#they’re both just a couple of middle aged men who are also teenage girls

[leonsgotit]

OFMD S2 SPOILERS ‼️

in season 1, stede was constantly putting his feelings ahead of other people’s—he put his own feelings ahead of mary’s and his kids’ when he ran away in the middle of the night to become a pirate and when he left ed at the dock to return to his family (and yeah, stede thought he was protecting ed from him when he did it and he was in distress after having been kidnapped and then witnessing his childhood bully accidentally shoot himself in the head and i’m not discounting that at all!! but he also ran because he was afraid of how fast things were moving with ed), and he does it in other little ways all throughout the season but i think these two examples are the most important ones.

he puts his own feelings in front of other people’s up until mary tries to kill him and he realizes how he’s sort of messed everything up for her by returning, as well as realizing his feelings for ed. then, stede fakes his own death and gives up everything he has to return to ed.

now, in season 2, we see stede constantly putting the feelings of others before his own. he sets aside his own feelings about izzy to rescue him and the rest of his crew so they can take back the revenge. he doesn’t like izzy, but stede can tell that he’s important to frenchie and jim and archie and fang, and he knows izzy was important to ed, so he sets aside how he feels and saves izzy, too.

stede does everything in his power to protect ed when he wakes up (comes back from death), but when the crew speaks their mind, stede again sets aside his own feelings for them. they aren’t comfortable with ed being on the ship anymore, and even though stede has spent months and months searching for him, and even though stede cried and begged for ed to come back, he doesn’t try to fight the crew when they’ve made their decision. even though watching ed leave the revenge must break his heart.

stede tries to give ed the space he wants from him, he doesn’t push to make ed understand why he left the dock that night, and when ed gets angry upon learning that stede “left him for mary,” stede doesn’t try to explain what happened in full. he lets ed be angry, he respects ed’s need for space.

when he tries to tell ed he loves him, and ed pushes stede away, stede respects that boundary that ed has set. he tells him instead that he loves everything about him, being near him, and breathing the same air—and stede tells ed he doesn’t have to say it back.

when stede finds that “cursed” red suit that he loves so much, he puts himself first for a little while—but when it becomes apparent that the crew won’t be comfortable until the suit is gone, stede puts them first. he gets rid of the suit and validates their feelings about it. even though he really loved that suit.

and we love character development—we love to see stede growing as a person and learning to put other people’s needs and feelings before his own—but it’s like from zero to one hundred right now. stede is putting other’s (particularly ed’s) feelings before his own, because he feels guilty about what happened in season 1. and because, i believe, he’s still thinking about what chauncy badminton said to him—that he ruins beautiful things and that he ruined ed. so he’s over-correcting in order to fix what he thinks he is responsible for breaking.

it almost seems like stede doesn’t think his feelings are important anymore, that he has to completely ignore how he feels in order to make amends with everyone, especially ed.

he needs to find a healthy balance of acknowledging and validating his own feelings while also being able to put other people’s feelings in front of his own when appropriate!!

which is why i think he and ed need to actually TALK about what happened that night at the dock. they need to sit down and lay it all out, cards on the table, no stone left unturned.

stede needs to tell ed that chauncy kidnapped him from his bunk at gunpoint, he needs to tell ed exactly what chauncy said to him about how he ruins beautiful things, and how he brought blackbeard to ruin. likewise, ed needs to tell stede why he immediately thought stede had just ditched him—he needs to tell stede why he didn’t think to go looking for him that night and jumped to the conclusion that stede had changed his mind.

THEY NEED TO BE HONEST WITH EACH OTHER!!!

[accio-moony]

Precedented Reputation || Remus Lupin x Reader SMUT

Request: Yes: {anon} What about a Remus smut where the reader is in a skirt and maybe has a hair pulling kink?

AN: They’re both 17 (legal age for wizards) Not Proof-read

Word Count: 3.7~k

Characters/Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader, James Potter, Sirius Black, Lily Evans

Summary: [marauders era] You’ve been riled up all day, and take your opportunity while under the influence of firewhisky at a Gryffindor party.

WARNINGS: Underage drinking, public make out, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, edging, slight cock warming, creampie

*not my gifs*

The loud chatter that fills the Gryffindor common room feels like it shakes your soul when combined with the thump of the music. It makes your head kind of fuzzy, but the Firewhisky in your hand can’t be helping with that either. Of course, like most Saturdays after a quidditch match, the Gryffindors would celebrate, whether they won, or even played, or not. Another excuse for the house to exude its rowdiness. Today is no exception, especially since they had won by more a good fifty points. Students are running around in every direction; every corner is filled with a group of friends or a couple. It is well past after hours for the castle, and this tower remains lit with excitement. If you pay enough attention, you would notice that there are a select few students who aren’t even a part of the Gryffindor house. Some students just can’t turn down the opportunity to get bashed by Firewhisky. 

On the coffee table of the center group of couches stands Sirius Black, your boyfriend’s best friend. As Sirius rambles off some nonsense no one understands and dances around on the table, you lean your head against your boyfriend’s shoulder, taking in the scene. Admittedly, if it weren’t for the extra dose of courage your drink provides you, you wouldn’t be down here. Likely you would be off reading a book or studying. You don’t even usually drink, but your friends had coaxed you into it this time. It being your last year at Hogwarts, you don’t want to be the one to say they never attended any parties.

That aforementioned extra lot of courage has you excited in more ways than one, but you aren’t the type to just hop on your boyfriend in the middle of a crowded space, unlike many of the students filling the common room. Said excitement has also been in your gut all day, for what reason you don’t know, but the alcohol on your tongue was just gasoline to the fire. You’ve stayed by Remus’ side since supper was over and the lot of you left the Great Hall. You’ve kept your arms around him, occasionally squeezing his sides in hopes that he’ll get the intended nonverbal message. Though, as most days, he was unaware of your actions, simply playing it off as your regular affection. 

You’ve been pushing your urges to the side all day, but they kept coming back. After dinner, just before the party had started, you disappeared upstairs to your dormitories with your room mates to get ready. The idea stroke you then that you should wear Remus’ favorite outfit of yours, and maybe then he’ll give you a reaction. Even with the denim skirt, the reaction he gave you when he saw you was insufficient. He merely bit his lip and wrapped his arm around you, holding you close and claiming you as his. 

By now, Sirius has tripped off the coffee table and spilled his drink all down his and some poor girl’s shirt. Jading to you and many others, he has managed to play it off to is advantage as he snogs her on a near-by couch. As Remus talks to Peter about something unimportant, his arm still protectively wrapped around you, you look for the fourth marauder. You find him, sitting in a far corner practically swallowing his girlfriend, whom he had pined for since first year. Lily had rejected him so many times, and you’re still baffled by what changed her mind. 

You think to yourself, if James can get his dream girl after six years of rejection, you can figure out how to get your boyfriend to take you to bed. It’s never been a problem for Sirius, and even though he has many characteristics you don’t, how hard could it be for just one person — the one person you’ve let have you before and that you’ve loved since you first spoke to him. 

Even as the room is stocked with sweaty teenagers, Remus manages to still wear his usual many layers. It’s no surprise, given the tokens his ill-favored condition has left him to bare for all the years to come. You’ve never shunned him for his lycanthropy, loving him and all the baggage that comes with, as he does you. 

As shrewdly as possible, you untuck Remus’ button down and sweater from his trousers. Being so preoccupied in his conversation with Peter, Remus doesn’t seem to notice, giving you the advantage. You hand you cup to some random student passing by you without a word, without even a glance, and you slide your cold hand under his button down, resting it on his flushed abs, all while turning in his arms so you’re comfortably facing him. The stark contrast in the temperature of your skin to his quickly seizes his attention as he tenses under your touch, his head whipping around as he looks down at you. The moment his eyes meet yours, he knows. He can see the need that he’s missed all day, but he decides to see how far you’ll go in such a public setting, the Firewhisky also having given him an extra ounce of courage. He lets out a breathy laugh as he relaxes under your touch, and he bends down slightly, only kissing the top of your head before turning back to talk to Peter, to your displeasure.

You huff, and before you can make a decision on how to proceed, or even if you should, you body speaks for itself as you move to stand between the two men, pushing Peter back as you face Remus. But you don’t just stand there expectingly. Your hands grab the sides of his face as you push up on your toes to get yourself closer to his height and pull his lips down onto yours in a feverish kiss. Though Remus was still playing snitch, not giving into the kiss as much as you wanted him to. You groan as your lips move across his jaw and up his neck to rest just under his ear, pulling him down by the neckline of his sweater with one hand, the other placed on his shoulder. Instinctively, his arm wraps around the small of your back, holding you close as he’s bent over to match your height. The hand one his sweater releases and slyly slides down his chest. 

“Stop being an arsehole on purpose, Remus,” you breath, your breath hot as it fans over his ear. You let your hand finally reach its desired destination, gripping him over his trousers and finding him to be just as aroused as yourself. “Or neither of us will get what we want.” Your hand slides over his length, squeezing ever-so slightly. 

Remus finally gives in to his act, his need to feel your lips overriding his intoxicated fantasy. His posture marginally straightens as he grabs your face with both of his hands, crashing his lips down onto yours in a hungry kiss, still full of passion. His left hand slide back from your cheek and his fingers lace into your hair. As his plan of action succeeds and he pulls your hair slightly, you gasp against his lips, and he’s able to force his tongue into your mouth to explore the familiar expanse. You moan when you feel his tongue press over your own, his other hand leaving your face and wrapping his right arm around your lower back, pulling you closer to him. His erection presses against your hip, and you can feel him throbbing behind the denim restraints. Remus feels your cold hands run up his sides from under his shirt, and he knows that if he doesn’t move you now, he may end up having to take you on the nearest open piece of furniture. His cock twitches slightly at the thought of everyone watching you, but he knows that no one gets to see you in your most vulnerable moments accept for him. He also doesn’t want that reputation to follow either of you through the last several months of school. 

He pulls away from you completely, not even staying by your side but instead walking away from you. You’re left standing in the middle of the common room, eyes wide and mouth ajar as you try to process the fact of how suddenly your boyfriend left you in such an intimate moment. After the moments or two it takes to regather your composer, you spin around, searching the room to find where he could have gone. Along the perimeter of the room, against the back wall, you see him. Your eyes catch his expecting look as he motions up the stairs next to him, the stairs that lead to the boy’s dormitories. Again locked in your spot to comprehend the situation, you force your feet from their spot seemingly bolted to the rough carpet and quickly maneuver your way through the crowded room to the back wall. 

You don’t stop when you reach him; you just wink at him with your lip between your teeth as you scurry up the spiral staircase. You feel him follow behind you, and once your around the first bend of the stairs, no longer able to be seen from the common room, you feel his hand fall down onto your ass roughly. You squeal and giggle as you bend over from the excitement, ascending the rest of the steps on all fours. 

Behind you, Remus throbs painfully in his trousers when he sees your panties peak out from under your short skirt, when he sees the wet mark adorning them. He growls perforce as he wraps his strong arms around you, easily picking you up as you giggle and carrying you the rest of the way to his dorm. Once in his room, he puts you down, not letting go until he’s sure you’ve got your balance, and his foot kicks the door closed behind him. 

“Colloportus,” he mumbles as he pulls his wand from his pocket and lazily points it at the door, locking it before throwing his wand down on his bedside table. 

“Muffliato,” you cast your own spell, still giggling from the excitement as you blindly walk backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of Remus’ bed. You sit down, breathing heavily as you watch as your boyfriend quickly removes his belt, throwing it on the floor somewhere meaningless to you both in the moment.

Remus kicks his trainers off easily, then hurriedly removes his socks as he stumbles closer to you. You follow his lead and slip your flats off your feet, discarding them behind you with a heavy thunk. Once his socks are on the floor to be forgotten, Remus strides over to where you sit on his bed, graying your face in his right hand as he reconnects your mouths in a passionate kiss. His free hand quickly tugs the hem of your sweater from your skirt so he can slide it underneath, cupping your plump breasts over your bra, squeezing roughly. You moan at the feeling, releasing his mouth as your hands stealthily remove his own sweater, quickly pulling it over his head and getting to work on undoing his button down, his last layer. He stands up straight, something he usually doesn’t do, but seeing your nimble fingers working over the buttons of his shirt as you look up at him will love-blown eyes boosts his confidence. His fingers slide through your soft hair as he watches you finish with the last several buttons, his eyes full of lust. 

When you’ve released the final button on his white chemise, you don’t push it off his shoulders, instead enjoying how it hangs open, his tan chest exposed to you. Unable to resist, you begin kissing over the span of his chest, taking a moment here and there to suck your mark into his chest. As you do so, you gradually stand up, kissing up the length of his torso on the way. Once you’ve stood up straight and left one last purple bruise on his neck, just above where his collar sits, you step back, holding the intimate eye contact as you guide his hands to pull your sweater over your head, revealing your lace-clad tits to your boyfriend. You smirk as his eyes fall from yours and onto your cleavage once it’s revealed. 

He grabs them in his large hands, squeezing roughly as he drives his lips back onto yours, forcing your mouth open again to accept his tongue. He only kisses you for a moment, his member painfully rubbing against the denim of his trousers, begging to be released from the confinement. “I bet you’re ready for me aren’t you?” He smirks against your lips before attaching them again. “You’re so needy and desperate for me to fuck you, huh?”

“Yes, Remus,” you moan at his words. “Please. I’m ready.” 

“Good girl,” he groans as he spins you around, strenuously pushing you down face first onto his bed, you ass towards him. In one swift movement, Remus pushes your skirt up, bunching it at your waist and quickly rips your panties down your legs, leaving your slick heat bare to him. “Fuck,” he mutter as he takes a step back, admiring your swollen lips as he unzips his pants, pushing them down with his boxers just enough to get himself free. “You’re so wet, baby.”

You quickly grow impatient, needing to be touched, to be satisfied, and you slide your hand between your legs, rubbing your fingers through your wet folds and spreading your arousal around your core. All to Remus’ displeasure, as he grabs both of your wrists, easily restricting them behind your back in his right hand alone. His other hand grabs his thick cock at the base, rubbing his head through your folds to soak himself in your arousal, pressing it against your clit, smacking it against you several times. 

He guides himself to your begging hole, pushing just the swollen tip into you before letting go of himself. His now free hand wraps in your hair, pulling it as he thrusts into you, bottoming out in one quick movement. He moans at the feeling of your velvet walls tight around his member, and you cry out from the contentment of being filled so perfectly in an abrupt moment. Your walls clench around him, not wanting him to leave as you feel complete, but your hips have a mind of their own as you push back against him, still needy and impatient. 

Remus’ right hand releases your wrists, letting you have them back to brace yourself against the mattress. Instead his hand comes down over your ass before holding your hips still. Your yelp in surprise of the pleasurable sting quickly slides into a moan.

“You’ve gotta learn to be more patient, love,” Remus’ low voice calls from behind you just as he pulls back, almost out before ramming himself back in again, forcing against that spot inside you. You cry out his name, whining and panting with every harsh thrust he gives you, each thrust accompanied by a blow to your cheeks.

Your ass quickly glows red, leaving Remus satisfied with his visible handprint. His soft hands smooth over your plump flesh, squeezing as he relishes in the feeling of having his hands full of you. His reputation of quiet book-boy is one he’s okay with. You and him alone know this passionate side that comes out in the bedroom. And he knows how you try to bring it out of him outside of privacy, like you had tried only moments ago, successfully he might add. He doesn’t know, or really care for that matter, who saw it. You make him the most comfortable he has ever been.

He pulls your hair harder and you moan at the tension, his cock twitching inside you at the sound. “Up, baby,” he commands, and your shaky arms fight to push yourself up. His right hand leaves its hold on your ass to help you up so that your back is pressed and arching against his firm chest. His hand slides your bra strap off your shoulder, leaving him room to leave his mark on you, then slides down your stomach and between your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit.

You moan out, wildly pleasured by the way he knows you so well. Your hand reaches behind you, grabbing the back of his neck and holding him closer to you as the coil tightens within you. You think he’s going to let you fall apart, but he notices the way your walls are tightening and fluttering around him, and he pulls out, leaving just an inch or so in you as his finger leave your mound. 

“Remus,” you whine, feeling empty, and when he takes too long, bring it upon yourself to do the work, pushing yourself pack and forth on his rock-hard cock. Your hands leave his neck, grabbing behind you to hold onto his sides, your finger nails digging into his already scarred flesh. 

You feel that coil reform in your gut, knowing you only need a little more. But Remus seems to know your body better than you do, and he stops you, pulling away from you completely with a dark chuckle. 

“Fuck you,” you pant as he steps away from you.

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?” He smirks as he sits himself on his bed, his head leaned back into his pillow. 

You groan and turn to him, easily straddling his hips as he spreads his legs, giving you a wider base. “It’s what I am doing,” you try to taunt him, but you panting and breathlessness, your messy hair, it all makes you seem so desperate for him. And you are, you have been all day. Not wanting to wait any longer, you immediately sink back down on him, his length reaching a whole new level within you and your high pitched moan thrills him. His hands slide behind your back, unclipping your bra and pulling it down your arms. His hands fill with your breasts as you starts lightly sucking on your nipples, your back arching and forcing more of you into his mouth. 

Though soon, as he feels himself getting ever closer, his hands drop your breasts, one sliding back into your hair and the other lay on your lower back to guide you as you rock your hips against him. His hand in your hair pulls back, exposing the column of your throat to him on which he leaves numerous bruises from the force of his mouth on you. 

“Remmy,” you whine, barely able to form coherent words. “I-I’m so cl-close. Please.” 

He takes your warning, falling away from you and back onto his pillow as his hands hold your hips above his over. He starts pounding up into you at a relentless speed and your hand falls to your clit, pushing yourself over that edge. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan loudly as your orgasm washes over you. Your walls create a vice on him, squeezing and gushing your hot fluid over him. Your legs shake violently as you call out his name, collapsing forward onto his chest. 

The force of your orgasm makes Remus cum, bucking his hips up into you, involuntarily jerking them as he stills, buried to the hilt within you as his balls tighten. Thick ropes of his hot sum paint your insides as he holds you against his chest with his arms wrapped around you. “Fuck, princess,” he moans into your ear, his hips moving slightly to work the last of him into you, though quickly fall to the bed as he relaxes in exhaustion. 

He stays inside you for a moment longer, still impossibly hard, then flips you both over before slowly pulling out of you. He groans as his swollen cock leaves the warmth of your cunt, and you quietly whine at the loss, your voice barely returning after having cum so loud.

He grabs his wand and mutters a spell, one you can’t hear over the white noise of the aftershock. You feel him remove your skirt the rest of the way, and then presumably his own pants, pulling his boxers back up and softly tucking his sensitive member back into them. He finds your panties from the floor, then decides that you need fresh ones. He stumbles over to his trunk in exhaustion and pulls out the extra pair of panties you’ve left in his room for such occasions and a plain black t-shirt for you to put on incase his roommate return unexpectedly. 

He helps you into the shirt as he kneels in front of you on his bed, then carefully guides you back onto the pillow. “Are you okay, baby?” He asks, concern flooding his voice. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” you mutter, a lazy smile playing at your lips. “That was… oh, Merlin, I can’t even put it into words. You’ve no idea how badly I needed that, Rem.”

He smiles as he lays with his hips between your thighs, pushing the t-shirt up over your breasts. “I love you, Y/n,” he says softly before his lips wrap around your nipple. You moan softly and arch your back again. 

“What’re you doing that for now, Remmy?” You whine. 

“They didn’t get the attention they deserve,” he explains as if it were the most obvious explanation and you laugh. The laugh quickly subsides into a moan as his teeth graze over your nipple, releasing it with a satisfying pop before moving to leave more hicks over your chest. 

“If you don’t stop that now,” you pant, still breathless from your excursion, but your breath being stolen from you again. “I’ll need to ride you again, Remus.”

He hums against your skin before pushing up onto his arms. “I have no complaints there,” he smiles as he places a soft kiss to your lips.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Here’s a “fuck you, I’m over it” high school story I just remembered today.

This is a fun one. 

I grew up in a very small town in Arkansas, up in the Ozark mountains. I graduated high school in 2001. When I was in high school, rumors started going around that I was a lesbian because I was vocal about my support for lesbian and gay people being allowed to foster and adopt children (I was not out to myself at this time, but I also didn’t understand what was so bad about a loving couple WANTING a child). I was also rumored to have had an abortion because I was pro-abortion (the first time I saw pregnancy up close and personal, I was 12, and she was 14. And that made zero sense.). And then, because I vocally and unquestionably hated every member of the football team save maybe two guys because all the others got away with sexual harassment, bullying, and LITERALLY STEALING A FUND WE TOOK UP TO HELP A CLASSMATE WHOSE HOME WAS LOST IN A TORNADO, I was rumored to have fucked the football team. Because when the worst kind of teenage boy wants to try and shame a girl, he does it by making it about how much that girl wants his dick (I wanted none of their dicks; not even the two guys I liked just fine, and they didn’t want to fuck me, either. It’s why we liked each other.)

So, my entire senior year of high school was me turning to administration and going, “Oh, you think this is how shit is done? No, fuck you and your ideas of authority. No one owes you shit.” 

Administration included: 

1. The vice-principal who was also THE HEAD FOOTBALL COACH.

2. A new principal and a new superintendent who both talked a good game of “We respect students” while being fucking liars. 

Here’s a fun fact: At the time, my dad was a leading police officer for the entire state of Arkansas, and I absolutely believed that cops were good guys. My dad taught me everything about legal searches and individual rights and all that shit. 

And it blew up in his face my senior year when I said, “I get if the school searches my locker because that’s THEIR property, but my backpack and my car are MY property, so no, they don’t get to search those without probable cause and/or a warrant.” 

I remember Dad NOT LIKING that take. I remember the conversation being, “If your friend parks their car here, I get to search it because they’re on my property,” and I said, “Fuck you, no, you don’t get to search THEIR property just because it’s parked in YOUR driveway. Also, you rent, so this isn’t YOUR property.” 

(The fact my relationship with my dad took serious damage during the BLM protests in 2021 is NOT shocking in retrospect. He called them riots. I informed him that he didn’t get to lecture me on what the fuck was happening in my own city, and if the cops would calm the fuck down, the riots wouldn’t be happening; I digress.)

So, anyway, all senior year I was jabbing at administration. I had a journalism advisor who happily let me do my thing while also providing a guiding hand, and I got the new principal AND superintendent on record saying they wouldn’t be doing car searches or backpack searches without very good reason and a sheriff’s deputy to assist. 

Guess who caught them both out just trying car doors one afternoon while coming back from a different part of campus? Me. 

Guess who also loudly announced what was happening to the rest of the newspaper staff, who ran out to lock their doors, and then told all their friends, who also locked their doors from that point on?

Guess who was REAL mad at me? 

By the way, I approached them head on and asked what they were doing, and they tried to act like it was totally fine for them to just be opening cars and looking in them without any permission. Which fuck you.

Anyway, fast forward to graduation, when I’ve spent a year annoying middle-aged white men who are not used to teenage girls refusing to shut the fuck up because a middle-aged man said so. 

Part of our graduation practice included a final lunch made for the senior class by the lunch ladies. At the beginning of my senior year, the Arkansas supreme court had said, “Hey, no more praying over the announcement system at football games,” and I’d written a SCATHING editorial for the town paper calling the superintendent a hypocrite for giving a nice soundbyte to the local news about how “We’re going to do what is right in this town and do what we know to be the right choice” and then not showing the fuck up for the game that night. Rather than ACTUALLY stand by their supposed principles of praying over the system, they used the system to announce that anyone who wanted to join a pre-game prayer was welcome to do so. 

We lost 0 to 42. But I digress again. 

So, that’s how the superintendent first pissed me off. 

Here we are, sitting at lunch as a class for our final high school meal, and one of my classmates gets up and says, “I’d like to lead us in prayer.”

I rolled my eyes HARD but I also stayed quiet because I was absolutely an asshole, but I wasn’t an ASSHOLE. I looked down at my hands and stayed quiet and let it happen. 

Not 30 seconds after our heads came up, the superintendent rounded the end of the table. I was sitting on the end of a bench with a few inches left, and he sat down and basically tried to shove me to make room for him. 

My friends all sat up straighter because WHAT IS THIS THAT HE THINKS HE’S DOING TO GAYLE.

Like, imagine you stopped giving a fuck day one of your senior year of high school. And you have now passed all your finals, and you are only showing up to walk at graduation because your family really wants to see you do that. 

And you just had to sit through a fucking ‘class prayer’ that you disagree with but aren’t a big enough fuck to make a stink about. 

And a fucking hypocrite and liar who is a GROWN MAN IN HIS 40s drops down next to you on a bench and looks at you like he’s won something. 

IMAGINE.

So, he does this, and he looks at me like he’s very proud, and he says, “You weren’t praying.”

I was flabbergasted. “Excuse me?”

He says, “I was looking around during the prayer, and you weren’t praying.”

Keep in mind, by the way, that he’s mad at ME because I called him out for not showing up for the pre-game prayer back in AUGUST, and this is MAY.

“I don’t pray, but I stayed quiet because it was the polite thing to do. Why were YOU looking around to see who wasn’t praying during a prayer? Shouldn’t YOU have been the one who was praying?”

"You know, I could keep you from walking at graduation today.”

Readers, I was fucking FLUMMOXED. Like. WHAT. 

He was looking at me like he’d really proven how wrong I was. Like, VERY proud of himself. OBVIOUSLY walking in graduation was important to me. It was unquestionably important to my family, so I must be worried about it. 

After a moment, I got my shit together. “Does not walking in graduation stop me from graduating?”

The superintendent is now amused. “No.” 

BUT THINK OF MY FAMILY goes unspoken. Unfortunately for him, my family taught me to think for myself. And even if they haven’t always stuck the landing on that teaching, it’s what they fucking taught me. 

“Do it,” I say. “I’ll still graduate.”

After a moment of stunned silence because I had absolutely refused to bend to the expectation of the social norm, he got up and walked away. 

I heckled him through graduation practice. Which, in fairness, was a dick move. But also, he made us practice standing up and sitting down in unison. In 100-degree heat with 95% humidity with the sun beating down on us because unless there was a thunderstorm or tornado, we’d be doing this on the football field, and then made us practice WALKING ACROSS THE STAGE when he called our name. 

At one point a classmate turned and said, “Gayle, you only get one high school graduation,” and I said, “Good.” Which, again, dick move. I own it. But I was 18, tired of this ceremonial horseshit, and it was 100 goddamn degrees.

The last little speech we hear before we leave the TWO-HOUR graduation practice (what the fuck) is the list of dos and don’t for dress code. The men’s dress code is, of course, two things. The women get a MUCH LONGER list. And then, at the end, the superintendent goes into a story about how the school a few towns over had their entire senior class go NAKED under their robes. 

That school graduated 14 kids, who had all been to school together for 13 years. And they wore black robes. Our robes were school colors--green and white--and the white robes were fucking sheer and also what the women wore. 

I barked like a seal finding out the kids in St. Joe had decided as a group to go naked. I thought it sounded like an awesome perk of being in a micro school. I was a little jealous. 

I go home. I drink nine hundred gallons of water. I put on my graduation outfit. It’s the dress I wore when my parents got married (lilac with white and yellow flowers, cross-strap back, two-layer skirt), and my favorite fancy shoes (fully open, elastic-strap prom shoes with a 1-1/2″ square heel that will NOT sink into the football field mud  no matter how wet it might get. They are delightfully shiny silver.) My outfit meets dress code and then some. Notably, my shoes are WELL within dress code. This will be important.

My aunt French braids my hair and pins on my mortarboard. Mom and Dad drop me at the football field house where I am to wait for the ceremony with everyone else. 

My journalism advisor, who has always given me room to push boundaries and tell administration to eat shit, is one of the people on dress code patrol. She and I crack a joke about how it’d be REAL clear if I’d shown up naked as--again--my gown is see-through, but also, we both know I am entirely within dress code. If she’d seen me out of dress code, she’d have likely allowed me to fight for whatever I was wearing, but also, we both knew I wasn’t a total asshole. 

The superintendent is making rounds. He comes up to me as I’m chatting with my journalism advisor. He gives me a once over and stops at my shoes. 

“Those shoes don’t meet dress code.”

To this day, I will swear I heard my journalism advisor deflate like a balloon because all he had to do was NOT. 

I replied, “Yes, they do.”

He said, “...Well, they’re borderline. You should go home and change them before the ceremony.”

Me: “They’re not borderline. They’re not flip flops or stilettos or sneakers. I wore them to prom, and no one tried to send me home then.”

Him: “You live down the street. You could go home, change, and be back before the ceremony.”

Me: “I’m not doing that. They don’t violate the dress code.”

(Of note, in mid-April, when the seniors were a month from graduating, the entire high school had to sit through an assembly about how PEOPLE were violating the dress code, and by PEOPLE they meant GIRLS, and I responded by standing up and listing all the ways the BOYS violated dress code but NEVER got in trouble and how everyone fucking knew dress code didn’t come up until the WRONG girl violated it [girls administration didn’t like], and how, also, it was funny how administration was holding an assembly on dress code NOW after the school paper [of which I was the editor] did a full-on expose of how the student athletes NEVER got into trouble for obvious dress code violations [like wearing hats that said COCKS on them] but the moment admin saw any OTHER students [especially girls] in those hats, it was suddenly punishment time. Secondary note: I was not the mastermind behind the experiment and expose. It was all pitched, experimented, and written by other people on staff.)

Superintendent then makes yet another mistake and pulls out that trump card that failed him earlier: “If you don’t go home and change, you won’t walk.”

Me: “Okay. I’ll still graduate.”

He looked at my journalism advisor, and she stared back like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth (god, I love her), and then he left in a snit. 

I walked in the shoes I showed up in. I was supposed to accept my diploma from the superintendent with my left hand and shake his hand with my right. I did not offer him my right hand. I wish I’d had the money to buy that photo. 

This story is superintendent-heavy because he woke up and chose fuckboy on the day I cared the absolute least about his opinion, and I had never cared about his opinion. Looking back, I’m actually a bit embarrassed by what a dick I was to the principal on graduation day. He was a fucking asshole, too, but I mocked him for wanting to step up and present his own son his diploma, and fully grown me wants to smack angry-teenage me on the back of the head.

My full-on feud with the football coach / vice-principal is an entry of its own. It’s litearlly a multi-generational feud that started with my GRANDMOTHER. It’s amazing. Several years after I graduated high school, I popped in to say hi to a couple of former teachers, and Coach Fuckboy happened to come down the hall to hand out paychecks. I decided I would say hello and be polite because I was  no longer an asshole teenager. He not only didn’t look me in the eyes, he didn’t fucking answer me. 

[ts1989fanatic]

Taylor Swift, Britney Spears and the media cycle that demands pain from our pop stars

Emma Clifton 08:30, Feb 16 2021

Britney Spears was robbed of her public image during the height of her fame. Taylor Swift was robbed of her music during the height of hers.

Why does our pop culture system seem so intent on punishing the very women who keep it afloat. Emma Clifton looks at a decade in young singers – and the variously terrible ways they get treated while in the public eye.

There was a theory floated on the podcast You’re Wrong About that ‘fame is abuse’ and you’d be hard pressed not to agree if you were one of the many people who saw the recent New York Times documentary Framing Britney Spears, and realised just how badly we as a society treated Britney Spears before, during, and after her rise to fame.

The paparazzi, the media, the comedians – and then the fans and look-i-loos who continued to buy all the magazines that ran headlines about what a train-wreck she was, when really she was just someone in her early twenties, trying to raise two children while being one of the most famous – and hounded – people on the planet.

The documentary discussed at length how we as a pop-culture obsessed society love to build up a talented, attractive young woman and then buy popcorn in preparation of when we can gleefully watch them tumble from grace.

(And it’s not just pop stars, of course; the resplendent rise and then the racist fall of Meghan Markle’s position in public opinion is one of the most recent examples we have of when good headlines go bad.)

When I was working at Creme magazine, between 2009 and 2012, our pages were over-flowing with talented young pop singers: Taylor Swift, Selena Gomez, The Jonas Brothers, Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Rihanna, One Direction, Justin Bieber.

When you look back on the decade that has passed by since, time has not been kind to any of these people.

Either the showbiz demon took something from each of them – or they had to completely disappear from sight for years at a time in order to survive. Sometimes both.

There have been eating disorders, drug overdoses, rehab stints, broken marriages, abusive relationships, chronic illnesses. These kids – and they were kids – were so young when they started, they’re already on their fourth or fifth reinventions.

Most of them haven’t hit 30 yet.

And when you’re a female pop star, so many of these reinventions revolve around your sexuality.

Heck, when I was at Creme, Demi, Selena and Miley were part of the ‘purity ring’ club, where they all gushed about staying away from sex until marriage while their stylists dressed them in the tightest clothes possible.

The message from the marketing teams behind each of them was very clear: Sell sex, but don’t ever enjoy it.

This is the same battle Britney faced a decade previously – look like a Lolita, but make sure you never have sex with your long-term boyfriend because then you’ll be expected to cry about the shame of it on national television.

This was also the time of paparazzi trying to take up-skirt photos (exactly what it sounds like) of female actresses as soon as they turned 18; 18 – the age where you can legally have sex in America – was a big deal in pop culture.

There was a countdown for when the Olsen Twins turned 18. When Lindsay Lohan turned 18, Rolling Stone ran a breast-focused cover shoot with the headline: ‘Hot, ready and LEGAL’. And it was just fine! Totally accepted. These girls, they were always up for it, right?

And then we get to Taylor Swift.

Taylor is re-releasing Love Story, the song that made her famous, the song that I first heard in the shower (yes, I had a shower radio) when I was 20 and immediately started crying, because it hit me square in the middle of my pop culture diagram: love songs and references to Romeo and Juliet.

It’s from her second album, Fearless, which she wrote when she was aged 16-18 and which won her four Grammys, including Album of the Year. It’s also an album that no longer belongs to her and she can no longer perform, due to some millionaire f...wittery committed by her former manager. But we’ll get to that.

From 2008 onwards, Taylor became a big deal for her music and then, like it always does for women, her love life became the centre drama.

She never talked about a purity ring (thank God) and she sung pretty openly about sex from her third album onwards (Sparks Fly, an iconic song), plus she had the audacity to date a bunch of boys and look happy while doing so. Naturally, her punishment awaited.

To this day, she is still ridiculed about lyrics she wrote in her first couple of albums… songs she wrote herself when she was literally a teenager.

If I had had written an album when I was a teenager, it would have been about my crush who caught the bus, Kevin from The Backstreet Boys, worrying about my thighs, and, I don’t know, my cystic acne.

I’m just saying – we let powerful men get away with s... they pulled when they were young with the old line ‘boys will be boys! They were just kids!’; it just never seems that generosity is never extended to young women and their far more harmless explorations of teenage sexuality.

Because she had yet to have a public mental health crisis or rehab stint, it was clear that Taylor was never going to be the architect of her own media downfall.

Luckily, one was invented for her. After a long-lasting stoush with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West, where absolutely no-one (including Taylor) came out looking good, Taylor suddenly because persona non grata in pop culture and the long-awaited comeuppance began.

And so, she disappeared – in a way that celebrities can do these days. (As a side note, can you imagine how different Britney Spears’ life might have been if she had been allowed to disappear for a couple of years?)

It was only when she released her documentary Miss Americana on Netflix that the public got what it had been craving the whole time – the dark side of Taylor Swift’s fame.

An eating disorder, a sexual assault that she ended up being sued for and, then, the poisoned cherry on top, losing the rights to all her past music thanks to her old manager.

Finally, our hunger for bad news had been satisfied. We had seen her scars and so we could allow her back into the spotlight again.

It’s been interesting watching the roll-out of new music from so many of these female artists during a pandemic: Selena, Demi, Miley, Ariana Grande are among the singers who have eschewed the normal long roll-out of publicity in order to release their own music, without much of the media fanfare that typically accompanies it.

Taylor herself released two albums, without any of the (slightly inane) games she normally includes in the lead-up. You can’t help but wonder that – stripped of their endless touring, performances and appearances, these female artists have found some freedom in being able to just get back to the actual work.

If a pop star releases an album in the middle of a pandemic and no-one is around to give a shit about any of the outfits she’s wearing, does it still count? Turns out, yes.

Following the betrayal of Britney, Taylor, Miley et al by the media, you can see the slow change to have total ownership of their voice these artists have taken.

Social media can be a devil for many reasons but it has overtaken journalists and publicists as the middle man when it comes to how these women get portrayed to the public. Beyoncé has been instrumental in this – it was she who first released an album overnight back in 2013; a move that came without warning and changed the entire industry forever.

She who stopped giving interviews almost entirely, choosing to use her own platforms to get her message and music across. As a result, she’s never been more powerful and she’s never been more private.

As an explicit ‘F... you’ to the powers-that-be who bought her music from under her, Taylor has announced she will be re-recording all of her old albums.

Stories about millionaires against millionaires rarely draw sympathy from a reader but it does highlight how little actually belongs to the artist at the end of the day.

They can have limited control over their image, their public appearances, their private life, their work and their songs. And these are the success stories – these are the people whose names we know.

You have to hope that anyone young and female entering the music business has their eyes very wide open as to just what can go wrong – and what can go wrong even when everything goes right.

The first album Taylor is re-releasing is Fearless, the album that is the most chock-a-block with fairy-tale imagery and glittery optimism.

She’s promised that the songs will be new interpretations on the old originals and that seems only fair.

You can’t help but think that those fairy-tale songs are going to sound a whole lot different being sung by a 31-year-old who’s been through the public wringer then they were as a wide-eyed 16-year-old, on the cusp of making her dreams come true.

[purplesurveys]

1200

Have you ever felt a baby kick? Yeah, when my mom was pregnant with my brother.

What color pants/shorts are you wearing? I have red shorts on at the moment.

When is the last time you did something truly fun, and what was it? Last Friday, I’d say? Hahaha. Counted down the hours and minutes before the Butter MV drop, celebrating and freaking out with Army when it finally came out, watched the OT7 VLive that happened that afternoon, and streamed the video for nearly 24 hours straight so we could break some records, all of which we ended up achieving. It feels great to stan a group again after being out of the loop for so long lol.

What was the scariest moment of your life? A few men have lunged towards me - just to get attention, I guess? - in the past, while I was just peacefully walking. I always hear them snickering once I’ve flinched, and I always ended up crying once I’ve processed the situation.

Have you ever heard of Leonard Cohen? I know of the name, but I have no clue who he is or what he does (did?).

Pancakes or flapjacks? I don’t even know what flapjacks are, so let’s go with pancakes.

What kind of computer are you on? I’m using a Macbook Air.

Do you eat Chinese food? If so, what's your favorite dish? Yes. Minced pork with eggplant.

What are you usually doing at midnight? On weekdays, I spend it in bed, either watching videos or already reading fanfics to get ready to turn in. On Friday nights and weekends, I will usually be found on the rooftop taking a survey or two.

Have you ever developed feelings for a friend, but you were already with someone? No, I’ve never developed feelings for another person while in a relationship.

If so, how did it turn out?

Give me your brief definition of love. I will always stick by this quote, “Love never says, ‘I have done enough.’”

What is the most beautiful part of the human body, male or female? This is subjective, of course, but personally I find it to be thighs.

What kind of shoes do you wear? I’m not wearing any at the moment; but in general, I like to wear sneakers.

What is the worst thing you've ever done when you were really angry? Physical violence.

Are there any pills you take on a daily basis? If so, what? Nope.

Do you like the smell of coconuts? Not so much. I like coconut milk, though.

What is the heaviest you think you can lift? I think my personal best was like 60 or 70 lbs, back when I had weight training classes for PE in college. I remember being in so much pain once I gave the 80 lbs barbell a shot.

Do you take Tums? No.

Have you ever walked on a pier at the beach? ...Ugh. I’m pretty sure I’ve taken this survey very recently but I might as well just take it again because I don’t feel like searching for another. Anyway, I haven’t... at least not that I can remember.

How about under one? Definitely not.

At what age do you first remember feeling butterflies in your stomach around someone? I was around 12 when I was starting to feel confused about getting nervous around Andi.

Do you feel that way around anyone now? I don’t.

Do you ever talk to yourself or think deep thoughts while on the toilet? No haha but I usually bring my phone with me to keep me company.

Do you ever sing to yourself? Pretty often.

What is a sound that relaxes you? Ocean waves.

How hard has it been to reach your main goal in life? I don’t have a main goal set in life. I just live in the now and try to do things or make decisions that would keep me consistently happy.

Do you remember the song about hoes in different area codes? HAHAHAHAHA definitely took this recently; this is so embarassing. No, I still don’t know about this song.

What is your main heritage? Filipino.

What kind of pickles do you prefer, if you like pickles? I hate pickles and I find them absolutely nasty, but there are other pickled things I like, like radishes.

What kind of cheese do you prefer, if you like cheese? Mozzarella and feta.

If you could have a sea creature as a pet, what would you want? No thanks. I’m not capable of providing them proper care.

How about a farm animal? I would just stick to dogs.

So, do you have hoes in different area codes?

What is the most annoying song you can think of that came out recently? I’ve been in a BTS bubble for a solid month or so and I honestly can’t tell you my opinion about songs that have recently come out, because I literally don’t know any.

What is a song that you hate to admit you like? There isn’t any I’m guilty about.

What inspires you to get off your bum and do something productive? Knowing I’ll feel accomplished once I do it.

Do you ever use Urban Dictionary? Never anymore. I used to browse through it only when I was a lot younger.

Do you find the definitions on there to be generally funny or stupid? Both.

What comes to your mind when you hear the word 'transformation'? The Transformers series, lol.

What was something you regularly played with as a child? I always liked clay and I never really graduated from that interest, since I find the texture fascinating and fun to play with.

Have you ever given in to peer pressure? Sure.

If so, what did you do? I had my first sip of alcohol at Kaira’s 18th birthday and I was feeling left out since literally everyone else was drinking. For vaping, Gabie introduced it to me; and for smoking, it was another case of FOMO that made me want to try it out.

What part of your body have you had the most problems with in your life? My back.

Do a lot of people check you out when you're in public? Idk? I don’t take note of that kind of attention, anyway; I would find it creepy.

How many people do you know for sure to be interested in you right now? Zero.

What is a good name for a turtle? I think it would be the same process as the way I think it would be for any other pet; it would depend on their personality, their aura, etc. 

Can you imitate any accents well? If so, which one(s)? Not really. I can read Hangul and am familiar with the different tonalities used in Korean but I wouldn’t say my imitation would be considered spot-on.

Do you like having your ear nibbled on? Yes.

What makes a good kisser a good kisser? When they know how to use their tongue in a teasing way, for one. Eugh it’s too early for this lol

How many times a year do you have a family thing? What even is a family thing?

What are the best things to put in a smoothie? I don’t like smoothies.

Do you ever eat with your eyes closed and just focus on the taste? Yup, especially when I’m either eating somewhere pricey or when I’m eating at one of my favorite restaurants.

What do you dislike most about where you live right now? It’s a pretty uneventful city, and if I want to have some fun I always have to go to Manila.

Has anyone ever given you a rose/roses? Yup.

Are you watching your weight? No.

Have you ever became really good friends with someone you found online? Yes. Aliyah and I are still friends and I’m glad we’ve been able to maintain our friendship even after mine and Gab’s falling out. It’s a shame the three of us didn’t get to meet in real life though, and it will 100% never happen now. I also used to have a group of Twitter friends back in my wrestling stan days but it’s been a very long time since we’ve gone our separate ways. I have yet to find friends on Army Twitter but I really doubt I would get to build established friendships any time soon because EVERYONE IS SO YOUNG OVER THERE

What makes your best friend your best friend? They understand me better than anyone else does.

Do you have a drunk uncle? I have a couple of them.

Do you hear weird noises in your house at night? Nope.

What is something you do that is generally more like something the opposite sex does? Ignoring this question.

What is the girliest thing you do, if you're a girl? Also ignoring this.

What is the coolest tattoo you've ever seen? I find line tattoos to be pretty cool and beautiful in general. The minimalist look it goes for works really well.

Have you ever created anything artistic that you're proud of? If so, what? That vase I molded during my Vigan trip :) It was the first (and so far) only thing I’ve made from scratch, and even though I didn’t get to take it home, I’m still glad I had the opportunity to try pottery.

Do you only eat the middle of the oreo, if you eat oreos? No? That’s pretty wasteful. I eat the whole cookie.

Do you know anyone with a huge ego? Hahahahaha. Yes.

If so, is there anything else about them you actually like? Not anymore, no.

Have you ever used a racial slur, even jokingly? Most likely as a stupid teenager when I didn’t know any better.

Do you have any friends who are more like siblings to you? Angela and Laurice.

If so, what about them do you like most? They’re very easy to talk to, and they’re both selfless and generous.

What is everyone else in your house doing right now? My mom is making dinner while I believe everyone else is just on their phones waiting for the dish to be made.

What is the most money you've ever had at one time? I don’t remember the exact amounts anymore but my mom used to hand me cheques and regularly assign me to pay for me and my sister’s tuition back in grade school and high school, since she had work during the day and didn’t have time to stop by the school herself.

How long do you think it would take you to run a mile? I don’t know but definitely longer than what would be considered a decent duration for a fit person.

Look down. What do you see? I can see my legs but just barely since it’s dark out.

What is a subject that makes you uncomfortable? Topics I don’t know too much about.

What is a subject you can talk on and on about and not get sick of it? BTS, my field, and history.

What kind of mood were you in most of today? Comfortable. We had the aircon on all day and I just watched BTS MVs and live performances, and I don’t really feel bad about being unproductive for once.

Has anyone ever walked in on you naked? Just once or twice.

Tell me an inside joke you have with someone. Togepi.

What is the worst thing someone could do to you emotionally? Tell me hurtful words.

What is the worst thing you've ever done to someone emotionally? Idk...maybe cut them off unexpectedly? I'll usually have no problem doing this with people who make me uncomfortable.

How do you feel now about the first person you ever dated? Nothing. She’s not in my life.

How about the last person (your last ex)? She’s the same person.

What is the best invention ever invented? The internet.

What is something that needs to be invented? Not a completely new invention but I wish programs that can identify songs for you, like Siri, can be more improved to be able to recognize songs just by humming the tone. So far they can only name songs if you play it clearly for a few seconds, but it can be a hassle if I wanna have access to a certain song but only remember the melody and otherwise have no idea what the lyrics are or who sang them.

Describe your eyes. I don’t think they’re anything special. I don’t count them as a striking feature of mine.

What always makes you burp? Eating quickly. And beer.

What is something you hate doing that most couples do? There isn’t anything.

What's your astrological sign? Taurus.

What are you doing tomorrow? I wanna finally watch the Friends reunion special since I didn’t feel like watching it today. I also have a press release to write for one of my clients – they requested for it Friday and want it by Monday :(

[zo2paintedlady]

LGBTQ+ Novels/Memoirs

Here is the book list from my LIS 618 class. The links will bring you to their Goodreads pages.

The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater (2017) *based on a true story* "One teenager in a skirt. One teenager with a lighter. One moment that changes both of their lives forever. If it weren't for the 57 bus, Sasha and Richard never would have met. Both were high school students from Oakland, California, one of the most diverse cities in the country, but they inhabited different worlds. Sasha, a white teen, lived in the middle-class foothills and attended a small private school. Richard, a black teen, lived in the crime-plagued flatlands and attended a large public one. Each day, their paths overlapped for a mere eight minutes. But one afternoon on the bus ride home from school, a single reckless act left Sasha severely burned, and Richard charged with two hate crimes and facing life imprisonment. The case garnered international attention, thrusting both teenagers into the spotlight."

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Saenz (2012) "Aristotle is an angry teen with a brother in prison. Dante is a know-it-all who has an unusual way of looking at the world. When the two meet at the swimming pool, they seem to have nothing in common. But as the loners start spending time together, they discover that they share a special friendship--the kind that changes lives and lasts a lifetime. And it is through this friendship that Ari and Dante will learn the most important truths about themselves and the kind of people they want to be."

The Art of Being Normal by Lisa Williamson (2016) "Two boys. Two secrets. David Piper has always been an outsider. His parents think he’s gay. The school bully thinks he’s a freak. Only his two best friends know the real truth – David wants to be a girl. On the first day at his new school Leo Denton has one goal – to be invisible. Attracting the attention of the most beautiful girl in year eleven is definitely not part of that plan. When Leo stands up for David in a fight, an unlikely friendship forms. But things are about to get messy. Because at Eden Park School secrets have a funny habit of not staying secret for long…"

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender (2020) "Felix Love has never been in love—and, yes, he’s painfully aware of the irony. He desperately wants to know what it’s like and why it seems so easy for everyone but him to find someone. What’s worse is that, even though he is proud of his identity, Felix also secretly fears that he’s one marginalization too many—Black, queer, and transgender—to ever get his own happily-ever-after. When an anonymous student begins sending him transphobic messages—after publicly posting Felix’s deadname alongside images of him before he transitioned—Felix comes up with a plan for revenge. What he didn’t count on: his catfish scenario landing him in a quasi–love triangle...."

Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe (2019) "In 2014, Maia Kobabe, who uses e/em/eir pronouns, thought that a comic of reading statistics would be the last autobiographical comic e would ever write. At the time, it was the only thing e felt comfortable with strangers knowing about em. Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma of pap smears. Started as a way to explain to eir family what it means to be nonbinary and asexual, Gender Queer is more than a personal story: it is a useful and touching guide on gender identity--what it means and how to think about it--for advocates, friends, and humans everywhere."

I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver (2019) "When Ben De Backer comes out to their parents as nonbinary, they're thrown out of their house and forced to move in with their estranged older sister, Hannah, and her husband, Thomas, whom Ben has never even met. Struggling with an anxiety disorder compounded by their parents' rejection, they come out only to Hannah, Thomas, and their therapist and try to keep a low profile in a new school. But Ben's attempts to survive the last half of senior year unnoticed are thwarted when Nathan Allan, a funny and charismatic student, decides to take Ben under his wing. As Ben and Nathan's friendship grows, their feelings for each other begin to change, and what started as a disastrous turn of events looks like it might just be a chance to start a happier new life."

Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert (2017) "When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she isn't sure if she'll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (along with her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support. But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new...the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel's disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself--or worse."

The Music of What Happens by Bill Konigsberg (2019) "IMax: Chill. Sports. Video games. Gay and not a big deal, not to him, not to his mom, not to his buddies. And a secret: An encounter with an older kid that makes it hard to breathe, one that he doesn't want to think about, ever. Jordan: The opposite of chill. Poetry. His "wives" and the Chandler Mall. Never been kissed and searching for Mr. Right, who probably won't like him anyway. And a secret: A spiraling out of control mother, and the knowledge that he's the only one who can keep the family from falling apart. Throw in a rickety, 1980s-era food truck called Coq Au Vinny. Add in prickly pears, cloud eggs, and a murky idea of what's considered locally sourced and organic. Place it all in Mesa, Arizona, in June, where the temp regularly hits 114. And top it off with a touch of undeniable chemistry between utter opposites."

Odd One Out by Nic Stone (2018) "Courtney "Coop" Cooper Dumped. Again. And normally I wouldn't mind. But right now, my best friend and source of solace, Jupiter Sanchez, is ignoring me to text some girl.  Rae Evelyn Chin I assumed "new girl" would be synonymous with "pariah," but Jupiter and Courtney make me feel like I'm right where I belong. I also want to kiss him. And her. Which is . . . perplexing.  Jupiter Charity-Sanchez The only thing worse than losing the girl you love to a boy is losing her to your boy. That means losing him, too. I have to make a move. . . . One story. Three sides. No easy answers."

Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy (2017) "'Ramona was only five years old when Hurricane Katrina changed her life forever. Since then, it’s been Ramona and her family against the world. Standing over six feet tall with unmistakable blue hair, Ramona is sure of three things: she likes girls, she’s fiercely devoted to her family, and she knows she’s destined for something bigger than the trailer she calls home in Eulogy, Mississippi. But juggling multiple jobs, her flaky mom, and her well-meaning but ineffectual dad forces her to be the adult of the family. Now, with her sister, Hattie, pregnant, responsibility weighs more heavily than ever."

Rethinking Normal by Katie Rain Hill (2014) "Have you ever worried that you'd never be able to live up to your parents' expectations? Have you ever imagined that life would be better if you were just invisible? Have you ever thought you would do anything--anything--to make the teasing stop? Katie Hill had and it nearly tore her apart. Katie never felt comfortable in her own skin. She realized very young that a serious mistake had been made; she was a girl who had been born in the body of a boy. Suffocating under her peers' bullying and the mounting pressure to be "normal," Katie tried to take her life at the age of eight years old. After several other failed attempts, she finally understood that "Katie"--the girl trapped within her--was determined to live."

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera (2017) "On September 5, a little after midnight, Death-Cast calls Mateo Torrez and Rufus Emeterio to give them some bad news: They’re going to die today. Mateo and Rufus are total strangers, but, for different reasons, they’re both looking to make a new friend on their End Day. The good news: There’s an app for that. It’s called the Last Friend, and through it, Rufus and Mateo are about to meet up for one last great adventure—to live a lifetime in a single day."

Two Boys Kissing by David Levithan (2013) "New York Times bestselling author David Levithan tells the based-on-true-events story of Harry and Craig, two 17-year-olds who are about to take part in a 32-hour marathon of kissing to set a new Guinness World Record—all of which is narrated by a Greek Chorus of the generation of gay men lost to AIDS. While the two increasingly dehydrated and sleep-deprived boys are locking lips, they become a focal point in the lives of other teen boys dealing with languishing long-term relationships, coming out, navigating gender identity, and falling deeper into the digital rabbit hole of gay hookup sites—all while the kissing former couple tries to figure out their own feelings for each other."

We are the Ants by Shaun David Hutchinson (2016) "Henry Denton has spent years being periodically abducted by aliens. Then the aliens give him an ultimatum: The world will end in 144 days, and all Henry has to do to stop it is push a big red button. Only he isn’t sure he wants to. After all, life hasn’t been great for Henry. His mom is a struggling waitress held together by a thin layer of cigarette smoke. His brother is a jobless dropout who just knocked someone up. His grandmother is slowly losing herself to Alzheimer’s. And Henry is still dealing with the grief of his boyfriend’s suicide last year. Wiping the slate clean sounds like a pretty good choice to him. But Henry is a scientist first, and facing the question thoroughly and logically, he begins to look for pros and cons: in the bully who is his perpetual one-night stand, in the best friend who betrayed him, in the brilliant and mysterious boy who walked into the wrong class. Weighing the pain and the joy that surrounds him, Henry is left with the ultimate choice: push the button and save the planet and everyone on it…or let the world—and his pain—be destroyed forever."

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson (2020) "Liz Lighty has always believed she's too black, too poor, too awkward to shine in her small, rich, prom-obsessed midwestern town. But it's okay -- Liz has a plan that will get her out of Campbell, Indiana, forever: attend the uber-elite Pennington College, play in their world-famous orchestra, and become a doctor. But when the financial aid she was counting on unexpectedly falls through, Liz's plans come crashing down . . . until she's reminded of her school's scholarship for prom king and queen. There's nothing Liz wants to do less than endure a gauntlet of social media trolls, catty competitors, and humiliating public events, but despite her devastating fear of the spotlight she's willing to do whatever it takes to get to Pennington. The only thing that makes it halfway bearable is the new girl in school, Mack. She's smart, funny, and just as much of an outsider as Liz. But Mack is also in the running for queen. Will falling for the competition keep Liz from her dreams . . . or make them come true?"

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Where Time Takes Us

Destination - Part 1

- - - - - - - - - - 

Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

— excerpt from folk song, The World Behind, writer unknown, dated back to the Era of Myth

- - - - - - - - - - 

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon...

Her job ends on doomsday. 

She should be working, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances had led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them, (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again), the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached. 

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. The Adequate’s Tavern was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality. 

Pushing open the door, the researcher was met with a swirl of familiar scents, ranging from alcohol, apples, bread, and leather, along with a smokiness coming from the fireplace near the back of the bar. 

Closing the door behind her, she walked through the entrance, passing under a wooden overhang, and alongside a long, stone-slated bar counter. She overheard a conversation between the barkeep and a waiter.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The man started shoving her towards the storage door behind the bar. “Yes, yes, now hurry up and stock up on that apple cider. I’ve already turned four full pitchers from the three of them, and the fourth is no doubt on the way. We can turn a bigger profit from those kids than any random alcoholic that stumbles in here tonight!”

The waiter disappeared into the back, and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place. 

She walked about the pub, scanning the faces of the men and women alike who crowded by the booths and tables. The tavern mainly housed a sea of Hylians, who let out the occasional drunken laugh, or hearty chuckle. It was a miracle she could hear her thoughts at all, as the air was rich with the sound of clattering dishware and the patter of dancing feet, as in a small corner to the left was a semi-circle stage housing a small band. A Hylian man with umber dark skin, much like her own, blew away at a Lurelin-made, seashell harmonica. To his left, a blonde woman extended her arm in quick and elegant strokes with a bow and fiddle. Two others struck away on small drums and bells, and the playful gig they performed had gotten several people up from their feet to dance for Hylia knows how long. The music wasn’t terrible, but she had heard better, from a certain Sheikah in particular...

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

It hindsight, it was easy enough to expect the bard to be at the table closest to the stage. Yet, it was probably the three heads of cloud white, Sheikah hair that gave them away the quickest. A young teenage boy sat across a square table from two other Sheikah, a boy and a girl. He was looking at nothing in particular, as he plucked away at his lute, presumably tuning it. Wrapped around his head was a small cluster of green wooden beads, woven with brown string. They dotted like a line of stars in his fluffy, white hair, alternating between pine and sage shades. The knot tying the strings and beads around his head hung loosely like vines just by his right ear. He was just asking to look like a starstruck, homeless traveler, if it weren’t for the bright red cape pinned across his shoulders. The golden, Hyrulean emblem holding the crimson cloth together signified his status as an important worker of the palace. Although, no one would be surprised that this thin, skinny teenager was a bard and court poet, and not a royal knight. 

Suddenly, the bard looked up and met her gaze, a pair of warm, red eyes catching the light of familiarity. He patted the empty seat next to him and said something to the other two Sheikah in front of him. One of them looked back, a young man with storm wild hair that seemed to part like lightning. He had a beige, long sleeve coat over a red tunic, as was the classic Sheikah style. However, the style of his white jacket told of his rank as a scientist. With chocolate eyes and a contagious grin, he nudged the girl next to him and fake coughed.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly, “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, okay?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Purah turned in her seat and gave a fake gasp. She adjusted her red rimmed glasses at the sight of her. “You’re right, Robbie! I’ve heard about these spirits. They only come at midnight under a full moon, and they appear when you have friends that don’t know how to time manage and haunt you by coming to your birthday party with their terrible fashion sense 45 minutes late!” She clapped her hands along with the syllables of “45 minutes” to let her point be known.

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile. 

Adello put a hand on her hip. “Save your breath, I was just working a bit overtime on the Divine Beast sketches. You know, work? For the jobs that we all have? So we can pay our taxes and shit? Unfortunately, not all of us have fancy salaries Mrs. Royal Scientist.”  

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Okay, first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

The researcher propped a black leather boot up on the empty chair by the table, flipping her jet black hair dramatically. “How does it feel to be in the presence of someone with an actual on-the-field career?”

Purah stuck out her tongue, and Robbie cupped his hands and booed. However, the boy sitting on the other side of the fourseated table gave a celebratory strum of his lute, giving Adello’s pose a bright background flourish with a few upbeat chords.

She winked. “Thank you Zimiri, at least someone can recognize skill.” The bard gave a little bow with his head, grinning. “A few chords is all it takes to enhance a dramatic, late night entrance.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes. 

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm. 

“Uh, excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling. 

Everyone at the table groaned, turning to occupy themselves with something else. Purah started writing in her journal which she pulled out from her satchel, and Adello started to become very interested with the ceiling. Zimiri continued to pluck nothings on his lute.

Robbies crossed his arms, his white long sleeves folding across the Sheikah red shirt underneath. “Oh I see! So when Adello brags, she gets a musical accompaniment, but when I do it, it’s suddenly annoying and embarrassing?”

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright, you don’t get to speak, Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!” 

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen. 

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual, you idiot.” 

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath. 

Purah finished off a note in her journal before turning to the rest of the table. “Alright Adello, time to catch up. We’ve been playing ‘Till You Spill and I’ve already got some juicy stuff in here!”

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, okay?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”  

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s…c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

Adello tried to hold her tongue to no avail. “Pffft. Yeah, you can try wooing her with your punctuation.” This got a snicker out of Purah, and caused the birthday boy to blush furiously and slump further in his seat. Zimiri finally spoke up.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.” 

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up, mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

The poet groaned, but complied. Tipping the cup towards his lips, Zimiri took a hearty slurp of the cider, much to everyone’s amusement. It felt like hot, molten copper mixed with old apple skins. How could something both burn and freeze your throat at the same time? He let out a gag, to which Adello patted him on the back with a short laugh.

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...” 

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

While she wasn’t undefeated in this drinking game, she sure as hell was playing to win. Especially since somebody needed to knock that smug expression off of Purah’s face. Adello thought to herself quickly. 

Zimiri, no doubt, is probably gonna say something self-deprecating again, as he’s too nice to actually reveal anything embarrassing about anyone else. So...I just need to say something unexpected and interesting...perhaps something embarrassing about...hmm, I’ve already exhausted all my info about those cushy nobles and guards in past rounds…

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “Ooh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers,  “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peeked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously rapping the table with his finger. “Well, speaking as a horse guy myself, I can attest to the fact that the childhood horse obsession phase never leaves, so I find Princess Zelda’s collection quite admirable.” He gave a nod towards Zimiri. “Either way, it’ll be tough to top that, Zim. Cute, yet slightly concerning, fact about our future queen? Quite the competition. Shall I signal the waiter for a refill now?”

Zimiri plucked a few more strings from his lute, before finally setting it down on the floor. He tilted his head, playfully. The string with sage green beads seemed to sway with the tavern’s music, and he spoke with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I might be faced with impending failure and ultimate defeat, but hells if I’m not one to try instead of mope.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“Let’s see...to top out on an embarrassing fact about a respected princess...it's natural to combat it with something...personal? That always seems to be the more valuable information in this game…” Adello shook her head. He was playing right into her hand.

“Well...Robbie won last round with the identity of Cherry...so, how about I dish out something similar. See, I’ve...uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh! Well. Court poet, shrine researcher, the job gets you close with the princess...kinda...I’d like to think we’re close anyhow…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and let out a short cough. Then, he went back to fiddling with his short, messy hair.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle, When did my mom move… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters. 

“Oh Zimiri,” Purah sighed, “I was rooting for you too.” Seeing the bewilderment creep onto the poet’s face, Robbie answered the question before it even escaped his lips. “Literally everyone here knew that bud, it’s not a secret.”

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-Well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“Oh my gods. Zimiri, you literally talk about her all the time, you’re totally in love. Given that we’re also the recipients of your long spiels and ballads about how ‘intelligent and thoughtful and amazing Zelda is,’” Purah said the words to mimic the tone of Zimiri’s honey sweet voice, “it’s exceptionally, extremely, very, very obvious.”

“R-Recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

The royal scientist leaned across the table and patted his head. “Right, but you also started attempting love songs a coincidental 2 weeks after starting your job of shrine research with her. Your eyes are already red, so whenever she passes by it’s like your pupils magically form into adoring hearts. Try to stay away from poker, it’s for your own good.” 

Zimiri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimiri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Adello watched as the same woman she had seen near the bar earlier made her way to the table. Picking up a pitcher, she poured out a fresh cup of Adequate’s Apple Cider. The four of them had been here so many times, they didn’t even need to verbally ask for the order.

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.” 

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her. 

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!” 

Adello cracked her neck for show, before downing her glass of cider in a few gulps. The stench and tingling sensation seemed to stick to the sides of her throat. It would take more than water to clear that out. “Adequate” was being very generous when describing its quality.

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another raspberry at her.

They played for a few more rounds, the clatter of cups and breaths of laughter decorating the hours. Much to everyone’s distaste, Purah continued her winning streak, getting by with unbeatable information about the King, royal guards, and one embarrassing anecdote about how her little sister, Impa, had caught her writing an interesting letter to the “local archery hunk.”

Yet, Purah laughed along with the rest of them, the eyes behind her red rimmed glasses held no shame, which Adello envied. Of course that sort of attitude would make you a master at this game. Robbie and Adello attempted to team up and be biased towards Purah in an effort to get her to lose, but either Zimiri didn’t take the hint, or he just really liked playing fair which wasn’t exactly out of character, even if it meant more drinks for him. 

Suddenly, a bell towards the back of the pub rang, signifying the end of the band’s gig. The dancing paused, as people gave their thanks, varying from politie applause to drunken yelps. Robbie then rapped the table with his hands, excitedly.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.” 

Adello scoffed. “Uh, are you kidding? The owner would love for you to play without paying you. Haven’t you heard the talk around town? The Adequate’s Tavern: Home of alright food and acceptable ale, but an outstanding  bard!”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip. 

He laughed to himself as he stumbled aback. “Alright, alright, but only because the birthday tyrant requested it.” Robbie clapped his hands in a “chop-chop” fashion, to truly signify his role as the newly dubbed tyrant.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Adello grabbed the cup right out of his hands. She tipped it 180 degrees and let the cider spill completely onto the wooden floor. He hopped back, and Purah let out a surprised yelp, saying something about letting the stench seep into the floorboards. Robbie just started to laugh, wildly. Noticing the small commotion, a few other guests looked back at them and started to snicker to themselves.

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.” 

The bard pushed his chair under the table. Picking up his lute as he stood and faced Adello, a charming smile on his face. “Heh, well. My singing voice is grateful. I suppose now I’m in debt to comply.” He gave a curt bow.

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage. 

A few of the regulars who recognized him let out whoops and whistles, yelling out “Bard!” or “More music!” in support. It seemed that no one really knew his name, but it was nice enough to know that even working here part time would grant you the honor of being recognized by a bunch of random folk. One confused patron, who only associated him with “z” yelled out “Yeah, Zelda!” before promptly slumping under the table. Looking around, a blonde girl caught his eye, as it seemed she was staring at him. He waved, and her cheeks, much to Zimiri’s confusion, turned pink at his gaze and she turned to her friends who started giggling. 

Moving past the last of the Hylians with an, “excuse me, sorry!” he finally stepped on the stage. The bard pulled up a small stool to the stage, leaning against it. Most of the folks continued to whoop in approval, seemingly eager for another chance to start dancing. Even the barkeep clapped his hands, probably excited at the thought of a free gig.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before. 

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute. 

A mass of different voices bounced around the tavern, requests ranging from The Babbler’s Jig, Misko’s Tale, The Eldin Bluffs, and Can I Get More Ale? Although, Zimiri wasn’t quite familiar with the chords of that last song. 

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!” 

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

The bard smiled, preparing the fingering on the neck of his lute. He turned towards the audience. “Well, I’m afraid I have no choice but to heed to such authority.” He began to pluck the beginning notes, tapping a tempo with his boot against the stage. “Now then, a beat, if you all would be so kind?”

The tavern chattered in approval, before piping down. There probably weren't more than 30 people, but the beat they made was definitely sufficient. The sound of stomping, banging mugs, and clapping filled the room. The tempo didn’t even need much adjusting, as The World Behind was pretty familiar around Castle Town. The beat was like a child pretending to be a marching soldier, unconcerned and playful.

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely. 

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind 

Many of the guests had started to dance again, while the rest continued the beat of the song. As Zimiri plucked rapid notes on his lute, he heard a supporting holler from Purah. Next to her, Robbie was slamming his fist to the beat, clearly enjoying himself.

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Another pause between the verses, and the bard played the “decorative” rapid notes in between. He didn’t mean to seem like he was showing off, but Adello would attest to the fact that this happened whenever he got too into the music. Looking towards her, Zimiri saw her give a double thumbs up. 

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind 

At this point, some of the guests were singing along, though not to the point of overpowering his own alluring voice. Laughter rang out around the warmly lit room once again. Zimiri looked out at the dancing patrons and smiling guests, grinning at the feeling in his chest this brought. He continued the last verse.

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Lumbering through the double doors, three guards entered the tavern. The one in front, who had interrupted the music, wore a typical knight’s outfit, the same as his male and female coworkers behind him. However, the black hooded cape he wore atop his metal armour swayed with every step he took across the floor, his supposed rank silencing the room. 

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment. 

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The guests shook their heads, mumbling. Their booing and insults continued, but their volume quieted, it was too early to be getting cross with a couple of knights. Even Zimiri quietly slipped off the stage back towards his friends so as not to be at the end of the knight’s intimidating voice.  

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, your music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to, quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again; the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders. 

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged— he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth, girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot he regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

With the attention now towards a single table, most of the guests went back to their idle banter. A few waiters nodded their head towards the table in the back, and the man caught sight of three, white haired teenagers, who were sitting with the dark haired girl who had quipped out earlier. 

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table. 

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Doctor? Really? Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Okay, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave politely at the guard, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well, look here, son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it lets me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie. 

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them. 

“Ah yes, well, thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry, wha—”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

“Look, I’m not a nobody. I’m more than capable of fixing up the guardian and any other disasters you might have left lying around the castle grounds. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even lick the kid’s boots, it’s not my first time dealing with this, alrighty?”

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms. 

“You’re still following your precious orders, aren't you? How would you know what Dr. Robbie looks like? You can’t be faulted for not knowing someone you never met. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The blonde man behind the gruff, black caped guard, whispered something to his female coworker. Her gaze switched between the girl and the man. Still seeing the uncertainty in their eyes, Adello leaned closer to the knight and lowered her voice. “Come on, have a little heart, it’s his birthday.”

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh. 

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

Robbie started to protest, but Adello quickly silenced him with a wink. The guard turned towards the rest of the room, yelling, “The rest of you, the sun is gonna rise in a few hours so save your rioting for then! Am I clear?”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards. 

The tension in the tavern was almost immediately cleared, the moment the knights left. Most of the people went back to their normal conversational volume, and the waiters began to patter about with more confidence. However, Zimiri slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh. 

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days. 

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you two, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.” 

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimiri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie. 

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room. 

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

Looking out at the crowd, Zimiri noticed how the guards' interference had really dampened the atmosphere. The warm and lively laughter that was present just a few moments earlier was now replaced with more monotone chatter.

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a bard for?

Stepping back onto the stage, he strummed an open chord, double checking the tuning. The whooping and clapping started to return, much to his delight. Plucking a familiar melody, the warm feeling in his stomach returned as he watched the new smiles that started to fill the room. However, before he began to sing, Zimiri first focused on craning his neck to look out a window, trying to catch a glimpse of a certain girl in the night. 

It seemed the moon and sun were balanced on the edge of the world. The night had started to submerge behind the walls of West Castle Town, with only the brightest stars still perched upon the ink of the navy blue sky. The silver lining of greying clouds just barely glowed from the faint light of the day, still trying to break out of the eastern waters. 

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her. 

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

Adello shook her head. She turned to retrieve a journal from the pouch on her belt, opening its pages as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “No, it’s fine. I still have some more work I should be finishing up at home anyhow.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The guard took her blunt response as a sign to not continue with the niceties, much to Adello’s relief. Looking up, she gazed at the looming castle. Its towers were like mountain peaks, sitting above the blurred silhouettes of the buildings of Castle Town. 

Taking out a bit of charcoal, she started to sketch its outline on a fresh page in her journal. While she only had one color, she tried to capture the shadows and lighting that cascaded on one side of the castle to the other. 

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher. 

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at Her Highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

Adello finished up the tower of Princess Zelda’s study in her sketch. She smiled to herself at the finished work. It was one of her better pieces. Putting the journal away, she turned back to the guard and scoffed. “Is that so?”

The guard hummed a yes, her blonde braid swaying to each side as she walked. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.” 

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

[fallen-in-dreams]

Chasing A Dream

Links: FF.net & AO3. Pairing: Sakura/Kakashi. Summary:  Her mother always told her to follow her dreams. In this case, her dream happened to have silver hair, mismatched eyes, and a smile that took her breath away. And she was determined to follow him all the way, even if he decided to break her heart. KakaSaku AU. Status: Complete.

Enjoy. ^_^

.:.

Sorry I have to leave so abruptly, Daddy. I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay? I know you’re disappointed in me. I wasn’t trying to shame you. I love you. I love you both. I’ll see you soon. Tell mama I’m fine. I always know my way home. - Love, Sakura.

.

Sakura Haruno walked for half a mile to get to the service area where she knew that drivers congregated before leaving Wajima. She did her best to dress like a foreigner and not show her Roma origins—nomads (Sanka) were considered as un-Japanese as any foreigner (Gaijin). She wouldn’t win the sympathetic ride with a stranger wearing her usual bodice and scarf.

She decided on a simple shirt and her nice jeans; they fit comfortably and hugged her well. It was cold out, even in the middle of the day, so she brought a heavy coat; one that was still easy to wear with her travelling backpack.

Her goal was to hitchhike her way to Tokyo. Depending on traffic and how long it would take to get a ride, the trip would take about seven hours. It would be expensive if done with public transportation; she had to save what little money she had for those things once she actually got to her destination.

To him.

And she was unfamiliar with the more typical ways of travelling through Japan. This was her last option; she had put this off long enough. For the first time since the last time she’d seen him, she wasn’t running from her problems; rather, meeting them head on. Before her father got it into his head to ruin things with that famous temper of his. Images of silver hair and mesmerising, mismatched eyes, invaded her thoughts unbidden and she sighed deeply before looking around contemplatively.

Service areas like this all over Japan made hitchhiking that much easier. Cars, trucks, motorcycles—there was a plethora of drivers to choose from. Sakura had hitched before—her first time had been when a second cousin went into labour. The pinkette was twelve years old at the time, and her parents were nowhere to be seen, so she’d had to make her way to the hospital on her own. It was easy, safe, and fun, really.

If you were careful.

A girl on her own was an easy target for perverts and predators, but Sakura always made sure to go with families or women; she was a good judge of character, so that elderly man had been a smart choice, regardless. But she wasn’t a weakling; she knew how to handle herself. Anyone who tried something with her would get a twisted arm and a swift kick to the shins or balls. Whichever one tickled her fancy.

This place was perfect; away from the expressway and most people here were headed in the same direction.

A few minutes into her perusal, a teenage girl waved at her and Sakura waved back. She looked to be with her parents. They had a Suzuki and ample room. She approached them with her sign; it read ‘Osaka’.

Sakura put on her best friendly smile and fake accent. “Konnichiwa.”

“You going to Osaka?”

The pinkette nodded silently, remembering that while it was uncommon for Japanese people to hitchhike there were no laws against it; it was just best to appear to need help, like a foreigner rather than a local.

“You speak Japanese?”

Maybe it was her hair, but she was often treated like a foreigner no matter what she said or did; she didn’t understand it. But she always just went with it. The key was to look as harmless and friendly as possible.

“Hai.”

The girl conferred with her parents and then came running back over to Sakura and threw her arms around her. “You look like you are a good person. We can take you as far as Toyama, okay?”

“Hai.”

“Okay!”

The girl talked Sakura’s ear off the whole time, going on about her family vacation and how she loved Winter so much.

So bloody much.

But Sakura kept her smile on and upon disembarking at a service area near the Toyama train station, felt compelled to show her appreciation. She bowed deeply. “Doumo. Arigato.”

Alone again, she sighed nervously.

One ride down.

Shifting the weight of her backpack out of nervous habit, she ambled her way through the crowd of vehicles, glancing at the faces of the drivers and any passengers they might have. She was looking for the concerned face, the curious face; the honest face.

Found three.

It was a couple and their six-year-old boy, wearing matching outfits, looking like they were heading for the Alps. They accepted her quickly, saying how they didn’t want to leave her here on her own, and looking so vulnerable.

“There are some sickos these days,” the mother muttered, while the father nodded in agreement.

They seemed sane to Sakura.

“We’re going to Myoko,” the little boy said excitedly, the moment the pinkette climbed into their Subaru.

Sakura humoured him, listening to him talk about all the skiing he was going to do, and that he had to go to some boring wedding instead of the night-time Onsen. He was really cute, and she found herself feeling wistful and nervous, thinking about what awaited her at her destination. So much so that she gave in when he pestered her about where she was going. She told him almost everything...

“Sayōnara, Sakura-chan! And good luck!”

Left again at a service area, Sakura quickly got to work scoping out the people and their vehicles again. The next car she got belonged to another group of friends, middle-aged women on their way to some kind of religious retreat. She listened to their excited chatter in polite silence but was glad to be on the move again.

Next ride.

It was like riding a bike now; her instinct didn’t fail her as her eyes zeroed in on five people who looked around her age, almost twenty. They turned out to be college students on holiday and could take her all the way to Tokyo—their ultimate destination was Yokohama, where apparently, they all had family.

They were so boisterous and so energetic that it was contagious. Sakura found herself laughing for the first time in months. It made her temporarily forget her imminent problems. They were so warm, she found herself drawn to them. A loud blond guy in particular, seemed to just radiate kindness, and the banter between him and the raven-haired guy she assumed was his best friend, was the highlight of the trip.

When they made it to her drop off point, she was disappointed.

The blonde girl took her elbow and stopped her from leaving dejectedly. “You need money for the bullet train? They’re faster and will be safer this time of night.”

Sakura shook her head as they suggested giving her the money. “I couldn’t–”

“You can.”

“We insist. Go get your man!”

A wad of cash was shoved in her hands and bouts of cheers from the group followed her as she walked away, and Sakura blushed heavily. That little boy with the concerned parents had opened a floodgate and she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut! This was highly unusual behaviour. Did everyone around here give money to strangers?

That had been a particularly rowdy group of college students, she decided naively. Definitely out of the norm.

Best to just accept the money and get on the train.

Sakura waved back at them and made her way in the direction they’d indicated. Tokyo was a very odd place. There was a bus station nearby, and the train station was lit up and dazzled her. She strained her neck looking around; its services also included commercial centres for shopping, dining, and entertainment. Everything was so big and lively! She spent a few minutes just gaping like a tourist before remembering why she was here.

Sakura steeled herself and took the directions the students had given her to the correct station and line.

She bought her ticket from the vending machine and passed through the Fare Gate, rushing to get onto the locomotive. She just wanted to get this part over with. The Tokaido line would take her directly to her destination.

Sakura pulled out a piece of paper as she took her backpack off and sat down next to it in her seat. All she had was an address, and vague directions; she’d gotten it from her father’s own journals. She read it silently, committing it to memory. This was it. This was what she’d been dreading and anticipating. When she would finally see him again.

Sighing, she settled into the seat and stared out the window, her eyes taking in the beautiful landscape as the Shinkansen Bullet Train started moving. It was this kind of view that she loved most about travel. Having been a part of her family performance group her whole life, she was no stranger to moving around. Japan was truly the most hospitable and exciting country; even when they did stick to the Ura-Nihon (the backside of Japan).

And it was that lifestyle that had gotten her into her current predicament.

She remembered it like it was yesterday.

.:.

Gypsies, tramps, and thieves: dealings with those unwanted was not something most businessmen would risk. That was why just talking to Kizashi Haruno was considered on par with black market dealings. Moving things across prefecture borders via Roma who performed shows for a living supposedly came with all the mystique of illegal dealings but with none of the danger of dealing with the Yakuza.

It was the preferred choice for shady men who were too cowardly to deal with the real crime syndicate.

And Sakura was both repulsed and intrigued by her father’s dealings. Every client had their own story to tell, though, and she was a sponge for information. Every negotiation and patented deal were slightly different to the last, but they were all conducted the same; in brisk, formal manners with no-nonsense chit-chat and a back-and-forth debate that seemed redundant.

Eager to listen in, she always took the initiative to pour the tea for her father and his clients when they met in his tent. They paid her no mind as they continued to talk business—after all, what would a little girl know about the price of illegal dried meat or black-market liqueurs? She learned a lot from listening in but could only linger for so long.

Several months after her eighteenth birthday, a new business associate of her father’s caught her eye; and this man did seem to be bothered by her presence during their talks. He was so no-nonsense that Sakura imagined he’d have her standing to attention and saluting if he’d wanted to, but he also greeted her father with a smile that seemed genuine (a twinkle in his eyes) and a handshake that didn’t look designed as some macho display of dominance.

It took her breath away.

He was… different from the others. And his visits lasted longer; her father seemed to like him more and more every time they sat to talk business. And when Sakura poured the man’s tea he said, “thank-you” when none of the others would even look at her, probably thinking her some simple serving girl. When she froze in shock for a few seconds, he raised an eyebrow at her and waited for her to move away before taking a sip from his drink. When she didn’t leave the room immediately, his gaze would flicker to her curiously.

She often felt his mismatched eyes on her as she left the room. He didn’t dare to stare at her in any disrespectful way with her father in the room—he definitely wasn’t as ignorant or creepy as her father’s other clients. She had no idea why he was there because, instead of paying attention to what he was saying, she would be focused on his voice. And he would stop talking once he realised, she was listening in.

His curious looks turned into intense stares and she would give him a shy smile before exiting the tent. It was an interesting back and forth—kind of like flirting. Sakura had never flirted before, so she wasn’t sure if she was doing it right. Her father had been in talks for a few weeks in order to marry her to the son of a friend (a well-placed man in their Roma clan), so she was expected to avoid boys, sex, and the like. But Kakashi Hatake was responding to her awkward flirting, catching her eye when her father was distracted, giving her a dark, penetrating look when she was doing chores and he was passing by with Kizashi leading the way out (or in) to their encampment.

He wanted her.

And she had to admit, it felt good to be on the receiving end of his obvious need, though she considered him a gentleman, since to the casual observer, he seemed to treat her well enough; his smiles were innocent and his choice of honorifics when addressing her were appropriate for their non-relationship status. He was just a business acquaintance of her father’s and nothing more.

At least, that was what she thought. She was soon to be betrothed, after all.

But she couldn’t help imagining her life however, if Kakashi made a claim for her and took her away to live with him. She fantasised that he would save her from her boring life; she loved her family, but Sakura craved more. She had no idea what his life was like, but she wanted it. The sexual tension between them would not go away; a sense of both trepidation and anticipation filled her being. Sakura knew it would be frowned upon, that her father would rage, but she wanted him too.

Didn’t men usually make the first move in these situations? She’d heard they did.

Maybe he was just biding his time?

On what was apparently his last dealing with her father, Kakashi found himself in a pickle; his ride home had abandoned him, and her father insisted on letting him hitch with them, as they were headed in the same direction, come morning. His mind was made up and that was the end of things. Kakashi Hatake gave a grateful smile, his eyes twinkling when they met green and Sakura blushed under his gaze, her own smile eliciting another one of his dark, penetrating stares. She could feel a heat building up inside her as he licked his lips and exhaled deeply.

“Sakura?”

Her mother’s voice snapped her out of her reverie and Sakura dutifully left to help her, with whatever she needed. It was almost dinner time.

Supper was a nightmare. Sakura rubbed her thighs together, trying to hide her obvious interest the entire time. Luckily, only Kakashi noticed.

That night, long after her parents had gone to bed, Sakura Haruno lost her virginity.

He’d come to her tent, knelt down in front of her, parted her legs, and taken his time introducing her to sex. It had lasted for hours. And he spent most of the night inside her before slinking back to his own tent after she’d fallen asleep. When she woke, the only proof he’d been there were the indent from his head on one of her pillows, the foreign soreness between her legs, and the smell of sex that still lingered in the air.

She was profoundly disappointed.

And he’d seemed to have gotten what he wanted, acting normally on the rest of their trip, giving only a minute longing glance in her direction to show her she hadn’t imagined it before leaving their caravan behind.

“He’s such a nice man,” her mother said, watching him go. “And so handsome,” she added, fanning herself. “We should have him over more often.”

Sakura swallowed back a sob and forced herself to pretend everything was all right, so she could go back to her normal, boring life. But three months later, a discovery upended her life, and everything changed.

 .:.

“Forty-Six, forty-seven...” Sakura counted off the numbers as she made her way through the hallway. Kakashi Hatake lived in a luxury high-rise building with a view of the waterfront as well as a park. She wondered idly how many of his illicit dealings paid for this place. He had to be no normal smuggler to afford a place like this; it was far out of her reach, even if she were to drain her father of the combined intake from his clients.

She stopped at the correct number and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

This is it.

Yep. All she had to do was ring that bell and wait.

And wait impatiently.

Is he even home?

She’d heard the bell ring through the apartment from her position but there was no other noise inside.

The passing maid gave her a strange look, adding more to Sakura’s embarrassment; reminding her she wasn’t dressed to match the décor. She sighed, undid the buckles on her backpack and slid down the door to sit to wait for him to turn up. It wasn’t the middle of the night—just barely ten o’clock—so surely, he wasn’t fast asleep yet?

Speaking of sleeping; Sakura drifted off so quickly she didn’t remember falling asleep when a hand was gently shaking her awake. It seemed all her worry had exhausted her more than she’d realised.

“Sakura?”

That familiar voice had her freezing instantaneously, then slowly looking up into the mismatched eyes of her lover. That thought made her blush, but she fought it down. He knew better than to ask if her father was aware, she’d camped out in front of Kakashi’s door; what they had, what they’d shared, no-one else could know.

The energy between them shifted; it had always been electric.

As he stared at Sakura, Kakashi couldn’t help but think that everything was about to change.

He sighed, rubbed his left eye tiredly, and helped the girl up, off the floor. She was exactly as he remembered, except that she wore normal clothes instead of the bodice that had flared at her breasts, giving him an ample view of her goods. He smirked inwardly, remembering rubbing his hands over those very supple goods not three months ago.

Was that why she was here? He was confused. He cleared his throat.

“Do come in.” He unlocked the door and swung it open to let Sakura into his apartment, taking note of her sudden and obvious nerves, not to mention that she had a death grip on her backpack. “Please take your shoes off. The maids here are vicious if they catch even a whiff of the outside on these hardwood floors.”

Sakura nodded and looked around for a shoe rack.

“Here.”

Kakashi led her off to the side to place her things.

“Do you want some tea?” He might as well play the good host, considering her father had always been gracious to him.

“N-no.” Uh... “Yes,” she amended after shivering.

“What kind?”

“Hot.”

He didn’t bother pointing out to her that tea came in hundreds of flavours and was always “hot”. Well, all the tea he’d bother drinking, anyway. He busied himself in the kitchen, instead. “Make yourself at home!”

Sakura carefully placed her shoes on the rack and shrugged off her coat. Her hand went to her stomach and she felt mild panic; this was why she was here, but it was terrifying. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds of Kakashi moving about in his kitchen, preparing their tea.

I can do this.

Gingerly, she made her way into the kitchen, too nervous to take in the large and gorgeous apartment he owned. It had never occurred to her that he wasn’t single… but now the question tormented her brain. The idea that she’d slept with someone’s spouse, that she had trekked across the country to see him and was laying her pregnancy problems on someone who was spoken for… she suddenly felt cheap.

Sakura stopped a foot from the kitchen and glanced back at the living room, eyes darting about and looking for clues of a girlfriend or wife. There were none. But she wasn’t going to stop panicking until she knew for sure. Taking a deep breath, she entered the kitchen, laid her coat on one of the kitchen stools, her eyes on the back of Kakashi’s head as he whistled along with the kettle.

When he turned to face her, she felt her insides squirm in nervous anticipation; but the kitchen island bench was high enough to hide her small protruding belly. He smiled that award-winning smile.

“I’ll just be a minute, you can wait in the serving room if you want, then we can talk about what brought you to my humble abode, yeah?”

She wasn’t sure how to interpret that hopeful look on his face, but she nodded, waiting for him to turn back to the tea before slipping out into the other room like he suggested.

Oh gods.

Her nerves had just skyrocketed.

Sakura studied the pictures on the opposite wall to the tatami mat, entwining her fingers as she attempted to simmer her nerves. None of the people in the photos looked like his “other half” so to speak; there were people in business suits and an elderly couple in several that looked like Kakashi’s parents. The one that stood out was a photo of Kakashi and two others—a guy and girl, but the way those two were holding each other, she figured she didn’t have anything to worry about.

I hope.

She spun around quickly as Kakashi entered the serving room, like she’d been caught reading his dirty magazines or something. He wasn’t looking directly at her as he moved to place the tea try on the low table in the centre of the room. He looked up and her breath hitched.

“Oh, you took the coat off? I turned the thermostat up, so you don’t have to keep that heavy jacket on–” He paused. “Uh, Sakura?”

His eyes fell to her stomach and widened. “W-what?”

His eyes roamed over her shirt; with the coat out of the way, he could suddenly and terrifyingly understand why she’d come all this way on her own.

“Hai, Kakashi, it’s yours,” she said, to break the silence.

That made it easier. She was showing already, but it was mostly still just bloating; she’d deliberately worn a tighter shirt and cosy jeans to show it off. After taking off her coat, her baby bump was difficult to miss. To the casual observer, she didn’t look pregnant until she’d removed the coat.

Kakashi continued to gape at her.

“Kakashi?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, quickly recovering his speaking ability. “It’s just... a shock.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry too. But I didn’t know how else to tell you. Daddy...”

She trailed off and he understood. Kizashi was going to kill him. It didn’t matter that he needed the Hatake business right now, his daughter had been defiled and impregnated. No decent father would just let that go. And Kizashi was as decent a father as Kakashi had ever seen. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where the older man wouldn’t yell at him and call him every name under the sun for this.

He swallowed heavily.

“Where does he think you are right now?”

“Not at home.”

He chuckled humourlessly. “I suppose so. Uh,” he motioned to the tea. “Don’t want to waste my hospitality, right?”

She nodded and sat down; he ran a distracted hand through his odd hair and sighed, moving to pour her tea for her, before allowing her to pour his. They sat in silence, across from each other, avoiding eye contact and just enjoying the rich flavour of the tea he’d chosen. She wanted to ask what flavour it was but was feeling too nervous to start idle chatter. She was as nervous as he was, looking everywhere but at Kakashi as she delicately sipped at her tea. When they were both done and the silence dragged on, Sakura was beginning to worry he was going to send her on her way with little but a “I’m too old to have a kid” or some such nonsense.

She cleared her throat, her eyes lowering to her hands, sitting in her lap and twiddling like a schoolgirl. The fear and dread came rushing back when Kakashi seemingly had nothing to say and she didn’t know how to start the topic of what to do now. Her fidgety hands moved from her lap to her knees, back to her lap, and then finally to the serving table. She splayed her hands out, faced down, frowning at them.

Sakura only had to wait a few more minutes after her fidgeting stopped before the father of her unborn child finally broke the silence, causing her to look up at him, now fixated on his mismatched eyes.

“I don’t regret it,” he said slowly. “I…” He held a hand over his face in an attempt to cover his blush, but the look on her face told him he was busted. Kakashi chuckled, resting the hand on hers, instead. He rubbed his thumb over her hand. “It was amazing. You were amazing.”

It was her turn to blush.

“What I’m trying to say is...” He sighed. “I... don’t regret it.” He chuckled at his own expense again. “I’m not really helping, am I?”

She smiled. Sakura appreciated what he was clearly trying to say. She had him tongue tied, apparently. It was a good feeling, surprisingly. It meant she wasn’t just a notch on his belt—she wasn’t forgettable and unwanted. She cleared her throat again.

“Where do we go from here?” She asked, her voice trembling. She was scared of the answer, but also… not. It was strange.

Kakashi ran a hand through his hair—he did that when he was both nervous and unsettled, she’d noticed. Or at least, she gathered so. He wasn’t the most open person, that much was obvious.

“I–”

Whatever Kakashi was going to suggest was drowned out by a loud, abrupt serious of knocks on his front door. Whoever it was wasn’t bothering with the doorbell and sound irate and impatient.

Sakura paled immediately. Her father might’ve put two and two together, somehow… she’d told her friends where she was going. But the caravan answered to her father, so if he really wanted to squeeze information out of them...

Oh my god.

“Hatake!”

Yep, that was Kizashi Haruno’s angry voice.

Kakashi and Sakura stared mutely at each other. They both knew that the longer they took to answer it, the more hell there’d be to pay.

“Kakashi I swear, if you don’t open this damn door–”

Kakashi quickly strode over and swung the door open before Kizashi could finish that sentence.

“Daddy?” Sakura squeaked, standing up.

Her father’s eyes dropped to her protruding stomach as her hand fell to it instinctively. For a moment, it looked like the wind had been knocked out of him; then his face screwed up and he shoved his way inside, leaving Kakashi to close the door in an attempt at some kind of privacy.

Kizashi spun around and growled audibly, his eyes narrowed in on his business partner.

This was it. Sakura knew what was coming.

Kizashi Haruno was infamous for his temper, and when he was at his most angry, her father was a rambler.

His hands flailed and gesticulated as he ranted. “Kakashi, you bastard! What the hell did you think you were doing with my daughter!? She’s soon to be betrothed, not the concubine of a low life porn smuggler!”

Sakura’s eyes widened at this piece of information.

“She’s supposed to lay with her husband, not some one-off, out-dated lady’s man! She deserves better! She deserves more respect than this! To think that Mebuki thought you were a good guy. What the hell is wrong with you, Hatake? I don’t care that you’re a staunch bachelor, you will do right by my baby girl and marry her before it’s too late! And don’t you dare try to blame my little girl for your midlife boner. Take some goddamn, fucking responsibility!”

Silence met this proclamation, but the air was still rife with the tension created by Kizashi’s anger. He huffed and attempted to calm himself; he wasn’t normally a violent man, but he really wanted to punch Kakashi’s lights out. But there was no way he would stoop to that level in front of his little girl. He would deal with that urge later.

Kakashi, for his part, looked thoroughly shamed. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair (again), and nodded toward his future father in law.

Meanwhile, Sakura’s heart was racing. When the hell had this escalated to marriage? The logical part of her brain knew she could no longer marry that son of a friend within their Roma clan, but to marry Kakashi… Well, it wasn’t a horrible idea. But her brain had yet to plan ahead that far, so she was gobsmacked by her father’s insistence; not to mention Kakashi’s strangely immediate acquiescence to this demand.

“Sakura!”

“Daddy?”

Kakashi took the hint and stepped into the kitchen to give them privacy, a little too fast for Sakura’s liking.

Kizashi sighed, one hand falling to her stomach as he kissed her forehead. “What am I going to do with both of you?”

“Daddy, I—”

“It’s my fault. You felt you couldn’t talk to me. Did he… uh, take you against your—”

“No, daddy,” Sakura said, clasping his hand that was still on her stomach. “I wanted it.” She blushed as he glared up at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I got your letter.” He sighed as her face dropped. “I just want what’s best for you and I’ve failed you. Now you’re trapped with Mr. King of Black Market Erotica. Nothing immoral,” he assured her when she scrunched up her face in disgust. He sighed again. “Hatake! Get your arse out here!”

Kakashi did as he was told and waited until Kizashi had finished ranting at him again before seeing her father out. “I’ll be in touch for preparations,” her father said, before the door closed.

“Well, that went well,” she chuckled nervously.

They stood in silence again. It felt like she’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes. But as Sakura rubbed her stomach, and Kakashi couldn’t help but watch the motion carefully, she thought maybe that was okay. The father of her baby was no spring chicken. She smiled and he stepped over to her cautiously, placing a hand on her stomach.

Those mismatched eyes of his stared down at her and her breath caught in her throat as they twinkled, and he smiled. He was so beautiful. She suddenly couldn’t wait to see what their child would inherit from him. Sakura stood on her toes, held his face in both hands, and kissed him. He responded immediately; every inch of her body hummed, reminding her of their night together. Of their connection.

“I’ll do good by you, Sakura. I promise,” he said, once they were forced to stop in order to breathe.

And she believed him.

.:.

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

1)I was impressed from your answer to the other anon about zhan so I decided to ask a question about this topic. Zhan looks to me like a guy that will have a "normal" life like falling for a girl and starting a family with her. Do you think it was hard for him to leave this idea aside and fall for jian? At what moment he was like "i like him too it's mutual" I also wanted to ask about jian sexually because zhang was the only guy jian ever showed interest in and he rejected the idea of him being

Good evening, dear anon-san!

“I was impressed from your answer to the other anon about zhan”

You must be talking about this ask about the possibility of Zhan Zheng Xi being quoiromantic. It introduced a really interesting perspective and offered me a chance to learn something new and get some food for thought. Probably for you, too. I’m glad to hear you enjoyed the answer, thank you!

“Do you think it was hard for him to leave this idea aside and fall for jian?”

I share your idea and the mental image of seeing ZZX as the one out of the four to most likely have a girlfriend, get married, and start a family. To have a “normal” life and future, for the lack of a better word. I always had that feeling mostly because his family seems to be the most ordinary. No absent parents, no connections to the underworld, no great tragedies or traumas. I don’t mean to sound like you would have to have something bad happen to you to “turn” you gay etc. More like he just always struck me as a character who would end up with an ordinary job and a wife and kids.

However, I’m not sure if ZZX was really seeing his future quite that way even prior to Jian Yi’s confession. I know ZZX is very mature for his age, but would a 15-year-old boy plan his future in such a serious way? I think, as any middle school boy, he found girls, crushes, and romance quite bothersome (ch. 51 and 102):

He just probably wanted to spend his days going to school, playing video games and basketball, reading his favorite comics, and hanging out with his best friend. Girls and romance were complicated and put him on a spot.

But I suppose you meant that more in the sense of going against the norm in general. I don’t know if ZZX had been planning/expecting/dreaming to have a normal life with a wife and kids but I do believe he very much identified as a heterosexual. And I most definitely believe finding out about JY’s feelings for him and later about his own feelings for JY must have become as a shock and required him to figure himself out again. He might not have been planning to have a wife and kids in so many words but to reach his resolve regarding JY’s confession he must have had to give his future a serious thought. And to realize he might have to give up those “normal” things was probably difficult despite the fact that his love for JY was gaining a new kind of tone.

But instead of thinking there’s some “normal” direction in life that he has to follow, I think ZZX puts more emphasis on making sure his romantic relationship is loving and caring. That comes across by the way he turned down Xiao Hui and how he acts around his younger sister (ch. 159 and 262):

When it comes to both platonic and romantic love, ZZX is serious-minded, loyal, in it for the long haul, protective, and caring. That’s the kind of brother, friend, and partner he wants to be and grow into. Of course, being in a same-sex relationship wasn’t most probably ZZX’s first idea for his future but “normal” wasn’t as important as being with someone who couldn’t be replaced. If he wasn’t thinking so far ahead already, he might have accepted XH’s confession. I mean, what teenage boy wouldn’t want to have a girlfriend even if they didn’t have the first clue about love?

So, in short, I don’t think falling in love with JY was so much about leaving the path of normal in ZZX’s mind as it was about finding what he wanted in a surprising and somewhat shocking direction.

“At what moment he was like "i like him too it's mutual"”

Personally, I see two turning points in how Zhanyi progressed: “do you like men?” and “do you like me?”. In my head, they divide their story and ZZX’s character development into three segments.

The time before JY kissed ZZX JY’s love had been unrequited for a long time, but he hadn’t been fully hiding his affections. He jokingly clung to ZZX and often sneaked physical contact and made mischevious, half-serious passes at him. It was a strange mix of joking around but being serious at the same time. And a lot of the pull of the story in the early days was based on the thrill that we as readers knew about JY’s feelings.

As far as we know, ZZX didn’t know about JY being in love with him but...I don’t think he was completely oblivious, either. I’m not talking about him just getting ragingly embarrassed whenever JY clung to him but rather him being aware of JY’s feelings in a more serious and specific way at least on some level. Two instances especially come to mind.

When ZZX took JY to mountain climbing on his birthday because - and I quote - there was “a place he had always wanted to bring JY to”. As typical as it is for teenage boys to say such things to each other, I’m even more interested in the little moment they had about making wishes to the stars (ch. 113):

According to ZZX, one has to keep the wish in their heart for it to come true, but JY wanted to try to guess ZZX’s wish through his palm. First of all, the chapter ends after that panel with ZZX asking “Did you guess it?”. The question was highlighted by appearing on a blank white background on its own which suggests it wasn’t ZZX just simply asking. Was his wish perhaps something along the lines of always being together with JY?

Another thing that always catches my imagination about that panel is that it also looks like JY is trying to teleport his own wishes over to ZZX. He wants to voice his wish (confession, feelings) but it’s scary for various reasons. So, he sneaks yet another moment of physical connection (and quite tender at that) with ZZX and perhaps has a little moment for himself imagining and dreaming what it would be like.

The first sign that ZZX might be aware of JY’s feelings is immediately followed by another in the next chapter when they’re on their way back home. Before they part ways JY calls for ZZX and begins to say something to him (ch. 114):

To us, of course, it was clear he wanted to say something. Perhaps something along the lines of “what would you say/how would you feel if I told you I like you?”. Whatever he wanted to say he came close to saying it but changed his mind. But did ZZX also catch something? Because his reply was somewhat interesting:

I don’t think he meant it as merely “I’ll wait for you at the station tomorrow”. I’m sure he didn’t know what was bugging JY exactly but it was something and clearly meant a lot to him. And he wanted JY to able to confide in him because as far as ZZX was concerned, they were the kinds of friends who wouldn’t have to keep secrets from each other. But he didn’t want to pressure JY either. “Whatever it is, I’ll wait for you until you’re ready.”

Could all of that hint that he had a feeling, an inkling, something, about what might have been on JY’s mind?

“Do you like men?” and JY’s sexualityThese two themes intertwine, so I’m going to give you my two cents about JY’s possible orientation at the same time. Let’s start with JY. You didn’t make any direct suggestions but mentioned him only being attracted to ZZX but also rejecting the idea of liking men in general (ch. 142):

Personally, I interpret JY as a budding homosexual despite what he said to ZZX. I don’t see his words so much as a rejection of the idea as ZZX just asking him the wrong questions. The kiss wasn’t about JY liking guys (and coming out to ZZX) but him liking ZZX.

We haven’t seen JY being attracted to guys in general, but I think he’s very much still figuring out his sexuality despite his feelings for ZZX. Even if he had been in love with ZZX forever he was still scared and unsure. It seems that his feelings for ZZX and ZZX later returning them have both confused JY and taught him new things about himself (ch. 143 and 187):

Then again, there have been a couple of times when being attracted to guys in general has been brought up regarding JY’s character (ch. 108 and 122):

But I would read these moments as JY being a typical teenage boy. As a 15-year-old boy having a secret crush for your best friend, you wouldn’t probably be open about what or who you like. Especially, to another guy. I’m sure he’s more than aware of the risk that kind of confession would mean. Not only confessing his feelings for ZZX could go horribly wrong but people knowing about him could (and probably would) attract discrimination. Some time ago I answered another ask about homophobia in 19 Days if you want to read more about this topic, but overall I think JY denied He Tian’s playful suggestions because they’re teenagers and boys.

Overall, I think Zhanyi is very much a coming-of-age story and deals with identity-related themes. That entails a lot of vagueness, confusion, reflection, and hazy, ever-developing feelings. I don’t think it would be impossible for JY to identify as a homosexual after the turmoil of his teenage years.

But let’s get back to ZZX and what that moment in the rain meant for him. The kiss flipped their relationship upside-down in ZZX’s head. It wasn’t the usual case of JY just being an idiot and messing around; he couldn’t just get embarrassed-mad at JY or otherwise brush it off. He was shocked and confused but above all, he saw his lifelong best friend crying and being so scared ZZX would abandon him in disgust.

ZZX realized that despite all the years they had been best friends there had been this huge part in JY he hadn’t known about. In my mind, the first initial revelation marks the second segment in their story. Suddenly, ZZX was in a situation in which he had to figure out and build their relationship from the start in his head. He saw his childhood friend in a completely new and strange light (ch. 151):

There’s always been one thing I’m a bit confused about when it comes to the time after the kiss but before JY’s final confession. ZZX asked JY multiple times about what he was really thinking and feeling (ch. 147, 150, 152, and 153):

Did he just want JY to be honest with him? Open up and trust him? Or was distressed by the idea of not knowing about and understanding something this fundamental about his best friend? Did JY hiding things make ZZX uneasy because it proved their connection wasn’t 100% and he didn’t really know JY after all? I’ve always struggled to understand what the questions were all about. But I suppose it fits ZZX’s character that prefers to be straightforward and not have secrets that could lead to misunderstandings. From his point of view, I guess the situation was also a bit unfair. He saw clearly that JY was suffering because of him but he didn’t let ZZX help either by allowing them both to be on the same page.

ZZX was trying to be considerate and supportive but he wasn’t ready to jump fully on board with JY’s feelings. Especially, since he felt like he didn’t have all the answers yet. However, him being understanding but hesitant seemed to cause JY more pain, and it was a bit of an emotional limbo for both of them.

“Do you like me?” and ZZX’s resolveZZX came the closest to losing JY for good when he was kidnapped the second time. And this time around he had been even more helpless than when He Cheng had come for JY. I think all of that helped ZZX in reaching a resolve regarding his feelings for JY. Somewhere along the way, JY had become someone who couldn’t be replaced in more ways than just friends. And the thought of not having JY in his life both scared him but also made him realize the romantic feelings were mutual. Perhaps they had always been there - lying dormant or mixed in with his more platonic feelings.

I see this resolve being a noticeable change in ZZX’s character. He matured, adapted this new level of responsibility and seriousness of returning JY’s feelings and wanting to protect him. Overall, he was on a much firmer footing again - or, as JY put it, he leveled up. By making up his own mind and acting more confident he could now ask JY to give him his answers, too (ch. 206 and 207 and 209):

For ZZX, the feelings were already mutual when JY officially confessed. His answer wasn’t “me, too” but “I know”. When ZZX kissed JY’s forehead I saw them becoming canon. ZZX still needs time to get used to it all but he did accept and return JY’s feelings and made a promise of sorts that JY did have a future with him. And this marks the third segment of their story. Now they can start figuring out this new aspect of their relationship.

Phew.

This was the first more comprehensive question and answer I’ve done about Zhanyi. It was nice and refreshing to talk about them for a change! So, thank you very much for giving me this chance. I never thought I’d have to this much to say about them. I hope I managed to answer your question to your satisfaction!

PS: Also, thank you for your concern and consideration. It warmed my heart, and I appreciate it!

[starryviolentine]

Camp Paya (A Pre-Apocalypse Story): Chapter 1/?

Part three of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

( Part one: Brody’s Diary  |  Part two: Color Me Blue )

After lying dormant through another multi-seasonal slumber, safely tucked underneath blankets of red autumn leaves, cold snowy down, and dew from weeks of springtime showers, the grounds of Camp Paya have woken with the summer sunshine, well-rested and ready for this year’s hustle and bustle. Stretching three-quarters of a mile due northeast from Ericson Academy, the path to camp lies right in the middle of a beautiful valley, nestled cozily between a backdrop of mountains and a rocky riverbank. With the trickling of the nearby river, the chittering of wildlife, and the crunching of fallen foliage underfoot—all amidst a forest of trees as far as the eye can see—the short hike to the campgrounds makes for the most perfect, peaceful trek.

Unless, of course, it’s mid-June and your name is Therissa Nicole Lannister. 

Therissa realized a little too late that it probably wasn’t the best idea to wear her favorite pair of black jeans and clunky combat boots this morning. And maybe she shouldn’t have brought such an enormous bag with her, nor packed it with so much stuff that it’s nearly bursting at the seams. The teenager’s face is flushed, side-swept bangs matted to her forehead with sweat, and the feeling of hot, damp fabric jammed under her armpits is seriously grossing her out. God, she hates summer. And she hates nature. Dealing with both at the same time is a double whammy of the absolute worst sort.   

Having spent the summer stuck at Camp Paya once already, after which she swore to herself she would never go back again, this isn’t even the first time Therissa’s been up this path. But she doesn’t remember it being so… uphill, and the sheer weight of her luggage pulling down on her arms like an anchor is making the journey feel ten times longer than it did when she was fourteen. At this point, Therissa has given up on carrying her duffel bag, which feels like it could possibly weigh more than her roommate Violet, and is dragging it through the dirt behind her.

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Therissa grumps through gritted teeth. “It’s too freaking hot.”

From a few steps ahead, a long-haired blonde turns to her right, making eye contact with the twin-tailed girl walking beside her, and the two of them break into giggles.  

“Oh, yeah, haha. We’ll see who’s laughing when they wake up to a big, ugly spider on their pillow tomorrow morning.”

“Therissa, look,” says Brody, excitement in her voice as she points overhead at the wooden welcome sign just a short distance away. “We’re here!” The girl takes off running, but comes to a stop right before she passes under it. Bringing her feet together, she leaps to the other side as though crossing a threshold to another world. 

As instructed, the incoming campers drop their bags off in a pile near a wooden playground, then follow the arrow of the nearby signpost pointing them to the main outdoor gathering space known as “The Pit.” The Pit is a large, square fire pit with rows of log benches around three of its sides and a raised platform covered by an overhead structure—also made out of logs—on the remaining side. At night, when the campfire is lit, this is where the campers have singalongs, roast marshmallows, and tell ghost stories. Right now, though, it’s where they’ve been told to sit and wait until it’s time for the orientation meeting to start.  

Unlike Violet, who came here last year, and Therissa, who came a few summers ago, this is Brody’s very first time at Camp Paya. It’s the first summer that she won’t be spending at home with her family. Even though she won’t get to go to the neighborhood pool with her brothers this year, or visit Nana and Papa in Rhode Island like they do every July for her birthday, Brody’s really looking forward to spending the next couple of months having fun summer adventures with her friends… and maybe she’ll even make new friends! Brody has a good feeling that this is going to be the best summer ever. 

Once all the campers have gathered and all the benches are full, a middle-aged woman in a ranger hat blows her whistle and gets up on the platform, cheerfully announcing that the opening ceremony is about to start. Violet, who has been particularly quiet since their arrival, sits close to Brody, chewing on her bottom lip. She’s glad—really glad—that her best friend decided to stay and go to camp with her this year, but there’s already one thing that she’s dreading. 

“Oh, I hope we’re in the same cabin!” Hands clasped together under her chin, Brody unintentionally voices what Violet has been worrying about. “And Therissa, too. Wouldn’t it be perfect if we were all together?”   

Mouth feeling dry, Violet can only nod. 

The opening ceremony kicks off with an introductory speech by the woman with the whistle and hat, who turns out to be Camp Paya’s director, Pamela Wheeler. For the next several minutes, Ms. Pam outlines the camp rules and weekly schedule, but then gestures to the row of people standing at one end of the platform. They come onto the stage, all wearing the same beige button-up shirt and red neckerchief tie as Ms. Pam, and introduce themselves as this year’s camp counselors. Together, they give a brief overview of the different sports, crafts and activities available to the campers, as well as what sort of special events are on the program this year, like the night hike and the Camp Paya Talent Showcase. 

When one of the counselors mentions the “Night Under the Stars” outdoor campout that happens every other week, Brody gasps and turns to her left, expecting Violet to be just as over the moon as she is, but her friend doesn’t look like she’s paying attention to the presentation at all. Instead, her face is hard as stone and her eyes are dark, and the way that she’s crossing her arms tightly around her gives off the impression that she’s angry. But Brody knows her best friend, and she knows that this is just what Violet looks like when something’s bugging her.

Before Brody can ask about it, a bit of microphone feedback startles her into looking back towards the stage. Thanking the counselors, Ms. Pam takes the mic and addresses the campers once again. “Now for the moment I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for,” she says with a warm smile. “Cabin announcements! Could all of our teen leaders please come up to the stage?”

“Well, that’s my cue.” Therissa heaves a sigh and gets to her feet. Before leaving, she glances at Brody and Violet and smirks at the sheer amount of anxiety written on both of their faces. “Look, even if you end up in different cabins, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll live.”

A dozen or so teenagers make their way to the stage, and the counselors hand them each a clipboard containing the list of names of the campers they will be looking after. Ms. Pam waits until all of the lists have all been distributed before continuing. “These lovely young men and women are going to be your cabin leaders this summer. They’re here to help, so if you ever have any questions or need assistance, you can go to any of them at any time. Anyway, without further ado, let’s begin with Cabin One!”

One by one, the leaders go down the line, introducing themselves and reading off the names of their cabin groups. By the time the first couple of cabins have been sorted out, the dynamics are pretty clear. Two teen leaders to a cabin, and each leader is in charge of six campers. That makes for seven people in a group and a total of fourteen people per cabin. Cabin assignments never take more than a few minutes from start to finish, but for Violet and Brody, whose names have yet to be called even after reaching Cabin Four, it’s an endless, nerve-racking wait. With three cabins to go, there’s still a high chance that they could end up getting separated. 

The second leader in Cabin Four turns out to be Therissa, who shuffles to center stage staring down at her clipboard, an unreadable expression on her face. When Samantha, her co-leader, hands her the microphone, Therissa pulls the cord toward her a bit too quickly, causing the speakers to let out a dreadful, high-pitched screech. The sudden noise makes a bunch of the campers jump and cover their ears. 

“Oh, sh—” Somehow, Therissa is able to stop herself from swearing in time. Ms. Pam is looking at her sternly, eyes practically bugging out of her sockets. “—sh... orry. Sorry. I’m Therissa, the, uh, other leader of Cabin Four. Looks like the following six people are going to be stuck with me all summer, so if I call your name, good luck to you!” Looking down at her clipboard again, Therissa begins to read off her list. “Becca Gray. Ruby Hillis. Violet Gideon.” The teen’s voice changes, becoming more playful as the familiar name leaves her lips. 

Letting out an immense sigh of relief, Violet drops her head into her hands. “Thank god.”

Brody’s back stiffens and she sits up straight as a pin at the very edge of her seat. Now she has to be in Cabin Four, too! The auburn-haired presses her hands together and squeezes her eyes shut. Please, oh, please! Pretty please with whipped cream and hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles and a cherry on top...

“Erin Ro… Rosen… bach... Rosenbacher. Wow, okay, I totally just butchered that. My bad, Erin. Amy McCoy… and…” Pausing right before the sixth name, Therissa looks up from her clipboard and out at the audience. The mischievous glint in her eyes is the only hint that she might be dragging things out on purpose.

Nearly slipping off the bench from anticipation, Brody’s heart begins to pound. She focuses all of her energy into a prayer that she mumbles under her breath. “Please, please, please…”

“Aaand that’s it!” Therissa exclaims loudly, holding the clipboard in the air and shrugging. She searches through the sea of faces until she spots her roommates in the crowd. Violet is patting Brody, who has frozen in shock and looks absolutely devastated, on the shoulder to comfort her. Sucking in a sharp breath, the teenager shakes her head and starts to laugh. “Just kidding! And Brody Burress. Come find me!” Flashing a backwards, sideways peace sign, Therissa passes the mic to the next leader and makes her way off the stage. 

Violet halts mid-pat and furrows her eyebrows as she tries to wrap her head around what happened. She’s not quite sure if that was supposed to be Therissa’s attempt at a joke or what, but at least this means that she and Brody get to be cabin mates after all. The blonde looks across the firepit at her oldest roommate again, watching in stunned silence as the teenager steps down from the platform, spinning smoothly on her heels, and goes to stand near the entrance to The Pit. As Therissa walks away with a smug smile and a spring in her step, she almost looks like she’s dancing.

[lycorogue]

Holy smokes guys, if you’ll indulge me, I want to tell you about the dream I just had. (*EDIT: I wrote this right as I woke up from the dream before I forgot most of it. However, I had to get ready for work, so I was only able to finish/polish/post just now.) Mostly because I only have dreams I can remember about twice a year (and I used to be one of those people that remembered dreams nightly when I was a kid. OTL), so I want to jot down as much as I can remember before I lose it. Plus, it has a lot of Miraculous Ladybug elements, and some of you might find it amusing.

My dream started off with my husband and I having a day off together, shirking our adult responsibilities for the day, and just having a date day. We drove into the nearby city and just had a day of goofing around as we window shopped (remember when it was safe for people to do stuff like this? *long sigh*) One of the places I distinctly recall us stopping was some sporting goods store where we checked out kayaks (they’re super big in our area; practically everyone owns one).

But then, as we were checking out the kayaks, my husband wasn’t my husband anymore, and I wasn’t myself. At some point my mind converted both of us into 18yo versions of Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng from the show Miraculous Ladybug.

We were just friends; hanging out; simply spending the day together. Just the two of us. We were still goofing around and window shopping, just as we were when we were still myself and my husband, but now there was this sort of unsure sexual tension????? Like, Adrien was very much Chat Noir flirting, but in a way that Marinette couldn’t quite tell if it was supposed to be flirting, and Adrien didn’t seem sure himself if he meant it to be flirting??? But there was a LOT of chaste touching of upper arms, lower backs (mainly to direct Marinette), and hand holding (mostly to pull her in a particular direction).

I can’t recall if it was a canon character or if my mind made someone up, but I do recall a random second 18yo boy kind of following us around. It could have been the show’s canon “Adrien Agreste’s #1 fan” Wayhem, but it also felt like it wasn’t supposed to be him? You know how dreams are like that? Where you can’t quite pin down who someone is supposed to be in them? To make life easier, though, we’ll just say it was supposed to be Wayhem. 

So, the dream became a sort of aged up version of the episode “Gorizilla” where Adrien (formerly my husband) and Marinette (formerly me) are running around Paris (formerly a US city nearby me IRL) just trying to have a good time window shopping together and goofing around while Wayhem is semi-stalking them? Now, canonically, after the incident of Wayhem chasing Adrien around Paris during “Gorizilla”, Adrien became Wayhem’s friend and was indeed willing to hang out with the kid, as long as Wayhem treated Adrien as a normal kid and not a celebrity that Wayhem was star-struck over. In my dream’s canon, this was still semi-true. Wayhem was more of an acquaintance of Adrien’s than a friend the blonde would hang out with regularly, but Adrien still made time to hang out with his fan. However, Wayhem in my dream could not wait his turn, apparently, and when he saw Adrien “in the wild”, as it were, he wanted to join in the fun. So a large portion of the dream was Adrien (Hubby) and Marinette (me; I saw the dream through 1st person via Marinette’s eyes, but I KNEW that’s who I was supposed to be) trying to ditch Wayhem. 

We ran around department stores, riding bikes through the toy aisles, and had shopping cart races where Adrien was pushing me (Marinette) around the store in the shopping cart with Wayhem behind with a giant stuffed animal in his cart. We snuck into movies at the cinema, only to try to sneak back out to lose Wayhem. I can’t recall what else we did, but we had a grand old time hanging out and screwing around in various stores while also trying to shake Wayhem (and, to be fair, Adrien did try to tell Wayhem that he was trying to have a day just hanging out with Marinette and will set up a time to hang with him, but the kid wouldn’t leave us alone. He was like a kid brother just following us around trying to play with us when we just needed our own time). 

Eventually, we did lose Wayhem, and we were back inside a department store. When we noticed we were alone, Adrien had this cheeky grin, and asked me if I’d be willing to go wait for him over in the women’s clothing department for a couple of minutes; he had something he wanted to do privately real quick. Shrugging off my curiosity of what he was up to (I like to be surprised), I agree and go wandering through the clothing racks. 

There’s this whole thing about a group of older teenage girls trying to pick out outfits that best accentuate parts of their bodies that they like, but other girls are debating that the first ones are just sexualizing their own bodies to be on display for men, and it was this whole thing about whether you dress sexy for yourself or because you want someone to find you attractive. @_@ Not sure why my dream got super philosophical in the middle there.

Anyway, Marinette (me) navigates around this crowd of girls debating and finds this cute white t-shirt dress with Jagged Stone’s logo (for those who don’t know, Jagged Stone is a canon rock star within the Miraculous Ladybug universe). While Marinette canonically wears almost exclusively clothing she designs herself, in my dream she also occasionally buys clothing with trademarked logos on them that she likes (because she can’t legally recreate them). So she (I) goes into the dressing room and puts the dress on. 

Then, wearing the dress as a tunic over the normal pink capris Marinette canonically wears, and carrying my (Marinette’s) shirt and jacket in my arms, I wander the women’s department some more to make sure Adrien can find me. As I do so, my cellphone rings, and my IRL uncle is calling me to see if my sister-in-law would like a DVD set of the show Lost, I believe? I can’t quite remember which show he was asking about. The odd thing is that my uncle is about 25 years older than me. My sister-in-law is about 2 years older than me. I don’t think they talk on Facebook, and I’m pretty sure they only met at my wedding. So I have absolutely no clue why my brain connected these two in a manner where he’d want to double check with me on a birthday gift (belated Christmas gift?) for her.

Anyway, I get off the phone with my IRL uncle, and my IRL job calls me with some sort of crisis that I can’t recall. It was a quick phone call as the owner of the store ended up in some sort of car trouble, I think, and the woman I was on the phone with had to quickly get off to help the owner. It was a bizarre intermission within my dream. Anyway, my IRL husband shows up (I’m still picturing myself as 18yo Marinette, btw) and checks in on the phone calls. We joke around a little bit, and POOF Hubby is magically Adrien again, and we’re back to the main storyline.

So Adrien gives a little “wow” and holds out a hand for me (Marinette) to take. He then has me do a twirl to show off the dress. He talks about how lovely it looks on me, but then kind of scrunches his eyebrows. He then kneels in front of me, like RIGHT UP on my left leg, and clicks his tongue disappointingly. He points out this huge stain along the hem just above my left knee. It’s about the size of an American half-dollar and almost looks like a blood stain: a dark reddish-brown center that fades into an off-white/light-yellow along the corona of the stain.

As Adrien plays with the hem to get a better look at the stain on the dress, his fingers brush against my knee (I mean, I still have the capris on, but still), and it almost looks like he’s worshipping me, and my heart CANNOT deal! I can feel it RACING and my cheeks starting to warm up. That’s when Adrien starts, like, HARD CORE flirting with me by again commenting about how good I look in the dress, and how well it fits my body shape, and how disappointing it is that this dress has a stain because he’d love to see me wear the dress a few more times. And he just slowly stands up, but doesn’t really move back before doing so, so I have to take a small step back so he’s not just sliding up my leg as he stands. And my heart is about to EXPLODE as he looks at me with those intense green eyes.

I swallow hard, and Adrien just kind of puts on this cheery smile like nothing just happened, and he suggests we look to see if there’s another dress in my size that doesn’t have the stain. I lead him to the rack and we riffle through it quickly. We do find another one of the Jagged Stone t-shirt dresses in my size, and Adrien takes it to fully inspect it. No stains. No loose hem-work. The print of Jagged Stone’s logo seems well done. The dress itself isn’t all that expensive. We got a winner. Adrien then suggests I go get changed back into my normal clothes, so I leave him as I enter the changing booth to put my shirt and jacket back on, and that’s where I wake up.

But I do so with the lingering knowledge that Adrien 100% bought Marinette that dress while she was changing, and his initial surprise (why he asked her to go to the clothing department to wait for him in the first place) was a little pastel-rainbow tie-dyed teddy bear that he wanted to get her to commemorate their day-long hangout. 

So.... yeah... that was my dream, and it was so intense at the end there that I legit woke up because my own, physical, IRL heart was RACING from all the Adrien flirting towards the end.

Just wanted to share that. Thanks for indulging me and reading all the way through.

(*EDIT: I’ve been lowkey thinking about that whole brushing Marinette’s knee while inspecting the dress thing all day. So guess who has yet ANOTHER plot bunny to try to wrangle. Thanks, Brain! 9_9 Care to actually help me WRITE any of these plot bunnies, or are you just going to plop more unexpectedly onto my lap and then just wander off? Oh! The latter? Great. >3>)

[notbecauseofvictories]

Thoughts on Odile of Swan Lake?

Sometimes, you come home for an extended Christmas vacation—thank god for two vacation days a month—and your father has turned a bunch of the local community college girls into swans. That’s just how life is. You try to be understanding, really; it’s not like you don’t have a couple shitty dates tucked away in your back garden. (They make an unholy noise whenever the wind is high, but they also eat the spider mites, so.)

During the day, you feed the swans-who-are-technically-girls whole wheat bread, because that’s what the internet told you was best for swans. (Cultivated grains, right?) At night, you lend them your high school sweatshirts and old pajama pants, and blow up every air mattress you can beg or borrow from friends. Your father glares at them whenever they try to sit on the sofa, snarling to be quiet during Late Night. One of them, the slender brunette, cries silently.

Afterwards, the girls whisper to one another, and your father retreats to the back patio to smoke a cigar. After the first night—after Odette, who goes by Etta, clutches your sleeve and whispers, can you get us out of here?—you go out to join him.

“What exactly was your plan here, dad?” you ask, and Rothbart, the poster child for single-father assholery, grunts and goes on smoking.

You get up at four the next morning, in order to make the swans a human breakfast while they’ll still appreciate it. “Thank you,” Etta says when you hand her a plate of runny eggs, almost-burnt toast. She’s pretty, in a small-town coed sort of way. In the hazy, artificial light of the kitchen, her eyelashes are fine and pale against her cheeks, and it makes you think of something grown in the dark, a flower that will never bloom.

“Yeah, well,” you say, giving Etta an extra slice of bacon. “Merry Christmas.”

.

You call your boss the twenty-sixth, and tell him that your father’s had some health issues, you’re going to need FMLA. He tells you not to worry about it, just make sure to let HR know.

Outside the window, the swans are huddled together on the half-frozen pond in your backyard, their heads bent together like lovers. You can’t help admiring the elegant curve of those long, white necks, how lovely they are, set against the grey slate of the sky and the shadows of the skeletal trees. They’re trembling—you didn’t even know swans could get cold.

You tell your boss you’ll keep him updated.

.

The missing posters are all over town, once you know to look. Pretty, white—Rothbart’s gotten stupid and started breaking his own rules—Midwestern girls. Cornsilk hair, braces-trained smiles. Some of their photographs show them in cheerleader outfits, band uniforms. Another stupid, sloppy detail.

“Isn’t it sad?” Mary Anne, who was your friend and hated you in the same breath, simpers. “All those girls, just up and vanished.”

“Sad,” you echo. “Do the police have any leads?”

They don’t, you know. No one has leads on girls that turn into swans, any more than they have leads on men who turn into toads, or wolves, or birds, or frogs, or ravens. It’s the only reason your family has lasted as long as it has—being careful, always careful, and making sure that when a curse stuck, it stuck. Every morning since you came home, you’ve found Kelly Loshanko standing in your front yard, her nostrils flaring; she’s starting to show her age, and you’re still surprised she’s managed to last this many deer hunting seasons. You’ve heard rumors there are still families in Grand Rapids suffering from the curse your great-grandmother laid down on their bloodline, because they offended her. Or because she wanted to, or simply because she could—your great-grandmother was never one for explaining herself.

(You sometimes think about having that much power, all the things you could use it for. It would be a new world.)

Mary Anne is talking about her husband, who’s been spending “too much time on the internet.” You make sympathetic noises, and think about how unlikely it is that Etta ever finds a man to love her who has never loved before. 

“Odile?” Etta asks, when you stumble back to your father’s house at two am. They’re girls again, and Etta’s pale, pale as silver in the light from your phone. (It’s unnatural, unsettling, given how dark it is in the house—but you only glimpse her like this, in the almost-daylight, before she turns into a swan.) You’d hoped to sneak in and up to your room before anyone noticed, but it’s hard to avoid sixteen girls, all spread out across your father’s living room floor.

“Go to sleep, Odette,” you whisper, and admire the way her chin comes up in defiance. Even in the dark, her eyes glitter.

“You’re drunk,” she says, and you laugh.

“Yes, I am. I’m going to sleep.”

Your skin shivers all over when she grabs your wrist and holds tight. Her hands are very warm, and you’re not sure why you expected otherwise. “Please,” Etta says. “Please help us. Please—I know you can.”

You swallow and look away. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say, and slip from the circle of her hands. Go on climbing the stairs until you’re there in your room, all of it exactly the way you left years before. A shrine to the memory of seventeen, all of it: the handmade poppets, the clumsily lettered invocations of the Old Goddess, a photograph of you and Rothbart at the ‘95 winter solstice taped to the vanity mirror. 

You hate her, that girl in the photograph. Smiling and smiling and smiling forever.

(Even lying in bed, you can still feel Odette’s fingers clasped around your wrist. It’s hard to sleep, remembering that.)

.

There’s a boy, because of course there is. 

Your father threatens him with a shotgun and still, he keeps coming back. You suspect he has a touch of the Gift, enough for him to know—to actually know—what’s going on, and what exactly happened to his pretty cheerleader girlfriend. Or at least suspect where all the fucking swans came from in the middle of December.  Rothbart sleeps into the day most times, you can see the boy skulking in the windows, peering through dirty glass; other times, you can feel him watching as you go from the house to your car and back again.

“Stupid choice of curse, if you knew she had a boy chasing after her,” you tell your father. You’re both standing on the porch, watching the boy scramble over the fence and disappear into the trees. The swans are making sad, fluting noises from the edge of the lake.

“If he really loved her, he wouldn’t be feeding her that white bread,” Rothbart says. “It’s processed to shit.”

(You stand there on the porch for a while after, watching the swans-who-are-also-girls. No one’s ever come for anyone in your garden, because you’re not a reckless idiot who abducts the homecoming court—but still. No one’s ever come.)

“Oh,” Etta says quietly, when you tell her there’s a boy chasing after her, with pale eyebrows and a lovestruck look. “That’s Siggy. Siegfried.”

You are then, unfortunately, regaled with at least five minutes of the saga of Siggy, who truly means well, and definitely loves Etta—their love is meant to be, as long as you ignore the fact that they’re nineteen and one of them is currently a swan for twelve hours a day. “You don’t understand,” Etta whispers, as you scrape a dry helping of meatloaf onto her plate. Your father is smoking on the porch again, ignoring the whole world and especially the girls-who-are-also-swans sitting at his kitchen table.

“Siggy is my boyfriend,” Etta says, with the frenetic passion of a believer. “Siggy loves me, only me. Really me. He would—he would know who I am and what I want. Even as a swan. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

“Sure,” you say. “Of course.”

“You won’t tell?” she asks, and you smile. Maternally, if such a quality can be ascribed to you—but then, you’re currently serving terrible meatloaf to abducted girls on the twenty-second day of their stay in your father’s house. ‘Mother’ is the fucked up role you’ve fallen into.

“Of course not,” you say. “I won’t tell anyone.”

.

“Okay, dad,” you say to him on the patio that night. “What the fuck was your plan.”

.

You are, whatever your father says, absolutely not seducing a teenager. You’ll do a lot of fucked up shit—you composed elaborate praise to the Devil when you were twelve, and since, you’ve signed perverts up for an eternity as slimy, crawling things in your garden—but seducing a nineteen year old to thwart his crush on a beautiful cheerleader is a couple bridges too far. You don’t care how many times your father insists it’s “just this one time.” You don’t care if his whole fucking coven is behind him, and they call at odd hours to lecture you on the sacred transference of knowledge to the receptive acolyte. That’s some seventies woo-woo Mother Earth revisionist bullshit, and you burned those books when you left for college. There’s still a blackened spot on the front lawn, it won’t grow back.

“I’m not explaining this well,” you say, grinding the heels of your hands against your eyes. You’re tired, you’re so tired—it is, after all, just past midnight when you finish explaining it to the girls who are also swans. They look…mostly confused, but you mind is a soft fog of exhaustion. It’s hard to separate that out.

“Look, you need to take Siggy and hide him,” you tell Etta, holding the front door of your father’s house as wide as it will go. 

Her dark eyes are wide, and she stands very still, even as the other—are they girls or swans? you’re not sure—rush past her with a noise like the beating of wings, out into the night. You don’t look away from her, not once, even as they jostle past you. “You’re…” Etta breathes, and then her breath hitches. “You’re letting us go.”

You swallow. With a step toward her, and another, you gently take her chin in your hand. When she doesn’t pull away, you press your mouth to the corner of her lips. 

“There. The curse is broken,” you say. Under your touch, Etta trembles.

“I has to be—someone who has never—”

Her eyes are very dark, even in the silver of the moonlight. You smile. “Someone who has never loved before, I know.” You lick your lower lip, and it tastes like something artificial; cherry lip balm, maybe. “You should go.”

She opens her mouth, and then shuts it again. And then Odette Richards, called Etta, is gone into the night. You watch her go, and do not move from where you stand—not even when she turns down the next street and disappears out view.

.

The next morning, you stand on that same porch and watch your father taken into custody on sixteen counts of kidnapping and conspiracy to commit…something. You’re busy with your coffee, plans for the drive back, and not paying attention. In the next few hours, you leisurely pack up whatever’s left of your clothes and some of his. Afternoon finds you there again, sitting on the front step when he comes limping back.

“Hey there, dad,” you say, and offer him up the handle of his beat-up suitcase. It’s followed him through two centuries and almost as ten times that many states; you grew up listening to those stories. Rothschild in New York, Roth in South Carolina; Rot in Minnesota and Rotolo in Chicago…it was a little dizzying, all the selves your father had gone through, like changing shirts. But whatever his name, you can’t imagine the battered case not close at hand.

He touches your cheek with two fingers. “My daughter,” he says. “How I love you.”

His voice is dry as paper, cruel as a curse, and your lips twist in a smirk in response. “And I you, father,” you say in that same voice. Rothbart chuckles. He takes the yew handle of his suitcase, and offers you the other hand.

The house on the lake is still burning at midnight, as the old year dies and the new one is born. A strange green fire that the firemen can’t put out, and brings the neighbors out of their houses to stare and mutter among themselves. Only a girl called Etta is quiet, watching from the seat of her bike, her eyes wide and full of green fire as the house burns down, down to ash.

[kdtheghostwriter]

SNK 122 - Avalanche

Who would have thought when it happened that Eren kissing Historia’s hand would be THE moment of Shingeki no Kyojin. Imagine you’re picking up this lovely series for the first time. You see a fresh take on the survival-horror genre and think, “I could get into this.” A couple volumes in, you discover the zombie horde tale was a clever cover for a fleshy mecha gimmick. “Weird,” you think, “but ok.” Now it’s ten years and 130+ chapters later. We’re all reading a retelling of the Norse Myth of Creation wrapped in a cozy WWII disguise.

What do any of these words mean? Join me under the cut. It’s time for lore.

Thoughts on the chapter first. We finally get to see the life and times of Founder Ymir. Not surprisingly, she appears to be of vague Northern European origin in what appears to be the Middle Ages. The ancient Eldians were Vikings basically, but back then they weren’t even Eldian. They were human just like everyone else…until they weren’t.

Founder Ymir’s story eerily mirrors that of 104th Ymir. As a small child, she was nothing more than a scapegoat. Born a servant girl, she empathized with the group of pigs that had been captured. She released them, no doubt ruining someone’s feast in the process. A soldier asks who the offending party is and we see a great panel of Ymir surrounded by pointing fingers John Wick style.

Much like Mr. Wick, Ymir goes on the run only in a much different context. John Wick, in his universe, is the most prolific assassin alive. He’s on the run, but he’s not defenseless. Ymir is a child and is defenseless. The men (and I do emphasize the grown men) that chase after her never perceive her as a threat. They’re having a sporting time terrifying and slowly killing this innocent child. Running out of energy and time, Ymir happens across a humongous tree and decides an odd hiding spot is better than none at all. Entering the base of the tree, she falls down into an unseen hole – like Alice into the looking glass – and just as she’s about to lose consciousness, she comes in contact with what can only be described as…this.

A parasite? An alien lifeform? An ancient Eldridge manifestation? Maybe. Just like another old Myth there isn’t really a clear answer nor will there be. ‘Tis the Source of all Organic Matter and it was always there it was, lad.

We get several lessons here about how history can warp our perceptions of the individual players in both a positive and negative sense. Ymir never made a deal with the Devil to get her overwhelming power. She literally fell backwards into a divot and came out big as a mountain. On the other hand, the Founding Titan was not this ethereal being of divine beauty. The First Titan was grotesque to look at. It had no true face and its ribs were exposed, which I guess makes sense for a creature that large. Founder Ymir was a victim of circumstance and oppression. She has the power of nature and God at her fingertips but has only known servitude. That’s why there is no objection when she hears the following.

Not only is there CLEARLY no consent here, but I’m fairly sure Ymir is barely a teenager here so – Double Dose of Yikes!

Fittingly (or tragically, who can tell at this point), Ymir has three daughters: Maria, Rose and Sina. She raises her children while helping her nation conquer the lands around them with her unmatched power. However, thirteen years after her eldest child is born, a rogue soldier makes an attempt on the king’s life and Ymir leaps in front of the spear; one final act of indentured service.

Sort of. She is told correctly that she isn’t in danger. No doubt she has come back from far worse injuries than a spear to the collar. King Fritz tells her to get up and continue being a slave and Ymir says fuck you with her whole chest and gives up the ghost right there.

This shocking development leads to two things. First, we see the most graphic panel in a series full of gore and body horror as the children of Ymir are forced by Dear Old Dad to cannibalize their mother’s still-cooling corpse in order to obtain her power. Then, we see Ymir wake up in what we now know as the Paths dimension. Here she shall stay until a certain someone is able to receive and respond to her call for help.

That’s all for the backstory, now what about the source? It’s been documented well that Isayama loves myth and folklore especially of the Norse variety. Near the beginning of #122 we see Ymir fall into a tree that Momtaku and her co-host Luna succinctly describe as “both phallic and vulvic at the same time.” This seems like a clear reference to Yggdrasil, The World Tree. Yggdrasil is an interdimensional bridge with each branch connecting to a different realm, not unlike the branches we see in the PATHS dimension. Then we have the spine-like creature that latches on to Ymir like Symbiote under the tree. See if this looks familiar.

Nidhogg is a serpent that is known for eating away at the roots of the World Tree. It also has a famous rivalry with an unnamed eagle that sits atop Yggdrasil. A constant struggle between freedom and entrapment which is of course a central theme to this story. I’ve seen meta theorize that if the briny parasite represents the serpent of the Tree, that Eren Jaeger would represent the eagle the overlooks it and seeing how he’s spent most of this tale with wings on his back, that makes about as much sense as anything else.

It’s all a lead-up to Ragnarok: the End of the World.

Yup, that looks like the end to me.

When the First King lined up those Titans to form those walls, he couldn’t have known someone would find the one loophole to circumvent his failsafe. The reason the Coordinate Powers only fully activate for those of Royal Blood. It isn’t because of their genes alone. Ymir is a slave to the Royal Family, even centuries after her physical death. It isn’t until someone gives her a choice that she even thinks to take a different course of action.

What a charmer. This panel and the one that follows are both very important to me. Zeke, in his frenzy is a spitting image of King Fritz. Yes, the are directly related but also, I think there is something to be said of him taking on the form of Ymir’s greatest oppressor. After she hears Eren’s pitch to lend him her world-shattering power we see her eyes, full of tears, for the first time. Not an accident. It’s the first time in 2,000 years anyone has treated her like a person.

This is not an official theory or anything but it’s how I interpret this. The title of this chapter ‘From You, 2,000 Years Ago’ is of great significance outside of how it mirrors the title of the very first chapter. Ymir was sending a message and when we remember the Attack Titan’s special trait of moving (and looking) forward it’s clear who the messenger was. The question then becomes, was Eren the only one who was able to answer the call? Yes, just not for the reasons you would think.

 Technically, any of the Attack Titans (or any of them, I guess) could have unlocked the PATHS with enough work. The problem is, the only knowledge of Ymir’s story and the history of the Eldian people was with the Coordinate which, historically, was possessed by the Royal Line. It wasn’t until that fateful night when Grisha stole the Coordinate away that a very specific set of conditions could be met.

Once a single person of their own free will got even a glimpse of the tortured history and fate of Founder Ymir it was enough to set an incredibly complex series of events into motion. This is why the Attack Titan, even during the Great Titan War, can never listen to reason. They know what the end game is, thanks to Eren sending them snaps of that scenery.

Eren was special after all. Just not in the way we first thought. Funny that.

  Stray Thoughts

- Keep in mind that the final panel of Eren’s new Titan exploding out of his severed head happens the instant it lands in Zeke’s hand. How must Gabi be feeling right now? You think you’ve slain the Devil of the Earth and all you’ve done instead is give him immense power and an army of unstoppable giants. Someone get the Bart cake gif in the replys.

- The most impressive part of seeing Ymir’s backstory is that it was largely done with no dialogue. Almost felt like we were reading a scroll or ancient tome. Credit to the author for crafting such a deep, rich world to explore. Somehow, Shingeki no Kyojin isn’t the story he’s always wanted to tell but it will rightfully be the one he is best known for.

- Once again Zeke blows a 3-1 lead by being an entitled shithead. He and the rest of his family knew the story of Ymir and the fate she suffered and still saw fit to not only keep her imprisoned but to use her as a tool to subjugate their own people. No tears from me, muchacho.

[updownleftgone]

I was tagged by the awesome @skye-maxwell to do this thing so here we go :3

Rules: Copy/paste and bold your fic preferences and tag some more people!

———————-

Slow burn or love at first sight?

It honestly depends on the day I’m having, but slow burns are imo where the most character development happens, and yes please give me that sweet sweet juicy character development. 

Fake dating or secretly dating?

Bonus points if literally everyone knows but the two people are completely oblivious. Bonus bonus points if the couple gets extremely nervous telling the others but they’re all just like “meh, it been knew sweeties”. 

Enemies to lovers or friends to lovers?

My demisexual butt is self projecting here, but yes please no make the cute couple be mad at each other ;-; 

“Oh no there’s only one bed” or long distance correspondence?

LOOK - I love me a one bed fic but I’m also an angsty mother f-er. Phone chats can genuinely be the cutest thing ok.

Hurt/comfort or amnesia?

Recency bias here since I just wrote an amnesia fic, but honestly I think I’m just a little burnt out on hurt/comf lol. But hey, I’d read or write either. 

Fantasy au or modern au?

I love to see relatable characters running around the world doing the same “WHAT THE HECC IS GOING ON” that I do. 

Mutual pining or domestic bliss?

juST KISS ALREADY

Smut or fluff?

Not a huge smut person but please giveth upon me a fic that will make me laugh and say “AWW” in public. 

Canon complement/missing scenes or fix it?

As Skye said in her answer, FIX THE NEED OF MORE GAY! 

Alternate universe or future fic?

This is a rough one because I like both but I love me a good “and this is what happened after these dorks defeated a ruthless god” fic. 

One-shot or multi-chapter?

I’ve been reading/writing a lot more one-shots recently since that’s what I have the time for, but multi-chapters always seem to stick with me better. I love me well explained and drawn out plots and further character development and all that sweet juicy stuff you can’t do in 2k words. I do enjoy me my one-shots, though. 

Kid fic or road trip fic?

‘“moM CAN WE GET MCDONALDS???” screamed the fully grown adult man to the girl driving, while the other fully grown adult man egged him on. 

“Fine. Just this once,” said the girl who was around a year younger than the men, as she turned the car into the parking lot after 12 hours behind the wheel.’

Honestly, who needs kids?

Reincarnation or characters death?

I’ve haven’t read much reincarnation fics, but I’m not against it. Then again gimme my sad stuff dangit. 

Arranged marriage or accidental marriage?

Not much of a marriage fic person period but ??? How do you accidentally get married??? I want to know and I want a fic about it  w h a t. 

Neighbors or roommates?

aND THEY WERE ROOMMATES 

High school romance or middle-aged romance?

I just got out of high school last year, so I feel a bit odd about high school romance fics, but I’m also not a huge fan of middle-aged fics. I guess I’m actually somewhere inbetween but I write/read more high school/college fics so...

Time travel or isolated together?

I want two idiots barreling through time, fighting crime, and slowly falling in love is that too much to ask??? 

Sci-fi or magic au?

I literally just can’t choose between these two. I thought about it all morning at work. Just combine magic and sci-fi and you will literally see me drooling over a fic. 

Body swap or genderbend?

Oh my gosh and when no one around them knows and they both gotta take the other’s position for a little while leading to a better understanding of each other’s lives and HOW CAN YOU NOT FALL IN LOVE?? 

Angst or crack?

I love, love, loveeee me a good crack fic but I read and write so much more angst. Oops my MCR is showing as is my teenage angst. 

Apocalyptic or Mundane?

I have always loved apocalyptic books, ever since I was a kid. World changing events and how seeing how people make characters react to them is just so much fun imo... well maybe not for them, but for us it is. Mundane is also nice though. 

Reading back through this I realize I’d probably just read anything you give me lol. Not a picky reader here.

And now to tag some other players:

Considering Days Without Nights is probably the biggest exception to most of my answers, imma tag @angevon! (Unless you’ve already done this or don’t want to ofc!) 

Also anyone who sees this and wants to do it feel free to do it and say I tagged you lol. 

[whetstonefires]

Hey so random ask but, I see a lot of people calling Tim drake sexist, I personally don't think he is but what are your thoughts on that.

Oof. Okay.

Technically I can’t just say he’s not, because as the product of a sexist society he, like any other dude and to a lesser extent any person, has got some passive sexist attitudes baked in there.

It tends to surface in things like, when he went on that first big solo adventure when the Robin comic launched, that started in Paris? And he wound up hunting King Snake with Lady Shiva and this one rogue federal agent, a black man, and he got very decisive. Shiva says something cutting about white men, and she has a point, in that if either of his adult companions of the moment were also white men Tim would probably have been somewhat more conscious of the fact that he was thirteen.

That unconscious prioritization that DC’s sexist narrative tends to favor? That is sexism, and also racism, and it’s valuable to draw attention to it, though not, I feel, to blame it all on Tim because quite often he hasn’t actually done anything, the universe around him has just colluded to make him look good.

(Of course this doesn’t happen much anymore, but back when he was the Main Character it did. Comics is a sexist community in a sexist culture, so of course Tim got some of that muck on him.)

But most of the accusations you see going around are about tearing him down on Steph’s behalf, and that’s...murkier.

Because honestly Tim is less sexist than most of the men in his profession. Significantly less so than Bruce or Dick. I literally cannot imagine Tim talking about a loved one the way Dick used to talk about Kori, or a new acquaintance the way Dick did a lot of the one-episode women from his ‘90s Nightwing solo series. He wasn’t bad to them exactly, he was honestly very normal and probably above average, but the incredible, controlling arrogance and casual sexualization is still hard to get through, sometimes. Almost more so for how much more it comes out when he’s talking behind their backs. And Bruce...well, Bruce and gender is an entire deal I’m not going to try to unpack here.

And I cannot see Tim ever using ‘girl’ as an insult, the way Damian does.

Tim’s interactions with the ladies on Young Justice, for example, tended to be a lot less emphatically gendered than Dick’s interactions with the ladies of the Teen Titans, or even Bruce’s in the Justice League, though there are fewer women there and less casual interaction.

And to a considerable extent this was because the passage of ten years had modernized writing norms, and to a considerable extent this was because his demographic was younger than the Titans and therefore less sexualization was expected of the writers. Young Justice built on some stuff Marvel had been doing with young teams and broke some ground that Marvel has built on even further lately. (Seriously what is with Marvel’s young team books lately they’re incredible.) But there was also that Tim as an individual cares less about gender than most of his family.

(In some ways Jason may care even less, but he also leans really hard into performative masculinity and thought flirting was a reasonable way to interact with older women as a teenager, and he’s been being written by Scott Lobdell for ten years even if I have a hard time thinking of that as canon, so his data is mixed.)

Or take the case of this young freedom fighter (/terrorist) who happens to wear Robin colors, who Tim meets at one point in Europe. Dava. The story creates situations where Tim gets a weird mind-altering stimulant transferred orally to him by Dava, and then from him to Shiva when he’s giving her CPR, and Tim rather notably doesn’t have a single narration box or speech bubble that treats these as ‘kisses’ that he has somehow benefited from obtaining.

Later he crawl-drags Dava’s knocked-out-by-Shiva body out of the middle of the bloodbath Shiva is now staging, because he’s in no state to do anything to stop it, which he hates, and while this is certainly the comic arranging things to put Dava in a damsel status relative to Tim, Tim does not at any point frame it that way.

He is really good about not disrespecting Dava, honestly. It’s an interesting storyline partly for that reason, though it’s not the only time it comes up.

Tim was constantly meeting Troubled Young Women who could kick his ass and whom he respected considerably in most senses, but whom he was able to convince that their particular approach to violence was somehow flawed and needed to be re-thought. Thereby allowing there to be Strong Female Characters but keep the balance of the world in order and not worry the readership, by placing the male lead in a subtle power position even if he had gotten his ass kicked.

It was like. An entire genre. Tied to the way Shiva kept popping in as Incredibly Terrifying Supporting Cast.

This was a major way DC was using female characters in and immediately after the 90s and tbh in some ways it was more progressive than what they tend to do now, even as certain parts of the framing set my teeth on edge.

(Compare ‘Tim on drugs manages to hit Shiva hard enough to take her down because she didn’t expect lethal force from him so he has to do CPR’ to the more recent Red Robin story where we spend a couple of pages with him laying out to her face how she came to town to fulfill a contract on him but he brilliantly out-thought her and she ate the drugged chocolates he sent her so He Wins. Bleh.)

Steph stands out for hanging around instead of being a one-off appearance, and for not really rethinking her life in response to Tim much at all, while also not being a villain.

The crux of the issue is, Tim slid into talking down to Steph on a semi-regular basis, especially when trying to get her to stop vigilante-ing, which he’s getting backlash for some twenty-odd years later, mostly by people blaming him for her narrative deprioritization because it’s more satisfying than blaming DC.

And a major form this takes is declaring him generally sexist.

And the thing is, I’m sure his unconscious view of himself as more competent to make judgment calls because Main Character Demographic did play into the way he approached those conversations! I have never met a dude with any self-confidence whatsoever for whom that wasn’t a factor. Sexism, like racism, is the air we breathe, you have to actively extricate yourself from it and even then it will crop up at odd moments.

Classism played into it, too--especially once he knew she was a C-list villain’s daughter; there was that sense that often crops up in Batman properties that not only does greater access to resources make it safer and less self-destructive for the moneyed class to go vigilante-ing, noblesse oblige means it’s also somehow more just. The old ‘the outsider has a more objective approach’ canard. This was even more subtextual than the gender stuff, but I’m sure it was there.

Intellectual elitism is sort of a subset of both that and gender issues--Tim knows he’s smart, it’s the core of his pride, and Steph is not as smart in the same ways and has not had the same educational opportunites, and there are definitely moments of high-handedness tied to this.

And then there was the territorial aspect; it was official Bat policy to discourage all other Gotham vigilantes, usually in a much more absolute and commanding way than Tim ever tried, not to take them in and train them.

That might have been an option for Bruce if he’d wanted to, but it wasn’t really on the table for Tim unless he wanted to stage an intense campaign to totally disrupt his own life in order to bring this person who introduced herself by hitting him in the face with a brick after he mistook her for a villain into private Bat training and spaces. They’d known each other for a while and been having this argument in various forms most of that time, before they ever dated.

Please also remember that the last time Tim wanted to take a troubled blond under his and Bruce’s wings and show them the ropes and make sure they could do this safely as part of a personal healing process that would help everyone, that person took less than a week after starting to show signs of instability to have a complete psychotic break, beat him into the ground, build a brick wall in the Batcave to keep him out, lock down the computers, and start killing criminals with the knife-hands he added to the Batsuit, while failing to prioritize civilian safety.

This was not that long before Steph’s debut. If I were Tim I would not trust myself to sponsor further new team members either!

All of these things besides the Azrael trauma are directly from Bruce, who is often way more emphatic and more of an ass about them. Robin was mirroring Batman (consider the way he talks to Selina sometimes egad, sometimes it only doesn’t look awful because she’s playing along) and following Bat-policy; it is totally nonsensical to hold Tim accountable for this and not Bruce.

It’s also important to note that Tim wasn’t significantly less condescending to Anarky or the General, who were white guys around his age with roughly his class background whom he was trying to talk out of villainy, and honestly Lonnie’s motives were baller. (The original Anarky was a hacktivist based on a design somebody drew up for the third Robin, but Tim got made instead.) Tim’s entire character design back to his first appearance holds that when he’s trying to talk someone into something he tends to fall into a lecturing approach.

This can be very annoying! The first time he did it to Nightwing he got grabbed and shaken and snarled at. And of course it’s worse when he’s talking down a demographic slope, rather than up one.

I am very aware of how fucking annoying it is when guys do this, even if it is their normal mode of interaction. I have come very near to punching faces over it, when it’s really bad.

Tim doesn’t usually approach that line, but the problem is his writers didn’t seem to know the line was there, so if you’re reading some of his interactions with Steph from the perspective of having that chip on your shoulder already, especially if you’re not immersed in the narrative’s assumption that he is The Main Character, especially now that language norms have shifted slightly so wording that was considered neutral in the 90s is now obnoxious, it can ironically make a deeper impression than the much more blatant and decided sexism going on all around him.

So that’s my take on the situation. Tim has some mild passive gender prejudice which he has never taken enough notice of to seriously compensate for, made more visible by being in a deeply sexist world and by being kind of an annoying person sometimes, and this has been blown wildly out of proportion by people who feel that he and Steph are in competition to be The One Who Was Not An Asshole in that relationship.

This is not a winnable competition. They were both assholes sometimes, and even if you could prove Tim was a terrible boyfriend/person it wouldn’t validate all of Steph’s behavior--she was often forced to behave very badly or stupidly, because back then one of her major narrative functions was as a stick for the writers to hit Tim with.

And the thing is. If you’re going to exculpate Steph of awful behavior because it was ‘just’ the writers being sexist, let alone let Dick off the hook on similar grounds, I think it’s really unfair and messed up to then turn around and hold Tim-the-individual accountable for sexism that mostly wasn’t even situated in him so much as baked into the narrative, though to his benefit.

Like. When sexism (or other -ism) benefits people in real life it can be useful to draw their attention to their systemic advantages if they seem not to get it, but drawing Tim’s attention to his narrative prioritization would be extraordinarily meta (lol somebody write that fic). And in neither situation is it productive or fair (though I do know it is so so tempting) to treat the very existence of someone’s privilege as an offense they have personally committed.

They literally cannot help that. That’s how systemic works.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Where Time Takes Us

Hey all! I’m almost done with Chapter One of a fic I’m working on, so in the mean time, why not have a quick teaser?

Eventually I’m gonna also post the full thing on AO3 so the format is better, and it’s also gonna have zelink and some revali stuff in the future...although I’m mainly gonna focus on character growth and arcs than the romance. All in all, when I’m done you’ll have to read it for yourself. In the mean time..

Enjoy!

Where Time Takes Us 6905 words (of like...15k it’s a teaser ok)

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

Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

- - - - - - - - - - 

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon

She was supposed to work until whenever doomsday struck, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again) the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached. 

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. “The Adequate’s Tavern” was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality. 

Pushing open the door, the researcher was met with a swirl of familiar scents, ranging from alcohol, apples, bread, and leather, along with a smokiness coming from the fireplace near the back of the bar. 

Closing the door behind her, she walked through the entrance, passing under a wooden overhang, and alongside a long, stone-slated bar counter. She overheard a conversation between the barkeep and a waiter.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The man started shoving her towards the storage door behind the bar. “Yes, yes, now hurry up and stock up on that apple cider. I’ve already turned four full pitchers from the three of them, and the fourth is no doubt on the way. We can turn a bigger profit from those kids than any random alcoholic that stumbles in here tonight!”

The waiter disappeared into the back and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place. 

She walked about the pub, scanning the faces of the men and women alike who crowded by the booths and tables. The tavern mainly housed a sea of Hylians, who let out the occasional drunken laugh, or hearty chuckle. It was a miracle she could hear her thoughts at all, as the air was rich with the sound of clattering dishware and the patter of dancing feet, as in a small corner to the left was a semi-circle stage housing a small band. A Hylian man with umber dark skin, much like her own, blew away at a Lurelin-made, seashell harmonica. To his left, a blonde woman extended her arm in quick and elegant strokes with a bow and fiddle. Two others struck away on small drums and bells, and the playful gig they performed had gotten several people up from their feet to dance for Hylia knows how long. The music wasn’t terrible, but she had heard better, from a certain Sheikah in particular...

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

It hindsight, it was easy enough to expect the bard to be at the table closest to the stage. Yet, it was probably the three heads of cloud white, Sheikah hair that gave them away the quickest. A young teenage boy sat across a square table from two other Sheikah, a boy and a girl. He was looking at nothing in particular, as he plucked away at his lute, presumably tuning it. Wrapped around his head was a small cluster of green wooden beads, woven with brown string. They dotted like a line of stars in his fluffy, white hair, alternating between pine and sage shades. The knot tying the strings and beads around his head hung loosely like vines just by his right ear. He was just asking to look like a starstruck, homeless traveler, if it weren’t for the bright red cape pinned across his shoulders. The golden, Hyrulean emblem holding the crimson cloth together signified his status as an important worker of the palace. Although, no one would be surprised that this thin, skinny teenager was a bard and court poet, and not a royal knight. 

Suddenly, the bard looked up and met her gaze, a pair of warm, red eyes catching the light of familiarity. He patted the empty seat next to him and said something to the other two Sheikah in front of him. One of them looked back, a young man with storm wild hair that seemed to part like lightning. He had a beige, long sleeve coat over a red tunic, as was the classic Sheikah style. However, the style of his white jacket told of his rank as a scientist. With chocolate eyes and a contagious grin, he nudged the girl next to him and fake coughed.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, OK?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Purah turned in her seat and gave a fake gasp. She adjusted her red rimmed glasses at the sight of her. “You’re right, Robbie! I’ve heard about these spirits. They only come at midnight under a full moon, and they appear when you have friends that don’t know how to time manage and haunt you by coming to your birthday party with their terrible fashion sense 45 minutes late!” She clapped her hands along with the syllables of “45 minutes” to let her point be known.

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile. 

Adello put a hand on her hip. “Save your breath, I was just working a bit overtime on the Divine Beast sketches. You know, work? For the jobs that we all have? So we can pay our taxes and shit? Unfortunately, not all of us have fancy salaries Mrs. Royal Scientist.”  

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Ok first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

The researcher propped a black leather boot up on the empty chair by the table, flipping her jet black hair dramatically. “How does it feel to be in the presence of someone with an actual on-the-field career?”

Purah stuck out her tongue, and Robbie cupped his hands and booed. However, the boy sitting on the other side of the fourseated table gave a celebratory strum of his lute, giving Adello’s pose a bright background flourish with a few upbeat chords.

She winked. “Thank you Zimiri, at least someone can recognize skill.” The bard gave a little bow with his head, grinning. “A few chords is all it takes to enhance a dramatic, late night entrance.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes. 

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm. 

“Uh excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling. 

Everyone at the table groaned, turning to occupy themselves with something else. Purah started writing in her journal which she pulled out from her satchel, and Adello started to become very interested with the ceiling. Zimiri continued to pluck nothings on his lute.

Robbies crossed his arms, his white long sleeves folding across the Sheikah red shirt underneath. “Oh I see! So when Adello brags, she gets a musical accompaniment, but when I do it, it’s suddenly annoying and embarrassing?”

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright you don’t get to speak Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!” 

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen. 

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual you idiot.” 

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath. 

Purah finished off a note in her journal before turning to the rest of the table. “Alright Adello, time to catch up. We’ve been playing ‘Till You Spill and I’ve already got some juicy stuff in here!”

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, OK?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”  

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s...c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers’ love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

Adello tried to hold her tongue to no avail. “Pffft. Yeah, you can try wooing her with your punctuation.” This got a snicker out of Purah, and caused the birthday boy to blush furiously and slump further in his seat. Zimiri finally spoke up.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.” 

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

The poet groaned, but complied. Tipping the cup towards his lips, Zimiri took a hearty slurp of the cider, much to everyone’s amusement. It felt like hot, molten copper mixed with old apple skins. How could something both burn and freeze your throat at the same time? He let out a gag, to which Adello patted him on the back with a short laugh.

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...” 

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few, amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

While she wasn’t undefeated in this drinking game, she sure as hell was playing to win. Especially since somebody needed to knock that smug expression off of Purah’s face. Adello thought to herself quickly. 

Zimiri, no doubt, is probably gonna say something self-deprecating again, as he’s too nice to actually reveal anything embarrassing about anyone else. So...I just need to say something unexpected and interesting...perhaps something embarrassing about...hmm, I’ve already exhausted all my info about those cushy nobles and guards in past rounds…

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “OOoh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers,  “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peaked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously rapping the table with his finger. “Well, speaking as a horse guy myself, I can attest to the fact that the childhood horse obsession phase never leaves, so I find Princess Zelda’s collection quite admirable.” He gave a nod towards Zimiri. “Either way, it’ll be tough to top that, Zim. Cute, yet slightly concerning, fact about our future queen? Quite the competition. Shall I signal the waiter for a refill now?”

Zimiri plucked a few more strings from his lute, before finally setting it down on the floor. He tilted his head, playfully. The string with sage green beads seemed to sway with the tavern’s music, and he spoke with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I might be faced with impending failure and ultimate defeat, but hells if I’m not one to try instead of mope.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“Let’s see...to top out on an embarrassing fact about a respected princess...it's natural to combat it with something...personal? That always seems to be the more valuable information in this game…” Adello shook her head. He was playing right into her hand.

“Well...Robbie won last round with the identity of Cherry...so, how about I dish out something similar. See, I’ve...uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh! Well. Court poet, shrine researcher, the job gets you close with the princess...kinda...I’d like to think we’re close anyhow…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and let out a short cough. Then, he went back to fiddling with his short, messy hair.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle. When did my mom come here… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters. 

“Oh Zimiri,” Purah sighed, “I was rooting for you too.” Seeing the bewilderment creep onto the poet’s face, Robbie answered the question before it even escaped his lips. “Literally everyone here knew that bud, it’s not a secret.”

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“Oh my gods. Zimiri, you literally talk about her all the time, you’re totally in love. Given that we’re also the recipients of your long spiels and ballads about how ‘intelligent and thoughtful and amazing Zelda is,’” Purah said the words to mimic the tone of Zimiri’s honey sweet voice, “it’s exceptionally, extremely, very, very obvious.”

“R-recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

The royal scientist leaned across the table and patted his head. “Right, but you also started attempting love songs a coincidental 2 weeks after starting your job of shrine research with her. Your eyes are already red, so whenever she passes by it’s like your pupils magically form into adoring hearts. Try to stay away from poker, it’s for your own good.” 

Zimri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Adello watched as the same woman she had seen near the bar earlier made her way to the table. Picking up a pitcher, she poured out a fresh cup of Adequate’s Apple Cider. The four of them had been here so many times, they didn’t even need to verbally ask for the order.

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s ok. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.” 

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her. 

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!” 

Adello cracked her neck for show, before downing her glass of cider in a few gulps. The stench and tingling sensation seemed to stick to the sides of her throat. It would take more than water to clear that out. “Adequate” was being very generous when describing its quality.

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another rasberry at her.

They played for a few more rounds, the clatter of cups and breaths of laughter decorating the hours. Much to everyone’s distaste, Purah continued her winning streak, getting by with unbeatable information about the King, royal guards, and one embarrassing anecdote about how her little sister, Impa, had caught her writing an interesting letter to the “local archery hunk.”

Yet, Purah laughed along with the rest of them, the eyes behind her red rimmed glasses held no shame, which Adello envied. Of course that sort of attitude would make you a master at this game. Robbie and Adello attempted to team up and be biased towards Purah in an effort to get her to lose, but either Zimiri didn’t take the hint, or he just really liked playing fair which wasn’t exactly out of character, even if it meant more drinks for him. 

Suddenly, a bell towards the back of the pub rang, signifying the end of the band’s gig. The dancing paused, as people gave their thanks, varying from politie applause to drunken yelps. Robbie then rapped the table with his hands, excitedly.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.” 

Adello scoffed. “Uh, are you kidding? The owner would love for you to play without paying you. Haven’t you heard the talk around town? The Adequate’s Tavern: Home of alright food and acceptable ale, but an outstanding, white-haired bard!”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip. 

He laughed to himself as he stumbled aback. “Alright, alright, but only because the birthday tyrant requested it.” Robbie clapped his hands in a “chop-chop” fashion, to truly signify his role as the newly dubbed tyrant.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Adello grabbed the cup right out of his hands. She tipped it 180 degrees and let the cider spill completely onto the wooden floor. He hopped back, and Purah let out a surprised yelp, saying something about letting the stench seep into the floorboards. Robbie just started to laugh, wildly. Noticing the small commotion, a few other guests looked back at them and started to snicker to themselves.

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.” 

The bard pushed his chair under the table. Picking up his lute as he stood and faced Adello, a charming smile on his face. “Heh, well. My singing voice is grateful. I suppose now I’m in debt to comply.” He gave a curt bow.

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage. 

A few of the regulars who recognized him let out whoops and whistles, yelling out “Bard!” or “More music!” in support. It seemed that no one really knew his name, but it was nice enough to know that even working here part time would grant you the honor of being recognized by a bunch of random folk. One confused patron, who only associated him with “z” yelled out “Yeah, Zelda!” before promptly slumping under the table. Looking around, a blonde girl caught his eye, as it seemed she was staring at him. He waved, and her cheeks, much to Zimiri’s confusion, turned pink at his gaze and she turned to her friends who started giggling. 

Moving past the last of the Hylians with an, “excuse me, sorry!” he finally stepped on the stage. The bard pulled up a small stool to the stage, leaning against it. Most of the folks continued to whoop in approval, seemingly eager for another chance to start dancing. Even the barkeep clapped his hands, probably excited at the thought of a free gig.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before. 

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute. 

A mass of different voices bounced around the tavern, requests ranging from The Babbler’s Jig, Misko’s Tale, The Eldin Bluffs, and Can I Get More Ale? Although, Zimiri wasn’t quite familiar with the chords of that last song. 

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!” 

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

The bard smiled, preparing the fingering on the neck of his lute. He turned towards the audience. “Well, I’m afraid I have no choice but to heed to such authority.” He began to pluck the beginning notes, tapping a tempo with his boot against the stage. “Now then, a beat, if you all would be so kind?”

The tavern chattered in approval, before piping down. There probably weren't more than 30 people, but the beat they made was definitely sufficient. The sound of stomping, banging mugs, and clapping filled the room. The tempo didn’t even need much adjusting, as The World Behind was pretty familiar around Castle Town. The beat was like a child pretending to be a marching soldier, unconcerned and playful.

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely. 

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Many of the guests had started to dance again, while the rest continued the beat of the song. As Zimiri plucked rapid notes on his lute, he heard a supporting holler from Purah. Next to her, Robbie was slamming his fist to the beat, clearly enjoying himself.

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Another pause between the verses, and the bard played the “decorative” rapid notes in between. He didn’t mean to seem like he was showing off, but Adello would attest to the fact that this happened whenever he got too into the music. Looking towards her, Zimiri saw her give a double thumbs up. 

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind 

At this point, some of the guests were singing along, though not to the point of overpowering his own alluring voice. Laughter rang out around the warmly lit room once again. Zimiri looked out at the dancing patrons and smiling guests, grinning at the feeling in his chest this brought. He continued the last verse.

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Lumbering through the double doors, three guards entered the tavern. The one in front, who had interrupted the music, wore a typical knight’s outfit, the same as his male and female coworkers behind him. However, the black hooded cape he wore atop his metal armour swayed with every step he took across the floor, his supposed rank silencing the room. 

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment. 

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The guests shook their heads, mumbling. Their booing and insults continued, but their volume quieted, it was too early to be getting cross with a couple of knights. Even Zimiri quietly slipped off the stage back towards his friends so as not to be at the end of the knight’s intimidating voice.  

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, you’re music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again, the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders. 

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged, he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

With the attention now towards a single table, most of the guests went back to their idle banter. A few waiters nodded their head towards the table in the back, and the man caught sight of three, white haired teenagers, who were sitting with the dark haired girl who had quipped out earlier. 

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table. 

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Ok, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave at the guards, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well look here son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it let’s me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie. 

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them. 

“Ah yes, well thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry wha-”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

“Look, I’m not a nobody. I’m more than capable of fixing up the guardian and any other disasters you might have left lying around the castle grounds. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even lick the kid’s boots, it’s not my first time dealing with this, alrighty?”

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms. 

“You’re still following your precious orders, aren't you? How would you know what Dr. Robbie looks like? You can’t be faulted for not knowing someone you never met. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The blonde man behind the gruff, black caped guard, whispered something to his female coworker. Her gaze switched between the girl and the man. Still seeing the uncertainty in their eyes, Adello leaned closer to the knight and lowered her voice. “Come on, have a little heart, it’s his birthday.”

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh. 

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

Robbie started to protest, but Adello quickly silenced him with a wink. The guard turned towards the rest of the room, yelling, “The rest of you, the sun is gonna rise in a few hours so save your rioting for then! Am I clear?”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans, and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards. 

The tension in the tavern was almost immediately cleared, the moment the knights left. Most of the people went back to their normal conversational volume, and the waiters began to patter about with more confidence. However, Zimiri slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh. 

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days. 

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you too, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.” 

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie. 

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room. 

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

Looking out at the crowd, Zimiri noticed how the guards' interference had really dampened the atmosphere. The warm and lively laughter that was present just a few moments earlier was now replaced with more monotone chatter.

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a musician for?

Stepping back onto the stage, he strummed an open chord, double checking the tuning. The whooping and clapping started to return, much to his delight. Plucking a familiar melody, the warm feeling in his stomach returned as he watched the new smiles that started to fill the room. However, before he began to sing, Zimiri first focused on craning his neck to look out a window, trying to catch a glimpse of a certain girl in the night. 

It seemed the moon and sun were balanced on the edge of the world. The night had started to submerge behind the walls of West Castle Town, with only the brightest stars still perched upon the ink of the navy blue sky. The silver lining of greying clouds just barely glowed from the faint light of the day, still trying to break out of the eastern waters. 

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her. 

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

Adello shook her head. She turned to retrieve a journal from the pouch on her belt, opening its pages as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “No, it’s fine. I still have some more work I should be finishing up at home anyhow.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The guard took her blunt response as a sign to not continue with the niceties, much to Adello’s relief. Looking up, she gazed at the looming castle. Its towers were like mountain peaks, sitting above the blurred silhouettes of the buildings of Castle Town. 

Taking out a bit of charcoal, she started to sketch its outline on a fresh page in her journal. While she only had one color, she tried to capture the shadows and lighting that cascaded on one side of the castle to the other. 

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher. 

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at her highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

Adello finished up the tower of Princess Zelda’s study in her sketch. She smiled to herself at the finished work. It was one of her better pieces. Putting the journal away, she turned back to the guard and scoffed. “Is that so?”

The guard hummed a yes. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.” 

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”