#(only technically but like. i contain multitudes and it looks cold and there IS a tree)

[exhausted-enby]

Moving On and Out

Bokuto Koutarou x GN!Reader (not the main focus!)

hurt and comfort? angst? idk man.

past kuroo tetsurou x reader, past kuroo tetsurou x unspecified character, bokuto koutarou x reader, kenma x hinata.

word count: exactly 3333!!!

Content Warning(s): swearing, past cheating, angst, recreational alcohol consumption, recreational drug use (weed) mentioned, y/n ready to square up, shit grammar as usual.

part one: Letting Go (Kuroo x GN!reader angst)

you don't have to read the first part but it might make a bit more sense :)

the week following is tense, to say the least.

Kuroo makes himself scarce. locking himself in his room, leaving only to grab quick, minimal prep food, to use the bathroom and to go to and from work. you've crossed paths a grand total of four times in the past several days: twice in the kitchen, once in the hallway and once in the apartment building's lobby.

today is sunday, and his only day off. you're determined to speak with him, whether he wants to or not.

juggling a takeout bag in one hand and your everyday bag in the other, you riffle through your things looking for your apartment keys. it takes a few tries and some words of vex muttered under your breath but you finally pull your keys free, then hastily jam them into the lock.

“Kuroo! I see your shoes out here, i know you're home!” you shout into your shared space, fighting to pull your own shoes off your feet. when you don't receive a response you tack on, “seriously, get your ass out here! we've ought to talk and i've got take-out from the thai place downtown. i'll bust down your door if i have to!” humour colours your ending statement, but it's far from a joke.

your apartment is small, with an open concept lay out. the dining area-slash-kitchen to the left and living room to the right in one elongated room. dead center, directly across from the front door is, technically, what divides the space into separate sections, a single hallway. the first room on the right is Kuroo's, slightly further down the hall on the left is your own. the bathroom is placed directly at the end of the walkway.

overall, it's a little shabby; always a bit too cold in the winters and a smidge too hot in the summers. the bathroom faucet leaks year round despite the multitude of times you've tried to fix it and the power will randomly flicker out for half an hour or so then spark back to life monthly. it's not ideal but it's enough for two struggling college students. beggars can't be choosers and all that jazz. it's close to your campus and not much farther from your jobs, which sealed the deal for you when you had decided to get an apartment together halfway through your first year.

tossing your bag on the coach, you start to question whether or not he is actually present as the silence stretches on. but just as you're unpacking the to-go containers, setting them out on the small kitchen table, you hear the lock on his door turn then see his head peep around the hall corner. “oh, good! you are home, for a second i thought i bought all this food for nothing. i got the noodles you like. get the plates, will you?” he doesn't answer but he does as told, scurrying around you to the cupboards.

placing down two ceramic, cat-head shaped plates, he makes way for the utensils drawer behind you. you press closer to the table to give him the needed access.

after dishing out food onto your plate, you plop into a chair. Kuroo hesitates slightly before plating himself and taking the seat directly across from you. you rarely eat at the dining table, normally on the coach or in one of your beds instead. unless you a) had guests over or b) you needed to have a serious conversation.

you eat in silence for a majority of the meal, the only sound is the clacking of utensils and the consistent hum of the fridge in the background. it's odd, uncomfortable, and you want it to be done with.

taking a few more bites of your food you place your utensils down then clear your throat.

"so," you pause, you're not sure how to go about this, "i'm moving out." well. i guess that's definitely one way. not exactly how you wanted, but at least it's direct.

he just stares. eyebrows drawn and jaw slack. he looks like he's trying to solve a chemistry problem that just doesn't make sense. his bite of his food hovers midair, just before his still open mouth.

he doesn't say anything. absolutely nothing at all.

and all of this damned silence is really starting to piss you off.

"fucking say something goddammit! or actually, close your damn mouth first i can see your half-chewed food." your patience is running thin. and like the flick of a switch your whole demeanour changes, everything about you— your tone, stance, aura— is saturated in annoyance.

his jaw clamps shut so fast you can hear his teeth clank together. he chews his food a few more times then swallows, washing it down with some water afterwards. he's stalling, never this careful with his food. you've watched him and Bokuto almost kill each other over hotpot then choke it back up. but here he is, slowly and meticulously chewing a single bite.

he clears his throat uncomfortably, "wh.. what?" definitely not his most eloquent response. his voice is small and confused, a little hurt.

you repeat yourself. you know that isn't what he meant but you need to make him understand this is absolute.

"i knew this was gonna be bad when you said you bought thai." he lets out an empty chuckle, "i guess i just wasn't expecting it to be this bad..." voice softer than a whisper, something indescribable tinges the edge of his words.

fear, maybe?

you let out a hum of acknowledgment to signal you're still present in the conversation. sitting with your thoughts for a moment, you ponder your options on how you can continue.

"i have to. it's for my own well-being. this whole situation is..." you trail off, shaking your head free of any straying thoughts. you need to stay on track, "besides it's late august and our lease is up at the end of december. you can either find a new roommate and renew the lease or start looking for somewhere else now because i can not continue to live here." you pat yourself on the back mentally for your strong and sturdy tone; no hesitation. 100% fact.

he opens his mouth to protest but you hold up your hand to signal, stop, you are not finished.

"if you decide on staying, I'll be out of your hair by the end of september, latest. Kenma and Shoyo said i can crash in their guest room for the time being. if you decide to move i'll stay and pay my portion of the rent for the remaining time but don't think that i'll change my mind if you do want to stay." your throat is dry but you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest so that's all that matters.

"can i have some time to think about it?" his voice is hollow and eyes empty.

"sure. doesn't make much of a difference to me." you shrug, giving off an air of indifference. inside, however, you're crumbling.

this was the hardest decision of your life. you'd been attached at the hip since elementary school, moving into the same apartment complex shortly after Kenma had. you thought you'd be together forever but you know your worth and whatever this half assed lie was.. is definitely not it. you're not going to let him treat you like a cheap whore you stuff in the closet when your spouse comes home earlier than expected.

and speaking of spouses..

"oh. one more thing," his eyes flicker up to your face but immediately drop back down to his plate when he catches sight of your E/C eyes. they lack the regular sparkle, it makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably. he nods his head slightly to show he's listening.

folding your hands over your plate you rest your chin atop them, "you have until the end of the week to tell them. Or i will." you keep your voice level, flat even. as if you're discussing a business deal. his chopsticks slip out of his hand. one hits the edge of his plate then tumbles off the table the other falls directly into his food.

"i— excuse me? are you serious?? no. absolutely not. you don't have the fucking right to make that decision, Y/N!" his voice is raising in intensity, anger bleeding into his words and painting his face red.

and that makes you see a just as blinding scarlet, vision blurring as rage sets in your veins. your chair crashes to the ground you stand up so fast. in less than a blink of an eye you're leaning across the table, close enough that you're almost nose to nose with him.

a smaller, less rational and much weaker part of yourself is telling you to lean in the last few centimetres. kiss him, forget it all. but all the feelings that have been accumulating over the last week, simmering under your skin, finally start to bubble over.

good thing the urge to punch his teeth down his throat is so much stronger.

"but you had the right to lie to the both of us? you're a selfish cunt, Kuroo. real. fucking. selfish." you're seething. if this was one of those old american cartoons you're positive you'd have smoke coming out of your ears.

he reels back, almost falling out of his chair in the process. jumping up and out of his seat, he steps around you silently.

you wish he'd yell, stand up and let out all that he's been bottling up. explain himself. but that's a real silly thought. he pauses momentarily then heads for the hall.

"thanks for the food." he tensely calls over his shoulder. then slams his door shut, rattling the walls of this shitty apartment.

puffing out your cheeks you clean up the leftovers, stuffing them in the fridge then turn in for the night as well.

———

the next morning you receive a single text.

Tetsurou🐈‍⬛: I'm going to find my own place as well.

well, then that settles it.

———

a week passes and when his partner still doesn't know you decide to call them up yourself. you invite them out to breakfast, your treat, the next morning. nothing unusual, you've had one-on-ones a handful of times.

over greasy diner food and your usual drink of choice you explain the whole situation, start to finish. from the first time you met, your first kiss and then everything leading up to this very moment. it's a lengthy ordeal but they don't interrupt, not even once. listening intently, stirring their coffee now and again.

they thank you for your honesty but excuse themselves after asking for some time to process what you just dumped over their head like a bucket of ice cold water.

you understand. bidding them goodbye, you stay seated. watching their figure disappear into the throngs of people flooding the streets from the window.

when you go home later that evening after your afternoon class and work you know they've broken up with Kuroo. his eyes are rimmed red and he shoulder checks you as you pass him by in the hallway.

whatever.

karma's a bitch, ain't it?

———

holidays come and go.

halloween you go out with some friends and get so wasted you wake up in a stranger's bed, not a single memory of anything following the third —no, fourth?— bar you hopped, costume literally torn up and thrown across their bedroom floor.

november is spent haphazardly packing up the entire apartment and looking at overpriced flats.

it doesn't go nearly as smoothly as it could with how little the two of you are communicating.

it's odd diving up your belongings: the kitchenware, your combined movie collection, pictures and trinkets, etc. etc.

you agreed to sell most of the furniture then split the money.

it's depressing, truly.

winter break is spent bouncing between family and friends homes for a variety of celebrations.

you haven't told very many people about the situation, some don't even know you're moving yet... like your parents, for example.

Kuroo's mother doesn't say anything but you know she knows something is up when you go over for your annual holiday dinner. she kept squinting at you, cat-like eyes trained on you and him all night.

you really hope she doesn't gossip to your and Kenma's mothers.

just before new year's eve you are stuffing a majority of your things into a storage unit. Bokuto, Hinata and Atsumu— their teammate— help.

you had hoped to find an apartment before now but found nothing. the couple assures you, you're still more than welcome in their home for as long as you need.

Kenma and Akaashi are back at the apartment helping Kuroo pack a few remaining items. the three professional volleyball players agreed to help move him tomorrow.

someone in one of his media classes mentioned that his roommate was moving in with her girlfriend and Kuroo jumped at the opportunity.

not that you care... much.

———

a month in and you still feel guilty that you, not Kuroo, end up getting the spare room to his childhood best friend's home. picking the skin around your nails, you anxiously share your worries to Bokuto over the phone.

"Y/N, you're just as much Kenma's childhood best friend as Kuroo is," his voice is slightly distorted but even over the crackling of the call, it's clear in his voice that he's confused. not in a, 'how do i do taxes?' confused, but as in, 'isn't that obvious?’.

"Kenma wouldn't just let anyone crash in his home, Y/N. he's a pretty private person— hell, took him forever to ask Sho-kun over when they first started dating! if he wanted you out, you and i both know that you'd know it."

Bokuto Koutarou isn't a stupid person, far from it, actually. although, at first glance many assume as much. they see the loud, bubbly athlete and automatically write him off as just another dumb jock. but he's perceptive and emotionally intelligent, fiercely loyal and always so honest there's no room left for doubt.

"you're right," voice wobbly, you whisper into the receiver, "thanks Kou."

———

graduation rolls around and Kenma and Hinata (mostly Hinata) throw a party for you and your friends as congratulations. you mentally prepared to socialize by doing shots with Shoyo and then lighting up with kenma. your skin pleasantly tingles and your belly is warm.

when you bump into Kuroo, it still stings a tad more than you'd like to admit. but you bid him congratulations and make small talk anyways; how's your new roommate? exams sure were brutal this year. did you hear the bakery on campus is closing? and so on.

when Kuroo spots his ex making a beeline for you, his shoulders square and his back straightens uncomfortably.

"i'm uh, i'm gonna go— fill my drink! yeah, my cup's lookin’ a lil low." stumbling over his words and feet, he disappears. you decide to ignore that horrible attempt at a subtle exit and greet his ex with a hug and a smile; you chat briefly then part ways shortly after.

slipping outside, you slide the glass door that leads into the backyard closed. although the late night air still has the same harsh bite as the year before, a hefty amount of rowdy partygoers have gathered in the enclosed area. the chill is welcomed, refreshing.

you stumble through people playing drinking games, bumping into a person or two, as you make your way to a group of your dancing friends.

Hinata's time in brazil served him well. he swings and rolls his hips with practiced ease, never missing a beat. taking the hand he extends to you, he quickly pulls you into his chest with a tinkling laugh when you trip over your feet. you can't help but laugh a little too loud yourself, his own being contagious and the liquor clouding your mind makes everything just seem a smidge funnier than it really is.

"no no no— like this, you roll your hips like swoosh not whoosh!" he tries to demonstrate some simple moves to you and Hitoka but your alcohol-addled brains just can't seem to wrap around his instructions. it's okay, though. no one is bothered by it, if anything it fuels the giggle fest that makes up your current trio. typically you'd be embarrassed over the whole ordeal but with high spirits and liquid courage coursing through your veins you just giggle and try anyway.

this continues on for a few more songs before shoyo all but demands, "we need to do shots together!" and so off he goes. even drunk he's a fast little fucker, weaving through people with a refinement that someone as wasted as him shouldn't have.

ninja Shoyo or whatever, i guess.

stumbling after him, just as you're passing the patio table set up for cup pong, you quite literally fall into bokuto's lap with a hard oomph. he's sitting on one of the expensive steel lawn chairs, red solo in hand, its content sloshing over the rim, narrowly missing your top.

Atsumu squawks out apologies and Osamu chirps him on, "how the fuck are ya a professional volleyball player 'n yer dumbass still ain't aware of yer surroundings", but you're more focused on more important things; like the arm that wraps around your waist and the thick muscle that makes up his thighs...

his booming laugh bounces you on his lap and if you were a little more clear headed, a dab less trashed, you'd be mortified. instead, a laugh bubbles up out of your chest as well, waving Atsumu off you assure him it's fine. "as long as Koutarou is okay with it, so am i" the grin on your face puts the player at ease.

"why wouldn't i be fine with someone as cute as you takin’ a seat on me?" his speech is slurred but understandable. he rewards you with a tight squeeze around your middle and a blinding smile.

Atsumu throws his hands up in surrender and a wolfish grin overtakes his features, "whatever ya say Y/N and Bokkun," he sends a wink your way and then goes back to trash talking his twin despite getting his ass slammed at the game.

and that's where you spend the next hour, relaxed into the ace's chest observing the twins. he whispers into your ears commentary on each shot, making you giggle.

Hinata did come to find you about ten minutes after taking off with Yachi in tow but retreated back into the house once seeing where you'd ended up. only returning to hand you two drinks, giving you a pointed look and Bo one of his signature smiles then goes to find his boyfriend holed up somewhere inside.

half a year ago you felt like your life was falling apart. your carefully crafted home collapsing, swept away by a hurricane of problems.

but right here, right now, surrounded by friends and those you'd even consider family, you feel the most unwound you have in a while. like nothing could ruin everything you've started to rebuild.

so when you lean into kiss koutarou and he doesn't pull away, but kisses you back softly yet intensely— not at all how you'd expect him to— you know you're right. nothing could ruin this.

not even if you could see the array of emotions— shock, hurt, regret, jealousy— crossing kuroos features at supersonic speeds. throwing back both his and the drink he poured for the fukurodani alumni, he turns on his heels and leaves without a word to anyone.

not even that knowledge on top of the icky feeling that comes with drinking in excess could squash the warmth and excitement filling up your chest when you awake to your frame swallowed whole by Bokuto's and the memory of his lips pressed against your own.

everything’s going to be okay.

[kyoupann]

In the spirit of the holidays... How about Four celebrating Yuletide in Minish Village? I'm sure the Minish would have a lot of fun and unique traditions! And you could come up with fun traditional foods for them too. Roasted acorns! Mulled berry wine! Grilled seeds! There's lots of room for creative worldbuilding and warm, cozy wholesomeness. ☺️🥰 (What would Minish Village even look like, all covered in deep snow? Maybe they tunnel through it and build burrows in snowdrifts? :DD)

Technically speaking this was already written before requests were open, so it should’ve been one of first fics to come out. But sadly, this was one of the files that got lost during my pc reset so I had to rewrite it.

It’s not exactly what you asked for, but it’s still a Minish holiday I started planning at the beginning of December c: It’s technically pre-LU, so basically it’s just baby Four one year after the events of the Minish Cap! (:

With the first snowfall of the year just around the corner, Minish Village is bustling with energy. Little paws leave imprints in the faint layer of snowflakes covering the road. Link is surprised to see the little creatures running in and out of mushrooms and pots, carrying a variety of items: dry leaves, twigs, chipped metal, about anything that could be considered rubbish at first glance. Everything is being piled outside each house.

“What’s all this?” Link asks and points at a pile of pure metal scraps. Random bits of jewellery sticking from it

Chikari, the Minish sorting through the pile, perks his ears at the voice, immediately recognising it, “Oh, Hero! Hello, hello!” he greets, jumping to his feet as if his excitement couldn’t be contained in such tiny body.

“It’s for the Bells for Joy!” he shouts, extending his arms to the skies, a big grin adorning his face. “The best of my collection!”

The look on Link’s face must have given away that he had no idea what the Minish was talking about, earning a gasp from the little creature.

“Mr. Hero! You don’t say you don’t know what Bells for Joy is!”

That alone was enough to gain the attention of all the Minish in proximity. Now surrounded by excited and curious chirpings, Link feels his cheeks warm up in what he thinks is embarrassment but would rather like to blame on the cold.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he admits, a nervous laugh escaping him.

What he thought would cause the Minish to feel bad actually puts an even bigger smile on their faces. Some of them even bumping shoulders and linking arms in signs of victory. Link is more confused than before.

“The snow makes it difficult for us to move around and hide goodies,” Chikari explains.

“That’s right! It’s so hard!” A Minish in the multitude shouts.

The other Minish shush him and Chikari continues, “we won’t be able to see you humans for two months. We have to store energy to last us that long!”

The crowd explodes, chanting gibberish in excitement.

“So we do a bunch of good stuff before the snow comes!”

The name still doesn’t make much sense to Link, but he still nods.

“so, what are the bells for?” he asks, pointing to the pair of bells attached to Chikari’s belt.

For the first time, he sees the little creatures go silent in contemplation. They look one another, asking silent questions and giving nods as answers.

“I guess, since you are already one of us, we can tell you!”

“Yeah, he should do it too!”

“Oh, I’m ready to head out to Hyrule Town,” Chikari says and turns to Link. “You could come with me and experience it yourself!”

The crowd cheers and all eyes turn to him, expectant and more excited than before.

Still confused, but with more information than when he arrived, Link agrees. The little creatures look ecstatic that he will be joining them, some of them even shoving most of the items from their own piles into their little sacks to head out as well.

--

The first house they visit they notice it has a hole in the ceiling, so they fix it as quietly as possible, which is not saying much with every Minish squeaking in excitement. In less than an hour, the hole is no more; it’s not perfect, but it’ll hold well until the owner can afford to repair it.

“Now comes the fun part,” Chikari says, the smile on his face barely allowing him to talk.

They are standing on the rafters, looking down at the main floor where the family is having lunch. Chikari unclips the bell from his belt and rings it vigorously. He  immediately hides behind the rafter, and when Link doesn’t do the same, he tugs him down with him. Chikari brings his index finger to his lips and cocks his head to the floor below.

“Mama, what was that?”

“Looks like we had a visitor while we weren’t home,” say the young woman at the head of the table.

The pair of children look up to where their mother points; where there used to be a hole, now was a sort of bird nest covering it.

“Haven’t I told you about the bell?” the woman slumps back on her seat and brings a hand to her chin as if trying to remember something, “you see that big bell in town? They say that something big will happen when Hyrule's bell rings."

The kids look at each other in surprise. They jump out of their seats and run to their mother’s side. Back on the rafters, Link finds himself mouthing the old legend along with the lady. Of course, the Minish would be behind this as well.

“Tell us more!”

She lets out a laugh and nods, “if you hear bells ring, look around and chances are that something good has happened,” she takes a moment to let the kids process the information, “it might be small, but it’ll be good. Now, if we get these small good things from small bells, imagine what would happen if that big bell rang.”

The children gasp, their minds starting to spiral into their own fantasies.

“It would rain Rupees!”

“We’d meet a Picori!”

“We’d get a dog!”

The mother laughs wholeheartedly, “that’s enough, go finish your food,” she lightly pushes them towards their seats.

Back on the rafters, Link’s mind is going through every memory of hearing the chime of bells at random times during the winter, and while he remembers many instances, he never made the connection between the sound and the favour. He can’t imagine himself being that oblivious anymore.

They spend the day going from house to house, fixing what needs fixing, and if there is nothing to fix, they leave one of the goodies from their sacks: rupees, kinstones, rings, pendants, screws, nuts; it all depends on what they think the owner would like, and then, they ring their bells and run to hide and watch their reactions.

Link notes how the Minish visibly vibrate with more excitement after each person they help; by the end of the day, they are hardly able to efficiently hide from the humans, clumsily tripping on their own tails while running away. It reminds him of kids who had just had too much sugar before bed.

As soon as they get back to Minish Village, they are met with trails illuminated by the faint glow coming from mushroom heads hanging from above. These replace the glowing flowers that would be otherwise up the rest of the year, but the increasing cold strips them from their life; they aren’t useless by any means, the Minish find use for them at the bottom of a little barrel, where they let them ferment with other leaves and berries until the first colours of spring paint the land.

It seems every Minish that had left that day is returning, and as they enter the village, they all line up to tie their bells to a string. Once the string is full with fifteen or so bells, they are tied to one of the many arches throughout the village, creating beautiful curtains of gold that dance and sing with the winter breeze.

And Link, with all the wonder and curiosity of a 9-years-old, can’t help but marvel at something so simple, yet so astoundingly pretty. The air is beginning to eat at his bones; still, he feels strangely warm inside. A pang of nostalgia echoes in his heart as he observes Minish dancing and skipping hand in hand to their homes; how he wishes Ezlo were there with him...

Chikari jumps on him, squeezing him into a crushing hug and bringing him out of his thoughts.

“I hope you can join us for the Ball of Bells!”

*****

Quotes from the Minish Cap that inspired this 2-part-holiday thingy:

"There's an old legend that something big will happen when Hyrule's bell rings." (I ignored the second part of this because I can)

“You see, we thrive on making humans happy. It gives us energy. But we only do it in secret!”

Also, my journal entry if anyone’s curious:

My conclusion: the Minish get fucking high on anonymity, pass it on.

[deliciouschickenjuice]

The Challenging Depths Of Man

I

I am, you may say, a "fish pervert".

As a scuba diver I am not unique in this regard. In fact, it is a poorly-kept secret that the vast majority of scuba divers are fish perverts. I mean, what other possible reason could we have for risking the kinds of death most men only dream of in the kind of steaming nightmares that come when the nights are humid and inescapable? What do you think we occupy our minds with in the diving bell eternities while we keep the bends at arm's length if not the undulating, shivering forms of fins and flippers?

No, we are humble fish fanciers and we do not care for, nor about, your judgement. You should not be surprised that we shirk society's expectations when we look death in its suboceanic rod-rich retinas every day of our damned lives. Within the first week of training a fellow diver, a fine boy from my own hometown by the name of Felix Trunkopolis, was crushed by a dropped anchor which had been customised to look like a gigantic pair of buttocks in tight-fitting lycra. Such tragedies are commonplace. His diving partner, Chudwick, having not warned him of the obvious danger (distracted as he was by a particularly alluring Pterois Lunulata), inherited the entirety of Felix's considerable debt and the burden of the nine monstrous Trunkopolis children. Chudwick accepted this burden magnanimously. Any of us would have accepted it likewise, because Diving Law states that it must be so.

We all know of the danger, and of the cost of inattention. Diver Law exists to keep us together, and to keep us alive, and is simple: if your diving partner perishes, you inherit their life's responsibilities. It is simple, clear, and extremely legally binding.

It is thus that we divers are bonded as brother and sister. Bonded in responsibility, in fraternity, and in fish pervertery. It is thus that we remain strong.

I, Phil Glanschirp, am a scuba diver. Or at least I was before James Cameron ruined my life.

II

Depending on who you ask in the diving community, James Cameron was either a missed opportunity, a charlatan, or an aberration. He was a missed opportunity because, despite his interest in oceanography and the power that he wields culturally, he did not include a single shot in Titanic of caviar being massaged out of a beluga sturgeonfish's asshole. He was a charlatan because, like so many other rich men with expensive hobbies, he expected to swoop in and solve all of our problems despite an almost total lack of experience. He was an aberration because he did not once express a desire to fuck a fish.

There are technical and logistical factors underpinning the incident, of course, but it is my sincere belief that James Cameron was turned into compressed bonechum at the bottom of the ocean that day because he did not develop the deep bonds shared by the diving community. The rest of us have spent person-years together drinking in semi-abandoned dive bars (pun unavoidable) where the marine air rusts the emptying beer kegs hungrily. We have been bored, together, alone, in steel bedrooms with a view of the infinite waterline, passing well-thumbed copies of Fishy Rendezvous Monthly amongst ourselves samizdatically despite the fact such material is not just allowed but encouraged. As we pull our hands to our chest ready to slip backwards from the deck into Andaman, deep green waters, we hold Diver Law to our hearts, each of us an oath-bound Hippocrates.

I must admit that, on a cosmological level, much of the blame for the misfortune I now find myself in must fall upon my own shoulders. My excellence in the field led me to deeper and more dangerous dives, which usually means being led deeper into the cold and lightless parts of the ocean. Those who dive past a certain depth -- the depth at which life loses its form and changes to vague, sexless creatures like urchins or sea cucumbers, also known as the "Pillusker Attraction Depth", i.e. the depth at which 1940s diver Proust Pillusker stopped feeling horny -- are viewed with utter suspicion.

Yet I allowed myself to lured by the usual siren songs of fame, money, and recognition when I joined the team of the Deepsea Challenger 2. Although the Deepsea Challenger mission had already reached the bottom of the Mariana Trench, James wanted to do another go-around as an excuse to delay his fifth divorce. And I was to be his wingman, travelling in a second ship to look out for any art deco bullshit that may have once belonged on the Titanic. He beckoned, and I came, and we dove toward the centre of the Earth.

And so it was that, on 7:42pm on the 21st of March, 2020, my submersible's video feed showed a crack appear along the glass of James' submersible all at once, as if smited. In that moment I knew there was nothing that could be done. Not even a second later the submersible was crushed, altered to an impossible miniature form as if it were a can of tomatoes under the heel of an industrial press, a jet of James sent firing out of a breach and into the water like a silly string of vicsera.

In that moment I knew there was nothing that could be done.

By Diver Law, I was bonded to James Cameron's earthly responsibilities.

I would have to write and direct the next four Avatar sequels.

III

I should be fine with being out of my depth. Christ. And yet I find myself floundering (stop -- you don't have time to be horny), this responsibility tied to me like lead weights around my ankles. I'm not any kind of director, let alone one who should be responsible for a multi-billion-dollar franchise. The lawyers have found no way around it and no way out. There must be four Avatar sequels, the money must be spent, and I must be the one to make it happen. But I cannot possibly do the thing that is asked of me. I cannot do what I need to do.

IV

Am I not a creative being? Do I not ache and burst with the same pain and failure and urges as Melville, or Hemingway, or del Toro? I am large, I contain multitudes! Creation should not be rationed to only those qualified! Have I not something to say about this most human condition? The more I think of this burden of mine, the more it swells from itch to pleasure. I feel like my pipes will burst if I do not turn this tap, and fill to the brim these Avatars with myself!

I must do what I need to do. I will prove I am not just the man who had to make Avatar 2, 3, and 4 because I am legally bound to, and along the way if some of myself makes its way into the movies, would that be so bad? It is time for me to show the world who Phil Glanschirp really is.

V

[bucky-my-barnes]

Preference #4: First Date!

Tony:

The two of you walked towards the diner that Tony had in mind, while part of you was so tired all you wanted to do was sleep for a year. The other part was screaming about how you were going on a date with Tony Fuckin’ Stark. “Toby is doing much better by the way, that is the name of the little boy you saved earlier today.”You explained with a bright smile.

“You mean the little boy we saved today, he wasn’t even technically alive when I showed up, that was all you darling.”Tony said placing a hand on the small of your back as he held the door open for you.

“I suppose that is true, but you did get him to the hospital in time for them to actually save his life.”You chuckled following him towards a booth in the corner. The host laid menus down in front of you so you started to look before ordering whatever sounded the best.

After you ate you couldn’t help but get lost in his brown eyes as he spoke about his life and what he had been through. Softly he placed his hand on top of yours breaking you out of the small trance he had caught you in. “The reason I asked you out is because you have a lot of the qualities I admired in my mother. The want to help someone even when it’s not up to you, the kindness I see in your eyes. I really hope that you will allow me to take you out again.”Tony said sincerely as two slices of apple pie were placed in front of you, the vanilla ice cream melting slowly on top.

“I would love to Tony.”You replied digging your fork in happily. Sure you knew of his past, but everyone has one and he was being extremely sincere so you wanted to give him a chance.

Steve:

Steve had taken it upon himself to plan every detail of your date out, the only thing was he didn’t seem keen on sharing any of them with you. Beyond the fact that you needed to bring a swimsuit, you had no idea what he had in store for the two of you. Getting ready you looked in the mirror one last time as your doorbell rang, revealing that he had arrived. Walking out you saw his motorcycle feeling a little bit of fear in the pit of your stomach as you had never ridden one before. Handing you a helmet he flashed you a knowing smile, able to see through to your true feelings.

“Don’t worry I promise I’ll take care of you.”He chuckled wrapping your arms around his waist taking off down the road. It took awhile to reach your destination but when you did, it left you speechless. There was a picnic set up on the beach down by the water, and it seemed you two were the only ones there despite it being a rather nice day out.

“Wow, all of this for me?”You asked in disbelief as you walked towards the blanket sitting down. Not only was there food of all types but there was an expensive bottle of wine that you were sure had to be paid for by Tony because who could afford something like that naturally?

“It will never be enough.”Steve smirked as he handed you over a glass of wine, and a long stem rose.

The two of you talked and ate for what felt like minutes but was probably more like hours. Suddenly he got a glint in his eye that seemed rather mischievous taking you by surprise in that moment. Standing up, he grabbed you throwing you over his shoulder running off towards the water dunking you both below the surface. As you reemerged you splashed water at him furiously to try and get him back, even though you were both already soaked head to toe. Laughing he picked you up twirling you around, the sunset causing a light glow being cast over you the indiscretion quickly forgotten.    

Clint:

When Clint told you to meet him at SHIELD at 6 PM for your date you were curious as to where you were going but it require athletic like clothing and footwear he mentioned. So you weren’t exactly surprised or upset when you found out you were going hiking at some foot trails nearby. Taking your hand in his he started leading the way along one of the paths, seemingly knowing exactly where he was taking you. The conversation was light and fruitful making you feel at ease, but then again you always did around him. Reaching the top of a cliffside you were amazed at the sight in front of you.

The sun was setting in the valley leaving the sky a multitude of different shades of pink, yellow, orange, and just a hint of purple fading into the dusk. “It’s so beautiful Clint.”You marveled unable to tear your eyes away not even realizing he was looking at you with the same fervor.

“You’re right it is.”He said still not even caring about the sunset. “I also brought pizza and beer, I know it’s not the most romantic of dinners but I thought it would be fitting after being healthy and hiking all the way here.”He joked as he pulled his backpack off his back pulling a blanket out setting it down for the two of you to sit. Then he pulled out containers of food, and bottles of beer that were miraculously still cold.

“To future dates!”You declared holding your beer out tapping the neck against his in cheers.

“To many more.”He said with a smirk before taking a drink finally taking in the beauty that was spread across the sky.

Bruce:

Bruce had invited you to dinner and after some debate you had decided you would go to a new local Japanese style restaurant. From the menu they provided online it seemed like a lot of new things that you both had never tried but wanted to. Sure it wasn’t the most romantic of options but you didn’t really need that to have a good time with him. Taking your seat across from him you really wanted to reach up and touch the soft curls lining his forehead. It took every ounce of you not to, fearing that it would make it a little awkward. This was your first date after all, one of many you hoped if it all went well.

The waiter approached with a pen and pad in hand waiting for your order. “Why don’t you just surprise us with your best dishes?”Bruce suggested looking to you for confirmation, accepting your nod. All the different foods were amazing, there wasn’t anything that the two of you didn’t like.

Upon finishing you felt so full that you were groaning playfully holding your stomach. “Good food, but even better company.”You said softly making Bruce turn a bright pink across his cheeks.

“I agree, and I really want to see you again.”Bruce said touching your hand that lie on the table softly.

“You act like you have a choice.”You joked leaning over the table kissing his cheek. “You are kind of stuck with me now.”You laughed making him smile wider than you had ever seen before. It was one that you swore was going to be on your mind everyday for the rest of your life.

Thor:

Months had passed since you had last seen Thor, and you had begun to wonder if you were truly ever going to see him again. That was until Jane called you at five that morning alerting you that it appeared Thor was due to appear any time now. Of course you were there awaiting his arrival when it did happen almost two hours later. “THOR!”You called out running directly for him leaping into his arms happily.

“Lady/Sir (Y/N) I have missed you ever so much.”He shouted loudly picking you up into a bone crushing hug that you would definitely be feeling later. “I have returned to take you on our date or outing.”He said pushing the hair out of your eyes upon setting you back down on the ground. “I have heard stories of this place called a Zoo where creatures of Midgard are contained, I would like to see them all!”He said boisterously.

“That is a great idea, we can make a day of it. I know the perfect place, they will even let you feed some of the animals.”You explained leading him over to your car. “By the time we get there they will probably be open!”You smiled unlocking the door for him before getting in the driver’s seat.

Reaching your destination you felt the excitement oozing off of Thor, making you feel like you were a little kid again yourself. “Let’s go to the petting zoo first, it’s always the best even if it’s for children.”You giggled grabbing his hand dragging him over to where the goats and other animals deemed safe to pet were held.

As the day came to a close you felt so much closer to the God having shared some of your culture with him, then hearing his stories of his family and Asgard. Also you were relishing in the fact that he was now going to be a part of the Avengers and therefore on Midgard more often. It was the beginning of something beautiful, or at least you wanted it to be.

Loki:

Taking Loki’s hand you kept your eyes locked on each other, and it was probably a good thing for the staring that was taking place would have been quite intimidating. Not only were you receiving it from onlookers but from other dancers as well. It seemed that there were many who were jealous of you, and your closeness to the Prince. Smoothly you moved in time across the floor, in flawless actions making you seem almost like you were gliding.

When you finally took in those around you, you began to feel a little out of place truly wondering if you were good enough to be dancing with Loki at all. Quickly he pulled you in closer than was considered appropriate but only to whisper in your ear. “They are just jealous that I get to dance with the most exquisite one alive for the entire night.”

“I believe it’s actually because you deserve better than I.”You responded softly airing your true thoughts knowing it was better than lying to the God of Lies and Mischief.

“There is no better than yourself (Y/N), don’t believe that for a moment.”Loki said spinning you elegantly before twirling you back into his chest, making it so you could feel his heart beating as wildly as yours. The faces in the crowd now but a memory at his words, it seemed they weren’t kidding when they stated that he had a silver tongue. As the words would stay with you long after he had spoken them, even if he didn’t realize it.

Pietro:

Picky wasn’t the right word when it came to how you were when it came to dates. It had to be something genuine and not just dinner and a movie. Sure that was okay sometimes but you wanted originality, and Pietro was happy to provide. When you woke up that morning there was a cup of coffee waiting for you on your nightstand somehow still steaming with a note laid underneath. It told you to meet him on the roof of Avenger Tower at 10 PM for the date he had been planning, and to wear something comfortable. If anything you had to give him an A for effort so far, it was more than others had done for you previously.

Wearing a comfy hoodie, and sweatpants you headed up to the roof about five minutes before 10. Upon reaching the top you couldn’t believe your eyes, a giant projector screen was set up, accompanied by fairy lights gently glowing around a set up of blankets and pillows. Popcorn, pizza, candy, soda, any kind of movie snack you could imagine was set up in front of it. Standing before you was Pietro in a similar outfit to your own holding out a bouquet of (Y/F/F) with a sheepish look on his face.

“I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I wanted our first date to be extra special.”Pietro said biting his lower lip waiting for your reaction.

“Piet, I love it! No one has even taken the time to do anything like this for me before.”You said still in awe as you wrapped your arms around his neck happily embracing him. Sitting down next to him digging in to the feast of junk food in front of you while the movie started to play. Surprisingly enough it was (Y/F/M) and you had never told him that it was. “Wow I can honestly say I didn’t see this coming.”You said smirking widely now rendering him speechless.

Peter Parker:

Too many thoughts were running through your head as you started getting ready for Homecoming. Having tried on several different outfits Nat and Wanda had picked out for you, you finally decided on the blue outfit with the red accent pieces. It may or may not have been subconscious, or slightly on purpose. Also you had long decided if Peter revealed his secret to you for any reason you would not hold back yours any longer. While your father had no idea of your plan, it didn’t matter because like him once you had made up your mind, it was nigh impossible to get you to change it.

To keep up appearances you met Peter at the dance so that you didn’t have to direct him to Avenger Tower where you lived. Even your father had no idea you were going on a date with his intern/Spider-Kid and for now you wanted to keep it that way. Falling for the boy you were supposed to be protecting wasn’t your intention going into it, but you couldn’t stop yourself either. “Wow you look amazing.”A voice said breaking you out of your thoughts causing you to look up and see Peter in his suit.

“So do you.”You said your mouth dropping open just slightly at his appearance. “Should we go in?”You asked timidly, the feeling being genuine for once instead of a front.

“Uh yeah definitely.”Peter said holding his arm out for you to take, immediately directing you to the dance floor once inside. A slow song started playing and you both started swaying along with the music, him gently leading you. Words weren’t needed you both were saying everything you needed with just your eyes, never once leaving the other’s. It was a night you were going to remember for the rest of your life, and you never wanted it to end.

Bucky:

Since it was an impromptu date there weren’t a whole lot of choices that you guys could do that wasn’t one of the regular options. That was until you remembered that your friend’s band usually did live music in the park during lunch time on Wednesday’s. Grabbing Bucky’s hand you started dragging him towards Central Park only stopping to grab some street meat from one of the vendors perched down there clearly taking advantage of the music. Sitting on the ground you patted the spot next to you for him to take. Luckily the band was just getting started and they played a lot of soft rock music easy to listen to.

“So you hear a lot about my life story what about yours?”Bucky asked taking a bite of his lunch looking to you curiously.

“Well my family life has always been a little unstable so I ran away from home at 16 to live with my Grandparents and from there I wanted to be able to help others like me. So I started studying psychology and got into therapy myself so that I could become a healthier person in the long run. It hasn’t really been easy, but I have gotten to meet some people in my life that have made my struggles worth it. I am glad to say you are one of them Bucky.”You explained with a small smile placing your hand on his knee.

“I didn’t think I could have a life outside of what HYDRA had made me, but you have proved me very wrong and I have never been more thankful for anyone besides Steve.”Bucky said trying to refrain from getting choked up.

“I’m not going anywhere Bucky, I’ll be here as long as you want me to.”You said reassuringly leaning your head on his shoulder letting the music take you both over, living in the moment.

Sam:

Pulling on your favorite jeans and a sweater you wanted to be comfortable but warm when you and Sam took on the Haunted House. You had to admit it was a creative idea, and it was something you hadn’t done since you were younger. When you guys got there you decided to just jump right in and start with the haunted attractions they had to offer. First was a haunted maze which wouldn’t have been so bad had you not gotten followed by someone a little too closely making you grip on tightly to Sam’s hand. Sure he was an Avenger and fully capable of keeping you safe, but then why did he look terrified too?

“Run (Y/N)!”He yelled out suddenly dragging you through the maze every which direction getting you both horribly lost. Now you weren’t being followed, but at the same time you also didn’t know if you would be able to find your way out from here. Eventually you had to call someone from the staff to help you get out and instead of immediately going to the next thing you decided to grab some hot chocolate from the concession stand.

“Well for an Avenger you're not very brave.”You joked blowing on your drink before taking a sip.

“I saved you didn’t I?”Sam asked defensively eyeing you curiously over his drink taking a drink himself.

“Define save, and maybe replace with got us hopelessly lost?”You laughed nudging him lightly enough not to spill on him, happy the warmth of the drink was bringing feeling back to your hands.

“Hey any time I spend with you, is worth getting hopelessly lost for.”Sam said kissing your cheek making you flush super warm at his touch.

Natasha:

Actually you had never been on a formal date before so you didn’t really know what to expect, having been a product of HYDRA. Since you hadn’t really experienced it before Nat wanted to go do something fun but intimate at the same time. Dancing was the solution that she had come up with, and well it was her so you weren’t about to argue. Getting dressed up in one of your favorite outfits that made you look sexy, you couldn’t help but check yourself out in the mirror approvingly. Walking out to meet her at her room you lost your voice the second she walked out in a killer red halter style dress that accented her every curve.

“Is it just you or is it hot in here?”You blurted out before you could even think about it but luckily it earned a genuine laugh from the woman before you.

“I think it’s all you babe.”Nat said smirking giving you a quick wink before taking your arm leading the way to the car.

Reaching the club you had no idea what was going to be inside but your idea certainly wasn’t a sea of people spanning the entire dance floor. Suddenly you found yourself in the center of the madness with Nat’s body pressed up against yours. There wasn’t a song you recognized but that didn’t matter, the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of her against you. Placing your hands on her waist you matched her movements unable to believe you were actually getting to hold her at all. Closing your eyes you soaked up each moment wanting to spend forever in her arms.

Wanda:

Deciding on a cute little Italian Bistro your friend recommended you couldn’t wait for your date with Wanda. Calling ahead you made a reservation and asked for them to reserve a specific bottle of wine that you knew was kind of pricey but totally worth it for her. Putting on a nice outfit that consisted of black pants, a red top, and a nice black leather jacket you took a good look in the mirror before going to pick her up. Knocking on her door you were amazed at just how beautiful she looked in front of you in a little black dress with her red leather jacket over it. “You are so gorgeous.”You gasped barely above a whisper earning a huge smile from her.

“Thank you, you look incredibly sexy if I must say. I do like the leather jacket.”Wanda smirked shamelessly looking you up and down.

“I thought you might wear yours so I wanted to match.”You admitted rubbing the back of your head slightly ashamed as you opened the car door for her.

Entering the restaurant it was everything you had been told it was, including down to the bottle of wine. The waiter pouring it over chilled grapes in large wine glasses before the two of you. “A toast, to the most beautiful girl I have ever met, and hopefully to more dates like this one.”You said holding yours out to Wanda.

“To many many more.”Wanda nodded agreeing as she hit her glass on yours before taking a sip relishing in it’s complex taste making you wish that you were suddenly that wine glass between her lips.

[kashmiresims]

Wild Scarlet Oasis

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Leona didn't usually feel nervous. She had no qualms performing in front of people but meeting someone with such notoriety in the music industry as Edric King was a little bit-nerve racking. She had taken a taxi to the Red Scarlet Oasis where she was to meet the singer and his agent.  

The front of the adobe building was covered in ivy and the area around the front was beautifully landscaped with a variety of native desert plants. She couldn't see the actual oasis due to a large white, garden wall blocking the view.

Inside, Leona came upon a reception desk. There was new age synth music playing softly in the background with an upbeat rhythm, and sounded like a zen fiesta. Leona didn't think was a thing but it was the best of her ability to describe it.

"Hello and Welcome to the Wild Scarlet Oasis, do you have a reservation?" A cheery blonde looked up and asked with a smile from behind the desk.

"Edric King is expecting me," Leona felt a surge of pride and pleasure saying such a phrase as if though she was a very important person.

"Your name?"  

"Leona Hillenburg."

The receptionist seemed to look over a list she had in front of her and then nodded to herself, "Mr. King and his party are with the masseuse presently, would you like to check your bag?" She held out her hand and indicated toward Leona's purse.

Leona hesitated, wondering if she should trust the employee with her bag and decided it was acceptable. This is wasn't a place that fit with the rough and tumble reputation Pandora had. It was classy. She didn't see why she would need her purse if she was just eating lunch with them anyway. She handed her purse to the receptionist and asked where the masseuse could be found.

"Go through the sunroom, out the double door, through the open cantina and they are in the cabana on the right," she instructed, "and please enjoy your visit to the Wild Scarlet Oasis."

Leona wondered where the 'red scarlet' part of the name came from as she walked through the double doors to the backside of the oasis. What she saw, immediately answered her question. The oasis was surrounded in lush plant-life, palm trees and a multitude of red-bloomed flowers. Only red flowers.

She followed the path around the oasis to right and found the masseuse's cabana.  

There was an audible crack as the masseuse worked and the man on the table shouted, "Plumbobs man, I'm paying you for a massage not a broken back!"

The Masseuse apologized profusely and mentioned something about a lot of tension in the lower vertebrae. There were two additional people lounging in in outdoor chairs and watching the display. One was a blond man in a suite and the other, a woman with abundant braids.

Leona cleared her throat to get the attention of someone in the entourage.

The man and woman looked to her with puzzlement before Leona said, "I'm Leona Hillenburg and I believe you were expecting me."

They still seemed confused as they looked at each other and back toward her so Leona clarified, "I'm here to do backup vocals for Edric King."

The suited man stood at once and held out his hand, "Ah yes, Miss Hillenburg—my apologies for the slow reaction—it's quite hot out here and I'm afraid we are starting to suffer from heat exhaustion."

She took his hand and shook it, a bit concerned at his statement. Wearing a suit like that in the desert probably wasn't helping. But it was clear the blond's statement was meant as a poke to the man on the table—presumably Edric King—because he replied, "You can go inside if you can't handle heat, Zeigler."

He ignored Edric's remark and said, "I'm Luke Zeigler, Mr. King's manager. He will be done in a few minutes but I can offer you a seat in his private cabana until then," Luke motioned toward one of the huts down the walkway. Leona was a bit put off that she had to wait on him, she was on time for the meeting so why couldn’t they extend the same courtesy? She held her tongue and nodded, following the manager’s lead.

"I'm so glad you were able to make it. It's been hell trying to find the right voice to match to Edric's singing. My team was impressed with your range on the tape your agent submitted to us," Luke said as they walked down the path.

"Thank you," Leona said and felt humbled.

"No, thank you!" Luke smiled and gestured toward the opening to the private cabana which Leona followed and took a seat in one of the chairs, "Mr. King should be in shor—"

"Hell of a Day to be wearing that stuffy suit, eh Zeigler?" they heard Edric King as he walked up behind Luke and slapped him on the shoulder. 

He turned his sight to her and smiled. She felt her breath leave her for a split second; by the great green diamond the man was attractive.

Antoine was handsome but Edric King was on another level. He had a very ethereal type of aesthetic—soft lips, sculpted cheekbones, and piercing eyes that could be seen through the sunglasses he wore—it was a type of male beauty that could leave a girl without her wits if she stared too long at him. Luckily, after her initial internal swoon, Leona was quick to gather her senses.

"You're the back up singer?" Edric King raised a brow and looked her over from head to toe with a slight smirk. There seemed to be something akin to doubt in his tone.

"We went through hundreds of auditions to find the perfect harmonic match to your voice, and this is the one person who could handle keeping up with your insane key changes.”

Luke seemed to be chiding the singer but Edric paid no mind until the last part about his ‘insane’ key changes—he promptly threw a glare at his manager in offense.

"Once you two are done chatting, please join us for lunch at the cantina," the woman said with a smile as she held a clipboard to her chest. Luke turned to depart and she followed leaving the two singers alone.

"So have you performed professionally before?" Edric sat on the arm of the chair across from her and crossed his arms. He had a heavy Quincian accent, where his spoken o's sounded more like a short 'a'.  Quincy was a region on the opposite coast from Kashmire.

“You mean publicly?”

“No, like have you ever been paid to sing,” he clarified.

She was about to say yes but then remembered that the Battle of the Bands, the event that had boosted her reputation as a good singer in Kashmire—she technically wasn’t paid to sing at that. She did win money from it though.

She shook her head, “Not really. A band I sang in won a regional competition—”

“So I’m supposed to trust that you can be my back up vocalist at a live concert when you have no professional experience?”

“Yes, I have performed in public numer—”

“Do you even know my songs?”

The way he said 'my songs' came off a bit pompous but he had the right. They were in fact, his songs. He could afford to be arrogant, but that didn’t mean she had to like it nor stand for being interrupted so much.

Leona felt a bubble of agitation rise within her and stood abruptly which caused Edric to flinch and cease his rapid fire questioning. She pantomimed holding a microphone and belted out the intro to a song of his that wasn’t on the charts, in fact was buried in the number 10 spot on his album before the most recent which contained these ‘insane key changes’ his manager had mentioned.

She pointed at him while continuing to sing and stared at him intensely, turning up her stage performance even though they were in nothing but a small outdoor space.

They didn’t take their eyes off each other as she continued to sing. He seemed to be searching for a weakness and she was trying to prove that he wasn’t going to find a better vocalist than her. She couldn’t get a read on what he thought of her impromptu performance but at least he wasn’t interrupting her anymore.

She finally ended the song and to her utter relief his lips quirked up into a smirk of a different calibur and he gave soft, slow applause, “Well that answers that.”

"What kind of vocalist would I be to come here unprepared?" Leona raised a brow, and dared him to interrupt her again.

He paused, “That’s a rhetorical question, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Is this interrogation over?”

He sat back and looked her over again and made a small laugh at her annoyed tone, “How long have you been singing?”

“I’ve practiced every day since I was a little girl. Singing is my passion.”

“Mine too, so I guess we have that in common,” he stood up and stuck out his hand, “I look forward to you, Leona Hillenburg.”  

“Ditto,” she replied and gave it a firm shake the way her father always told her to when on job interviews. 

“Anyway, I’m famished, let’s get lunch,” he said and lead the way to the cantina. They emerged back into the bright sun. Leona wondered how Edric was not suffering the same as his manager in a black leather jacket.

“Aren’t you hot?” Leona asked, referring to his attire.

“Nah, this isn’t real leather. It’s a synthetic blend that looks like leather but it actually breathes really well—kind of like cotton,” Edric held out his arm and indicated she could feel the material.

It was soft, not slippery as she imagined it would have been. Well, that was a new fact she had learned.

“Besides, it’s not like I’m outside much to get too overheated.”

“Your concert tonight is outside,” she pointed out.

“Yeah but it’s at night. The desert during night time is actually quite cold,” he explained. Well, that was one fact Leona had forgotten from her earth science class in high school.

The cantina was a short walk away and it was shaded. There were a few tables and a bar. The woman and manager were already seated and chatting but stopped as Edric and Leona entered the vicinity.

“You’re just in time,” Luke waved them over. They sat down and a waiter served them plates of hamburgers.

As soon as Leona bit into it, she realized something was different. Edric watched her face with some sort of smug pleasure and said, “It’s vegetarian. The ‘burger’ is actually made of beans.”

Well that wasn’t so bad. She liked beans. She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed before asking, “Are you a vegetarian?”

“I’m pescetarian,” he replied.

“Is that a religion?” she looked to Luke and asked.

Edric King belted out a genuine laugh and Luke smiled with humor. It made Leona feel like she was missing out on something.

“It’s s a type of diet,” Luke responded.

“Yeah it means I don’t eat meat except for fish. Red meat is kind of bad for you, you know?”

Leona was raised on meat. She was a very steak-and-potatoes type woman. But she figured to each his own. The burger wasn’t ‘bad’ per se just unexpected. She ate it heartily since she too, was famished. She hadn’t had much to eat since waking up before dawn for the long road trip to Pandora.

“So the schedule after lunch is to get you a space to warm up with the band. We’ll run through all the songs on your set, then your opening acts will take stage and you both go to hair and makeup, after you are presentable, VIP fans are allowed backstage before the concert for autographs. At 9:30 you take the stage.”

“Sounds good,” Edric said. Leona blinked, catching only half of what Luke had rattled out on the agenda—it all seemed so fast! Technically they had eight hours until they took the stage but that was a lot of stuff to do!

“There’s an a private after party at the nightclub that’s optional but all the bands are invited. Antony Biacotti arranged it,” the woman added.

“Is Antony actually going to be there?” Luke asked, his interest piqued.

“No, I’m afraid not. He is in town though. I was just given a memo about it through his secretary this morning.”

“Well, I guess we can make an appearance,” Luke decided.

“It’s free booze, so we’re definitely making an appearance,” Edric amended.

Leona sat silently, wondering if this was how it was to be a famous singer—going through agendas and receiving invites to after parties. She had finished her food before the rest of them which left her awkwardly sitting there and listening to the conversation. She didn’t know anything she could contribute. She didn’t know who Antony Biacotti was, though he sounded like an important figure. She didn’t even know this woman’s name who was a part of Edric’s entourage.

“I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name,” Leona leaned forward and said.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I never introduced myself. I’m—”

“Caroline, she’s my personal assistant,” Edric interrupted her. Caroline didn’t seem ruffled as if it was a common occurrence. “She gets me coffee, tells me I’m pretty, makes me sign paperwork...”

“I actually have some paperwork for you to sign, Miss Hillenburg,” Caroline ignored Edric’s quip and said before bringing out her clipboard onto the table, pushing it toward Leona.

“What is it?” Leona asked, flipping through the pages.

“Your agent negotiated a compensation of 600 simoleons for vocal services for this concert. Your signature initiates payment, nothing more,” Luke explained. “However, if you prove to be a good fit we can work out a contract for more of a long term situation after the concert.”

She already proved to Edric she was a good fit but his manager had the final say. Leona didn’t worry about impressing Luke though, because from their short conversations so far, she already had the distinct impression he thought she was the best fit.

Caroline handed a pen over and Leona tapped the back of it against her lip as she read the paperwork and a set of numbers caught her eye, “How many hours am I lending my vocal talents to Mr. King today?”

“His set is an hour and forty-five minutes and practice should be two hours,” Caroline answered.

“The amount in the paperwork indicates I will be paid 215 simoleons per hour,” Leona pointed at a line on the second page, “The overall compensation of 600 simoleons isn’t correct because the performance set at an hour and forty-five minutes plus the practice set of two hours equals a total of three hours and forty-five minutes that you need my vocal talents. Take that time multiplied by the amount per hour in this paperwork and the compensation would be 806.25 simoleons.”

She glanced up and all three were staring at her. Edric looked confused, Caroline looked embarrassed, and Luke looked impressed.

“It’s basic arithmetic,” Leona shrugged and scooted the clipboard back across the table to Caroline without signing.

“I’m so sorry Miss Hillenburg. I will correct those numbers as soon as possible and print out fresh paperwork,” Caroline looked genuinely apologetic and took her clipboard back, looking through the papers at what Leona had pointed out.

“That..was a very good catch,” Luke noted, “You did that math all in your head within a few seconds?”

“Like I said, it was basic arithmetic,” Leona repeated. She didn’t like making a big deal of her gift with numbers because then people just expected her to be a calculator and asked her stupid math questions like it was a sort of novelty.

Edric was finished eating and stood from his chair, “Well Miss arithmetic, shall we?” 

Leona cringed at the new nickname. Caroline followed Edric; she had taken her clipboard back. “We’ll take the limo to the theater and get you started practicing with Mr. King and the band so that you are able to perform your best tonight.”

Leona felt her heart flutter with nervousness again. She had to remind herself this shouldn’t be different from any other public performance and if she pulled it off the rewards would be worth all the effort.

“Good luck out there tonight,” Luke said and smiled with reassurance.

Leona swallowed her nerves and returned the smile—she was one step closer to making her dream come true!

Credit @maryannsims2 for making the sim I used for Edric King.

[hebrewing]

Hebrew Basics #5: Verbs, pt. 3: Heavy Verb Stems

Hi everyone!

This lesson I’ll finally be finishing up Hebrew verb stems with the last group of stems: פֻּעַל, פִּעֵל and הִתְפַּעֵל - also called the heavy stems (בִּנְיַנְים כְּבֵדִים binyanim kfvedim) or the double stems (בִּנְיַנְים כְּפוּלִים binyanim kfulim).

The main feature distinguishing them from other stems is a dagesh on the 2nd radical letter, which also gives them their names (note that because ע is a guttural letter it cannot take a dagesh, so it doesn’t appear in the very name of the verb stems - but it’s there). Historically, this dagesh signified gemination, or doubling of a consonant, much like an Arabic shaddah. For instance: כָּתַב ‘(he) wrote’ would be pronounced katav, whereas כַּתָּב ‘reporter’ would be pronounced kattav. These days letters with a dagesh are not pronounced differently than the same letter without a dagesh, but its effect can still be seen - for example in בג״ד כפ״ת, that did not go under ‘softening’ when geminate, and therefore retain their hard pronunciation in verb and noun stems that contain a dagesh.

Now let’s leave the technicalities aside and dive into the verb stems’ individual meanings.

פִּעֵל is one of the most common verb stems in the language, and can take a wide variety of different meanings. From standard active verbs:

דִּבֶּר diber ‘to speak’ סִפַּר siper ‘to tell; to cut hair’ צִלֵּם tsilem ‘to photograph’

To more ‘powerful’ version of equivalent פָּעַל verbs:

שָׁבַר shavar ‘to break’ - שׁ��בֵּר shiber ‘to break (purposefully)’ שָׁמַר shamar ‘to save’ - שִׁמֵּר shimer ‘to conserve’ חָשַׁב chashav ‘to think’ - חִשֵּׁב chishev ‘to calculate’

Or even causative verbs, like הפעיל:

גָּדַל gadal ‘to grow’ - גִּדֵּל gidel ‘to grow (e.g. a plant)’ קַר qar ‘cold’ - קֵרֵר qerer ‘to cool’ חַם cham ‘hot’ - חִמֵּם chimem ‘to heat’

In short, it’s a very versatile verb stem that carries a multitude of different, sometimes unrelated meanings.

פֻּעַל, much like הֻפְעַל, is the passive counterpart of פִּעֵל. No more, no less.

שִׁמֵּר shimer ‘to conserve’ - שֻׁמַּר shumar ‘to be conserved’ חִשֵּׁב chishev ‘to calculate’ - חֻשַּׁב chushav ‘to be calculates’ גִּדֵּל gidel ‘to grow’ - גֻּדַּל gudal ‘to be grown’ קֵרֵר kerer ‘to cool’ - קֹרַר qorar ‘to be cooled’

הִתְפַּעֵל is an interesting stem. It is the only third stem in a group, which poses the question: what meaning can it have? Both other groups have just an active stem (פָּעַל, הִפְעִיל, פִּעֵל) and a passive stem (נִפְעַל, הֻפְעַל, פֻעַל), so there’s no other ‘third stem’ you can compare it to and deduce its general meaning from.

That is, until you look at נִפְעַל again: As I said in lesson 3, many נִפְעַל verbs are passive counterparts to פָּעַל verbs, but many others are not: there are also stative verbs and verbs denoting processes. What I failed to say, however, is that some of these are reflexive verbs, where the subject acts upon themselves, in a way. The verb נֶעֱמַד ‘to stand up’ (which I deemed a verb describing the process of standing up) can also be seen as ‘to set oneself up’ - or the reflexive counterpart of הֶעֱמִיד ‘to set up,’ itself the causative form of עָמַד ‘to stand,’ or ‘to be standing’ (as in, to cause something/someone to stand up).

הִתְפַּעֵל’s main meaning is the reflexive form of many, but not all, פִּעֵל verbs:

סִפַּר siper ‘to tell; to cut hair’ - הִסְתַּפֵּר histaper ‘to have a haircut’ קֵרֵר qerer ‘to cool’ - הִתְקָרֵר hitqarer ‘to become cold (to make oneself cold)’ חִמֵּם chimem ‘to heat’ - הִתְחַמֵּם hitchamem ‘to become hot (to make oneself cold)’ צִלֵּם tsilem ‘to photograph’ - הִצְטַלֵּם hitstalem ‘to have one’s picture taken’

Another different, yet related meaning is reciprocity. Reciprocal verbs are verbs where the given action is performed mutually in-between a pair or group. This might seem like a difficult quality to grasp, but in reality in isn’t very complicated. For instance:

כָּתַב katav ‘to write’ - הִתְכַּתֵּב hitkatev ‘to correspond by text (to write to one another)’ לָחַשׁ lachash ‘to whisper’ - הִתְלַחְשֵׁשׁ hitlachshesh ‘to whisper to one another’* *Consonant reduplication helps emphasize the reciprocal meaning of the verb דִּבֶּר diber ‘to speak’ - הִדַּבֵּר hidaber ‘to communicate by speech (to talk to one another)’** **This is a very tricky verb to translate, since it is quite rare outside of mediation circles

Some of these verbs have difficult translations, mostly because such a concept doesn’t really exist in English. But a point you need to remember throughout your language studies is that translations aren’t language. To learn a language, you should not rely on translations to understand a given text. Every language has its unique grammatical constructions and ways of speech that might not be translatable to English. This is especially prevalent among languages distant to English (an example close to me is Korean, which I have been studying myself), and although Hebrew and English sentence structure is relatively similar, they still have vastly different grammar.

If you have a keen eye you might have noticed some strange pronunciations that seem to deviate from the regular הִתְפַּעֵל pattern:

הִסְתַּפֵּר histaper ‘to have a haircut’ הִצְטַלֵּם hitstalem ‘to have one’s picture taken’ הִדַּבֵּר hidaber ‘to communicate by speech (to talk to one another)’

One reason behind this is assimilation, where a consonant’s pronunciation changes because of the surrounding consonants. This is done by speakers in order to make pronunciation easier. For example, if you insert the root ד־ב־ר into the הִתְפַּעֵל stem you should get *הִתְדַּבֵּר hitdaber. However, the /td/ consonant cluster is hard on the tongue, so over time the /t/ assimilated into the /d/ to form a consonant cluster /dd/, or one geminate /d/ consonant (which eventually got to be pronounced only as one /d/): הִתְדַּבֵּר > הִדְדַּבֵּר > הִדַּבֵּר. 

Another reason is consonant metathesis, where two consonants change places in order to make pronunciation easier. This can be seen in הִסְתַּפֵּר histaper, where the /s/ and the /t/ switched places to make a /ts/ cluster into an easier /st/ cluster: הִתְסַפֵּר > הִסְתַּפֵּר.

Explaining the change for each consonant combination is cumbersome, so here’s a list of changes:

ט and צ, marked with an asterisk, are quite complicated. You probably noticed I wrote them as /t’/ and /s’/ instead of plain /t/ and /ts/. This is because they weren’t all pronounced as they are today. If you recall, in lesson 1 I recalled many “historical reasons” that there are so many homophones in Hebrew. This is because over its history in the diaspora, certain communities (namely Ashkenazi and Sephardi Jews) merged many of those consonants, and in modern times, since the Sephardi reading of the Bible was adopted as the pronunciation of Hebrew after its revival - these mergers stuck. Among these, Sephardim and Ashkenazim merges ת and ט. Originally it was pronounced as an “emphatic” consonant, meaning it came more “from the throat” (If you are familiar with Arabic, it was pronounced like Arabic ط): hence I wrote it as /t’/.

צ was pronounced differently between communities, but originally it was pronounced similarly to ט, “from the throat” (like Arabic ص). However, the Ashkenazi pronunciation /ts/, as if it were a combination of ס and ת, stuck in Modern Hebrew.

The different consonant morphings happened centuries before the Jewish diaspora, so the consonants were still pronounced as they were originally. Back then it was easier to pronounce /s’t’/ than /s’t/ because both consonants were emphatic, so it morphed. These days it seems pointless, since ט and ת have the same phonetic value, but the correct spelling is nonetheless הִצְטַלֵּם. Many speakers make the mistake of writing הִצְתַּלֵּם, but it is just that - a spelling mistake.

Past Tense

Verbs marked with 2, as usual, undergo vowel reduction that turns a shva into a hataf /a/ (סֲ) under certain guttural letters, but you might have noticed something particularly strange in these verbs under the פֻּעַל stem - the characteristic /u/ (סֻ) changes to an /o/ (סֹ). This is because of a phenomenon in Hebrew called “dagesh compensation,” תַּשְׁלוּם דָּגֶשׁ tashlum dagesh, where the vowel before a guttural letter with a dagesh gets intensified to accommodate the reduction of the dagesh.

Dagesh compensation typically happens in the double stems, however it occurs in נִפְעַל as well, in future tense conjugations. It goes as follows:

I marked where compensation occurs in bold, because it does not occur before every guttural letter.

Take note that although the vowel point changes in the first column, םַ, the pronunciation actually stays the same.

Furthermore, each letter handles vowel reduction differently, as you can see. א always takes a hataf (םֱ, םֲ, םֳ) instead of a shva, ר never, and under ה, ע, ח whether the shva changes to a hataf changes on a case to case basis. Keep in mind that this also means the pronunciation is different: when the reduced vowel is rendered as a םְ it can be pronounced either as a /e/ or as no vowel, depending on the following consonant; when it is rendered as a hataf it can be pronounced either as /a/, /e/ or /o/, depending on the identity of the hataf.

If the guttural vowel has any vowel other than םְ, it is conserved and does not change in spite of the vowel intensification (a can seen in the last column, נִפְעַל).

I didn’t write the vowel forms in the tables according to the correct compensated forms (due to the 2nd radical of פ־ע־ל‎‎ being a guttural) because that would mean a very messy table. I expect you to think for yourselves and write for yourself what the correct forms of the verbs, taking dagesh compensation into account. It isn’t that hard actually, just knowing where /i/ becomes /e/ and when /u/ becomes /o/. (I did, however, include two forms when the vowel on the 2nd radical gets reduced, because that’s what I’ve been doing until now and I like consistency)

Future Tense

1st person conjugations have a different bowel of the prefix (א־) because the vowel on the א either changes to a hataf (אְ > אֲ) or it intensifies (אִ > אֶ).

Luckily that’s all There needs to be explained here. Everything peculiar here, you should already know the answer to from previous lessons

That’s it!

Next lessons I’ll be delving into the present tense and infinitives. Until then - keep your eyes peeled for more lessons!

See you next time :)

[orangebatsanctuary]

Get ready to mind-blown!

Saxifrage

by paperballoon

Heavenly & Hellish is quite a drastic theme, but no matter how ‘hellish’ this fic is about to be, I can guarantee with the OrangeBat divinity that you will head over heels with the ‘heavenly’ part, enormously! 

Find your salvation here. 

click ‘Keep reading’ below and read the Author’s Note first for warning.

***Please wait a while for reading on OrangeBat-Sanctuary website, due to some technical problem occurred. I could only post on Tumblr at the moment, and soon the authors will post on AO3*** 

Heavenly Reading!

Love,

Rosiel

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Warning: this fic contains contents that could potentially be disturbing, though those contents are never exactly stated or described, so proceed with caution. Please read the tags! All of them!

This fic is yet another experiment with Slaine’s POV. This means that there are huge plot holes I tried to find a normal way to explain, but since the story is solely focused on Orangebat and not the Vers-Earth politics and diplomacy, I hope you can ignore them.

Also, some parts of this fic were inspired by: an amazing 1994 movie which name I won’t reveal since I will terribly spoil those you haven’t seen it (but the rest, I am sure, will soon know which movie I’m talking about), a plot from another famous mecha anime, AND the amazing discussions with everyone in the Blue Roses Network, especially TururaJ and Ambyrfire and hakumei_hogosha, who helped me out with many scenes in this fic.

Again, a HUGE thanks to hakumei_hogosha for their wonderful help formatting this little monster, and also helping me unstuck and proceed with the fic while having great (AZ) discussions.

Last but not least, I want to thank Rosiel_AZ for organizing this amazing event, and giving me the opportunity to take part in it. Thank you so, so much for everything you have done for the AZ fandom.

And as a very last thing, this fanfic contains poetry lines from William Carlos Williams. I do not own those parts I used. No copyright infringement intended.

TAGS / Warnings: Post-canon, angst, romance, sexual content, non-consensual elements, mentions of abuse, mentions of violence, brief mentions of mental illness, vague mentions of torture, lots of stuff remains vague and unmentioned and so it will stay, disability, brief descriptions of violence and blood, chronic pain, also: dancing (?) and a puppy

    Saxifrage by paperballoon

18+

∞

i.

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo— If I cannot bend the will of heaven, I shall move hell

 Earth, 2019

  “A new warden will soon be appointed to this facility.” A voice says. Slaine needs some time to recognize the person talking to him across the metallic, cold table he is currently sitting. The person with the black eyepatch and dark blue jacket.

Slaine takes his time. His thoughts seem so grey and tired today. The small black and white squares in front of him make his eyes hurt; his head hurts, as he is trying to remember what exactly is happening in his life.

A name surfaces: Kaizuka Inaho.

He is an important person to me, isn’t he? This…Kaizuka Inaho.

“The new warden will arrive tomorrow.”

First, I’ll have to find her Highness.

“So I expect your cooperation…” A pause. “Troyard?”

No. No cooperation yet.  I’ll have to warn her Highness. Who will protect her if I’m gone? Who will ensure that the temperature in her garden will stay constant? The flowers shouldn’t die. The trees must grow taller like on Earth—no, no. Only destruction is awaiting Earth. Kaizuka, too. I must destroy Kaizuka Inaho. Like he destroyed me.

“Slaine Troyard. You are not listening.”

Slaine’s eyes form slits. I must remember who this is.

“You are obviously not feeling well again today…”

His face is showing no expressions, but his mouth is twisted…he is hurting. So many years…everyone, hurting for my sake. Her Highness…always hurting for my sake.

Slaine swallows down the sudden acidic taste in his mouth, and his throat burns. “How many years…has it been…?” His voice is hoarse and broken. Whether from hours of screaming or years of silence, Slaine cannot remember.

“…It’s been three years, Slaine Troyard.”

The door opens and Slaine jerks. A guard speaks. The door closes.

Slaine feels warmth. He looks down, there is a hand barely touching his, there are two hands now on the gray table, his own and…and…

His fingers curl around Inaho’s. Inaho’s eye widens.

Ah. I’ve found you, Orange.

Inaho’s hand is so warm.

Slaine withdraws his hand and murmurs,

“Yes…three years. I forgot. The Warden has patiently explained to me many times…”

“The warden will be dismissed, as he abused his power. As I said, his replacement will soon arrive. Slaine Troyard, you need to enlighten me on the incidents that occurred between you and the warden from December 16, 2016 until June 25, 2019—“

“I don’t remember.” Slaine whispers. He doesn’t exactly understand why, but the words leave his mouth, even if they feel twisted, even if they somehow feel —forced on him. (The Warden has visited his cell many times, that he remembers. Slaine can’t remember if he bowed his head and obeyed the orders or not.)

“You must tell me what you know.”

Slaine stays silent.

“Troyard…The man is gone. I personally took care of it.”

Silence.

“Never again will you be forced to—”

Blurry memories surface. They aren’t enough to provoke emotion, but they are enough for Slaine to slowly realize, eyes widening: “Don’t.”

“Do you remember now?”

“Yes.” Slaine whispers, “I am in hell.”

Inaho’s silence fails to give Slaine that wild, addictive satisfaction that (now he remembers) it once did.

“And you will never be able change that, Kaizuka Inaho.”

“…We’ll see about that.” Inaho whispers. It is the first time Slaine hears him whisper in such a way. He is usually exasperatingly confident, that Orange. But Slaine doesn’t want to curl his fingers around Inaho’s throat and count the seconds until it’s over, not anymore. He finds himself unable to care any longer about his once blazing hatred for Kaizuka Inaho.

Kaizuka is talking, but Slaine keeps staring at the blue color of his uniform pants. It reminds him of the sky, and of the multitude of birds flying in their blissful freedom towards every corner of the Earth. And all of that reminds him, her Highness will watch the birds with him one day, after she is free. So he needs to be ready for that day. He needs to keep trying to clear that sick, putrid fog off his mind. Perhaps he should stop taking all five pills—he should find a way to stop the guards from forcing them down his throat each morning, and soon. He becomes lost in memories of a happy past, until he notices that there is someone else in the room.

“…oyard?”

Slaine lifts his head. There is a young man sitting opposite of him, wearing a black eyepatch and a blue jacket. Slaine blinks, because something buried deep, very deep inside shudders painfully when their gazes meet.

The young man with the eyepatch is staring at him in a way that makes Slaine believe that person is in pain.

His face is showing no emotions…but his mouth is twisted. He seems to be hurting.

Slaine narrows his eyes and tries to focus.

I must remember who this is.

Slaine’s eyes snap open. He is awake now, swallowing gulps of air, his lungs burning. Still lost in the haze of the nightmare, Slaine grasps his pendant and lets out a low, pained whine, his shirt and thin sheets drenched with his sweat.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, to no one in particular.

The sound reaches the dark corners of his small cell, making the air stale. During the last few days, he has found the way to avoid consuming the pills; he forces himself to empty the contents of his stomach into the small sink of his cell each time the guards leave him alone. And despite the livid dreams and sometimes distracting thoughts, he has made progress, and bits of his crushed memory keep returning day by day.

He has learned to use his dreams and his drug-induced thoughts in order to ensure he keeps remembering things correctly. Talking aloud helps, too. “The person who keeps visiting every day…he is Kaizuka Inaho.” Slaine leans his body against the cold concrete of the wall, closing his eyes.

A memory flashes though his mind; at least, he hopes it is a memory and not another broken fragment of his imagination. He concentrates on it, on the weak neon light falling on Kaizuka’s expressionless face, as Kaizuka’s sad mouth opened and he spoke, as if reciting aloud from a text: ‘Perhaps you might not remember this, later…but I promise you, Slaine Troyard: things will never be this bad again.’

“That’s what Kaizuka said.” He stops his whispering, fingers now buried into his knotted hair, nails breaking into the skin. His head feels like splitting open from the pain. “The Warden—his sick games—I’m so tired of them—”

Slaine whimpers. His head is hammering with pain, making him feel weak and sick. His knees give away, and his back sweeps the wall as he sits on the chilly floor. He knows what his half-drugged brain is trying to remember; just under his sink runs the large sewer pipe which drains the water and excrements of the whole prison. Slaine knows because in rainy days, a smell so thick and unpleasant fills his cell, his head starts hurting.

The proximity of the pipeline makes it accessible. The walls of his cell are indestructible, but that doesn’t apply to the floor—most of the tiles are cracked, the materials under them moldy and easily to dig through after three years of fluids constantly leaking out of the pipeline. In a night with a thunderstorm, Slaine will wait for a power failure. The red light over the small camera in his cell will stop blinking at him—such a thing happened before, and the camera didn’t record his movements for half the night until the system was back online. Slaine shall use the opportunity to smash the old sink with the metal from his cot, break the already cracked floor tiles, dig with his hands through the molded materials, smash the pipeline with the sink, crawl through it and reach the sea.

His plan is impossible, full of flaws. He is malnourished and sick. He might drown, get caught. The pipeline might flood, or it might not lead to the sea, condemning Slaine to a cold, filthy death. Slaine might die, but he refuses to give up—he needs to find her Highness. And he needs to free her from whatever prison the UFE is holding her, no matter the cost.

And he must do this soon, because the Warden is leaving, and Slaine soon won’t have that protection against the guards any more, and he knows he won’t be able to survive much longer if, in the end, it comes down to him alone against fifteen, twenty people.

The door opens.

From his kneeling position, Slaine can’t see the Warden’s face, but he has come to know very well what happens next.

A few months later, he succeeds.

Slaine almost drowns under the sea, but after crawling like a wounded animal through the beach and the mud, he manages to find a road. There is asphalt now under his feet and this makes things easier, so Slaine keeps limping and dragging himself as far away from the Warden and the guards as possible. The thunderstorm is one of the worst he has ever experienced; the cracking, rumbling noises, the angry wind, the rain falling furiously, making everything blurry, impossible to tell apart.

Slaine has lost his blue shoes and shirt, the latter tore somewhere near the end of his crawling through the pipeline. Somewhere in his delirious mind he can still recognize the familiar weight of the pendant, hanging secure around his neck. He keeps going on and on for seconds, minutes, hours; crawling, limping across the road. Despite the icy water cascading and drenching him to the bone, he is still crusted and filthy in places, the smell nauseating him, or perhaps it’s the caked blood on his lips—but all stops bothering him the moment two rays of light move toward him in a terrifying speed—like a rabbit spotted by its predator, Slaine freezes and whimpers and thinks that this is it, this is where all suffering ends—until the screaming sound of abused breaks resonates around him, and the next thing he knows, a car door opens and closes, and Kaizuka Inaho is standing a few steps ahead of him, his blue jacket almost black, drenched in the rain, hair wet and plastered on his forehead. Slaine stands up from his crouched position, detaching his hands from his head and lowering them, slowly. Slaine gulps for air. The abused muscle of his heart is beating frantically, spreading dark spots across his vision.

Slaine knows what he must look like—baring his teeth at Inaho, battered and bruised from the very last visit of the guards, his scars exposed, his protruding ribs covered in filth. Merely the shivering carcass of a human being.

All those years, Kaizuka has never, ever let his emotions distort his impassive features. It’s almost terrifying to see Kaizuka lose that control, and openly display, even if it’s for a few seconds, a face so disturbed, Slaine momentarily thinks Kaizuka Inaho has lost his mind, too.

It is Inaho’s motion (perhaps reaching for his gun) that makes Slaine’s mind scream at him to attack. He is faster than Inaho and mad with pain and rage; it is the only reason he manages to grab Inaho’s gun first (Inaho was not holding it, why?) and throw him down on the wet asphalt.

Kaizuka slowly stands up, always showing Slaine his hands. He is the first to speak. “Slaine Troyard…what is that smell?”

Slaine is still disoriented and out of breath, so it takes him a few moments to cough and answer, hoarsely, “I crawled through the sewer pipe to get out.”

Inaho’s answer is weird, “Did you injure your leg before or after crawling out?”

My leg… Slaine notices the large red gash on his right leg. He frowns, “I don’t remember—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “This is unhygienic and dangerous. We must disinfect your wounds immediately—“

“Shut up!”  Inaho stops talking, the gun always in Slaine’s hand. Despair and loathing so intense fill Slaine, he has trouble whispering the next words, “Where is her Highness.”

“…I believe she is currently visiting the UFE Headquarters in Russia.”

“Russia?”

Kaizuka says then, carefully, “Princess Asseylum is dividing her time between Earth and Vers...helping people in need.”

Slaine tries, he really tries not to scream in frustration and be patient with Kaizuka’s depraved schemes. “Where is the UFE keeping her? Tell me the location of her prison. She wasn’t held with me—I would’ve known, otherwise.”

“…She is not, or was ever, imprisoned—“

“This is your last warning, Kaizuka Inaho.”

“Enough. Put this gun down, or you’ll eventually hurt yourself.”

“Orange!” Slaine is so angry, his hand can’t stop trembling, his head feels like exploding into a million pieces. He levels the gun to Inaho’s eye, shaking his head, “Where is the UFE keeping her?!”

“…I can show you.”

Staying on guard, Slaine observes as Kaizuka takes out his tablet. With Slaine watching his every move, Inaho shows Slaine a live news video of her Highness addressing the people of Earth, smiling at Klancain…the gulls are flying towards the horizon of the sea…

The rain keeps pouring down, falling into Slaine’s eyes, into his open mouth, drenching him until he cannot longer feel the iciness of his own skin. Slaine tries to gulp down all the new information, even if he misses half of it, his eyes following every single detail of her Highness’ figure. In that hellish place, the thought of being able to see her just one more time was all that kept him alive. In the video, her gaze is following the birds; she seems so happy. More beautiful and graceful than ever before. Without thinking, Slaine reaches out, his fingers touching her face on the screen…but he forgot about the path he took while escaping prison, so he smears her face with the filth trapped under his fingernails, and Slaine almost sobs.

“Troyard—“

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” He screams, thunder cracking angry above their heads. He means it—he knows that the only thing stopping him from pulling the trigger is the thought that he needs information, he needs to know the truth, he needs to remember the catastrophe that he obviously has forgotten.

Inaho starts explaining, but it confuses Slaine even more. His mind frantically tries to understand— he is dead to the world, he is accused of starting the war, of killing and lying and betraying, he is a million evil things and Slaine can accept that, he can accept anything, but: “Assassinate her? I never—I would never lay a finger on her…”

And then Kaizuka starts talking again, how she asked Kaizuka to save him from his misery, and Slaine wishes he could shut Kaizuka up with a bullet, because there is no way that everything he is saying is true.

Inaho is silent now.

“Is this…another one of his schemes?”  

“…I didn’t say anything.”

Slaine grimaces. “I’m not talking to you.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “Slaine Troyard, are you…hallucinating?”

The rain has long washed away his tears. “The medication…no, I mostly have it under control now.” He talks his thoughts out loud in order to reassure himself, not Kaizuka.

“Since when has this been going on?”

“As if you ever cared.”

“Slaine Troyard, listen to me. If you get caught, the punishment—“

Shut up. “I hate you. I hate you so much, it makes me sick.”

“I know.” Slowly, Inaho takes off his jacket, then reaches inside his pocket to take something out—

Slaine makes a low, strangled noise. Kaizuka’s red eye is fixed on him and Slaine braces himself. He knows very well the humiliating pain that follows—Slaine groans aloud, clutching at his head, because this all feels wrong somehow, because Kaizuka never hurt him inside that building, Kaizuka never—he can only stare wide eyed as Kaizuka places his jacket and the object from his pocket on the ground, then takes a step backwards.

“Here.”

Slaine blinks, returning to the present.

“You need to wear something, or you’ll catch pneumonia. And you must eat.”

It’s a fruit sandwich, secured in a plastic package.

Slaine doesn’t accept Inaho’s jacket, but the sight of real food makes his mouth salivate so much, it starts dripping down his chin. Before he knows it, he kneels and tries to tear the package with his mouth and one hand, always pointing the gun at Inaho with the other—but he is simply too weak and too soaked and cold to hold his hand steady and tear the damned package. Slaine laughs bitterly, somehow finding the situation ridiculous.

“Open the package. Open it!”

Inaho does so, then steps back.

Slaine approaches the food, still pointing his gun at Inaho, then grabs it with one hand, frantically shoving it into his mouth and taking his first bite—after three years of intravenous feeding and rotten-vegetable soups, his taste buds explode, the fruits are sour and burning his tongue and he coughs, his lungs hurting from it, tears filling his eyes again. He must be whimpering, but he barely registers the sound over Inaho’s voice,

“Slower.”

“What?” He grumbles.

“Eat slower, or you’ll choke.”

“And what’s it to you, if I die?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Why? Many would benefit from my death.”

Kaizuka’s mouth is a thin line. “Her Highness…she wishes for your happiness, too.”

“Happiness?” Slaine shakes his head, fuming, “The warden and the guards—you’re saying I tolerated their—their sick games all those years—”Slaine laughs, loud and bitter, it is so ridiculous, “While everyone wished for my happiness?!”

“What,” Kaizuka’s face loses all of his color, “do you mean, the guards—“

Slaine snarls, “You’re a liar, Kaizuka, you’re a liar. You promised—that things would never be this bad again—you promised!!”

Inaho makes an expression, it’s as if he was hit by a bullet, he’s in pain, and Slaine wonders for a moment if he really pulled the trigger, but then Inaho calms his features and says, “I thought—no, I was too blind to see—“

“Shut up, just shut up.” Slaine keeps murmuring it, nursing the bitter words under his tongue.

It takes Kaizuka’s shouting to bring him out of his stupor. When Slaine looks at him, Inaho is still shouting things like, “Slaine Troyard!” and, “Slaine Troyard, listen to me!”

He stares at Inaho.

“I want to help you.” Inaho says, voice calm now, the calmest Slaine has ever heard in his life. “And I will do anything in order to achieve that.” Kaizuka’s hands tighten into fists, “Hear me out, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine is just starring at Inaho. A lightning bolt above them splits the dark sky in two.

Kaizuka’s mouth drops at the edges in a single moment of unmasked desolation, and then he says, “Eat. And after that, I can—”

“You have no right to command me.”

“And after that, I will disinfect your wounds and cook a proper meal for you. What kind would you prefer?”

“What?”

“Food, Slaine Troyard. Meat, rice, fish, eggs…I will cook for you any kind of meal you wish me to. Anything you wish.”

He never expected such a move. Slaine swallows. The food burns his throat and his eyes fill with tears, mixing with the heavy rain, because no one has spoken in such a way to him before, and it is simply cruel to have Kaizuka Inaho be the first human being saying such a thing to him. He growls, baring his teeth. He is tired of Kaizuka’s games, so he just keeps devouring the sandwich, gun always pointed at Inaho, still not ready to listen to his instincts and kill him.

He must seem completely deranged and disgusting to Kaizuka, covered in filth, pushing the food down his throat as if he’s a feral animal. But Kaizuka keeps staring at him without betraying anything about his thoughts, almost patiently, staying immovable as a statue, despite the howling wind and the thunderstorm ragging around them.

He doesn’t know why. He really doesn’t.

But Slaine takes a step back, and then another, still not putting that fated bullet through Inaho’s right eye. Inaho realizes what Slaine is doing, and his eye widens—but Slaine screams at him to stay where he is, so Inaho reluctantly obeys.

When Slaine breaks into a run, gun still in his hand, he is certain that Inaho is chasing after him. They run and run through the storm, Kaizuka never manages to reach him.

It is then that Slaine spots the ruined house.

He steps inside, observing that the door and a wall have crumbled down to nothing, perhaps due to a Martian attack, years ago. The ceiling is full of holes and beams that keep creaking under the assault of the wind and rain, leaking into the construction.

Slaine swears he can hear Inaho shouting his name. Inaho’s voice is covered by the occasional rumbling of thunder, so loud that Slaine thinks the Earth is shaking under his feet—or it is just that he is exhausted, as he realizes when his world sickly tilts to the side and his body collides with the cold floor tiles, the sharp edges of small stones digging into his naked back.

Shivering from the cold and hiding from Inaho, Slaine lies under the broken roof of the dark, stone-walled building, observing the paintings on the walls in his effort not to pass out. He is too disoriented to understand what kind of house he is in. Despite its small size, it is heavily decorated. There are so many paintings and other works of art—perhaps the owners were unable to secure them when they abandoned the place under the Martian attacks.

A lightning bolt slashes through the skies, illuminating the room for a few seconds, and Slaine whimpers; the wide, disturbed eyes of a madman are looking right at him, the man is reaching out an arm—Slaine’s scream dies in his throat when another lighting cracks the darkness and Slaine realizes that that an angel’s spear is sinking into the demon’s head, painting one side of the creature’s face dark red. It is just an old, molded painting.

He can only think of how expressionless, how devoid of emotions the angel’s face is while he skewers the demon, until the agony and turmoil of the last few hours catch up on him, and Slaine’s vision turns black as he passes out, half-naked and sprawled and shivering on the cold floor.

∞

ii.

Non est ad astra mollis e terris via— There is no easy way from the earth to the stars

Vers, 2027

His leg has been bothering him all of these years. Slaine knew, the few nights he stayed in that abandoned house after he crawled though endless filth towards his freedom, that his infected leg would be a problem one day, since it never had the chance to heal fully.

Kaizuka Inaho, once again, has been right.

Slaine is standing on a platform delivering a speech to the citizens of Vers—and citizens of Earth among them, of course. Many took the opportunity to flee the continent the UFE controls and resettle in a free, receptive and technologically advanced society. The New Vers Empire is currently controlling four of Earth’s continents, the entire planet of Vers, the remains of the Moon, the ten space stations on Vers orbit, even some parts of a newly discovered planet, since the use of Aldnoah technology enabled humanity to make underground parts of the planet habitable, therefore providing more territory and resources to the citizens of the Empire. Slaine, the Emperor, is currently explaining the colonization of new planets to the thousands of exhilarated people gathered in Vers’ capital.

At one moment, however, as he approaches the edge of the platform in order to answer a question from a woman in the audience, a package left in the wrong place causes him to trip. He falls off the platform, and the leg is broken.

His guards calm the crowds down, Slaine’s speech is canceled. The pain is unbearable. The leg develops a severe bacterial infection which spreads within a few hours, and despite the Empire’s advanced medicine and the doctors’ desperate treatments, the skin and nerves of his right leg are permanently damaged, despite the soft tissues’ partial removal.

Slaine has to choose between using a cane or an exoskeleton. When the doctors announce their diagnosis to him, Slaine feels like laughing aloud at the irony—it’s not the pain that bothers him, he has experienced enough in his life to know how to handle it. No, even after fourteen years, he is more afraid of the cane than his permanent limp and increased scars. And the exoskeleton reminds him too much of Lemrina and her death during the Third Interplanetary War, where her aircraft was destroyed in what the UFE described as ‘collateral damage’. So he chooses the cane, and is left amused by the games fate keeps playing with him.

Sometimes, he looks back and has difficulty believing he is the same person that hated Kaizuka Inaho with all his soul, while obeying every whim of his jailers, wanting to free a jailed Princess who was never even imprisoned in the first place.

After staying and nearly dying in that forgotten house, Slaine survived by eating plants and the contents of expired cans, until he could stand on his own and hobble away, still suffering from the aftereffects of the withdrawal from the prison’s pills.

In the nights, lying at the side of a road, waiting for his dark sleep, Slaine wished and wished; he wished that Inaho had pulled the trigger first, wished the bullet took his own eye; he wished that Inaho’s shot was on target in the Moon Base, wished that Inaho never reached for his hand, falling towards Earth. He wished for the echo of a shot on that dark night on the beach, his own body hitting the sand, and the last sight he would ever see as his blood soaked the stones would be the millions of shimmering stars in the black skies above.

Surviving seemed like the best punishment, so he endured it. He stole clothes, disguised himself, avoided all surveillance cameras while wandering from village to village. He worked on the fields, performing hard manual labor every single day. The villagers avoided him, since he sometimes kept talking to himself—he still wasn’t able to control himself each time he was upset or afraid.

One day, a pirated broadcast announced to the world that Slaine Troyard was indeed alive, and that he had escaped prison three months ago. Truths were revealed. Slaine was soon recognized. They dragged him to the village square, the mob being cruel and unforgiving. Slaine was certain, for another time in his life, that this was the end. But he was then arrested by the UFE and drugged, only for the vehicle carrying him to be attacked, and in the end he woke up in an aircraft and Lermina’s careful arms, who started sobbing like a child while telling him that Harklight and Barouhcruz and so many others died in their effort to rescue him.

His time in the UFE prison and under the warden’s ‘care’ was a precious lesson; he learned to never repeat his mistakes, and he swore to never let anyone order him around again, be it Martian or Terran. He supposed that the UFE’s medication had done its part at this; sometimes, he would find himself starting plans and then analyzing them as if another person came up with the ideas; he became emotionally distant, and simply woke up each day because of old promises he remembered and now needed to fulfill. But it was almost permanent: after that nightmarish night he escaped prison, after the encounter with Kaizuka, his emotions began to dry out and wither like doomed flowers blooming in the dessert.

In the next few months, he and Lemrina grew close, the social gap between them long gone, though he never allowed her to perceive his scars, or the night terrors his years in prison left him with. Lemrina wanted to sleep with him, give him children, heirs and heiresses for a new Empire, but Slaine knew he was now forever unfit to be a father, or a lover, or even anyone’s friend—and, that new, strange part of him kept whispering, never a servant again. But it wasn’t her fault, and he explained that to her, even if she constantly kept trying to change his mind.

Surprisingly, the nights he woke up disturbed from his nightmares, Slaine kept thinking of Kaizuka in order to calm down: Kaizuka’s shocked expression when he first saw him in the thunderstorm, Kaizuka screaming his name while searching for him during that hellish night; Kaizuka’s soft voice, offering to cook for him anything Slaine wished.

The first six months after his escape, Slaine was hiding with Lemrina in an abandoned corner of the Earth, the surviving members of the Stygis squadron providing them with food and safety. He reached an acceptable weight, and he could climb a staircase without wincing from the pain. His leg was better than ever before. But aside from his emotions, something else had died inside after those three years in that prison; his love for protecting what he holds dear, perhaps, or his once relentless ability to always smile despite the pain.

His actions after that completed his transformation into that being from hell, the screaming demon of the large painting he kept observing each minute of his stay in that broken house. Using Lemrina’s Aldnoah activation factor, he stole Kataphrakts, he negotiated with Counts and falsely promised them more riches if he was to become Emperor, lying, deceiving, betraying once again. He then literally barged with the rest of the Stygis Squadron into Asseylum’s chambers and took her hostage.

She was surprised and angry, then hid in cover behind her fiancé. Klancain shot at him, but Slaine did not even flinch when the bullet caught his shoulder. He did not hesitate, this time, and he could see it in Klancain’s eyes; the man was afraid of him. Klancain was arrested, and in a single night, Slaine took the throne for himself.

In prison, the only thing Slaine was allowed to do was read history books and play chess with Kaizuka. He learnt much from the battlefields and politics of the past, which he quickly put into use. Within a few weeks, four of Earth’s continents were under Martian rule. He never met Inaho on the battlefield; he never wished for it, either. And on the second to last battle, he lost Lemrina. Slaine was adamant about one thing, however; the Orbital Knights were forbidden from killing both Terran soldiers and civilians. His objective this time wasn’t destruction, but invasion and assimilation.

After Lemrina’s death, Slaine discovered that, during his three years in prison, she and Harklight and a couple of Vers scientists who supported them had discovered a way of transforming the power of Aldnoah into a new energy, which could be stored into huge battery compartments, hidden in the old Moon Base. The system was designed so that it could respond only to his DNA; the Aldnoah factor of the royal family was not needed for activating the compartments. Only Slaine could activate them and harvest the stored power of Aldnoah.

When Slaine first discovered those plans, when he walked alone into the ruins of the Moon Base, only to find endless roads of metal and cables and machines, everything transformed into the largest energy source human civilization ever made, his heart missed a beat in his chest. According to his calculations, those ‘batteries’ have enough power to provide both electricity and the power of Aldnoah for the needs of trillions of people, lasting at least five hundred years.

As the new Emperor and single wielder of endless sources of power, Slaine abolished Vers’ military uniforms and autocratic code of dressing, he created laws, and a constitution, he planned the ways his Empire could later become a democracy. He changed the Versian education, introducing literature and arts, culture from Earth, flowers, trees, even small animals, which previously both the lower and upper classes of Vers considered insanitary to be near. The Counts lost all their privileges—the structure of Vers’ society started to resemble that of Earth’s.

With the use of this ‘new’ Aldnoah power, new technology was created. The cities of Vers changed; people could see the sun now, no longer having to rely on artificial lights. People did not starve, agriculture bloomed in artificial fields, the lower classes were not overworked to death in Kataphrakt and weapon factories, and any racist behavior was banned; the offenders were caught and educated on their crimes or jailed. Slaine tried to punish the Counts responsible for massacres on Earth during the Second War, he tried to find the warden and the most sadistic of his guards, fearing that other people could fall prey to their abuse, though to little success, so he appointed a team consisting of Lemrina’s old guards, people he knew he could rely on, for the purpose of hunting such criminals down.

Slaine expected uprisings and revolutions, but to his surprise, millions and millions of people welcomed him as one of their own; the people who once formed the lower classes of Vers. Some UFE fractions on Earth tried to move against him, but they were bloodlessly subjugated. The UFE withdrew, resettled on the single continent the New Vers Empire never invaded, and with their military almost dismantled, they admitted defeat. The Third War ended with less casualties then the Second War.

And Inaho survived, withdrawing with the rest of high-ranked UFE officers on the only piece of land that still belonged to the UFE.

During that first year, Asseylum and Klancain were kept under house arrest. The confiscated Kataphrakts were destroyed by Slaine; very few Aldnoah weapons remained on Vers, all under Slaine’s control. Slaine made an announcement then, dressed in his old crimson uniform, informing the citizens of Vers and Earth of his objective; that of an united Empire, where Vers and Earth can coexist in peace.

Slaine exiled Asseylum and her fiancé on Earth, monitoring her closely in case the UFE decided to use her in order to benefit from Aldnoah. Other than that, she was free to go and live her life however she wished. It was then that the UFE approached him and asked for negotiations and a peace treaty.

Slaine knew, the final part of his plans was approaching. Slaine had long ago decided on the single condition he wanted to set for that valued peace. Slaine had long ago understood that every single one of his actions would be judged by one person only, and he had made his peace with it. So when the UFE asked for peace, Slaine asked of the UFE to hand him over Kaizuka Inaho.

∞

iii.

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant— The stars incline us, they do not bind us

Vers, 2028

Capital of Vers, Dioscuria

Interplanetary airport

 “You have set your aim on a new objective, Slaine Troyard.” Inaho’s crimson gaze is burning with anger. “Still, taking hostage of a higher ranked UFE officer would benefit your plans more. Why me?”

Supporting his weight on his cane, Slaine speaks. “Your face looks terrible. Did my demands upset you?”

“Why am I here?”

Slaine says, “When the time comes, you will know.”

Inaho’s mouth twitches, he strides forward, grabbing Slaine’s arm—Slaine reacts like a lion under attack. More of instinct than anger, his palm connects with Inaho’s chest, shoving him violently away.

“Never do this again.” Slaine’s blood is boiling, he’s panting from the exertion of pushing Kaizuka away, his knuckles white on the grip of his cane.

“I need explanations.” Inaho says, Slaine’s guards now restraining him, hands behind his back.

“For your sister? Or your friends? Be patient for a few years and you will see them again, Kaizuka Inaho.”

If there was a moment Kaizuka would be close to snarling, it would be this. “I never expected you could become like this.”

“You are not in a position to make your dense remarks, Kaizuka.” Years ago, Slaine would spit out the name with all the malice he could master. Not anymore.

“Am I here in order to argue with you? Or is it loneliness?”

Slaine sighs. Patience, he tells himself. Patience with the idiot.

Kaizuka keeps protesting, “You are the idiot.”

What…? “I never said—“

“Chances are high that this was what you were thinking. Still, you are an idiot. The UFE temporarily agreed to this in order to—”

“You are obviously trying to provoke me.” Slaine says, bored, “And it is not working, Kaizuka.”

Kaizuka’s eye twitches.

Slaine is overwhelmed with the sudden urge to smile—something he hasn’t done in years. He stills, the dark feelings inside him stirring, demanding to be acknowledged. Slaine snaps his head to the side instead, “This is not a battle you can win, Kaizuka Inaho. Now follow me.”

Slaine turns around and then realizes; Kaizuka doesn’t know of his leg.

Slaine inhales deeply through his nose, closing his eyes. He takes the first step; then the next, careful one. As always, it hurts, and he is conscious of his right foot dragging a bit against the floor, the way it becomes when he is too stressed or tired, when he abandons the effort of lifting it higher in order not to limp. His cheeks are burning with exertion. He tries not to feel Inaho’s crimson gaze stabbing him right between his shoulders.

Kaizuka stays silent, then follows closely behind.

Slaine planed for Kaizuka’s rooms to be on the same wing with his own in order to make Inaho’s escape impossible. It is the only place in the enormous building with the highest security levels. As they pass through the corridor leading to Slaine’s (and now Inaho’s) rooms, Inaho stops and regards the painting with the angel and the demon hanging there—which, Slaine found out months ago, was a work of a famous Terran painter who died hundreds of years ago. The original was restored under Slaine’s orders and placed in museum on Earth, for every Terran and Versian to admire. He never found out who that stone house he spent his first days of freedom belonged to, however.

That night, the blaring sound of alarms wakes him up, but he dismisses it as Kaizuka’s escape attempt #1.

The days pass, Inaho constantly wandering though the Landing Castle, refusing to talk to him. Kaizuka’s delusions that the UFE might ask for his return are soon shattered, as the peace treaty is announced, together with Kaizuka Inaho’s ‘voluntary’ stay on Vers.

In three weeks only, Kaizuka’s failed escape attempts reach the number 63. Apparently, wanting to hide in an empty food container for half a day until it is shipped back to Earth, only to discover that it actually had packages of frozen peas inside did not par well with Kaizuka; after that, even the sight of an ice cube is enough to drain the color from Inaho’s face.

Slaine starts craving cold drinks. Kaizuka keeps refusing the offered iced beverages, the small crease on his forehead deepening each time, betraying his growing annoyance. Slaine realizes he has found a new way to pass his free time besides reading; finding ways to annoy Kaizuka Inaho.

Soon begin the long days when Slaine asks of Kaizuka to accompany him on his weekly strolls through the cities of Vers, his everyday councils, his negotiations with the UFE representatives, his signing of treaties and arranging of new laws. They don’t speak; they don’t even hold eye contact. He soon gets used to Inaho’s silent presence beside him, however—and when Slaine’s leg goes numb during one of their visits to Earth and he trips, almost humiliating himself in front of thousands of people gathered to listen to him, he is somehow glad that Kaizuka is next to him, grabbing his arm and steadying him before one of his bodyguards can.

(The fact that Slaine flinches and tears his arm away from Kaizuka’s grip as if burned is another story, which, judging by the widening of Inaho’s eye, Inaho is probably almost ready to grasp.)

Every morning, they have breakfast together. Every afternoon, it’s dinner. Always silent and cautious of his movements, Inaho keeps eating his food while his red eye never stops watching Slaine. Slaine keeps ignoring him, reading newspapers and reports during these awkward silences.

If a fragile discussion starts, it will usually turn into a fierce argument about politics or physics or the lack of Kaizuka’s knowledge about literature and generally arts.

One day, Kaizuka, clearly at his limit, barges into Slaine’s study and demands more eggs to be served for breakfast. Instead, Slaine decides to increase the amount of food Kaizuka dislikes, banning the eggs for a few days, just because Kaizuka’s irritated face is pleasant to look at.

Soon a day comes when Kaizuka barges into Slaine’s study again and demands something, which Slaine is too absorbed reading about plants to hear. Kaizuka notices the open botany books on Slaine’s desk. Since the books rarely leave Slaine’s library, Kaizuka asks, “What are you doing?”

“I’m researching saxifrage seeds.”

“Sa—“

“Saxifrage.”

Kaizuka steps closer, spreading his palm over old illustrations of small, purple and white flowers depicted blooming among rocks on desolate lands.

“Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.”

Kaizuka’s eye narrows.

Slaine nourishes Kaizuka’s bewilderment. “It’s from a poem, Kaizuka. I still cannot believe that you are so ignorant about literature and—“

“Tell me more about the flower.”

Slaine sighs. “On the harsh and cold temperatures of Vers, it might be the only flower capable of surviving and blooming on this soil, without the aid of a greenhouse.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Stone-breaker. That’s the literal meaning of its name. Despite being a mere flower, it can break through the hardest of rocks, spreading its roots and surviving.”

Kaizuka frowns.

“You see, Kaizuka Inaho, if you walk on endless Artic planes for days and days on end, you will eventually encounter this flower. But I’ll never be able to obtain it; the UFE insisted that only certain flowers are to be planted on Vers, and Saxifrage was not included in the treaty. It seems that I must find another solution…”

“Why do you need this flower so desperately?”

“Flowers on Vers can grow only inside greenhouses. However, Saxifrage might be able to survive on the streets of Vers, gaining the nutrients it needs for its survival directly from the soil of the cities. And I want to provide the Vers cities with flowers—I want every Versian to understand that flowers are something to be—admired, perhaps, and not feared, not any longer. Never again.”

Inaho is silent. Slaine continues reading his botany books, and Inaho leaves, the metallic door of the study closing after him with the usual soft, brushing sound.

“You were lying. About the flower. Not only doesn’t it grow in the arctic, its name came from its medicinal use—it cannot break through stones.”

Slaine snorts. “But you became interested in it, didn’t you? Our conversation made you read about it.” Slaine arches a pale eyebrow. “Did you read the poem too?”

Inaho’s silence is rewarding.

“So you did…!” Slaine’s tone is mocking now, “Unbelievable.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “Slaine Troyard, if you…allow me to visit Earth and convince the UFE to allow you to search for it—“

“I’m no fool, Kaizuka Inaho. This will be just another of your escape attempts. So…no.”

Despite Slaine’s best efforts, animals are still feared on Vers, the teachings of the Counts still permeating the beliefs of the Vers people; that dogs and cats carry horrible diseases, for example. In order to disband those beliefs, Slaine established monthly events, were the people of Vers can be informed about the reality and, if they wish, even select and adopt a pet of their choice. Most of the animals are stray dogs and cats from Earth, which after a long stay at the vet, are healed and fed and ready for their adoption.

The events take place in the largest artificial park on Vers, secured under an enormous glass dome.

Slaine is sitting on a bench and cradling a white-and-beige trembling puppy in his arms, trying to calm her down with his caresses. He’s observing the tenths of exhilarated children dragging their parents by hand towards the fence the dogs and cats and bunnies and other pets are being held, the place surrounded by tall, sheltering trees, the flowers in full bloom. The place is colorful and radiant. Slaine���s mouth almost twitches into the ghost of a smile. It is impossible, however: the place never stops reminding him of Asseylum and her garden, and the blue roses that fell from his grip when he realized how foolish his ambitions have been, back then. The puppies’ howls remind him of sounds and an agony he has spent nights and nights erasing from his memories.

He spots a crying, small child, a white bunny next to her. Without thinking, he places the puppy on Kaizuka’s lap—who is sitting in silence next to Slaine on the bench.  “Hold her for a moment.”

Kaizuka’s mouth opens in protest. His hands fumble awkwardly around the small animal, as if he is afraid to touch her.

“How…?” It is the murmur that escapes a clearly bewildered Inaho that makes Slaine snort.

He turns to his side. Without thinking, he takes Kaizuka’s hand in his, then places it under the puppy’s belly. It’s warm. It amazes him, how warm it is—Kaizuka’s touch. Slaine’s pulse quickens. Even his cheeks feel warm.

Inaho raises his head, their gazes lock. “You are kind towards weaker things, aren’t you, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine swallows, throat tight. “Just—just hold her like that, Kaizuka.”

He detaches his hand from the warmth, turns away and uses his cane, standing up and carefully walking the rest of the distance towards the crying child and her bunny.

It turns out that she is afraid of the small animal. Slaine has to, very, very slowly, rest one knee on the ground, pick up the bunny and explain to her that bunnies are harmless, and that when he was her age, all he ever wanted from his life was to have a bunny as a pet. Soon the girl’s worried parents approach them—apparently she run off on her own, chasing after the bunny.

“Here.” Slaine says, placing the animal in her arms, after he is doused with approval of his political actions from the parents, “He won’t hurt you. He’s scared too, you know.”

The child mumbles something, now shy, stroking the bunny’s ears.

“Of course he’s scared.” Slaine almost, almost smiles in order to pacify. “With that many people surrounding him—” His hearts reacts like something frenzied and wild. Slaine clutches at his pendant. A fragment from his past, sharp and vicious, slashes through his mind. He can’t breathe. He’s in his cell again—

“Slaine Troyard.”

Kaizuka Inaho, Slaine wants to whisper, to ensure himself of his reality, but he doesn’t. He rises again, slowly, the cane dipping into the soil under his feet. He says his goodbyes to the family, reminding the child once again that the bunny is harmless and only needs her to take care of it. He tries to even his breathing, ties to lock the memory away, until Kaizuka speaks again,

“Slaine Troyard, I need your help. Immediately.” Inaho sounds…unsure.

Really, now.

Slaine turns, only to find the puppy (still in Kaizuka’s arms) chewing softly at Kaizuka’s fingers. Inaho’s features are not famous for their expressiveness, yet Slaine swears that a flicker of tenderness lights up, if only for a second, Kaizuka’s emotionless face.

Inaho catches him staring, and Slaine’s cheeks flush with annoyance. “What are you looking at, Kaizuka?”

“You are the one staring at me, Bat.”

Slaine’s heart skips a beat at the sound of that long-forgotten nickname. “Staring at the puppy, you mean.” He then notices the stain of drool on Kaizuka’s blue tie. “Did she chew on your tie too?”

Kaizuka nods, and Slaine comes up with an amusing idea.

“She’s yours, now. Take care of her.”

Inaho blinks. “You want to give me the dog? This is unnecessary and ridiculous.”

“Unnecessary or not, you are now responsible for her. You can name her Eggs, for all I care. I just want to see you suffering, trying to control her.”

“Fine.”

“…What?”

“Eggs,” Kaizuka says, lazily lifting the trembling puppy towards his face, “Nice to meet you.”

“Kaizuka Inaho!”

“Yes?”

How much does Slaine want to punch that idiot. “This was supposed to be sarcasm, you wouldn’t dare name a poor animal after your favorite food?”

“Either way, she doesn’t understand—“

“But this is irrelevant!”

“She is a dog, Slaine Troyard.”

“She is a…an infant! What did she even do to you to deserve this?!”

“I’m still naming her ‘Eggs’.”

Slaine groans. “I can’t believe this.”

“You are in no position to impose on me the name of my—“

The puppy lets out a long, sad sound, one that makes Slaine’s heart skip a beat in his chest. Perhaps their yelling made her upset.

“You made her upset. Well done, Kaizuka.”

He sees the obvious, annoying effort Inaho puts into keeping his features at check. “It wasn’t my fault. Your yelling surely affected her—“

Another cry, this one longer, louder, capable of turning some of the children’s heads in alarm.

“Kaizuka. This is your last warning.”

Inaho sighs, cradling the puppy closer. “Fine. But I’m not changing my decision; her name is Eggs.”

Later in the night, lying in the darkness of his bedroom, Slaine realizes that he can’t get the image of Inaho holding the puppy out of his head.

Inaho barges again into the library, already hacked into the codes that keep the single metallic door closed.

“Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine lifts his gaze from his book, not surprised to see Inaho here. “What is it this time.”

“Mars’ average distance from the sun is about Earth’s distance, and half again.”

“So…?”

“Therefore, the intensity of sunlight reaching Mars is much reduced.”

Slaine sighs, impatience breaking through his forced apathy. “Get to the point.”

“Furthermore, the dust on Mars’ atmosphere scatters the light—“

“Is this about the Rayleigh Scattering again? Spare me the explanations, Kaizuka, I’ve already read about this—“

Inaho steps closer, placing his hands on Slaine’s desk, his features calm and open into what Slaine translates as…enthusiasm. “The fine dust on Mars’ atmosphere is responsible of the color of Mars’ sunsets.”

“Yes.” Something similar to excitement, too, awakens inside Slaine, but he is too absorbed by the way Inaho’s features soften to notice, “Mars has less than 1% of the Earth’s atmosphere—“

“…so the scattering is different than on Earth. At sunset and sunrise, the sun is surrounded by a blue corona. It must be an…interesting sight.”

Slaine’s eyes widen, “I thought you’ve seen it—“

But Inaho hasn’t, since he is never leaving Slaine’s side as of the few months he is on Vers, partially as a way to disagree or sometimes agree with Slaine on the structure of various laws and negotiations, and partially because Slaine is very busy, having no time at all for watching sunsets.

After a few hours, they are dressed in spacesuits, slowly walking up a large sand hill, endless barren terrain and rocky hills spread at their feet as they reach the top. Without the punishing force of an artificial gravity, Slaine’s leg is hurting less than usual, even if he has walked far more than what he’s capable of.

The sun reaches the horizon. The sky slowly darkens. They are alone.

And Slaine needs to be left alone with Inaho, he yearns for it each night he wakes up, lost, drenched in his sweat—the part of him that is ready for this has always whispered that perhaps being shot and forgotten on a cold, desolate Vers plane will be much better than a slower, painful death on Earth. The blue planet never held much of his heart, or if it ever did, it was years and years ago, when he was still a boy chasing after rabbits through the hot summer air and ripening wheat fields.

But Inaho has to always, constantly defy him. Kaizuka doesn’t pull out a gun—despite Slaine ‘accidentally’ forgetting an UFE licensed gun in the library, a week ago.

They are looking at the blue, faint light radiating from the white sphere hiding behind the horizon as Inaho murmurs,

“The scars on your chest and back…”

Slaine stills, pulse soaring.

“I am responsible for them, aren’t I? They happened after I shot you down. Cruhteo tortured you.”

After a long silence, after the sky becomes black as ink as the sun is gone, Slaine exhales, his breath dampening the glass of his helmet. “Does it matter? It’s in the past, Kaizuka. And that past is long gone.”

“So Cruhteo did torture you.”

Slaine snorts, “Were you testing me right now?”

“It was necessary. I needed to confirm my suspicions.”

Slaine doesn’t answer.

Inaho’s voice is quiet, “…Should we sit?”

Slaine chuckles. “Is this your way of asking me if my leg hurts? You’ve become surprisingly subtle about it.”

Inaho doesn’t miss a beat. “Does your leg hurt?”

Slaine’s lips form a little smile, and he doesn’t even realize it. “You noticed, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I always notice.”

Slaine’s face heats up at this, and he can’t understand the reason, because this isn’t anger—it is much calmer and quieter than anger, this feeling.

“We should go back.” Slaine whispers, so they do.

Days pass by and Eggs keeps destroying Kaizuka’s shoes and pants despite Inaho’s best efforts to teach her otherwise. Inaho keeps hacking into every piece of machinery that has a running program, in a way of getting his revenge for having to take care of Eggs, Slaine supposes—though the puppy has grown very attached to Inaho, and Slaine thinks that the same applies to Kaizuka, too.

Vers space territory, 2028

Saazbaum Space Station

 A few hours after the departure of the UFE’s ambassadors, Kaizuka barges into Slaine’s office (destroying the door codes again) his hair disheveled. “There is an intruder—“

From behind his desk, Slaine sighs. “Let my guards deal with him.”

“By then, it will be too late. That person is heading straight for here—“

Slaine is now having real trouble concentrating on his reading. “Because you kept feeding the UFE information these six months since you arrived on Vers. I know, Kaizuka.”

Inaho doesn’t even blink. “Yes. I suspected you knew.”

Slaine puts his notes aside, clutches at his cane and gracefully stands up, trying not to grimace at the pain shooting up his thigh. “Do they have orders to assassinate me?”

“Yes.” Inaho is now observing him, carefully, though Slaine won’t give him the satisfaction of betraying his emotions.

And you are to assist them…but you’re obviously ignoring your orders. Why. Why now, Kaizuka. Why must you keep destroying every single one of my plans…! Slaine has been waiting hours, months, years for that day. He sighs, suddenly feeling so, so tired. “Step outside, Kaizuka, and close the door. I will deal with him myself.”

Inaho’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Why are you refusing my assistance?” His eye widens slightly. “Of course. You don’t trust me.”

“It is not a matter of trust.” I don’t want you to see how I— Slaine groans, halting his thoughts. “Just go, Kaizuka.”

“No. Come with me. Just…” Kaizuka swallows, “Just come with me.”

Slaine follows Inaho more out of curiosity than anything else.

Inaho leads him towards the huge, metal hangar, even supporting him the few times Slaine’s tired legs drag against the floor and he almost trips. The intense activity has made Slaine’s leg muscles tremble with pain and effort, sweat tricking down his nape. At one point, Inaho takes his hand, and Slaine clutches onto it as if he is trying to squish it in his grip, though Kaizuka never complains about it. Instead, Inaho pulls him even closer, and together they hastily make their way through the hangar’s open doors, which close after Inaho fumbles with some cables and controls for a while.

They keep staring at each other, Slaine almost amused at how the situation unfolds, his leg not bothering him much now, even if he has trouble speaking from his harsh breathing. “Orange—may I ask—why you brought me here?”

“It’s the safest place in the Landing Castle. And only I can open the doors.”

Slaine smiles, coldly. “We are alone.”

Inaho blinks. “So?”

I know. I know you are carrying a gun, Orange. But why, why do you keep refusing to turn it on me…?

A notification lights up the screen of Inaho’s tablet. Inaho frowns. “The intruder has now control of the cameras and voice transmitters in every room. We need to find a way to overcome this and communicate with your guards.”

Kaizuka fumbles with some cables, connecting them with his tablet. The lights go out, leaving only Kaizuka’s tablet to slightly illuminate the area. Music fills the room.

Slaine takes the two stumbling steps separating him from Inaho, his hand finding Inaho’s shoulder in the dark. “What on Earth and Vers are you doing, Orange?”

“This song is now being transmitted from every room of the Landing Castle. It will slow him down for about 900 seconds. Furthermore, the unusual computer activity in the hangar will notify your guards of your location—”

Slaine snorts, “But you…? Music?”

Inaho turns off his tablet, complete darkness surrounding them. He covers Slaine’s hand with his own, now both resting on Inaho’s shoulder. Slaine shivers. He doesn’t understand why. He can’t see Inaho, but he hears Inaho’s breath near his ear as Inaho speaks over the music, “Yuki added some songs to my tablet, almost a year ago. She thought I could impress a certain…woman if I knew more about music—“

Slaine’s eyes widen, “Your sister…did she…did she try to set you up with a date?”

The sound that Inaho makes is low and gentle, and Slaine has trouble believing his ears. “Exactly, Bat.”

And a rumbling sound leaves Slaine’s throat, because this is...ridiculous. “I can’t imagine you being on a date.”

“I had to go.” Inaho sounds almost…sad.

Something small prickles at Slaine’s heart as he imagines Inaho with another person, so he asks, “Who was the…unlucky lady?”

A pause. “Asseylum.”

Slaine blinks. “She is married.”

“Not any longer.”

Slaine’s throat starts closing, he can’t breathe, and Inaho asks, “Are you alright?”

“What do you expect.” Slaine snaps, and is surprised with himself, because he thought his anger towards Inaho long forgotten, but this is not anger, he realizes, this is—at that moment, however, the gravitational field weakens and they find themselves suspended into the air, clutching at each other in surprise.

Slaine explodes, “Kaizuka!”

He can hear Inaho’s calm voice near his ear, “True, I did not include that factor into my calculations.”

How is this even—? “You do realize that if gravity returns to its original state we will land on the floor and break every single bone—“ Slaine stops, something dark and cold filling his chest. “No, worse than that—“ My leg still hurts when I’m walking. If it breaks, the bone could develop an infection again—

Inaho is fumbling in the dark, his palm across Slaine’s chest, his shoulder, and Slaine almost flinches, but thinks it’s strange when Inaho’s palm comes to rest on the side of his neck, and Inaho whispers, fiercely, “I won’t let such a thing happen to you.”

Slaine wonders if he whispered this out loud, but he didn’t, so how did Kaizuka know—his breath leaves his lungs when Kaizuka takes his hands in his own and, with the music filling the air around them, Inaho says, “Think of the positive part: you can move here freely, without experiencing the…consequences.”

You mean the pain. Why are you so careful around me? Slaine stops these thoughts. But the past is a cruel thing, and with a pang in his chest, he is reminded of Lemrina once again, how she moved through another hangar where Kataphrakts were being kept, happy for once, being able to—

“You are thinking about your past again, am I right? Stop thinking about the past, Slaine Troyard...”

Slaine groans. “Stop telling me what to do!”

Inaho is silent but says then, “We should find a way to move towards the upper west corner of this construction. There is a metal ladder there, ending at a roof hatch. We can escape from there.”

Sad and longing, the music fills the air, reminding Slaine of things he never had and things he will never obtain. A stripe of light falls across Inaho’s face and Slaine’s cheeks flush because of the newly perceived closeness of their bodies, Inaho’s thighs sliding between his, Inaho’s chest brushing against his, in this mockery of a dance.  And he realizes that he is suspended in the air, Inaho’s hands on his waist, and they are twirling and twirling in the dark and this place with no gravity, and just for a moment, just for the new, hopeful breath he takes, his life is a miraculous, painless illusion.

Like everything in his life, it doesn’t last long. The moment they reach the ladder, the music stops, the hangar’s lights scatter away the darkness. The UFE agent hunting for his life barges through the hangar’s doors. And gravity returns, causing Slaine to plummet rapidly towards the ground, crying out in surprise—Inaho catches him, already standing on the ladder, face barely betraying his alarm, and then helps him climb the narrow stairs, opening the roof hatch.

A gunshot echoes in the room. Slaine’s side feels hot, and he realizes that it hurts to move, his whole body shivering. He cries out when Inaho hurts him, pulling him through the roof patch. Slaine lands with his right leg folded on the floor and he chokes on air, clutching helplessly at Inaho’s clothes, because it hurts, his leg hurts, Inaho is talking to him, soothing—the severe pain from his badly-folded leg escalates, wipes out the pain of the gunshot—his leg is now on fire. Inaho’s hands are cradling his face, but he is blind, desperate from the agony. He screams; blackness envelops him.

Slaine comes to in his bed, warm, well-rested, his head groggy with the aftereffects of the painkillers. Just for a moment, he expects the bites of his scars to start hurting again, and a man long dead to greet him, sitting on the chair next to his bed. But this is not Saazbaum.

“Inaho…?”

His voice is a rasp, but Inaho straightens from the chair he is sitting, looking at him and betraying nothing, but Slaine knows, from the dark purple circle under Inaho’s eye, from the way Inaho’s shoulder are hunched in apprehension, Slaine somehow knows that Inaho won’t leave, even if he’ll ask him to.

“Are you in pain?” Inaho seems so serious.

Slaine’s gaze is languidly sweeping over Inaho’s eyepatch, Inaho’s lips, as if seeing them for the first time, before he realizes what Inaho asked and answers, “No.”

“You did not develop an infection. The diaphysis of your tibia simply—“

“Yes, I know, Orange. It was likely to happen if I put pressure on my leg. Doctors have warned me in the past.” Seeing how the corners of Inaho’s mouth drop, Slaine adds, “It was not your fault.”

Inaho keeps staring at him, a crease on his forehead. Inaho looks…sad. “The man was arrested.”

“And you became a traitor.” Slaine murmurs.

“He never saw me helping you.” Inaho says, “I took care of that.”

Slaine’s breath leaves his lungs in a long, relaxed exhale. “Good…Now go.”

“No.”

Slaine closes his eyes. “You should. I will be fine in a few days. Just…go.”

“I don’t want to.”

Slaine chuckles. “You sound like an obnoxious child.”

There is a warm hand covering his, resting on the sheets. Slaine’s eyes snap open. His hand is trembling, even if…even if his skin craves for Inaho’s warmth, permeating his tired bones and making him feel whole and alive again. He meets Inaho’s gaze, extremely puzzled. “What—what are you doing?”

It doesn’t help, of course, when the obstinate fool answers, “Don’t deny what is happening between us, Bat.” Inaho withdraws his hand. “Get well soon.” He walks out of the room.

Slaine is left wondering about Inaho’s strange words.

Vers space territory, 2029

Saazbaum Space Station

One quiet evening, almost a year since Inaho’s arrival on Vers, Inaho steps inside the library, steps determined. Slaine is sitting on his favorite couch, one of his beloved books resting on his lap. He lifts his head from the passage he is currently reading, eyes taking in Inaho’s unusually casual appearance. Inaho is not wearing his trademark blue jacket; the white shirt beneath flexes with each movement of his arms, hugging Inaho’s firm torso. Slaine’s heart starts beating faster, sending more color to his already warm cheeks.

Slaine keeps his tone immaculate, “Should I remind you again that this place is off-limits for you?”

Inaho blinks. “I hacked into the surveillance system and destroyed the codes of the library door.”

“Tch, Orange. Did you really have to destroy them? Again?”

There. The corner of Inaho’s mouth rises a bit. “I couldn’t resist the temptation. Your algorithms were…nice to destroy.”

Slaine chuckles. “You truly are insufferable. Do you know how long it took me to encrypt those—” Slaine sighs. “Never mind. Why are you here?”

Kaizuka, ever stubborn, refuses to answer to him, a small smile now evident on his face—the sight is enough to spread a sweet pain in Slaine’s chest. The sunlight makes his hair almost auburn, a shy, new part of Slaine whispers, before he silences it immediately. Inaho, oblivious, merely stands a few steps ahead, staring at the hundreds of wooden bookshelves and old, yellowish books that are surrounding them. “I wanted to see you.” Inaho says.

Slaine throat suddenly itches with a strange, almost happy feeling, and this is the only reason he asks, “S-So…? What is the matter? Did Eggs chew at that ridiculous blue jacket of yours?”

Inaho falters. “…Yes, such a thing did actually happen today.”

Slaine snorts, half amused, half in a teasing mood. “So you want consolation, because your dog doesn’t like you.”

“No, that’s not—“

“It was a joke, Orange. Albeit a poor one.”

But Inaho’s features have lost every hint of cheerfulness. “We need to talk.”

Slaine sobers. “About what?”

“You. Your past, your objectives.” After a small hesitation, “After your escape… I found enough evidence about the…actions of warden and the guards. Still, I need to hear everything from you, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine’s eyes form slits. “You can’t be serious. It’s been nine years.” You stubborn fool.

“I have been reading books on that subject.”

“You—reading books…?”

“Yes.”

A sigh. “On what subject, Kaizuka?”

“Professionals insist that one must eventually talk about—“

“No.” Slaine’s blood starts boiling, because how, how on Earth and Vers can Kaizuka ask such things in the calmest afternoon of his week. His voice is oozing with anger, “I’m not your damned psychology experiment, Kaizuka.” Slaine’s breath hitches. “There is nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know.” Slaine resumes reading, ignoring the frantic, almost panicked beating of his heart.

“That painting on the corridor near your room.”

At this, Slaine snaps the book shut, knowing that nothing will be able to stop Kaizuka from annoying him to no end. “It is a copy of a famous Terran painting, Kaizuka. Unlike certain others, I do know how to appreciate art.”

“…You believe that you are evil, Slaine Troyard, but I disagree. You should stop believing that. You won’t be able to accomplish anything like this.”

It is difficult to breathe. Slaine gracefully stands up, his leg sending a jab of pain in protest. It is finally time. Finally… “For your information…” Slaine tries to support his full body weight with his palm pressed on the arm of the couch, perspiration already gathering on his brow. “I don’t plan on accomplishing anything. You will—in my place.”

Inaho blinks.

Slaine turns his head to the side, gaze traveling to the furthest of the shining stars outside, longing for something better that this discussion, longing for the impossible—like he always did. “I had long ago planned to be ‘assassinated’ after the first five years of peace would be accomplished. And as soon as I could find a suitable predecessor, of course. And…as much as it pains me to admit it…you are the perfect candidate for the job, Kaizuka.” He looks up to meet Inaho’s gaze. “So, when the day comes, I will provide you with a UFE licensed gun. Thus, you will be able to end this monarchy…while finally getting your revenge for everything I have done to you.”

Inaho’s eye widens.

Hah. I rendered him speechless. Slaine smiles, for once being honest, for once being able to smile as he did ages ago, a smile full of warmth, his eyes closed. “You are just and honest, Kaizuka Inaho, more than anyone else I have ever known in my life. You have the ability to turn this Empire into something…beautiful.”

Inaho’s eye narrows. “I refuse.”

Slaine laughs. A twisted, loud sound escapes his lungs. “But you can’t! It’s too late now, isn’t it? You have already seen what you’ll be able to accomplish. All you have to do is put a bullet through my head. Admit it: it is your fate, Kaizuka. It is in your destiny to help me…” Slaine raises his hand, index coming to rest at his forehead, exactly as he did years ago on that dark beach, even if it now seems to him that the night they fell together on Earth happened under another moon, in another lifetime. Slaine is smiling, his voice comes out as if he’s pleading; broken. “Help me, Kaizuka Inaho. Help me end this.”

Inaho is silent.

Slaine drops his arm, still smiling for some reason. “Well. I am happy to see there are no objections here.”

Inaho rushes two steps forward and grabs Slaine by the arm. Slaine has to put all his effort into maintaining his indifferent expression and not wrenching his hand away from the confining hold, even if this is Inaho, and he can’t exactly breathe, his leg is hurting terribly for standing for so long without the use of the cane, the dark red of Inaho’s eye staring at him, relentless and furious. “How can you say there are no objections?” Inaho’s voice is even; not loud, not quiet. But still, there is something in it, something laced with so much anger and pain, Slaine’s breath catches in the chest.

“What…do you mean?”

“I care for you.” Kaizuka whispers, and it feels like a caress—Slaine can feel Inaho’s breath hitting his face, they are so close. He can only stare at Kaizuka’s lips, his own cheeks flushing, his breaths coming short—Slaine swallows all of it and closes his stinging eyes, whispering, “How can you say that? You know what I have done to you.”

“I know what I’ve done to you, too.”

Slaine attacks where he knows, he will hurt them both. He raises his voice, “Do you even know what they did to me in that place?!”

Inaho closes his eye. “Yes…Yes, I do.”

Slaine breaks out of Inaho’s (now weak) hold and takes a few steps back. It takes discipline to remain silent as a statue, silent like a servant once again. It takes all of his discipline not to shout in pain, because of his burning leg, his feverish emotions. “Good. I still can’t remember everything.”

A flicker of surprise slashes across Inaho’s face. “You…can’t?”

“Aftereffects of the medication.” Slaine sighs, heavily. “Just…leave me alone, Kaizuka.” Slaine knows just how tired he sounds. “Just go away.”

“No.”

Slaine can’t stand it any longer, he drops on the couch, covering his face with his palm, the other hand constantly massaging, soothing his leg. “You always seek the most useless answers to the most annoying questions. Why do you even care—“

“I care.” Inaho says again, carefully sitting on the couch next to him. “I truly do, Slaine Troyard.”

“Stop it. I don’t need pity from anyone, especially you of all people.”

“This is no pity and you know it.”

“Cruhteo. The warden. The guards. You still blame yourself for what they did to me. And I still blame myself for what I did to you. There. We are such a sick pair, aren’t we?”

His heart thuds twice against his chest before Inaho answers. “No. We are not sick. We are healing, together. We need to stay like this…”

Slaine can’t stop the surprised widening of his eyes. “What are you talking about…?”

Inaho abruptly lifts his hand from where it rests on his knee, and it stays there, hovering, as if Inaho’s unsure of what to do with it. Years of practice have made Slaine capable of reading the patterns of sudden motions; and though this is no violent one—he knows, he is certain that Kaizuka is now attempting exactly the opposite—he can’t stop himself from flinching, perhaps because Kaizuka grabbed his arm previously, so Slaine is still on edge.

Inaho notices, of course. His hand drops like a dead bird on his knee again, and Slaine is overwhelmed by such a deep sadness, he turns his head away from Inaho, keeping his gaze lowered, fixed on Inaho’s hand.

“Slaine—“ A pause. “I shouldn’t have grabbed your arm. I’m sorry.” Inaho’s voice is so quiet.

Slaine stays silent.

Inaho’s hands ball into fists. “In my entire life, I’ve never wanted to understand anyone as much as I want to understand you, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine lowers his head more, blinking away that aching lump in his throat. “So you won’t kill me.”

“No. Never.”

Never. Slaine expected a Perhaps, or I can’t, or at least, We’ll see. But perhaps Inaho’s opinion can later be changed, with a little (a lot?) effort.

“I want to read in peace, Kaizuka. At least, let me have that.” There, he admits it. He doesn’t know if it’s the truth, wanting Inaho gone, wanting Kaizuka out of his sight, but either way he admits it; he needs peace.

“Do you have any books to recommend?”

“Why?”

“You don’t want me gone. Otherwise, you would have said so. Besides…I want to stay with you.” Inaho’s gaze rises to meet his, and Slaine sighs. Such an idiot. Such an arrogant, stubborn, amazing— “…Fine.” After thinking a bit, he grabs one for Kaizuka.

They spent the rest of the day in the library, sitting on the couch with their legs almost touching, reading in silence.

A few days later, Slaine’s plans crash and burn, exactly as they always did in his life. They are having dinner together, sitting on a similar table Slaine once sat with Saazbaum. Slaine is trying to focus on the final changes there need to be made in a new legislation. Instead, his thoughts keep returning on how hot Inaho’s breath felt on his skin, that afternoon Inaho found him in the library.

Lately, his dreams have been warm and full of Inaho, too. Slaine keeps waking up in a haze of half-arousal, with his underwear sticky, his lips and skin tingling and burning from Inaho’s imaginary kisses. He knows that those dreams will destroy him, if he keeps going on like this.

“Slaine?”

“Hmm?” He is not meeting Inaho’s gaze. Instead, he focuses his attention on his pumpkin soup, as if dipping his spoon into the orange-colored, thick liquid is currently the most difficult task on the world.

“I am attracted to you.”

Slaine almost chokes, the soup scalding his throat. “What…?”

Inaho is looking at him in an almost…tender way. “Slaine, I want you to know—“

“Kaizuka—what are you even…” His mouth feels so dry. “Talking about…?”

“I believe that you feel the same way about me.”

Almost on reflex, Slaine blurts out, “Do you even know what I have—“

“Slaine Troyard.” Inaho’s voice is so calm. “We’ve repeated this discussion before. I’m not changing my objective.”

Slaine’s doesn’t know what to feel; the one moment there is shame, replaced by fury as he is forced to admit, “I have scars.”

“…I know.” Inaho murmurs, sadly. “I remember.”

“I have more scars now.” Slaine spits out, not wanting to remember that hellish night. “And my leg.”

“So?”

“So?” he slams his palms on the table, mocking, “So? Is this the only thing you have to say?! You haven’t even seen me, Kaizuka, really seen me—“

“It doesn’t matter—“

“It does!” Slaine shouts, hurting, “It does, for me…!”

Kaizuka’s eye widens, and then he says, reaching a hand to him, “Slaine Troyard, you are—“

Disgusting. Fingers close around his throat. He can’t— You really are disgusting.

Slaine’s spoon falls and clatters on the table. He stares at it, not realizing what just happened, the memory usually confined in his nightmares attacking him from nowhere. His heart rises up his throat—he feels like throwing up. Slaine abruptly gets up, breath ragged. “This—this conversation is over.”

It is difficult to run with his leg and the cane, but he tries his best to get himself as far away from Inaho as possible. He can’t think properly; he doesn’t even know what he’s running away from, while behaving like a naïve child once again.

“Slaine!” Inaho’s frantic shout fades away as Slaine slams the door of the dining room behind him shut.

When Slaine reconnects with his surroundings, he is sitting in a corner of the huge room that serves as his living room, arms wrapped securely around his knees. He hasn’t tried to make himself that small since ages. To curl his body like this into the corner of a room—he hasn’t done this since the early days under Cruhteo’s servitude, when the whole world swore and cursed at his existence, where Cruhteo’s cane left him too weak and dizzy to stand. In prison, he never used the corners, because despite everything, he never felt truly threatened, there. Slaine closes his eyes, but opens them when the door opens, steps echoing inside the dark room. The stars are the only source of light, and the light is enough for Slaine to realize that Inaho just found him in his most weak, pathetic state.

“Can I come closer?” Kaizuka sounds…sad.

Slaine murmurs, “As if my words ever stopped you.”

“Can I?”

“Just—get on with it, Kaizuka.”

Inaho approaches, then drops on one knee in front of Slaine. They are now eye to eye.

It’s only a murmur, “I didn’t wish for it either, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine forces his eyes away from Kaizuka’s annoying—beautiful, Inaho is so beautiful under the weak light of the stars, how did he never notice before?—away from Kaizuka’s expressionless face.

Still, the words betray him, “You mean…?

“That whatever it is you are feeling…I am feeling it too.”

Slaine swallows, closing his eyes. “Kaizuka. Tomorrow morning, you are leaving for Earth.”

Vers, 2029

Capital of Vers, Dioscuria

Slaine is staring at the stars.

He is in his bedroom, and it’s the fourth night since Kaizuka’s departure. Eggs is gone, too.

He hasn’t felt so broken since the night that crimson uniform finally became his.

The days go by. One morning, he steps into the library, only to find a mysterious package left behind on his favorite couch. He is ready to call security and have it destroyed, until he notices the open botany book next to it, and his breath catches in his throat.

How did he…?

Slaine’s fingers frantically tear at the package until it opens and then he slowly, carefully grabs a handful of the small, brown seeds. They roll down his fingers, stuck in the creases of his palm.

His knees go weak. He sits down.

Kaizuka Inaho sent him Saxifrage seeds, and Slaine finds himself unable to do anything else than close his eyes and stay quiet in his loneliness, the silent library echoing with Kaizuka’s absence.

When the streets of the Versian cities fill with flowers, Slaine excuses himself in his rooms, sits on his bed and covers his face with his palm. He laughs like an overjoyed child who was given the best gift in the world; until he’s stabbed by Kaizuka’s absence, and his laughter turns into angry, bitter tears.

∞

iv.

Omnia vincit Amor—Love conquers all

Vers, 2030

After Kaizuka’s return to Earth, Slaine makes sure that every single second of his day is filled with ongoing projects, with councils, with endless hours in the labs and streets of Vers, listening and giving advice to scientists and citizens, diplomats and politicians alike. Each time his head meets his pillows late at night, Slaine is out like a candle in less than two seconds. He (purposely) never seeks to find out what exactly Kaizuka Inaho has managed to accomplish with his life on Earth.

It all changes a few months later. Slaine is carefully sipping his tea while reading the newspaper in his library, waiting for an important UFE ambassador to arrive from Earth. His gaze lands on an article about Kaizuka Inaho’s engagement to Asseylum Vers Allusia, previous Empress of Vers.

A few seconds tick away, the world seems to hold its breath. Slaine carefully folds the newspaper, puts it away, then grabs a random tome from the nearest bookshelf, opening it on his lap. It feels as if his heart is being violently squashed in his chest. For the next ten minutes, he keeps rereading the first paragraph without understanding a word.

The book slides from his lap and lands on the floor with a soft thud. Slaine’s hands are clenched so hard on his knees, his knuckles have gone pale.

Slaine sighs and leaves the room, his chest aching with each breath he takes.

Asseylum Allusia tries to contact him twice, and Slaine has to find a few minutes between an important meeting and the opening of a new power plant to answer her with a letter, congratulating her on her engagement, and wishing her a happy and long life.

She never writes back, doing exactly as Slaine requests.

Time passes by. Slaine concentrates his efforts on discussing new laws with the representatives of the Vers people, in his fight to eradicate racism and social injustice. The punishments become harsher, but after he is thanked for his efforts by both Terran and Martian citizens on the streets, Slaine for once doesn’t know if he has become more evil after his actions.

Two months and nine days after the announcement, two months and nine days filled with constant reminders and gossips and photographs in newspapers and magazines about Kaizuka’s romantic accomplishments, it is announced that Kaizuka canceled the engagement, and that the couple parted ways in friendly terms. Kaizuka is heavily criticized for his choice; it is not clearly stated in the articles, but his friends and family have observed that ‘the time he spent on Vers changed him’. Two days later, Kaizuka makes headlines again; the UFE is accusing him of insubordination.

There are no more details on the article, so Slaine has to order his intelligence services to reveal the truth for him: Kaizuka was caught hacking into confidential government files and gathering information…about him. About the Vers Emperor, Slaine Troyard.

Slaine is furious.

He really can’t understand what’s gotten into Kaizuka, behaving in such a dangerous, reckless way. But it’s been eight years since the end of the Second Interplanetary War, and Slaine realizes that he is still clinging onto the past, making again and again the same mistakes, putting someone else’s life above his own.

He can’t continue like this. He knows that his life never belonged to him from the beginning, but at least now, it can belong to the people of Vers. He has shouldered a destiny meant for Asseylum, giving her a chance to live her life as she wanted, watching her beloved birds from Earth while not having to carry the future of an entire nation, the future of millions of people, on her delicate shoulders.

By taking her throne by force, Slaine did not give her any other choice.

He is evil. Worse than evil. He already knows that.

Every time he passes by the copy of the old painting on the corridor before he enters his bedroom, he always takes the time to observe the demon’s ugly expression, his head crushed under the angel’s spear. The other Martian servants, Cruhteo, the Counts and prison guards, the warden…perhaps, in the end, their words have always been right. Slaine knows how his deformities look like. The screaming demon reminds Slaine of his own true form: that of a lowborn, repulsive being…destined to be forever alone.

Loneliness never bothered him. Yet sometimes, deep in the night where he keeps examining twenty or thirty reports instead of going to sleep, there comes a time where his mind blanks out and the words start blurring, moisture trickling down his cheeks. He catches himself remembering everything; his childhood with his absent father, the happy years on Vers at the side of the Princess, Cruhteo, the war, his imprisonment, the night of his escape and Kaizuka’s expression when he first noticed Slaine through that life-changing thunderstorm.  

The discussions with Kaizuka, the time they spent on the streets of Vers, all those endless nights in the library. Slaine realizes that the brightest of his memories are always encircling Kaizuka, just as naturally as the millions and millions of bright stars keep orbiting around the centers of their galaxies.

Still, other memories never leave him alone, tormenting him during the long, dark nights, where he sometimes wakes up in a very unstable state from the occasional nightmare. But he is used to it by now, and he knows that even if his guards have realized that something is wrong (they must have certainly heard his cries a night or two or more) they never dare comment on it.  

So many things have changed; there is no one here to hurt him here, or scoff at him, or remind him of what he is, and sometimes Slaine finds that impossible to believe. He has always been a nothing, and he knows that he will probably never see Kaizuka smile again—but this, he thinks, is just another form of punishment he now has to endure. He has long lost the right to complain about it.

At those nights, he wipes his cheeks and walks out of his workplace, until he stops in front of the painting of the angel and the demon still hanging on the wall of the corridor leading to his bedroom. There was a story in his books about the angel who was punished and cast out of heaven, chained by neck and wrists for falling in love.

The one time he wonders if something similar will happen to Kaizuka, if Kaizuka will be viewed differently from his society because ‘the years on Vers changed him’, if he will be punished because he disobeyed his superiors’ orders—Slaine stops the path of his thoughts as if burned.

It is not until a few days later, that Slaine finally stops struggling and sighing and accepts the painful truth.

He needs Kaizuka Inaho. He needs Inaho like his younger, starved self needed the food Kaizuka gave him the night he escaped from prison, like he once needed Kaizuka to stabilize his fall towards Earth, giving him the chance, if one looks at it like that, for a quieter, less painful life.

It’s late at night and Slaine is locked in his bedroom, having ordered all guards to remain outside his personal quarters for the next few hours. He needs privacy and rest, and he highly doubts that anyone will be capable of overriding the new security system. (If he must be honest, he can think of one person, but Kaizuka Inaho must currently be enjoying a happy life on Earth or at least, Slaine sincerely hopes so. The scandals and accusations have long faded away, months and months ago.)

Already changed into a light shirt and soft sweatpants, leaving the emperor’s uniform folded on the floor just because he can, Slaine is lying in bed, almost dazing off while looking out of the huge glass pane that separates his bedroom from the outer space. The stars stay bright and unchanging as always, and Slaine finds his thoughts drifting away, recalling the way Kaizuka’s features would soften as he talked about his sister and his friends on Earth, the way the shape of Kaizuka’s mouth would remind Slaine of a crescent moon, the rare times Inaho smiled.

Slaine sighs, the longing too deep to resist. He falls asleep with his thoughts muddled, but still full of Inaho.

Slaine has depended for years on his instincts for his survival. It is not a surprise to him that his eyes immediately snap open when he hears the sound of his bedroom door sliding to reveal an intruder—

Kaizuka Inaho.

It’s Orange, at the entrance of his bedroom, pointing a gun at him, wearing that cursed white UFE uniform.

Carefully, as if not wanting to disturb Inaho or make a sudden move, Slaine sits up. Inaho steps inside, lowering his gun. The door closes behind him, locking automatically.

Slaine’s heart clenches. “Are you here on a mission to kill me?”

“…Technically, yes.”

Of course. This joy—this elation—from seeing Kaizuka again, from hearing Kaizuka’s voice, it all disappears when Slaine realizes the obvious truth: it’s a mission. Of course it’s a mission, this is Kaizuka. He struggles to keep his features in check. An immense sadness floods him. I planned for this. Why does it hurt so much.

“I see.” Slaine’s hands ball into fists, voice icy. “Did you volunteer to assassinate me?”

“Yes.”

“Y-You really did...?”

“After the days we spent together, I considered that you wouldn’t shoot me on sight. I could approach you without difficulty. And I was correct, as it seems.”

White-hot anger consumes Slaine, so much that all his pretenses vanish in an instant, “Just how sick are you, Kaizuka?!”

Inaho’s eye narrows slightly, probably realizing something Slaine ignores. “I said, technically.”

Slaine stops breathing at that. “What?”

“It was the only way.”

Inaho is approaching. Slaine counts each step with his heartbeat. He can see the insignia on the pilot uniform; it seems that Kaizuka is a General, now. Years of endured violence are screaming at Slaine to get up from the double bed, find his gun and fire at Kaizuka—destroy him, destroy his other eye, too—but he can’t, how can he ever do such a thing to Inaho again—until he realizes from the dull, metallic noise that Inaho has discarded his own gun—Inaho isn’t armed—so why—

Inaho is now sitting on the soft sheets of his bed. Inaho’s hand is brushing his cheek, and the touch makes Slaine’s whole body shudder.

“So you finally realized now…” Inaho murmurs.

Heat floods Slaine. He leans forward, placing a hand on Inaho’s waist in order to assure himself this is no dream.

“Inaho…” The name feels different, whispered like this. “Why…?”

“I don’t understand it, either. But…”

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you doing here!” Slaine hisses.

Inaho is leaning forward. “I had to see you again.” And then Inaho’s kissing him like he’s burning and only Slaine can put out the flames.

Slaine groans and kisses back, fiercely, hands twisting into the material of Inaho’s uniform, the fabric closes around his fingers, he can’t stop pressing his lips on Inaho’s warm mouth—Slaine pulls away for air but Inaho’s mouth chases after his own, persistent, Inaho pulling him into the tightest embrace and kissing him until Slaine is flushed and dizzy.

Slaine knows, he should stop this, he really should, but he can’t, because since when has life been that kind to him, placing right into his hands what he most desires? Not power, not freedom, but the chance to be held like this, even if it’s for a few bleak hours of a short night, to be held as if being needed, as if—and Slaine would never, ever dare admit that to himself—as if finally being loved.

And he wonders why, why does Inaho’s touch feel so welcoming now? Why not in that library, in what feels ages ago? He could have taken Inaho’s hand in his own back then and kissed him like this, wild and breathless. But then Slaine thinks perhaps it was the saxifrage seeds that did it, or perhaps before then, it was something in the way Inaho cradled his face after the attack, or held his hand—

Slaine’s throat is dry and his eyes are stinging, but he finds the will to put some distance between their reddened mouths and take some breaths, gasping, “So you just used your mission as an excuse—to invade Vers—barge into my bedroom in the middle of the night—and, and kiss me?”

It seems that Inaho can’t form a coherent sentence, too. “Yes…I wanted, no, I needed to return—and not raise suspicions…”

It comes out as a sob, “What made you think this was a good idea…!”

“You.”

“…Excuse me?”

Inaho loosens his embrace and looks at Slaine as if he is seeing the colors of the galaxies for the very first time. “I wanted to see you again. Because it was unbearable.” He leans down, presses his forehead on Slaine’s shoulder, his lips warm on Slaine’s throat, “Your absence was unbearable...”

Slaine throws his head back, “What are you talking about…! You had her—”

“Asseylum—she wanted to forget, like I did. She was a terrible mistake. My mission was an excuse—“

“Your mission is an act of war! You invaded Vers and broke the peace treaty!!”

Inaho snaps, “I told you already. I never intended to harm anyone.”

“Kaizuka!” Slaine shouts, livid, “If your ‘mission’ is exposed, you will destroy years of peace! You will destroy everything I have been striving for!!”

They have long stopped kissing. Only their harsh breathing echoes across the room.

“Slaine…” Inaho whispers, slowly lifting his head, “You have become stronger than I ever thought possible…” Slaine’s eyes widen, but Inaho continues, frowning, “So is a relationship between us…impossible...?”

It is so rare for Inaho to sound that unsure. Slaine is shaking his head, “I don’t know. I don’t know that…”

“Should I stay?”

“No. No.”

“No?”

Why are you always being so stubborn, Slaine thinks, why must you always be like that…!

Slaine takes a trembling breath, meets Inaho’s crimson gaze, but the words wither and die when Inaho gets up from the bed—before he knows it, Slaine’s arm bolts forward, his fingers in a tight grip around Inaho’s wrist, pulling Inaho onto the bed and into his arms. As if this was the catalyst, they start kissing again like possessed.

Slaine whispers while Inaho has latched his mouth onto the soft skin under Slaine’s jaw, “Stay-ah- just stay, at least, tonight.” By now, it’s too late: Slaine is barely lucid of the words that keep spilling from his lips, dizzy with desire and his love—no, this insane, impossible attraction— for Inaho. “We’ll face the consequences— together.” His voice deepens to a moan, Inaho’s warm mouth is sucking onto his skin now, “Just, ah—just don’t leave me, Orange—don’t leave me alone too—”

Inaho freezes, stopping the trail of kisses on Slaine’s collarbone.

Slaine is confused at first, Why did you stop, did I tell you to stop? It takes him a moment to realize what was just spoken aloud.

He abruptly breaks out of Inaho’s embrace, mortified. It feels as if his heart, his stomach, everything is trying to escape from his mouth, so he stays still, frozen in place, waiting for Inaho’s reaction.

It’s as if Inaho didn’t hear him, because for the longest five seconds in Slaine’s life Inaho just stares at him, not saying anything. But then he’s leaning forward, curving his back and resting his forehead on Slaine’s chest in an uncharacteristically fond move. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Always so painfully honest, Orange. Slaine swallows the dryness in his throat, then slips his fingers into Inaho’s brown locks, ruffling them a bit, holding Inaho close. “You won’t.”

Inaho raises his head, and somehow they are kissing again, and Slaine feels dizzy, but in a very, very good way, while Inaho uses the opportunity to slide closer and murmur near Slaine’s ear, hands sliding down Slaine’s back, “I want you—”

Slaine’s skin is instantly on fire, he croaks, “Yes…”

“Slaine, I want to touch you…”

The drag of Inaho’s hand against his crotch almost brings tears to his eyes, but Slaine bites his lip,  “You can’t imagine how much—ah, Inaho...”

Inaho pulls back, and Slaine momentarily feels a pang of emptiness, until he realizes that Inaho is waiting for him, eye wide with uncertainty. So Slaine does something he hasn’t done in years; he takes off his shirt in front of somebody else, and Inaho keeps staring at him, his neck moving as he swallows.

Slaine is so aroused, the first slide of Inaho’s hand across his skin sets every nerve on fire. He doubles over, clutching onto Inaho’s shoulders as if his life depends on it. Inaho spreads his palms, slowly, sliding his hands across Slaine’s chest, his naked back—Inaho’s fingers keep traveling across his skin and burning him in ways Cruhteo’s whip never did, because this time, it is a worse kind of pain; because Inaho is being gentle, very gentle, and Slaine hasn’t experienced such tenderness in his life for a very, very long time, perhaps never before, and it both confuses him and scares him—Slaine realizes that he has never been that close to another person before in a way that doesn’t involve violence or torture or everything else he has obediently suffered as punishment for his crimes—

“Slaine.” Inaho cups the side of his face.

“Y-Yes?”

“Relax...”

At this, Slaine’s body stiffens more, sitting hunched on the bed, the muscles of his abdomen occasionally trembling under Inaho’s warm palms, now covering the area around his bellybutton. His back hits the mattress. He tries to calm down, but with no apparent success.  He curses at himself, one hand covering his eyes, because he can’t stop the dark thoughts from reappearing, along with old images from his past.

“Bat?” He is not hard anymore, and Inaho notices that. Slaine lowers his hand, refusing to look at Inaho. Inaho seems genuinely concerned now, lips dropping at the corners, staring into Slaine’s eyes. “Did I…are you alright? Slaine, should we stop?”

Slaine buries the left side of his burning face into the pillow. “No. I want us to...undress.” He meets Inaho’s gaze under lowered eyelids, and doesn’t miss the way Inaho’s eye widens in surprise.

Taking a shaky breath, Slaine realizes that he has had enough. He moves, mindful of his leg, detaching his back from the bed and slowly straddling Inaho, who lets out a deep sound when Slaine cups his face and presses their mouths together. Inaho’s hands come to rest on his clothed thighs, his fingers carefully rubbing circles exactly over the parts where Slaine usually hurts—realization hits Slaine like lighting: Inaho has been watching him all of this time.

This is too much. Slaine’s fingers scrabble at Inaho’s uniform, Inaho’s belt, but he then abandons them to wrap his arms around Inaho’s neck, threading his fingers though Inaho’s hair, shaking, desperate, sweat gathering on his nape—Inaho thrusts his hips upwards and Slaine throws his head back and doesn’t even register the broken sound that leaves his open mouth—

Slaine is whispering, “Orange—let’s take them off—please, I need—“

Inaho doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a second; their scars are too complicated, too far away from what is happening now between them, because they are safe and whole and undamaged in the darkness of Slaine’s bedroom. The eyepatch is gone, and Slaine sees what he must see, having prepared himself long ago for it, and he then kisses Inaho’s mouth, his nose, his forehead, his remaining eyelid, until Inaho’s cupping his cheeks and kissing him again, short but fierce kisses, their lips clinging together, and when their mouths separate Slaine has to rest his head on Inaho’s shoulder, overcome with a full, heavy emotion.

They frantically get rid of their clothes, lips and hands occupied with touching and exploring and eliciting soft moans, echoing in the dark room.

A moment comes when Slaine realizes that Inaho is fully naked, sitting on his bed in front of him, and the shimmering stars and far-away galaxies at the other side of the immense window are providing enough light for Slaine to see that Inaho is already hard, Inaho is looking at his damaged body and he is hard, and Slaine can’t pull his gaze away from it.

Either way, not much can be seen as the light isn’t enough to fully expose the damage at his body—especially the brown, ugly splotches on his leg—so perhaps—then Inaho wraps his hand around him, and Slaine’s mind whitens out as a wave of so intense pleasure overwhelms him, it brings a sob up his throat. Slaine realizes he is panting as he mutters through clenched teeth, “F-Finish what you started.”

Inaho stares at Slaine silently for two burning seconds, then runs his tongue and lips over Slaine’s mouth and down Slaine’s throat. Slaine’s eyes drift shut through his moans and sighs, his elbows buckle as he lies on the bed. Inaho keeps kissing him lower and lower, until Slaine arches his back with a soft gasp, pushing into the wet heat of Inaho’s mouth—his body suddenly feels fragile like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap—he tries to breathe as Inaho starts moving his lips and hands, clumsily, slowly, burning pleasure into his flesh, and Slaine can only gulp mouthfuls of air as he swims into a sea of sweet fire, fingers pointlessly scraping at the sheets beneath him.

Slaine will later recall that desperate, hungry first time and wonder how he was so fortunate, finding Inaho so eager to please and be pleased. It is as if their bodies know each other for a hundred years, and Slaine cannot ask for anything else; their fingers intertwine, lips hovering over each other, until Inaho moves, making them both moan into each other’s mouths. Just before Slaine comes, he is sinking his fingers into Inaho’s hair, bringing him closer, until he’s shaking uncontrollably, crying out for Inaho. All that’s keeping him together while the blinding-white pleasure crashes into him are Inaho’s hands wrapped tightly around his body, never letting go.

Their bodies are still connected when Slaine’s breathing calms down, the blissful daze of his orgasm slowly fading away, until Inaho lifts himself with quivering thighs and drops into the mattress right next to Slaine. If it wasn’t for his whole body radiating warmth like the brightest of all suns, Slaine would believe that the last few minutes where the warmest and most earnest dream he has ever experienced in his life.

Some more minutes pass, and after his breathing returns to normal, Slaine murmurs while ignoring the sticky mess on the sheets and between his legs, “Inaho?”

Inaho sits up, the blanket sliding and revealing parts of his body. There isn’t much to see with the faint light from the window, but suddenly, a strong feeling similar to hunger stirs inside Slaine.

Slaine sits up too, leans forward and kisses Inaho on the corner of his mouth. “I want to go again.”

Inaho blinks in confusion. Slaine feels his cheeks and other parts of his body growing hot.

“Now?”

Slaine nods, and kisses Inaho again, murmuring on his lips, “Do you need more time…?”

Inaho lets out a sound surprisingly similar to a chuckle. “No. I must admit…that your sight alone…” Inaho caresses the inner part of Slaine’s thigh, and Slaine has to open his mouth in a silent moan and smile. He has never felt so alive before, so full of wonderful feelings.

Slaine lies on his back and grasps Inaho’s hand in the darkness, guiding it to where he wants it to be. This time, it’s different; not driven by the same rush and despair as the first time. Inaho’s more in control of his movements, kissing Slaine’s mouth, breathing shakily against his shoulder, and Slaine licks and bites at Inaho’s lips, and more than appreciates it.

“What now?” Slaine whispers, lying on his side, both hands tucked under his head, just like he used to sleep ages ago, at times where no nightmares would violently disturb his nights.

Inaho whispers back, fingers running (a bit clumsily) through Slaine’s hair, “I will not complete my mission. Obviously.”

Slaine rolls his eyes. Inaho swifts, so that they’re both lying on their sides. Inaho’s mouth almost rests on Slaine’s temple, so Slaine can feel every word when Inaho whispers, “This may sound ridiculous…”

“What’s ridiculous?”

“When I was on Earth, I tried reading the books you are so…fond of. Many UFE officers ended up displeased with me, as reading your favorite books always made me distracted during our meetings.”

Slaine certainly did not expect that. A snort leaves his lips. “Wait, let me get this right. You read my favorite books…?”

“Yes, as every single one of those books—“

“Orange…you remembered every single title from my library?!”’

“Of course.”

Slaine doesn’t know how to answer that. He blinks in the semi-darkness of his room.

“As I was saying, every single one of your favorite books keeps mentioning love, or is centered around a romantic plot. So that ascertained my theory that you are a romantic person.”

It is amazing, how much Slaine’s cheeks flush in embarrassment, despite the things they have been doing the last hour. Trying to get revenge, his palm travels downwards, hoping this will distract Inaho from making Slaine reach record levels of blushing, but apart from a shiver and the faintest catch in Inaho’s breathing, Slaine doesn’t succeed. Inaho gently pushes his hand away.

“Kaizuka Inaho…what are you trying to accomplish…?”

“Recite poetry, of course.”

That makes Slaine almost double over in disbelief. “What—”

“My sweet—”

It doesn’t help that Inaho’s features stay unmoving as if he’s made of stone, and his voice lacks all enthusiasm. “O-Orange…!” Slaine thinks his face must be redder than a beet. “Is that really necessary…?”

Inaho sighs, “Then I guess …” When Inaho speaks, his voice is calm, quiet. Slaine finds himself unable to interrupt him. It’s a…poem.

(I cannot say that I have gone to hell for your love

but often found myself there in your pursuit.

I do not like it and wanted to be in heaven. Hear me out.

Do not turn away.)

 “Slaine.” Inaho murmurs. “Slaine…” There is a warm palm on his cheek now, so Slaine turns his head, previously buried into the pillow, because the emotions are chocking him. He meets Inaho’s gaze, and it hurts.

Slaine whispers, very puzzled, “You can’t possibly believe that you seek my…” Slaine chokes, “…love.”

Inaho’s hand is still on his cheek. “Why?”

“Because—“ Slaine whispers, eyes wide. “Because I’m—“ The cane strikes his cheek. The door of his cell bursts open. “Inaho. Inaho, I’m—“

“Breathe with me.”

It takes him a few minutes, but Slaine succeeds. He feels exhausted, his arms dropping onto the mattress, numb, he’s not fighting Inaho any longer.

He buries his burning face into the pillow, ashamed, and murmurs, having calmed down a bit now, “I see... You will expect of me to agree with your plans, to agree with all your stupid ideas about reforming Earth and Vers.”

“Stupid…?”

Slaine sighs, his throat is dry. But he continues, almost inaudibly. “You said it yourself; you prefer heaven, and I wish I could give that to you…but I can’t.” Somehow, Slaine feels like crying, and he doesn’t even understand why. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“I know who you are, Slaine Troyard.” Inaho kisses him again, slower, more careful than ever before. “I know.” Inaho’s shy smile is different, when Slaine is looking at it sideways, Inaho’s head resting on a pillow, his mouth slightly wrinkled.

“Then stay.” Slaine blurts out, not even thinking, heart aching in his chest, in the best of ways. “Stay...”

Inaho hugs him so close, it cuts off Slaine’s breath. “I’m never leaving you again, Slaine Troyard.”

Slaine slowly closes his eyes at Inaho’s answer, heart thudding faster. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Inaho, but before he knows it, he is clutching onto Inaho so hard, burying his nose into Inaho’s neck, taking deep, uneven breaths.

Slowly, carefully, Inaho starts trailing his fingertips over Slaine’s back, over the crisscrossing scars. Eyes still closed and stinging, Slaine’s thoughts soar to the skies. He can imagine it; Inaho’s palm carving new patterns into his flesh, overwriting the years and years of hatred and violence, making his broken skin whole and undamaged again.

When he wakes in the following morning, after a merciful, undisturbed sleep he hasn’t experienced in ages, Slaine notices that Inaho is lying on his side next to him, propped on his elbow and staring at him, not wearing his eyepatch. Slaine realizes that his chest is uncovered and in full view, the dim Martian sunrays falling on the red mash of his scars—he puts his arms beneath the sheet, and pulls it up to his chin.

Inaho simply reaches over and strokes his cheek, in that trademark awkward way of his (after last night, Slaine knows too well how Inaho touches, how Inaho’s hands feel on every part of his skin, and he shudders pleasantly at the thought.)

“What now…?” Slaine asks.

“I already answered that question last night.”

“No…I mean—“

Inaho blinks. “Do you want to have sex again? I admit that last night I wanted to but you fell asleep—”

Slaine groans. “Orange, let’s leave this discussion for…later. No, I what I mean is…what happens now?”

Inaho says, smiling a bit, “We eat breakfast, Bat.”

For once, Orange has come up with a good idea. However, that smile… “No. Not again.”

“Yes.” Inaho seems too satisfied with himself. “How do you want your eggs? Omelet or scrambled?”

As a punishment, Slaine has to- slowly- straddle Inaho and push him into the sheets, and from Inaho’s soft smile Slaine understands that lots and lots of egg-breakfasts are awaiting him in his near—and perhaps distant— future.

∞

~Epilogue~

Earth, Summer 2032

Kaizuka Inaho’s residence

“Bat…”

Last night they were both very tired as they dived under the sheets, having spent the day swimming in the ocean and walking Eggs across the shore. They made love, Slaine panting softly each time Inaho slowly pushed into him.

“Slaine.”

Inaho’s lips on his forehead are trying to wake him up. Slaine buries his head into the pillow, hair disheveled, treading the dizzy steps in his dreams between sleep and wakefulness, yawning. “Hmm…?” He can feel Inaho’s hand treading through the ends of his tangled hair, untangling the stubborn strands.

“I think I was infected with something last night.”

Slaine is fully awake, eyes snapping open, turning towards Inaho, the delicious warmth and softness of the sheets long forgotten, lost in that feeling of sharp trepidation. “Are you not feeling well?”

“It’s the opposite.”

Inaho is smiling. Slaine wants to kiss him, but he snaps out of it and focuses on the problem at hand, a bit annoyed in case Inaho woke him up for another one of his silly obsessions: chess and discounts. “…I don’t understand.”

“Think of it as the bacterium of happiness.”

Slaine snorts, all worries gone. This is yet another one of Inaho’s crazy attempts to show him affection. Last time was when Inaho dragged an upset, shaking Slaine into the kitchen at 3am and baked him cookies which they later ate together on the couch, Eggs sitting between them and licking at Slaine’s face, while Slaine held her close and tried to find the words to describe to Inaho the agony that woke him up.

Inaho is getting better and better at showing affection through the years, though this time his methods are rather ridiculous.

“Orange, you’re ridiculous.”

“It is highly contagious.”

“Inaho... It’s too early in the day for that. And I don’t understand—“

“Kiss me. Kiss me, and you will find out.”

Wait. Is he trying…? Realization slowly dawns, spreading its soft colors everywhere. “Is this your way of saying…” Slaine’s throat tightens, “…that you want to make me…happy?”

Inaho leans forward, head tilted to bring their mouths together. He lingers for a few seconds, his warm mouth on Slaine’s. Slaine closes his eyes. Each time Inaho kisses him like that, chaste and careful, the kiss never fails to soothe him. Inaho draws back, starring into Slaine’s eyes. He is so serious. “Now you’re infected too.”

Slaine snorts, deciding to play along, despite feeling like a happy fool—even if happiness was something never meant for him. (But on the other side neither was Inaho, yet…) “Is it…incurable?”

Inaho’s serious expression morphs into a soft smile.

Slaine kisses him, which Inaho fervently reciprocates, his arms boldly sliding down towards the curve of Slaine’s ass, and that makes Slaine laugh at first and then groan into the kiss. They soon end up naked once again and breathless under the sheets, Inaho sliding his hands along Slaine’s scarred back, his chest, his tights, igniting fire everywhere, and Slaine is left shivering, unable to bare it any longer, sighing when Inaho starts stroking him in the way he knows Slaine likes, slow at the beginning and then faster and faster, until Slaine groans, clutching at Inaho’s shoulders, jerking in Inaho’s hand, coating Inaho’s fingers. He then sinks, blood humming with pleasure, spent and smiling into the mattress.

Inaho, blushing, uses the same hand to take his own arousal in hand; Slaine smiles again, propped on his elbows, flushed and tired and a bit wicked when he notices what Inaho is doing, brown strands of his hair sticking out in every single direction. When Inaho comes, he is staring at him, never looking away from his eyes; his other hand hovers near Slaine’s flushed, sweaty cheek, until Slaine leans into the caress, then kisses Inaho’s palm, the tips of Inaho’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth.

And after so many years, after so many nights filled with tenderness and pleasure, Slaine still tries to grasp the truth of it, Inaho finding him attractive—Inaho whispering, those moments just before he finishes, words like Slaine, or beautiful, or love.

They end up spending the rest of the morning in the bedroom, Slaine mostly on his knees and palms on the bed, Inaho mercilessly dragging pleasure out of him, making Slaine hide his reddened mouth and release deep, hoarse moans into the sheets.

The political situation between Earth and Vers has evolved much through the last few years. The words ‘Versian’ and ‘Terran’ have begun to lose their acerbic meaning, the younger generations being confused when hearing them, not able to grasp their implication. Since the last Emperor of Vers negotiated with Kaizuka Inaho and abandoned his position, the two planets and many space resettlements prosper in peace and under a democracy, with the cities of Vers still filled with saxifrage flowers—rumor has it that the flower can break through the hardest of stones.

After their hot morning activities, Slaine realizes that he tired his leg more than usual, straddling Inaho at one point and then lowering himself—

“Bat? You’ll burn the eggs. Let me.” Inaho steps next to him in front of the stove, taking the pan from his hand.

Slaine walks—in his own slow way, as always— towards the kitchen chairs, and Eggs barks happily and strolls next to him, nudging at his knees with enthusiasm when Slaine manages to sit down next to the table, so Slaine snaps his gaze away from Inaho and starts indulging Eggs with caresses and smiles.

Inaho places their breakfast on the table—pancakes and honey and eggs and bacon and fruit, because ‘We need the vitamins, Bat.’ –then sits opposite Slaine, starring at him in silence.

“What is it?” Slaine asks, chewing on his breakfast, “Is there something on my face?”

“No.” Inaho says, with a soft, satisfied smile, cheek resting on his palm.

 Slaine tries to, he really does, but his eyes close as he surrenders into it, smiling back. He loves Inaho. Inaho loves him. That much he understands, and he is happy.

  “W…Why are you making me smile?”

 “I didn’t do anything.”

 Eggs barks happily again, so Slaine pets her quickly, looking out of the kitchen window, Inaho’s gaze still focused on him. The sky is blue and endless. And for the first time after all those years, Slaine thinks that it is truly beautiful.

  ~Fin~

∞

[ryanmeft]

La La Land: Movie Review

The first couple of musical numbers in "La La Land" will have you wanting to jump up on the back of the movie theatre seats, disregarding potential injury, and perform a song and dance number right there and then. The last two beat with an ache so pure, bittersweet and true that it will shatter the heart of anyone who harbors the slightest flame of a dream behind the dull, grey armor the day-to-day world encrusts us with. In between is a sweeping ode to everything people want, everything they'll do to get it, and the cost of tiny moments. It contains multitudes. I don't even want to write this review; I just want to watch the movie again.

It begins with a cold opening, which may be the first I can recall seeing in a musical, in which dozens of commuters in a Los Angeles traffic jam (which, I'm told, is just normal traffic in Los Angeles) leave their cars to dance on hoods and roofs and in the streets, singing "Another Day of Sun", which, like most of the film's songs, celebrates dreams. Reviews aren't trivia, but I can't resist mentioning that this was filmed on an actual over pass, in one continuous take of six minutes; it is the greatest of many great shots, musical and otherwise, from the camera of Linus Sandgren. It is entirely unfettered from reality, but like the field built over Ray Kinsella's corn, "That's what I like about it". Then we're introduced to Mia (Emma Stone), a struggling actress and playwright, and Sebastian( Ryan Gosling) who worships jazz but lives in the past, to the point where he drives an anachronism among all the sleek modern vehicles. It is...not love at first sight, let's just say that.

Most musicals seem to take a time out for their, y'know, music, but Chazelle is a guy who believes in dreams, and doesn't think he needs to apologize for that, so when the characters sing about hope it fits right in seamlessly. Witness Stone's first number, performed with three roommates (Jessica Rothe, Sonoya Mizuno and Callie Hernandez) in which Mia, who works as a barista on the Warner Bros. film lot, sings about finding that "Someone in the Crowd". It's the first number that indicates the undercurrent of the film; it will make little sense to anyone who has never had the crushing realization that they could write the best novel ever or compose the best song, and it means nothing unless the right people can be made to notice. That, of course, is the great lie perpetuated by most people selling dreams: that the dream is all that matters.

Should I discuss each song in detail? I'd like to, but you should see them for yourselves. Eventually, Mia and Sebastian meet again, and after a cold brush-off they meet yet again, to the toe-tapping comedic number "A Lovely Night", which works in a reference to "Singin' in the Rain". Sebastian gets to explain his love of Jazz, for which he has the kind of engagement most people on this planet will never feel about anything (kudos for name-dropping Sidney Bechet). The film then hits us with the romantic ode "City of Stars", which is about the blossoming romance on screen but also about...other things. I won't force my interpretations on you. Sebastian wants to start a nightclub where Jazz will be kept alive, but is seduced by an old bandmate (John Legend, in a cameo that's honestly a bit too aware of itself) to perform in a Jazz band where the Jazz is a minor element.

This is where the film injects reality. Sebastian is away many nights. Mia has begun working on a one-woman play, and in one scene Sebastian returns after a night of rehearsals to find her storyboards scattered on the floor. It's a quick shot that speaks volumes. The trailers for the film sell it as a high-hopes, gee-whiz spectacle of old-Hollywood style musicals, and I went in expecting something light and fun but forgettable. The whole throwback vibe does apply, but it is only a coating. Director Damian Chazelle, whose "Whiplash" was the most intense film of 2014, has crafted a tale about longing, in a world where we are taught not to want things, to go along to get along. "Whiplash" was about obsession; "La La Land" is about passion.

Sebastian and Mia are passionate about one another, but they are arguably more so about their dreams. In this respect, the film reaches past general audiences to constrict the hearts of anyone who has ever truly pursued a dream, not for money or fame but because it was real to them. I've often been asked how creative folk can forego a normal life for their drives, a question that wrongly implies they don't want both. Chazelle and songwriting duo Pasek and Paul understand it perfectly, though, and composer Justin Hurwitz sets it to a perfect score filled with both glee and melancholy. If you're a Mia or a Sebastian, you likely know a dozen people who have "quit" a dozen times. We always go back; to do anything else would be like dying.

Then a casting director tells Mia to "tell us a story", and honestly, I'm not sure I have the words for the scene that follows. Or anything that happens from that point to the end of the film. A critic is supposed to stay aloof and non-committal when they write about a movie, but the beauty of not being paid is I can write whatever I want, and I'm not going to detail the ending except in comparison to "Whiplash". That film ended when, having sought technical perfection, the main character instead unshackled himself to pursue spiritual freedom; however, he was still tied to the obsession that brought him there. The last 20 minutes or so of "La La Land" is about real freedom, which adults with experience know doesn't mean leaving your cares and losses behind, but learning where they fit in your life and how they have informed who you are; the last number is all about how a life can hinge on what happens in a few seconds. The final look shared in the film is about as good as you can get and still end up aching, a perfect expression of something indefinable, a music that certainly cannot be done justice in the words of a mere critic.

Here's to the hearts that break.

Here's to the mess we make.

Verdict: Must-See

Note: I don’t use stars but here are my possible verdicts. I suppose you could consider each one as adding a star.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

You can follow Ryan's reviews on Facebook here:

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Or his very infrequent tweets here:

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All images are property of the people what own the movie.

[theo-la-dora]

Ink Stained: Chapter 4 Kitchen Knives

Read here or on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Summary:

In which the library is still creepy, Laura more or less kidnaps Kirsch's car and Carmilla thinks that Vodka is a great idea for problem-solving. Also, there are candles. A lot of candles.

The days passed in numbness for Laura. Long phases of being underwater interspersed with alarm clocks, phone calls and Betty’s concern and she felt cold.

So very, very cold.

Laura tried calling Carmilla but the number didn’t work. There wasn’t even a voicemail for her to leave a message on, to tell her that she was sorry even if sorry didn’t quit match the feeling in her throat.

Because how did you explain the life-long fear ingrained in your bones until it was part of you? How did you explain always covering up, never buying low-cut shirts, never having sex with the lights on, never quite trusting your friend because science was everything to them and telling meant being the shiny new research object, meant the end of being Laura? How did you explain wanting to run, full speed, and then stop before you stumble over the jagged edges of the world, tiptoeing in a minefield in a dance that was routine before you even learned to walk?

How do you explain the guilt at having failed to trust the one person who would’ve understood? The one person that needed to know?

Laura still went to all her classes, still wrote all her essays and drank too much coffee and when Betty questioned the amount of ice-cream she ate, she fixed her with a glare that shut even her usually so unflappable roommate up.  The routine held her up and kept her going and it wasn’t until someone stepped in her way when she tried to leave the library on Friday night that Laura finally woke up.

“Laura Hollis,” a boy drawled, tilting his head sideways in a weird angle that her instantly on edge. He was unfamiliar, with brown hair and eyes, a few years older than her tops. There was a gleam in his eyes that had Laura instinctively step back and reach for the bear spray in her left jacket pocket. “Laura, Laura, Laura,” he chided, grinning at his own words. “You’re a rather difficult person to get a hold of, little Laura Hollis.”

Laura bristled at being called ‘little’ – a lifetime of always being the shortest person in the room did that to you. “And why would you want to get a hold of me?” She was proud that her voice didn’t waver as she furtively widened her stance. There was no one around her that she could call for help with the library’s subbasements as deserted as they were and getting almost killed once should’ve really taught her better than this.

“See, that’s a funny thing,” the strange boy grinned, teeth sharp and too bright in the dimly lit hallway full of dust and books. “You’ve been making things rather difficult for me and it’s been quite… what is the word again? Annoying.”

“And why is your annoyance my problem exactly?” she asked with all the fierceness she could muster and more bravery than she felt. “Who are you even?”

“Always so curious,” he cooed, taking another step towards her, his movements strangely sluggish. “That’s not a good look on a girl, you know that, right?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“And she’s talking again.” He shook his head condescendingly, his neck bending weirdly to one side. “I’d really hoped that you’d at least swallowed enough of that river to shut you up for good, but no, she’s still babbling-”

“You,” it escaped Laura, “You were on that bridge! You were the one trying to run me over, what the holy-” She walked backwards until her back hit one of the shelves and she was trapped.

“And she’s starting to get it.” He looked absolutely delighted at the prospect. “Yes, girlie, I was in that car and it would’ve worked so very nicely even with you jumping off that bridge if my dearest sister hadn’t intervened.”

“Your sister?”

“Oh, did Kitty Kat forget to tell you that precious detail? Technicalities, I suppose,” he brushed it off. “She’s always had a weakness for pretty girls.” The guy reached out a hand as if to touch Laura and she bared her teeth at him, all her senses telling her to run, run, run but something about her defiance seemed to amuse him enough to drop it for the moment. “Otherwise, why protect you – a mere girl?”

“Protect me?”

“The bat wing was a nice try to be honest” The boy – Carmilla’s brother -  grinned, pointing at her wrist. “Unfortunately, it was only designed to divert attention, not to make you completely untraceable, so with enough perseverance…,” he gloated, clearly pleased with himself.

Laura gritted her teeth. “So, you sent me the cursed necklace then, too?”

“Oh, yes. That would’ve been so very entertaining, too. Do you know how messy car accidents are? All that blood and intestines? In Mexico, there’s a whole group of paparazzi charged with taking pictures of gruesome deaths and I can tell you it’s just delightfully-”

“But then your other sister intervened,” Laura finished the sentence for him, her stomach revolting at the pictures he was painting with his words. “Sounds to me like your family isn’t all that fond of you.”

“Well, they will be.” He put a hand on the shelve next to her and Laura felt her skin boiling. “I will show them, little dolly.”

“Show them what exactly?”

“What I can do.” He stepped even closer and the smell of something overtly sweet and rotting assaulted her and made her gag. “It’s really quite unfortunate that in order for me to do just that, you must die, Miss Hollis. Sadly, there’s just no way around it. If you only hadn’t been so curious and gotten involved in all of this… But you know what they say…”

Laura saw something silver and sharp gleam in her periphery. A knife she thought, he has a knife. She forced herself to stay calm and grip the spray can tighter.

“Curiosity has always killed the cat.”

He lunged for her, but Laura was faster, years of self-defence classes ingrained in her movements and she punched him in the throat and simultaneously hit him with the bear spray right in his eyes. Her attacker reeled back, pained howls sounded through the empty hallways as he tried to rub the acidic spray out of his eyes and Laura used his distraction to knock the knife out of his hand.

“And satisfaction brought it back,” Laura hissed and, picking up the discarded knife, she took off running.

+++

Laura feels like she’s in a spy movie.

Always looking over her shoulder, she sees the boy’s face and a hundred more like him everywhere in the crowd and she’s painfully aware of the stolen knife burning a hole through the pocket of her jacket.

She arrives at Kirsch’s place at two in the morning and it’s probably due to his decidedly not quite awake state that he hands her the keys to his car without discussion. She’s a long way from Toronto when the sun climbs across the mountains, a memorized address leading her somewhere she’s never been to before and hope burning brightly in her chest.

(Laura tries not to think about the knife.)

+++

The cabin was dark when Laura arrived, the forest's silence eerie after the roaring of the engine and when she tried the door, it wasn't even locked. The familiar smell of ink and books enveloped her when she finally entered and it stitched up her throat with surgeon’s hands.

Whatever she’d been expecting here, it wasn’t this.

The cabin was small and cozy, consisting of just one main room with a kitchen in one corner and a door that probably lead to a bathroom in the other. A large couch took up most of the space, conveniently placed in front of the fire place with a multitude of blankets and pillows piled on top of it. The walls were covered in shelves overladen with books of any size and sort. Poetry, philosophy, medical textbooks, science-fiction from the 18th century as well as fairy-tales and photography books – they were all scattered across every available surface, interspersed with large candles and tea lights. Strange symbols and crystals were strung up in front of every window, the morning light casting foreign shadows and coloured flecks of light across the room.

Laura felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Because this was a home. This was Carmilla’s home, this cabin in the woods and it suddenly felt like an invasion to be here. But she was exhausted, drained to the bone and she just needed to talk to Carmilla.

So, Laura took off her shoes and pants and curled up in one corner of the couch under a pile of blankets. Her foot bumped against something hard beneath the covers and Laura jerked back, thinking knives and poison but it turned out to be just a photo album. An album containing over a hundred photos depicting the same forest scene over and over again and it wasn't until she discovered the dates written neatly in one corner of every picture that Laura understood the album's title.

 Continuation.

There was a sense of profound loneliness about the picuture and its slowly changing landscape. It tugged at the edge of Laura's mind but she couldn't quite name it as her tired mind sowly overwhelmed her. She didn’t mean to fall asleep as quickly as she did and when she woke up, it was to the sound of glass shattering and someone cursing under their breath.

“Shit, shit, goddamn it… fucking miserable piece of shit throwing a motherfucking knife at me, who the fuck does he think he – oh fuck, stop fucking bleeding, I can’t – ouch, shit, this is-”

“Carm?” Laura asked sleepily, still half caught in strange dreams about fireworks and veils, and rubbed her eyes as she sat up, blonde hair a messy halo around her head.  

The cursing ceased abruptly.

“Who the fuck are you and what the frilly hell are you doing here?” Carmilla’s voice was dangerously low and Laura knew that she was curling her hands into fists right about now.

“Rude,” she chided her, slipping off the blankets and not caring that she was only wearing an oversized shirt over her underwear. She blinked at Carmilla, noting that something about her was different. Her hair reached just below her shoulders and was cut into bangs, the clothing different – high waist shorts and thigh highs paired with a see-through blouse – and she looked so very, very young.  

“I’m asking you what you are-“ Carmilla started again, brow furrowing and Laura swallowed, figuring that this Carmilla was indeed much younger, perhaps from years before she had met her.

“I’m Laura and you gave me the address, so stop snarling and-,” she began because if her theory was correct, this was in fact their first meeting for Carmilla. She let her eyes rove over the girl’s face, pain-laced fury and hunched over posture and it wasn’t until she blinked again that she saw the blood staining her blouse.

“You’re hurt,” she interrupted whatever hissed curse this Carmilla was ready to bite out. Disregarding the girl’s warning growl, she stepped closer, prodding at her arm until she let her examine the wound.  

“Holy Hufflepuff, what happened?” Laura asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice as she tried to see the what, where and how deep through the stained fabric, but it was impossible to make out much of anything because of the sheer amount of black-blue blood.

“Idiot tried to stab me,” Carmilla muttered, eyeing Laura with suspicion. “And in case you didn’t notice, sweetheart. This kind of fucking hurts and I have no idea who the bleeding hell you are, so if you don’t want me to tear out your spine, could you please-”

Laura shot her a chiding look before pushing past her towards the small bathroom to find a first-aid kid of some kind. Her heart beat a lot easier when she actually found one in the cupboard beneath the sink behind an inordinate amount of liquid eyeliner flasks.

When she came back into the main room, Carmilla was leaning heavily against the tiny kitchen counter, pouring what looked like vodka into a water glass and almost missing it because her hand was trembling so much.

“Are you kidding me?” Laura exclaimed, rushing forward to knock the bottle out of Carmilla’s hand and pour all its contents down the sink. “You’re bleeding, you stupid vampire. Do you really think now’s the time to get wasted?”

“Numbs the pain though, darling,” Carmilla grins, teeth stained blue on the edges as if she’d been coughing up blood. “And vampire? Really?”

“Well, grumpy space-time anomaly was a bit of a mouthful,” Laura snapped back, pushing Carmilla until she was sitting on the counter, head leaned back against the cupboards with a pained hiss. Carefully, she unbuttoned Carmilla’s shirt and pushed it off her shoulders, leaving her in just a plain black bra.

“Oh, buy me a drink first, cutie,” the girl quipped despite the pain she had to be in when Laura started cleaning up the blood. The wound itself wasn’t that deep and Laura prayed to any deity currently listening that Laf’s proposed immortality extended to some kind of supernatural healing ability so that cleaning and dressing it would be enough.

Her fingers lingered on the white bandage long after she’d wrapped it up, eyes flickering over bare skin to check for other injuries and when she met the other girl’s eyes, Carmilla was staring right back at her.

“It was a cursed knife,” she finally said. “Any other injury would’ve been healed by the time I made it here but wounds like this one… they take longer.”

Laura nodded in the dim daylight, filtered by the clouds and the forest surrounding the cabin. “Who did this?”

Carmilla scoffed, the movement causing her to jolt when pain hit her once again. “Will,” she pressed out, “Who else? The little weasel thought it great fun to use me as target practice and then drain me just because I wasn’t careful enough to not step into that damn circle. Fucking sadistic piece of-”

“Will - your brother?”

“That’s what he likes to call himself.” Laura saw the fury in Carmilla’s eyes, the bottomless disdain. “A cockroach, that’s what he is. Fancies himself one of us but he’s no more than a grave robber, a thief that uses spells and violence to steal time, drinking our blood because he-“ She coughed at that and Laura remembered her blood-stained teeth and shushed her.

“It’s okay, Carm,” she whispered and the girl went rigid at the sound. “You’re safe here now.” Laura smoothed her own blue-stained hands over the bare thighs between shorts and stockings, the bandaged waist, the sides of her chest and up over arms before resting on her shoulders, hearing and feeling their hearts beating in sync. Carmilla took in a shuddering breath, pupils blown wide as she simply stared at Laura.

„So, was our touch half as sacred as I’ve made it seem?” she whispered, the quote unfamiliar, as she took Laura’s hand, grazing her finger tips as if searching for something. “Or just another fabrication of a half-dream?”

Her expression was one of deep unsettlement and that tinge of sadness did Laura in.

“Carm…” Slowly, carefully as not to cause more pain, Laura pulled the girl down towards her, fingers curled around her neck and in her hair, something flaring in her chest when the girl complied. She pressed her lips against Carmilla’s for a kiss that tasted like ink and the sharp tang of alcohol, more a promise than anything.

“And time can be such a funny thing,” she heard her murmur in the blueish light of the cabin. “Always moving to the future, glorifying the past and amplifying the pain in frames and glass (1).”

+++

After past Carmilla disappears, still wide-eyed and searching, Laura falls asleep curled up on the couch, skin stained black-blue and she feels at peace for the first time in weeks, the burning longing momentarily dulled.

(When she wakes up, the ink stains are gone, replaced with even more words spreading down the insides of her arms.

There’s another girl in the room.)

+++

Carmilla was sitting on the other end of the couch when Laura woke up sometime in the evening, the room illuminated by a myriad of lit candles. She took one look at leather pants, corset and ink-free hands to know that she was dealing with this time’s Carmilla. Her dark hair was messy, faint red bruises dotting her neck and Laura blushed at the memory, instinctively knowing from where Carmilla had come.

The girl looked almost nervous. Her face was carefully blank, but she’d pulled her knees to her chest, bare feet digging into the cushions and eyes tracking everyone of Laura’s movements as she slowly blinked at the intruder.

“Liebling,” Carmilla whispered, voice raspy and Laura felt something inside her choke up. But dusk had thrown its weight over her and moving seemed like an impossibility.

“When I saw you here for the first time I thought that I had gone mad,” Carmilla continued and she suddenly looked old and weary. “You… you knew me. Knew my name and what I was and you were in my home and you were real.”

Laura watched her, unable to look away and there was fear and anger and the helplessness of inevitability warring in her chest, a tenderness in her throat and fingers that she did not dare name.

“I drowned for almost seventy years,” Carmilla said almost lightly and the pain was right there, was tangible.  “It’s hard to kill someone like me. We are time itself. We’re relative, we’re unmoving and ever-changing. We are humanity’s heartbeat, it’s hymn, it’s lifeline. We do not die.”

She looked shaken for a moment and Laura couldn’t help but reach out despite her own mess of a heart and tangle her fingers with Carmilla’s as she pulled her down to lie next to her.

“You were like a hallucination, a creature of Will’s doing or a half dream from underwater that I faintly remembered but when you kissed me… I thought that it was a madness I’d gladly take.”

They’re quiet for a long time, their heartbeats thumping in rhythm in this still night. When Carmilla whispers “I’m sorry for leaving”, Laura finally turns to face her.

“According to my Dad,” she said quietly, throat burning and eyes focused on Carmilla, “the mark’s been there since my birth. At first, it looked like a regular beauty mark, a small black dot in the middle of my chest but then over the years it started to grow. My parents were so scared,” she whispered. “They didn’t know what to do or who to ask because they were afraid that people would hunt me down, so they covered it up. But then the accident happened.”

“The one where I-“

Laura nodded, smile a bit tremulous. “When I got out of the hospital and my father took off the bandages – he almost had a heart attack. Because the vines had opened to envelop what looked like an animal skull.”

It felt like they both took in a shuddering breath at the same time and Laura let her fingers skim over Carmilla’s hairline, smiling softly.

“So, I can’t really compete with you know years of I don’t know… pining or something-”

“I did not pine -”

“And I can’t really tell you what any of this means, but in a strange, really like to ask the universe why kind of way, it’s always been you.” She smiled at Carmilla who suddenly looked a bit flustered.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anyway,” Laura rolled her eyes and reached for her coat, the movement startling Carmilla, and pulled out the knife that the guy in the library – Will – had tried to stab her with and one look at Carmilla’s blanching, coldly furious face told her everything she needed to know.

“We need to talk.”

+++

She kisses her there, in candlelight, because that's what they do in the stories and sometimes, in the quiet moments, this feels just like a story. Something prewritten and already decided like the mark on her chest and the words on her skin and it makes her want to revolt. But then Carmilla smiles at her and it's the most real thing she can think of.

(So Laura kisses her).

+++

Notes:

1) Carmilla quotes La Dispute's song "The Most Beautiful Bitter Fruit" here (the song is more or less about hooking up). It's a post-hardcore band so while that's not for everyone, they have lyrics that read like poetry so definitely check that out - it's just the type of music that I think Carmilla would be really into (and i'm the kind of nerd that has playlists for characters, ok?) Also, any lyrics about time are somehow really bloody hilarious to me when writing a time travel story.

[customectorart-blog]

Technical realities of the craft

Our good host asked that I begin this adventure with a bit of ‘ Innovative Designing’, and I am all too happy to oblige, though I will be covering some philosophical ground along with the technical realities of the craft.

Embroidery digitize is the process of creating files containing commands to drive the movement of an embroidery machine’s hoop and needles. The process of digitizing, however, is somewhat more complicated. Digitizers interpret an image into stitches through a variety of methods, using any one of a multitude of software and hardware combinations. They may do so a single stitch at a time or by drawing shapes that they then fill with stitches set pro-grammatically to their own cocktail of variables delineating stitch length, type, angle and density. Beyond this technical definition, however, lies something nearer to the truth.

 Embroidery digitizing, at its best, combines a measure of scientific curiosity and a technical mindset with purposeful, artistic interpretation, taking into account the unique properties of thread and fabric as media. I know my definition may be cold comfort to those looking for a way to ‘convert’ a graphic file automatically into embroidery- but though software manufacturers have done their best to make it possible, the most expensive and well-crafted software packages I've used have never been able to make the technical and artistic decisions as well as even a dedicated amateur digitizer.

 If you are looking for a software-driven solution, my description of the art will likely disappoint. If, however, you are a focused, creative, and curious individual with a little of the scientist blended into your artistic persona and are willing to embark on a journey to control the powerful artistic tool that is your embroidery machine, you will be rewarded with the keys to unlock a world of expression. If this is you, by all means, let’s begin.

 What do we mean by the ‘science’ and ‘art’ of digitizing?

 Many novice digitizers think that learning software tools will make them immediately capable of producing fine embroidery, but they have only grasped the last and least important piece of the puzzle. It is only in knowing the technical nature of the craft and by cultivating an eye for artistic interpretation that they will reach their potential as digitizers. This technical nature is what I refer to as the ‘science’ of machine embroidery.

This is more than just technical knowledge; like proper science, this also describes a technique- a method of testing, as part of this understanding. Testing that leads to the ability to create reproducible, predictable outcomes in their embroidery. As for knowledge, a digitizer should possess a solid understanding of the process as a whole.

 The functions of embroidery machines, the way that thread and needle interact with fabric and stabilizers, the way that stitches interact with each other, the natural levels of distortion caused by the tension of the thread, the stretch of the material in question, and the movement of the machine. Though this can be taught, the testing method of this ‘science’ of digitizing yields experience that bolsters this knowledge.

The best digitizers get their start by running machines. In watching designs stitch, the reactions and interactions of the media are readily seen. A well-crafted design can even teach proper construction, sequencing of the stitched elements, and compensation for the natural stresses of the process. Adding measurement to that observation completes the method, unlocking the secrets of digitizers and allowing us to test and refine our own technique.

  Using ruler tools in software to measure the stitch parameters of designs we love allows us to apply these parameters to our own work. We can also physically measure the difference between our stitched samples and the on-screen dimensions used to create them to observe and correct the inevitable distortion. In carefully testing our designs on their intended fabrics and with the recommended supplies and measuring our results, we can readily see the results of our efforts and measure the effects of anything we alter.

[sarcastech]

From Virtual Reality to Customized Reality — Why headsets are NOT the future

We assume the path of technology will be linear even though history teaches us that it moves in spurts of genius. The HTC Vive and Oculus Rift headsets we use today for experiencing virtual reality will be as far removed from the "next" iteration as a mouse is removed from Alexa as a user interface. The big theme I am trying to get at here is that we are unduly fixated on how headsets or haptic gloves or any other body attachment is going to allow us to experience alternate realities, when it is just as likely that our physical world will adapt to us and reality will be decided only at the point of interaction between our senses and that world. To start, there is no reason why a VR or AR experience has to be generated by a headset. The only requirement for an "alternate" reality is that we see something that is not ALWAYS physically there. That could be a result of a chemically enhanced state delivered by a designer drug, or it could be something that we see while dreaming. We already know that dreaming is the closest thing to reality that we can experience now, so why would it surprise us that it would be tailor made to create a controllable experience? Inevitably many of the altered realities we encounter in the future will involve some kind of mixture of light and optical trickery. But that is not a requirement. Imagine a giant foam that you can walk around and through. If the characteristics of that foam can be programmed to represent a vignette of the ocean, then that is an encounter with an alternate reality. In this way we see that overlays are not the same as independent exhibitions or self encompassed experiences. One can imagine gigantic bubbles floating on a cityscape, each one containing its own mini-world creates through programmable nano-particles that change color, hue, and texture on command. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to envision a multitude of media that could take on enhanced properties. If the walls of a skyscraper project a landscape on mars, and it looks real to a pedestrian strolling by, how is that different from viewing the same landscape through a headset? In both cases, what you see is not permanent. When observing the building, one could say that it is more "real" because many people see the same Martian landscape at once, while only one person sees the hologram generated by a Hololens. But that distinction doesn't hold up to even the most basic test. What if the whole world had a Hololens on that was programmed to show the same thing? Then multiple Hololens wearers would experience the same landscape on the wall at the same time regardless of how it is being rendered. These kinds of thought experiments bring up the distinct possibility that as reality becomes customizable, others who create vastly different realities to our own will somehow be in a different world even when they are sitting right next to us. How would this play out? Imagine that you and your friend are both next to the Martian landscape that is projected or programmatically embedded into the wall of the building in front of you. When you push your hand against the wall, it provides no resistance. You walk through it like a ghost. The particles rearrange themselves dynamically so that you feel no friction, no contact. When your friend reaches out to the same wall, her hand rests firmly against it, as she expected. She leans her back on it and it is cold and firm. How is this possible? This is a building that acts differently depending on the person that is interacting with it. It adapts to the reality of the observer. We'll skip over the questions about engineering integrity and all that - it's the future so let's assume someone figured it out. In this scenario what is real- the firm wall or the permeable wall? We can make the same argument about sound. If I walk through a forest and hear classical music but you hear chirping birds instead, is your reality more legitimate than mine? This issue of superimposed realities stems directly from abandoning the headset as the filter and instead allowing the physical world around us to react differently based on our preferences. You might think that this task is monumental, perhaps even impossible, since two people couldn't possibly experience a separate physical reality at the same time! You might ask: "What if you and your friend are running through the woods at the same time? Both musical soundtracks would need to play at the same time. How do you ensure that only you hear the soundtrack that belongs to you?" Great question! We can ask the same about the Martian landscape on the wall. What if your friend leans on it while you walk through it? How could that be? It can only be either passable or immutable at any one moment. Technically these superimposed states are possible because of the underlying quantum mechanical nature of all physical objects. But it's too far of a stretch to assume we will create quantum probabilistic states in the near future. Thus, I envision a world with a reality spectrum, not very different from the light spectra, in which a range of realities are projected or embedded into objects and they only commit to a particular cross section of the spectrum when we physically interact with them. Some kind of brokering system would need to exist to make sure I don't hear your music, and you don't fall through my false wall, but it's not too difficult to conceive of an identifying mechanism through which objects can determine the reality you want to experience. It could be as simple as a line of code on your smartphone. I personally hope that the era of devices that provide a filter for our senses is only temporary. It's too difficult to trick the human body into thinking it is truly somewhere else when simply removing a device brings you right back to reality. Now, if that physical world changes as we interact with it, that isn't a virtual reality at all, that is a new reality altogether.