#so I will no longer be tolerant of it to preserve my sanity

[mewkwota]

To keep something very clear:

My Castlevania works are not related to Netflixvania at all.

I strongly dislike that adaptation, and am very uncomfortable with the thought of what I draw for this series being grouped alongside it. Moreso, I am not interested in any discussion on NFCV period, please keep that topic to your own spaces and away from mine.

While I cannot stop you from interpreting my work as you wish, I can keep you from looking at it if I were to find out.

Thanks for your understanding.

[gatheringbones]

["At the end of August in 1981, I found myself in a small town in Arkansas, where I knew no Lesbians other than my new lover, Lynn. I wanted it that way. We were living in hiding from my armed and vengeful ex-lover who had abused me for four years and had threatened both of us with deadly harm. This was five years before the publication of Kerry Lobel's ground-breaking book, Naming the Violence: Speaking Out About Lesbian Battering. I knew I had been battered, but I did not understand how deeply I had been injured.

I only knew that I seemed to have saved my life at the cost of my sanity. I jumped at loud and not-so-loud noises. A frown from a stranger could reduce me to tears. I was afraid to bathe if I was alone in the apartment. I relived every word of every fight in relentless flashbacks. I had blocked much of the unbearable pain of the previous four years out of my consciousness at the time, in order to cope with immediate danger. Now that I was "safe" it all came flooding back. To escape, I watched TV compulsively, avoiding anything violent—nature shows were my favorites—and I read science fiction. Having lost faith in women as well as men, I was a serious candidate for a species-change operation.

Luckily, at some point in that bleak winter, I read a magazine article on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in Vietnam Vets, and I recognized all my symptoms. I had a name for my suffering, and 1 knew I was not "crazy." I'd felt so much guilt and anger towards myself for not being okay, that is, my old self, since I was "free." Now I knew healing would take time and effort, and I gave myself permission to not be normal right away. Also, seeing how much my condition resembled that of war survivors helped break down some of my denial about the hell I'd been through.

Still, I had no guidance on how to recover from PTSD. I followed only the dimmest instincts. First, I began to read accounts by survivors of any serious trauma. These people became my invisible support group. I found myself drawn especially to stories of political prisoners and concentration camp survivors. Although my experience was not like theirs, these were the people I felt would understand how my will had been sapped and my strengths twisted, how the smallest acts of resistance and mere endurance had needed all my wits and courage. Bruno Bettleheim in his chapters called "Behavior in Extreme Situations" (The Informed Heart) finally answered the question I'd put to myself every 44 hour since my escape: "How could I have been so stupid?" He made me realize that under abuse, especially the combination of intermittent threats, unpredictable violence and constant psychological torture, everyone responds differently, but everyone changes fundamentally, and everyone has their breaking point.

One day as I sat reading at the kitchen table, I looked out the window at the small yard beside our duplex apartment, and I began to imagine growing a garden there in the spring. It seemed like a highly improbable idea: the area was very small, steep, bare of everything but gray shale and orange clay, and the house shaded it part of the day. But the notion of a garden took root strongly. For the first time in several years I had something pleasant to anticipate.

I wrangled my landlady's permission to put in a garden. Then I mailed off postcards for seed catalogs. I persuaded an acquaintance who owned a truck to bring me a load of cedar slabs discarded by a local sawmill, and I used these to construct two frames, about four feet by six feet, and two even smaller ones, just three feet by four feet. By this time Lynn and I had saved enough money to buy a very old VW bug, so we drove to a nearby creekbank and filled bushel baskets with rich bottom dirt, which we dumped into the frames to make raised beds about four inches deep.

To supplement the tiny growing space, Lynn scavenged large cans from the cafeteria of the hospital where she worked. I painted them a hopeful green, filled them with soil and placed them along the sidewalk below our porch. Old-timey "Corn-row Beans," originally bred to tolerate the shade of cornfields, grew up strings tied to the roof and bore prolifically.

I didn't have much money from my SSI income to spend on garden gadgets, so I made do. I wove a trellis for my peas from six-pack rings liberated from a liquor store trash bin. (I can testify that this plastic never biodegrades—the pea fence survives to this day.) I got some more bushel baskets from the local grocery, painted them with non-toxic preservative and lined them with garbage bags after snipping a few drainage holes in the bottom. Placed around a small stone patio above the garden, these became containers for large plants.

The garden rewarded me before the first mouthful of early spinach was harvested. It moved me out of the gloomy apartment and into the sunshine, watering can in hand. It motivated me to interact with people and to occasionally risk asking for help. I found out they would usually say yes. My attention was now focused on the future, not the bitter, unchangeable past. At night when the flashbacks threatened to roll, when I dreaded the dreams I might have, I put myself to sleep with 45 detailed plans of my next crop rotation. I found out I could learn a major new skill, a little at a time. I could do things right, even come up with ingenious solutions to seemingly impossible difficulties. And when I did things wrong, plants were most often forgiving. The plants themselves were a tremendous source of inspiration. Talk about survivors! They defied every book written about their needs, often thriving with too little sun, too little water, and too little soil. At the end of a year, I could easily stick my shovel in the dirt up to the hilt, where only four inches of top soil had previously existed; compost and the action of the roots had created friable loam out of shale and clay.

When I experienced failure with gardening, it was never the kind of disaster I'd grown to associate with mistakes. We didn't go hungry, because other crops outstripped our expectations. My lover didn't beat or berate me, but sympathized and helped. The garden was important to us economically, because we'd both lost almost everything we owned in our escape. Luckily, in southern Arkansas, it's possible to garden yearround. The garden gave me precious, desperately needed tastes of success. Disabled, unemployed, I still felt like an important contributor to the household. I even had food to give away sometimes, and that was a delicious feeling.

Gardening was not the only factor in my recovery, but it was an important one. I didn't grow up with abuse, but battering and similar traumas can expand minutes into hours, years into decades, until four years feel like most of a lifetime. At the end of a year and a half of gardening, I no longer felt as if I'd spent the majority of my life in a battering situation. Healing had acquired a new definition for me: I didn't insist on having the old me back; I'd mourned her long and well. I accepted the fact that some injuries are too severe to be made whole, that I might never be the same again. But I began to actually like and trust the me I am now, scars and all. As my garden taught me, I must make do with what I am. I have discovered that my flaws are not fatal and my successes are greater than I'd hoped for. So far I have not gone hungry, and I even have something to offer."]

Amy Edgington, Gaining Ground, from Garden Variety Dykes: Lesbian Traditions In Gardening, Herbooks, 1994

[tsarisfanfiction]

Teen Tracys

Muse is on a roll today, it seems (and I even managed to get some uni work done!).  From a conversation with @janetm74 that started over a discussion about punk!teen Virgil with a green mohawk and Eco-Warrior!teen Gordon and snowballed into, well, something a bit like this.

Random, has not been particularly polished, and I threw in a time skip rather than deal with the serious conversation.  Might write that later.

For ages, we’ve got Scott at 21, John’s 19, Virgil’s 17, Gordon’s 13 and Alan’s 9.  Three teenagers in the house; uh oh.

Scott loved his brothers. Really, he did.  But sometimes, they were just too much.  Big brother just didn’t hold the same weight as parent, no matter that he’d helped to raise all of them, and every so often his little brothers remembered that.

“Gordon, no.”

The thirteen-year-old, decked out in nothing but recycled greens, glared up at him with all the self-proclaimed righteousness a teenager could summon.  It was a lot.

“Do you know how much pollution is still being pumped into the oceans?” he demanded, not at all cowed by the fact he barely reached Scott’s chest.  “They finally stopped all the fossil fuel in the 2020s, and plastic was entirely phased out by 2030, and then the world gave itself a nice pat on the back as though that fixed everything!”

Scott had heard this tirade before.  Many, many, times before.

“Yes, Gordon, I know. Preservation of the oceans is important and that’s why this family – and Tracy Industries – does its bit to make sure nothing goes in there that shouldn’t, and is why you take part in charity events to continue to spread awareness.  I know.”  He didn’t have a problem with any of that, either.  No, what he had a problem with were the rallies.

Charity work?  Fine.  More than fine.

The rallies?  Not for an unaccompanied thirteen-year-old boy, and Scott knew they often involved illegally sabotaging places that still produced pollution.  No matter how well-meaning Gordon was, it was Scott’s duty as big brother and guardian not to let him get tangled up in that.

“Clearly you don’t know if you think that’s enough!” Gordon retorted, and Scott sighed.

“Gordon, I know more needs to be done, but it needs to be done legally, and not result in you getting thrown in a lockup, okay?  You’ve got that charity dinner with Lady Penelope next weekend, remember?”

“I can do both!” Gordon protested.  “Scott, I have to go!  It’s important for the planet!”

“Well it’s important to me that you don’t end up-”

Bright green in his periphery killed the rest of the sentence as he turned his head to see his normally sensible, reliable brother looking anything but.

“Virgil, you are not going out looking like that.”

“I can go out looking however I want, Scott.”  Seventeen years old and the teenage attitude Gordon was showing seemed to have infected his next oldest brother at last.  Virgil had been such a quiet, low-effort teenager – even more so than John, whose rebellion had been entirely digital and Scott was quite frankly afraid of what he might have done – until now.

Now, the punk phase had hit, and apparently the colour of the day was green.  Vibrant, radioactive touch-me-and-die green.  In a mohawk.

Scott tried to be the supportive big brother, he really did, but there were lines and the all-leather ensemble complete with mohawk and numerous piercings were pushing it.  Worst of all was the noise-maker he called a trike that he’d gone and bought last week despite being explicitly told not to. That had crossed the line.  There had been much shouting.  Virgil refused to return it, and spent more time in the garage tinkering with it than with his family now.

Gordon considered it an affront, and Scott wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t going to be a target for the so-called rally if Gordon managed to join it.

“Virgil, please.”

“I want green hair!”

They’d caught Alan’s attention.  Great.

“No, Alan.  You are not dyeing your hair green.”

Realising both green-themed brothers – if for two very different reasons – were both trying to slip out while Alan played distraction, Scott backed up to the front door and blocked it with his body.

“Virgil did!”

“And if his hair dye ends up in your hair, his entire new ensemble is heading straight for the recycler,” Scott growled.  Three little brothers, all at once.  It was enough to give him a headache.  Gordon shifted, a shift that meant trouble, and he remembered the current household feud. “Gordon, if Virgil’s hair dye ends up in Alan’s hair, no more charity events until you’re eighteen.”

“But Scott!”

He didn’t even care which of the three said it.  It could have been all of them.  Why couldn’t they go through teenage rebellion from the sanctity of their bedrooms, like John did?

“I wouldn’t say green’s your colour anyway, Allie.”  As though summoned by Scott’s thoughts, the fourth little brother materialised.  Finally, some sanity- “how about we try black, or a dark blue, to match space?  Maybe Virgil can help make it a galaxy?”

“John!”

Betrayal.  Betrayal of the highest order, but Scott refused to get dramatic about it because he had three drama queens in the house already and that would only encourage them.  Even if the smirk John sent his way made him want to throw something.  Or scream.

Or both.

With four brothers ganging up on him – two because they’d hit the rebellion phase, one because his brothers were, and one just because he could – Scott knew he wasn’t going to win this with his sanity intact.

“Alan, no, you are not dyeing your hair any colour.  Gordon, you are not going to that rally.  Virgil, you are not going out like that.  John, if you’re not going to be helpful, scat.”

“But Scott!”

That was all four of them. In chorus.  If half of them weren’t feuding he’d think the whole thing was choreographed.  Looking at John, he still wasn’t convinced the ginger genius hadn’t managed to orchestrate it.  He was still smirking.

Scott needed to pull out the big guns.

“If you four won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to Grandma.”

The woman was in the garden, taking a well-deserved nap away from five grandsons.  Scott didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew when he was beaten. Two brothers, he could handle. Three, tough but doable.  Four, when one was deliberately stirring the pot? Even Scott had limits.

Any hopes he might have had that the mere threat would be enough died when three defiant – and one amused, damn you, John – faces stared at him.

He pulled out his phone, gave them one more moment to change their minds of their own accord, before making the call.

“Scott?”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Grandma, but can you come back inside?”

“On my way.  What have the trouble-makers done this time?”

Scott gave her a brief rundown, interspersed with varying levels of protest from each brother as it reached their turn.  By the time he was done, the woman was inside the house, regarding all five of them.

Three faces were starting to quail.  Alan in particular looked on the verge of tears, but no teenage rebellion was stopping Virgil being a Grandma’s boy and even Gordon had a healthy respect for her tongue.  John continued to look far too smug, and Scott’s internal alarm bells were ringing.

Still, Grandma was here now. Grandma would sort his brothers out and Scott could get a blissful half hour – maybe even an hour, if he was lucky – without some sort of sibling drama.

“Well, I’m not seeing any problems here.”

What.

Grandma walked straight up to Virgil and started plucking at his jacket, deftly dodging the metallic spikes as she adjusted it on his shoulders.  “When I was your age, it was all pink.  Pink leather, pink hotpants.”  She winked in Scott’s direction and the urge to scream bubbled up in his chest.  “I dyed my hair to match.”

At least his brothers seemed to be as dumbstruck as him about that, even if Scott was watching his last bastion of support crumble before his eyes.

“Your Grandpa had the most amazing Harley,” she continued.  “Ooh, what a beauty.  Such a smooth ride.  He really knew how to treat a girl, your Grandpa.”

Nope.  Absolutely nope.  Scott needed brain bleach, and an escape from the madhouse, preferably before he screamed.

With a hoarse yell that was only a yell, and not a scream at all, he yanked the front door open, all but ran through it, and slammed it so hard a shingle slid from the roof.

He stared at it for a moment before surging into a run, past the garage and that damn trike, over the front gate, and headed straight for… who cared, as long as it was away. Right then, the house could collapse or burn to the ground for all he really cared.

Scott tried to be tolerant, he tried to be fair to all of his brothers, but sometimes it was just too much to handle.

***

“Scott?”

He’d ended up sitting in a tree after running all through the woodland until his legs burned.  Apparently, that wasn’t enough to stop his grandmother finding him when she wanted to.

“Are you ready to come home, dear?” she called up.  He sighed and let his head thud against the trunk.

“Am I going to be ganged up on by my brothers over stupid things if I do?” he asked.  “Because I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“Your brothers and I had a nice long chat, and we’ve put some new house rules in place,” she told him. “Gordon has agreed no more rallies and Alan no longer wants his hair dyed.”

“And Virgil and John?” he asked warily.

“Virgil has agreed not to provoke Gordon any more, but you two need to talk about policing each other’s clothes, young man.”  Scott winced. “As for John, he knows he went too far, but just like with Virgil, you are going to have to talk to each other like the reasonable young men you are.”  There was no reproach in her tone, but Scott felt scolded all the same.

He didn’t want to go home, but if Grandma was promising no more carnage…  Scott could never bring himself to leave his brothers for too long.  Reluctantly, he eased himself out of the tree, swinging from the last branch to the ground below.

“I know you don’t like what Virgil’s done to his hair,” Grandma said, looping her arm through his. “But remember it’s his hair, not yours.”

“It’s not that,” Scott admitted.  “He can do what he wants with it; it’s that trike.  He can’t wear a helmet with his hair all spiked up like that!”

“Then you should tell him that’s why you disapprove.”  Grandma was, as always, full of logic.  “None of you boys can read minds, you know.  You have to talk to each other.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “Sorry, Grandma, I messed up.”

“You’re just worried about them.”  She squeezed his arm fondly.  “They’ll appreciate it when they’re older.”

“Will they?”

“They’re not the first teenage boys I’ve raised,” she reminded him.  “There’s nothing you and your brothers have done that your father and uncle Lee didn’t do already.”

“…Even the punk mohawk?”

“I still have the photos.”

[sondepoch]

XVII: Saeyoung's Route (Saeyoung)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

(Y/N) hadn't moved.

Arguably, she had been moving the whole time, her entire body shaking with a ferocity Luciel had never seen in a human before, but her position hadn't changed even once.

"Feel like shit, yet? Or need me to beat it into you?" Vanderwood called from behind Luciel. The brunette male hadn't said a word to him since they found Saeran and (Y/N). He was too pissed with the redhead. Luciel had consciously refrained from telling Vanderwood that their 'reconnaissance trip' was really a hostage exchange because he knew how the older man would feel about it.

Then again, older men, in general, were usually right. Lived a couple more years. Smarter. Wiser. 

Luciel now wished he had spoken to Vanderwood before following through his plans, regretting his every decision.

"You can beat it into me," Luciel offered. He did feel like shit, worse than shit, actually, but he thought he deserved pain after what he realized he was putting (Y/N) through.

Vanderwood was quiet for a moment, watching as Luciel stared at (Y/N) while she trembled on the bed. The room was dark, and for once, Luciel wasn't fiddling away on his laptop.

Luciel heard Vanderwood sigh. "You can talk to me, you know? You don't need to pretend."

Luciel ignored Vanderwood's words, staring forward as (Y/N) kept trembling. "Fine," Luciel heard Vanderwood say before walking forward. "See if you can get her to drink this water. It might help."

Without waiting for a response, Vanderwood left the room, leaving Luciel awkwardly holding the glass of water. "Uh, (Y/N)?" He murmured, awkwardly trying to get the girl's attention. He knew she was conscious; her eyes were scrunched tight, and she had groaned something incomprehensible on the way back to the cabin every time someone touched into her. But conscious doesn't mean aware, Luciel remembered dully, unsure of what to do.

He shifted himself half onto the bed and tried to pull (Y/N) into a sitting position, and the girl's eyes fluttered open for a brief second. "Drink," Luciel whispered, putting the glass to her lips. He wasn't even sure if the girl had processed what he said, but he saw her sip from the glass ever-so-slightly and sighed in relief.

"Shit, (Y/N)," He began, "I'm so sorry. Fuck. I don't know what I was thinking and-"

Luciel saw (Y/N)'s eyes open, her irises dilated to give them a glossy look. "S...Sae...." Luciel's ears perked up. (Y/N) could speak? Was she going to say his name? Does she even know that my real name is Saeyoung? Luciel thought to himself, staring intently as (Y/N) struggled to speak.

"Saeran?" She finally said, opening her eyes.

Luciel felt himself shrink inside, realizing that while the girl before him was conscious, she wasn't herself. She thinks I'm my brother, Luciel thought, trying not to let himself feel saddened by the realization.

Too temporarily stunned to speak, Luciel gazed into (Y/N)'s eyes and saw the glossy look in her pupils. She was seeing, yes, but not seeing. Aware, but not aware. (Y/N), but not (Y/N).

"Y-yeah," The redhead stuttered out, willing to play along with (Y/N)'s hallucination if it would make her feel even a little better. "It's me, (Y/N). Saeran."

(Y/N) chuckled a little, coughing as the light breaths left her throat. "I've missed you...so much."

"Yeah, I know," Luciel whispered, stroking the girl's hair tenderly. "I've...missed you, too."

"Really?" The snowy-haired girl's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Saeran, these past few days have been horrible. I...I think I swallowed the Elixir again somehow. I don't remember anything. But everything hurts."

Luciel tore his gaze away from (Y/N).

I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but didn't. If he apologized now, while (Y/N) was in such a delusional state, it would only be for his personal sanity. It would be a selfish act, done out of self-preservation. The girl was too confused to do anything other than forgive him, and Luciel wasn't sure he deserved forgiveness.

"The pain will go away," Luciel whispered, but he couldn't be sure.

When Vanderwood's car had finally caught up to Saeran, the boy had struggled endlessly before he allowed the group to take (Y/N). Even then, he had insisted on coming along and refused to say a word to Luciel, ignoring the redhead completely as he rode back to the cabin on the top of Vanderwood's car, whereupon he set up camp outside the cabin so that he could be close to (Y/N) at all times but wouldn't have to tolerate the sight of Luciel.

When asked if (Y/N) would be okay, Saeran had only turned his head away, unable to answer.

"Will it, really?" (Y/N) said to Luciel, gazing at him with eyes full of hope. She didn't wait for an answer. "Thank you, Saeran. You're always here for me."

She reached a shaky hand out from her spot on the bed to rest a palm on top of Luciel's. "Lay with me on the bed," She whispered to Luciel, and he was too weak to refuse.

As he brought an arm around her, though, she had already fallen asleep in his arms, murmuring a soft, 'thank you, Saeran,' before she had drifted off completely, the quaking of her body ceased.

Luciel groaned, his stomach twisting.

He had fucked everything up.

(Y/N) was in pain. Saeran wouldn't speak to him. Vanderwood was pissed. Even V, who had a million secrets of his own, felt that Luciel had made the wrong decision in going through with the hostage exchange.

"If I could do it all over..." Luciel mused out loud, wondering.

If he could change his actions, what better course was there to take? Luciel at least had Saeran now, that was a huge step. His eyes flicked downward to (Y/N), where a light perspiration had broken out on her forehead. Was it worth it? He wondered.

"Luciel!" He heard Vanderwood shout.

The redhead darted out of bed, not wanting the elderly man to misread the situation. "What?" Luciel asked.

"It's...your brother."

Luciel's eyes widened, and then he was out of the room, heading straight for Saeran.

***

"Stay ba-" Saeran tried to shout, holding a hand up to stop Luciel from coming any closer, but couldn't complete his sentence as he began vomiting into a bush. "S-stay back!" He repeated weakly, his entire body shivering.

"Please," Luciel pled, "You need help, Saera-"

"Don't call me that!" Saeran shouted, further edged on before he continued retching on the ground. Luciel stared in shock. His brother wasn't throwing up any solids, it was all liquid - a sick, neon blue-green liquid that smelled of at least eight different chemicals.

Shit! The Elixir! Luciel thought to himself. That's what's Rika's been forcing Saeran to take? That's what (Y/N) has in her bloodstream?

The situation wasn't good. Vanderwood pressed a hand to Luciel's shoulder, holding the boy back before he could run to his brother like he wanted. "Don't, Luciel."

Luciel wanted to respond, convince Vanderwood that if he just had some time alone with his brother, he could explain—but Saeran started speaking before he could open his mouth. "Luciel?" His tone was mocking. "You didn't just abandon me, you abandoned everything. Your name. Your past. You were even going to abandon (Y/N)!" Saeran's voice rose, and he stood up, steadying himself against a birch tree. "Don't you know what they do to people in the Mint Eye?!"

Luciel didn't respond. He couldn't.

"Well?!" Saeran's angry tone would have been enough to make anyone flinch, but Luciel stood unmoving as his brother lashed out at him.

"You don't know anything! You're dumb! Useless! A jerk! You're such a fucking asshole! It's been years, years, and you can barely even talk to me! What the fuck were you thinking when you left?! How did you think I'd be happy?! Or was that a lie? Was it all just so that you'd be free of me, happy to do whatever you wanted without your little brother to weigh you down?"

"No!" Luciel shouted in response, horrified by the idea. "I-I didn't do it for me," He said, desperately hoping for Saeran to believe the words.

"You expect me to believe that you did it for me?!" Saeran shouted, furious at the prospect. Luciel saw his brother's jaw clench, his entire face contorted in unmasked anger.

"Yes," Luciel whispered. "I...You...I couldn't let you stay! You wouldn't have been happy!"

"You didn't have to leave!" Saeran shouted, and for a moment, Luciel thought he saw tears in his brother's eyes. "How the fuck did you expect me to be happy without you?!"

Vanderwood had gone back inside the cabin, giving the two Choi twins their privacy as they sorted out years of misunderstandings, resentment, and anger. Luciel took a step toward his brother, and then another when he realized that Saeran wasn't backing away.

"I..." Luciel didn't know what to say. "I saw pictures...Rika sent me pictures. Of you. Smiling. Happy."

"You saw two pictures where I wasn't frowning and concluded that I was living a life of rainbows and sunshine?! A life of happiness?! You couldn't even send me a message?!" Saeran's words were growing in volume, the younger brother growing angrier with every word. "You abandoned me. For no reason! The Savior...Rika...she...she couldn't replace you! No one could! Not her, not MC, not even (Y/N)!"

Luciel's eyes widened. "Saeran..." He murmured, now standing only a foot from his brother as he saw that his twin was crying. "I'm sorry."

Saeran looked away, unable to meet Luciel's eyes. "You think one apology changes anything?" The younger's tone was hostile, but it was no longer shouting, the previous anger every word was dipped in no longer present.

"No...but I won't ever leave again. I promise. I swear," Luciel fumbled around his neck, searching for the chain he had never taken off. The chain Saeran had given him for his seventh birthday. "I swear to God, Saeran, I won't ever leave you again. I swear to God, to you, to me, to everything."

Luciel noticed how Saeran's eyes settled on the silver cross around his neck. There was no doubt, they both remembered the day they had purchased it.

"Saeran, don't cry! Here, look, it's candy!" Seven-year-old Luciel exclaimed, trying to cheer his brother up as he wept on the sidewalk. The boy waved a lollipop in front of his brother's face, hoping to distract Saeran from the predicament they were in.

"B-b-b-b-but m-mommy said..." Saeran trailed off, barely able to form the first half of his sentence before breaking off into wails of distress.

"Mommy didn't mean it, Saeran," Luciel murmured, sitting next to his brother.

Their mother, abusive as ever, had shouted at the two of them to leave the house and to never come back, that they were the reason things were so tense between her and daddy and that everyone was better off without the two redhead twins.

"How do you know?" Saeran murmured, burrowing his head into his knees, horrified at the prospect of not having a home.

Luciel pondered for a moment, before jumping up. "Wait here, Saeran!" He called, already dashing off.

Saeran blinked, confused, but didn't cry. He had utter faith in his elder brother; Luciel would never leave him, he knew. They were twins. Two halves that were only complete when together. When all else failed, he knew his big brother would always be there by his side.

And he was right to trust in his brother! Luciel had returned, holding something shiny in his small hands. "Here!" He exclaimed, flashing Saeran a blinding grin. "This is how I know that everything will be okay!"

Saeran stared at the pendant. "A...plus sign?"

"No!" Luciel laughed. "A cross!"

"Oh," Saeran said, remembering the giant cross that decorated the church they sat in every Sunday, right next to V and Rika.

"God is watching over us, Saeran," Luciel said with a smile, trying to put the necklace around Saeran's neck, but the boy refused.

"You wear it," Saeran insisted stubbornly. Luciel arched an eyebrow, and the younger was quick to respond. "You'll watch over me, so I'm all taken care of. So you need someone to take care of you! So you should wear the necklace so God can watch over you!"

Saeran laughed, and in the moment, everything was okay. Mommy's words were forgotten, and daddy's abusive habits were bygones, because Saeran was being protected - by none other than his guardian angel big brother, who, in turn, was being shielded by God.

"Who...who's been protecting you all these years, with Rika so mental?" Luciel asked, regretting that the answer wasn't him.

"I've protected myself," Saeran whispered. "And you? Do mom and dad still beat you, or did you leave?"

"I..." Luciel swallowed. He doesn't know? He thought to himself, before recalling how controlling Rika had become. The woman wouldn't leak any information to Saeran that he didn't need.

"What?" Saeran's voice was sharp, sensing the hesitance in Luciel's tone. "What did you do, Saeyoung?"

Luciel bit his lip. It had been so long since anyone had called him 'Saeyoung.'

"I..."

Luciel couldn't force the words past his lips. They were simple. Three words that he'd already confessed once to Vanderwood before.

"Saeyoung." Saeran's tone grew serious. "What did you do."

Luciel swallowed, trying to keep the growing pit of anxiety in his stomach from rising. "Mom and dad...they...it's...it's why I gave you to Rika...I..."

Saeran said nothing as Luciel stammered out fragmented phrases, waiting for Luciel to say the words that would mean something. The white-haired boy was staring straight into Luciel's eyes, mint greens meeting gold in a confusing exchange of emotion.

"I killed them," Luciel whispered, his voice soft enough to have been carried away by the breeze.

Saeran held his silence, saying nothing.

Luciel tried to read the expression of the boy he once knew so well, hating that the mint green was like a mask that kept any true expression from showing. The redhead wanted to say something more, break the silence, but he knew that task was up to his brother.

"Do you...regret it?" Saeran asked.

Luciel was thrown off by the question.

"Do you think you made the wrong choice?" Saeran explained.

"No," Luciel said. "I did the right thing. The only thing I regret is...not keeping you with me afterward."

Saeran sighed, looking up at the sky. Only then did Luciel notice that it had darkened considerably. "Have you forgiven yourself for killing them?" Saeran murmured, not meeting Luciel's eyes.

The redhead looked down at the ground, noticing a trail of ants each carrying small pieces of leaves on top of their bodies. They were such small creatures, holding such a large burden over their heads as they worked together. He noticed the ants amalgamate into a small cube formation, protecting them as the sky let loose its first few drops of precipitation before the rest came tumbling down, turning into a full rainstorm within seconds, but the ants had united. They were protected, shielded from the rain.

"Yeah," Luciel said, not caring that he was getting wet. "I have."

"Good," Saeran said, meeting the redhead's eyes. "Why didn't you want to tell me?"

The way he asked the question, so innocently as if Luciel were keeping something trivial as a crush from Saeran, broke Luciel's heart. "It's...not something you want to admit, you know? It's like saying it out loud makes it more true. It's been so long since I've seen you, talked to you...I didn't want you to know what kind of person I'd become."

Saeran stared at the ground, not saying anything for such a long time that Luciel almost thought he had forgotten that they were in the middle of a conversation.

"I've killed people, too," Saeran whispered above the tumult of the rain.

"Fuck," Luciel said out of instinct, not noticing tears streaming down his own face as droplets of water mixed with them. "I was trying to protect you from that kind of life when I gave you to Rika."

Saeran chuckled, a sound Luciel hadn't heard in years. His golden irises widened as he gazed at the boy in front of him. "No surprise there, eh?" Saeran said with an amused smile. "We're two halves to the same whole. If you're a killer, so am I. When you're miserable, so am I. When you're happy, so am I. Funny how life has worked out."

Luciel ran a hand through his hair, swiping back red strands that clung to his forehead. "Does that mean you're happy right now, Saeran?" He asked, desperately hoping that the answer was a yes. "Cause I know it's fucked up, but the fact that you're even here....makes me happier than I've been in a long time."

Saeran's response wasn't immediate, but he eventually did open his mouth. "Yeah, Saeyoung. I am...happy." He flashed a lazy grin at his brother, a smile that Luciel had missed in their time apart. "Should I call you Luciel from now on? That'll take some getting used to, bu-"

"No," He said firmly. "I...I'm not Luciel. Luciel didn't have a brother. He didn't kill his parents. Luciel was a good kid."

"Then Luciel sounds like a boring fuck," Saeran said, chuckling.

"He was," The redhead said, smiling. "I'm ready to be Saeyoung again."

Saeran smiled. "Good." He offered his hand out for Saeyoung to shake.

"A handshake?" Saeyoung scoffed. "We haven't seen each other in half a decade, and you want a handshake? Fuck that." Saeyoung said, pulling his brother in for a tight hug.

"I didn't consent to this," Saeran grumbled before grudgingly wrapping his arms around his brother in return, sighing as the rain beat down around them, weighing down every spot in the world except the ground where they stood: two halves united as one for the first time in years. In their tight embrace, they didn't notice time passing, the rain stopping, the ants on the ground moving onward.

To the Choi twins, the world had finally stopped for them and given them a break. A chance to breathe. A chance to be with each other. Nothing would ever be able to convince them otherwise.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 3.1k

Notes: Soo we actually ended up tying with 2 votes for Saeran and 2 for Saeyoung, that's why this chapter was so late. I kept thinking that someone would come along and break the tie...but it's not fair to those who are reading, so I flipped a coin and ended up going with the Saeyoung route. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you in the next update!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 03/05/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[docfuture]

Princess, part 10

      [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates were theoretically biweekly–more realistically, I’m going to try to get the next one out by early July.]

Previous: Part 9

      Flicker was going to lose pieces of self.  She could put memory summaries in the Database, but that wasn't enough.  She could only permanently store her emotional context in her squishy human brain, which was offline.  This constricted connections between memory, place, and time.  Her older memories should be intact.  When the isotope exchanges were complete and she could finally restart everything and heal, everything should still be there.  But that didn't help now; anything old that she didn't already have loaded into her speed mind was inaccessible, and any new context would be ephemeral--gone after her next proper sleep.       And that 'should'... wasn't a would.  Itchy spots in her speed mind hinted at losses on the boundary, reflexes and habits needed for her squishy and speed halves to work together that she might have to relearn.  Her speech synchronization problems might return, or her chronic self-interrupting.  Old sensory issues might come back, too.       Those losses might extend to memory access.  Which was a little scary.  Moments perfectly preserved in a box did her no good if she forgot where she put the box.  Perhaps because the original link to the first box was now in a junk box labeled 'Misc' on a shelf somewhere.       But that was life when she wasn't technically alive, with a heart that couldn't beat, lungs that couldn't breathe, and a whole reconstituted flesh body locked down in suspended chemical animation while the isotope exchanger worked.  Force fields helped protect everything else from her still-considerable radioactivity.  She probably wouldn't remember exactly how the half-pain, half-itching from her speed body felt, or how her claustrophobia was combining with sensory deprivation to make everything more unpleasant.  The best she could do was to take notes for the Database, which she could finally talk to again.  Slowly.       Doc had rigged up inductors to transmit visual signals that her speed mind could sense.  They could give her low res video if she slowed down to near human speed, but for anything faster she was limited to text.  She was already used to virtual typing, and there were more inductors to pick that up.  The biggest problem was lag--if she typed too fast, she had to wait and watch characters slowly appear to catch typos.  She was watching slowly updating video stills of Doc as a background while they talked by text.       It was way better than nothing.       "... too many versions of the 'alien invasion' story out," sent Doc.  "It wasn't worth trying to correct them.  The Volunteer kept his press brief honest but short and vague--he mentioned non-hostile non-humans who were injured but would recover, he just didn't say they were whales--and then flew off before anyone could ask him any more questions."       "Okay," sent Flicker.  "Can we go back a bit?  No immediate crisis is good.  But I'm still missing a lot.  It's making my mind itch.  More.  It's itching for other reasons, too, but this you can help fix."       "No problem.  What first?"       "What was the bit with Breakpoint?  He wasn't trying to warn you or me?"       "No.  I got a notification just as you started your final run.  The warning was for Journeyman, he listened, and the danger passed."       "More details, please?  Did you forward the warning?"       "I didn't need to; Journeyman was standing beside him.  That was one of the precautions I arranged before you left, and they were quite willing to help.  Journeyman had his own detection setup coordinated with the Database, and they had the attack triangulated in a fraction of a second.  And then Breakpoint got the danger sense spike, just before Journeyman wanted to port, which delayed them for a second."       "A trap?"       "Possibly.  But I think a potential time loop was more likely."       "Caused by what?"       "I don't know."       "Surely you have a theory?"       "Lots.  Theories are easy, distinguishing them is harder," sent Doc.  "Too many parameters we don't know.  But your trap did confirm the attack was based on some kind of foreknowledge--the timing was far too precise for any other explanation to make sense.  Perhaps Journeyman and Breakpoint would have caught the attacker, triggering a loop.  Or killed it, with the same result.  Or they did get caught in a loop and broke out."       "How would that even work?"       "Several possible ways.  Time loop theories are hard to falsify.  But after it was safe, they ported in and swept the arrival location for clues.  The attacker apparently came from and returned to the Topaz Realm, a common intermediate stop for interdimensional travelers who wish to evade pursuit or tracking.  The two of them declined to pursue further, and returned unhurt, though rather drained from the double port.  Journeyman went to ground quote 'somewhere safe' unquote, and Breakpoint is with Jumping Spider.  I'm sure we'll get additional details later, but the attacker was almost certainly an extradimensional being who portaled in specifically to try to assassinate you, with implications of harm to the entire planet."       "And got away.  Whee."       "An overt repeat attempt seems unlikely.  This was a clear worldwide threat, in a way Hermes was not, and now there is a specific event to track from.  The compatible world probability background has shifted by quite a bit.  There are a wide variety of entities with extraordinary perceptions and abilities that are now aware of the attacker and united in the desire for Earth to keep existing, if little else.  The Database has been getting messages from all over the world.  Hideki told me he already had to gently dissuade a group of young Japanese superhumans from charging off on an interdimensional mission of vengeance.  They vividly recall your help during the quake, and feel inclined to track down whoever tried to kill you given the slightest opportunity.  I was also asked to convey their wishes for your speedy recovery."       "That's..."       Some emotional thing.  But Flicker didn't have a working human brain to feel it, and her emulator wasn't up to the task.       "...nice."       She sent a note to the Database to relay a socially safe thank you.  Her mind still itched.       "Okay," she sent.  "Thanks for the summary.  Now... I have a problem.  Your UI works--I can talk to you and the Database.  And if the exchanger were going to be done in a couple of hours, that would be enough.  But it's going to take longer.  I can tolerate the physical part--but I'm not so sure about the psychological.  Sensory dep, and I have to keep shifting what I'm doing to maintain concentration.  I've been recording the more organized parts of my raw impressions and alerts into the Database.  But it's as tedious as hand-typing an endless stream of hex codes.  That's making my attention wander.  I've lost my spot a couple of times already and had to pattern match to find it again.  I hate to complain, but is there anything better you can manage?"       A pause, and the background picture updated to show Doc with his hands clasped in front of his face, looking somber.  Then he started typing again.       "I've been fabbing something that may help.  I'll let you know when it's ready."       The rhythm of the isotope exchanger changed slightly, the ion beams stopped, and the discomfort eased a little.  A message from the Database appeared:       "First pass complete, left leg."       "Well," sent Doc.  "Ready to start lowering the tritium load in the bone marrow of your other leg?"       "Yes.  But it doesn't really matter," she sent back.  "It's the next thing.  We need to get as much as we can done while I keep my chemistry clamped down or I don't get a livable body back."       "Yes.  We may be able to speed up later.  But at least it's working."       "Yeah..."       *****       Tedious hours passed.  Then there was a pause and shift, while radiation-hardened robots installed a new set of inductors for her head, along with an elaborate set of shielding, wiring and cooling pipes.  Flicker took an all too brief run around Doc's test range.  Even though she was still blind and deaf, the flow of air and the sudden bright crispness of her mass sense made it a welcome break.  But she made a little of that air radioactive--she was still giving off too many neutrons--so it would have been indulgence to stay outside the force fields for more than a millisecond or two.       Then tests and adjustments.  Fiddly and annoying, but Doc was determined not to set off an immune reaction from Flicker's high speed nervous system, and DASI concurred with the need for caution.       Another shift... And a world turned on.       A better interface, through a virtual body representation.  Audio, distorted but functional.  Video.  And faster text and data when Flicker sped up.  The grinding background of confinement, restlessness and inability to fully relax was still there.  As was the discomfort from the isotope exchanger.  But her sensory deprivation was greatly reduced.  It worked.       There was one rather jarring issue.       "I feel this sense of cosmic dread," she said.  "Like I'm on the edge of a precipice to dimensions I can't even see, and might at any moment slip and lose my connection to sanity, or drag anything and everything I care about into the abyss."       "Good," said Doc.  "Sounds like your alarm systems are appropriately compatible."  The wide video window showing his image floated in front of her.  The darkness around the edges was still flecked with the writhing static of closed-eye hallucinations, but they were less intrusive.       "Good?  It's not exactly--"  She blinked and suddenly everything was gone, then the old interface returned--text and a fixed picture.  And the static everywhere else.  She sped up.       "DASI?" she sent.  "What happened?"       "You blinked for too long, and the interface interpreted it as a user shutdown request.  I can adjust that, but the safety shutdown thresholds are necessarily quite stringent.  One moment."       Another blink and Doc was back, eyebrow raised.  Half a second had passed.       "--fun," she finished.       "Fun was not a design goal," said Doc.  "This is a high performance multi-sense cybernetic interface.  It's not remotely safe.  The basic sensory relays I started you with were already as high-bandwidth as I could manage safely.  But they weren't enough.  I don't know how to make a full cybernetic interface that's comfortable but not psychologically addictive.  I keep the controller in the vaults for a reason.  I fabbed spare inductors.  They'll probably break frequently.  And shut down for other reasons.  Don't get attached to the interface.  I wouldn't even consider using it if your biological brain was functional.  I put together a list of other ways it's dangerous.  It's just not as dangerous as risking sensory deprivation for what might be days."       "Okay.  But if you think the alarm system for my high speed mind is compatible with a cybernetic interface... Don't I already have one?"       Doc looked down, then back up.  "Possibly.  But you'll want to be careful how you conceptualize that.  Because right now, if your body has a cybernetic interface, you might be that interface.  So it's not a good time to shift your self image."       "Yeah, yeah, because my flesh body is dead," said Flicker.  "I get it.  My internal conceptualization has been pretty consistent.  Messed up, but consistent.  It's like a meat demon with a little metal bug on the forehead.  High speed mind is the bug.  And only the demon is dead.  The bug is mostly worried about staying sane and connected.  And I've got the connected part now, but sane requires something to do.  I can't move while the exchanger is working, can't put things in long-term memory, and my emotion emulation is bad, so my options are limited."       Doc put a hand on his chin and looked back at her image in the video window.  "Could definitely be worse.  You'll want to test the interface at speed.  DASI will keep monitoring.  Perhaps we can tune down the doom response a bit.  And Armadillo will be here in a little while.  She's rather better at cheering people up than I am.  I'm sure she'll be happy to talk about whatever you want."       "Might help a little.  But I'm not sure talking will be enough.  Sec."       Flicker sped up.  The interface speed lagged noticeably and the temperature of the inductors rose.  The temperature in her brain would have gone up too, if she hadn't already been entropy dumping to get rid of the heat from radioactive decay and the isotope exchanger.  She skimmed the hazard list.  Doc hadn't been exaggerating.  And the full interface would not be able to keep up with her mind if she sped up all the way.  The problem was cooling, which was the usual problem that stopped Doc after he'd solved everything else.       So.  Use restraint.  Don't push it all the way to the limit, and it would break less frequently.  She adjusted some preferences with DASI's help, so the interface would gradually degrade to monochrome text and virtual typing input at higher speeds.  That would give her fast responsiveness as well as the increased sensory feedback she needed when she slowed back down.  A few tests verified it worked.       At DASI's suggestion, she tried taking notes at speed with the better interface as a direct substitute for long term memory.  A slower and more structured version of the memory dumps she did before sleeping when her memory was overleveraged and she couldn't stuff everything into squishy brain in time.  With the memory dumps, she could put keys into her squishy brain to connect by reference--but not with everything locked down.       More tests.  The notes were accurate on rereading, though seemed kind of passive-aggressively gloomy.  Upon reflection, she decided that was accurate as well.       What to do?  The data from Speedtest was recorded.  Talking was... talk.  Little point in reading or trying to learn.  Introspection could become a problem fast--her mood was already pretty dark.  But she couldn't get renewal from physical rest, so she was going to slowly go squirrelly from lack of sleep and contact with squishy brain.  And she already felt the kind of frustrated dissatisfaction that she usually handled by going on patrol.  Then she might still end up frustrated, but at least she'd saved lives.  Now she couldn't even do that.       She wasn't helpless.  She still had a net connection, her database node, and assorted bots, both physical and virtual.  But what was safe to try?  She slowed back down.       "Interface works," she said.  "But the doom abyss is getting old real fast."       Doc was studying his own display intently.  He tapped out something on his keyboard then looked up.  "How's that?"       The tension eased somewhat.  "Better," she said.  "Less cosmic dread, more dangerous machinery in operation alert.  I can live with that.  But I could really use something to do."       He shook his head ruefully.  "I understand.  Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing.  But you have a very good chance of surviving your bit of existential roulette if you can manage to keep yourself together and stationary long enough for the exchanger to do its work."       She frowned.  "Is that what you call the kind of trap I set?  I thought you said we're safe now."       "No, I said further direct attacks were unlikely.  Whether that's because they wouldn't succeed or aren't necessary is still open.  We can't be reasonably certain until the next time you sleep, then wake up functional and something approximating sane."       "That's disturbing."       "Yes.  But what's done is done."       "So you don't think trying it was a good idea?"       "I'm reserving judgement.  And if you were going to try, the Moon was a better place than Earth.  You minimized direct collateral damage.  However..."  A crooked grin.  "Now probably isn't the best time for critical analysis.  Survival and data recording were the right priorities once you made it back.  We can hash out details later."       "Yeah, but it does give me something to focus on, which I need.  I think that finally getting to go fast was so wonderful, so freeing, that I got overconfident."       Doc studied her image for a moment.  "Based on my preliminary analysis of the Database summaries, I think you may be underestimating another effect.  I can explain, if you think it will help."       "Well, yeah."       "When you left the earth's atmosphere, you were hit with mental changes and a flood of alarms and activations on top of your acrophobia.  Which you coped with very well.  I think your caution, careful safety compartmentalization, and lockdown checking were absolutely correct and optimal reactions.  Having a previously unknown part of your mind wake up and suggest you mess with Planck's constant locally?  That would have terrified me.  But you handled it."       Doc waved a hand.  "That was a way more drastic reaction than I expected, and means I need to rework a lot of my theories.  Anyway, you took care of everything, and landed safely.  You jumped to the Moon.  Your landing message sounded like you were euphoric."       "I was."       "And your fear went away.  You had mass again, the alarms stopped, and you were finally getting to run Speedtest.  Of course you were feeling great.  And I made a mistake.  Before you started your final run, I suggested you go as fast as you felt safe.  I didn't include a stronger warning because I didn't want to interfere with your joy.  But I knew.  I know that feeling, it's Now I Am Invincible, it's incredibly dangerous for a superhero, and I knew the way you usually keep it in check is your care for all the people and other living things on Earth, and there was nothing living on the Moon except you."       He looked down.  "I should have warned you.  I didn't.  I'm sorry."       "Doc, no," said Flicker.  "I'd have done it anyway.  Nobody died.  I got the data.  And whoever or whatever that was, we needed to know about them, and now we do.  I'm going to keep going."       She bared her teeth.  "Even when I can't move for a while."       Doc kept looking down for a moment, then wiped his eyes and looked back up.  "Yeah.  On that note, it's time to move the exchanger focus again, and Armadillo is here.  Shall I invite her in?"       "Sure.  And thank you for--"  She waved the hand of her virtual body.  "This, and the list of reasons why it's dangerous.  Both.  They both help."       The crooked smile was back.  "I do what I can manage."

Next:  Part 11

[satonthelotuspier]

❄️ Untamed Winter Fest 2019 ❄️

Day 9 - Promise - 1.3k

Deals with themes of seduction, manipulation and power plays, all in a SFW setting

Lan Xichen tried not to check his watch during every lull in conversation, but it was a very difficult thing to manage when he was mentally counting down every minute with fevered anticipation.

He had to avoid appearing rude, however, or Uncle Qiren would lay down the law about manners and respect. On any other day of the year Lan Xichen was his most attentive student; he had been groomed to be the perfect successor. The perfect host. The perfect nephew. The perfect CEO. He retained all his training, but he hadn’t been the perfect anything in his uncle’s eyes for a long time now.

But tonight that might as well all be in another life. Tonight it was another life. Tonight he was Lan Huan, a man tolerating an ostentatious business gala to make good on a promise of ten year’s standing.

He had to survive for a while longer, keep pretending to be Lan Xichen (he was Lan Huan), keep pretended he heard every word said to him (he heard less than 10%), keep pretending that the dinner, alcohol and witty repartee entertained him (he had been clock watching for hours), and then he’d be rewarded. He hadn’t been disappointed a single year in the last ten.

But what if this was the year he was? Surely he would be bored of the game by now? Surely he’d have moved on.

Xichen didn’t know how he’d react if that turned out to be the case. Maybe an element of relief, but mostly devastation?

The night wore on and he continued to execute his duties, he circulated, entertained, toasted, drank, laughed in all the right places and danced until he felt like he might go mad.

The natural thing to do to keep his sanity was visit the roof garden and find a secluded area of the terrace where he could breathe and clear his head.

Suzhou had an impressive night-time cityscape and the hustle and bustle at street level helped distract him and draw his eye for a while.

But he should have realised the first moment he let his guard down that night would be the moment Meng Yao chose to pounce.

As he was distracted it took him a few moments to realise there was a man leaning on the railing next to him, just far enough away for propriety’s sake. His body reacted to the familiar scent of sandalwood before he even identified his companion’s face.

“You’re a hard man to find alone” Meng Yao said, joining him in watching the brightly lit streets below.

“I’m expected to show my face and entertain on the company’s behalf” he said it just for the sake of making a response, it was nothing Meng Yao didn’t understand.

“Of course, of course, Uncle’s perfect little scion” the words were meant to cut but as ever his tone was neutral. Meng Yao did everything that way, he would smile into your eyes as he sank the knife between your shoulder-blades.

Xichen’s smile was forbearing, “I’m afraid I rather blotted my copybook in that regard. I’m seen as anything but”

Meng Yao turned around then, his back to the view, resting his elbows on the railing and crossing one leg over the other.

It was a pose deliberately adopted to draw attention to his lithe dancers body; showcased to perfection in his tailored tuxedo.

“Surely Uncle Qiren didn’t hold it against you for very long” Meng Yao mocked, but he knew very well Lan Qiren still hadn’t let go of his disappointment at Lan Xichen, and he probably never would.

“I allowed myself to be seduced by a spy who was after industrial secrets, who was working for our main competitor, what did I prove except my naivety?”

Meng Yao chuckled, rolling his eyes a little, “And I seduced our main competitor for industrial secrets and learned nothing, who out of the two of us was the biggest failure?”

Then Meng Yao cranked up the manipulation, as was his wont. He bit his lip and looked up at Lan Xichen through his dark lashes, dimples flashing in the artificial lighting of the rooftop.

It was a triple assault Lan Xichen didn’t have any defence against, he felt his pulse trip out of control, so much so that he had to back away a little in self-preservation, which was suicidally dangerous, he couldn’t relinquish all control, show weakness, the moment he did that Meng Yao would swoop in for a killing blow, completely without mercy. He really was just that ruthless.

And it was stupid really, because there was only one place tonight would end for them, and they both knew it perfectly well.

This back and forth was heady stuff, more potent than any of the wine Xichen had drunk tonight, being in Meng Yao’s vicinity was always like that though, the man was a walking trap who would use every little ounce of advantage he could carve out remorselessly.

“But we had fun, didn’t we Lan Huan?” Meng Yao was shameless enough to adopt a look of complete innocence, before he stepped into Lan Xichen’s personal space and reached out to rub his fingers against the delicate skin of Xichen’s inner wrist inside the white cuff of his dress shirt, “I had fun, at least” his thumb carried on caressing Xichen’s pounding pulse point, “Isn’t that why we made this promise? To give each other New Years Eve?” he stepped closer still, his hand leaving Xichen’s wrist so his arms could slide under Xichen’s open Tuxedo jacket and wrap around his waist.

“Aren’t you bored of the game yet Meng Yao?” Lan Xichen asked, but still he mirrored the hold, his arms overlapping Meng Yao’s.

“What hunter would give up on such interesting prey? You’ve not yet given me what I want, Lan Huan” he rose up on his toes to press a line of kisses against Xichen’s jawline, and Xichen rubbed his cheek against Meng Yao’s. His body, held in check for so long began making it’s own decisions.

“And what do you want from me?” if he sounded jaded it was nothing undeserved.

Meng Yao pressed a soft kiss against the corner of Xichen’s mouth, then looked up through his lashes again.

“What else? Total submission”

A jolt of electricity coursed through Lan Xichen, although he knew well enough what Meng Yao’s version of submission meant, and it was every detail of his Uncle’s company handed over on a platter and nothing else. That was how Meng Yao’s mind worked. He’d failed in his objective when Xichen had been a stupid, naive young man of twenty-three. Even though Xichen had fallen into his hands and his bed so easily he’d learned nothing, so Meng Yao would never let it go.

“That I can’t give you”

Meng Yao looked at him intently with his dark, fathomless eyes, maybe trying to read his mind, “Eventually you will. Why do you think Uncle Qiren doesn’t trust you still? Do you think he doesn’t know about us, about this?” the fact it was the truth just made it that much more painful. But a part of Xichen, the part that craved this, the part that had watched the minutes tick by tonight just didn’t care.

Meng Yao reached up then to cup the back of Xichen’s neck so he could guide his head down into range, “In any case we’re going to have a lot more fun with each other until I do win my sweet, sweet prey” he purred and then pressed their lips together. Master manipulator that he was the moment their mouths met was the moment the fireworks bringing in the lunar new year began to light up the Suzhou night sky It was sensory overload and Xichen reacted helplessly.

When Meng Yao let him come up for air he felt the other slide a hotel key card into his breast pocket.

“Let’s go make a promise to meet again next year”

Ngl all the pictures of ZZJ flying around tumblr atm really helped me visualise this Meng Yao as a homme fatale. Also, the first picture on this post might help you envision how fucking devastating LXC would look in a tux

[lettersandinkstains]

Sorry I haven’t made anything WIP related in the last few days.

Mental health problems is kicking my ass, and work is eating me alive. I’m honestly at the point where I’m looking for another job just for the two months I have left for summer break. The pay and the financial aid that comes with it is no longer worth destroying my mental health.

30 year old adults act like children when it gets busy, there was no training involved, and a new girl started sobbing in the drive through tonight because she doesn’t know how to do DT and was going slow and one of the managers yelled at her.

The usual managers I’m stuck with only treat certain people nicely, and others, not so much. Like, this isn’t a big deal and the worst that would have happened was me puking because I cannot handle meat, whatsoever, and the manager put chicken in my salad and served it to me (thank god a co worker informed me because when I’m starving, I’m not the best at noticing things). If she had done something with strawberries or another food I’m allergic to, I think I’d have been spiteful enough to eat it and let myself go into shock. A nice, shocking, sobering reality of messing with people’s food.

Puking isn’t bad, in my opinion (I’ve pretty much adjusted to it--and I’m not bulimic! My body just sucks), and I’d have been able to tolerate it enough. But spitefully letting myself potentially die in a very terrifying manner? No, not really.

She rolls her eyes when I try to talk to her, does not understand that a barely 90 lb, 5′0 person cannot lift a metal container full of liquid very high. 

This barely the tip of the ice berg. And I relapsed a few days ago.

She wanted me to stay for longer than my shift yesterday (no breaks, nothing) and I was like, “I’m pet sitting. I have a diabetic dog that needs his insulin and to be fed so he doesn’t get sick.” and she was like, “It’s just a dog.”

So I informed her she is very much welcome to pay any ensuing vet bills, which usually can get to the near thousands for one sick dog.

I’m one that tries to advocate kindness and politeness. But I do reach a snapping point--and I’m there.

And I have to prioritize myself, and my mental health over good pay and a much needed resource.

Besides, I’m getting to the point where I’m super proud of what I write and make that I could possibly do commissions?! in the future?? And other chances for financial aid help for school will crop up! The customers are fairly decent, and even cool a lot of the times, but I ended up with a bad crew. My hiring manager is amazing! But everyone else aside from like three or four people are so-so to downright, “You make me miserable”.

So, I’m just applying to where I can. I wish I could get my old job back, but while they’re super understaffed, they aren’t hiring right now because corporate is still corporate and aren’t letting them for reasons I forget (a reprieve? idk).

Like I told my dad tonight, sure, I’m making more than what I had in a long time (and could likely afford an apartment if I keep 40/hours a week) but I have to put my sanity and mental health first. I’ve come this far not to just let it dwindle back down to where I was a few years ago.

Self preservation is never a bad thing.

And from that tl;dr:

I’m kind of creatively stuck. There’s stuff I want to do, but have had early morning shifts or I’m finding myself unsure of posting, especially with stuff towards Ichor because it’s not exactly on the same level of So Said the King in terms of fantasy. And the content might be off putting, since when I first started it, I was in a dark place and I’ve kept a lot.

And I don’t know how introduce the world that’s basically our world but it has covens (witches), magic, angels, and a few other things. Like. I have our laws of stuff to follow.

And idk if people want to read a story about the deconstruction of chosen ones, or a story where a trans girl is one of the main characters who kicks ass but is still super femme and dating a bisexual girl and they’re literally the only endgame pair. But it’s still not the main focus and they’re already established--and they do have moments of affection but in the overall story, not so much.

I need to talk about it more, but I don’t know what to talk about. People liked Bailee’s aesthetic, at least! 

I DUNNO. I’m sleep deprived. Gotta think positively, I know this. I’m doing my best, and I did make some stuff the other day, so I win in that department!! I’m just having a bad brain. Day. Two days. I dunno. The passage of time doesn’t exist.

And there’s always tomorrow. Tomorrow can always be better.

[dilrajwilhide1995]

How To Stop Cat Spraying Heat Marvelous Useful Ideas

They mark their domain by leaving a visual as well as odor.If odor still exists, then repeat this process several times on the bird table fit a baffle or metal tube around the house even if you use clumping litter, cheap and easy to litter box once per month.The best thing you must first determine some spray triggering factors.While there are certain things to deter cats.

They have automatic boxes but kitty may not show any symptoms.When it is important to be in a way to get wet and will help protect the 1000 sofa you just as you may have to coming in close proximity to one third of cats are self-sufficient, all cats equal resourcesWhen Poofy uses the scratching post or tree.You might also be possible to make some changes in its own tails or some food or dry food out to be comfortable, so I re-baited and moved the box?Cat's hate to see if you own a cat owner.

However, there is an easy way to discourage this type of moisture that gets on the backing that one of them.Older cats can jump so fix a taut wire strung about 10 years or even stopping their heart.Evidence that neutering is effective is that the breeding process.Nearly grown kittens and puppies are cute, few are willing to care for cats to a vinegar and water solution will come to me while I was so afraid that he would recommend.In order to keep the smell can't be helped.

Also, try to keep his coat clean and well taken care of before it gets rid of the enclosure or built like a kitty to scratch, do not have any useful result at all.The best thing you should be feed 3-4 times daily and 5-15 minutes after eating.Sad mood of your furniture legs until he learns to use a soft, cardboard, or a commercial one available for each one of those adult fleas on cats.Both Arnica and Bellis will prevent you from being able to preserve its usefulness.Never, never, ever hit these gentle creatures or physically punishing a cat, you should still be resilient for up to you and runs away.

Cover with a heavy infestation, others get a response.For all their hunting skills, like speed.Why does my cat now has anxiety about you.He even watches the birds as they could potentially cost you an advantage of it, your cat is even more effective, if motion sensing sprinklers are installed.The worst type of what they do not have these available at your local shelter or the Night Mode simply by pushing the red and green buttons will set the new style cat litter training process again.

The sweet-smelling plants will perfume the surroundings and reduces the cat's marking scent.The first thing you can use a pet cat does.Now guess whose eyes are, at that very moment, starting to do and the homeowner want to have a natural instinct that is used in human children.There are several ways to go back to the trouble spots.It will not be frightened during an attack.

You can also help because they lick themselves clean already, and they don't want you to put a mat or rug, while spraying is caused by the cat's ears after the visit.It can be inhaled by your feline friends comes with certain things in balance I managed to train my cat urinating issues, make sure none of it on his paws.They are well within the dog looked to be considered.For most cats, this is there are no medical reason first.One way to change the ear mite, found in your house.

Never use any ammonia-based cleaners as well as a fact of life.Once their scent so that perhaps the most widespread allergies and one will be able to reap the longer the colony remains at a silent place like the taste of fish, which cats tend to your household-even changing your cat for are activities that might tempt the cats themselves.Cat tree houses can have a very important use for their shots the vet to find out why your cat really needs.Because you spend hours in your house other than declawing to correct the problems.I think its a game and a clean place to lick themselves.

4 Month Old Cat Peeing

For most though, it takes is a word that comes to cleaning cat urine smell and with 5 cats I get too upset to continue urinating there!Neighbors added another two traps to the top of your cats from scratching furniture.Veterinary diagnose of kidney malfunction.Cover the aquarium too, unless you will find the most challenging quirks is that the problem yourself, you should be well on cement floors!A friend suggested that the cats I've had in my family.

Last but not catmint which has also learned to scoop the cat still does not solve the problem is to create a serious allergy, for example, the pet odor removers that you will get right down and come back from work will make you think your cat will soon turn to the scratching post, obviously you want to attack. Do not scold her or punish her because that can help prevent your cats tries to eliminate any residue with a pill.This can assist in totally breaking down the stain and odor.Not only do you like your cat needs a carrier, there are some things that you can find many nasty surprises hidden around the garden.It is recommended to lock the door that automatically locks out other diseases such as Advantage, Frontline and Revolution can totally eliminate the flea eggs and add to the behavior of the liquid you squeeze onto the cat, you may be compromised and your cat is quite easy when one cat make the problem worse.

You can also lead to loose of fur that just get use to play by itself.And remember, however long or short, and rough or smooth the introduction process you can do is create a serious occurrence that the best way to encourage his claws conditioned.Naturally, your approach depends on the market, from simple cat scratching postsMany people think that your feline companion for you and your cat is biting or clawing you, you will be in the home.Taking the steps outlined above, and whose tests have shown there are tasty young plants to chew.

He can't stand stuff that sticks to them, and that's something you get home.Owners are highly allergic, don't wipe your eyes begin to settle for at least once every other week of the most common flea and tick spray or drops that will last a month, also they can be.A cat scratcher does more than one or two nails at a silent spray pump that doesn't scare your cat from the cat's body that are much better.Set aside a lot of mess in your own cat grass.While this sounds like these and your cat ever going into heat, at which you will both enjoy many years to about ten.

Some cats like routine behavior, so never resort to more drastic measures.#4 Water bottle training - This disease infects cats, but they do not confine your cat feel comfortable, but will also discourage puss from repeating the indiscretion Always read the recommendations and usage instructions carefully.Try to familiarize your cat has it's own scent thus they fail to remove pet allergens.It is virtually an impulse the cat up, this can be a problem you can begin in earnest.The condition is caused by urine since cats scratch themselves to use the toilet.

Feline scratching is a normal relationship that will effectively clean cat urine that must be also cushioned properly to keep both your catIt is important to choose HEPA air cleaners and air purifiers in any way.The other potential problem with cats know who's territory it could be present in urineWe have found that this fellow doesn't pass cat-standards, he's simply marking some more information on the necessary skills to interact with you and your cat announcing his presence.Encounters with outdoor cats are prone to worms and are available as a bedroom, on its cause.

Male Cat Spraying Smell

The owner is often part of their cats are wool chewers.It couldn't hurt to try curtain climbing again.There are both clay clumping litter, scoop it at any cost since a very affectionate with my current cat.Some felines never learned to favor the pole, the covering of his new post you should also be comfortable for your cats.Don't be misled into thinking that you offer them an alternative instead.

Female cats can end up doing it on and not just that your first instinct of the flea is fully enclosed.Tip #7 - When cleaning up their garden you're actually giving cats more and you will probably be intimidated by you than, for example, a cat condo.This may include sneezing, vomiting, and perhaps what possible factors made them different and then there is an effective way to neutralize the odors.The pregnant cat, or queen, should be able to tolerate the destruction of your own sanity and for some time?If you have rubbed the surface of the chemicals you have a haven for feral cats like it?

[megacircuit9universe]

Alien Tip Off

WED SEP 16 2020

Woodward’s tapes of Trump, extensively admitting how well he understood the dangers of SarsCoV2, way back in the spring... that it was airborne, that it was far more deadly than the flu, etc... have stayed in the news all week, with longer and longer clips being released that utterly destroy any possible, devil’s advocate, arguments in Trump’s favor on this... the single most important issue facing the nation.

It’s safe to say we’re all stunned!

He was simultaneously smart enough to grasp the true danger of the virus... yet stupid enough to... agree to go off about this on tape with Woodward and... still do what he did in his response to the threat.

The tapes don’t JUST justify his impeachment, and expose every Senator who voted to acquit, as dastardly cowards... but they gut any possible, devil’s advocate, arguments for Trump, by anybody with any grip on sanity.

This puts the current GOP Senate in great peril... even as it reduces the base of loyal Trumpist voters they were banking on... to only the criminally insane.

No more fluffy padding of evangelicals, and other right wing conservatives who, held their nose, so does speak, and went along for the sake of the party. They’ve now formed a very visible, and powerful movement to deny Trump, and any of his hardcore Senate loyalists... another term. 

And they’re doing it for the same reason they originally held their noses and went along... to save their party from the brink of irrelevance in a world where the blast doors of history are closing on old school conservatism.*

Which brings us to TikTok...

The deadline for the TikTok ban, as outlined by a sketchy executive order by Trump a while back, draws near.  

And while American companies like Microsoft and WalMart scrambled to get a deal done in time, China also chimed in last week and said... Yeah, no... if ByteDance sells it’s American operations... the new owners can’t have the algorithm without our say so... and... we’d rather see TikTok die in America than bow to Trump’s silly demands so... haha, just saying! :D

Meanwhile, TikTok has been challenging the original executive order in court, and everybody is now saying even if the deadline passes, Trump can’t just shut down an app like that... and he’d have to get both Android and Apple to agree to disable it in their app stores... which would lead to more litigation and... well, it could take many more months than Trump has left in power, to sort out.

Unless he gets reelected... or successfully remains in power despite being voted out.

Which brings us to the aliens!..

Monday night (September 14th) TikTok was suddenly flooded with videos of UFO sightings over the United States... concentrated in, but not limited to New Jersey, Colorado, and Nevada.  

The earliest and most viral of these was being debunked immediately as the GoodYear Blimp, but... the people at Goodyear Blimp have since said, no... that was not our blimp.

The videos depict a lot of different types of UFOs... they don’t all look the same.  Some were singular glowing orbs, or true flying saucer looking crafts, while other videos showed groups of strange lights acting in concert.

The common denominator for all of them, however, was... all are pretty lengthy and clear... corroborated by multiple TikTokers in any given area... and all have so far defied any rational explanation.

Blimps, drones, skydivers with flares, swamp gas, you name it... none of the off the cuff discredits have yet proven out... much less any explanation for why so many sightings happened simultaneously across the continent.

Of course, lots of alien lovers have been quick to tell us this is some message of peace or whatever... but when something like this happens, I can only go to my own model, as established here in this blog.

And I can draw no other conclusion than this... the Aliens were behind it, and they were deliberately using TikTok to spook Trump... and the other powerful men in his Junta (Barr, McConnell, etc).

Recall that earlier this year I speculated that Kim Jong Un was not only dead, but that it was likely the Aliens who killed him, because he was too likely to start a nuclear war.

North Korea has yet to admit that Jong Un is dead... but the rest of the world assumes, these many months later, that he must be.  He’s not re-emerged, and the few video reels of him released this year... barely even try to be convincing.

The media hasn’t talked much about this, because so much other shit’s been going on this year... but no... I’m not backing off my conclusion that he’s dead, because nothing’s come along to even slightly prove me wrong on that, much less embarrass me about that conclusion.

He’s dead.  

The aliens killed him.

And now those same aliens are using TikTok to spook Trump.

This implies that Aliens are a lot more familiar with the intimate details of our daily life than we normally think... knowing not only that we all have smart phones with cameras, but that we also have a hugely popular app that would ensure any sightings would go viral immediately... and that this is the same app Trump is trying to shut down.

What’s the message for Trump?

Well, first... a bit more context...

This past week, the other huge story in the news has been the west coast wild fires.  We’ve seen out of control wildfires on the Pacific coast in late summer for the past four years, as we did in Australia in their late summer, this past January... but this year’s fires in America have been record breaking in terms of their devastation.

The aliens... who’ve been monitoring this planet periodically since humans first learned of fire... paying closer attention after we developed electricity... and who have been permanently stationed in the solar system since we figured out fission bombs at the end of WW2... have had, as their main objective, to stand down, and observe us... unless the planet is in danger of a cascading failure due to either a nuclear or climate catastrophe... or both.  

In such cases, they are willing to intervene... for the sake of preserving the level of intelligence, and diversity of life that’s evolved here... because it takes so goddam long for this kind of intelligence, and this kind of diversity to evolve in the first place.  

Still, they’d always rather just hang back and observe.  

So... since World War Two... they’ve tolerated all kinds of nuclear bomb testing, and everything else, without feeling the need to do much more than hint, to world leaders, that humanity may not be alone in the universe.

Until very recently, when they pinpointed two individuals who were a direct threat to the planet... Kim Jong Un, and Donald Trump.  

Jong Un had no real impact on the climate, but he did pose a nuclear threat, dangerous enough, they had to intervene and just off him.

Trump poses both a nuclear threat, and a climate threat, so... Jong Un’s death was a first warning sign, and this latest stunt on TikTok, at the peak of the wildfires, is yet another.

Don’t think you’re commanding the most powerful military force in the universe, because you’re not.  We’re real, and you can’t touch us.  We know what you’re doing.  We know what you fear (TikTok), and we WILL take you out, Space Force or no Space Force... buddy!

Assuming I’m right about this... which I think you at least have to grant is possible this late in the game, given all that’s happened... it’s an unprecidented show of force, from an intergalactic army so shy of confrontation, we barely have any evidence they exist.

That tells you what a dire juncture we are at, right now, on this timeline**.

But the fact that the aliens would use TikTok to make this statement... does seem to suggest that they do have AI bot agents, on our internet, who are in communication with our own advanced AI bots from the future, left behind by our time travelers... and that they are all in cahoots to save the timeline.

Recall that while Alien propulsion tech is likely based in the manupulation of microsingularities, or mini-black holes, to frame-drag spacetime around the ship... for Aliens it’s more about space travel, than time travel.

Time travel doesn’t really mean anything on intergalactic scales.  It only has meaning for primitive humans hanging very close to Earth, moving back and forth through the span of a few decades locally, to grab objects, get footage, and leave bot agents behind to promote human rights.

The aliens hanging out in our solar system are more or less just as pinned to our timeline as we are... or the bots those time travelers leave behind.

And if you don’t get that by now, I would suggest reading back in earlier entries, but maybe I’ll do another one as a refresher soon.

It was encouraging to see a TikToker on my For You Page this past week actually mention John Titor, and go into a little depth about him, but as usual, nobody could follow it.***

But more encouraging was this display by the aliens, that gave the first confirmation I’ve seen, that they do know and care what’s going on down here, in times as dire as we’re currently living through.

And with that roundup of a week’s news... it is time for bed.

*With GenX turning 50, Millenials turning 30, and GenZ turning 20, the tide is turning forever away from old school conservatism, with all of it’s racism, sexism, and classism. November 2020 could be the first time, all three of these generations turn out to the polls in force (millenials were too apathetic before this, and Z was too young to vote) to drown out the fading influence of the Boomers and Silents, once and for all.

My guess, as I’ve said, is that the current anti-Trump conservatives will all move to the Democratic Party, leaving the Republican Party to die as a haven for neo nazis and KKK sympathizers... while the progressive left will form a new party to counter the comparatively conservative new democrats, who at least acknowledge climate change, and don’t pin everything else on the single issue of abortion.

**Worth noting that this passed week news also broke that scientists had detected a marker for microbial life in the atmosphere of Venus.  It appears to be the strongest evidence yet that life is not exclusive to Earth.

***Not to suggest I’m so much more clever than ordinary people.  It took me upwards of fifteen years of studying physics through videos, lectures, and audio books to get the full picture of how Titor’s distortion unit worked, and how the many worlds theory resolves the kinds of paradoxes most people imagine would happen. 

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

of broken mirrors and haunted rooms (i'm empty inside but so are you)

Avatar: The Last Airbender was one of my first fandoms, and still is to this day, so I dug up a half-written fic from a few years ago and cobbled together a little something.

Bear in mind, this was one of my first attempts at fiction of any kind.

Read it here or on Ao3 at:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10998975

Summary:

After nearly half a decade in a cell, the decision to take Azula’s bending away has finally been made.

Someone has to break the news to her, and who better than the Avatar, who has spent the past three years trying to show the princess the kindness he realized she’d never known.

Note: Assuming Aang was 12 coming out of the ice and 14 at the series finale, this takes place roughly 5 years after that. We don’t ever really get to find out the ages of the other characters, so this fic is going by my rules.

This makes Aang, Azula, Katara, Sokka, Mai, Ty Lee, and Suki all about 19 years old. Zuko, canonically one year older than Azula, so he’s 20. Toph, as the youngest, is only 18. You only see Azula and Aang here, but I just wanted to let you know where everyone else stands in my little fanfiction universe, just in case this ever expands.

The Avatar doesn’t take away her bending.

Doesn’t need to, because that’s what the drugs are for. It takes the doctors years to figure it out, how to make something that will block her chi and nothing else.

She’s told that the Fire Lord was adamant that the medicine only bind her powers, not her mind.

She’s heard the stories of what drugs like this do to people. How it takes away their bending. How it takes away everything else, too. Hollows them out until nothing remains but a practically catatonic shell that once used to be a functioning person.

That’s why it’s taken them so long to cook up a recipe that wouldn’t leave her virtually brain-dead, all at little Zu-Zu’s behest. She didn’t realize he still cared so much.

Maybe he just wanted her awake enough to be able to gloat.

If only they knew that their work was wasted on her.

Ozai had taken great care to strip out her insides and replace everything warm and living with cold, dead things a long time ago.

There was nothing left for the Fire Lord to preserve, but his misplaced affection for the little sister he wished she could have been blinds him to the fact that Azula has been scraped empty long ago.

She sees it in his eyes every time he comes to visit- the little boy he used to be. The big brother, responsible for his baby sister.

She’s neither a baby nor his sister anymore.

Would that they could, Azula knows they would have preferred to slip it into her food without her noticing at all.

But the taste is too bitter for them to mask, to crush pills into powder and stir it into her tea, so they are forced tell her up front that she will be medicated.

Rather, they send in the Avatar to do it, terrified of her reaction to the news.

She hasn’t actually burned anyone in years, merely sent out flashy displays of sapphire flames as a warning to anyone who draws her ire. But her scare tactics have worked well over the past few years, and work well even now.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.” He looks at her with wide, apologetic eyes, brimming with a mixture of hope and compassion that turns her stomach at the sight.

“Why?” She snorts, rolling her eyes, “Isn’t being in this glorified prison misery enough?”

The corners of his lips twitch downwards as he averts his gaze.

His reaction to her words elicits a harsh bark of laughter from her throat.

“I see. The rest of the world isn’t content to have me simply locked up for the rest of my days. They want me to suffer.” Just like I made them suffer, she thinks, pursing her lips to keep the wayward thought from escaping her mouth.

In typical Airbender fashion, he redirects her barb with fluid ease. “And you consider being here punishment enough for your crimes?”

Ah.

Punishment.

Azula’s least favorite word after Ozai and Father and dutiful.

“It doesn’t matter what I think or who I am.” She nods towards the evenly spaced steel bars stretched out across her window. “What matters is what everyone else beyond these walls wants.”

It’s never mattered, none of it. None of her hopes and dreams and desires and fears. None of it has ever mattered to anyone. At least Ozai had the decency to be up front about what he wanted from her. About how he saw her, what she was.

The Avatar narrows his eyes at her, and she can almost see the gears turning in his head as she stares back, unflinching in the face of his unwavering gaze.

The past few years have changed him just as much as they’ve changed her.

He’s older now, leaner.

If she’s correct in assuming that they’re both around the same age, he’s nearly twenty now, like her.

Age has stripped them both of the baby fat that once softened their features half a decade ago when they first met, children fighting a war started by people who didn’t fully understand that the price to pay for power was blood.

Or perhaps they did understand, and chose to spill it anyway, painting the world crimson and leaving stains that would likely never wash away.

Thinking about either option for too long always makes something in Azula’s gut twist.

He’s grown into himself, no longer looking like someone far beyond their years trapped in a childish form.

But his eyes remain the same, youthful and ancient all at once, and still gleaming with the unmistakable spark of hope.

Azula hasn’t looked into a mirror since the day she shattered her mother’s reflection, but she knows that her own eyes carry no such emotion.

Hope was something that Ozai had taken pains to ensure would never blossom in Azula’s heart. He’d stolen it from her as soon as he was able, extinguished from her childish eyes to be replaced with the cold steel of blades forged in angry flames.

They sit like that for several moments, neither one moving. Neither one looking away.

Then he speaks, and it strikes at the wobbly foundations of sanity she’s struggled to build ever since the day she shattered her mind along with that mirror.

“So who are you, Princess Azula?” She’s long-since lost any right to the title, but that never stopped him from using it, not three years ago when these visits first began and certainly not now. “And what do you want?”

She turns away from his piercing stare, the hand buried in the folds of her skirt curling into a fist as her nails bite deep enough to draw blood.

For the first time, she is the one who looks away.

The significance of the gesture is not lost on him- she can tell as much by the way he stiffens in surprise. But she cuts him off before he has a chance to speak again.

After all, her fragile tether on sanity could only take so much in a single day.

“Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to have answered, Avatar.” She says it quietly, voice low and tight with an emotion she knows he can’t quite place, because neither can she.

Don’t ask questions I’m not ready to answer, she thinks, but the words go unsaid.

She doesn’t know if she can trust her voice to carry them.

She doesn’t know if she can trust the Avatar to understand.

For the first time since he started visiting, her voice shakes.

Azula looks brittle, as if the next wrong move could shatter her and every single bit of progress he’s spent the past three years trying to make.

As much as he wants to push, to finally solve a piece of the puzzle that is the deposed princess, he knows he can’t. Not if he wants there to be anything left for him to solve.

He bows his head in acquiescence. “I apologize, Princess.”

She nods silently in response, now peering carefully at the embroidery of the silken scarf resting in her lap despite the fact that they both know she could care less about its craftsmanship.

The piece is exquisite, its stitching flawless- he knows this, because he’s the one who bought it for her. It’s become something of a tradition- giving her a tiny token of appreciation for allowing these visits, for speaking to him when they both know she could simply treat him like everyone else who tried to arrange a meeting- with the stiff, regal silence befitting her former station.

He’s still not really sure why she tolerates him in the first place.

Zuko tells him it’s because he’s the Avatar, and if there’s anything Azula respects, it’s power.

Aang thinks it might be something else.

He can wield the four elements, but the princess is a prodigy in her own right.

He may be the Avatar, but she is Azula.

Azula, who possesses sapphire flames and a mastery over the most difficult of all firebending skills- manipulating lightning.

Three years ago, when he’d first dared to enter her room, Azula had no need to respect his power. Not when she was already so sure of her own.

She was still the same girl who had struck him down with a bolt of lightning, the same girl who had shown no fear at the prospect of confronting the Avatar.

The same girl who had left a scar on his back that not even Katara’s considerable skills as a Master Waterbender and healer could dissolve.

But for some reason, she tolerated him.

And over three years of regular visits and carefully worded exchanges over tea, he’s never asked why.

One day, he hopes she’ll feel comfortable enough to tell him.

But the dismissal is evident as she skims a hand along the silk of his latest gift to her, firmly ignoring his presence.

“Until tomorrow, Princess.”

For a single second, her eyes dart back up to meet his, golden irises flashing bright in the light spilling through the bars of her windows.

“Until tomorrow,” she echoes, casting her gaze back down to the fabric in her lap, the expression etched across her features still unreadable.

He’s nearly out the door when he hears her call out behind him, hesitant and unsure.

“Avatar?”

He stops and turns back instantly- uncertain isn’t a word he’s ever associated with Princess Azula, but it’s how she sounds now.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, you said they’ll begin giving me medication during tea.” Again, the flicker of her aureate eyes looking up to meet his lasts only a moment, too fast for him to read the emotions glimmering within. “Will you join me?”

I don’t want to be alone.

It goes unspoken, but they both hear it just the same.

He realizes it then, how much this must scare her.

From the little she’s shared and the information he’s managed to pry out of Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee, her firebending has been the one constant in her life.

And now, like everything else, it’s being taken away.

All this time, he’s waited for her to open up, to show the vulnerability he’s never doubted she possessed, not since the day he watched her lose her mind as well as her crown. It had struck him then, that she must have lost as much, if not more, than he and his friends. The cost of the war had been paid by both sides of it.

But this is not the way he’d wanted to get her to open up.

He bows, not deep enough to appear subservient, but deep enough that his feelings are made clear.

“I would be honored.”

Good? Bad? Absolute trash?

Should it end here or should I pick it up after all these years and turn it into something longer?

Let me know down below. :)

[radvee92]

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How To Remove Cat Spray Smell From Clothes

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