likes it, though!” Larry protests as Evil goes into peals of little kid laughter in his arms. “Don’t you, Evil?”

“LARRY!”

Larry is the only person in the world who is allowed to refer to Evie as Evil. Anyone else attempting to do so is immediately treated to several hours of high pitched toddler screaming. Larry would be more smug about this if he didn’t have to live in the same apartment with it.

Despite getting sick with alarming frequency, Evil proves to be a sturdy child. She survives through almost every childhood illness the doctors have ever heard of, and even a few they haven’t. Several of them begin petitioning to make her a case study. Jim goes a funny shade of gray when they suggest this and makes it very clear they are never to ask this of anyone in his family ever again.

Evil is a very curious child, and gets into almost everything. Larry campaigns for a lock on his bedroom door for three weeks and finally gets it after she finds the Sanity’s Fall tickets that he and Jim have been holding onto for a month in preparation for the Halloween concert. Larry, staring down at the shredded, spit soaked tickets, loudly demands to know why he couldn’t have gotten a dog instead of a sister, and is only somewhat mollified when a few phone calls to a very understanding man at the venue gets them some replacements.

By the time she reaches Kindergarten, Evil is still noticeably smaller than most of her classmates. The teacher assures Lisa that she’ll keep a close eye on her and ensure her time in their class goes smoothly. She discovers before the day is even half over that she should be keeping an eye on Evie Johnson for entirely different reasons, and spends a frantic twenty minutes trying to put out the small fires Evil has been showing the children how to make using an oversized magnifying glass. (”My daddy showed me!”)

She’s a very bright child, but she tends to bring an inescapable wave of chaos with her wherever she goes. Her first three teachers all agree that ten months have never felt so long.

Though Larry’s a little closer to Jim, and Evil feels a slightly closer to Lisa, there is no point in time when either child feels unloved. Jim takes them fishing a lot. He’s prone to making long speeches about the beauty of nature when he does this, and usually doesn’t notice when Larry and Evil tune him out.

Jim, Larry and Evil all have an uncanny ability to perfectly mimic sounds and voices. For reasons they never quite understand, Jim seems alarmed when first Larry, and then later Evil, show him that they can do it just like he can. He strictly instructs them not to do it in front of anyone outside the family, and for the most part they don’t- but it doesn’t stop them from using to play pranks on other people in the building. As long as nobody catches them, it’s technically not disobeying him, right?

He calms down about it a little as they get older and never tell anyone. Sometimes on the fishing trips he shows them how to do it to make bird calls.

When Evil is eight years old, her father disappears, her brother goes to jail, and her life falls apart.

Lisa goes through days like a sleepwalker, eating little and saying less and less until one terrifying day when she just stops talking completely. There are days when she won’t get out of bed, and sometimes Evil catches her staring out the window with an expression she doesn’t understand and scares her beyond reason. Larry, who’s been back from juvie for all of two weeks and hasn’t smiled once in that time, starts taking over and doing whatever their mother can’t. He makes meals, he packs Evil’s lunches, and he makes her swear that if anybody asks, no matter what, she is to tell them that everything is fine at home. 

Evil tells a lot of lies, these days.

Sometimes Evil catches Larry doing things she doesn’t understand, and when she asks why he tells her not to worry, that it’s nothing. She sees him hiding all the scissors, and he tells her it’s nothing. She catches him putting locks on all the windows, and he just shrugs. She finds him one day stuffing everything in the medicine cabinet into a duffel bag before taking it up to the tree house and when he comes back down and she demands to know what’s going on, there’s a split second where he looks up at their mother’s window before shaking his head and telling her not to worry about it.

She starts to put the pieces together after that.

On the days Lisa won’t get up, Larry doesn’t go to school. He thinks Evil doesn’t know about it, but she’s not stupid. He tells her leaves for school after she does, and she pretends she believes him and erases all the messages the school leaves on the answering machine about missed classes when he forgets to.

Eventually Lisa’s brothers arrive from Spain, and suddenly taking care of Lisa isn’t Larry’s job anymore. He hovers a lot as they work, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself now, then gradually starts spending more and more time alone in the treehouse.

Larry believes, firmly, fiercely believes, that their father did not leave them. Evil, who has lost any security she ever felt in less than three months and needs somebody to blame, does not.

The first time she introduces herself to someone as Evie Garcia, Larry’s face seems to close up.

When Sal moves into the building, Evil doesn’t think much about him until he starts regularly hanging out in their apartment with Larry. Then she’s unsure what to make of him. It’s been a very long time since she or Larry actually brought any friends back home, and even though Lisa’s been fine for years now and they no longer need to worry about some well meaning outsider seeing something they shouldn’t and saying exactly the wrong thing to their parents, it still puts her a little on edge. She’s used to taking cues from Larry about who gets to see what part of their lives, so if he’s cool with Sal being there she knows it SHOULD be fine- but it still feels strange. 

It goes against all of her instincts not to chase him out and some of that must show, because Sal always gives her a lot of space while managing to be unfailingly polite, as though he knows what she’s thinking and is trying not to give her any possible reason to do so.

He’s also smart enough to realize right off the bat that just because Larry calls her Evil doesn’t mean he gets to, and that unkowingly wins him points.

After months of tiptoeing around each other, things finally come to a head one night when Evil’s staying home alone.

She rarely has the apartment to herself. When Lisa can’t be there personally, she usually leaves them together and appoints Larry in charge- but Larry has a school project and will be camped out over at the Campbells’ house for the next several thousand years to work on it with Ash, so Evil gets away with no supervision for one night. She’d be enjoying it more if it weren’t for the faint feeling of nausea that’s been plaguing her all afternoon. She refrains mentioning it to Lisa, knowing full well that at the first hint of illness her mother will drop everything and insist on staying home to keep an eye on her, and tells herself the feeling will pass.

The feeling does not pass. It persists as she makes herself some mac and cheese for dinner, increases as she sits down to watch the Sailor Moon special, and has risen to a crescendo by the time gets around to doing the washing up, staring down at the dirty dishwater and breathing shakily through her nose. Everything feels hot. She can feel her clothes sticking to her with sweat, and notices from far away that her hands are trembling against her will. She is slowly beginning to realize that this might not be regular Evil’s-Always-Sick barfy-ness, and that something might be really wrong when someone knocks on the door.

After sitting through several years of Lisa’s lectures about never answering the door to strangers, Evil has no intention of acknowledging whoever’s out there, apartment or not. She’s still not particularly inclined to do it when a voice from outside announces that it’s Sal. She’s not at a hundred percent right now, and dealing with someone she’s still sort of wary of but needs to be polite to requires her to exercise social muscles that she barely uses at the best of times. She really doesn’t want to do it while she’s compromised. But she knows full well that if Sal’s down here bothering her at this time of night, it’s because Lisa asked him to check on her, and it’ll look extremely suspicious if she refuses to talk to him. So, gritting her teeth, Evil carefully makes her way to the door, schools her expression into something she hopes is appropriately neutral as opposed to painfully ill, opens the door...

...and then proceeds to throw up all over Sal's ratty old converse.

The next hour is a blur. When Evil thinks back to that night, her first clear memory past puking on Sal’s shoes is hacking up what feels like the majority of her internal organs into the toilet while he holds her hair back. She’s never entirely sure how she got there.

She’s also unclear as to how she ended up curled up on the couch some time later, under a blanket she’d insisted she didn’t need before she’d suddenly started shivering and staring down at the ancient blue mop bucket Larry dubbed The Sick Bucket back when they were little and still regularly got the stomach flu. She wonders idly how Sal even knew where it was.

“I’m okay now,” she mutters as Sal comes back into the room with a glass of water. “It’s... it’s over, I’m pretty sure. You can- I mean. Thank you. Really. A lot. But you can go home now.”

“It’s fine,” Sal says, shrugging as he hands her the water as though it really is no big deal. Evil scowls.

“You can go home,” she repeats, clutching the glass with both hands and sipping gingerly. “It was nice of you to check on me, but you don’t-” Another wave of nausea hits unexpectedly and she chokes, slopping water everywhere. Sal’s there in an instant, snatching the glass away and grabbing her hair as she retches over The Sick Bucket. It’s just dry heaving because there’s really nothing left in her system to throw up, but it goes on for several minutes and it feels like death.

She hates EVERYTHING.

“You okay?” Sal asks when she finally stops, hand hovering by her shoulder like he’s got a vague sense that some sort of touch would be comforting here but no experience with it in practice. Everything he’s done for her tonight has been a little like that. Whenever he’s not in motion he seems completely out of his depth, and Evil, sure she’s least equally uncomfortable, keeps trying to give him an out so he can leave without feeling guilty but he won’t take it and she doesn’t understand why.

“Are you doing this to make Larry like you?” she asks instead, out of patience and abandoning politeness in favor of aggression.

“Do I need to make him like me?” Sal asks, sitting down by the bucket so she no longer has to crane her neck up to look at him. It’s not rhetorical, even though it should be. It was a ridiculous accusation, she knew that even as she said it, but for some reason he sounds like he genuinely wants her opinion.

“No,” she admits after a moment. “You’re his best friend.”

Sal makes a small humming sound to himself that she thinks means he’s pleased. Evil wonders, faintly incredulous, if he’d actually been unsure.

“Is it to make me like you?” She eyes him suspiciously as she makes herself more comfortable on the couch with whatever dignity she can muster, given the situation. Still on the ground, Sal draws a knee up to his chest. Evil notices, with a twinge of guilt, that his feet are bare.

“I kind of got the vibe,” Sal says dryly. “That the only thing that would make you like me is you, personally, deciding to like me. So, no.”

He isn’t wrong.

“Is it so I’ll owe you?” She finally asks, because if he isn’t doing to be a suck up then that’s the only other motivation she can possibly think of for someone she’s spoken to maybe three times in almost a year and never once tried to befriend to go to all this trouble.

The look Sal gives her is so deeply unimpressed that Evil almost feels ashamed for asking. Even through the prosthetic, the disapproval in his eyes is tangible. He refrains from dignifying the question with a response, for which Evil is thankful.

“Why, then?” She mutters, pulling the blanket nearly to her nose, shoulders hunched inwards. “Why are you still here?”

“Because being sick by yourself sucks.” He says simply.

Evil stares at him.

It cannot be that simple. It cannot possibly be that simple. 

Nobody would do all this just for the sake of ensuring a near stranger wouldn’t be lonely, nobody does that, that doesn’t make any sense-

...but he’s here. It’s 11:30 at night, and she puked on him, and argued with him, and barely even knows him and he’s still here. Nobody does that, but he’s still here, because maybe, to him, it really IS that simple.

She watches him, uncomprehending as he fiddles with one of the Ranma 1/2 volumes she left lying around, and she doesn’t understand at all.

“...you’re so weird,” she says a little helplessly. 

Sal laughs a little and doesn’t argue.

“...you have to read it backwards,” is the last thing she tells him, taking the manga from him and flipping it around before handing it back, and then with a wave of exhaustion, sleep overtakes her at last.

The next time Evil sees Sal is a Monday evening. He and Larry are sitting at the kitchen table doing homework when she comes back from Jessica’s house. Sal looks up as she enters, making as if to wave before putting his hand down as though thinking better of it, while Larry continues working as if she isn’t there and eating what she’s fairly certain is the last pack of gushers.

It’s become a common sight since Sal moved into the building, so routine that Evil’s just come to expect to find them there whenever she gets home from school. Normally she just goes to her room to work until they’re done and Sal leaves, but today she pauses.

“I’m not sharing, so don’t even ask.” Larry tells her as she hovers, looking up at last as he pops another candy in his mouth. “Do you need something?”

“Besides more gushers and one less brother?” Evil retorts, more out of reflex than with any real heat. She watches them for a moment longer, fidgeting with the straps of her backpack, then pulls up a chair and joins them.

Larry raises his eyebrows as she sits down, busying herself with her own homework to avoid looking at either of them, but doesn’t say anything.

Sal just steals a gusher from Larry and passes it over to her.

Sal is considered unofficial family by all three of them before the year is even over. As far as Larry and Evil are concerned, he becomes official family the first time Lisa yells at him along with them.

“Do you even have a middle name?!” Lisa demands mid rant after full-naming Larry, Evil and attempting to do so with Sal before discovering three syllables alone do not properly convey just how much trouble he’s in.

“Uh...” Sal trails off faintly, having had no experience with parental reprimanding beyond Henry’s patented ‘Kid, what the fuck?’ until right this moment and still somewhat shell shocked.

“Eustace.” Evil suggests helpfully.

“Evie.” Sal says, aggrieved as Lisa decides that beggars can’t be choosers and begins yelling again. (”SAL EUSTACE FISHER-”)

“If we’re in trouble,” Larry tells Sal out of the side of his mouth, clapping him amicably on the back before Lisa rounds on him again. “You’re in trouble. Welcome to the family.”

“Esto es nuestro primo, Sal. Ser amable con él o te mataré.” 

“No se parece en nada a ti!”

“Y no te ves nada como tu padre, pero todos somos amables y pretendemos no notar.”

“I understood that last thing, and that was uncalled for.”

It surprises Evil, a little, how well they work as a unit of three. The days when it was just Larry and her versus the rest of the world are long over. She misses it a little, sometimes, but the change no longer feels like loss- just different. She finds, as the three of them sit on the roof during the fourth of July to watch the fireworks and yell unflattering songs about Ronald Reagan until people start complaining, that she doesn’t object.

“How come Larry gets a nickname and I don’t?” Evil grumbles one day, putting her chin on Sal’s shoulder to get a better look at what he’s doing. It’s a testament to how much time he’s spent with her and Larry- and probably Ash, too, now that she thinks about it- that he no longer flinches when somebody touches him unexpectedly. 

“Should I call you Evie-Face?” Sal asks, amused, pausing mid-problem. Evil considers, humming thoughtfully to herself. “Hm… no. That sounds kinda dumb-”

“Excuse me.”

“I mean it’s not dumb for you! It’s dumb for Larry, but that’s what makes it perfect for him-”

Sal cracks up. Evil grins, snickering, even as he swats at her in an attempt to defend Larry’s honor.

“Nah. You can call me…” Evil pauses for a minute, chewing her lip, then makes her decision.

“Call me Evil.”

Sal blinks.

He takes a moment to digest this, then turns, craning his neck around to try and look at her. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Evil says. And she is. 

[taz-writes]

Chapter 1 Version 2, Electric Boogaloo

hiiiiiii, guess who got stuck with book 4 after all and went back to obsess over perfecting book 1? ME. I’ve shifted goals from “finish drafting the series” to “finish a beta-worthy version of book 1″ and I think that’s honestly more achievable right now. 

for those who’ve been following my WIP a while, this is very similar to the chapter 1 that I shared back in August, but I’ve changed a few elements of the continuity and evened out the prose. (Here’s the old version if you’re curious.) I still love Sayara with all of my heart. 

also I misplaced my tag list AGAIN, I’m starting to think it might be more effort than it’s worth to keep up with it :( I am very bad at this. 

The usual disclaimer: this is still an early draft, there are probably issues with it! It’s more polished than the last version, but please forgive any weird glitches :)

-

My favorite part of the Tsi palace was always the library—it was an endless treasure trove of ancient knowledge and secrets, what’s not to love? When I was little, I’d spend hours in there, roaming through towering stacks of books and skipping between the columns of rainbow light that crept in through the stained-glass windows. No matter how chaotic the rest of the building was, being the center of the capitol of one of the largest tribes in Feilan and all, the library was always beautifully serene.

The serenity evaporated when I sprinted straight through the grand double doors at full tilt, skidding to a dusty halt just past the attendant’s desk. It was beautiful, incredible, until my foot went flying out from under me. I slammed butt-first into the fancy Cydre rug, slid, and plowed directly into the legs of the library attendant.

“Sayara?!” he exclaimed, catching himself on the corner of the desk as I dragged myself onto my feet and wheezed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I—”

“Good. All according to plan,” I gasped, clutching at a stitch in my side. “Nobody knows I’m here. Keep it that way. And say hi to your brother for me!!” He rolled his eyes and straightened his jacket.

“Try not to knock over any students today.”

“Good chat, gotta go!!” I brushed library dust off of my scuffed-up breeches and checked the safety of the little box in my pocket, before making a mad dash into the stacks. Just up the ladder and two rows down, and then I’d be home free in a secret passage on the way to my north tower base. Brennadine’d never manage to follow me.

“Sayara! I mean it, young lady, get back here!” My governess’s strident voice rang through the atrium, and I sped up, stifling manic laughter and jumping onto the nearest ladder. I almost lost my balance when the weight of all the stuff in my pockets went swinging back and forth.

The ceilings in the library were high and arched, but not quite high enough to fly under, probably to discourage people like me from doing barrel rolls through the stacks. I could’ve totally pulled it off, if the roof was a little higher. Once I reached the top of the ladder, I scrambled up the last few shelves, and pushed myself on top of the stack entirely. I had to keep my head down to make sure I wouldn’t hit anything.

The next bit was the tricky part. Jumping rows was kind of dangerous. If I fell I’d have about 20 feet to go before I’d hit the ground, and usually I waited for a drifter case to float by and bridge the gap, but Lady Brennadine was hot on my heels. Being a governess and all, she loved manners—until it was time to chase me through the palace and lecture me for having a personality, at which point she’d abandon them completely in favor of clenched fists and shouting.

I paused to assess the situation. I could probably make the jump to the next row, but I was a klutz, and I didn’t need a broken ankle right now or ever. If I stood up to get a running start, I’d hit my head and fall, and then I’d crash into the group of academy students below and I really didn’t want to hurt anybody. The closest drifter case was still two shelves away, waylaid by someone trying to page through its contents.

But I couldn’t just let her catch me, she was pissed and I could think of at least four possible schemes she might’ve discovered. If she caught me with the new enchanted nutcracker in my pockets, she’d definitely assume the worst. I was both stronger and more agile than Brennadine, so if she grabbed me I theoretically could slip out pretty easily, but then I’d be in even more trouble—better to not get caught in the first place. But the gap was so wide...

By the time I resolved myself to jump for it, she was already up the ladder.

“Down. Now.” Brennadine clicked her fingers impatiently, then reached up to pull on my ankle. I took a deep breath, and launched myself off the end of the shelf—not realizing that my shoe had come untied until the laces snagged under my other foot and I tumbled headfirst over the side.  

I yelped, scrabbling at the bookshelf to catch myself, and knocked an entire row of encyclopedias away with me. The contents of my pockets went flying everywhere, too, which was arguably worse.

Brennadine’s hand came out of nowhere, and I grabbed on for dear life, and then everything stopped around me in the grip of her skilled telekinesis.

“How many times have we talked about this, again?” she reprimanded, clearly short of breath. I didn’t respond, I was too busy grappling with her unbelievably sweaty arm. “We—do not—climb—on top of the stacks.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, swinging my legs towards the shelf. I missed, kicking over more books, but managed to find purchase when I swung back. She was blatantly wrong, of course. People definitely climbed on top of the stacks, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many footprints up there. They couldn’t all be mine.

“You owe Mr. Baum an apology. For Four’s sake...” Brennadine kept mumbling to herself, but I elected to ignore her. I climbed down to ground level and scrambled to collect everything from my pockets, while she reassembled the library in a mist of teal-green telekinesis. The special nutcracker went immediately into my deepest pocket, I hoped she hadn’t noticed it... my box had rolled halfway under a shelf, but it was fine. I checked the hinges. Still jammed.

“It’s really all right, ma’am,” the library attendant promised. He started tidying up the books Brennadine hadn’t caught. “Oh, and Sayara, Daevin says thanks. I hope you weren’t helping him cheat again.”

“It’s not cheating, it’s entrepreneurial studying.” Brennadine scoffed. I tried to pointedly avoid eye contact, but she wouldn’t look at me, either.

If she wasn’t looking at me, then I had an opportunity. There was another passage to the tower within sprinting range, in the hall outside the armory. I took a few slow steps backwards, testing for a reaction. Nobody moved. I backed away further. When I hit the next shelf, I broke into a run.

A stray book swung into the backs of my knees, tripping me. “Don’t you dare,” Brennadine snarled, replacing the book with a flick of her wrist. Mr. Baum had taken over the task of sorting everything I’d knocked over. I laughed nervously.

“Actually, I think I have that geometry test to study for, since you told me to work on that, so I’ll just—”

“Sayara Ilse Tyriea.”

“You don’t have to full-name me!” Brennadine sighed and laid a hand on my shoulder, shutting me down before I could protest further.

“You need to behave with more grace.”

“Hey, I’ve got grace!”

“Is that so?” Brennadine raised her eyebrows, nodding back towards the wreckage of the bookshelves. I cringed.

“Well... unlike you, at least I wore pants today.”

“What? I’m wearing—SAYARA!!” Brennadine let go of me for an instant to check her trousers, and I made a break for the exit. The doors slammed shut in front of me.

“Quiet in the library,” Mr. Baum sighed from the stacks.

“Whatever you found, it was probably someone else’s fault!” I leaned up against the doors, swallowing reflexive manic laughter. Brennadine pinched the bridge of her nose, visibly exhausted.

“This is not an accusation,” she said. “And it has nothing to do with whatever half-baked scheme you’ve worked out in the old north tower.” My jaw went slack.

“What old north tower?” I bluffed. How did she know about the tower? You couldn’t even get inside without taking multiple secret passages, and Brennadine was hardly the type of woman to go exploring in the palace.

“I am not an idiot. I’ve seen you leave torches lit up there, and you must be going somewhere when you aren’t in your rooms,” Brennadine said. “I also know about the jewelry box, which needs to be returned to where it came from, please. Now listen to me.”

“What do you want? It’s my day off, you said. I thought you were going somewhere.”

“Your father wants you to accompany him this afternoon,” Brennadine said, grimacing in the most polite way possible.

“Isn’t he busy? I thought he and Hope were going somewhere.”

“Yes, and he’s inviting you to come with him,” she said. I blinked. “At far too late a moment, too, your sister has been preparing for weeks—”

“To what? Where?”

“Let’s not disturb the library any further,” Brennadine huffed. She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out into the corridor, starting a brisk walk towards the residential wing. “Sayara. Today is Kyvesse the 14th.”

“...Yes?”

“Sayara, have you been neglecting your politics lessons?”

“Why do you only use my name when you’re telling me off?”

“You should know what’s going on this afternoon.”

“Um...” As much as I tried, I was drawing a total blank. I shoved my hands in my pockets. “There’s a...thing? A political thing.” Brennadine stopped in her tracks, and I walked into her by accident, stumbling. “What?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned heavily against the wall, her head thumping into the wallpaper. She looked so exhausted that I almost felt bad for her.

“There’s a thing. A thing.”

“Well, I’m not wrong,” I said, still wracking my brains for any memory of what Brennadine could be so worked up about. She sucked in a long nasal breath before exploding.

“The Convention of Tribes!! Today is the Convention of Tribes, and your father, the Tsi King, is extending you a spur-of-the-moment invitation! A thing, oh no, this is only the most important national political event of the year—no one would normally dream of bringing children of questionable origins along, but you’ve been granted that high honor out of nowhere, and here we are—a thing!” She laughed a bit hysterically, her left eye starting to twitch.

“Wait, you mean the Convention Convention?!” I blurted out, a little too loud. “But that’s...”

“Incredibly last-minute and ill-advised and threatening the fabric of the entire situation, yes, precisely!”

“I was going to say soon, doesn’t it always start at noon?” I wasn’t sure what time it was now, but it sure wasn’t early, and the Feian capitol was a few hours’ ride away.

“I’ve been trying to find you for two hours!” Brennadine exclaimed.

“But I’ve only been running a few minutes—”

“I expect you dressed in your best suit and ready to leave in fifteen minutes, I’ll tolerate no tomfoolery. Go. If I see that box with you, I will pitch it out a window.”

“But that’s barely any time at all!”

“And whose fault is that? Go,” she snapped. I dashed away before she could get meaner.

The Convention of Tribes? For once, Brennadine was right about something. I was about as prepared for the Convention as I was to fly to the actual moon. It was a choreographed political dance, tangled alliances and tempers and cultural exchanges mixing into a treacherous mess of checks and balances. You couldn’t just prepare for that in fifteen minutes!

This was a big freaking deal. I had to make the best possible impression—this could be the start of a career. Forget the top of my game, I’d have to be on top of the whole world...

But first, the original thing I’d been trying to achieve before Brennadine threw me off-track. When I started up the stairs to my room, I shoved my hand deep into my pockets, and retrieved the nutcracker and the box.

That jewelry box had been the bane of my existence ever since I’d first begun exploring the palace, back when I was seven or eight years old. I’d found it by itself in the dustiest corner of the dusty old north tower, looking like it hadn’t been touched in decades, or maybe even centuries. The box itself was plain, but an expensive-looking kind of plain—it was flocked with dark blue velvety fabric that hadn’t faded a bit despite the neglect, and dust-repellent spells that long-lasting didn’t come cheap. The hinges hadn’t rusted or eroded even a little bit. Naturally, I wanted to know what was inside.

But despite its great condition, the box wouldn’t open. It didn’t have a lock, the hinges were clean and seemed functional, I couldn’t see any evidence of sealing enchantments—not even through an aura-glass lens, and the good ones picked up even ancient traces of magic—it just wouldn’t work. I’d been trying to pry it open for years, fiddling with lockpicks, hitting it with hammers, I even set it on fire once, but nothing happened. It didn’t even burn.

I had to know what was in there. I’d heard from a few of the maids’ kids that the kitchen commissioned this new nutcracker, that had a really powerful breaking spell on it (for opening kysthers), and I figured I could try it on the case. It was something I could handle on the go, but the box was a little too big to fit properly between the pincher thingies. I jostled it in, finally squeezing the nutcracker handle as I pushed open the stairwell door into the residential wing.

Still nothing. Bummer. I’d mess with it more later.

I was going to the Convention of Tribes. Like, as in, my dad thought I was important enough to go to the Convention. Validation was sweet. This was the only major political event on a national scale where the heirs and protégés of the rulers were actually expected to attend alongside their tribes’ leaders, the big meetup where the Queen and tribes negotiated federal legislation. It was also one of the only times the Queen of Feilan would appear before the tribal nobility in person.

If I was smart about it, this could be a life-changing opportunity. Nobody ever took me seriously—I wasn’t usually invited to the Convention, I never got to sit in on Council meetings, I never had the chance to do anything important. If Dad changed his mind, then things were going to be different.

I ricocheted into my bedroom, tossing the nutcracker on my desk, and ruffled through the closet for my nice formal suits. I only owned one formal jacket that wouldn’t be a torture instrument in Rinali summer heat, but my good summer blouse was crumpled in a ball under my bed somewhere. I’d have to wear the green one I stole from Hope, even though it didn’t fit me right, my shoulders were too wide. I was in such a hurry to get my nice breeches onto my body that I put them on backwards three times in a row.

I ran for the door, then hesitated. Something was missing. I pulled my day breeches out of the growing laundry pile and dumped out the pockets. A few handfuls of sparkly rocks and acorns tumbled out, alongside the jewelry box. I grabbed the sparkliest quartz cluster and an acorn for luck, then poured them into my formal pants pockets, followed by the box—screw Brennadine’s rules—and a twisted length of twine. You never knew when string would come in handy. Empty pockets unnerved me.

Jewelry! Jewelry was a thing people wore at formal occasions. I bounced on my toes, thinking through the contents of my normal jewelry box, then snatched up a few gold sparkly things and jammed them in my other pocket. I’d deal with that on the ship, it was a couple hours’ ride to Eth Zantaara anyway.

By the time I made it back downstairs, armed with a little moleskin notebook and as much information about the other royals as I could remember, Brennadine and my sister were already waiting at the stairwell. I could practically see the hourglasses running down in Brennadine’s eyes.

“You forgot your circlet,” Hope said immediately. “And you’re late.”

“I know,” I said. I fumbled through my pockets, praying that the little gold circle of chain had been in the fistful of stuff I brought. It was, and I detangled it as best I could from a few necklaces before pulling it unevenly over my forehead. Hope rolled her eyes. I pulled my bangs out from under the band, hoping it’d make my head look less like an egg.

“Brennadine said you knocked over an entire bookshelf.”

“Nobody told me I was coming,” I said. “I’ve been busy, I was trying to—”

“Your bangs are a mess. Is that my shirt?” She walked over and fiddled with my hair as I protested weakly, the smell of her fancy imported perfume crashing into my nose like salt water. As always, Hope looked perfect, her platinum-blonde hair done up in some intricate braided bun and her eyes outlined neatly in charcoal. She could’ve been in a painting or something.

“It looks better on me,” I said.

“Absolutely not!”

“I think you’re jealous, green’s definitely my color. You’re a pathetic imitator in comparison.” I flicked one of my braids dramatically. Hope grabbed it and flicked it back into my face.

“I want that blouse back when we get home.”

“Boo hoo.”

“Boo hoo,” Hope mocked. “You look like you’ve been pulled sideways on the rack, I swear you’ll rip all the seams.”

“Well, you look like a taxidermied wildcat.”

“Let’s go, girls,” Brennadine said, sweeping down the hall towards the skyship dock. Hope scanned the rest of my outfit in appraisal mode, and I braced for impact.

“Please tell me you don’t have rocks in your pockets on the way to the Convention of Tribes,” she said.

“Throw the rocks away, Sayara,” Brennadine said absently. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I do not have rocks in my pockets,” I said, shuffling my pants so neither of them could see the rocks in my pockets. “You’re always accusing me of things.”

Hope didn’t reply. Hope raised magic, the stupid cheating cheater, and levitated my entire pocket inside out.

“Hey!” I snatched for my stuff, but Hope was faster.

“What is this, did you steal this from the tailor?” Hope asked, levitating my coil of twine into her hand. She made a face. “Or did it come from a shipwright?”

“Give it back!”

“You can’t bring string to the Convention of Tribes!”

“Why not? It was going to stay in my pocket, it could be useful,” I said. Hope rolled her eyes, and I made another grab for my things. This time I managed to catch most of my rocks, plus the jewelry box. I crammed it all back into my pocket. Brennadine gave her the evil eye as we boarded the royal yacht, and only then did Hope finally return my twine.

Hope never liked me. We got along all right, most of the time, and passed the rest off as normal sibling rivalry, but there’s more than that—the tension between us has been making things difficult ever since I came to the palace, back when I was so little I barely remembered anything. Hope and I are only half-sisters. I don’t know who my mom was, and if Dad does, he’s never said. He legitimized me as a member of the Tsi royal family a couple years ago, but the law couldn’t make Hope tolerate me.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Hope saw me as a threat. That was her business and all if it was true, I’d long since learned not to care, but I wished she could be a little more subtle sometimes.

Brennadine was talking about politics now. Hope nodded along, commenting on every single line with her perfect talking points, which she somehow managed to produce even though she didn’t know what she was talking about. I left her to it—she liked to act like I was stupid, so that could be her problem. Oh, Sayara, you’re never paying attention. Blatant lies. I just paid attention selectively. Involuntarily selectively. Whatever.

This year’s Convention of Tribes was a stand-out for a few reasons, mostly involving the Irkatzi, our southern neighbor tribe. Out of Feilan’s twelve formally-recognized principalities, the Irkatzi were the most persistently outspoken. They were notorious for picking big melodramatic fights with the ruling del Aphir family, which would eventually be resolved with some tax shifts and truces, and then ten years later they’d be back to the same old song. Dad alternated between griping about them and calling them great entertainment.

“Excellent, you’re all here!” The door to the ship’s cabin swung open, and Hope’s eyes lit up.

“Dad! I was wondering when you’d arrive, I thought that with Sayara’s delay you would have beaten us to the ship!” Hope curtsied, perfectly as always, and then ran forward to hug our father. He hugged back with his fair share of amusement. I waved awkwardly.

Tsi King Doriel wasn’t the kind of man most people would picture when they thought of a king. He was on the shorter side, with worn-looking hands and a very square chin and light hair that always needed a trim. He was built stocky, more like me than Hope, and he dressed plainly. The heavy sapphire-studded crown on his head was the only real evidence of his rank, along with the fine make of his clothing.

“My preliminary meeting with the Council ran late,” he said by way of apology, grimacing. “Governor Heiden is still pushing that bank bill. He seemed delighted with the idea of humiliating me at the Convention by holding me late—remind me to say something to his constituents about that. Maybe they’ll solve the problem for me.”

“We’ve been discussing the issues on the table. Hope is very prepared, though Sayara is quite scatter-brained today,” Brennadine said. I bit back a protest.

“I’m so sorry for the late notice,” Dad said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be ready for an event like this, but Brennadine said you’ve done well in your tutoring, so I changed my mind.”

“She did?” I blinked. “Wait, why wouldn’t I be ready?”

“We must remember what happened when you last sat in on a Council meeting,” Brennadine pointed out. I wilted a little.

“It was just that one time! It got really loud, and people were yelling...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dad said quickly. “I think you’ll be just fine.” The little part of me that was dying inside perked up again.

“Good!”

“I notice you’ve made excellent marks in your tutoring. Brennadine tells me you’re quite skilled with history.”

“I’m trying my best.”

“If only you could transfer some of that passion into your other subjects,” Brennadine muttered.

“You’re familiar with the issues on the table at this Convention, correct?” Dad asked as the yacht took off.

“Yeah!”

“What does the Queen want?”

“The Queen hasn’t requested anything personally, but her advisors are pressuring us to cut grounded roads through the Deeps to access the coast,” I said. “It’s part of an infrastructure plan. They want safe landed highways through Tsi, Javrier, and Irkatzi territories, and they want them policed and open. They also want free access to the River Safir for Rinali merchants.”

“And our stance on this is?”

“They’re idiots who’ve never been in the woods before, and they should stick to our skyways unless they’re willing to pay for the roads themselves.” Dad grimaced.

“In court language?”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Land highways are expensive and difficult to maintain, we have better priorities for our budget than trade routes our natives won’t use, and it’s more efficient to use the sky roads because they’re naturally protected from the Deeps’ wildlife and already well-kept. The Rinali won’t pay for highways to be installed and policed, they expect that to come from our internal budget, and we don’t have the funds. I know how to talk fancy.”

“I wish you’d do so more often,” Brennadine said.

“Moving on,” Dad said. “What are the Irkatzi upset about this time?”

“This time,” I echoed, snickering. Dad cleared his throat. “Right. Um... the Rinali court upset them somehow, right? I know last year they were upset about tariffs, but we sided with them so it was okay. This year I want to say it’s about currency...yeah, some groups in the south of the territory are printing their own Irkatzi currency and the Crown Princess hasn’t stopped them yet.”

“There’s also the issue of the Rinali court itself.”

“Oh, right, right.”

“Rumor has it that Crown Princess Lilac intends to address the Queen directly about it,” Dad said. “That should be interesting.”

“Really?” Hope asked.

“She seems very angry. If nothing else, she’d certainly like an opportunity to complain in public and knock the Advisors away from their station. She’s loathed Lord fa Viandre since we were teenagers, and her comments were very... specific, this time around.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I would ever gossip about my fellow nobility.”

“Oh dear,” Hope said.

“Is that allowed?”

“What, my peer sending angry letters to me about the national government? She’s a Ravenhart, I don’t think anyone has the nerve to stop her. She lives up to the family reputation far more than Wisteria before her,” Dad said. “The more established noble families can get away with much more than we ever could.”

I drifted away from the conversation as Hope peppered Dad with more questions about the Irkatzi drama, pressing my face against the nearest porthole window and watching the land fly by beneath us.

We were out of Tsi territory by now, the heavy woods I was raised in giving way to open farmland, orchards, and low glades of trees. The Rinali heartland was rich and fertile, more so than almost anywhere else on the continent, but things didn’t grow as big here as they did back home. The tops of the trees petered out hundreds of feet below our ship, stunted to what everyone else insisted was normal size by the lack of aurza. Most of them barely reached twice the height of the grounded farmhouses scattered here and there.

The current capitol of Feilan, Eth Zantaara, was named for the huge and anomalous mountain the Queen’s castle sat upon. It was a recent creation, from only about ten years ago, so the city surrounding it was small and in various states of construction. Big noble mansions peppered the mountainside, sporting colorful flags and banners, and a chaotic cluster of homes and businesses crept out of the plains towards the mountain’s base. You could sort of see where the Queen’s architects had tried to enforce grid structure, but everything had been built so fast and aggressively that it hadn’t stuck in the slightest. Wide cobblestone roads led out of the area in a few different directions, fading off into the farmland still surrounding the city.

“You should have seen Lanorium back in the day,” Brennadine sighed, peering out her own window. “It puts this place to shame.”

“Hold on... Is that a tent?” Dad asked.

[pbjpuppy]

do every oc question but with horsepower PLEASE

DUDE I WAS SO HOPING SOMEONE WOULD ASK ABT HER IM SO EXCITED

THIS IS SO LONG SO I’M PUTTING A READMORE

1. Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

SHE does Not surprisingly!! BUT similarly to Giovanni with his kids, Serene is always sleeping next to her bc she’s Warm and Soft so it’s like, kinda the same thing 

She IS the type to love sleeping with a ton of pillows though

2. Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Horsie doesn’t have the world’s greenest thumb but she could probably keep a houseplant alive!! She likes nature a lot she’s just not stellar at gardening

She would be REALLY GOOD with a pet though that animal would THRIVE and she’d be the type to take like 400 pictures of her pet and spam everyone with them like “Look at this Fucking Angel” 

And she’s DEFINITELY GOOD W KIDS seeing as she’s basically raising Serene!! Serene can testify that she’s the Best babysitter (even if she accidentially taught Serene like. 20 separate curse words gdgjdsk) 

3. Ask them to describe their love interest.

OOH FUN DIALOGUE

“Um, she’s.. REALLY pretty. Like, really fuckin’ pretty. I think she made me like, 17% more lesbian the first time I saw her. And like, we’ve known each other for a long time and we know each other’s secrets n’ stuff… ahahah, that came out really weird! I just mean we’re good friends, y’know? Hah. Anyway, she’s a bad bitch, I’d die for her. Love her.”

Her love interest is actually a character named Destiny who I havent drawn yet!!

4. Do they look good in red?

I think she could pull it off bc red is in her color scheme but also like.. there’s already so much warm colors!! I think she looks the best in gray or black tbh (like imagine her in a black suit or something she’d look SNAZZY)

5. Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

“HHuuh WHAT AM I S’POSED TO TALK ABOUT? Fuck. Uh. Respect lesbians.” Mic drop

6. Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

She’ll ALWAYS take advice from her friends, especially Destiny, bc she trusts them to know when she’s being too hot-headed or rash- There’s a character in her friend group who hasn’t got a name yet but he’s REALLY good at giving advice!!

She will NEVER take advice from her old rival Lockjaw, and she shouldn’t- he’s always out to sabotage her somehow and plays dirty a lot of the time, and he’s known to be a huge liar (Plus they just hate each other)

7. Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

My three words: Fiery, protective, loving!!

Her three words: “Uh.. Gay. Handsome. Wait, scratch that. Gay, HOT, optimist.”

8. Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

She WANTS to be intrigued but she just gets frustrated and crumples up the paper after a few minutes if it’s not a super easy riddle sjhsjf she knows by now that it’s just Not Worth It

9. Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

She only usually does with like people (or I guess furry)-shaped objects like stuffed animals and dolls, and even then not to an extreme degree- it’s really Serene who has the EXTREME empathy and empathizes with everything!!

10. What age do they most want to be right now?

THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING QUESTION she misses being a kid like Serene is a lot, but she’s pretty happy where she is- she’s in a better place than she has been for a long time at the current point of her story! If anything, she wishes she could go back and tell her middle/high school self that things are gonna be okay

11. They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

She’d SAY she’s gonna save it and REALLY try but she wouldn’t be able to resist splurging on some really cool stuff bc COME ON she won the LOTTERY!! She’d also wanna buy gifts for the Monster family because she wants to thank them for how generous they’ve been to her so it’s really very wholesome 

12. Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

She doesn’t READ that’s for NERDS

JUST KIDDIN but nah she’s not really one for “mushy stuff” and prefers action/adventure stories!! She’s also a fan of mysteries and anything that’s not Painfully Heterosexual 

13. Name one thing their parents taught them.

Her parents weren’t the best, but they did teach her very good manners- she did go through a BIG rebel phase where she definitely was Not as polite, but overall her politeness and natural charisma really help her out in social situations (especially when she has to get favors from people and stuff)

14. Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

I think she’d agree with the term in a general sense!! I’m not sure exactly what guilty pleasures she has, probably just the fact that she can be kind of a thrill-seeker and take unnecessary risks- not involving Serene though ofc

15. What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

The first thing that came to mind is that she considers arguing with people you KNOW aren’t gonna change their mind to be a waste of time- Especially when it comes to social justice type issues she knows not to waste her energy on people who just won’t listen (but she’s argumentative by nature and usually ends up doing it against her better judgement)

16. If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

LEATHER JACKETS AND COOL BOOTS AND SUCH!! She’d also wanna buy a bunch of cool pins to put on said jacket (And she’d probably have to get it tailored bc of her wings too which would also be money..) She would also probably get some kind of cool patterned horseshoes!!

17. Do they like children?

Yes she DOES and Serene is her favorite (Even though she calls her a booger)

19. Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

NOPE she usually dives into most things headfirst, which can be VERY UNWISE but she feels like it keeps her brain clear to not stress about stuff beforehand  

20. What do they like that nobody else does?

HMM… I don’t really have an answer for this one tbh!! I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, the only thing that I can think of is that she likes waking up REALLY early and the smell of smoke, but lots of people also like those things

21. What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

She’s actually really bad at getting out of situations like that, like if she’s in a relationship she’s not happy in she’s bad at getting herself out of it- but probably something that really make her realize she needs to get outta there would be if the other person seriously hurt her on purpose 

22. Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

She LOVES pet names and calls EVERYONE pet names (unless they’re not comfortable ofc)!! Nicknames are kinda hard to make from “Horsepower” so a lot of the time she’s given weird affectionate pet names instead, it’s somthing that she’s kinda known for

DEFINITELY her go-to pet name is “babe”, she calls almost everyone that and I like to imagine that it’s very soothing bc she has a lovely deep voice.. other go-to pet names are baby, hon and love!! She has a lot of personal nicknames/pet names for individual people though 

Tbh she only really refers to someone as their full name if she doesn’t know them or if she’s mad at them shfshf

23. Stability or novelty?

Novelty!! Stability is important to her but she gets bored and anxious if she’s stuck in the same routine for too long, that’s why she likes taking care of Serene bc Serene is ALWAYS doing new things

24. Honesty or charity?

Ooh that’s difficult… Once again both are important values to her, but I’m gonna go with honesty- she’s a very (bluntly) honest person

25. Safety or possibility?

Possibility!! As established before she’s kinda a daredevil she doesn't care about SAFETY (unless it’s anyone else but her doing it then she’s gonna lecture them)

26. Talent or effort?

Effort!! She is EXTREMELY passionate and such an overachiever about everything shkfskh it’s like Hey Horsepower Can You Do This Simple Task For Me and she’s like Oh You Wanted Me To Change The World? I’ll Do That

27. Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Definitely vengeance she holds grudges REALLY BAD and as kind as she tries to be if someone who hurt her or her friends gets hurt… she can’t help being satisfied

30. What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

OH THATS A HEAVY QUESTION since she holds grudges so bad she’s probably try to get revenge on Lockjaw for all the grief he’s caused her over the years, if she knew she’d be off the hook she’d get really nasty about it bc her anger at him has just been Boiling for years 

WOW THAT TOOK A WHILE BUT IT WAS SO EXTREMELY FUN THANK U SO MUCH FOR ASKING!!! I’ll do the other one tomorrow bc I need to go to BED 

Also I did cut out a few questions!! I either didn’t wanna answer them or I had answered them before 

[ecotone99]

[RF] The angel smiles through the sky hole and I can see the blinding light and worried fire he has cast on my sick body

This might be just a hair too long to be a short story... but it is intentionally so. Forgive the grammars.

When I heard the news, I was just getting myself out of a disastrous job interview, and when I said “disastrous”, I meant it couldn’t have gone any worse than it already had. The interviewer asked me why I applied to become a computer technician when all I had studied in my academic life was nothing but literature, and all the achievement I ever had so unfortunately achieved was a mere few papers being published by some obscure websites. I told him I would do my best, and he essentially kicked me out. Just when I was gasping for air, standing at the front gate of the skyscraper, holding the wall trying my best not to discharge yesterday’s breakfast in the public, the phone came in. A relatively close friend of mine told me in solemn voices the news.

I felt compelled, so I called a cab, and headed straight to the hospital.

She wasn’t my friend. No, at least I wouldn’t say so. She was an acquaintance of mine that was beyond doubts, yet I wouldn’t call her my friend. She lied there in the snow-white bedsheet, as the transparent liquid slowly dripped into her vein. Her eyes were less lively the last time I saw her, and her chapped lips, slender torsos, incessant coughing, bitter smiles where her lips’ curvature would be kept at a minimum, bloodshot orbs, sable and withered hairs which made a sharp contrast with the snow white sheet, and the almost uncannily pallid skin colors, all evidenced and reaffirmed the shocking news.

I walked into her room. Clean and tidy, with the huge window beside her bed, and the warm yet somewhat sombre sunlight shone in. The flowers sitting on the windowsill: a few bunch carnations bathed in grey light glittering with colors in a minimalist china vase, emitting a soothing smell that inundated the room with serenity. She got the room all by herself. As my step walked through the door, she turned her head away from the window and looked this way with excitement and joy, but then saw my face, and the exultation immediately died down, replaced by a strange sense of contentment and acceptance.

“Oh. You.”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course you can.” She gesticulated the chair next to her bed. I didn’t prepare anything beforehand since I got straight from my interview, so instead of putting down any of my possessions first as any other normal person would do because I possessed nothing, I just sat down in that chair.

“Who told you this?”

“Evan.”

“Oh, should’ve known. Always so blissful.”

“You don’t want me to know, I presume.”

She looked at me, with a smile, less bitter than before when she was staring out the window.

“I am sorry…” I muttered, uncontrollably.

“What for, you are here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah… I am here.”

A short awkward silence. I stared at the tiles on the ground, she stared at me.

The nurse came in and asked her if she wanted anything to eat, and that she had to eat something.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet, have you?” She asked, addressing me. The nurse was bewildered yet didn’t voice a thing.

“No…” Starvation and sleep deprivation had followed me for months, and I truly couldn’t muster the strength to be all polite and coy about it at this point.

“Bring in something.” She told the nurse.

The meal came in a platter: A bowl of cabbage and pork soup, made from, obviously, cabbages, some smoked pork belly, and a few carrots and onions. Along with the soup were two pieces of hard but still good and fresh bread. The nurse put the platter in front of her, then immediately after the nurse had left, she put the platter into my hands.

“Eat.” She said. “You looked even more slender than I expected.”

I couldn’t reject her, not now, not this. I took a sip of the soup, only luke warm, and bland as anything. Of course they would be niggardly about the salt since it was supposed to be fed to the patient, but I still wasn't ready for the tastelessness that was water with some leaves in it. I found one piece of the smoked pork belly, and I swallowed it without even chewing, so I still didn’t taste a thing. Luckily the bread, though tough as rocks and tasted rougher than beach sands, soaked in the soup could still produce some satiating result.

“Thanks for coming.” She said while staring at me sipping the soup.

“You are not eating?”

“No… couldn’t. I feel sick from even drinking.”

Her eyes stared right at me, or at the spoons that I kept pushing into my mouth, I couldn’t tell which, and I was more than perturbed by it.

“Would you mind staying with me for a while?” Her voice sounded like a shaking silver bell.

“Sure.” I answer half-mindedly.

“I meant just be here with me.”

I looked out the window. The city was beneath us, and the clouded firmament was above. The sunlight slowly had dimmed away, and the shadows slowly but surely overtook the bright spot in between the skyscrapers and streets. The flower sitting there no longer had that sheen, but still looked colorful enough for me to call it eyeable.

“Yea… I could stay here for a while.” I turned back to her, still staring at me.

“Good, I am glad.”

“Who else will come to visit?”

“I don’t know.” The slight disappointment underneath her breath was noticeable, especially for me. Through years, I had grown a sensitive sense for tones of dismay and discontent. She thought she was hiding it pretty well, I could see. “How is your day?” And sure enough, a smile climbed back on her face.

“Could be better…” I answered.

“Is there anything interesting happening?”

It felt weird. Usually I would be one driving the conversation along, since I was the more talkative one comparatively, and she would always be the one that listened and responded. Her asking the questions now was uncomfortable, and suddenly I felt the vocabularies in my brain had dried out, and I got nothing to say.

“I am not… well, lately.” I simply answered.

“How is that?”

“Well, you know the usual… not able to get a job, stuck in my house all the time, having no one around… you know, the usual suspects.”

“No one around?”

“Well... It's not like I got a companion or anything, isn’t it? I wish I could get a dog or a cat, but I couldn’t even properly feed myself, what, am I supposed to drag another soul to my level of abject misery?” I said, half-jokingly with self-mockery.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“Exactly… I don’t really have a place to go. I mean, who would agree to just sit here with you if the man was not a complete dawdler.”

“No one.”

“You said it, not me.” I sunk into my chair cause my spine just didn’t possess enough strength for me to sit up properly, “Staring at the document, typing all my way into oblivion…”

“Are your sleep at least okay now?”

“No…” I muttered, “Worse… I can’t type in the morning. I got nothing when the sunlight crept through my window. It is only in the deepest night, words and inspiration would come knocking my door… I haven’t had a good sleep in so goddamn long time…”

“I could call the nurse to bring in a bed for you, if you want.”

She wanted me to spend the night here. Her words were purposeful, how she answered, how she asked. She wanted me to rant, she wanted me to vent, so I would stay in this place, where the ceiling and the floor and the wall and the bed were all white, and always so filled to the brim with sedating air, almost anaesthetic in some way. I realized all these, but I couldn’t really do anything about it. I wanted to walk out of the room and go straight down to the first floor and just sprint out of this building, yet there was no incentive for me to do so. I had nothing else to do, no where else to go to, no one else to care for. I had no incentive for staying here either, but no incentive for inaction was not in and of itself an incentive for action..

“No… I am fine… excuse me.”

I walked out for restroom, and on my way back, I saw three figures heading this way. The hospital’s hallways were all dim, almost unlit, and since I really had no reason to avoid walking into three strangers, we jostled. It was then I realized who they were.

Evan, the one told me about her situation. The mutual acquaintance between me and her. Fat and slick all dressed up and everything. Following him, a man and a woman, whom I only knew were colleagues of hers, Josh and Lisa. Evan asked me how I got here so fast, and expressed his surprise for me coming immediately after his call. I scorn him, but not really, for telling me about the thing since clearly, she wanted this to be secretive. He just laughed it off, which I laughed with him because it was quite laughable if we were being totally honest. We walked into the room together.

I stood in the corner, watching them conversed. Evan brought in a lot of flowers, presumably from her colleagues, all wishing her to get well soon; Josh brought her some letters, from her distant relatives or friends; Lisa gave her a huge hug and brought her some gifts, maybe there were tears in her eyes as well; they chatted, laughed. I turned to the window, fixated to the sky. The sunlight was no more, and the overcast sky was cloaking this land. Clouds thicker than quilts, lingering around the top of skyscrapers. The city functioned as always, as clouds were dripping down from the sky.

“Ey.” A voice called. I turned, and there she was again, alone. “They are gone.”

“That fast?”

“Not fast. You stood there for twenty-something minutes.”

“Is that it?”

“What were you thinking just now?”

“Nothing.”

“It is not nothing.”

“Why is it not?”

“You stood there voiceless and just looked out the window for twenty minutes. There must be something on your mind.”

She was usually right, but not this time. There was truly nothing on my mind. Maybe I would benefit from some good sleep, and maybe then I might have the strength to think. Not now.

“I was wondering… I mean, I saw something strange out.” I made it up, not wanting to just shut her down for being wrong.

“What is that?”

“There was a patch of the sky that was clear, like it was a cloudless sunny day, but every other part of the sky was overcast and gloomy.”

“Is that so?” She smiled. She could have easily verified my statement by just looking out the window herself, yet she did not do that.

“Yea, like it is weird. Like the hole on the ozone layer you know. Just a patch of clear sky. I mean, weird right? Imagine, you know, a spaceship, or some divinity… coming down the city from that hole…” I gesticulated while talking, trying to paint a picture for her in thin air. She smiled at me, as if she could actually see the picture I was drawing with my gangly fingers, “You know, how the lights, the warm, golden sunlight beams down, so it would make the sharp contrast against the grey sky that surrounds it, and uh, uh, yeah the spaceship, following an metallic howling, an alarm ear-piercingly stentorian, slowly descends down from the high, and pushes the black clouds away….”

My phone rang. I picked it up in utter frustration, “Who is it?”

The voice on the other end was familiar. The guy asked me if I want to come along with them, to visit her. I said I was already there.

“Ron and Andrew are coming,” I said, hanging up the phone.

“Oh!” She was visibly more excited, “I haven’t seen them in a while. Have you?”

“Ron, a few months back.”

“Are you guys still in contact?”

“No, not really.”

“Who are you still in contact with?”

I wished I could come up with a name, but I couldn’t so I made one up, “Stan.”

“Really? You guys weren’t that close back then.”

Maybe the lie was too obvious. I gave up on justifying it to her, so I just sat down on that little chair next to her bed again. “Yeah, we weren’t.”

Growling stomach. A sense of faintness climber up my neck. I felt giddy.

“You want some more to eat?” She asked, compassionately.

“Yeah…”

She called in the nurse again asking for more food. I could see the annoyances on the nurse’s face, as she already had realized the food would be fed to a rando instead of their patient, but she still complied. Soon, another platter was sent in, the same old bowl of cabbage soup, except this time there was no bread.

As I was ravishing the soup, the door was knocked, two men came in.

“Raymond. How in the bloody of all hell could you get here so fast?” Ron cried when he saw me. A friend of mine who had offered me job opportunities before, which I inevitably all screwed up, next to him stood his friend, the slender young man Andrew.

I stood up, still holding the bowl of soup in my hand, walked to Ron. “What? You have a problem with it?”

“Yes, huge. We should have come together.”

“Well if so a car crash would kill us all instead of just one of us then.” I jeered. He had got himself into a car crash a few years back and it had become a laughingstock of his.

“Haha, very funny.” He scoffed, then whispered under his breath, “And uh, would you keep you distasteful joke down for a minute for cryin’ out loud. We are in a hospital and she is right next to us right now!”

“Well, she didn’t get herself here from a car crash.”

“Alright, how much of an ass you have to be?”

“I don’t have to be one.”

“Why do you hate me?”

“No, I don’t. We haven’t spoken in months, what is wrong with some witticism.” I laughed, patting his shoulder. “Besides, look at our surroundings. It needs something to lighten it up.”

“Right, blab your mouth you inveterate fool.” He looked to the other two in the room, and I followed his gaze. Andrew was sitting on the side of her bed chatting with her, both sometimes chuckled at jokes they made. Though under the laughter and cheers, Andrew’s desolation pertaining to her situation was more than apparent as he was doing a terrible job of covering it. She too had this slight melancholy swimming in the background of her words. They were talking about their past with bittersweet nostalgia, their future with cheerful humor, their friends and people they know with childish mockery, yet they never had touched the present, where they were and how they were right now.

“Is it raining outside?” I asked Ron, who was still standing next to me at the door.

“Sprinkling. Raining no. But it seems a storm is coming.” He answered, still had his gazes fixed on the two conversing.

I looked out the window, saw the small raindrops crashed on the window. The sky had gone from grey to an almost black shade of colorlessness, looking more like six or seven in the afternoon even though it was only two. Then I realized the window near the vase of flowers was still open, so I walked in and closed it shut. The flower looked dull without the sunlight, and we haven’t turned the room’s light on yet.

“Raymond. Raymond!”

“What?” I came back from my daze. Ron was there, Andrew was at the door already.

“Are we leaving?” Andrew asked Ron softly, most likely cause of exhaustion.

“We are leaving,” Ron called to me.

I simply waved my hand. The two left.

“I had a good time.” She said to me.

“I could see it.” I turned on the light and sat back down that little chair next to her.

“Had you?”

“Why would I have a great time?”

“I don’t know. You don’t find the two fun?”

“I wouldn’t consider two men to be fun unless they are entertaining.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “How I missed the old days.”

“I don’t.” I replied, knowing she would then ask me my opinion.

“Why?” She then paused for a moment. “Do you still have dreams?”

“Yes.” Plenty a night.

“Still the same thing.”

“Mostly. Like I was still living in the past.” I looked out the window, the rain was picking up, as more and more droplets came onto the window, and the wind was making the frame clanged like the maniac screaming in the middle of the city square holding up a sign about the incoming of the end of the world. “I just sat there, waiting for someone to pick me up.”

“Well, you dreamt of that someone often?”

“I don’t know who would be picking me up, so I don’t know how that works but yes. Quite often.” I shrugged, “Talking about dreams with someone might be the most boring and selfish things one could have done, so it’s not like you will get anything out of this.”

“I don’t know who said that. I love talking about dreams. It is an interesting way to know someone. You want to hear about my dreams?”

“No. Not particularly.”

“I dreamt of love all the time, ever since I got here. Family, friend, him.”

“Him?” I regretted asking and probing her immediately.

“Yeah, how his strong arms would cling onto me.” She giggled. “His eyes are always so enchanting, so engrossing. I sometimes looked into them like there were millions of stars behind the two cosmic orbs. His chapped lips, and how passionately he pressed his tongue…”

“Oh, terrific.” I cried, “I am gonna be a third wheel even in a hospital room.”

“Thought you are used to it already.” She jeered.

“Yes. Cause I love being a third wheel, shining through the love of companionship with my singular source of bright light.” I walked to the window, looking out. The rain was dense and serried now, and visible undulation could be seen in the sky, made by the collective efforts of raindrops and the united current of winds, looking like the waves in the ocean, except they were between buildings and above the streets.

“That sentence sounded so strange.” She tittered. “You should really find one of your own.”

"Does stuck in the past counted as my true love?"

“Pretentious.”

“I thought so as well.” I sat back down on the chair, “Which is why I don’t have anyone with me.”

The door was almost kicked loose, the guy standing there was all suited and tied, nicely combed and shaved, almost taller than the door frame, with a face of panic. She looked to him in shock, and slowly as the realization came in, her teary eyes and choking voice could no longer be held back.

I had to walk away from the chair just so they wouldn’t crush me in between as he ran to her and embraced her with full strength. How on earth could she, a sickly patient, take such heavy impact was beyond my reasoning, and how they could so passionately touch their lips together when a complete stranger was standing in the corner of the room was also befuddling, to say the least. He kept muttering how he was sorry he was late and such and judging by his half-drenched blazer, and the suitcase that was thrown away as he ran to her, he was just getting off work.

I looked out the window, and the rain howled, so did the wind. It was a storm. Those monolithic buildings shivered underneath the dark sky and if I looked closely I could see the pedestrians all scattered and ran in panic like ants on a burning hot frying pan.

“You are Raymond? Right?” The man talked to me.

“Yes.” I nodded my head. “John, I knew you.”

“Thank you so much for coming.” He shook my hand firmly and decidedly, as his sharp and angular facial features made an expression of appreciation and thankfulness, “She had talked about you before. Thank you so much for taking care of her.”

I had done nothing for her, so I didn’t really want to accept his compliments. Besides, underneath his overwhelming gratitude, I could sense a very tame but stinging hostility, as if he was signaling me to get out the room and leave them alone, leave her alone. I didn’t say a thing back to him.

He went back and whispered to her words that I did not hear nor could I understand if I did. Then they embraced and kissed again. Then she whispered something back to him, and, unexpectedly, he frowned, and threw me a quick gaze. He kissed her on the forehead, stood back up, and looked at me.

“It was good to meet you.”

This time, the hostility was not even disguised.

He left.

“Where is he going?” I asked, not really caring for an answer.

“Still got work to do. He is edging on a promotion.” She said, clearly a lot more rejoiced and lively than any other time of the day I was here.

“Well, then the day is late…”

“Would you sit along with me?” She gesticulated the chair once more, which John did not sit on, nor did anyone else that had been to this room, as if the chair was reserved solely for me.

As I sat down on the chair, the rain outside bellowed in terror, a pale blue stripe tore the black sky in two halves in an instant, then an explosive sound shook the room and the people in it. The storm had come, bringing dooming fear, and the tall buildings shuddered in dread, and lives and innocences ran back to safety, and the city shrieked. Thunders ululated on top of us like they were mere inches aloft our ceiling. She wanted me here, and I could feel my life being drained away by her admittedly prepossessing yet tiresome smile. She wanted me whole. Sat here with all my flesh bone and soul, accompany her to the next stop. When she got there, I would be left behind, alone once again, waiting to be picked up. Fury burnt within my rib cage as I realized this terrible truth, and the periodically exploding thunders only exacerbated my choler. I looked at her, and she smiled at me. I wanted to leave, to jump out the window and embrace the storm.

“Would you just, be here with me?” She asked again, softly.

Acerbated. I wanted to choke her.

“Would you just, bring me a cup of water?” She then asked with a fainting voice, almost lower than a whisper. The sound of raindrops almost prevented me from hearing her request.

I looked around, there was no water in the room.

“Out there… in the hallway…”

I walked out of the room. The hallways were even dimmer as somehow they didn’t turn the lights out when the sky had gone dark hours ago. No one could be seen, and besides the hard crash of raindrops and the roaring thunder no sound could be heard, not even my own footstep. I walked to the water machine, got a cup of hot water, and slowly lolloped my way back to her room.

She drank the water, slowly slid into her bed. “Raymond… do you dream?”

“Yeah.” I answered, immediately surprised by the amount of rage I had slipped through my lips. I didn’t intend the word to sound like an insult.

“What do you dream of…”

“Light. Someone came and picked me up from the ground. Someone found me as I stuck in the past, unable to move on.” I made all that up. Those were not my dreams. I was never picked up.

“That is nice… I envy your sleep… I wish I could see… the most beautiful… every time I hit the hay…”

She fell asleep. Her features softened finally, and only then did I notice the burdensomeness that hung on her nose, her lips, her brows and her eyes had gone away.

I was woken up by the bellowing storm and a light knock on the door. I didn’t really fall asleep, more of a state of mindless unconsciousness that had no dream and no reward of restfulness afterward, and would be woken up as easily as making up lies. The light was turned off, and the room would be pure black if not by the city lights outside and that small lamp on her bedstand. Someone was standing at the door. A man of our ages, wearing a black jacket, shoddy grey canvas pants, holding a dripping wet black umbrella. Unshaven, sable and messy hairs. and a pair of desolated eyes.

“Who are you?” I asked, having never seen the man before.

“Came to visit her.” His voice was lower than drones. He walked to her bedside, looked down at her sleeping posture. “Looks like a bad time to come.”

“No shit, detective, it's ten in the evening. How the heck does the hospital even allow you in?”

“You are still here, isn’t it? I presume you are not related to hers.”

Speechless, I stood up from the chair, “Well what do you want?”

“I want a talk with her, that is all.” The man said.

The thunder cracked once more. It was clear the umbrella didn’t really do that much for the guy as he was basically soaking wet from top to bottom.

“About what?”

“The past.”

Lots of people came for the past. I figured.

“Well, I will come next time.”

“There might be no next time,” I told him. “I think you should know by now, and if you don’t, I think you need to know.”

“Then I guess it’s too bad.” He smiled, almost sarcastically, as if he found it to be ironic. “Tell her I came when she woke up, would you… nevermind.”

“What?”

“I am sure you would be leaving before she woke up.”

He left, leaving a trail of water on the ground, glistening in the darkness. I felt sick, and the cabbage soup was making a comeback in my throat. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I walked out the room, sprinted down the stairs. The front gate of the hospital was enormous, bigger than anything I had laid eyes upon, and its vastness stung even though I was simply looking at it. My legs shook, and I could feel the organs inside my rib cage were having a battle, or an orgy, couldn’t really tell. Outside the gate was the city in the night, and the storm was dying down as well. I slowly moved my feet towards it, towards the opening, towards the outside. Notes of scrambling piano rang in my skull, and somehow I was seeing angels flying down from the sky to pick me up. I walked out the gate, and fresh but solid city air inflated my lungs, and they were tasteless. I would go back home and change all my clothes which reeked of sickness and death brought by hospital, then I would head to the bar in my barely functioning car, then I would be slosh legless with spirits, then I would smoke, then I would be shitfaced high and pass out in the street. Exuberance was overwhelming when my mind and my body both realized that I had walked out the hospital. Being alone had never felt so liberating.

I forgot what she looked like when I was outside.

。。。

The warm sunlight shone through the window. The carnations on the windowsill were shining with colors. The city sat there, calmly, in horrendous serenity. People’s lives continued on the street.

I came back to the room, expecting her almost chide-like greeting. Yet even I knew. The bedsheet was clean, and the room was brightly lit, and even though the flowers looked exactly the same as that day, they were put there anew. The smell of disinfectant overcame the smell of the flowers.

​

Inspired by A Silver Mt. Zion.

submitted by /u/Mercury-Summer [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2RHyB7e

[adriennescomingbacktolife]

(OOC: This is collab piece with the handler of Silvio Leon. The writer(Ampersand) is extremely talented and I absolutely recommend that you expand your horizons and check their site out. 

https://oracularmysteries.wordpress.com/

Thanks!)

===

“Hey, you made it!” Silvio beamed as his client and co-worker walked through the front doors of the coffee shop. He’d already settled in at a table, a cold brew, a pink cake pop and his deck of cards set out before him. The shop was relatively sparse, though a few people milled about, sipped their drinks, or tapped away at their laptops. The air was redolent of coffee, brewing tea, rich pastries, and the walls were hung with art from local creators. “You want a coffee or a tea or anything? My treat.” Adrienne Levi, phone in hand, was just finished firing off a text when she acknowledged Silvio with a smile. Sitting across from him, she finally answered. “Oh, um, mint tea if they have it.” “Sure!” He got to his feet, nodding toward the counter. “Back in a flash. Anything you want to nibble on?” “Surprise me.” Silvio gave Adrienne a little salute before heading back to the counter, returning a few minutes later with a steaming cup of fragrant tea and a croissant dusted with sugar and slivers of almonds. “Figured this would be a good combo,” he said, setting the food down for her and taking his seat again. “Don’t want to do a reading on an empty stomach, y’know?” He leaned back and sipped at his coffee. “So, have you ever done this before? With the tarot cards, I mean.” Taking a sip as well, Adrienne shook her head. “I’ll be honest. I’m kinda intimidated by this. Not by you personally.” Her voice was quiet, just loud enough for the table. “I think perhaps by the idea of the unknown. Skeptics would say that you’re just good at reading people.” Almost down to a whisper, as if those people could be listening. “But it feels like something not easily explained.” She paused, perhaps feeling ridiculous. Her normal conversational tone resumed. “Sorry, sometimes I talk too much. No, I haven’t is what I mean.” “Aw, I don’t think that at all. I like hearing people tell their stories.” He picked up the deck and started shuffling it. “I’m asking because I just want to let you know things might get kinda personal. The cards might tell me things you would rather I not know, and that’s fine. If things start getting a little too intense, let me know and we’ll stop. I don’t want to be poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Is that cool?” Adrienne bit into the croissant, taking care not to dump sugar all over her t-shirt. Between chews, she acknowledged Silvio’s conditions. “Very.” “Okay, then, let’s get started.” Spreading the cards across the table between them, he sat back and gestured with an open hand. “I need you to choose six of the cards here. Think about what you want answers to; it’ll help guide the reading.” Adrienne’s hands hovered over the cards, feeling trepidation over a choice that could be considered rather mundane. Silently, she separated six of them in no particular pattern. This was after much thought, she had no real idea of what these cards were except that maybe one of them meant that she would die any moment. Or one saying that she’d become a princess and have her own castle. That lack of knowledge released her to allow someone who clearly knew what he was doing to take over. “There. Six cards.” Lacing her hands on her lap, she sat up, watching Silvio intently now. “Alright. We’re going to do the universal six-card spread reading. If I need to stop at any time, just let me know. First, we’re going to see how you’re feeling right now.” Turning over the first card revealed an illustration of an angel blowing on a trumpet. Below it, grey-skinned men, women, and children rose joyously from their crypts, arms raised. “Judgment. You’re feeling like you’re putting a chapter of your life behind you or moving on to a new phase. But that’s not a bad thing. You’re sort of taking stock and figuring out where to go next.” Glancing up at her, he said, “I think that fight you had with Lab Rat King was a turning point. There was something different about that match, wasn’t there?” The nightmares could attest to that. And while some of the lesser wounds had started to fade away, the boot shaped bruise on Adrienne’s neck had started to color up like the prettiest sunset. “Didn’t feel like it was a fight, Silvio. I don’t know what that was. Like it was the worst night in a long time but afterwards, people started talking. No one’s ever paid much attention to me. Kinda weird.” He nodded and turned over the next card. “Let’s look at what you want.” The second card showed a crowned man seated on a throne, holding a scepter and looking out with a stern expression. “The Emperor. You want the support of a male figure in your life. I’m guessing that’s probably Knox for your upcoming match.” Looking up to meet her eyes, his brow knit. “You still okay, or do you want to stop? We’re about to get into what your fears might be.” Adrienne thought about Knox briefly. He had been polite at every turn. But he had also dictated her involvement in that match. But she didn’t fear what he may do. She felt empowered to voice any discontent with him. This certainly was not the norm for any woman much less Adrienne. But Silvio’s insistence of continuing consent was refreshing. Instinctively, she looked around, just in case someone was eavesdropping. “I’m okay.” He nodded and turned over the next card to reveal a figure of an old, white-bearded man shrouded in grey. In one hand the old man held a staff and in the other a lantern he held aloft. “The Hermit.” Silvio looked thoughtful, lips pursed as he tapped the card lightly with one fingertip. “You’re kind of the odd person out here. In a group of four, you’re the only woman. There might be some fear there that you’re not going to get the kind of support you need. Those douche canoes you’re facing off against said and did some pretty shitty stuff to you. It was inappropriate floor to ceiling, but I get the feeling they’re not used to having somebody point out their asshattery as specifically and incisively as you have. Knox stepped in, but let’s be real - no guy is ever going to understand being targeted like that. You are unique in this particular scenario, and maybe there’s some trepidation about what that means.” He took another sip of his coffee to give them both a moment. “You still cool about going on? The next card is going to deal with what you’ve got going for you.” She put a finger on the Hermit card. All of the other women in this company seemed so complete. Completely actualized. She knew that wasn’t the case but the card struck a chord alright. Sharing a few words here and there was one thing, but she felt out of place. Adrienne just wished she had someone to talk to other than her mother. Looking up, she nodded back. “Yeah. I’m good with this.” The next card he turned over showed a woman robed in white and wreathed in flowers with a serene expression on her face. Bent at the waist, she calmly holds the jaws of a fierce-looking red lion. “Strength.” He smiled and looked up at her with dark eyes that spark with delight. “Not that surprising. You’ve been showing everyone time and time again how much heart you have; how courageous you are. That’s what you’ve got going for you. That’s what’s going to see you through this. It will not fail you.” “Is that one real?” She twirled a strand of her dark hair nervously. “I mean, they all sound pretty right. I feel pretty pathetic sometimes. This summer’s been the first time I’ve ever been out of Clearwater by myself.” “There’s a Japanese saying I like. ‘Fall down seven times, get up eight.’” The fortune teller looked at her with a gentle smile. “Everybody has rough times. Everybody fails. That isn’t always your fault - you can do everything right and still not win. That’s not you being pathetic - that’s just life. What matters is that afterward, you still get up and you try again. You aren’t weak for losing. You’re strong because you don’t let it stop you. I’ve seen you fight. I see you changing and adapting with each match you have. And y’know what? Whoever thinks of you as weak does so at their own peril. You have the right heart for all of this. Everything else - your physical conditioning, your mic work, your move set - those are all things you can learn. You can’t teach heart. You either got it or you don’t. Believe me - if and when we ever get into the ring together, I’m not going to be stupid enough not to take you seriously.” “Thank you, that could actually be fun. And not terrifying.” Silvio grinned and turned over the next card to show a robed woman sitting between black and white pillars, a crescent moon at her feet and a diadem on her head. He clucked his tongue and raised a brow. “Ah hah. See, I kinda feel like this is cheating since you already told me, but what you’ve got working against you is insecurity. Those feelings might be coming from within or they might be imposed from without. But whatever the case, there’s some Doubting Thomas in your life. Ignore them. They don't know what they’re talking about. You’re on the right track.” There was that first urge to stop. She barrelled through, fingers clutching the gold band on her finger. “I guess. You’re ...you’re talking about Danny, right?” Adrienne still wasn’t clear on how this worked so maybe she was just confirming what was obvious. “Danny’s complicated. But th-there’s one more, I’m okay with that.” Silvio’s brow knit and he gave her an apologetic look. “Hey, I’m sorry if that struck too close to home. And, maybe that is who the card’s addressing, but you would know better than me. This last card is how things are all gonna turn out. You’re sure you want me to read it for you? If you want a minute, that’s fine.” Settling her nerves, Adrienne smiled. “I’m ready. I’ve worked so hard and sometimes I’m not sure what for. Stopping now would be unfair to … me.” He nodded and flipped the last card to reveal a woman suspended in the sky, swathed in blue silk and surrounded by a wreath of greenery. In each hand, she held a baton. “The World. This is good. Success and fulfillment. This is going to be the culmination of your endeavors and hard work. I’m pretty sure you’re going to break out into a win here for Chaos 95, and it could not be more deserved. I, for one, cannot wait to see you pummel that skin melting penis-faced manifestation of toxic masculinity with below average hair and his mopey, complicit little crony who clearly missed the entire point of Watchmen and is likely salivating over the prospect of jerking one out to the, fabled ‘Snyder Cut.’” He gave a little shrug. “Pardon my language there.” Adrienne shrugged. “You’re cool. They’re jerks for sure. But they’re also the real deal.” She looked at the card. Everything felt right, but this one resonated with her. The words he said, and the art. Adrienne had come a long way. She’d been Danny’s girl for so long. And in the darkness, she was less. Face down, with a forearm against the back of her neck, she’d been told her place explicitly by a monstrosity she didn’t want to name right now. But this image here defied that. “But I’m prepared for them, Silvio. And I realized that they aren’t an exception here. They’re caricatures, but I know better. I’m going to drag them all out into the light.” “Hell yeah, you are!” he laughed. “I mean, dang, we’ve each gotten our shit rocked by Knox at this point, so we both know he’s a strong partner to have. Those jack wagons have shown everyone their true colors, and now they’re upset at people calling them out for what they really are. Disinfect them with sunlight, Adrienne. They might be a real deal, but there’s a reason to forgo Great Values for name brand, y’know?” Sweeping up the cards, he took out a box for them from a backpack he had hanging off the chair behind him. “I gotta head out soon, but I have a gift for you. I do my readings for my promos with just the Major Arcana cards, but there are also four suits that you can use along with them. Wands, cups, pentacles, and swords. There’s one that made me think of you.” Pausing to stick his cake pop in his mouth, he shuffled through the deck before coming to the card he wanted, then drew it out between his index and middle finger. “Here you go. The Queen of Swords.” He laid a card between them. It showed a woman seated on a throne wearing a crown of butterflies upon her head. She was dressed in regal fashion, and held a sword in one hand while the other was extended forward. Behind her, grey clouds gathered on the horizon. “The sword suit’s element is air. She holds a sword in one hand and holds the other out in greeting; she’s open, but doesn’t lack self protection. Her open hand can also be interpreted as putting thought into action. The butterflies she’s crowned with indicate free thinking and an active intellect.” Silvio tapped the clouds gently with one finger tip. “The dark clouds here signify that she has known sorrow in the past, but she is not letting that prevent her from seeking the horizon. She is determined, independent, and isn’t afraid to tell it like it is.” The card is pushed across the table to Adrienne. “It’s yours.” If it were anyone else, the little gasp would have looked facetious. Like any person, Adrienne had received a number of gifts over her life. Rarely, if ever, had she been given something that was given to her - with her in mind. The recently departed bike was a gift with the implication that Adrienne didn’t fit into that blue dress like before. Quickly, she wiped away the wetness in her eyes because she could go do that later and maybe not be weird in public. Holding the card gently with both hands, Adrienne focused on the image. Queen’s something used too often these days. But this was better than anything else she’d been. Finally, she looked to Silvio, astonishment in her eyes. “Thank you.” Silvio face contorted with concern over the reaction for a moment, fearful he’d said or done the wrong thing. As she looked at him, though, that expression on her face, he gave her a sheepish smile with teeth slightly pink from the candy coating of the half-eaten cake pop. “Aw, heck, I’m just glad you like it. You’re doing a great job, Adrienne. I can’t wait to see what you have to show us next.” Washing down his dessert with a last swig of coffee, he got to his feet and hefted his backpack over one shoulder. “I got a client to meet at the parlor, but if you ever need anything, drop me a line, okay? I got your back.” “Same here.” Adrienne waved goodbye with her free hand, clutching about the coolest thing she’d seen in a long time to her chest. “Bye, Silvio.”

[poorlilbeans]

y’all already know what this is. (part 8)

lmao motherfuckin finally. this author is so slow amirite wow who are they

           “Addressing any concerns regarding my recent fall and inactivity online: First of all, thank you all for your concern and kind messages. Yes, my ankle is broken. No, the season isn’t over for me. Thankfully, it is only a minor fracture, and I intend to be back on the ice within a few weeks. As for everything else: Yes, I am dealing with some health issues at the moment. I have been mostly bedridden for the past two weeks since my last competition, having been diagnosed with an undifferentiated autoimmune disease. (Not contagious, so don’t worry, fellow competitors <3) I don’t know when I’ll be back to full health, but as aforementioned, it is absolutely my goal to continue with the season as planned. This is a setback for sure, but not the end of my career. (And no, I’m not on drugs, @sportscelebgossip. Yes, I saw that article.)”

“Good caption,” Victor confirmed. Yuuri drew in a deep breath as he hit post and immediately shoved his phone under his pillow. “Good, it’s done,” Victor reassured. “You don’t have to worry about it anymore. Ready for the journal?”

“I just realized the anglicized version of my name rhymes with worry,” Yuuri said, blatantly ignoring the question. “How accurate is that?”

“Yuuri…”

“Yeah. Yuuri. Worry.”

“Stop procrastinating. It’s not going to work.”  Yuuri sighed heavily.

“I hate the journal,” he grumped. “Let’s just talk about English words some more. Hurry also rhymes.”

“Then let’s hurry and get this done so you can stop being a child about it. First is temperature. Open up.” Resigned, Yuuri stuck the thermometer in his mouth, giving the journal the Dirty Look to End All Dirty Looks until it beeped.

“38.2,” Victor murmured, writing it down. “And you were over 39 three times today. Just one seizure… about 110 seconds… Okay, how many barfs were there?”

“Three.”

“Okay, that’s better, right? That’s one less than yesterday. Blood?”

“Yes. Not much, though. Just streaks.” Realizing what question was coming next, Yuuri pulled his blanket up over his face stubbornly. Victor sighed.

“Don’t do that. You’re just making the journal take even longer.” There was no answer. “Just a one word answer. How many bowel movements?” After several seconds of silence, the blanket whispered,

“Five and a half.”

“Five and a half? How the hell does that work?”

“Because- never mind. Six. Just put six.”

“Fine. Blood?”

“Yeah.”

“Any coughing fits today?”

“One bad one, one not-so-bad one.”

“Okay. Joint pain throughout the day. One is none, ten is the worst pain ever.”

“Six? But like seven or eight when I move? But then sometimes it’s like five when I have the hot packs,” Yuuri rambled, still under the blanket.

“I��ll just write six and a half, like yesterday. Last one is general, just how you feel. One is take me back to the hospital right now and ten is take me back to the rink right now.”

“That sounds biased.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Fine. Like, four, I guess. Today was pretty okay.”

“Four,” Victor whispered as he wrote. “Okay, we’re done. See how easy that was?”

“No,” Yuuri answered stubbornly. Victor slipped the journal in the drawer of the nightstand (out of sight, out of mind) and hugged the blanket, knowing Yuuri was hiding in there somewhere. Truthfully, Victor hated the journal too, but not for the same reason. Yuuri found it embarrassing to document how awful he felt every night; especially since he was so prone to being incredibly private when it came to illness. He was a master of hiding packs of tissues in his sleeve when he had a cold, or escaping social situations when he needed to cough. With this, though, there was no being private. He had to record every gross thing that happened and relay it to the doctors at the next appointment, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to convince himself that everyone who knew what was going on with his health wasn’t disgusted. Meanwhile, Victor hated the journal for how it put into perspective how bad things were. Even while he was almost always home taking care of him, Yuuri still managed to hide things. In the past couple of days he had gained back enough strength to sometimes hobble around alone on his crutches, which gave him the freedom to keep things secret. He’d started taking frequent showers, playing loud American rock music to drown out the sounds of coughing, retching, or using the washroom. The journal was getting increasingly frustrating as Victor discovered more and more things that had flown over his head throughout the day. It terrified him that Yuuri might start trying to hide seizures as well, which could put him in serious danger.

Tired of cuddling a faceless blanket-lump, Victor burrowed under the thick comforter until his nose was touching Yuuri’s.

“You shouldn’t hide under the blankets. It’s not good for your fever.” It was hard to tell under the dark blanket, but he was pretty sure Yuuri rolled his eyes before scooting away from him. That was a bad plan, though, and he ended up scooting right off the bed, yelping as he hit the floor with a thud. Victor threw the blanket off of himself and scrambled to the floor where Yuuri was in a little heap, his shoulders jumping.

“Shit! Are you okay? Are you crying? Look at me!” he cried frantically, grasping Yuuri’s arm.

“I’m laughing, Vitya,” he answered, sitting up slowly to reveal a sheepish smile. “What happened to your sense of humour?” Victor breathed a sigh of relief before replying,

“I think it got worried for a second there. You didn’t jar your ankle, did you?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. It was funny. Remember that? Funny? Can we please talk about something other than my ankle and my… you know, my everything else?” Victor sighed, forcing himself not to scoop Yuuri up and put him back in bed, instead offering him a hand. With a little help, Yuuri stood on his good foot and climbed into bed, looking at him expectantly.

“Of course. Sorry,” Victor said finally, crawling back into bed beside him. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Literally anything,” Yuuri breathed. “Watching paint dry. Math exams. American politics.”

“Getting married in Japan,” Victor blurted out. Had he really said that out loud? In the back of his mind, he knew it was foolish to be embarrassed about talking about wedding fantasies when you’re already engaged, but still. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and idly wondered if he was more flushed than Yuuri. There was a moment of heavy silence before Yuuri grabbed Victor’s face and kissed him. Hard. Harder than he had since this whole mess had started. Maybe harder than he ever had.

 Yuuri wished he could kiss him for longer, but his lungs began to burn after only a few seconds. He didn’t tell Victor that. He didn’t mention how much his body hurt from the simple effort of pulling him in for the kiss in the first place, or how his ankle was actually throbbing from falling off the bed. None of that mattered at the moment, because Victor wanted to get married in Japan. Yuuri had never even considered the possibility of someone wanting to marry him, ever. Maybe as a young child it had crossed his mind- the beautiful idea of a wedding on that lovely cliff near the onsen- in the spring, maybe, when it would be raining cherry blossom petals. At some point in college it had suddenly occurred to him that that dream had died around the time he met Nishigori, but he wasn’t upset about that. He had never missed the fantasy, exactly, but now it was suddenly back in his mind and it was oddly wonderful. Thoughts of kissing under the cherry blossoms, looking out over the Hasetsu cityscape with someone else, walking along the beach holding hands with Victor, his husband, all raced through his head in the space of less than a second. He knew he should say something, but the emotion was so overwhelming he didn’t know what he would do if he allowed himself to snap out of this trance. Finally, the emotions bubbled over, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out a laugh. Victor flushed crimson, looking horribly embarrassed for some reason, and Yuuri couldn’t correct him because he was just too happy, happier than he’d probably thought he could ever be, and all his language abilities flew out of him with a giddy whoosh.

“I’m sorry, that was such a weird thing to say- it was so sudden. I just- you have more family than I do, and- like- I know we technically met in Russia but you didn’t remember that and that night didn’t feel real anyway because it was just a party and parties end. But being in Japan was the first time I didn’t feel so alone and I just thought- I’m sorry, I’m just making this more awkward…” Yuuri prepared his weak lungs and interrupted Victor with another kiss, knowing there was something he could be saying, but deciding that just this once, he’d put his own needs first and let himself indulge in the feeling of being overwhelmingly happy. He pulled away for breath frequently, trying to suppress the urge to cough, and kissed as hard as he could until his burning lungs forced him to stop again. When he finally pulled away, he was exhausted, his body begging him to sleep. He pushed it back for just a moment as he searched for something, anything, to say. Finally, dropping his head tiredly and contentedly onto the pillow, he whispered,

“And then we’ll honeymoon somewhere warm.” With that, he fell asleep in his almost-husband’s arms.

He thought things were getting better.

He really did.

He dreamt of weddings and honeymoons for the first half of the night. It was blissful and calm. He woke up a few times, and found himself warm and still in Victor’s arms, and that was enough to lull him back into a contented sleep.

The sun was almost up when things started going downhill.

The dream was of a honeymoon on a beautiful island somewhere. One second he was holding Victor’s hand, looking out over the serene horizon, and the next, he was cold and alone. Dark clouds began rolling over the dream-beach. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was only dreaming, but that wasn’t enough to stop him being terrified as the sun completely disappeared. What had once been the sound of soft waves on the shore became screams. Horrible, bloodcurdling screams echoed in his head. He called out for Victor- he’d been there a moment ago! Where was he? Without the sun the beach was awfully cold; Yuuri could see huge, grotesque goosebumps forming all over his body, distorting it so it looked like he’d been attacked by bees. The screams got louder and louder. They sounded pained and desperate- like the scream of someone being tortured- and Yuuri began to recognize familiar voices in the chorus. Mari was first, but his parents were there too. Then Phichit. Yurio. Where was Victor? He looked around frantically, but all he could see in the dark was a jagged wooden sign that read, “Why did you ruin our honeymoon?” Powerful nausea swirled in Yuuri’s stomach as he did the last thing he could think of: run. He sprinted full force along the beach, but the further he went the less his legs worked. They felt numb, but they somehow hurt at the same time. His running got slower, sloppier. He ran, crying now, until he stumbled across a mangled body. The person was clearly dead; they were bleeding from… well… everywhere, it seemed, and their limbs appeared to be twisted and broken. Yuuri could see slashes across the person’s throat and abdomen, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as he recognized blood-soaked silvery blond hair and lifeless blue eyes…

“Yuuri? Yuuri! Wake up, please!” Cool hands touched his arms and face. The beach was gone. Where was he? It was soft. He felt heavy blankets on him, but he was freezing. What was that sound? “Yuuri, you’re hyperventilating. You need to calm down.” Oh. He was making that sound. It sounded like the way an angry monster would breathe. Were monsters real? He couldn’t remember. He felt the cool hands come back for a moment, pressing on his cheeks and forehead. Then they left, and suddenly the world started getting even colder, and Yuuri cried out because he was afraid he might be on that beach again. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s just me. I’m moving the blankets because you’re too hot right now. Can you open your eyes for me?” Oh. It hadn’t occurred to Yuuri that his eyes were closed. Maybe if he opened his eyes it wouldn’t be so dark. With a lot of effort he forced his eyelids up. The dim bedside lamp burned, but then Victor’s blue eyes appeared in front of him, not dead, so he didn’t mind. He decided now might be a good time to sit up, because lying down meant sleeping and sleeping meant Victor would be dead on a beach. He wasn’t sure how long he spent trying to sit up, but his muscles burned and he was incredibly dizzy by the time Victor helped him.

“Need a hug,” Yuuri heard himself whisper, before dissolving into panicked tears. Like magic, Victor’s arms wrapped around him, ever so slightly dulling the edge of the painful cold assaulting his body.

“Okay, okay. Hush, it’s alright.  I’m right here,” he heard him whisper. For some reason, that made Yuuri cry harder. At least, something did. Maybe it was the embarrassment. He knew he was embarrassed, although he couldn’t quite remember why. Maybe it was the terror of his nightmare, or his fear of going back to sleep. Maybe it was the blinding, unadulterated pain clenching his body from the inside out. Regardless, Victor’s hands traced up and down his back, along his scalp, and somehow everywhere they could possibly be to comfort him. His face was there too, whispering to him, planting little kisses on his neck and in his hair. It felt like they stayed there forever, but also only for a few seconds before Victor shifted and Yuuri felt something appear under his tongue. A lollipop? Doctors give lollipops when you’re sick, right? Yuuri was pretty sure he was sick. It didn’t taste very good, but he appreciated the gesture anyway. He wouldn’t tell Victor it didn’t taste good. He was just looking up to thank him when the lollipop started screaming at him, and he spat it out, yelping. He heard Victor saying something to the lollipop; he couldn’t tell if it was English or Russian, but he recognized it was swear words. Victor must not have realized the lollipop was angry at first. Understandable.

Then, the warmth disappeared, and through his hazy vision Yuuri could see him floating away, toward the door. Why would he leave him? He couldn’t leave him! Not knowing what else to do, Yuuri felt himself scream, “No!” Victor spun around in shock, rushing back to the bed. His hands appeared in his hair again, which was nice, but not enough to slow the tears that had started anew. Victor was floating above him somewhere, asking what was wrong. He sounded desperate and scared and Yuuri felt a pang of guilt, but immediately couldn’t remember why.

“Don’t leave me,” he sobbed. He heard Victor agree, but he still couldn’t find him, which was frustrating. He wondered whether or not his eyes were open, but he wasn’t sure how to check. Next, he was flying, and for a horrible moment he wondered if he had died- but then, he felt Victor’s breath on his neck and relaxed.  There was a blast of cold air, and then a few moments of painful nothingness. Then he was lying on a hard, cool floor and Victor was wiping something off of his face. Then, he was sitting up again, somewhere soft, talking to his mother. When had she gotten here?

Reality slowly began to fade into his consciousness, and he started to understand what was happening. He was propped up against Victor on the couch, facing a computer screen. Kaasan wasn’t in Russia, she was on the computer screen. Skype? Yeah, skype. With a lot of effort he said hello, having no idea if it came out in Japanese or English. He couldn’t find the energy to care. It was always wonderful talking to Kaasan, but Yuuri found it incredibly impossible to keep up. He faded in and out of the land of the awake as Victor and Kaasan chatted, distress palpable in both of their tones.

 “40.8???” Victor nodded, gazing guiltily at Hiroko’s worried expression. “He needs to be at the hospital, Vicchan!” He sighed.

“I called his doctor, but she said having him here is just the same as having him there. We already have all the meds I can give him.” Truthfully, Victor had seriously considered taking Yuuri to the hospital anyway, simply for the sake of his own sanity. Even if there wasn’t much they could do, it was tempting to put the responsibility in their hands for a few hours. Of course, he immediately felt guilty for thinking that. He glanced down at Yuuri; it was hard to tell whether or not he was awake. He occasionally murmured things to himself, or maybe he thought he was participating in the conversation. Every time he made a noise Hiroko looked at him intently, like she desperately wanted him to say something coherent. The look in her eyes gave Victor another sharp pang of guilt, and he wondered if she thought Yuuri would be better off in Japan, under her care instead of his.

“He’s going to be alright,” Victor whispered, unsure of who he was trying to convince. Hiroko nodded, shifting to the side as Mari appeared in the frame to say hi. Her shock was obvious when she saw the condition her brother was in. Her English wasn’t quite as good as her mother’s, and nowhere near Yuuri’s, but she addressed Victor when she said,

“He looked better on Instagram today.”

“He was,” Victor answered, speaking slowly to help Mari keep up. “It just started getting bad again early this morning.” Her eyes shifted back to her brother and she said something in Japanese, causing him to stir slightly. He made a tiny noise, opening his eyes again to look at the screen. Seeing him awake, Mari smiled and repeated herself, and Yuuri responded with a sentence that Victor actually knew how to translate.

“Watashi wa, anata o aishiteimasu, Onee-chan.” (I love you, Onee-chan.)

 “Watashi mo anata o aishitemasu, Onii-san,” (I love you too, Onii-san.) Mari answered. A tear slipped down her face and she hastily wiped it away before bidding them goodbye and heading back to work. Once she was gone Yuuri dozed off again and Victor filled Hiroko in on the past couple of days since they had last skyped. He was just about to wake Yuuri to say goodbye when he made a little noise in the back of his throat. Hiroko let out a surprised

“Oh!” as his mouth fell open, letting a stream of vomit dribble continuously into his lap. Victor moved calmly, numbly, keeping Yuuri upright until he was done. He wiped Yuuri’s mouth with a tissue and swiftly pulled off his soiled pajama pants, relieved that his boxers had made it unscathed. Yuuri didn’t seem embarrassed about throwing up this time, or even having his boyfriend pull his pants off in front of his mother. His lack of reaction might have been the most concerning part.

“I think I’m going to take him back to bed with some fresh ice packs,” Victor said, cringing as his voice cracked. Hiroko nodded sadly, bidding him goodbye before saying something in Japanese, which Yuuri seemed to at least partially acknowledge. The last thing she said was,

“Keep me updated.” With that, she hung up, leaving Victor to carry a terrifyingly non-protesting Yuuri back to bed.

hngggg the bottom is in weird text and idk why or how to fix it im sorry :(

[dragongirldreams]

So, I guess it’s time enough that I should talk about my experience with Tumblr. I mean, it’s only been, what, a couple months since I said I would talk about it?

...イヤァァですけどー...(For those who can’t read Japanese: “...Iyaaa desu kedo~...” so it would mean something like “...Even though it’s unpleasant...” or ”...Even though I’m reluctant...”)(...what? You think I’m stalling? Me? Stalling? Using the Japanese language? Stalling? ...Okay, okay, you got me.

Uh... the thing is, unlike my time spent on that forum and on Deviantart, the time I spent on Tumblr, well... I don’t really look back on it fondly. And I guess it might have been part of the reason there isn’t really a “4th” influential site...

I- I’m not talking about you though! That era was already looong over by the time my sister had me make this blog. All the people that follow me, and all the people I follow, you’ve all been great!

This already has a fair bit more than I usually put above the “Read More,” so, let’s, uh, continue this there. I suppose the above counts as ample enough warning.

So, uh, to offer a slight recap... There are 3 specific sites I (somewhat frequently) visited at specific times early on in my internet life that stick out to my as “significantl” somehow. I don’t know, I just consider them “important.”

The “First” was a roleplaying forum I was a regular on. I wasn’t really good at roleplaying, honestly, but that wasn’t important. While it was the main focus, roleplaying wasn’t the only thing we talked about. This was the first internet community I really felt a part of, the first place I felt I could be myself, really. It was also where I learned that even on the Internet there were unspoken rules and things you “just shouldn’t say,” when I said why “shapeshifting” was the superpower I wanted, and everyone else called me “weird” for it.

The “Second” was Deviantart. I didn’t actually make an account here, because I was starting to get self-conscious. I mean, I wasn’t going to be writing any stories, (my roleplaying was bad enough when I have other people to help me, I’m sure it would be even worse when I have to come up with everything myself) and I wasn’t going to be writing too many comments, (what if I said something “weird” again and made people uncomfortable?) so why even bother?

Umm, before I continue, I want to make it clear that the self-consciousness didn’t really come from the rp forum. Aside from the one “weird” incident, they never really said anything to put me down. Most of my self-consciousness either came from Real Life and all it’s many pressures, or perhaps because I also started spending some time on TV Tropes, learning all about things like “Mary Sues” and “Self-Inserts” and how it’s all bad writing. I don’t really consider TV Tropes an “important site,” though. Despite ultimately spending a comparable amount of time there as on the others, it feels more like a footnote than a proper chapter, at least to me. It’s just missing a certain, je ne sais quoi.

So, back to Deviantart. While it was (and probably still is) primarily an art site, I spent more time reading... I kinda wanna say “fanfics,” but a lot of them were original, rather than being based on someone else’s work. I guess they were kinda like doujinshi, but short stories rather than manga. That’s the kinda “feel” they had about them. Anyway, I eventually found that I particularly enjoyed “TGTF” stories, and I spent most of my time here looking at groups with that as a theme. I can’t think of any particular lessons I learned here, to be honest. It was just somewhere I could go to escape the stresses of the Real World.

Uhh... onto Tumblr proper, finally. I think I’ve said this before, but to restate it, the reason I came to Tumblr in the first place was that I wanted to learn how to be a better feminist and LGBT ally. So, I mostly hung around in political and social justice tags.

But, unlike the Deviantart groups which had moderators to decide what gets in or not, on Tumblr anyone could put anything they wanted in any tag they wanted.

I could tell some of the more blatant stuff was bunk, if you asked me I would definitely say that trans people were the gender they said they were, and that gay people had just as much a right to love each and marry each other as straight people, but... I was still a kid, and I didn’t really understand the concept of “dogwhistles,” so I got pretty easily fooled by people just appropriating progressive-sounding language, and I ended up internalizing a lot of TERF/truscum and bi/pan/acephobic rhetoric. (Also a bit of racism, to a lesser degree, because I didn’t spend as much time looking into matters relating to race as I did ones related to sexuality or gender.)

Looking at the above, it’s not hard to see a bit of a common theme there. They all paint their targets as “just [privileged group] trying to invade/appropriate [oppressed group] spaces,” and evil for it. This kinda mixed poorly with my experience with “interruptions,” and led me to somewhat misinterpret sayings such as “stay in your lane” and “it’s not my job to educate you.” I managed to see my mere presence as a “straight white cis man” as something which inherently was offensive and silenced minorities. And as I was a big Liberal until recently, I put a lot of value on “free speech,” so if my presence in LGBT and feminist spaces was “interrupting” people, then it was imperative that I, a disgusting straight male, not be in LGBT and feminist spaces.

I suppose that, if that first forum unravelled the lie that the internet was free of taboos, then Tumblr shattered the delusion that it was free of gender.

I kinda want to go on a bit, but I can’t really think of any follow-ups. Such a line just has too strong a sense of finality. Luckily, I’m realizing that there actually was a “Fourth.” And in a way, it kind of acts as a mix of the other three.

So, setting the scene. Having quit the roleplaying forum out of lack of confidence in my roleplaying abilities, stopped reading TG stories on DA to not be offensive, and no longer going on Tumblr due to it only reminding me of my body, where was a gi-- guy to go?

Why, none other than 4chan, of course! That place that’s famous for being offensive! And specifically /tg/, the roleplaying section! I am not smart. (Note: /tg/ stands for “tabletop games” ie DnD, WarHammer, MtG, and the like. It is, for the most part, unrelated to the “TG stories on DA,” which is short for TGTF) (Second Note: Like with Tumblr, I at least had the wisdom to stay away from the boards with especially bad reputations, ie /b/, /pol/, /lgbt/. I also didn’t really go on /a/ or /v/ often, mostly just staying on /tg/ --which was considered one of the more progressive boards, relatively speaking.

Anyway, in /tg/ I especially spent a lot of time in /cyoag/, or the “Choose Your Own Adventure General” threads. Now, some of you might know of the old “Choose Your Own Adventure” books, but the CYOAs posted and talked about in /cyoag/ were very different; they were more like character creators, or would-you-rathers. Here’s some I enjoyed as examples (they’re kind of a big, though);

Sorry for the image spam there. And these are just some one-page ones; there are ones much longer I’ve enjoyed, like “Serene Serendipity,” -- which is about going childhood again, and pretty wholesome despite the name -- “Royal Revival,” -- where you’re secretly the reincarnation of a princess from a fantasy world who got assassinated, but your family managed to pull off a resurrection spell -- “A Mage’s Familiar,” -- you get reincarnated as the familiar of a wizard, or a witch. It does pretty well with it’s execution, there’s a bunch of different ways you can take things -- or the “Accidental Magical Girl CYOA” (or “AMGC,” for short) -- where, for some reason or another, you are turned into a Magical Girl (although an optional perk allows you to be a Magical Boy instead, that means one less perk for other things). I find the use of rolls/random numbers really increases the replayability, and helps to inspire different ways to take things. There’s this one perk, for example, that has you roll up a second character as a teammate, and this one time I rolled it, but then the new characters kept also rolling it until I had a whole 5-girl squad to go on (imagined) adventures with. That last one actually got so popular it had to split off into it’s one thread.

...I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I mean, ultimately I am, but I’m not sure how I’m going to get there. I’ve been trying to think of ways to continue for at least a day or so, now. “Maybe talk about the culture” I thought, but what would be an organic way into it? And how would I be able to capture the feel? A lot of the important things, while nigh omnipresent, were also often in the background.

I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s any kind of lesson I learned there. But it offered some sense of community when that was what I needed, as well as some pretty good escapism.

To end things off, I think I should mention this one line I saw the other day, though I don’t quite remember were. I think it was an old tweet. Regardless, what it said was, “If you were a teenage boy on 4chan, you’re either a neckbeard or a girl.”

I don’t think I’m much of a neckbeard, though. So, I guess what I’m saying is...

[ambition-of-a-vixen]

Ready! Set! Match!:| Self Para

Kalina sat holding her daughter while watching the game. Her new nation was playing today and she had to show her support even if they didn’t know that she was watching. Kalina urged that Miguel go to Rostov to see Brazil play against Switzerland. The people needed to see him and she assured him that she would be okay and that he could support his country. Especially with Bulgaria not participating, it was important that he was there, this was the first game. She would take care of their daughter and he would show face. She was going to be alone with her daughter for two days, she was nervous to allow him to go, but she refused to allow herself to live in fear, she had to be brave and allow him to do so too. With the rumors running rampant about speculation of the baby being born, everyone was clamoring to see the royals wanting to know about Kalina and the baby. With them keeping the gender a secret and not telling the world what they thought about naming their child. Kalina alluding to something perhaps biblical or after her husband’s late father.  They were salivating for any baby information. The rumors said that the baby’s name was Isabel, Pedro or Miguel II to be called Miguelito by the citizens and Mikhail by Kalina.

Little did they know that her baby was a little girl named Gabriela Micaela Yuliana Demetria Katerina, first of her name of the Most Serene House Bragança. Born of love and peace between between Kalina and Miguel, she was uncorrupted, thus her Gavriila. The baby had such a pure smile, Kalina knew she right to name her daughter after her husband. She was enamored with her child, with the help of the nannies, she would get up to feed baby Ganya but they would handle the diapers during the day, working with Kalina to help get her on a schedule with her child. Kalina depended on them as she refused to allow Miguel to help at night, he needed to rest as he did the work to prepare for the coronation and taking over his mother’s roles. She would give him time to bond with her everyday, giving her a break to parlay in politics in person. With her personal assistant trained, she was constantly coming back and forth to bring her information to allow her to work without leaving her child’s side. She needed to work or she would have lost her mind from just sitting there staring at her little star baby. She was loved that her daughter provided the perfect excuse of her being able to sleep when she wanted, and her daughter used all of her energy that she would’ve demanded her husband use. She was tired from trying to not fall behind but also be a dutiful mother and trying to see to her husband the best that she could without being sexual like they use to do. Nowadays she was content laying on him skin to skin, staying there until she had to get up to feed her child. In that week, she found herself bringing her daughter back to bed with her, laying the child against Miguel watching them both sleep ever so peacefully. The baby could be feeling fussy in need of a burp but would simmer down her cries in Miguel’s arms, astonishing the nanny’s. Kalina loved watching him with the baby as he would rock her to sleep, her heart would swell watching them, occasionally seeing him sleep in the rocking chair. She didn’t tell him that she was counting down to July 24 when she could be intimate with him. Seeing the way he cared about the little girl reassured everything that she considered when she decided to marry him. The way he didn’t want to go, fighting her on going to see his team go win for them, how he been back for months now, since March but he still didn’t want to leave her, she would have loved to gone to Rostov but she knew that would definitely prompt Dimitri and Zoe to come to see her and her baby was only a week. Baby Gabriela needed her to stay more than anyone else.

Kalina motioned for Xhana to set up the iPad as Lucena-Marie brought Kalina a blanket and a towel, holding the towel. “FaceTime my husband will you.” She said to the girl in Bulgarian, she was use to talking to her daughter in her Language, she promised herself that she would try to break herself of the habit but she couldn’t help it. She smiled to Baby Gabriela, kissing her face as the iPad rang, waiting for her husband to answer. She adjusted herself to allow her daughter to take her breast, her daughter was awake for the first time in a while and ready to eat. Kalina smiled knowing Miguel would be happy to see his wife and his child bonding while he was gone. She could see the love in his face, she gave him the weird parent update of how was the baby’s poop, as it was how the doctor told her to check the baby’s health. She wanted him to make faces at her when she finished nursing so Baby Ganya would learn his face. She learned it was important that they had their face in her face a lot of time while she was awake. The little hair baby’s had after coming out of the womb was slowly starting to dissipate making her feel happier as she was worried it would stay. Kalina informed Miguel of how well she and the baby were doing doing and how she couldn’t wait for the game to be over so he could come home to her and his suckling daughter. She showed him how she was getting better at preparing then latching the baby so she could feed. She made him promise to stay on call until the baby had her milky smile and eyes shut. That was the quickest ways to get baby Gabriela asleep. She was happy that with them allowing her baby’s ears pierced at birth, she wanted Miguel to have one of his men sneak off during the middle of the match to go get small little earring with the hamsa on it, she was petrified of the evil eye looking down on her baby. It was a Bulgarian tradition that people spit on baby’s while saying ‘may the chicken poop in you’ as protective measures to keep the baby from being taken by the devil, so it was often whenever Kalina, Violeta, Iliana, Eva, Sofia, Iliya or Sasha where holding or near the baby to look at her face, they would imitate spitting on her face with only Kalina actually spitting on the baby, rubbing it in on her face. She forbade anyone to say anything out loud about how great or beautiful or anything good about baby Gabriela until after she was Christened and had protective measures for it was only so long before the Brazilians couldn’t handle keeping their little comments in about how she was such a sweet baby. She also planned to take the umbilical cord that was still attached to Baby Gabriela and throwing it at Miguel’s throne so that it was fate that his daughter take his throne. She told him of her plans to have her family to fly in that Thursday pfor she needed her family there when the christened the child. She would want to name Larissa as God Mother and as a show of good faith, Viktor as God Father unless Miguel had a better idea of who. She reminded him how it had to be ten days after and with Brazil playing Costa Rica that day, people would be expecting him there to cheer on his team so he can finally confirm that the baby was in fact born and how he needed to stay with his wife this time. She promised him that she would let him have the morning to watch the game with his daughter there beside him so he could have his hands to cheer. She promised him with every win, he would have something waiting for him. She is didn’t complain about exhaustion as she cared for her daughter late at night, she wasn’t use to being up so late constantly nor only having only naps. She hated the Bulgarian traditions that she had to be isolated from Sunset to Sunrise without her nannies til July 22, six weeks postpartum. It was her traditions and she had to follow them. It was why she refused Miguel’s help at night.

Kalina allowed Miguel to go, missing him already, this was his second call since he left, she found it hard to let him go, missing him but she was able to see that he was okay and that’s what mattered most to her. Her feelings had to be put to the side, it was a good look at the soon to be Emperor. She wanted to make sure it showed that he was dynamic, with an Empress by his side and an new born heir.  She agreed to him going away only once but after his plane crash, she made sure that he wore his nazar bracelet that she gave him. She knew he thought it was silly but the action made her feel better, she didn’t feel comfortable with him leaving the city let alone getting on a plane. She shoved a rosary in his pants pocket on edge about him leaving, she needed something to reaffirm her faith that he would come back. She could feel her child sleeping against her chest, she was to make her feel calm while her husband was gone. She closed her eyes unconsciously following suit from her daughter, falling asleep in the rocking chair.

She was awakened to the a soft shake on her shoulder, it was time for the Brazil versus Switzerland game, she was going to support her newest nation with her child swaddled in the nation’s flag colors, silently Kalina was going to cheer  for them, she was the outsider with no other royals there, only other person was Isabel, her mother-in-law but Kalina never felt like she could reach out to her. She treated Kalina like she was just there. Kalina didn’t get her, there was something off but she didn’t know she what. “Ganya, this is your first FIFA, when baba isn’t here, we are team Bulgaria, but we didn’t make it so we go to the back up, Brazil! Look there is baba, hi baba!” She said taking her daughter’s hand waving to the TV. She reached out to him, missing him. She was ready for him to come home, she was tired and wanted to be wrapped in his arms, it was how she could be intimate when she was healing from having her daughter. She kissed her daughter’s head, amused by the game. She didn’t want to wake the child so she tried to confine her excitement but as the game got more exciting she had Carina come to pick up her baby, to place in the swing seat for infants after burping her so that Kalina can watch the game. “Carina, please move the seat closer to me. No, get the Egg DoDo baby basket instead, she can sleep in that instead.” Kalina wanted her daughter with her as she was enjoying her first FIFA game since being stuck on the island. She thought back to then, back then she was dating her first love but was spending so much time with Miguel, four years ago the day her daughter was born, he gifted her a pearl with a letter she still had. It had such a sweet yet horrible message, it made her blush when she was alone reading it, to think he was getting all flustered to the point she could tell through his writing, it was something that suggest he could be the one. She remembered how she felt hurt that he said he didn’t want to see her again that he didn’t care about her but then made her feel wanted, a feeling that he shouldn’t have been able to cause if her boyfriend at the time was her one. She realized his actions and what he said never would line up. He could say he hated her and that she was disrespectful but his actions showed he longed for her and that’s what she followed. From his gift giving to the way he would get her riled up then sexual frustrated. It was that FIFA match that told her that Miguel might not say how he felt but it wasn’t just sexual attraction with him. He didn’t press up against her, simply gave her a gift and spoke to her. They shared things with one another and it was sweet. It was moments like those that she began to fall for him, slowly to the point that she didn’t notice until the was about to loose him after he gave her what he wanted. Four years later and she was married to him now with his daughter. She touched her necklace, that pearl was around her neck now. Something simple that she could wear when she missed him. The cheering pulled her from her thoughts as she looked to see that Brazil scored the first goal. She rubbed her daughter’s head. “Daddy looks actually happy in Russia, Coutinho shot the first goal, the stadium is lit up, that goal was sensational my little star.” She pulled the crib closer to her, she  picked up her daughter’s little hand as she stared at her. It was something she couldn’t stop doing, Gabriela did that to people. Miguel did it too, she was their little miracle. But she wasn’t the only one who thought she was great, her staff did too, she wanted her mother to see the blessings she received and Ivana to hold her niece. “You’re the first grandchild of the Koháry, unless Viktor has a child out there that he created while super high and doesn’t know of. But when your grandmother sees you, she will see I can be great.” She confided in her child. She looked back to the screen. Her daughter was her her distraction and her weakness. She almost missed that Switzerland received the first yellow card. “No! Ganya that jackass clipped Neymar!” She groaned. She picked up her chotki, she needed him to be okay. She was anxious, awaiting the halftime so she could call her husband.

The half time began and Kalina pulled out her phone calling her husband. She bounced her legs, she wanted him to come home now, wanting to crawl into his arms to rest before his child would wake up crying in need of a clean diaper before eating more. She needed her husband to keep her feeling up. She felt like a milk machine and laying in his arms, she was reminded that he found her attractive. She reassured him that he was going to be have a very good birthday for being patient. They couldn’t have sex till July 22nd, only limited to Oral sex and even then he was only limited to her clitoris and other external areas. With the help of the nannies, she was able to find some time to rest so that she could make him feel appreciative and the intimacy to make sure they remained strong. “Hello my love, yes, I saw that goal. Yes, I was upset to see Neymar get clipped, makes me miss the wildness from that one France game, remember that assault, he hit that guy in his head with his head. Yeah it’s not lady like for me to say that, but still…Brazil has to show we are strong…yeah we….I’m going to be their empress, your queen. She is currently milk drunk fast asleep, she was sitting in the room with me as I watched. She looks like she needs her baba home soon. Maybe even skin to skin  bonding time. I know I want that. I can’t wait for you to come home. I miss you, love you too my love, tchau.” She said, smiling at her phone, she grabbed her baby, kissing his child’s face. She cradled the baby, she was what got her through the long period with Miguel being missing. She looked at her baby as her blessing. She started to smell something fouls, it made her scrunch up her nose, she took her child to the changing table in the room. Lucena came trying to take over. “Su Majestad, let me take that, I can handle that dirty diaper, you go, the game is starting back up. I will handle la pequeña princesa.” Lucena said to Kalina in Spanish, making her grin. Kalina rubbed the girl’s arm, she was a subject of the duchy her mother gave her and going to handle the poop, allowing Kalina to rest. It was rare that they were allowed to do things like that, she would send them to take care of Alma, or see to the little girl’s laundry and assisting Kalina including the little things like looking in on her or playing classical music. Even occasionally bouncing her around when Kalina was too tired to move. “You’re rooting for Spain this year? I hope Brazil will be able to play Spain in a very good game.” She said smiling in Spanish to the girl. Spanish was her second language and she spoke it like her mother and her people. Lucena smiled laying the crying infant down. “Mi reina, you talk big game but that’s a win, with for you, mi duquesa.” She teased, a win for spain was a win for Granada and that was a win for Princesa Kalina. Kalina chuckled going back to sit down. When she looked back at the tv she saw Switzerland had scored and she scowled. She knew Miguel had to been cussing up a storm, this wasn’t a good look, Brazil couldn’t loose, not today. She fought the need to pull up his image, this was her first time openly supporting  Brazil and are tied with Switzerland. She was disappointed and that feeling lasted till the end of the game. She was appreciative of Lucena helping out. She stood up, snapping a picture of the sleeping baby before sending it to Miguel with the caption saying, ‘Your family misses you. We are going to take a nap. Call when you are half way home. Don’t be gone too long. Your wife longs for you.’