#But I’m too anxious to host any sort of event so if anyone’s interested in hosting it I’ll join asap😁😁

[decadentworld]

Hey guys what do you think but I think it would be really cool to hold another Harringrove for BLM event😁

[hostess-of-horror]

Danse Macabre

Finally! After so many days of writing, I have finally finished my biggest fanfic yet! It's another Phantom x Peach fanfic and it is a bit of a sequel to my previous one "Encore at Midnight". I had this really cool story concept for a little while and I felt like I just could not do anything else unless I write it down. It was a bit of an experiment since I had to do a little bit of research just to pull some things off (however, it is far from perfect, so please forgive me). Also, I have officially made some OCs for this fanfic, yay! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy what I have created!

Number of Pages: 17

Word Count: 9358

[Content includes: Themes of Death/Mortality and Some Suggestiveness (not smut though!), OC “Death”, Graphic Body Horror, and Slight Profanity]

For @salamifuposey, @kindpopstar, @jawaii-chan, and everyone else who wants to read this fanfic!

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My Dearest Princess,

Forgive my absence these past few days. I have been preparing the final touches in my newest masterpiece, and I have been dying to show you what I have created. It is something I have not done before; consider it an experiment of sorts. My excitement cannot be contained any longer! Tonight, I invite you to a performance unlike anything you have seen before. I have arranged a carriage to arrive at your castle at around midnight. It will take you to Spooky Trails, where I have made refuge, and you will be accompanied along the way. She will be your guide, and I assure you she will not lead you astray. I pray you receive this letter and that you accept the invitation.

Your Humble Host,

P

---

Princess Peach reads and rereads the letter. So many questions run through her mind. What does he mean by “experiment”? What kind of performance will this be? And who is this guide? She looks up from the letter, and across from her is an unfamiliar face. Sitting across from her is a woman looking out of the carriage window, admiring the night sky. Or, at least it seems like she is, for the bright reflection on her tea shades completely covered her eyes. Her guide is abnormally slender and taller than her, however she could not tell exactly how much. Her alabaster skin pops in contrast of her dark attire, which consists of a frilly ivory blouse and high-low trail skirt, a velvet violet corset, leather pants, and a long onyx black coat embellished with jewels. Her frizzy, unkept silver hair is pulled up into two buns with small strands of hair shimmering like a diamond. Peach had never seen anyone quite like her before; it’s like she came from another world entirely. The guide turns her attention from the view towards Peach and smiles. Peach averts her eyes and looks towards the window – it was rude to stare, especially at a stranger. “So, you must be the one my master has been interested in all this time? He has told me so much about you.”, the guide spoke. Peach brings her attention back towards the guide. “I am, miss.”, she responds, “And, he has?”

“Oh yes! He is simply infatuated with you! I dare say, obsessed, even. And now that I have a chance to see you up close, I can definitely see why.”

“Infatuated is a good word to describe him. He has shown his affection quite often since our first reunion.”

“Has he now?”

“Mm-hmm. He’s been nothing but a gentleman towards me, even if he does get pretty… excitable from time to time.”

“Consider yourself lucky, your highness. Having an enthusiastic partner makes the relationship a lot more interesting!”

“Well, yes, I agree… I- um…”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Phantom and I have only met a little while now; almost a month I believe. I’m not sure if I want to start referring to him as my partner.”

“Just yet, you mean?”

“Oh, please don’t get me wrong, I do like him! I just like to… take things a little slow.”

“Ah, I see. I completely understand. You want to get to know him a little bit more before you make any decisions. A rather smart move on your part.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t tell anyone this, but my master isn’t one to do such a thing. That is not to say he’s completely reckless, but whenever there’s something – or someone – he’s interested in, he becomes determined. Stubborn even. And personally, it is not his best quality sometimes. It makes him look like a moron. A blind one at that.”

“I guess you can say he becomes inspired. Phantom is an artist, after all. Art is meant to invoke emotion, no matter the medium. It would make sense that he himself is the same way.”

“Insightful! And right you are.”

“Not to mention, Phantom is an opera singer. Opera, of course, is highly emotional and very dramatic, and so is he.”

“That too. I know this might be a personal question, but your first reunion with my master…”

“Yes?”

“What happened that night? I ask because I remember seeing him wallowing in shame after his trip over to the Mushroom Kingdom. When he returned, he threw himself onto his fainting couch, murmuring curses, almost about to cry.”

“Oh my! Well, Phantom was in the ballroom inside my castle that night. He was singing this beautiful melody. When I found him, we talked for a bit and discovered we both have something in common.”

“And what would that be?”

“Companionship.”

“Ah…”

“As we talked, he told me about his life after that battle at Spooky Trails a few years ago. He was so lonely, unable to find friends to call his own. Soon he became… anxious. I cannot describe exactly what came over him, but it was obvious he was in pain. Then, his eyes turned red, and suddenly darkness. I fainted.”

The guide stares at Peach, her mouth slightly agape. Although her tea shades cover her eyes, her expression is readable. It is a look of shock – that look of knowing exactly what had just happened with Phantom on that very night. She sighs, “I see. That is not the first time he has done that. My master can be terrifying when he has his moments.”

“Everything was just so overwhelming. I was scared, yes, but afterwards I was more concerned of his well-being. I cannot bear to see someone in pain; being alone can take a toll on anyone… Oh, that poor thing! He must’ve thought that he harmed me when I fainted!” Peach exclaimed. Silence takes over the conversation. Peach’s eyes wander towards the carriage floor while the guide’s attention never breaks. Her eyebrows furrowed, Peach fidgets with her gloves. The guide adjusts her position, leaning over towards the worried princess. She reaches out and holds her hand; Peach stops fidgeting. “I’m glad that you care about him, your highness. Very few do.” she gently smiles, “There have been many times I believed that the only people who care about him is me and the others.”

“The others?”, Peach asks.

“The rest of my master’s theatre troupe. Just like him, we are all one with music.”

“…may I ask what is your name?

“My name? Oh-! my name, how could I forget my manners? How rude of me! I am Dolores, your highness.”

“And if I may ask as well, if you don’t mind, where do you come from?”

Before Dolores has a chance to answer, a flash of shadows sped by the carriage. Dolores motions towards the window, her head peeking out, looking over the view. Her pearl white teeth shows as she grins from ear to ear. “We’re almost there! Ah, soon you will experience the greatest show yet, Princess Peach!”, she exclaims with glee. Peach takes a look at her window. Memories flooded her mind like a rushing river coursing through the barren earth. Spooky Trails.She remembers now; it was all coming back to her. This was all leading to the very location where her battle with Phantom took place. She, alongside Mario, Luigi, and a few Rabbids, witnessed Phantom’s creation and fought him as he flaunted about on the old, decrepit stage. To think, he was an almost entirely different person. Phantom wasn’t as gentlemanly as he is as of recently, but since their first reunion, he has been wanting things to change.

He wants her. Her heart. Her soul. Her beauty. Everything.

To think it has come to this. To think the princess, who has been known for being saved by her plumber in shining armor and being in love with him, would fall for such a character. But has she truly fallen for Phantom? Or is it all just nonsense? If it was just nonsense, then why would she accept the invitation? Peach takes in the environment as the carriage rolls across the cobblestone path, driving through the dead trees and the old, seemingly abandoned village. Despite having never returned after the battle, Peach regains her memories of Spooky Trails, almost to the point of knowing exactly where Phantom resides. Dolores returns to her position, her shining grin still on her face. Peach turns her attention back at Dolores and asks, “What was the inspiration behind this performance?”

“I would tell you, but it would ruin the surprise! My master has ordered all of us to never reveal his masterpiece until it is time.” Dolores answers.

“Oh…”

“All I can say is that this is no ordinary performance. My master is quite the visionary, you know!”

“Very well, then. I won’t ask any more questions, if it’s going to ruin the surprise.”

“Are you excited, your highness?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not often that I get invited to such events.”

“Really? But you’re royalty! I thought you would be invited to all sorts of performances.”

“I do, but it just doesn’t happen that often, and I honestly don’t know why. I adore the theater!”

“We all do too. Our lifestyle is nothing but the theater… quite literally!”

“Gosh, that must be so wonderful, to be part of a theatre troupe. To perform for all to see, to entertain others through amazing plays! I’ve always wished to join when I was a little girl.”

“Oh! Would you look at that! We’ve finally arrived!”

After what it seemed like more than an hour, the carriage, at long last, finally stops. Dolores gets up from her seat, slowly crawling her way out of the carriage. Her elongated body almost struggles through the small door, but she succeeds with grace. She then offers her hand to Peach with a softer smile, “Your midnight show awaits, Princess Peach…” Taking Dolores’ hand, Peach steps out of the carriage and immediately she is greeted by a massive silver gate. The very gate that stands guard the entrance to Phantom’s stage. It is beautifully sculpted, shaped into swirls and patterns holding up an illuminating full moon, with two music notes placed on each side as the borders. Yes, Peach remembers now. Dolores walks up to the gate and peers through it. She waves at something or something – Peach could not tell – and opens it, allowing themselves to enter. Peach follows behind. She didn’t know how tall Dolores was when they were in the carriage, but now she could get a good look at her stature. Dolores was tall – taller than any human she has ever seen before. If Peach could guess, her guide was three to four (maybe five!)feet taller than her and was practically towering over her. Ever since they met, she had this feeling of uneasiness. Who is this woman? What is this woman? Where did she come from? So many questions. There was something off about Dolores, and it wasn’t necessarily her abnormal physique. There was something, but Peach couldn’t put her finger on it. Whatever it was…. Perhaps she doesn’t need to worry too much about it.

Approaching the decrepit stage, the two ladies are met by a small man wielding a large, glowing lantern. This man is the opposite of Dolores in terms of height and physique. He is a short and stout dwarf, donning a regal yellow robe over his slightly mismatched clothes. The light emanating from the lantern reveals his nicely trimmed beard, his long, curly chocolate brown hair tied back into a ponytail, his fluorescent amber eyes giving them a warm welcome. His smile grew bigger once Dolores waves again; he waves back. “Dolores, there you are! And you brought our special guest! Wunderbar! It is a pleasure to meet you, eure hoheit.”, the dwarf greets them, bowing in courtesy. “Are the others ready, Stefan?”, Dolores asks.

“We’ve been ready for a while now. Just making sure everything is perfect for tonight.”

“And what about our master?”

“He will not show his face. In fact, he wants me to tell you that no one must see him until he has shown himself to us all.”

“Ah, well that makes things interesting.”

“I agree. Anyway, enough chit chat! Let us proceed! We must not keep our master’s little freundin waiting.”

“Por favor, Stefan! Don’t tease… that’s my job.”

Stefan chuckles as he ushers them to go into the stage. Dolores follows Stefan, and Peach follows Dolores. They all walk deeper through the torn platform and dusty curtains. Damaged props, broken wires, hanging ropes, and mangy fabrics scatter the place. The further deeper they went, the larger the backstage seems to be. Peach looks in awe as she continues to follow her guides. Who knew that this abandoned stage held such secrets? After a few minutes of walking, Stefan places his lantern on the floor, lighting up the entire floor, and begins to crawl on his hands and knees. His fingers trace the nooks and crannies of the floorboards, mumbling to himself. He searches until he finds a small hole and grabs it. The hole turns out to be a handle, and Stefan pulls and lifts up the floorboards. He reveals a decent sized door leading to a much darker pathway – a long stone stairway stretching far into a secret tunnel. Stefan’s lantern gave light to the darkness, making the trip down into the underground refuge much less intimidating. Dolores holds Peach’s hand as they go down the stairs. This was such an odd way of attending a performance. Peach could not imagine what kind of performance involves having to venture underground in order to see it. What could she possibly expect from all of this? Part of her mind began screaming for help, pleading to go back to the Mushroom Kingdom. Part of her mind wanted normalcy, no surprises. It wanted her to stop and return to her chamber, to her castle, to Mario and her friends. However, the other part was curious. It was that familiar curiosity – the same curiosity she had when first reunited with Phantom. She could never forget that night. Never in a lifetime. Everything about him, whether it be music or shadow, is just so…. Alluring.

Alluring… Beguiling… Captivating… Enchanting…

Her mind finally gives in. She goes for the latter. How could she not? She has ventured too deep into this tunnel to start leaving. For once, she is able to take a break from her royal duties. To forget her troubles. To finally experience something new. For once. As for curiosity, she was more concerned about Phantom. Why would he not allow anyone to see him? Of course, it must be for the performance, but what exactly does Phantom have in store? The more Peach thought about him, the more impatient she became. Phantom. Oh, where are you, Phantom? Her mind falls into that familiar trance. She wants to see him again. She wants to hear him again. Perhaps Peach has become just as obsessed as he is with her. This must be an addiction. It must be. If it wasn’t, then she would never be where she is right now. Whether it be curiosity, obsession, or madness, Peach will continue to walk into shadow if it meant she will meet her friend again. Stefan, Dolores, and Peach finally reach the end of the tunnel, finding a wooden door decorated with gold etchings, which looked out of place amongst the cobweb-shrouded stone walls. With a strong push, Stefan enters through, allowing the door to creak wide open. Behind the door is a humongous hallway, adorned from wall to wall with a vast multitude of paintings, flyers and posters of plays and musicals, candles, and curtains. To think a dusty tunnel would lead to a beautiful makeshift palace! It’s like discovering a treasure chest inside of a dank, murky swamp. Is this where Phantom was residing all these years? Peach gasps. Dolores turns around and smiles, “Welcome to our humble abode, your highness. In this place, music is our lifeforce. We eat, we drink, we breathe, we sleep in music. Just like our master, we are not only creators of art – we are art itself. And tonight, we shall once again breathe life into another masterpiece. I cannot describe how immensely happy we all are. We are so glad that you accepted our master’s invitation, you will not regret it! Now, come along with me, let us go into the Ladies’ Dressing Room. Natasha has designed a wonderful costume for you to wear, and Ophelia will help you with your hair and makeup. I assure you they will make you absolutely gorgeous. Of course, that is not to say you’re not already beautiful.”

Stefan leaves the two ladies and heads towards the Gentlemen’s Dressing Room, which is across from the Ladies’ Dressing Room to the left, placing the lantern onto an iron hook built into the wall. “Well, I’m going to get myself ready and meet up with the others. I’ll see you all at the Gallery! Bis bald!”, he says as he closes the door. Dolores enters through the door to the right and holds it open for Peach to walk into the room. There sitting inside are twin sisters, both garbed in fine, flowy silk and chiffon gowns, working on their latest projects. To the left is a somber young lady sitting near a vanity, dressed all in Aegean and periwinkle blue, her pale pink hair intertwined into exquisite dreadlocks that reaches down to her shoulders. Wrapped around her head is a flower crown composed of lavender, Baby’s Breath, Fairy Foxgloves, and Forget-Me-Nots. To the right is a cheery young lady wearing a similar gown but in shades of fuchsia and rose, checking over the details of an extravagant costume, which is porcelain and peach in color. Her pale blue hair is also made of dreadlocks, as well as composed with the same flowers with the addition of small vines, but is pinned up into a lovely cornrow braided bun. The twin in pink looks up from her work and gasps, “Dolores, you’re back! And the princess is here! Ophelia, look! They’re here!” Ophelia turns around, her saddened expression softening into a weak smile, “Oh, hello again. And it’s nice to finally meet you, your highness.”

Dolores greets them back, turning her attention back to Natasha’s project, “Is the costume ready?”

“Yes, it is! I was just making sure everything’s perfect!”

“It looks amazing! Buen Trabajo!”

“Aww, thank you!”

“Alright, now we must hurry. I need to be in costume. I’ll meet you all in the Gallery, and don’t dottle please.”

“Don’t worry, Dolores, we’ll be ready as soon as possible.”

Dolores leaves Peach with Natasha and Ophelia, entering through a darkened room to get ready for the performance. Once she leaves, Peach witnesses what is perhaps the most amazing thing she has ever seen. The speed in which Natasha and Ophelia got her ready for the performance was astounding. What should have lasted for about a few hours or so ended up lasted for a few mere minutes! No human possesses this level of speed, especially with makeup. Any makeup artist would take their time getting every detail right. There would be no possible way anyone could apply eyeshadow, eyeliner, blush, concealer, lipstick, and every other detail really fast without messing up. But Ophelia proved that such an ability was possible. Natasha was no different. She helped Peach get into the extravagant costume without any struggle at all, as it fit perfectly onto her frame. How did she get her size just right? And it’s so comfortable too! “And… done! Oh, look at you! You are just beautiful, your highness! Don’t you think so, Ophelia?”, Natasha exclaims happily, proud of her job well done. “Oh yes, I agree…”, Ophelia smiles weakly again. Peach looks over to a nearby mirror. They were right; she is beautiful. Perhaps even more so, she thinks to herself, for she had never worn anything like this before. It is true that, being of royal blood, she is accustomed to an extremely elaborate (and expensive) wardrobe. But this… this is different from any other dress. It is a ballroom gown, completely encrusted with diamonds and pearls, with lovely black roses making a long trail from her waist down to the skirt. The white skirt is massive, flowing down towards the floor like a mass of billowing fog. Her shoulders and bosom are exposed completely, giving room for a glistening choker made of the same jewels. Her hair is done up in a high bun, lightly sprinkled with silver glitter, and tied together with another black rose.

She looks heavenly. Like an angel.

With everything all set and done, Natasha and Dolores begin preparing themselves. As they do, Ophelia pauses for a moment. “Oh, your highness! I almost forgot something. Before we go, our master wanted me to give you this.”, Ophelia says, handing her a small card. It reads: For the Princess. Before heading back to primp herself, her expression slowly turns gloomy, barely keeping up with her smile, “You are so lucky to be chosen…” Peach turns over the card as she waits for the twins to get ready and continues to read:

Tonight’s performance is a one-of-a-kind experience. You, my dear, will not only be the audience, but also part of the story! Everything and everyone around you will be interactive, so please do not be shy. Converse with your newly found friends! Eat, drink, dance with your heart’s content! And please, do not wait for me. I hope you enjoy my masterpiece.

- P

Ah ha! So, this is what Phantom’s performance is! It is a role-playing experience, and based on what the card says, it must be a party he’s hosting. What delightful news! Although, Peach must admit that she has never role-played before, especially in something like this. But wait – didn’t she say to Dolores earlier that being part of the theatre was her childhood dream? Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try out her acting skills! Peach beams. She could not believe Phantom would make something like this. Whatever this role-playing party entails, she thinks to herself, she’s going to do the best she can. “We’re ready!” Natasha exclaims in a sing-song tone, “Are you ready, Ophelia?” Ophelia nods. Natasha excitedly takes both her and Peach’s hands, leading them out of the Ladies’ Dressing Room and into the Gallery. Peach almost could not keep up with the twins, for they have remarkable speed, as shown by their natural talents on makeup and costuming. How fast can could they possible go? If this is how fast they can walk, then how fast can they run? Natasha’s ecstatic giggling echoes through the hallway, and with every step they take, the upbeat tempo of music could be heard from behind the Gallery doors. The closer they went, the louder it became. The melody drifts in the air like a calm perfume for the ears, capturing Peach’s attention with its harmonious essence. A delicious delicacy for the senses. Just like Phantom’s voice. He must have composed this melody, for there is no way Peach could have been so immersed and entranced by its sound if it wasn’t. The three ladies approach the Gallery doors, the music muffled behind them. Natasha takes a glance back at Peach and Ophelia, unable to contain her excitement anymore.

She pushes the doors wide open.

What words could possibly describe the sheer extravagance of the Gallery? To think that all of this is completely underground! To think Phantom created this gargantuan chamber, big enough for him and perhaps one hundred guests! Maybe even more than that. Peach could tell, just by admiring the Gallery, Phantom is quite the fan of marble, silver, and velvet. Marble floors and pillars framing the chamber and silver-framed mirrors and portraits decorate the walls. Deep black velvet curtains cascade from the middle of the ceiling and down towards the floor, giving the appearance of one massive Bohemian tent. In the middle hangs a glamourous jeweled chandelier, giving a dim light to the darkness. Looking around, Peach notices there are seven rooms divided by the curtains, each one color-coded, with three rooms on both towards the left and right. To the left are the colors blue, purple, and green, and to the right are orange, white, and violet. The seventh room is located right in front of the ladies, right across from the Gallery entrance. Inside is completely shrouded in shades of red – wine, scarlet, crimson, garnet – and there sits in a shiny throne a crowned gentleman – a prince – with a glass of Amontillado in his hand. His wavy, champagne blonde hair falls delicately around his party mask and square facial structure. His rosy lips gently purse as he raises his glass to drink. He is accompanied by two other women, who are garbed to the nines in the richest finery, blushing and laughing amongst themselves. Every now and then, the prince would turn to one of them and whisper in their ear, making their faces turn into deeper shades of red. As Peach follows Natasha and Ophelia, she finds more guests, all conversing amongst one another in the color-coded rooms. The costumes they wear are vibrant in color and theme, ranging from jesters, to creatures, to knights, to fairies and pixies. These guests, including the prince himself, must all be part of Phantom’s theatre troupe. Peach begins to count: one… two… four… six… nine… eleven. Eleven members of the troupe. She wonders if there are any more, considering how large the Gallery is.

The prince turns his attention suddenly towards Peach, and so do the two women. Soon, almost everyone begins to stop for a moment and do the same. Simultaneously, Natasha and Ophelia bow, gesturing to Peach, “My Lord, we have brought you your special guest, Princess Morrigan of the Stygian Border.” The prince sets down his glass on a nearby silver platter, and stands right up from his throne, adjusting his vest and coat. “C’est magnifique, my loyal subjects! Now the masquerade can truly begin! Come, come! The night is young, gather around everyone! Let us celebrate all of our blessings and forget our grievances!” he declared, “May we prosper in these trying times, and may we never run out of wine to drink.” The crowd laughs and cheers, some of them raising their own glasses. He turns to Peach, his eyes wandering up and down, and smirks, “My, my… Enchantee, your highness. I must say, you look… ravishing tonight. I am Prince Fortunato, at your service. Why don’t you join me, my dear, in the Red Room? Surely, we can have some… fun together, what do you say?” Greeting her, Prince Fortunato places a soft kiss on her hand, his emerald eyes admiring her beauty. Or perhaps something else. Although Peach has to be polite, she immediately had no interest in him. Too cocky, she thinks to herself, too full of himself. It reminds her too much of Bowser. Then again, Phantom was that way, too, at least in the past. But she learned that he was not licentious. He never looked anywhere else but into her eyes. He never searched for anything other than her eyes. He ever seemed like he was after a particular goal other than seeing her whenever they meet. That is the one thing Peach was sure about. Ah, but remember! This is only roleplay; nothing is real. Prince Fortunato, as well as everyone else, is only pretending. In that case, this gentleman is an excellent actor!

Prince Fortunato leads Peach back to his throne, the two women still standing to accompany him. Envy fills the air. Their expressions turn sour as they watch Peach get even more attention than them. Peach could already tell that this is no ordinary masquerade. She has been to many royal revelries throughout her life, and all of them were filled to the brim with sophistication. Every guest, staff member, and host had class – anything that was considered less than classy wasn’t allowed. This masquerade is different in terms of the usual standards of hosting such parties. It was as eccentric as its Gothic décor, consisting of tables filled with silver platters of fruits, meats, bread, and desserts, goblets of beverages, and candles. Every once and a while, a few guests would stuff themselves and each other with this feast, disregarding etiquette for sheer pleasure. Peach isn’t used to the cacophony of this kind of merrymaking. All of this was nothing but pure, unadulterated debauchery – something she was taught never to delve into. She is a princess, after all, and princesses never do those sorts of things. However, did she not accept the invitation to let herself loose? Did she not agree to join this performance – this masquerade – to experience something new for once? For once? Feeling out of place just standing idle amongst Prince Fortunato and the guests, Peach goes over to one of the tables and picks at a plate of grapes. She watches as the guests gather around Natasha and Ophelia in one huge circle, clapping to the music’s rhythm as they frolic together. The fabrics of their dresses fly with their movements as if they were colorful wings dancing in the darkness. As she plops the grapes delicately into her mouth, her eyes continue to wander over the décor. Suddenly, she stops at a grim sight. There as the centerpiece sits three skulls, two of them from a different species, ones Peach isn’t familiar with. The skull placed in the middle, however, is human. She could not tell if these skulls were real. She hopes they aren’t real. Taking a closer look, an engraving is found on its forehead: Ars longa, vita brevis.

Without warning, the Gallery doors burst open! The music stops – the crowd jumps in surprise! Prince Fortunato rises to his feet, alarmed by this sudden interruption. Peach turns around. There standing in the doorway is an aged peasant woman in old, torn rags, her hair glowing bright red like a burning inferno. Her complexion is dirtied, her makeup is smudged, her eyes red-hot with fury. She scowls as she approaches the partygoers, her hands clenched as if she is about to attack. “For shame!Have you no shame?!” the peasant chants, flailing her arms with rage, “Have you no compassion for your people?! The plague lays waste throughout the land! And yet, here you are, surrounding yourself with wealth and whores! They are suffering! They are dying! There is no hope for us! For shame! For shame! Have you no shame?!” Peach watches as everyone else steps back, avoiding her filthy presence. Twelve. Twelve members in Phantom’s theatre troupe. Prince Fortunato steps forward, confronting her, “Who dares… who dares interrupts us?! Who dares trespass Fort Fortunato and speak against the Crown?!”

“It is your undoing that dares enter your home! This, all of this, will be your downfall!” she responds back angerly, gesturing to the masquerade.

“Leave this instant, or else I’ll have your head for this!”

“I have seen it, Prince Fortunato! I have seen your fate in the deepest of dreams! Doom is upon you all!”

“Ah, it’s one of those so-called soothsayers my people love so much… how lovely. They love having their fortunes told, don’t they? Superstitions and all that. Hmmm. Well, in that case, go on. Amuse us with your… dreams and visions, fortune teller. We do love to be entertained.”

“It will come, Prince Fortunato, in retribution of your indulgences. You and your party may hide all you want; it will still find you! Mortals cannot escape from what is inevitable. In the end, it shall visit us when our time comes… and your time is nigh.”

“Qu’est-ce que tu racontes? What is this ‘it’ you’re talking about? Whatever ‘it’ is, I am sure it will not ruin this masquerade. Princess, do you hear all this? She’s simply mad!”

“Our time is nigh!”

“Tu es timbre!”

“For shame! For shame!”

“Quitter cet endroit!”

“Have you no shame?!”

The peasant stops. Her eyes shift towards Peach. A look of horror falls upon her face. “You…”, she whispers, slowly raising a pointed finger at her. Peach watches as she approaches her, still pointing, terrified. Her expression contorts as if she is studying, searching for something. “You… are to be Death’s Bride… Yes! You are Death’s Bride!” she exclaims, falling to her knees, clutching Peach’s skirt, “Oh, you poor soul! So young… innocent… all to be swept by its dark embrace! I beg of you, your highness, leave this place! Forget these fools! Forget all of this! Save yourself!” With a swift grab, Prince Fortunato pulls the peasant away by the shoulder and pushes her aside. “Unhand her this instant! You trespass my fortress, you waste our time with your superstitions, and now you insult me and my guests?” he yells, “Everyone! Let us show this insolent wretch what it means to insult those higher than her! Bring me a chair! Bring me some rope! Let’s play a game with her, shall we?” Peach could not believe it. A prince sacrificing the well-being of his people for an elaborate masquerade! And now, he and the other guests have decided to torture this poor woman! She cannot stay silent any longer – she must act! “Wait!” Peach cries, making everyone stop in unison, “Have mercy on her! Please!” Prince Fortunato scoffs in amusement, “Why, and for what? She insulted us, you heard her!”

“Yes, but none of that would have happened if you attended to your royal duties as Prince and took care of your people!”

“E-excusez-moi?”

“This poor woman is in dire need of assistance, and you have all the wealth to help her! Maybe you should consider.”

“Ha! My dear, you jest! I have no need for peasants! Why should I dabble in their affairs?”

“Because their affairs are yours as well. They have relied on you for so long, and you rely on them. Without your people, you’re done for!”

“Do you not see the extravagance of this masquerade? The bountiful feasts presented on the tables? Our costumes? The wine in our glasses? I am rich, Princess Morrigan! Wealthy beyond imagination!”

“Wealth that came from people like her! Please, my Lord, have mercy.”

“Are you mad? Ha, you must be! Just as mad as the fortune teller!”

“If I am as mad as her, then I must be! Yes, that’s it! Perhaps your foolishness is just another wild hallucination, for what respectable royalty spoils themselves to the point of gluttony and greed?”

A crowd of gasps shatter the silence. The crowd glance at Peach, then at the prince, then back at her, awaiting another response. Prince Fortunato stands silent, completely stunned by her audacity. His face becomes flushed, his teeth gritting, his emerald eyes bright with anger. His fists clench. “Oh…. I’m a fool, am I? Am I a fool?! I am not a fool! I am Prince Fortunato, the next in line! Heir to the throne! I am as respectable as royalty can be!” he furiously shouts, “I will not be insulted like this! I will not be degraded like this! I need not your judgment, or hers, or anyone else’s! I am no fool, do you hear me? I am not a fool! I am a Prince, full of riches and beauty! I am perfect! I am powerful! I am untouchable! You think I’m a fool? You call me a fool, eh? Ha ha! Well then, let me entertain you all! Come, gather around, my lovely guests! Let me show you what a true fool really is!” With a whip of his cape, Prince Fortunato rushes from the crowd and goes behind the throne. Everyone watches as he switches his coat and cape with another coat and removes his crown with another accessory. In a matter of seconds, he reappears, this time donning a shiny blue coat and a mask in the shape of a rabbit’s face. Raising his arms, he presents his new costume to the crowd, “Here! Here! I am now a fool! But Prince Fortunato? Oh no, no, no! He is no fool! You imbeciles! He is a national treasure!” Has Prince Fortunato finally lost his sanity? What could he possibly gain from this? Peach is stunned, as much as the rest of the others. However, she is not as terrified as everyone else. She sees Natasha and Ophelia cradling each other, comforting one another despite both being in distress. She sees Stefan in costume backing away, almost seeming to run away and hide somewhere safe. She sees Dolores frozen in utter fear.

Peach remembers what she had said: “My master can be terrifying when he has his moments.”

No one could help but watch as Prince Fortunato danced along the ballroom floor, singing random songs in a mocking fashion. He flails his arms, waving his hands wildly as if no one is watching him. Is this even part of the roleplay? This moment feels too spontaneous to even be scripted. Peach could not imagine Phantom having his own theatre troupe mock him, regardless of whether or not it would be intentional. Whoever is playing Prince Fortunato must truly be a fool. Prince Fortunato sings in a sardonic tone:

🎶“Look at me!

Watch me float and gloat and show off my coat!

Watch me as I sing about plumbers – oh, how I hate them!

I hate them so much, oh what a bummer!

Watch me as I make sweet, sweet love to my precious spotlight

Under the moonlight!”🎶

Although the song is less than perfect, Peach admits to herself: he has an amazing singing voice! And he sings opera, just like his master! She wonders if all of the members of the theatre troupe can sing as well. Ah, no! Enough of that! Don’t get distracted now! As he sings, Prince Fortunato runs and leaps onto a nearby table, knocking over huge plates of food, skulls, and candles on the floor. Everyone else watches as he spins and taps his feet on the table, his arms still flailing around. No one in the theatre troupe tries to stop him – they’re all too shocked and afraid to even do so. They did not want to get involved in such mockery. Peach could. However, what would happen if she did? As much as she would like to stop him, she just couldn’t. For whatever reason, whether it be out of shock, or out of fear, or out of curiosity, she did not move at all. Still, the Prince continues:

🎶“Imbecile, imbecile, imbecile!

Everyone’s an imbecile but me!

Listen to me, listen to me!

My ego is as big as it can be!

Come, my Princess, marry me please

Or else I’ll cry, cry, cry!”🎶

Then, the sudden drone of a large bell rings! It brings everyone into a hush, sending an immense chill down their spine. No one moves. The drone continues. And continues. And continues. Is this what the peasant woman was talking about? The impending doom that is to fall upon this masquerade? The fate of everyone who stands here on this very night? This inevitability that will claim those who still walk on this earth? Whatever is coming for them… has arrived to make its debut.

The Gallery doors creak open. Seeping through the entrance is a cloud of fog, billowing across the floor like a massive white sheet. It surrounds everyone, almost rising up to their knees, and soon the entire chamber is filled to the brim with gloom. Prince Fortunato finally steps down, his eyes staring in fear at the entrance, and retreats behind Peach. As fate approaches them, soft murmurs of terror arise from the crowd. One by one, each and every actor and actress trembles in anticipation. Peach awaits as well, but more out of curiosity than the shock of terror. This feeling; she remembers it all too well. She has to know what happens next. She has to know what kind of resolution this entire roleplay performance is coming to. Although the resolution is frightening, it was the satisfaction of discovery that keeps her within the Gallery. She will not leave. Fear will not take over. Only curiosity. Only awe and wonder. Only fascination.

And lo and behold, there stands the face of Death in his newest and blackest masterpiece.

He stands tall, bejeweled and shrouded in crimson, emerging from behind the murky darkness. The sheer size of him is intimidating enough, but the opulence in which he had adorned himself gives him an almost divine presence in the masquerade. Out of all the costumes Peach has seen, this one is more magnificent – more vibrant and elaborate – than the rest. Blood red veils cascade down from his large cavalier hat and alongside his cape. His vest a skeletal ribcage, patterns of bones scatter his scarlet greatcoat, and in his paws is a colossal gold cane. Hidden underneath the shadow of his hat is a golden mask, formed into the shape of a skull. Everyone slowly backs away as this masked red-clad stranger approaches them. But not Peach. Instead, she stays, completely in awe. She has become too enamored by his Gothic glamour to even be remotely scared. Finally. After so many days, they finally meet once again. She could see his sapphire eyes peering through and meeting hers with a sign of notice. He stops for a moment. That look… that tender gaze! Although they had only met for a little while before this moment, Peach confesses to herself: she could never have enough of those bright eyes. Those gleaming sapphire eyes. Even through that skull mask of his, she could stare into them all night long.

Alluring… Beguiling… Captivating… Enchanting…

Phantom shifts his attention to Prince Fortunato, his eyes wide with fury. The partygoers cower as he floats over to the foolish prince, towering over him as he looks down. Prince Fortunato scrambles, quickly taking off his blue coat and rabbit mask, full of sweat, almost hyperventilating. His face is revealed with a terrified expression. His eyes look up at Phantom, awaiting whatever fate – whatever punishment – shall bestow upon him. Phantom twists his cane and slowly he pulls it apart, revealing it to be a scabbard with a long, sharp sword inside it. Peach gasps as he unsheathes his weapon, raises it up in the air, and points it down at a quivering Prince Fortunato. “Please, monsieur!” Prince Fortunato gasps and swallows, “Spare me! It was only a mere jest! I was only having some fun entertaining my guests! I-I am the host, after all! Monsieur, please… Have mercy…!” Everyone watches in horror as he pleads for forgiveness. Phantom takes in a deep breathe; music begins to play again. It is in minor key, deep and dramatic – the orchestral equivalent to an imposing force. Peach holds her breath. Finally. With a smooth, baritone voice, Phantom sings his haunting solo:

🎶“Fortunato!

Surrender to me,

Look upon the face of Death!

It is meant to be,

Now savor your last breath!

Fortunato!

Your time has come at last,

Take your final drink of wine!

For your sins in the past,

Oh Prince, your soul will be mine!”🎶

“No!” the prince cries out, “You cannot take me! I will not let you! My guests need me! My people need me!” What hypocrisy! What foolishness! Peach watches intently. What is going to happen next? Will this masked presence spare Prince Fortunato? Will Prince Fortunato’s mockery be forgiven? She anticipates what comes next, whatever that may be. But although she tries to expect the unexpected, there is one thing she is certain about: the masquerade was doomed from the very beginning. Phantom lowers his sword, just by an inch, almost as if in contemplation. A few moments of silence passes. Everyone watches him in anticipation. Peach. Prince Fortunato. Dolores, Stefan, Natasha and Ophelia. Everyone. Anticipating. Anticipating. Anticipating.

Phantom smirks, letting out a soft chuckle. His sword lowers even more, and finally inserts it back into the scabbard. A sigh of relief fills the Gallery…

Then sudden horror! It happened so swiftly. So much so that if one were to blink at that moment, they would miss it completely. A scream pierces the silence! It was Prince Fortunato, now on the floor collapsed to his knees! He screams in agony as his covers his face! Phantom had made a sharp wave of his hand, almost as if he were to slap him across the face. But no! It was much, much worse. A terrible fate had fell upon the prince.

Blood…!

Oozing from his face is a gush of crimson blood! His eye sockets, his nostrils, his mouth, his pores – all drenched in blood! Horrid blemishes begin appearing on his flesh, leaving opened, pus-filled wounds as they pop one by one! Tears and yellow fluids mix with the blood, staining the floor with a pool of secretions! And the screams! Oh, the screams! Prince Fortunato tries to hide his face once more, only to find that it hurts too much! His hands pull away from his face – and, oh God! His flesh, his flesh – it is rotting away! What was once the pristine beauty of a spoiled, gluttonous prince is now the face of nightmares. He coughs and chokes; he cannot scream anymore – blood has filled his throat! He falls onto the floor, panicking, suffering! To think that this is what his people had to endure while no one was there to save their lives. With eyes stained with tears and blood, he rushes over to his guests and reaches for help, but in vain, for who could ever touch a diseased man? With a final cry of fear, Prince Fortunato falls. There lays on the floor is a twitching corpse, the face mutilated by the worst of illnesses…

This display of gore puts the guests into a state of frenzied panic! More screams and sobs fill the Gallery, as well as the sound of footsteps running and chairs and tables knocked over. If they don’t do something, Phantom will come after them next! Anything to get away from this face of Death. Chaos ensues! All except for Peach. Peach stands still amongst the disorder of the partygoers. Her widened eyes are fixated on Phantom. Is it shock? Is it fear? Is it something else entirely? Of course, anybody would be frightened by the sheer grotesqueness of the prince’s death and the possibility of meeting the same fate. But strangely, it seems to not bother Peach at all, almost as if she isn’t aware of the situation. Perhaps she is still mesmerized by Phantom’s extravagant appearance? Perhaps she is somehow desensitized? Whatever is going on, Peach still remains, as well as the peasant woman. The two ladies stare as Phantom slowly turns to watch over the terrified crowd. He observes the scene quietly. All in unison, the panicked guests rush toward the Gallery doors. With a wave of his hand, he blocks the entrance, slamming it tightly shut. Ophelia throws herself on the doors, slamming her fists frantically, “Open the doors! Open the doors! Oh please, open the doors!” Everyone begins to do the same. But alas, their attempts of escape are futile, for their master – the Red Death – had already claimed their souls. Once again, Phantom sings:

🎶“Crowned with privilege and villainous

Bathe in the blood of your wickedness

Tonight, retribution is at hand

For this masquerade shall be damned

Mask yourselves to hide your shame

But in the end, they know your name

Into the earth, your corpses will sink

May your blood be the wine they drink…”🎶

And one by one, each guest fell, forming a massive pile of bloodied bodies in front of the entrance. Peach takes in what had just happened. She had never seen something so macabre before. Roleplay, she thinks to herself, this is all just roleplay. This is all just pretend. No one is hurt. They are all just acting. This is all just roleplay. But by the stars, it looks so… real! There is blood everywhere. Not just the red pool on the floor, but also smeared handprints on the doors too. How did Phantom do all of this? This must have taken so much effort and hard work to even pull off such a remarkably gory scene! Peach couldn’t help but wonder what exactly went through Phantom’s mind when making this performance. This was something she never expected, let alone how absolutely graphic it was going to be. But regardless, the entirety of the roleplay screamed Phantom. It was bold. Dramatic. A complete subversion from a usual masterpiece. There was grandeur, there was beauty, there was mystery, there was tension. Then finally the payoff – an act of karma against the avaricious Prince Fortunato and his hedonistic friends. Now only she and the peasant woman are left. Peach cannot imagine what this powerful reaper is going to do next. Ah, no – she suddenly remembers!

Death’s Bride. She is to be Death’s Bride…

Her thoughts are interrupted by another cry, this time from the peasant woman. She turns to find Phantom approaching her, his hand lifting up to claim another soul. But why must the good die? Death is inevitable, it is true. Life is short. Peach knew this. But what did this poor woman do to deserve such a fate? Why do bad things happen to good people? Perhaps it is meant to be, just like what Phantom said. Roleplay. It is all just roleplay. Should she stand by and let things take its course? Or maybe… what could she do? Roleplay…. Ah, of course! Peach dashes over and stands in between them. “Wait!” she says, defending the peasant woman, “Have mercy on her!” Phantom pauses, taken by surprise for a moment, but then resumes in character. “Young or old, poor or rich… Death waits for no one. Her time has come.” Phantom calmly responds, his voice low. “Can you at least give her enough time to live another day? Can you see she has suffered enough? Please, I beg of you.” Peach pleads.

“You stand in front of the face of Death… and yet you are not frightened. Are you… not afraid of me?”

“I do not fear what is inevitable. I just want to give her another chance.”

“Such compassion… and all of this for a stranger. However, as painful as it may be, you cannot persuade me to spare her.”

“If that is not enough, then I will offer a gift to you.”

“And what is this gift you speak of?”

“For this woman’s life, I offer you myself. You can have my soul. You can have everything, all of me, and I will not refuse you.”

Phantom is rendered speechless, despite staying in character. Do his ears deceive him? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be! Deep down inside, he could not believe what Peach had just said. He watches as Peach ushers the peasant woman to flee the masquerade, and so she does, retreating to a small secret entrance hidden by the large curtains. Silence. As much as he tries, Phantom seems to be unable to speak. Now only he and the princess are alone. Together. Just like that one night. “I believe that is enough to persuade you?” Peach says with a soft smile. That smile. Oh, that sweet smile! He could stare at it forever! “I can be yours, and yours only. I will not leave. I will be not be frightened.” she continues, “It must be lonely, going around the world and reaping souls for those who’s time has passed. You don’t have to be lonely. You can have a companion! Someone who will join you by you side. Don’t you want that?” Companionship. Is Peach talking to Death or to Phantom himself? The lines between roleplay and real life begin to blur before his very eyes. He could not differentiate which is just acting or an actual confession. She must be playing a trick – she must be! This could not possibly be real! This is just too good to be true! Taking in a deep breath, staring deep into Peach’s pretty eyes, Phantom sings one last solo:

🎶“Oh, Sweet Maiden!

Surrender to me,

Look upon your paramour!

It is meant to be,

Together forevermore!

Oh, Sweet Maiden!

Your time has come at last

Take your final drink of wine

For this spell I shall cast

My Bride, your heart will be mine!”🎶

With a wave of his hand, two shiny, black feathered wings sprout from Peach’s back! Peach glances over in surprise, admiring her new wings. They sparkled under the light of the chandelier with iridescent glitter. Natasha must have added these in while making her costume. Once again, she continues to be impressed be Natasha’s work. Then her eyes glance over towards the Gallery entrance. Peach stops. Something has changed. Her eyes squints as she tries to make out what she is seeing. Confusion floods her mind until realization hits her.

The bodies… are those…. Mannequins?

Phantom places his paw on her cheek, delicately turning her face towards him. The softness of his caress fills her senses, and she is greeted by his tender gaze. What a tender gaze he has! As her eyes are locked in his gaze, Peach feels herself being gently embraced around her waist and leaning back into a dip. Her heart begins to race. Beat after beat it quickens its pace, her breathing becomes more and more shaky. It must be adrenaline – all of this is so new to her. Peach finds herself reaching out towards Phantom and, ever so gently, she takes off his skull mask, revealing his face. At long last, she finally sees him. Oh, how she missed him! “Did you enjoy the show, your highness?” Phantom grins, “I must admit, there were some things that weren’t… intended to happen, but as long a—” He is stopped, as Peach catches him off guard. Locked in a tight hug around his neck, he feels his lips being locked with hers. It was passionate yet gentle and warm. Peach, the princess he has adored for so many years, is giving him a kiss. A kiss! Is this a dream? Is this actually happening? So many thoughts went through Phantom’s mind. He could not process all of them at once; his head could possibly burst from excitement! His eyes flutter and close, letting himself melt into Peach’s embrace. If they could pull each closer than they already are, they could. But no matter how much closer they can be, it just wasn’t enough. They wanted each other. They craved each other. The unbridled desire for connection and companionship broke loose, and immediately they find themselves losing all control of their yearning. Their lips break apart, their hot breaths mingling with each other. They open their eyes; Peach grins and so does Phantom. They kiss again, neither of them wanting to stop. “Ah…!” Phantom gasps in between her soft lips, “Mon ange de la mort…!”

Overwhelmed, Peach swoons as Phantom dips her even further and surrenders herself to his kiss of death.

---

She woke up the next morning. The first thought that would have come to her mind was how she even managed to return to her castle without any notice. But no, the very first thought that came to her mind was what happened last night. She laid in her bed and, as stares up at the ceiling, touched her lips softly with her fingertips. Then up her rosy cheek, then down to her neck, and across her bare shoulders. She could still feel his touch. She sighs deeply – what a performance that was! Peach stretched her whole body and curled up, sinking back into sleep. A love stricken grin appeared on her face as she whispered to herself, “Until we meet again.”

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today V

A/N: Hello everyone! So, if you didn’t see my announcement earlier this week, this update may seem early compared to my usual posting schedule, and it's true! But also not. Let me explain- from here out, I will be posting chapters twice a week! These will go up late Wednesday night/early Thursday morning, and late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the next chapter will come in a few days! Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

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Björn was somehow unsurprised entirely when Aethelind approached him once more, a very happy look on her face. He figured her talks with Torvi, Ubbe, and his mother must have all gone well. He’d be lying to say he hadn’t sort of kept an eye out from his place, watching to see if he could tell anything, and each time, Aethelind had seemed thrilled by their answers. So… He guessed they’d all come around to her plan- daft as it seemed to him.

When she finally reached him, he chuckled a little. “Am I outnumbered?” he questioned with a small, expectant grin.

“Drastically so, I’m afraid,” Aethelind answered him. “Though, with specifications I believe you’ll approve of.”

“Let me hear them,” Björn said, “and I will tell you if I approve or if I do not.”

Aethelind nodded, and took a deep breath. “Torvi and your mother wish to train me to defend myself before I go, and with a majority rule, and my brother’s permission for this quest, I can go to Kattegat to speak with Ivar.”

"You could have no better mentors than Torvi and my mother,” Björn agreed. “But Ivar would not send two shieldmaidens to kill you if he wanted it done. He would likely send an assassin in the night. We would need more than defense training for you… We would need a reason for you to gain his trust, before he ever learns you are there on our behalf.”

“Your mother agrees that we need to work out more details before she can agree to send me to Kattegat, but she has at least agreed to begin working toward that goal. You know we only need a majority, per Torvi, and I have her support, your mother’s, Ubbe’s, and even Bishop Heahmund’s. So, the majority is had, but I would still like to have your support, Björn. The more support I have in this, the greater success I believe we’ll have, and you are quite the ally. You could do much for this plan, I’m sure. We’d be all the better for having you.”

Björn hummed as he thought over what she said. It was true, they would all be better off if he’d agree to give them aid. And his agreement to provide aid, assuming Alfred didn’t stop this- which, considering how Aethelind had talked him into multiple things already, he figured he wouldn’t- then it was really Aethelind who would be better off. And could he hold his support, to have the ‘moral high ground’, so to speak, just so he could say he didn’t support it if something went wrong? Or would he be angry with himself, for not having given her all he could have, and always wondering if it hadn’t been because of him that things had failed, if they did.

This wasn’t a question Björn was certain he had the answer to, just yet. There was too much on each end to consider.

“I imagine you will speak to your brother about this regardless of my decision?” he soon questioned, having already taken a few moments to ponder on what he would decide. When she nodded, he sighed slightly. “Then ask him to allow us all to meet,” he requested. “I want to discuss this with all involved, and then we should take a vote. Those who agree to the final plan will speak in support of it, and those opposed will speak against. I cannot decide now what I think.”

Stubborn, just as Torvi said, Aethelind thought, and yet still gave a slight nod. “That’s very understandable,” she said. “I’ll go and speak to my brother, then, and we can have that arranged. I’m sure he won’t have any issue with it.”

“Aside from sending you to Kattegat?” Björn asked, and Aethelind grimaced.

“Well… that, he may not like at first. But that’s what this meeting will be for!” she almost chirped. “Not to… convince him, exactly, but at least to make everyone feel better about it.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ll go regardless of what is decided?” he questioned, regarding her with a curious, yet suspicious gaze.

The almost guilty expression she wore proved his theory. “I-” she began, and then paused. A sigh escaped her, and her eyes dropped. “I can’t stand to see this situation stay this way, or end in violence,” she finally confessed. “Or, more violence, at least. I want to at least try to do some good in it. More than just offering food and shelter. I want to be part of bringing peace back to your lands. It isn’t my place, to shove myself into these plans, I know, but…”

Björn put a hand on her arm, cutting her off there. “Your eagerness to help is appreciated, Princess,” he said, and she smiled.

“Björn, please. You’re my guest. Aethelind is just fine, you needn’t hold to the formalities.” She smiled sweetly and genuinely at him, and he returned the smile, nodding.

“Then it is very appreciated, Aethelind.”

The Princess beamed at him, and nodded. “I’m glad to be of help, then,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and speak with my brother. But I hope you’ll enjoy the feast, and I’ll try to stop back by before it’s all over, hm?”

“I will be waiting,” he said, and gave a small nod. Aethelind smiled, gave a quick, somewhat playful curtsy, and started off to find her brother, unaware of Björn watching her with an interested smile on his face- one Torvi could recognize all too well as she watched the two. She shared a look with Ubbe, who simply sighed.

Alfred smiled as he saw his sister approaching, and Elsewith at his side smiled as well. The Queen herself, Judith, had finally joined the feast, standing with her son and his betrothed. Her dark hair was pinned up as always in a braided sort of bun, a crown resting atop her head that accented her dark gold gown. The bun rested in such a way that it covered the space Aethelind and Alfred knew should have had an ear. But adultery wasn’t treated lightly in Wessex, and they both knew their father had not been her husband.

“Mother,” Aethelind greeted with a warm smile, and took Judith by the arm, kissing her cheek affectionately, before turning to the Northumbrian Princess beside her brother. “Princess Elsewith.” Elsewith nodded politely to Aethelind, a form of quiet greeting, as she turned to her brother. “Alfred, I need to speak with you alone for a moment.”

Alfred looked a bit concerned by her request, but nodded anyhow. “Alright,” he said. He turned to Elsewith and Judith briefly, saying, “Please, excuse us for a moment,” before he followed Aethelind out of the hall.

Once they were out there, Aethelind looked around for anyone who might be nearby to listen, and then positioned herself in such a way that she’d see if anyone tried to do so. Spies tended to be everywhere at an event like this, and while she doubted Ivar would somehow have any there… She wanted to be sure no one overheard anything.

This behavior, of course, only concerned Alfred further, and his brows creased together in show of this. “Aethelind… What’s going on?” he finally asked her. She took a deep breath, and grinned.

“The Vikings and I have a plan to help the situation in Kattegat, but we need your approval for it before we do anything. So, I can explain everything to you as best I know now, and then Björn has requested we hold a meeting to discuss it all with each other. You, me, all the Vikings, and Bishop Heahmund, as he could be very helpful in a few different ways.”

“What could Bishop Heahmund do?” Alfred questioned, tilting his head a bit.

Aethelind took a deep breath at that question, and seemed to grow a bit more anxious. “Train me, and… give me some advice regarding how to handle Ivar,” she explained slowly.

The look of shock on his face might have been priceless in any other situation, but right now, she was too anxious about him taking this well to really enjoy it. “You want- he wants to train you in what?”

Alfred was very nearly certain he knew what she meant, and that it was the cause of her suddenly nervous disposition, but he wanted it confirmed first. There was no need to panic about what exactly this plan entailed, not until she answered-

"To fight.”

Oh no.

Alfred turned as white as a sheet at her words, and he felt like his heart lifted into his throat. Or sunk into his stomach. He couldn’t be too sure, but he knew it couldn’t have been in his chest anymore. It just… it couldn’t have been.

“I’m going to regret asking this, but… Aethelind, why do you need Bishop Heahmund to teach you to fight?” he questioned her. Another deep breath from her, and Alfred was far more concerned than he’d been a moment before. He’d hoped that perhaps she just wanted to learn because it would be interesting, now that two shieldmaidens had turned up- and hadn’t he just told Ubbe he’d thought she’d have been happier with the Vikings? This made sense to him.

“I want to go to Kattegat.”

Oh no.

“And, I regret asking that,” he said.

Aethelind chuckled a little. “We have more plans, Torvi and I, mainly, though I do have her support, as well as that of Prince Ubbe, Queen Lagertha, Bishop Heahmund, and possibly Björn Ironside. He wants to have this meeting, come up with a more solid plan, and have a vote, and he will either give his support or deny it there.”

Alfred sighed, and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll allow this meeting and arrange for it, but I am not yet backing this. Not until I feel that you could go safely. I could… I could write to him, perhaps, find a way to warn him you’re coming, and make some reason you would be?”

Aethelind smirked slightly. “It sounds as though you’re already on my side with this,” she pointed out, and he shook his head.

“I just know you’re too stubborn to be stopped if you want to go. It’s better I work with you to ensure your safety on this,” he said.

“I believe that’s what Björn is trying to decide. If he wants to support me so I have my best chance, or if he wants no part in something that could go wrong for me,” Aethelind commented, and chuckled. “I just hope he comes around.”

“It seems you have his favor, I’m sure he will,” Alfred said, smirking slightly, and her eyes widened a bit.

“His… his favor?” she questioned, blinking. “How do you mean I have his favor?”

This now earned a slightly shocked look from Alfred. “Surely, you must know?” he said. “He looks at you like… Well, you must see it?”

Aethelind shook her head. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Alfred. See what, exactly? You don’t think Björn is interested in me, do you?”

The look from Alfred assured her that was exactly what he thought, and the girl blanched. “But- but he’s a Viking. Won’t he be returning to Kattegat as soon as we handle all this with Ivar the Boneless, however we handle it? What good would be done for him by having a wife in Wessex, unless he chose not to return to Kattegat after all?”

“I’m not entirely sure Vikings are ever… only interested in marriage, when they meet someone they’re interested in.” Aethelind’s cheeks turned red.

"Oh,” she said, swallowing. “Right. Well… I wouldn’t… You think that’s what he wants here?”

Alfred shrugged a little. “Perhaps,” he said. “But even if that weren’t all he wants, I don’t imagine he’d be open to a Christian marriage.” Through his conversation with Ubbe, he’d quickly learned which of the Ragnarssons were more, and less, open to things not of their culture. And Björn… he was not one of the more open ones. And if he wouldn’t be open to a Christian marriage, then the Princess would not be marrying him, if he asked- and if she approved, of course. But Alfred had already decided the terms of giving his blessing to such a thing when he saw how Björn was watching her. Now, though, he was beginning to wonder if that would ever be an issue, considering the fact Aethelind clearly didn’t even realize he was interested.

But if both Björn and Aethelind ended up in Kattegat, who was to say Björn wouldn’t pursue her? He was getting ahead of himself. Aethelind would first have to go to Kattegat, succeed against Ivar, then Björn would have to go, and she would also still have to be there. Aethelind wasn’t going to pop up wanting to marry a Viking, and that was likely a bridge he was trying to cross before he ever came to the bridge. He did that with many bridges.

“Well.” Alfred was brought out of his thoughts and anxieties by Aethelind beginning to speak. “If he doesn’t want to marry me, we’ll have no issue.”

Alfred nodded. “Right, yes,” he agreed. “So… tell me more of your plan concerning your journey to Kattegat.”

Aethelind began to explain to him everything she had discussed with Björn, Torvi, Ubbe, Lagertha, and Heahmund, and while there was obviously a lot to go over, there wasn’t quite enough for Alfred to agree right there, just as there hadn’t been for Björn.

“We’ll have the meeting, then,” he said with a nod. “And we can set more in stone there, come up with a stronger plan, and see what still needs to be done. Does that sound alright?”

Aethelind nodded her agreement eagerly, grinning widely. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, thank you, Alfred. I know it’s unnerving, but-”

"Oh, it’s more than unnerving, Aethelind. I’d be sending you to possibly one of the most dangerous places I could be sending you. You won’t be safe in Kattegat, not unless you’re trained as best you can be by these Vikings we have here.”

“Or, if I can earn Ivar’s trust and care again,” she pointed out. “I don’t think he’d let anything happen, then.”

“I think that’s going to be harder than simply defeating him in battle.”

Aethelind hated herself momentarily for giggling at that, but she had a bad feeling he was right. “Well, hopefully we can try this first,” she said. “And if we do, then there’ll be peace once again.”

Alfred sighed. He just hoped ‘peace’ wouldn’t mean the Vikings turning their raids back to Wessex once again.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[olliepig]

Waiting in the Wings ch 1

Many, many thanks to the ever patient @willow-salix for helping me with this (I hope you know what you’ve bitten off here!). It’s been a long time coming but here goes nothing - my first ever OC. It’s also available on AO3 here if you prefer.

*********

Scott surveyed the grand ballroom, still unsure as to why he was there in the first place. He had his suspicions of Gordon’s budding romance with Penelope, so the invite to one of her private parties was perhaps not unexpected for his brother but quite how and why he had been talked into going too was beyond him. While he was no stranger to socialising with Penny, it was more usual for it to be at events where their presence was required to keep up appearances rather than at a private party for some of her closest friends. Since they arrived, Gordon had perhaps inevitably attached himself to Penny’s side but Scott didn’t want to cramp his little brother’s style and, if he was honest, he wouldn’t have chosen to spend his evening off in this way if he was given the choice. Having already greeted his host and in the absence of anything else to do or anyone in attendance whom he needed to speak with, he made himself comfortable at the bar and lost himself in a glass or several of whisky. He had always enjoyed people watching so he contented himself with passing the time by trying to guess how Penelope knew everyone and perhaps more mystifyingly how she could possibly have the time to be close friends with the sheer number of people in attendance.

Scanning the room for someone she knew, Catriona was very glad for the glass of liquid courage that had been pressed into her hand upon her arrival. Having known Penny for years, she thought she’d have been used to these sorts of events by now but her heartrate would suggest otherwise although she hadn’t exactly helped herself this time by getting waylaid at work and arriving late. Seeing how dressed up everyone else was, she congratulated herself on her decision to at least curl her long hair and wear her favourite purple satin gown that always gave her a confidence boost when she needed it. Amongst the other guests there was not a hair out of place and she idly wondered how long everyone else had taken to prepare for the night. At an outside guess she thought it was probably a lot longer than her. Unable to see any familiar faces in the throng, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and started out into the crowd, nearly colliding with the hostess for the evening as she did so.

“Catriona! It’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you could come.” Penny was the first to recover and as ever did not let anything so small as a near miss with one of her guests faze her.

“Me too, it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other. Sorry I’m a bit late – I got stuck in rehearsals.”

“That’s no trouble at all, I’m just glad you’re here now. All ready for the performances?”

“Yup, we should be good I think. There’s always more to do but we’ve got the basics down now so that’s a good start” replied Catriona, noticing for the first time the nervous looking blonde man in an incredibly expensive looking suit with a sunny yellow bow tie standing beside Penny. She felt like she’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place him.

“Excellent, I shall look forward to seeing it then.” Noticing her friends gaze drifting and sounding uncharacteristically nervous she continued. “Um, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. It’s all still very much under wraps but this is the gentleman I was telling you about. Catriona, I’d like you to meet Gordon Tracy.”

Catriona was relieved to find that there was a good reason why she recognised the young man standing in front of her, having seen him on the news less than 24 hours before rescuing the crew of a submarine after they got trapped in amongst some undersea vents. “It’s lovely to meet you finally and put a face to the name. Penny’s told me all about you - you’re with International Rescue, right?”

“Oh, has she now?” Gordon’s previously anxious face was transformed into an impish grin which lit up his hazel eyes as he glanced at a reddening Penny before focusing back on Catriona. “Yeah, I’m the one with the yellow submarine. It’s lovely to meet you too. So, if Penny’s told you about me then I’m guessing you’re Penny’s best friend then?”

“Yup, guilty as charged. We were at the Royal Ballet School together back when she wanted to be a dancer and she didn’t manage to get rid of me after she left. So here we are.”

Gordon’s eyes widened as he turned to Penny for the second time in as many minutes. “I didn’t know you wanted to be a ballerina!”

“Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about me dearest.” said Penny with a fond smile. “But there will be be plenty of time for you to find it all out, don’t you worry.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow at that, before smiling at Catriona again. “So, are you a dancer then?”

“Yeah, I dance for the Royal Ballet now but I was out in America for a bit when I was younger too.” She thought for a second before throwing caution to the wind, smiling as she prepared to surprise her friend. “Given your identity as Penny’s mystery crush, do you want to know a funny coincidence from when I was out there?”

“Always!” Gordons ears pricked up, hoping for some gossip.

“I used to date your brother…”

“Which one –”

“You didn’t tell me that –”

“It was Scott, but don’t get too excited – it was literally years ago.”

“Really? This world is far too small. How did that happen then? I didn’t think Scott had girlfriends.” Gordon seemed to have recovered from the revelation much faster than Penny, who was still looking aghast as not knowing something.

“Yeah, we dated for about a year when he was stationed at Langley and I was dancing with the Richmond Ballet. Must have been about 7 years ago now. Do you remember Penny – I was out there for a while after I graduated before I joined the Royal? I’d already been out there for about 2 years when I met Scott and we were together til he was deployed overseas and I moved to London. It’s not much more exciting than that I’m afraid.”

“Of course!” she tried to recover herself. “I remember now that you had a boyfriend out there but I had no idea he was a mutual friend.”

“To be fair, I don’t think I ever told you his second name at the time so there’s not really any way you could have known and I didn’t know you knew any of the Tracy’s anyway or it might have come up sooner.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me it was Scott Tracy you were involved with!” Penny was aware that she was starting to sound petulant but she didn’t like being caught out, especially not in front of the man she’d spent years trying to impress and who was currently watching the unfolding back and forth between friends in a manner similar to a spectator at Wimbledon.

“Well look at it this way, why didn’t you tell me it was Gordon Tracy I was meeting tonight then?”

“Because there are expectations that come with that name…” Penny couldn’t hide the exasperation in her voice and was uncomfortably aware of the look that passed between Gordon and Catriona and the resulting grins on both their faces as she backed herself neatly into a corner.

“Uh huh. So…”

“Fine” she conceded with a smile, realising that Catriona had simply done exactly the same as she was doing in protecting the Tracy family. “You have me there.”

“That was amazing! I’ve never seen anyone manage to get Penny to admit she was wrong before. You gotta teach me how to do it?” It was safe to say that Gordon was impressed.

“I’d be happy to. Although I warn you, it’s a difficult course and takes a lot of practice – I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve managed it in 17 years.” Catriona glanced at Penny who simply smiled and rolled her eyes.

“It’ll be worth the effort! Well, seeing as you already know my brother then you should go and say hello – he’s standing over there at the bar.”

“What? Where?” Catriona was not prepared for this. She’d not seen Scott in years and had definitely not been expecting to be ambushed by him at a party that she was only attending in order to meet her friend’s new amour.

“There, wearing the black suit and looking like he’d rather be scrubbing gunk out of my ‘bird’s intakes than spending another moment here… No offence to your party Penny.”

Catriona looked over and immediately felt a familiar tug of attraction in her stomach when she spotted the tall, dark haired man standing across the room, oblivious to her presence. He was surrounded by beautiful young women, all of whom seemed to be intent on bagging themselves a Tracy for the night and all three observers could see that his body language screamed discomfort.

“He looks like he could do with being rescued” observed Penny. “I thought my guests would leave him alone but clearly I was wrong.”

“Don’t worry about it – this happens literally everywhere we go. To be fair he’s usually OK with it but I’m not so sure today.”

“Leave it to me” Catriona announced to everyone’s surprise, including her own. Before anyone had a chance to stop her, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

******************************************************

Under normal circumstances, Scott may have been tempted by one of the ladies surrounding him but not tonight. He didn’t know why, but he was just not interested despite several being what could ordinarily be classed as his type. Looking for a way out, he spotted Gordon across the room. Catching his eye, he mouthed “help” but his brother only grinned and turned back to his conversation. Scott sighed and filed that away for future retribution. He’d not missed his brother and Penelope looking over at him in surprise a few minutes before as if he was the subject of some discussion but he hadn’t been able to see who the other member of the conversation was and frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He was starting to get a headache from the incessant giggling that seemed to be going on around him and he gratefully grabbed another glass of champagne from the bar behind him.

“Thank god I’ve found you! I’ve been looking everywhere! Excuse me, but I need to steal Mr Tracy I’m afraid” Suddenly, a blur of copper and purple appeared out of nowhere, taking a bewildered Scott’s hand and dragging him, bemused but willing, behind a pillar hidden away from everybody on the other side of the room. On their way, Scott had a chance to appreciate the figure-hugging qualities of the dress and the long distinctive hair that he was sure he’d seen once before attached to…

“Cat?? What’s going on?” asked a very bewildered but amused Scott as they came to a halt and his saviour turned around. “And what are you even doing here?”

“You looked like you needed rescued” she explained simply, flushing an endearing red as the first doubts about her actions crept into her mind.

“So, you rescued me?”

“Yup.” Her eyes met his for the first time, their icy blue depths drawing him in and he found he couldn’t look away.

“Usually that’s my line of business…” he commented with a wry smile.

“So I’ve heard, but even the rescuers need saving sometimes…” She had the faintest of smiles on her face as she held his eyes and Scott felt something deep inside him shudder to life in a flash of recognition.

“You have no idea how right you are!” laughed Scott, smiling broadly and pushing the moment aside. “Well, you’ve rescued me. I feel very safe and have been unharmed by my ordeal. So, what were your plans for me now?”

“I have no idea” admitted Catriona with a grin. “Forward planning still isn’t one of my strong points I’m afraid.”

“Well in that case, may I get a drink for my saviour? And then you actually do have to tell me why you’re here.”

“Of course. A drink sounds lovely and honestly, it’s no big secret – I went to ballet school with Penny. Nothing more sinister than that I’m afraid.” she replied, taking the arm that Scott hadn’t even realised he had offered and falling into an easy stride with him.

“Penny used to dance?” Scott stopped in his tracks in surprise, causing Cat to stumble and glare at him.

“Yes! Why is everyone so surprised about that tonight?” Scott heard the frustration in her voice and wisely decided to keep his mouth shut and start walking again as if nothing had ever happened. “Anyway, Gordon said I should speak to you and I thought it might be a good opportunity to help you escape. You looked like you wanted to lobotomise yourself with a spoon there.”

“Oh, how I’ve missed your turn of phrase. But yes, that’s almost exactly what I was considering when you appeared. Do you want to get out of here so we can catch up properly? If I remember rightly there’s a library just down the hall.”

“Sounds perfect. Let’s grab another drink then see what we can find.”

“You read my mind” replied Scott, flashing a brilliant smile which made Cat’s heart flutter dangerously.

In the library, they settled down at a table tucked away in a corner and Scott steeled himself for the thing that he knew he had to do.

“Listen, before we get any further, I owe you a pretty big apology…” he tailed off, not sure how to explain how bad he felt for the way he’d ended their relationship.

“Agreed! I can’t believe that after a year of dating you waited a month after you got deployed and then told me I was just a distraction that you couldn’t afford to have right then!” Cat’s voice was harsh and he felt terrible.

“Oh God, it’s worse than I remember.” Scott mumbled as he dropped his head into his hands momentarily before looking back up and catching her eyes with a look that he hoped conveyed both remorse and sincerity. “I can’t believe I actually said that. I’m so sorry. You have every right to be mad at me forever for that alone.”

“I sure do. But luckily for you I’m not. Not any more anyway.”

“Really?” Scott visibly brightened and Cat had to suppress a chuckle.

“Really” she reassured. “Look, I don’t hold grudges unless it’s something really bad. Yeah, you acted like a total arse but we were young, you were in an actual real-life warzone and it was 7 years ago. Holding onto something like that is just too much effort and I can’t be bothered if I’m honest.”

“So, you’re not going to kick my ass?”

“No Scott, I’m not going to give you the ass kicking you may or may not deserve. Now that’s out the way, what do you say we move on and catch up properly. I hear you’ve turned into somewhat of a real-life hero over the past few years…?”

******************************

As the evening was winding down, Cat found herself temporarily alone with Penny seeing off her last few guests and the two Tracy boys helping Parker to make sure nobody was left lingering in the gardens. Reflecting on the night, she had to admit that Penny’s choice of Gordon was very well suited. She liked him very much and the feeling seemed to be mutual in the little time they had spent together. The revelation of the night had been Scott however. He had been as charming as she remembered when they had dated and she was uncomfortably aware of how attractive she still found him. The fact that he lived on the other side of the world and had a tremendously dangerous and unpredictable job was definitely more inconvenient than she’d like to admit although the demands of her job didn’t help matters. She batted those thoughts away – there was no point in even considering it.

“So… What happened?” For the second time that night, Penny had managed to take her by surprise, this time jolting her out of a rather ill-advised daydream.

“Well, he apologised for being an idiot and breaking up with me. That was a good start. Then we just spent the rest of the night catching up and he did ask for my number so we can keep in touch from now on. He says he’d like to come and see me dance at some point but if that happens I’ll be very surprised if I’m honest. He came before when we were in Virginia but I think he hated it.”

“I’m glad to hear he apologised at least and that you both had a good night. If he’s serious about wanting to see you dance, I’ve still not allocated my tickets for your show in a few weeks. I wonder if both the boys would like to come…?”

“Would like to come where?” cut in Gordon appearing as if from nowhere with his big brother following close behind.

“To the ballet. Catriona is dancing Giselle 2 weeks tonight and I happen to have spare tickets. Then maybe we could do something together afterwards?”

“Sounds good to me” grinned Gordon. “I’ve never been to the ballet before. What part are you dancing?”

“Giselle… Um, the title role.” Cat elaborated when Gordon looked blankly at her.

“Awesome. It’ll be even more fun if we know the main dancer! You in Scott?”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it. Send me the details Penny and we’ll make sure we’re there.”

“Are you sure guys? That’s so sweet of you both. It’s one of my favourites so I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” Catriona was delighted that they had agreed to go so readily but was suddenly hit by a wave of nerves about her performance. Stifling a yawn, she decided it was on the list of things that she could worry about in the morning before admitting to her host that she would need to go and saying her goodbyes to the Tracy boys.

“Wait!” Cat turned around in surprise as Scott jogged up beside her as she waited in the cool night air for her taxi. “I didn’t want you to have to wait alone, or let you leave without telling you how much I’ve enjoyed seeing you again.”

“You already did that didn’t you? When you got my number and promised to message me in the morning?” she laughed.

“OK you caught me. I just wanted to say goodbye without an audience.” Scott admitted, holding out his arms and looking so hopeful that Cat couldn’t help but comply.

“Goodbye Scott” Cat folded herself into his embrace, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation of his warm body pressing against hers through the thin material of her dress, familiar strong arms around her waist holding her tightly. Pulling back slightly, ice blue and sapphire locked together as their eyes met. Cat didn’t move for a long while – held there by the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“We can’t” she said at length, breaking the moment. “We’ve both had a lot to drink and we’ve only just met each other again.”

Scott lowered his eyes. “I know” he sighed. No matter how much his brain knew that it was the right thing to do, it didn’t stop his heart from sagging in disappointment anyway.

The clung to each other a moment longer, their foreheads resting against each other in a pose that had been so familiar when they were together before she pulled back a little, a grin spreading over her face which experience told him meant trouble.

“And anyway, you’d just be a distraction if we did and I can’t afford to have that right now” she managed to deadpan before collapsing into giggles as Scott raised an eyebrow and tried to desperately to maintain some kind of dignity before her infectious laughter overtook him and they collapsed into each other, holding each other up as they gasped for breath.

Watching her walk away once they had regained some composure, Scott started to realise just how big a mistake he’d made all those years ago.

[bat-famzine]

Happy Thanksgiving to our followers in the US! We hope you can enjoy some hearty food and fun time with friends and family. 

How does the Batfam celebrate Thanksgiving? What are their favorite foods? Check out the incredible @preciousthingsareprecious‘s take on a Batfam Thanksgiving celebration below the cut! Don’t forget to preorder a copy of the  zine here to read more of her work, as well as amazing art and writing from our other contributors!

Jason’s attention was split. A small speaker rested on the counter behind him, the rising and falling voice of a narrator flowing from it as they read The Andromeda Evolution to the room. Below him on the counter he worked dough, kneading it with growing confidence. His apron, the counter, and the floor were all dusted with flour, spread in a mess he was not looking forward to cleaning up. 

As the narrator moved into a long technical explanation Jason’s mind wandered back to the dough under his palms. It had been a long time since he’d made rolls from scratch, or any bread beyond quick easy ones-- like those that were just a batter thrown in a loaf pan and baked-- so he’d been nervous when he’d decided that if he was going to do this, he’d do it right. Still, his hands and arms remembered the repetitive push and pull of working the dough, even if the last time he’d done it was when he’d been a kid. 

When he’d lived at the manor, it had become somewhat of a tradition for Jason to help with the rolls. He figured Alfred set him to them because kneading took such energy, but he’d loved it all the same. He loved cooking in general. More than that, he’d loved that it seemed to bring everyone together. He and Alfred, and then on holidays where there was much to be done, Bruce would join them for the easier tasks and chatting. 

He smiled at those memories, holidays had been much quieter when he was Robin than what he was expecting today. The family had grown so much since then. 

His smile turned down and he rolled his eyes, they were all still idiots though, nothing would change that. If not, he’d be in the kitchen at the manor helping Alfred cook and not settled into his own apartment with far too little counter space for all his needs. 

The narrator moved from their technical description back to the team in the jungle and Jason let thoughts of family past and present fall away as he listened. He rolled the dough into a loose ball and moved to get his greased bowl, depositing the dough into it, and covering the whole thing with a towel before setting it aside to rise. 

As Jason set it down, the doorbell rang. He tapped pause on the app playing the book and wiped his hands on his apron before moving to the door. When he opened it a burst of chilly air washed over him. 

“Heya, Squirt.” Jason said to a somewhat anxious looking Damian standing at his doorway. 

He scowled at the nickname, anxiety falling away as his obligation to be irritated with any name beyond his given taking precedence over worries. His arms were crossed across his chest against the cold, making him look small and alone in the doorway. 

Jason stepped back, smiling at the kid, “Come on in.” 

Damian hurried inside, and stopped short, looking around the apartment utterly bedecked in pumpkins, leaves, and crackling candles. Jason let his grin grow at Damian’s surprise. 

“What, did you think I’d invite you over for Thanksgiving and not roll out the red carpet?” 

Damian turned on him, “I was under the impression that most people do not decorate for Thanksgiving.” 

Jason shrugged, closing the door, “I’m not most people. Besides, it’s not every day I’m the one having family over for a holiday.” 

“Then you did not only invite me?” It was a question, sharp enough to say he knew the answer. 

He wagged a finger at Damian, and moved back towards the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Come on, I didn’t have you come early so you could loiter at the door.” 

“Todd.” Damian demanded, stomping after him, “What kind of plan have you cooked up this time?” 

Jason was already busy, pulling an assortment of fruit out of the fridge to set on one of the counters, “I’m going to need to you slice all of this into bite size bits for the fruit salad.” 

“Jason.” 

It was the use of his name, and the worry in Damian’s voice that made Jason turn his full attention onto his youngest brother. The anxious look Damian had on his face when he’d been at the door was back, more obvious this time than last. 

“If you have invited everyone then I will not be able to--” 

“Stop that.” Jason said, interrupting him, “This is why it’s me hosting this year, because you lot all got it in your heads that it would be better if everyone celebrated without you.”

“You lot?” Damian asked, brows knit, “Do you mean to say that I was not the only one to have claimed alternate plans to Father?”

Jason nodded. He’d called Alfred a week ago to confirm Thanksgiving plans and see when he was expected to arrive and learned that everyone had mysterious ‘other engagements’. A few calls later and Jason had learned that each and every one of his siblings had opted out of the holiday festivities in an attempt to make the day better for someone else, leaving Bruce and Alfred alone. The lot of them were self sacrificing to a fault. On Thanksgiving of all days. The idiots. 

“Thanksgiving is about family.” Jason said, tossing an apple at Damian, “Peel those before you slice them,” he added three more to the growing stack of fruit on the counter, “Family and time spent being thankful you’ve got them in your life, and I’m not letting any of you skip out because we’ve all got the conversation skills of rocks.” 

Damian still hadn’t moved, apple cradled in his hands, “If I had known...I did not wish Father and Pennyworth to be alone.” his voice was tight, slightly strained like he was fighting with emotions. 

Jason moved over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “It’s alright. It’s sorted and everyone’s coming over.” he grinned at Damian, “Alfred and I will make sure of that. I’ve got the adults bringing stuff, so pull your weight and help me out.” 

They worked in tandem, Damian following Jason’s instructions as he gave them, and showing a lot of promise in the kitchen. Jason made a mental note to have the kid help him more often when the opportunity presented itself. To avoid too much silence Jason switched the book on his speaker to something he knew Damian was interested in. They listened and worked together as a new voice filled the room, spinning tales of fantastic events. 

When another knock at the door resounded above the narrator’s voice, Jason paused it. 

“That’ll be Dick. Get the door for me?” he said, checking on now risen dough. 

He smiled to himself as he heard Dick’s surprised exclamation and rolled his eyes at Damian’s playful complaints of being “worked to the bone”. The two chatted with animated voices while Jason finished rolling individual rolls and setting them aside for their second rise. He turned just in time for Damian to lead Dick into the kitchen, the man carrying a large bowl of mashed potatoes. 

“Now I see why you told me to bring enough for ten.” he said, grinning, “What’d you do, team up with Alfred to plot all this?” 

Jason grinned at him and winked, making Dick choke on a laugh, “I should have known. Careful or you’ll be hosting every year.” 

It was a warning Jason wasn’t sure he’d heed. Even with the few of them there, the feeling of the day was warm and comforting. He found himself looking forward to the chaos sure to fill his little apartment in a way he hadn’t looked forward to anything in a long time. 

Everyone else filtered in slowly after that. Tim, Cass, and Steph came together having bumped into one another on the way bringing drinks and stuffing. Then Duke with a casserole looking much like something Alfred had made. 

People milled around, Tim hijacked Jason’s speaker and started playing music, and Damian (now protective of the kitchen and his place helping) shooed out anyone trying to sneak an early bite of dinner. It was a tight fit in Jason’s apartment, but comfortable. And everyone was smiling, despite all the worries of “If I’m here I’ll fight with them” and “It would be more peaceful if I did not come”. Jason fully expected some kind of spat to happen at some point, but what was a family gathering without a little bit of mess?

Jason left his youngest brother stirring the gravy to greet Bruce and Alfred when they arrived. Each carried one of Alfred’s famous pies. Alfred had a delighted twinkle in his eye and Bruce looked startled but happy. 

“I never doubted you for a moment.” Alfred said, patting Jason on the shoulder before taking Bruce’s pie from him and moving to the kitchen to leave them together. 

When they were alone Bruce cast his eyes around the group, “You got everyone together?” 

“Alfred helped.” Jason said. 

“But you spearheaded it.” 

Jason shrugged, at a loss for words. Which was silly, it wasn’t like he’d done anything huge or dug them out single handedly from rubble or something. He’d just tricked everyone into coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. 

“Thanks.” Bruce said, and tugged him into a hug, “It’s good to have everyone together.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, Old Man.” Jason said clearing his throat of the sudden tightness there, “Alfred threatened not to bake at all if the whole family didn’t come.”

This made his dad laugh, “Nothing motivates like Alfred’s pies.” 

“We should try bribing criminals with them.” Jason said. 

“Todd!” Damian’s head poked from the kitchen, his nose was smeared with what could be either mashed potatoes or whipped cream, “Your assistance is required in the kitchen.” his eyes caught onto Bruce, “Oh, hello, Father.”  

“Damian.” Bruce nodded, “You’ve got a bit of uh.” he motioned to his nose. 

Damian’s eyes just about crossed to look at his nose before he wiped a hand across it, “It is Drake’s fault. Both of you come, or the whole meal will be ruined.” 

Jason waved him back in, and turned back to Bruce, “That’s our cue, ready to go save the day?” 

Bruce nodded, “Lead the way.” 

[arabellaflynn]

Text of a test monologue. Would you like to see me deliver this on camera, with no makeup, no lighting equipment, and using Notepad as a TelePrompTer? Head on over to my https://www.patreon.com/ArabellaFlynnPatreon, and for a dollar a month you too can see me waffle on in real time.

Hi, all. You may notice that I am on video now. I was going to shoot a couple of tests and apologize for the poor quality of the footage, and explain that I want to start vlogging and streaming in addition to writing, but I need some equipment to do it properly and for that I need to raise some funds... But fuck it. This is going out first instead.

As I record this, it is the fourth of July. You can probably hear the fireworks outside my window. I know I can. There are a lot of those, because we've all been inside and bored for the past four months. 

I know a lot of people who have opted not to observe the holiday this year. The 4th of July is often viewed as a celebration of the American institution, which is a little bit on fire right now, with a few people determined to squirt lighter fluid all over the flames like a bored suburban dad at a barbecue. On the other hand, it's also Independence Day, and marks the end of the long, painful process by which a population broke free of distant, uncaring overlords who cared mainly about the financial dividends of their colonies, and ignored the grievances of the people until they started breaking shit. So YMMV.

I would comment on some of the details, but I don't know them. The Late Show is on hiatus, and John Oliver doesn't air until tomorrow. I, like a lot of my demographic, get most of my current events from comedians. There's a reason for that.

I actually watched a lot of news as a teenager.

Well, "watched" might be too strong a word. It's easier for me to fall asleep if there's some sort of droning noise in the background. When I was about fifteen, I discovered that, unlike the main CNN channel, which has actual shows and documentaries, CNN Headline News just runs the day's top stories over and over again in an unending 30 minute loop. Interesting enough to keep me from falling into a train of thought that will prevent me from sleeping, boring enough that I don't want to stay up and listen.

I have no memory of the desk anchors. I'm sure they were consummate professionals, but they also had no distinguishing human characteristics whatsoever. I know they were updating the loop live, because occasionally a story would be added to the list and another one would drop off the back, and occasionally one would flub the text on their prompter, but other than that there was no hint that the face at the desk was attached to a living, breathing person.

I do remember a couple of the correspondents. One was Christiane Amanpour. Her voice stood out; CNN is an American news station that was originally restricted to American cable networks, and the vast majority of the staff is from the US. Amanpour is British-Iranian, having split her childhood between Tehran, before the revolution, and London, after. They liked to send her to the bowels of Eastern Europe to report from the war-torn streets of Citygrad in Countrystan. She had already caught some criticism on her reporting of the Bosnian War, for advancing the apparently controversial opinion that genocide was bad. I didn't know that at the time; I just thought she sounded more like she told real stories than read off lists of facts.

Another was Anderson Cooper, who was not nearly such a big deal then as he is now. Cooper, a self-described adrenaline junkie, was a war correspondent at the time, with a habit of ducking only briefly for explosions before standing back up to continue his piece to camera. He wouldn't be infamous until his coverage of Hurricane Katrina years later, both for the overall stellar job he did, and also for that one time he got tired of getting non-answers from some government toad in a live interview and very professionally flipped his shit at the lady, asking if she realized how tone deaf it was to sit there thanking other politicians for doing essentially nothing while there were still bodies in the street.

I quit watching the news when I moved away to college. It wasn't necessarily that knowing was worse than not knowing, but I felt a lot of pressure to be "adult" about it at that point, and watching proper news shows made me anxious to the point where I wouldn't sleep. I outright avoided it to the point where I made it to a canceled class at 4 pm, Mountain Standard Time, on September 11, 2001, before anyone told me what was going on.

I wasn't able to put my finger on why I found the news so horrible until many years later. I can't remember what rabbit hole I'd fallen down, but I ended up sitting on YouTube watching segments of the live news coverage of the 1981 assassination attempt on President Reagan. Reagan was shot in the side and later recovered without complications, but his Press Secretary, James Brady, was struck in the head and sustained considerable neurological damage. Brady, together with his wife Sarah, later went on to be a noted advocate for gun control, but at the time was reported to have died on the scene. 

I wound up watching a lot of one of the news desks -- ABC, I think. It started out like all the others, until the anchor tripped up a couple of times and referred to Press Secretary Brady as "Jim", and I realized: He knows these people. Personally. He's a member of the White House Press Corps, or a friend of the Bradys, or both. I'm watching a journalist reporting on a moment of historical significance to the American people, and a human being who has to tell the entire nation about someone's personal tragedy. His investment did not make him any less professional or informative than any of the others, but it did make his coverage feel very grounded in reality in a way that most news, then and now, does not.

The older I get, the more disquieting I find it to have a talking head behind a shiny desk read me a list of horrible things that have happened today without any apparent reaction. It makes it seem like these things are a randomized representative sample of the cruelty of the universe, rather than what they are, which is a list of things so unusually terrible they made the news. I realize that this is part of an effort to remain impartial so that the viewer can decide how they feel about events, but it's also disturbingly normative. Yes, everything is on fire, everything is always on fire, this is nothing new. 

I can't say I'm any more enamored of the opposite, either, the more recent style where the news anchor's entire job is to tell you that entirety of human existence is awful and here's what you should prioritize being afraid of this week. Everything around you is on fire, the fire is racing right at you, and here's whose fault the fire is.

A lot of Americans, especially younger ones, have taken to getting their news mostly from political satire because-- well, one, because for about the past twenty years, our comedians have been better at fact-checking than our actual newsrooms. You can thank Jon Stewart for getting a bee in his bonnet over that. But also because their coverage of major issues takes neither of those paths. The Daily Show alumni write up stories like they actually live on the planet they're reporting from. You're on fire? They're on fire too! Holy shit, let's all find some water! 

The conceit behind the comedy of The Daily Show and the Colbert Report and Full Frontal and Last Week Tonight and now the monologues on The Late Show is not that this is a normal amount of fire for everything to be on so it's fine, nor establishing that someone has set you on fire on purpose and here's who should be punished for it. It's bewilderment and frustration at the way we somehow keep catching on fire over and over again. Yeah, they crack jokes, because it's their job, but all the jokes are predicated on the idea that this is, above all, just very, very, inexplicably stupid. We can, and we should, be better than this. And the hosts stubbornly refuse to just give up and internalize as immutable all the reasons why we aren't.

You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Jon Stewart has accumulated "fuck you" money from his time on The Daily Show, among other things. I really hope the rest of them are doing the same. Because we need some figureheads who are able to say "fuck you" to a lot of authority figures right now without having to worry about how their family is going to survive the next month. John Oliver has HBO backing and I'm pretty sure Last Week Tonight has roughly equal budgets set aside for handling lawsuits and shoveling money at charity. Stephen Colbert has been insulting Donald Trump as hard as he possibly can since day one, and he just re-upped until 2023. Samantha Bee has her husband holding the camera to shoot her monologues out in the woods. 

They've all figured out how to produce their show over the internet, so at least we have something to watch in the After Times.

I really hope the neighbors run out of fireworks soon. Aside from not wanting the neighborhood to be literally on fire at any point, one of my housemates has a dog, and the dog has epilepsy, so this has been an interesting evening. Sorry about the fireworks, sorry about the camera, sorry about the country, sorry about the state of the world. Imma go find my Xanax. G'night.

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[bestfriendforhire]

Entry 393

 November came.  We had a memorial for Raine’s mother, Eliza, on the fourth, since Raine wanted to do something for it, not that she actually managed to ask.  She had always known that her mother feared her, which was part of the reason she feared herself, but they’d had a few wonderful times as well.

 Raine told us of her fondest memories, such as when they spent an entire day roaming the city as cats.  When Raine was three, her mother had thrown her a princess party, inviting all of the other werecats from the area.  At eight, Raine received her first computer and was introduced to MMO RPGs, which became a shared interest for the two of them.

 Sadly, all of the events after Raine’s fourth birthday were overshadowed by her mother’s fear.  Raine didn’t say anything of the sort, but I could read between the lines and had extra information.  Raine didn’t really celebrate birthdays after turning four until she turned eight.  Unlike most of us, Raine remembered being born and every day since in clarity that would make people with an eidetic memory envious.  She remembered those years of her mother jumping at Raine’s approach, the fear in Eliza’s eyes, and the smell of terror.

 Aaliyah had told me of Eliza’s struggles, trying to win the battle over her fear.  She still loved Raine, but her daughter had made a nightmarish scene of their attackers that Eliza just couldn’t forget.  Raine knew, of course, in the way of a brilliant child who could hear her mother’s conversations clear across the city couldn’t help knowing.  I was thankful that Aaliyah would eventually let them talk again, after they both were ready.  Eliza would be proud of her daughter.

 The day after the memorial was Cosette’s birthday.  She wanted a small celebration again, so we gave her that, making sure everyone was free to attend.  Vito, Papak, Zachary, and Ariadne made an appearance as well, a great honor for any vampire.  Surprisingly for most, there were token gifts sent from part of the Slayer family as well.  I was warned in advance, so I didn’t search them all for traps.

 On the eleventh, Alma, our unborn child, and I jumped out of space and time with Regina’s spirit to celebrate my departed friend’s birthday.  My wife didn’t approve of how Regina clung to me, but neither of us said anything.  Regina’s memories weren’t intact, and Aaliyah was not about to break her agreement with Regina.  As much as I disapproved of Regina’s choice, I would respect her wish.  I appreciated the protection she granted my home and felt spending a day’s worth of time with her each year for eternity was the least I could do.

 When Thanksgiving arrived, Best Friend For Hire, the Intergalactic House of Awesome Sauce, and Global Princess Entertainment hosted a charity event for anyone who wanted a free meal out of a block’s worth of buildings we purchased and renovated for this and future similar occasions.  Best Friend For Hire provided some of the staff, though we enlisted volunteers as well.  The Intergalactic House of Awesome Sauce provided enough food for tens of thousands of people, which most would find impressive, not knowing what a miniscule fraction of the daily output that was.

 Global Princess Entertainment made the entire ordering and delivery process automated, mass-producing the electronic waiters designed by Aurora, Mila, Jarod, and Maxine.  Aaliyah’s company also provided streaming movies, games, and other types of entertainment throughout the buildings, leaving my team and the volunteers with only cleaning to handle, which was largely restricted to the garbage which made its way outdoors.  The automated waiters handled clearing tables and cleaning floors within the buildings.

The feast upon returning home was even bigger than last year.  Of course, there were more people in my company to feed, but I was certain that Marco didn’t want to be outdone, even though the rest of us had been given opportunities to eat on breaks earlier.  My parents, who had volunteered at the earlier event, also came to the feast at my home, taking plenty of leftovers when they left.

 November thirtieth found me pacing in the morning.  There was nothing special happening on that day, but there were many December birthdays to consider.  Mick, my father, Maple, and Noelle were all born in December.  I knew those weren’t the birthdays that had me pacing.  In December—thirty-one days at most, I’d have a second child.  Well… thirty-one days for other people.  An irritating thought in the back of my head wouldn’t let me ignore the fact that there’d probably be numerous months for me still, out on business throughout time and space.  This child would be the first of my blood, possibly even bearing my name.  

 “James, you’re pacing.” stated Alma as she walked into the office, her pregnancy showing beneath the elegant gown she wore.

 “Going somewhere?” I questioned.

 “Oh, no.  Dani wanted me to join her, Cosette, Heloise, Emma, Iris, and Aaliyah in playing princess later.  Dressing up is apparently a requirement, even though we’ll be using the VR set to have an in-depth experience of being a princess during times of war.” she explained.

 “She convinced Iris to dress up as a princess?” I asked, feeling amused by the idea.  Iris was more of a tomboy, rarely wearing anything distinctly girly, and she typically wasn’t inclined to play video games.

 “The whole scenario is to start off with our parents being slaughtered at a meeting of the crowns.  Each of our characters will have reason to believe one of the others is the culprit, so there’s going to be a tremendous amount of action involved.  Besides, you know what turning down our daughter is like.”

 I nodded, still smiling.

 “So why are you pacing?  Get more bad news?”

 Stepping over to her, I twirled her around, hugging her as I kissed her head.  Without me needing to say a word, Mila provided music for us to dance.

 “We’re having a child soon.  Unlike you, I don’t know the gender and am not speaking frequently with him or her yet.”

 “You do every night.” she interjected.  She was wonderful at letting me share in the fey-like communication.   She even convinced my parents to try, after revealing that our child had already spoken a few words.

 “Still isn’t nearly as much as you.” I insisted.  “I’m anxious.  I’ve managed to avoid knowing too much, so I don’t know what to expect!  This is exciting and somewhat frightening to me.  Our child might walk on his or her first day!  Even you can’t say what sort of magic our child might have, though some ability with heat would make sense.  We’ll have to be on guard for at least a month… Only a month?  I know you spent your life accustomed to the idea that your child would be superhuman, but the idea still excites me… and worries me.  There’s so much restraint required in interacting with other beings.  Will it be tough for our child?”

 Alma shrugged “Our child will learn.  We’ll be there to keep everyone safe, and Aaliyah has assured us both that things will go well.  What more do you want?”

 I shrugged and then kissed her as the song ended.  “Best be off before Dani declares you late.” I told her.

 She hugged me and said, “Relax, my love.  I know you can’t grow physically ill, but you shouldn’t let your anxieties get in the way of our joy.”

 “I won’t.” I promised, waving when she left.  Soon, we’d be raising a second child.

[chamberofnectar]

[Vagrant Void] - Euno and Tilo - July 2018

Euno returns to his hosted home, where his curious host asks for his company at a house-sitting gig. (2448 words)

Euno Almai walks through the southern Kineisy market with a skewer-kebab in hand, browsing through a foreign book, his pack filled with a stock of off-world snack and other literature as he weaves around children running past to their favorite vendors, well aware of their second glances. He hears them question behind his back, asking their parents who he was, why he so easily melded among the local crowd on this busy afternoon. Adults step out of his way as he walks the center lane, ignoring the whispering rumors that surround him – local and targeting, knowing he may be subject to the gossip. He picks up on every word, aware of their hushed dialogue call him a tourist, an outsider, a paftozaln.

A slur for gueiso; humans.

Around him Nellusy folk go about their daily lives; vendors shouting about their fresh products, commuters weaving through the crowding corridor as they talk among themselves in manners he can barely replicate. Voices click around him, resounding in the confined spaces as he maneuvers through the towering locals, holding his baggage close to make himself as small as possible as he excuses himself from bumping into a browsing visitor. He preoccupies himself with the literature every chance he gets, finding his way back to his adoptive home on the other end of the busy market.

He might’ve taken a quicker route prior, but he finds safety among the busy market; he looks peculiar enough for others to take notice is something happened to him.

He tucks his book away as he wanders through the end of the market, swerving himself onto a narrow pedestrian path between rows of clustered townhouses. The tightly packed houses are vibrant opposed to the dirtied path he walks on old shoes, giving a passing Nellusy room to walk as they grumble about him. He says nothing, focused on just finding his way back home.

“Euno, there you are,” his host calls from an old wooden chair sat on the small front yard, shaded by a sun-worn fabric roof. He welcomes himself into the shaded residence – his silence is common, the norm after a long day doing local freelance translations for laymen and young business entrepreneurs. In the front yard his yellow spotted host sighs, pulling together the paper he had entertained himself with as he waited for the translator’s return.

Inside the group housing Euno tugs off his shoes and lies out on the couch, his bag falling to the floor as he grumbles unintelligible into the kebab between his teeth. The kebab is local, roasted meat locked touch between his teeth as he stares at the ceiling, slowly chewing at it as he thinks back on the day’s events. He had to meet with a client again, in a police department after he tried to steal from a storefront family business he had some nonsense beef with. Seven hours of repetitive questioning, he kept track, was how long he spent there. He partly blames himself for getting involved with the person in question, it was his job to filter his clients; but the officers told him not to worry, that ‘it happens’.

“Bullshit,” he grumbles, looking over as the door clicks closed behind his host’s steps. “Did you spend all day waiting?” he asks, subsequently answered by the nellusy’s large shaking head. “Have you made anything today…?” he calls between tough bites of the kebab, throwing his legs down beside him as the nellusy sits beside him.

“Very little, I’m afraid.”

“Have you tried selling the jewelery first; what are the chances the original owner will see it after so long?” Euno motions his head over towards their shared room, where the other keeps items he sells at a nearby corner.

“Big enough to be a risk. If they want some jewelry, they should ask,” Tilo sighs, his secondary limbs coiling against his chest, his primaries crossing his chest as he stares at the silent tv across the small conjoined kitchen and foyer. The large nellusy sinks into the couch with a sigh, glancing over to the kebab held between Euno’s fingers. “Going to finish that…?” he asks meekly.

Euno hands it over. “Have at it, it’s too tough for my teeth.” The nellusy is quick to devour the remains, biting over the entire thing and dragging it all into his maw in a single sweep. It leaves Euno unimpressed with only the stick, flicking it off to the trash bin on Tilo’s other side. “Have you at least got a gig,” he sighs.

“Ay, was thinking you could help me with Lotnilki Touru’s kids. Utiu asked me to help out while she worked on studies, and she’d like you to come along as well.”

“Sure,” Euno shrugs, pulling up his pack to fetch through the snacks he brought along with him, “when does Utiu start sitting them?”

“She told me in half a Kiishu, so I’d like to leave there in five tnilki or so – so I’ll be early.”

36 minutes, five minutes, Euno recounts, popping fruit snacks into his mouth. His body shifts as the nellusy pushes himself from the couch, limping into their shared room to fetch his jacket, plucking his wooden cane from an old gun case.

“What’s in the pack? Documents?” He calls from the other room.

“Snacks, some stuff I bought from a trade station down in the square. Been kind of missing soft food since I got off the vertical transport last week.” Euno shuffles through his pack, pulling out the small crinkled packet of fruit snacks. “Want to try one? I had to recycle the box – easier to pack in their individual wrappers.”

Tilo shrugs on his coat as he re-enters the foyer, head shaking as he rights himself in more presentable attire. “No thanks, but the kids might be interested,” he grumbles, fidgeting with his loose shirt beneath his well-worn coat. His secondary arms peak out, tugging the coat closed as he shuffles his less ratty pants comfortable around his waist and thick tail – tightening the belt to pull it up behind him. “Well, I’m ready to go when you are,” he chuckles as he watches Euno fiddle his shoes back on, zipping up his own coat for the evening chill rushing through the narrow streets.

 They talk amongst themselves as they make their way onto the interconnecting street buried between the innumerable row of townhouses, where Tilo’s cane taps against the cobblestone pathing alongside his clicking claws. Tilo boasts about false adventures of his youth, spinning another tale about what truly caused his hobbled state. Beside him the translator only nods, keeping himself quiet as he mulls over the incidents with his earlier client. Nilneilil Sykatze, a supposed ex-criminal that hired him to remove his tracking chip.

Tilo begs him to talk about his day, pestering the smaller man until he decides to speak up.

“Relates to a pass job,” he sighs, “I worked with a gnazlti and a scrapper; got his criminal-track chip or whatever its called now removed. Turns out he tries to steal from a store before the wounds even healed,” he grumbles, fumbling with his pack’s front flap, clicking the buckle open and closed. “Was called down to the station and had to get everything sorted out. Spent seven hours doing nothing but listen to him lying. About who I was, what I was doing; discrediting me and all sorts of bullshit.”

“I thought the Affairs Department straightened that stuff up?”

“They do and did. He got sent of to sit for another few months. He’s not allowed to hire a translator anymore.”

“What about you, any probation?” Tilo stops to turn to Euno, digits swirling his cane as they wait for a group to walk past them in the connecting street.

“No. It’s not my fault he robbed anyone. I just translated for him to a scrapper.”

“Good,” the nellusy sighs, ushering the translator to follow him up the paved roads leading towards the more decorative dwellings of cramped living arrangements. The walk is long, waiting for newly installed traffic systems to signal when it’s safe to cross streets made busy by the dimming hours. It makes Tilo anxious, tapping his cane as he becomes quiet as they walk down the filled sidewalk marking the different dwelling arrangements. This wasn’t a place for him, made meek as they round the last corner into a quiet street filled with stacking rowhouses towering around them.

“Tilo!” shouts a woman peering out of a window, a young sleek silisha wearing a decorative vale around her face. “Utiu’s waiting in the den – what is that paftozaln under-skin doing with you?” She spits. Her mouth full of teeth bares as she stares.

Tilo whispers to Euno as they approach. “Might be best to walk past the building and stand at the corner.” He pulls himself away from the translator, acting bemused as he gently bumps Euno as he passes. “They’re a lost tourist I found wandering around, and I think they just started to follow me to see where I’d go!” And, as suggested, Euno walks pass the building as Tilo stands beneath the aggressive mother.

“Tilo, stop lying. You know who they are.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about, Lotnilki! You know I would never put the kids in danger, right?”

Above him the women growls, turning back into the room behind her. “Utiu! Don’t let any paftozaln under-skins in!”

“Yes, Lotnilki,” shouts a second voice inside the vertical living space.

Tilo heaves a sigh as the woman returns to bantering nonsense inside her living space, walking himself to the door as he watches Euno kick at the sidewalk in the corner of his vision, playing with the strap of his back as he waits for the bitter mother to leave the block. It takes some time before Tilo can hear the woman trotting around on the other side of the door, talking towards her children as items clatter. She trots out the front door and waves her small case in front of Tilo’s scarred nose. “How do I look, gaistzine?” she chuffs, flaunting a dress hanging around her hips, splitting in back to reveal her tail, latching behind her neck to leave her back exposed. Cloth drapes along her haphazard, lingering from the hoops hanging from her tusks.

“Like a night on the town,” Tilo mumbles as he steps out of her way, scarred lip twisting as she ensnares his chin to look her in the eyes.

“You best not let that under-skin in, Tilo,” she growls, baring her teeth. “I know who you work for, and I can have both of you arrested if they get near my children.”

He shoves her hand away, glaring up at the taller nellusy. “What, you’ll lie on me? How terrifying,” he snarls, moving himself into the open doorframe. “Now get along and let me do what you paid me; the customers are waiting for their ‘star’.”

Lotnilki huffs, flexing her secondary limbs to claw at the air as she turns away. Her trimmed claws clicking on concrete as she walks off for a night of work and practice, passing Euno with so much as a second glance. But, beneath her breath, she growls. “Get off my planet, paftozaln,” disappearing into the evening crowd for a night of entertainment. Euno says nothing, entertaining himself with a book written in his language.

With her gone, he collects himself back to the rowhouse where Tilo waits leaning against the open door frame. “Sorry about her; she’s a new rebel supporter, doesn’t like the occupation.”

“I’m used to it,” Euno sighs as he scoots past.

“What?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m used to it,” Euno holds onto his bag as two children run past, latching themselves to Tilo’s legs. Their voices click and squeak, whispers frilling as they cling to his coat.

A young sloped nosed gnazlti peaks her head out of an adjoining room. “Tilo, there you are. Is that the translator you were talking about? They’re small,” she laments, collecting one of the children as Tilo picks up the other. “Sorry about Lotnilki, she had a problem with the twins earlier.”

“It’s fine, she’s just being theatrical. And yes, this is Euno, he’s living with me in the group housing; I’m lucky enough to have him.” He glances over at the smaller man, the smallest in the room aside from the children held in the nellusy’s arms.

“Where does he sleep, on the couch?” Utiu grunts, failing to restrain one of the wiggling and squeaking children as they slip out of her arms. They tug at Tilo’s clothing, their speech garbled with half developed vocal cords as the child within Tilo’s arms latches onto him. “They’ve missed you,” she chuckles, watching Tilo take over her babysitting duties.

“I – can tell,” Tilo grunts, ushering the children upstairs where a television sings.

It leaves Utiu and Euno alone, the later greeting the nellusy with a quick nod – the typical nellusy greeting. “Tilo lets me sleep on his bed, he takes the couch.”

“Does he?” To which Euno flicks up his chin, “that must be some mess,” Utiu grumbles, walking up the stairs. The human follows her.

“You’d be surprised,” Euno sighs, recounting the sheet may sit a little crumped at the head of the bed. “The children watching something?”

“A retelling of the assassination aboard the Faulnonal,” she chirps, back turned as Euno frowns. “It’s become interconnected with the night’s festivities, and I don’t want to shelter them, nor let them follow after their mother.” Euno only nods, fist balling against his bag. He keeps quiet as he wanders himself up into the open landing where the twins finally catch sight.

“What’s that?” ask the one with a single painted dot on their nose.

“Yeah, is that a gueiso?” asks the other, with two dots.

“Yes, natiruln. He’s a gueiso, a ‘human’, not a monster like your mother sees it,” Tilo chuckles, nestling the twins between his spread shins as he tucks his cane away – nursing his bad leg with a grimace. “Now, it’s time to settle down. I’ll make you two ilakon if you settle down.” Both click back as their slimy hands finish fidgeting, wrapping around Tilo’s pants as they hide behind his legs from Euno. The translator settles himself on the other side of the couch, paying the children no mind as he flips open to where he left on – the text illegible to those around him. He half listens to the documentary return to broadcast, half turning his gaze at the brief mention of the ship’s captain – attentive to if they represented his father right.

[jeremystrele]

Times Like These… With TDF Editor-In-Chief Lucy Feagins

Times Like These… With TDF Editor-In-Chief Lucy Feagins

Times Like These

by Sally Tabart

TDF founder and editor Lucy Feagins and her daughter Minnie at a TDF Collect opening in Collingwood. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

The bright and beautiful TDF office. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

A few snaps from Lucy’s personal instagram over the past few weeks!

Although it might not seem like things have changed much around here from a reader perspective (we hope!), it’s been a slightly tumultuous time over here in TDF-land for the last few months. Aside from the increasingly grim public health predictions, there were a few weeks over March and April where, along with almost every other small business in Australia, the economic fallout of the health crisis hit us, hard.  We lost a fair bit of income almost overnight, and honestly… things were looking a little dicey for a while there.

In the three years I’ve been at The Design Files, I’ve never seen our editor-in-chief Lucy Feagins anxious or afraid – she’s pretty fearless when it comes to her business. But like any small business owner over the last couple of months, Luce has had to confront some pretty scary possibilities. Although it’s been a stressful experience at times, it’s also brought our team so much closer together, and given Lucy a new perspective on all the different elements of running a business. And without sounding too cheesy, I think we’ve emerged from this more resourceful, understanding and creative than ever.

In our final Times Like These interview, Lucy shares some of the ups and downs of the past few months here at TDF.

It’s been a weird few months Luce! How well do you think the team (and the business) has adapted to a new way of working?

It’s definitely been the weirdest time… but isn’t it strange how quickly we adapt? I think most of us went into a sort of shock when our freedoms were first ‘taken away’… but it’s pretty amazing how Australians really stepped up, made so many sacrifices and changed our behaviours so drastically for the greater good.

As far as The Design Files goes, I think this time has been a pretty amazing indicator of the strength of our little team. Everyone has been working from home for around eight weeks now, and we also had to cancel all photoshoots for eight weeks. So that has placed enormous pressure on the team to keep the quality content coming daily, whilst working within these new parameters. I’m so proud of how the team has adapted without really skipping a beat, and just really risen to the challenge. And, honestly, looking at the quality of our content and the readership numbers over the past two months, you wouldn’t even know we were in the middle of a crisis.

I also think this time has really reminded me how special our workplace culture is. I have always been pretty obsessed with workplace culture and just the general happiness of everyone on the team, but right now you really feel that magic in action. Working remotely does have its challenges, but I feel that our team culture is sort of the glue that has held everything together. It’s just so clear how tightly bonded our team are, and so whilst I personally believe our best work is done in a bustling, busy, chatty workplace where the whole team connects face to face every day… I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how we’ve managed to cope and thrive under current conditions.

What have you felt has been the biggest challenge for TDF as a business? 

As a business owner, the first 2-3 weeks of lockdown were intense. At that early time we weren’t getting a whole lot of clear leadership from the government, and I was really worried about the financial implications for the business. A lot of The Design Files’ advertising revenue dried up in March, and a lot of client projects we had been working on pretty much just disappeared overnight. There was just so much uncertainty, and I was incredibly worried about loss of income, and the prospect of not being able to support our team of seven staff.

After the JobKeeper scheme was announced, things started to feel a whole lot better. Honestly, JobKeeper has been a lifeline for us. I’m feeling in control again – and one positive side effect of this incredibly stressful time is that I’m feeling more financially literate about my business than ever before. I’m watching our cash flow like a hawk! (Shout out to my amazing bookkeepers Counting Clouds – best in the biz!)

Was there ever a moment you were like… I don’t know if we’re going to make it through? And if so how did that feel?  

Honestly… I don’t think I was really thought we ‘wouldn’t make it through’, but at the start of lockdown, I was pretty worried. I was hearing about quite a few really great local businesses that were struggling and laying people off. It was scary. It actually made me feel quite unsettled for about two weeks. But also, it made me determined.

When I get really anxious about something, I think my gut reaction is first a sort of emotional, fear response…  and then that quickly turns to dogged determination. It’s almost like defiance, ‘I’ll show everyone!’. LOL!

So, I just got stuck into my spreadsheets, my cashflow, firming up our finances and figuring out what we needed to do to get through without losing anyone.

For me, the only thing that eases that sort of financial anxiety is to face it head-on. I don’t love numbers or accounting at the best of times, but I just know that if I get really clear on the details, then I feel empowered.

I imagine it must have been extremely stressful for you and Gordy [Lucy’s husband] given that you are both small business owners…what were the conversations like between you two at that time? And how did you support each other through it when you were both kind of going through a similar thing? 

Gordy is a furniture designer / cabinet maker, and he also part-owns a bar in Brunswick. Day-to-day, he’s a one-man contractor so he’s pretty nimble, but his bar has suffered due to being closed for nearly two months, so he’s been concerned about his business liabilities, and paying rent etc whilst the business has been closed. There’s definitely been a bit of boring conversation about government grants and JobKeeper eligibility etc over the dinner table at our house!

Generally though, Gordy and I are, I think, pretty unusual when it comes to business and finances. Despite owning a home together and having a kid, we actually keep our finances quite seperate. He doesn’t really know what’s in my bank account – and I don’t know what’s in his either! We’ve both always been pretty independent in that way, and that just works for us.

What have you learned from the last few months?

So many things! I’ve learnt a lot about my comfort zone from a business cashflow perspective.

In my personal life, I’ve also been reminded of how much money I spend on silly things like dinners out and drinks and work lunches and daily coffees. With most shops and cafes closed, I’ve learnt to be frugal again and it’s making me question my usual spending habits – in a good way.

But mainly, as someone who tends to race through life at full speed, I’ve learnt about the joy of slowing down a bit. There’s a lot to be said for having nowhere to go and nothing much to do on a weekend. I’m enjoying living a life without #FOMO.

Who or what is bringing you good vibes right now?

My daughter, Minnie is a constant, joyful distraction.

All the isolation musical performances artists are sharing via social media… I got really into ‘Isol-Aid’ a few weeks back, and re-lived my youth singing along to Missy Higgins!

Melbourne based ceramicist @jameslemon Instagram is consistently hilarious!

OH and free childcare is definitely a GOOD VIBE!

What are you looking forward to/optimistic about?

I think Australia has a lot to be optimistic about. Though we’re not out of the woods just yet, we really did an unbelievable job of beating this virus. We’ve made a lot of sacrifices, we put the greater good ahead of individual interest, and we should be pretty proud of that. I’m hoping that attitude will continue to manifest in other ways, long after this virus is gone.

As far as TDF is concerned, I’m looking forward to getting back to normal. I want to have the whole team back together again, I want to be able to host events and exhibitions again, and I just want to get out of the ‘holding pattern’ and really start to dream big again

.And in my personal life, I’m turning 40 in October, so I’m also looking forward to celebrating that milestone!

Follow Lucy on Instagram (where you���ll see all the cute Minnie videos!) here! 

Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

[two-friends-read-hp]

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

CHAPTER TWELVE: The Triwizard Tournament

Ah, finally, we don’t have to keep secrets anymore

Hmmm, some spooky weather we’re having here… thundering, lightning… I wonder what’s afoot

Peeves, it’s lovely to see you too

“The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn’t been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it.” Yeah, I love that, that’s actually pretty funny

It’s so cute that both the Creevey brothers turned out to be wizards

Yeah, it’s  only downhill from here with regards to the DADA teachers

Oooh, we’re getting a rundown of all the teachers!

Ok, Snape really doesn’t need that many adjectives all for himself

Ah yes, Professor Dumbledore… cherish these few precious moments Professor, your time’s running out

Really? You couldn’t have just made the first-years get on the carriages? Is this really how you wanted them to see Hogwarts for the first time? From beneath the lake? Is that really better than pneumonia?

Oh, so the Sorting Hat belonged to Gryffindor!

How do the children know which house is sitting at which table? I suppose they’d walk towards the right table because the people at that table would be cheering for them

“Harry caught a glimpse of Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker, cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down. For a fleeting second, Harry had a strange desire to join the Ravenclaw table too.” haha idiot.

Ok, there’s no need to hiss at new students just because they’re in Slytherin... 

Wow, the sorting hat barely sat on Dennis Creevey’s head before it shouted ‘Gryffindor’

Aw the giant squid pushed him back in the boat

Is the giant squid sentient?

“‘Wow!’ said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.” I love the Creevey brothers and they need to be protected

Wow, Ron is just not in the mood today, is he

“‘I do hope this year’s batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch,’ said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as ‘McDonald, Natalie!’ joined the Gryffindor table.” Apparently, Natalie McDonald was an actual little nine-year-old girl who was a fan of the Harry Potter books but died of Leukemia before Goblet of Fire was released. Even sadder, she passed away the day before J.K. Rowling responded to her personally by email. So of course, J.K. Rowling immortalised Natalie forever in one of the biggest bestselling book series of all time. Rest in peace Natalie.

Ok, Gryffindor only won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row because Harry Potter is Dumbledore’s pet project

Yeah, do the teachers get to Hogwarts before all the students so that they can make preparations for them? Or do they show up with them on the Hogwarts Express? Or do they not have to take the train at all since they can just apparate into Hogsmeade? I just thought of Lupin now, who took the train to Hogwarts instead of apparating… but he must’ve done that because he was exhausted 

Oh the largest number of house-elves in any dwelling in Britain, that’s interesting

You have to admire Hermione’s determination

Although, it kinda sucks that house-elves aren’t given credit for anything or mentioned anywhere, apparently not even in Hogwarts a History, since even Hermione didn’t know about them

Ok, would ‘Spotted dick’ appeal to anyone who isn’t British?

Sucks for whoever was the Quidditch captain that year, since the Quidditch cup would not take place that year… unless they didn’t really assign any captain badges

Also, thank God Oliver Wood won his Quidditch Cup last year since this year they were straight-up not having it 

Lord, do we really need any more drama that prevents us from hearing what’s going to be happening this year at Hogwarts? I feel like the deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the great hall banging open to interrupt Dumbledore, just as he was about to say exactly what we want to know, is a bit much

 What a fantastic entrance though

Lol, everyone’s just staring at Mad-Eye as he goes up to the table and then starts to eat after everyone has already finished, Dumbledore then realises he’s supposed to introduce him, and then nobody acknowledges the introduction, they just continue to stare. Hagrid and Dumbledore are the only ones who applauded for him, and even then they stopped very quickly. Again, what an entrance.

Wow, he has a wooden leg, with a clawed foot

And Dumbledore just continues on with what he was saying like nothing happened

Gee, I wonder why this event has not been held for over a century. I wonder what possessed them to decide, ‘Oh hey, maybe, just maybe, this event is extremely dangerous for children between the ages of 11-17, or anyone really’. I wonder why nobody disagreed with whoever that was until now. Also, why is Britain suddenly playing host to big events? 

Lol, imagine being addressed by name by Dumbledore himself at the great hall

“‘I am not joking, Mr Weasley,’ he said, ‘though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar.’ Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. ‘Er - but maybe this is not the time… no…’ said Dumbledore.” LOL he just dropped this bomb and then goes on a tangent about jokes

Ooh, a little Triwizard Tournament history

Ok so, despite this rapidly rising death toll, you guys decided to continue the tournament?? Is establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities really that important? Just teach them the concept of ‘pen-pals’! Nobody loves sending letters more than wizards and witches!

HARRY! YOU KNOW DEATH JUST FOLLOWS YOU AROUND!!! JUST LAST YEAR SOMEONE WANTED TO MURDER YOU!!! HOW ARE YOU NOT ANXIOUS AT ALL??? IS HERMIONE REALLY THE ONLY SANE PERSON IN THIS SCHOOL????

“‘...We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.’” BITCH PLEASE! Your students find themselves in mortal danger on a regular basis! Need I remind you of that murderer that escaped and started targeting a student in your school just last year? Or the fact that there was a DORMANT GIANT SNAKE LIVING IN THE PLUMBING THAT DECIDED TO TAKE A STROLL ONLY A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO?? AND THAT THERE WERE LITERALLY STUDENTS PETRIFIED AS WELL BECAUSE OF IT?? And what about the fact that y’all were using a giant three-headed dog and a couple of trolls - ONE OF WHICH MANAGED TO ESCAPE BY THE WAY - to protect the Philosopher’s Stone from Voldemort himself, and that none of that mattered since Voldemort was literally on the back of one of the teacher’s heads all along???? ‘Ensure that no student finds themselves in mortal danger’ my ASS. And all of this stuff is just scraping the surface. I forgot to mention the acromantula that live in the forest, along with God knows how many other dangerous creatures and plants (can’t forget to mention THE WHOMPING WILLOW). Honestly. How can you even say that with a straight face??

Wow, I really went off there didn’t I

Of course, the selection of champions will take place on Halloween. Everything always happens on Halloween.

Why would you be outraged that they put an age restriction?? Do you want to die an eleven-year-old?

Also, would it really be a fair tournament if a seventeen-year-old competes with an eleven-year-old?

I’m sorry, what kind of stuff do y’all wanna do that they are gonna let the champions do, Fred and George?

‘An impartial judge’ lol

Hermione is literally the only one pointing out the most troubling part of all of this: that people have L I T E R A L L Y  D I E D

And they keep brushing it off by saying ‘it happened a hundred years ago’ like death is not a problem any more now that it’s a hundred years later

I mean, part of Harry’s dream came true, just not in the way anyone would’ve wanted it

I like that his fantasies of him and Cho are just Cho glowing with admiration for him, lol

Chapter 13

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

The Other Prince + A CS Modern Royal AU [Chapter 2]

Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general's daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the 'other' prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.

Catch Up On Previous Chapters: One Also on FF.net and AO3.

Word Count: 4,748

Alright, here's the first Emma POV chapter! My knowledge of the British military isn't extensive so hopefully I didn't muck it up too bad. Enjoy and keep an eye out - the next Killian chapter will be up soon!

"So, Elsa said that you met Walsh at the banquet last night - that new pilot they just stationed in Wales, right?"

Trying to hold back a grumble, Emma pulled her latte to her lips as she glanced down toward her half empty breakfast plate. The sun had only peeked over the distant hills a few hours earlier, but she'd only been awake for a small fraction of that time - late obligatory night be damned. She should have figured this conversation was coming and in all honesty, it wasn't that surprising that her mother had chosen the soonest moment she could. Tapping her fingers on the side of the porcelain cup, Emma wondered if she'd still have an appetite to finish the rest of her eggs and whatever the daily pastry was when this little chat was over. She adored Mrs. Potts and the majority of things she'd baked or boiled in the estate's large kitchen over the past six months, but the guilty pleasure of a plain old pop tart wasn't something Emma had ever managed to shake.

One result of a normal college experience - well, as normal as attending a prestigious university could be for a daughter of a largely decorated military hero. Though it helped that she'd been able to acquire her undergraduate degree in America rather than one of the countries listed beneath the crown, it didn't change the fact that there were very few circumstances in her honor shadowed life that Emma would dare label as ordinary.

"You've already been gathering intel from the Norwegians this morning I see," Emma commented, her eyebrow raised in a manner of taunting. "You could at least wait until she gets back home, Mom. I'm pretty sure they weren't flying back until later today."

"Actually, Elsa informed me that Ingrid has decided to stay in England a few extra days and it was just a quick chat," her mother defended cheerfully. "I wanted to make sure she's still planning on visiting next month. It's been ages since we've seen her."

It was difficult to be too annoyed at how happy her mom seemed at the prospect of hosting company, especially because Emma felt just as anxious to spend some time with a familiar face. She'd met Elsa during one of their week long stays in Europe years ago, a trip where the backdrop was all British politics and several snowy days. With the pair of them being the matching age of twelve, they'd done everything from ice skating to bookstore hopping while Emma's father sat in on multiple meetings with top dogs from the Royal Navy and Ingrid Frost, the Norwegian prime minister they'd hoped to gain as an ally - and who just so happened to also be Elsa's aunt. The distance across the North Sea and Emma's constant travels didn't allow them to spend much time together over the years, but Elsa was the closest thing she had to a best friend. It had been a relief to see the girl who always had her back in attendance at whatever the hell that event was the night before, but somehow, Emma had managed to forget about her mother and Elsa's newly found friendship by phone.

God, that woman could swindle information out of anyone.

"I figured you'd be more interested in hearing about the event itself rather than the guest list," Emma answered after a moment, adorning her tone with a hint of sarcasm. "I should know better by now, right?"

"Hey now, that's not what I…."

The dark haired woman's voice trailed off and she let out a sigh, one that turned into a defeated laugh as Emma offered a sarcastic roll of her eyes. The exchange didn't hold the confirmation of total frustration much to her dismay and silence filled the space between them, the only noise coming from the rather distant railway and several playful birds circling the blossoming trees. Glancing up at their fluttering wings in distraction, Emma took a moment to wonder about or perhaps envy the lives they led - freedom to fly and explore the world without much worry from anyone. It was the persistent tale of the branch dwelling sparrows that almost taunted her, their happy chattering reminding her just how different they were.

So lucky, she thought quietly. Those simple songbirds would never know how good they had it. Her mother was fairly subtle, but they'd had this conversation before and it was anything but simple.

"I didn't mean to imply that you finding a love interest last night was the goal, Em. You know I don't mean to pressure you," her mother said after their mutual pause, her caring tone prodding Emma toward a little guilt. "I just….I want you to be happy, sweetie. I guess I'd hoped maybe you might have some luck with that at the banquet - proper and slightly mandatory as it was."

Emma pursed her lips, giving the woman a softer stare as she realized just how silly her defensive nature was in a moment like this. She let out a much calmer breath as the stalemate between them fractured a bit. It was the one that always lingered and reminded them both of the life she'd unintentionally fallen into despite her parents' annoying yet loving prompting. Though Emma had spent the past eight years away from her family doing everything from charity work to college courses, she'd still somehow become an esteemed military man's apathetic daughter who'd all but given up on that next step in life - finding love and the man who could prove to her that such a thing still existed.

To say she was simply skeptical was an understatement - especially when she'd been handed a few reasons to be much more than that.

"I know," she replied, setting her cup down as Mrs. Potts stopped by to refill it. "It wasn't too bad actually, though I did meet this Walsh guy and found out quickly how much I did not want to hear about his family's dedication to the Air Force. Nothing against a war tale or two, but wow…."

She felt her spirit brighten as her mother snorted unexpectedly, covering her mouth fast to conceal her obvious laughter. The cocky, overly charming pilot she was referring to may have been a nice guy, but it was truly difficult to know for sure since he'd spoken of nothing but his own heroics the entire night. Emma bit back her grin as she recalled Elsa rolling her eyes while mouthing 'flying monkey' just before they'd escaped to the bar for reprieve.

"Fair enough," her mother said, an amused laugh accompanying her words. "I've met his aunt and I can't say she was much different. She's been a widow for a few years I believe, but honestly, I fear for any man who ever gets involved with her - she seems like the jealous type."

"Thankfully, I didn't have the pleasure of meeting her," Emma said with an exaggerated exhale. "Green with envy though, huh?"

"That's a good way of putting it," her mother smirked as she sipped her own drink. "But I know your father appreciates you attending in his place, Emma. Hopefully he'll be back to it soon and you won't have to fill in again for a while."

Emma felt her heart sink just slightly as her mother offered a forced smile, the strength in their matching stares holding firmly even after the multiple months they'd spent talking themselves in and out of moments like this one. It had been a lengthy and terribly winding road for their family, but cliche as it was, it was a proven fact that the Nolans didn't give up.

"I didn't see him this morning," Emma noted in a questioning tone. "How was he?"

"Good enough to walk down to the stables and check in on the horses-" her mother answered, a pleased yet still concerned grin on her lips. "-so not too bad it seems."

Emma let a sense of pride settle in her bones at the confirmation of the most important man - well, the only man - in her complicated life mending his injured body and hopefully his spirit as well. Lord knows it had been a long time coming.

"He probably wouldn't mind a visit," her mother prodded, taking the nearly empty teacup to her lips once more. "I'm sure he'll have questions and he mentioned needing to discuss something with you….though I don't know what."

Feeling her eyes narrow as she'd detected the tiny lie - or perhaps just slight avoidance of the truth - Emma nodded, pulling her carefully woven sweater tighter around her arms as she rose. She wondered quietly just what sort of ask her parents had planned and pondered momentarily just how she might decline it. With a sigh, she gave up the brief thought of ditching out. They don't deserve that, she reminded herself.

Her father who'd been through recovery hell and back definitely deserved his only daughter's full cooperation - or what she could muster of it anyway.

"I can check in with him real quick I guess," she conceded, letting herself revel in her mother's appreciative grin. "Though I have to say after being forced to wear that frock of a princess dress last night, the price of favors is rising very quickly."

"Well, I guess it's one he'll have to pay," her mother replied with a successful nod and appreciative eyes, handing Emma a steaming silver thermos that had just been delivered to the table. "Take this to him. I wonder if he grabbed his coat on the way down there - it's not exactly warm today."

With her eyes watching the slight wind cling to the trees, she noted her mother wasn't wrong about the uncertain temperature testing the mid morning air. She shivered slightly while reminding herself that the mild weather and the chill it often brought was a small price to pay for the life they'd somehow hung onto despite the dwindling threat to it.

Maybe one day she'd be able to let go of the hesitation that still seemed to weigh on their words, but for now, she would gladly accept what she could get - even if it meant unstable weather and sporadic storms of many kinds.

"I'll take it to him," Emma told her mother with a soft smile as Mrs. Potts approached, handing over the warm men's wool jacket she must have heard them discussing. "Be back soon, okay?"

The expression she received in return was a tender one full of love and utmost gratitude, a look she'd experienced quite often since returning home - or whatever this place was. With her younger brother recently starting his third year at Eton College just outside of Windsor and her mother trying to balance the household minus the help of a healthy husband, Emma knew it was pertinent that she was around to assist in these little moments. As difficult as it had been to be tossed into sudden turmoil, it hadn't taken long to settle into this life - a life she now didn't know if she actually wanted to leave.

It wasn't as if she hadn't been encouraged to do so. The moment her father started making substantial progress, her mother started prompting her to look into nearby schools where she could finish up the final degree she'd been pursuing when the accident had derailed her schooling. Cambridge and Oxford weren't far and she definitely maintained the grades back in America to possibly be accepted to either. There were even a handful of closer universities that would allow her to remain nearby, but each day that she declined her mother's scholarly nudges brought Emma closer to the point of shoving her graduate studies aside altogether. She'd loved her past college experience, but seeing her father struggle with relentless pain and the new life he was being sentenced to deepened her fear of what could happen in her absence.

She couldn't risk not being there. She couldn't leave with the knowledge of what might happen if she was gone.

Glancing out over the elaborate gardens as she descended down the steps belonging to the backyard veranda, Emma held tight to the the metallic thermos and her father's well worn jacket. Maybe this place wasn't hers, but this new life was - and getting used to it was just another hurdle she'd have to conquer.

As the sun attempted to shine, Emma let her feet move casually, the soles of her shoes tapping the walkway with soft thuds as she glanced out across the property they'd been borrowing for a little over half a year now. It didn't seem like much time, but the months they'd spent in the rural outskirts of West Yorkshire had been more consistent than any other place she could recall. It was the constant disadvantage of a military based family always on the move - home wasn't a place but rather an illusion.

The repeated realization running through her head didn't keep Emma from glancing back at the house she'd just departed from. It truly was beautiful - an old yet updated house cloaked in historical dark bricks and surrounded by about twenty acres of equestrian property her father took full advantage of even though he certainly wasn't supposed to while still hurt. The windows were thick glass and the doors were strong eighteenth century with many sagas she hoped to one day hear more about. The frontage road leading from the manor's front gate to the stables wasn't exactly short, but Emma liked the think time that stroll offered. The view was unbeatable with a small yet lively duck pond to the right and the greenest grass she'd ever known stretching beyond a distance she could fully observe.

She'd allowed herself to miss the place several times when she'd temporarily been away - something she probably shouldn't do as a Canadian born citizen who certainly didn't have the right to think of wealthy outlying England as home. She couldn't help it though and as her mother began regularly tending to flowers they'd planted in the yard, Emma started letting the concept of home creep in for a few sporadic moments a day.

It was only once she'd learned of the structure's past that she fought to pull those thoughts back in. The house she'd assumed they were renting wasn't just anyone's - it was in possession of the Royal family, a place given in a kind gesture for the idolized Admiral David Nolan to rehabilitate peacefully. It was something Emma knew they should be grateful for, but accepting regal assistance had given her pride a pretentious nudge. Not being able to provide comfortable quarters for the leading man who'd always kept their family safe was frustrating, but her mother had reminded her that the circumstances weren't meant to elevate anyone's ego.

Well, not anyone's but those of the monarchy - and Emma was pretty sure they didn't need reminding of how generous and hospitable they continued to be to their people.

It wasn't that she had an actual issue with the royal family or the people who made up that elite group. It was more that the whole concept just seemed outdated - queens, princes, palaces, and thrones. They all seemed like things she would have fawned over as a little girl, but this was the modern real world and the whole notion of a crown controlling multiple countries just felt like something out of a fairytale storybook. It was right up there next to 'true love' on the list of make believe in her head and she tried not to let her cynicism seep through. Real life definitely wasn't about happily ever after.

No, reality was about accepting that life was full of hardships and struggles - and honestly, on what level could anyone born into royalty really understand that?

Reaching the downhill slope toward the large building that housed about ten barred stalls, Emma slowed her pace a bit. The gravel under her soles was skittish - a fact she knew from experience with a very nervous and very appropriately named pony called Hopper that she'd ridden exactly once around the age of six. Visiting her father at the stables had become a regular thing, yes, but like hell if she'd ever get back on any horse.

Hearing the gentle clomping of hooves as she entered through the large open doors, she finally caught sight of him near the left wall with a heavy saddle draped over his arm as he bit his lip in concentration. Fighting the urge to rush toward him with a helping hand and a scolding word, Emma took a second to realize just how far he'd come. He was dressed in that familiar flannel shirt he'd been wearing for ages now - dark maroon with the navy blue pattern. His brown shoes seemed at ease against the concrete underfoot and she observed his motion with anxiety pulsing through her veins. Walking had only become something he could manage without help roughly a month ago, but now, he moved pretty easily and only with a slight grimace when the pain seemed to spike. Despite her gratitude for his regained ability to carry things he probably shouldn't, Emma couldn't help but offer a little warning as she folded her arms in the entryway.

"You know that Mom would totally freak out if she saw you lifting that, right?"

Her father looked over his shoulder with a knowing smirk before he stumbled a bit, a slight misstep that sent Emma hurrying to his side automatically despite her taunting. Pausing as he held his hand up in refusal of her regular help, she stood back and waited to see just what he could do with his never ending stubbornness. With a quiet groan and a balancing move, he soon caught hold of the slick black bar near the top of a gate and he stationed his feet wide in a stance that was finally starting to strengthen. A few deep breaths brought him back to his usual defenses and Emma couldn't help but find joy in his returned ability to brush off her guidance.

"What your mother doesn't observe or hear about won't hurt her," he replied with a wink and the paternal smile she could typically expect. "Plus, that wasn't all bad. Still on my feet at least, right?"

Emma sighed in agreement, continuing to take in the details of the injured man only a few paces away. His bruises and cuts were fading as time slowly passed and the scars marring his body were now hidden beneath his familiar faded clothes. It had taken a long time - almost the entire duration of their current stay in England - for him to begin to look like himself again. It was a welcome sight and she tried to revel in the fact that he was getting better. He was healing - and in turn, so could the rest of their family.

She'd been staring out the large third floor window in one of Columbia's many campus buildings, enduring the second hour of her capstone class when she'd received the call - well, nine calls that turned into several alarming voicemails. Stepping out into the hallway with the vibrating phone in her clenched hand was a recollection that now felt almost as surreal as dashing through LaGuardia to catch a red eye flight had been that terrifying evening, but walking into the military hospital just off the shores of Scotland was a memory that still burned each time it crossed her thoughts.

She'd failed the class, scuffing up her college reputation not long after the course officially started. It was the only black mark on her university record and it was definitely something her father would have chided her for had he been in the condition to do so. She had done her best to shove that subtle shame aside since arriving in England to an indefinite future. Proficient grades ceased to matter the instant she promised her mother she'd be on the next flight over the vast ocean, even if the failure they represented still lingered heavily in her mind.

Family became suddenly even more important when she'd boarded the plane and holding that framework together wasn't something she'd allow to be swayed by a single moment.

That was not to say that the moment itself hadn't been the most fearful one of her life - the sound of her mother's distraught voice and the matching state of their teary eyes when they finally found one another just outside of the surgery room was a thought that would never go quietly. Hearing her father had been in an accident was a risk that always came with his commitment to the Royal Navy, but being thrown into the aftermath without warning wasn't something she'd wish on her worst enemy.

"So I take it you're feeling a little better today?"

"A bit more every day," he assured her with that half hearted smile. "We'll get there eventually."

Emma tried to return his shaky certainty with a nod, but watching the heroic man before her struggle wasn't getting any easier. She knew she should be more patient - the surgeons had told her and her mother that a full recovery could take years. It wasn't a total surprise to hear such a frustrating conclusion, especially once the doctors read off the lengthy list of her father's sustained injuries - multiple left leg fractures, a strained and dislocated shoulder, a few cracked ribs, plenty of bruises paired with stitches on his chin, and a black eye that had taken weeks to disappear. All of that was caused by the initial fall, a slip up that occurred during a rainy training effort he'd been managing and then attempting to salvage. His brave actions had saved the lives of two other men who'd been caught in the stormy circumstances as he's sent them to safety and tried to secure whatever had been so goddamn important on the slippery ship deck, but that valiant effort was something she had a hard time feeling proud of as she watched him battle the triumphs and setbacks since that day. There ended up being a couple other ailments that he'd fortunately moved on from since then - the main issue being slight respiratory stress invoked by those few short moments he'd faced the possibility of drowning in the storm addled water.

That was the one thought she'd yet to find the courage to consider. There just wasn't any way the sea could have potentially stolen the man who'd taught her to swim - both literally and figuratively.

"So," he said after a moment, moving to sit down on one of the closeby wooden benches. "Have you come to check up on me or offer your wrath? I heard the company in Cambridge last night wasn't the best."

"No, it wasn't," Emma laughed, taking the empty space next to him and placing the jacket on the seat at her side. "But it also wasn't the worst."

"I suppose I owe you big for that one - I've heard about a few of those favored families and guests that were set to attend," he continued, cringing dramatically with a smile. "Some woman named 'Zelena' I think? She already sounds villainous and I've never even met her."

Emma couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her, relaxation settling on her shoulders as she watched her father's cheesy sense of humor rise and fall between them. It was a relief to observe him in such spirits and as she took note of his subtle smile, it was difficult to believe that things might never return to normal.

They had to. He had to.

"So," Emma started, tilting her head toward him. "Mom says you had something you wanted to ask me?"

"Oh, well - yeah," he said, surprise filling his face as he met her eyes. "I should have figured she'd put me on the spot like that."

"Yeah, you'd think you would have learned by now," Emma teased. "So what's up?"

Watching him straighten his posture and sigh heavily was oddly amusing and Emma felt her lips twitch up into a slow smirk. What was he up to?

"Well, the doctors gave me the all-clear yesterday-" he divulged, hold up his hands in defense as soon as she tried to argue. "-and that doesn't mean I'm headed for enemy lines, but I do need to get back up to speed on what's going on with the crew."

"So the favor you need is for me to go tell them to keep the ships in line or whatever because you're not coming back to the base yet, right?"

"I happen to like the men I work with so I'm definitely not about to send you to threaten them," he replied with a light chuckle, elbowing her as she glared gently. "But what I wanted to tell you is that there's a new possibility of a new small fleet of ships setting sail in a few months and I'm being briefed on the negotiations this Friday. It's a little less glamorous than being out on the water itself, but I figure that it couldn't hurt to start fresh with a new assignment. It might even be called a step up of sorts."

Emma felt relief overcome her at his explanation. Letting the recently repaired sailor back out onto the open ocean wasn't something she or her mother could fathom right now and while playing politics with the other various ranked men of the military wasn't exactly safe either, Emma knew it was much less risky for her father to wear a suit than battle the sea for the time being. It took only a moment and his sideways glance for her to realize that she'd still yet to learn what he needed her to play.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep her curiosity at bay. "So you need….me to pack you a lunch? Or a ride to the base or something?"

"Not exactly, but it's good to know you're willing to do both of those things without much begging," he grinned, stretching his injured leg out and folding his arms. "Actually, your mother is going to accompany me to London for this meeting and I hoped I might be able to coerce you into joining us. Maybe make a long weekend out of it?"

"London," Emma repeated, narrowing her gaze intently. "But your briefings usually happen here or in Portsmouth, don't they? What's in London?"

"Kind of a broad question, Em," he told her with a soft chuckle. "But I think you mean 'who' rather than 'what'."

The clever expression on his face was entertaining and it was truly the first time she'd seen him look fractionally giddy since the accident. The idea of trekking to London on wasn't exactly her idea of a good time, especially because she'd heard talk on the news that morning of a large event planned at Buckingham that weekend as well. Dealing with the droves of people it would surely bring in while trying to stay otherwise occupied as her father got back to work didn't sound appealing in the least, but she couldn't help her need to know just what had him in such high spirits.

"Okay, fine," she said with an exaggerated sigh, trying to let him enjoy whatever shenanigans he was up to. "Who is in London?"

"Well, I suppose in most situations, she'd be called the boss," he offered, arching an eyebrow. "But perhaps it would be more proper to go with Her Majesty the Queen in this particular case."

Emma felt her eyes widen as she processed the answer she'd finally obtained. Sure, her father was high in the military ranks and likely in the opinions of those advising the iconic woman who represented the monarchy, but she still hadn't imagined hearing him clarify their purpose in such a way. Watching him shrug sheepishly as he begrudgingly pulled on the coat she'd brought along, the disbelief swirling in her thoughts finally settled enough for her to draw one very important conclusion.

This was obviously a hell of a promotion - and she had zero idea what that meant for her.

Tagging some lovely people: @optomisticgirl (thank you for the beta assistance, my friend), @themmaswan, @xpumpkindumplingx, @spartanguard, @harryandthecambridges @fergus80, @eala-captian, @allietumbles, @kmomof4, @laschatzi, @galadriel26, @timeless-love-story, @lifeinahole27, @kat2609, @msres, @all0of0the0usernames, @captainswanismyendgame, @lovelycssefan, @hooksheroicheart, @irishcaptainodonoghue, @gonzothegreat90, @cat-sophia, @rebelcxptain, @prairiepirate, @yesplskillianjones, @jennjenn615, @xhookswenchx, @heomomka, @fckyesroyals, @lenfazreads, @cherrywolf713

*If there’s anyone who’d like a tag in future chapters, just let me know :)

[daniellethamasa]

Hey all, Dani here.

We are over halfway through the year. Goodness gracious, where has the time gone. But also, can this nightmare year be over already? With everything happening it is making me even more anxious about the fact that Damian and I are supposed to get married in October. If the world keeps going on like it is…I don’t know how that is going to affect us. We’ve talked about different possibilities to get around gathering size restrictions and such, but…I don’t know. I get so anxious when around other people anymore, even people I know and used to hang out with regularly.

Anyway, it is the first Monday of the Month and that means it is once again time for a Calendar Girls post.

Calendar Girls is a monthly blog event that was started by Flavia and Melanie, but is now being hosted by Katie and Adrienne. They are all wonderful ladies, and you should check out their lovely blogs. Okay, so Katie is still on a brief hiatus for a few months, so for right now Adrienne and myself are all hosting Calendar Girls together.

So if you link back to Adrienne, and me, we can keep track of all the book picks and posts each month. Thanks, everyone!

First, more about the Calendar Girls. It is designed to ignite bookish discussions among readers, and was inspired by the 1961 Neil Sedaka song, Calendar Girl.

Just like the song, each month has a different theme. Each blogger picks their favorite book from the theme, and on the first Monday of the month reveals their pick in a Calendar Girls post. Make sure to post back to the hostess’s post, and both Katie and Adrienne will make a master list for the month. The master lists allow everyone to see the other Calendar Girls’ picks and to pop on over to their blogs. Thus, we all get to chat about books and even make some new friends!

Oh, and you don’t have to identify as female to join the Calendar Girls. We welcome readers of all types. So if this sounds like fun for you, join us in all of the fun bookish conversations.

Finally, our very own host-on-hiatus Katie achieved a bingo during the Calendar Girls Springtime Whirl, and she has selected our July theme.

The July theme is…

Embrace Your Geekness Day

Favorite Book With Geeky Characters

Thanks for picking an awesome theme this month Katie. I’m super excited about this one. For anyone who somehow doesn’t know this already…I’m a huge geek. If that hasn’t been obvious by me talking about both attending and working at conventions, and talking all the time about books, D&D, Magic the Gathering, manga, anime, TV shows, movies, etc…then hello. I am a geek, and I love all my wonderfully geeky passions.

So this month and its theme present a challenge for me, because I’m sure that I have a whole bunch of options for books with geeky characters. All right, I’m just going to browse my bookshelves and see what I can come up with. I’ll start by getting all my contenders together, so I don’t have to stare at all 12 of the bookcases in my bedroom for too long.

Whew so many options to choose from.

Would it be weird to pick a non-fiction book for this one? Because honestly, all of these are great, but if we’re talking about embracing your geekness, then there is really only one book…well, technically two books by the same author, that really stick out in my mind. So, you know what, any of the books I have on the contender list are great, and I definitely recommend all of them for the geek culture and geeky characters and adorableness. But I’m sticking with my gut decision on this one.

I have to give this month to Felicia Day, specifically for You’re Never Weird on the Internet, though her second book is also really cool, and it has a lot of creativity exercises and such. But her first book, a memoir of the fantastically geeky life she has had, really spoke to me, and continues to speak to me four years later.

Felicia took her drive and determination and paired it with her geeky interests to create a life where she gets paid to do the things she loves. So, she gets to write geeky web shows, play board games, live stream play video games, and talk about books and music and whatever topics interest her.

I dream of having that sort of life, one where I can get paid to work on projects that I love. I’m just lacking the proper work ethic and drive to actually make it happen. The obstacles always seem too big for me so I cower back to a safe corner, where I’m pretty much talking about geeky topics into a small crowd.

It has been great these past few years to find more and more fiction books with characters who play D&D and go to comic and anime and fandom conventions and who do cosplay, characters who are passionate about card games and board games and video games, and who freely talk to others about those passions. I am so happy to see myself and my friends reflected in books.

So I love being a geek. And I’m looking forward to more geeky characters and stories in the future.

All right, well that’s all from me for now. Be sure to check out the other Calendar Girls posts. I will be linking them down below as they get posted. I’ll be back soon with more bookish content.

—

Other Calendar Girls posts to check out:

Adrienne @ Darque Dreamer Reads –

More to Come

Calendar Girls July 2020 Hey all, Dani here. We are over halfway through the year. Goodness gracious, where has the time gone.

[survivorsforcannabis-blog]

Alana with Cannabis: Recognizing PTSD, Cannabis as a Security Blanket & the Illinois Medical Program

Alana (@alanawithcannabis) is a 25-year-old survivor of several sexual assaults, the first of which occurred in childhood. Today, she lives in her home state of Illinois and chooses medical cannabis to treat her Post-Traumatic Stress. In her free time, drawing on her experience both as a patient and a former budtender, Alana reviews medical cannabis products and dispensaries around Illinois for the blog Talking Cannabis, in collaboration with her boyfriend (@drbudzil). In her own words:

When were you diagnosed with PTSD? What was that like? I wasn’t diagnosed with PTSD until I was 22. Up until then, I had been diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder (GAD) and depression. It was strange – it was almost like a wave of relief because certain things finally made sense: why I was never able to remember things, the belief that I just wasn’t going to live to an old age, along with an abundance of other typical PTSD symptoms. It was weird to me though, that no one had ever diagnosed it before then, since it seemed so obvious to me. I had seen more therapists and psychiatrists over the years than I can ever recall, yet none had told me I had PTSD and if they had told my mom, she never told me. Looking back, I had the symptoms from the get-go: impaired memory, self-harm, eating disorders, etc. Maybe the reason PTSD hadn’t been diagnosed sooner is because I just didn’t want to talk about anything to anyone, so no one knew everything that was really going on. I will say that knowing the correct diagnosis (not just GAD and depression) has helped me significantly in managing my symptoms. I’m now able to identify and better attempt to avoid or deal with my triggers.

When did you first try cannabis and how has the way you medicate changed over time? I first used cannabis when I was about 12 years old and used it sporadically throughout my life, but really started using it on a regular basis by 2014, when I was 21. This was right after I had a negative reaction to getting off of my antidepressant medication (Celexa) and at the height of my PTSD really hitting hard with anxiety. At this point in time, it was still illegal in Illinois and I was buying off the street. I wasn't able to pick out strains and had a few batches that gave me anxiety or made me a bit paranoid, but I stuck with it because any of my cannabis-fueled anxiety or paranoia was still better than my experience with pharmaceuticals. Now that there's more information available about how cannabis works and I have access to a regulated market, I'm able to better manage my symptoms and I know what strains and terpenes and cannabinoids work best for me. I honestly think that's the coolest thing about cannabis: I don't necessarily need to know what strain a bud is or if it's indica or sativa. I can smell and pick up on the terpenes and determine what I think the effects will be for me. I wish I had known that when buying on the street - I could have avoided some of those anxiety attacks!

So cannabis has changed your relationship with your PTSD? It has! Now, when I'm having an anxiety attack, I can still tell myself that I have meds and that this feeling doesn't have to last. It's such a relief because in the midst of one, I feel completely lost, like I'm losing my mind and it makes me even more anxious and scared that the feeling won't go away. So, cannabis has sort of become my security blanket and reminded me I'll be okay, I just need to medicate and try to breathe.

<insert photo here>

Give a couple examples of how different products or strains have helped you treat different symptoms, in the short- and long-term. I've used a variety of indica and CBD products to help manage my anxiety, or help me fall and stay asleep. When my anxiety is really severe, I could wake up 5 times in a night drenched in my own sweat. Sometimes the only thing getting me back to sleep was a massive dab of OG-18 (OG Kush lineage) cultivated and extracted by Cresco Labs here in Illinois. I also really enjoy the Pennywise suppositories made by the non-profit Shelby County Community Services. A lot of people don't talk about suppositories, I suppose because it's taboo – but they are the most medicinally beneficial in my opinion, because you're not digesting and breaking down cannabinoids in your stomach acid, or burning anything off by smoking or dabbing. They've worked wonders for my digestive issues and back pain and cramps. Pharmacann (which also goes by Matter Cares) has some truly amazing concentrates and really focuses on terpenes, which I love! And my other qualifying condition, Post-Concussion Syndrome, sometimes made it hard to focus or remember anything, but cannabis kept me focused and interested in whatever I was doing.

Tell me about medical policy in Illinois and the process you went through to become a patient. Governor Pat Quinn signed the Illinois Medical Cannabis Pilot Program into law in 2013 and the first dispensaries opened in November 2015. At its inception, the program did not include PTSD or terminal illness as qualifying conditions. This changed with an amendment in 2016 which added both, as well as extended the program until at least July 2020 and allowed patients to register for a 3-year card rather than a 1-year. The process was pretty straightforward for me because I did everything through The Healing Clinic, which completed and submitted my application, physician certification verifying my qualifying conditions, fingerprints and payment. Unfortunately, they didn't accept my insurance and I had to pay for each visit out of pocket. Money is another big factor holding more people back from obtaining their cards: it's expensive. I paid $300 for my card to be valid for 3 years, plus $65 for fingerprinting so the state can do an FBI background check, plus the cost of the doctor visits at The Healing Clinic. And if you're designating a caregiver, they pay $75 for a 3-year caregiver card, and $65 for fingerprinting. It’s also important to know that in Illinois, once you become a patient, the state links that to your Driver's License so that if the police run your DL number, they can see you're a patient. While this has the potential to be a bad thing – most people fear discrimination or harassment – I have yet to hear of anything like that. Everyone I've spoken with that has been pulled over has simply been asked if they're in compliance or where their cannabis is stored, but never ending badly. I can see the benefit of this as well, in case a patient does have product on them or in their car but doesn't have their patient card on hand.

What's the cannabis scene like in Illinois? What's next in policy? The cannabis scene is…interesting. There's a lot of interest in doing community events and having festivals/cups, but for the most part, Illinois is far too restrictive to allow anything like that at this time. We wouldn't be able to host a Cannabis Cup or Secret Sesh or any other event like that because cultivators are not allowed to sell directly to patients, and neither cultivators nor dispensaries can allow onsite consumption or sell at a booth. And a patient has to be registered at a dispensary to make a purchase, so we're in limbo waiting for things to loosen up a bit. I hear there's talk about allowing patients and caregivers to grow but I'm not sure how reliable or accurate that is. I'm hoping that in the next 5 years, Illinois legalizes adult use and that in doing so, medical prices will drop like in Colorado. Because as it stands now, a patient trying to go by the standard 1 gram RSO (Rick Simpson Oil) per day to treat cancer is looking at having to spend anywhere from $35-80 per gram, and it's just unrealistic to expect people to be able to afford that.

Header photo by Jay (@jay_mmj)