#I am drained in every conceivable��way

[deathlonging]

x

[kooksbunnnn]

Lost cause? 1 : everythings gone?

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook × female!Reader

Genre: Established relationship/ marriage, angst, panic attack (TRIGGER WARNING) heartbreak, INFIDELITY (do not read if this content triggers you) also, 18+, Please read the author's note.

Words: 5.3k words

Summary: You always wondered, how would your life turn out to be if you and Jungkook had a baby? So, when you finally conceive and decide to tell your husband, that you are pregnant, you didn't expect him to drop this bomb on you. You never would've thought that the surprise you planned would end up in agonized tears because of the shock your husband brings you. 

Authors note: hi everyone! Welcome, to the people who are reading this for the first time and I apologize to the people who have already read this and were disappointed that it got deleted. This was my first ever drabble on this app, but because of people giving so much love to this story, I decided to write another part of it. And since not every story or the ending or the writer is perfect, some people didn't like the part two. 

Since this story is slightly related to a trauma that I personally experienced, I tried to convince people that people have different approaches towards these situations and people might also want to try again if their partner cheats. Not giving a chance again was my approach, since my situation was different. 

Anyways, I updated the second chapter and some people called my OC dumb. So I tried making slight changes in the story and saved it in the drafts. But then I updated this app and my story got deleted from the drafts, which I apologize for with my whole heart. I am sorry if I disappointed any of the lovely readers by deleting the story, for the new readers, I hope you enjoy this drabble! Love you, hehe.

So here it is once again! The Lost cause. 

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Today's a very special day, Jeon Jungkook, your husband, would be back from his 10-day trip to Busan, courtesy of the company he worked his ass off for. Also, you had an announcement to make, speaking of which, you place the single candle on the dinner table finishing your preparations for the date night you planned.

You were pregnant, finally pregnant. After so many tries. You got so happy when the results came but since Jungkook was on a trip, you decided to keep it a secret until he comes back.

Anxiety, excitement, happiness, and maybe fear. What if he does not get happy listening to the news? These emotions are giving you a feeling that you are not able to place in your head quite clearly, but as soon as the sound of keys rattling reaches your ears, a smile appears on your face and the joy wins the race with every other feeling.

You run towards the gate and hide against the wall that was attached to the door giving you a spot big enough to put up your wedding picture frame. As soon as the door opens you jump and whisper-yell a 'boo', which was meant to be adorable but made him gasp and drop his luggage on the floor.

You pick up the phone that he dropped and you chuckle, hugging him you whisper in his ears, "I missed you baby."

When he doesn't hug you back your body tenses a little bit but before you can pull back he pulls you towards him and buries his head in your neck inhaling your scent. "I missed you too." You listen to him repeat the statement like a mantra, leaning back a little you look into his eyes...

Was he crying?

"Hey baby, I love you, okay?" You kiss him, trying to assure him of your presence. Inhaling his natural scent which was also mixed with a few cigarettes. You frown in the kiss when you realize something is off because of the way he just kept his lips frozen.

Also, the cigarettes were a symptom of stress, but you don't pay attention to the smoky scent and kiss him trying to make him relax. All the excitement drained out of you and now you were worried that you did something wrong.

The way he was holding you tightly but also with hesitation, 3 years of a relationship along with 2 years experience in marriage has taught you both, the body language you both can show and it made you a bit worried.

You step back to look at him properly and see that he had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was disheveled. It looked as if he had run through by his hand many times. He does it again, proving your theory.

It's a nervous trait of his.

The single drop of tear dropping on his chin tells you something is wrong, his chest heaving as if trying to contain and also let out something. You realize he hasn't even looked at you once.

"Kook?" Hearing the nickname he opens his eyes to look at your face for a second and then looks away.

"Are you okay? Is everything okay? Did something happen baby?" The soft questions in a whisper-like voice made him tear up and say a distant 'yeah just missed you so much.'

You look at his face that was focusing on the picture you hung on the wall from your honeymoon trip, the hills in the background of the picture making you smile at the memory of your husband whining like a baby because of the cold.

The picture even has his nose red and all scrunched up while you were posing with a big smile on your face, your chin resting on his shoulder with your hands in his jacket pocket while you hugged him from the back, fitting into each other like puzzle pieces.

You both look at the picture and after some seconds of zoning out, you chuckle and say sorry for not even letting him in and jumping on him, he shakes his gaze off the painting and rushes to close the door before he takes his shoes off and just tumbles across the hall when you notice.

His shoes...

He never has his shoelaces untied. Cursing your overthinking brain you tell it that maybe he is tired and just wanna rest.

"You know I ordered a big pizza meal but then canceled it cause I suddenly changed my mind. It amazes me that I can change my mind in 35 seconds.." you chuckle at how fast you felt nausea set in your stomach when you ordered the pizza and just keep on talking, still nervous about how you're gonna tell him everything. "But then I decided to cook some steak which I couldn't cause I suddenly had a headache, so I decided that you can suggest something and we can order while you showe- where are you going, kook?"

You say in a confused tone when you see him opening the balcony door letting the cool air inside.

"Just need some air, Y/N"

You flinch at how he takes your full name, and you realize it must've been your rambling that you sent him to the balcony for air. You feel sorry and walk towards the balcony where he just stares at the city from above, the sun still setting into the horizon painting the sky a pretty shade of purple mixed with a crimson red.

"I'm sorry if I annoyed you baby, just excited you are back. You wanna shower first or eat something? You seem tired." He shakes his head at your question rocking your body a bit with his since you have yours attached to his back like a koala.

"Can I get some time alone, Y/N...please?" You pull back with your eyebrows knitted together at his sudden request which makes you feel something in your stomach. Something bad.

"Um, okay. Take your time.." you step back into the lobby when suddenly you feel nauseous and you run towards the bathroom with a hand clutched over your mouth.

Oh no. Not yet

Rushing into the bathroom you fall onto your knees in front of the pot, pouring out almost everything you had this morning. Jungkook comes running after you kneeling down immediately beside you, holding your hair back which you were not doing a good job at.

He rubs your back as you cough and try to breathe at the same time not being able to pay attention to his 'are you okays' or 'hey what happened' or 'it's okay, it's okay I am here'.

When you feel like you have nothing left in you, you sit up a little to flush the remnants of your indigested food into the sewer, falling back against the wall connected to the shower cabinet.

You breathe heavily and try to calm down when you notice a big pair of doe eyes looking at you in concern, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you try getting up.

"I am sorry, you didn't have to help, seriously. You're tired, go take a shower then we can eat something okay?" You try to leave the tensed guy's embrace but he stops you, looking at you from top to bottom examining you as a doctor while you turn to use some mouthwash.

"I didn't have to help? You were literally wrenching your gut out, are you even okay?!" He asks you in a terrified voice turning you towards him after you spit out the mouthwash.

You, not wanting to worry him more because of his earlier wanting to be alone statement, just hold his face in both of your hands telling him that it was stale rice that you had in lunch. Whispering an 'oh', he immediately takes his hands away from your face and asks you to be careful, adding a little please at the end making your heart swell with love.

You both stand there silent while the tap water runs in the background. You turn back to turn it off after some seconds and break the silence by telling him that he can shower as long as he wants and you can order something in the meanwhile.

Walking towards the door, you ask, "Chicken?" he looks at you for a second and breathes a 'yeah'. You smile and lean in to kiss his cheeks telling him not to take too long cause you have to talk about something.

"Me too," he says in an almost inaudible voice, giving him a little nod, you walk back into the kitchen.

After a long 42-minute shower, according to your phone clock, he comes out in a killing t-shirt and sweatpants combination. Smelling his body wash from 2 feet away you feel the comfort seeping into you. You hug him, inhaling his natural and soapy scent, running your hand in his damp hair and scratching his scalp, you chuckle.

"There's my perfect and not-so-travel-worn husband." You were about to start the conversation that lead to the announcement, when suddenly he buried his nose in your neck, sniffling and you feel his arms tightening around you, him mumbling an 'I am sorry' into your shoulder accompanied with little drops that dampen your t-shirt's collar.

You try to pull back to talk to him but he doesn't let you, his body starts shaking as he starts to fully sob. Your heart picks up its pace as you've never seen him like this. Doubting himself or the relationship, you feel a pang in your heart as if something bad is about to happen.

"Jungkook, hey, what's the matter? Are you okay?" You pull back putting in a lot of strength and see how his face is red and his tears are just flowing out.

"Hey look at me.." you try to make him face you but he just shuts his eyes trying to face away from your concerned orbs. He suddenly sits down on the chair with a thud slipping from your hold, he clutches his head and keeps on sobbing and coughing and crying. You try to calm him down with big wide eyes filling with tears as well, at seeing the pain he is in but its as if he can't hear you or your words.

You can swear you heard him say 'I fucked up, I fucked up. I am so fucking sorry.' Your heart sinks and you kneel in front of him, taking his hand in yours. Pressing short kisses on his tattooed fist, after a lot of struggling you finally make him look at you and the expression makes you doubt the curiosity in you because you have this feeling...

Sitting up on your knees coming face to face with him, he stares at you, sniffling, his eyes and his nose all red, lips quivering. "I love you Jungkook okay? trust me, tell me what happened please?" You say softly but firmly, confirming to him that he had to tell everything about the guilt and disgust he felt towards himself. How he wanted to just go back in time, to revert the fuck up he did, which is gonna ruin everything, everything he built, everything he had in this relationship. The love, the trust, he could see everything breaking including you and your heart.

Not being able to keep his eyes on you, he looks down at his lap and you have a feeling you're not gonna like his next words. Tightening his hold on your hands he said...

"I cheated on you."

The silence between you two, after hearing the words come out of his mouth, was deafening. You can't even hear your heartbeats, did it stop? Is this a dream? A nightmare if precisely termed. You feel the air in your lungs escaping and a panic setting inside you.

"It happened just once, I am sorry. I don't know why I did it. I am really sorry. I don't know what to do.." he keeps going on and on, you are looking at him but nothing reaches you.

There is this ringing in your ear that doesn't seem to stop and after a good 1 or 2 minutes of looking blankly at the body shaking and sobbing in front of you, you realize that you went blank. All the apologies and curses that were pointed at him were not even entering your ears.

When the realization hit, you felt all alone in the room, with silence, slow breaths, panic, and the 'feeling of a life growing inside you.' Questions. A lot of questions, came running at you with knives and swords piercing through your heart.

Why? Were you not enough?

Did he fall out of love?

Did you do something wrong?

Did you gain weight?

Did you not give him satisfaction anymore?

Were you ever insensitive?

Did you bore him?

Were you not exciting anymore?

Did you cross some boundaries of his privacy?

Should you've worn more makeup?

Should you have gotten that surgery your aunt suggested?

Did you annoy him?

Will he leave you?

Would you have to beg?

Will you beg?

What about the pregnancy?

Should you tell him?

What if he leaves?

What if you are left alone?

Do you even want to live a life alone, without him?

And many more...

The unfocused look in your eyes and the loosening grip of your hands made him jolt up in the chair and hold your hands tighter, pulling you towards his body, he left your hands and held you by your shoulders, trying to shake you out of the panic. He can almost read the questions in your eyes. He can explain, and he wants to, but he needs you to get back to him. Back to the lobby where you were looking into his eyes but still were not able to hear or see or feel him.

"Y/N. Look at me. Hey, Y/N, focus baby. Talk to me, please. Yell at me. Scream. Hit me. Just talk please." He shakes you and your body responds with a limp movement which makes him leave the chair and get down on the floor.

The anxiety, the panic, the betrayal, all making your breathing ragged. You want to scream but your body doesn't respond. You've been cheated a lot of times in your life, many times. Including the one time a guy used you for a bet to prove to his friends that he can fuck you. From grade 5th, the bullies of your school had bets on who can slap your ass or grope you in the hallways or in the classroom. Which forced you to shift to another school.

Making new friends was never easy for you and since everyone behaved well to you first and then betrayed you in the past, you had trust issues. So any guy who said he liked you, the issues that made the relationship difficult, ended up with him dumping you or the famous cheating situation. After 5 and a half years of isolation from friends and love since nothing made you feel secure. You finally found Jungkook who proved in every single way that he can be your friend and lover at the same time. You didn't need anyone else. And as of now, if not him, you have no one. This leaves you with another question. Are you gonna end up lonely in that depressing, dark pit where you cried and even if you were surrounded by four groups of people, no one gave a fuck.

The thoughts hit you like a punch in the gut and the amount of shaking Jungkook had you get out of the daze and finally focus on him. Looking at his face you remember everything you guys have done. The kisses, the movies, the cuddles, the teasing, the late-night walks, the crying sessions, the fights, the sex...

Before you can even think about the following genres of your memories, you push him back and clutch your head. Falling forward with your knees still tucked under your thighs, you pull your hair to stop the pain in your head and let out a screech that makes Jungkook sob harder.

He doesn't wanna see you like this, your body shivering, and the way your hands are shaking and your loud cries and wails that he never wanted to be the reason for. He knew your past. He knew every fucking thing. How could he do this to you? He vowed that he will never make you cry, he literally would kill anyone who made you upset.

Now, what should he do with himself?

You gasp as you take in the air, your body falling back as you reach for something on the ground to get support from. Jungkook tries to reach out to you but you yell at him to stay away as you start imagining pictures in your head of him kissing someone, moaning someone else's name, coming for someone else. You look at his face that was still crying and had his fists clenched on the marble floor.

"Why?" You ask between sobs not wanting to hear an answer, mostly talking to yourself. Listening to which he cries harder, crawling towards you he tries to hold your hand. But you struggle against him, trying to push him again but he pleads in front of you to listen to him explain.

"No!" You scream and push him off. Making him fall back against the floor, and you even stop for a second to check on him if he is hurt, but you continue, sobbing, when you see that he is okay.

"Was I not enough for you?! Why did you, out of all the people, You! have to prove that I am not worth putting people's time into?! What am I supposed to do huh?" you kneel in front of his body that was hesitant to reach out but wanted to comfort your panicked state. "You tell me Kook...Do you expect me to forgive you? Or do you expect me to trust you again and just forget that this.." you move your pointer finger towards both of you pointing towards your chests, "..ever happened?"

Getting up you get a dizzy feeling in your head and you can feel the room spinning. You lean against the kitchen counter. Tears never stopping. You look at him who was getting up to sit on the chair and constantly looking down at the floor.

Suddenly you can't breathe without asking him the questions in your mind and you wanted to know, Why? Who? Where?

"Who was she?" You ask not able to hide the little crack in your voice as you looked at your husband, who promised to love you. Forever.

"She was the manager in the club I went to celebrate with Hyungs." He speaks up without hesitation knowing that he owes an explanation. That easy? Was it that easy to forget about you and fuck another girl?

"What was her nam- actually no I don't wanna know..." you felt bile rise in your throat at the thought of knowing her name, so after a pause, you got the courage to ask him, "Did you fuck her?" He looked at you flinching at the choice of your words.

"No." He said looking away tears still flowing. Before you could ask further, he explained himself. "I-no, I didn't fuck her, does it matter what we did? I am sorry Y/N, just please look at me?" He begged as he stood up to walk up to you.

You chuckled sarcastically, no humor present in your voice. You looked up and saw guilt in his eyes as he stopped in his way when he heard you let out a half-hearted laugh. It hurts to see him cry but you can't help but feel the pain in your chest overlapping your love. You doubt if you should even tell him about his baby. It was supposed to be a surprise but clearly, your husband had better surprises planned.

You really want to, but you can't really see a future ahead of you now.

"We. It is such an easy word right, kook?" You look at the ground thinking about how he used the word so easily which was supposed to be only yours and his.

"We. Us..." You look up at him and say through clenched teeth, "..It matters Jungkook tell me. What exactly happened. I want to know where exactly I went wrong for you to go seek help somewhere else."

He wanted to protest but you shush him with an adamant,

'Tell me Jungkook'.

He looks at his feet and you prepare yourself for the heartbreaking details. "We met-.." he looks at you and changes his words "I met her when she came to ask if our group needed something. Namjoon Hyung introduced all of us since she was his old friend. They wanted to celebrate the deal and since she was Hyung's friend, we invited her, and I..I don't know what happened but I got really drunk and I just went to wash my face but she j-just grabbed me and pushed me against the wall and.." he started snuffling and you felt your body shaking and long, heavy breathes leaving your lungs, eyes squeezed shut, with clenched fists, trying to hear the whole story without breaking down. "She started kissing me a-and w-we just kissed and.."

He pauses pleading for you to not let him continue.

"Continue please.." he can hear your heart, your voice, and your demeanor breaking at the same time. "Y/N please.." hearing this, you look at him with eyes that were emotionless, telling him that he fucking owes this much to you.

All the while he was speaking, you think about the baby, the little person who did nothing wrong. Will his or her father leave? You feel your breath slipping away at the thought but you control the urge to scream until he finishes.

"..and then we just gave each other a handjob.." you flinched at the term making your knuckles go white. He sounds so distant, so small, the guilt eating him up.

"Did you cum?" you ask him, eyes shut as if trying to avoid the answers. He sighs and mutters a 'yes'. You inhale sharply trying to gasp for air looking up at the ceiling, "did you make her cum?"

He feels the knot in his throat fighting the food he ate earlier which was trying to come out, guilt and disgust seeping into his veins. This sounds so disgusting and you sound so broken. Your breathing making him feel pathetic. But after gathering some courage he admits cause he had to answer you.

"..yes."

It was supposed to happen if they did that kind of stuff but it made you feel sick to the stomach. You feel the world spin and you wonder if there is a chance that a nightmare could feel so true.

You don't know what comes over you when you call his name softly.

"Jungkook?"

He looks up at you with blurry eyes and you reach up to his hand to hold it against your belly. The moment you see him realize, you start crying breathlessly, hiccups making it harder to breathe. His eyes sparkle for a second when he understands that finally, he fulfilled his dream which was to be a father but loses it as soon as he realizes that he fucked up bad and what he did was irreversible, and also that he has ruined three lives altogether.

Him.

You.

And the baby.

His eyes lose color as soon as you drop his hand so that you can cover your crying face with both your hands, not knowing what you're gonna do now.

He steps back as he realizes what he has done. You and he have been trying for half a year and when he got the chance to be a father, to be a perfect husband, a chance to help you sit up, feed you, to do stuff for you cause you won't be able to do, since you would be having a big belly, with his baby inside. Who will one day hold his hand and call him 'dad', he wanted to help you get through the labor so that he could hold the baby in his arms taking in his or her features while you sleep because you'd be exhausted, then have a family picture taken in the hospital, and get it framed to put on the bedside wall.

You just keep sniffing after crying for a time you or he couldn't measure. Your body is not able to move. Your thoughts whirl inside your mind and you don't realize when you black out.

Jungkook heard how your hiccups stopped gradually, making him look upward to see how you passed out and now had your head resting on the wall behind you. Your body was cold and your face was wet with tears. He carries you to your bedroom and tucks you in, feeling sick when he sees your face and nose red. Black trails on the cheekbones. He tries to rub the smudges off but pulls his hand back when he realizes that he lost his right to do all this.

He places a glass of water on the nightstand which was his daily habit, cause he knows you wake up at the midnight, searching for water with grabby hands and whining until he gets you some.

You were his princess whom he liked to spoil even after your complaints of being a spoiled brat because of him, always smiling when he called you his baby. He made sure you didn't have to leave the comfort of your bed. He remembers how you smiled looking at him with your big doe eyes filled with love which were now red because of him.

He turns off the lights in the room to make sure your eyes don't strain while you sleep. Because he would not sleep next to you, to help you get your relief by burying your head in his chest to avoid the lights. He lost this privilege.

All these emotions made him feel nauseous but nothing comes up. The feeling sitting inside him as he watches your pale face being lit under the moonlight coming through the gap in the window curtains. He didn't realize how the clock turned from 07:35 in the evening to 01:05, midnight.

He sat on the floor next to your hand, not even daring to touch you trying to think of ways to solve this. When he doesn't he cries muffling his voice in his arms so that you don't wake up, he doesn't want to leave you alone, afraid of you getting up due to a nightmare or the morning sickness.

He didn't realize when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he didn't find you anywhere in the room, not even in the bathroom. Calling out your name in panic, he runs out to the lobby where he doesn't find you either. He calls for you in a scared voice when the cool air from the balcony caressing his face tells him that you were on the balcony.

He rushed towards you and saw how you were crouched down on the floor sipping coffee or tea. It might be tea coz you don't like coffee in the morning. 'It makes me talk bitter' you told him once at the beginning of your relationship. The memories made him smile.

Walking inside the balcony area decorated by you as soon as you both moved into the apartment 8 months ago, with plants, wall hangings, colorful pots, and a set of chairs with a little round table for your balcony date nights you had on Saturdays.

Sitting down he sees that your eyes are still swollen and he understands you were crying before he woke up. He wants to caress your swollen skin but he doesn't have the right to anymore. So he just sits across you on the balcony floor looking at the floor underneath him.

After finishing the tea you keep the empty mug on the floor with a clink and without looking at him and focusing still on the empty utensil, you softly speak, "Kook, I don't know, I-I just... I love you and I don't think that would change ever but..." he squeezes his eyes, dreading your next sentence.

I just don't know if I can see you, or feel the same way for you as I did before, b-but... I think our child should be born with both parents being able to be around each other." he looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

"That does not mean that I would be able to forgive you, Kook. You broke my heart, Jungkook. I am strong. But I am not that strong to let you back in my life. After what happened to me in the past, this was my last straw and I hope you know that I loved you with everything I had... I still do. But I just can't." You breathe out.

You feel your heart clench at the way he opens his mouth to say something but closes it the moment you start tearing up. He looks at his lap again, soft sniffles coming from his direction.

You don't want to leave, but you get up to leave the balcony with Jungkook still looking at the floor not able to make eye contact with you.

With your back towards him, you say, "I am going to live at my mom's house for some time until I find an apartment or maybe until our baby is born, I do not want to stay here.." looking around you feel your heart sinking as every spot that screams about the time you've spent here.

"...the memories will fucking kill me. Also, you can...um, visit if you want, as I w-want you to be an equal part of the child's life as I am, just.." he looks up at you with teary eyes at your pause, ".. don't expect to be a part of my life, Kookie. It won't be easy for me but I can't risk it. I have to take care of us"

And he looks away with watery eyes when he realizes that you were not talking about the three of you but just the baby and you.

Seeing him try to control his breathing, you couldn't help but walk back into the balcony to kneel in front of him. Muscle memory, you guess. Leaning forward, you put your hand on the other side of his face and give a peck to his cheek, he holds your wrist softly in place not wanting to let you go, and you both sob simultaneously while inhaling the air as if breathing is the most difficult thing in the world.

You feel your heartbreak at the Irony. He used to be your safe space. He helped you breathe.

You put your forehead against his and let his scent get absorbed and engraved in your mind. One last time. But you know you have to be strong. Your past has ruined your trusting instincts and now Jungkook just put the cherry on top.

You mumble a little 'I love you' before nudging his nose with yours as he tries to not let you go, but eventually does cause he didn't dare to stop you after doing you wrong. You get up to leave when you hear a silent 'I love you too' followed by a wave of muffled sobs leaving his mouth.

You let the tears fall openly and vulnerably as you leave the apartment, breaking down as soon as you reach your car. You glance at the plushie sitting on your dashboard he gave you after winning at an arcade.

The little squishy duck looking at you with pity in its plastic eyes, as it now has witnessed your most happy moments and the most dreadful ones in approximately 8 months.

Was everything over? You and Jungkook? Your perfect fairytale? Your perfect family? The dream you've been dreaming of forever, the child and the kid's room, the house in the countryside, everything?

was it all gone, forever?

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Next chapter. Series masterlist Main Masterlist

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[omegalomania]

OMGGG I'm such an urban fantasy fan pls pls continue like I'm loving it

WHY I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. also i learned recently that my inbox is uhhhhh broken in the sense that its Just Not There on my dashboard so if you sent me asks in the past couple months i literally did not see them because the last tumblr dashboard update like, removed the little letter icon. from my dash. and idk how to bring it back lol

ANYWAY this whole au was born from me thinking a very lot about the whole aspect of so much (for) stardust and tourdust's staging where it relied on a) tangibility and b) magic imagery. like the album cover and the staging are all focused on real, actual things that one could conceivably touch (the album cover is an oil painting with glittery clay letters, the stage's props are all actual, interactable props, etc). and whats more, there's the additional "magical" element at work here: the magic 8 ball, pete's magic trick midway thru the show, the whole love from the other side mv, and so on. and because my brain is Like This, pretty soon id spun up a whole storyline out of wholecloth and now im going to make it everyone's problem i guess

ive elected to call it the magic stardust au for perhaps obvious reasons.

the magic stardust au takes place in a world that's a little bit like our own in some ways, and drastically different in others. its our world but shuffled a few degrees to the left, so to speak. for example, the state of iowa still exists - but there's a literal city in it called heaven. there's an alligator prince in this world, and he happens to be literal, as in literally an alligator who also happens to be a prince. magic is a thing here, and its so thoroughly common that no one bats an eye. it's all deeply ingrained into the fabric of reality. magic is twined through each and every soul. it's in the air, in the molecules, in the architecture, in the landscape. ancient, enchanted forests stand shoulder to shoulder with floating cities and underwater palaces and dense metropolises. magic is really just stardust in a sense, and that's just what everything else is too, so is it any wonder that stardust can act upon itself in strange and unique ways? that's all that magic is: stardust.

it always comes back to stardust.

so what happens when magic starts disappearing?

well, people don't notice at first. people don't notice because this thing, this force that's seeping in through little fissures in reality and leaching away all the strangeness in the world - it's clever about its work. it's cunning. it gets people alone and then it drowns them in itself, mercury-slick and flowing, and when it recedes...that's the scary part. not only are people losing their magic, they're also losing the memory of ever having magic in the first place. it's siphoning away the collective memory of magic. it's draining the world of all its charm and vigor and since no one can remember what it's taken once it's gone, it seems like no one can possibly stop it. no one even realizes that it's happening.

i've opted to call this force the annihilation.

(as you can probably tell, i like grabbing onto things from the #lore of the band's mythos rather than the personal stories of any of the members when it comes to devising aus. i love adapting lyrics, concepts, music video elements, and so on into stories, and grounding things into the concept surrounding the particular album or era i'm focusing on on as much as possible.)

anyhow, that's where our guys come in. or rather, that's where their stories all intersect. at the start, none of them have a whole lot of reason to interact with each other a bunch. all four of them live in the city of heaven, iowa, which as mentioned, happens to be ruled by our friend the alligator prince. stardust as an album is very preoccupied with the state of the world, voices a lot of general uncertainty and discomfort with the way things are run, and me being the way i am and having a baseline distrust of monarchy, i think the alligator prince is perhaps pretty honestly not the best at his job. his enforcers - well i'm not sure they'd strictly count as cops in this universe. but for simplicity's sake lets just call them cops and be content that they're probably not the best. corrupt, prone to favoritism, bad at their jobs. etc. this is important because it plays into how all of our guys end up getting to know one another.

hence, i introduce our four main players (featuring concept sketches i started throwing down once i realized this storytelling worm had burrowed into my head):

andy, as i've gotten into a little bit, is a rogue vigilante. he doesn't like the alligator prince. he's not keen on authority in general. he does what he does precisely because he's intent on giving people an alternative to the princes people. he's highly principled and completely unafraid to intervene with the prince's business if it means he's helping the people out. he lives alone on the outskirts of heaven, operates independently, and keeps his identity completely secret. he has a fearsome reputation in heaven but he's very well known. he's a little bit batman in that way - like, the guy's intimidating by default, but if you're in a pinch and you see him, you know he's going to help you out. and he's a hell of a lot better than a cop.

andy's magic, like everyone's in this universe, comes in two flavors: active and passive. his active magic takes the form of white lightning bolts, crackling bright energy that can shock, stun, and incapacitate in all sorts of ways. his passive magic comes from shadow, which is where his trademark hammer and massive, owl-like wings come from; they're actually solidifed shadow, and he can summon and dispel them at a thought.

(i can get into the specifics of how magic types differ if anyone wants to know details, but all you really need to know here is that everyone's got passive magic, which is their baseline, almost unconscious kind of magic, and active magic, which is the kind of magic that you have to work at. the annihilation steals both.)

joe is a freelancer. what this means is that he kind of ends up doing a lot of odd jobs based on whats being asked of him. this comes from a similar place from andy's motives - joe wants to give people an alternative to working with the prince's people. it's a job that requires wearing a lot of different hats, so to speak, so joe is a bit of a jack of all trades in that sense. joe of all trades? he's most frequently hired as a private investigator (again, an alternative to this universe's law enforcement), but he's also been called in as a bodyguard, a, uh "diplomat," and so on. he has a baseline familiarity with andy by virtue of having grown up in heaven and everyone knows about heaven's scary urban legend superhero.

joe's active magic takes the form of glowing blue knives, which he can use for aaaaall sorts of things. you can bet he uses them for every possible mundane use imaginable most of all though lmao. his passive magic is a procynoid form which, in plain language, means he can turn into a raccoon whenever he wants. because that idea from the love from the other side mv is too good to not use. said raccoon form can vary between a very ordinary-sized raccoon fella and a hulking, human-sized one. all comes down to how he feels.

pete is the sole proprietor and operator of pink seashell press, an independent news outlet. once again, this is in the interests of allowing people access to news that doesn't get filtered through the prince's people. it's a lot of hard and thankless work - pete is the only guy working this thing, so he's basically the whole staff. he's doing all the investigative reporting, writing, publishing, and distributing - but he believes in getting news out to people because it's important to get news from someone who isn't in the prince's pocket. he and joe are probably most familiar with each other since their work has a fair degree of overlap and comes from a very similar place. he's probably a big fan of andy lmao

pete's active magic takes the form of glowing green roses, which twine in thorny barbs and soft blooms alike. he can utilize them as both defensive/offensive and aesthetic/mundane purposes, which is nice! his passive magic isn't pictured in the below sketch because i hadn't yet nailed that down as an aspect of his character at the time of drawing, but it entails some partial skeletal physiology. he's got a skeletal arm and mostly skeletal abdomen. doesn't affect how he uses magic, but it grants him some invulnerability to stuff that might target internal organs that he, in part, doesn't strictly speaking have.

patrick is the odd one out here because unlike the others, he didn't grow up in or around heaven. he tends to be a bit of a wanderer, and heaven is just the place he happens to be passing through at the time. he keeps himself going with busking and gigs in small venues like cafés and bookshops as a local musician, and is incredibly cagey about his past. he's also very keen to avoid being noticed by the prince's people or authority in general. he's got the least familiarity with andy, joe, or pete, and is mostly interested in keeping his head down and making a self-sustaining little existence for himself.

this in huge part because of patrick's passive magic, which is a compelling voice. (inspired in part by the field of dreams quote that pete used to tease the upcoming stardust era, not long after the initial chicago tribune fob8 ad dropped: "but until i heard the voice, i'd never done a crazy thing in my whole life.") patrick doesn't actually have to sing for this to take effect. it can come from speaking too forcefully, making an idle suggestion, and a lot of different things. hence why patrick tends to get on people's bad side - he tries incredibly hard to keep this aspect from affecting his life, but once people pick up on this aspect of his voice, things fall apart fast. patrick's spent most of his life moving from place to place because of this. and yeah, he has no idea how much or how little he's influencing anyone at any given time. it's a complete nightmare.

his active magic is a tad more benign. it takes the shape of orange flames, which are fairly malleable and that patrick can reshape into instruments and such with a little effort.

eventually, of course, patrick does indeed get on the wrong side of heaven's authorities because of the same thing that always gets him in his trouble: that darn voice of his. this happens the same time that one of andy's jobs goes horribly wrong and he gets injured and caught. pete crosses the line one too many times, and joe just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. the bottom line is that at this point, all four of the guys end up in heaven's jail at the same time, and that's where their stories all properly intersect.

that's when the annihilation comes for them.

it leaks in through the cracks in the walls and around the grout in the windows and it starts gathering itself up - this horrible, awful force that they can all feel and just looking at it feels wrong. it's an inky swell of star-freckled black void, like a slice of the cosmos staring at them through the bars of their shared cell. it seethes hungrily for them.

the cops run, of course. they leave their charges stuck behind bars, at the mercy of this terrifying thing that - though they don't know it - wants nothing more than to sap their magic away.

the annihilation manages to get its claws into each of them, but only briefly because fortunately, the four of them work together to take matters into their own hands. they manage to bust themselves out of the cell and get the hell out of dodge, but not before the annihilation stains each one of them with its grasping, hungry force, forever altering their appearance. the annihilation leaves a silvery, ashy blotch where it bled onto each of them:

andy gets a massive splash of it on his chest that leaks up onto his throat. joe got splashed on the right side of his body, mostly on his right ear, neck, and adjacent shoulder. pete also got hit on the left, but it mostly consumed his left eye and left leg. patrick got stained on his left hand from the wrist down.

here's a quick and dirty doodle i did to kind of depict this. it didn't come out the way i wanted to and it's not set in stone yet, but it's the general notion.

the fact that these four guys got attacked by the annihilation but crucially managed to escape it before it completely consumed them has permitted each of them an incredibly unique trait: they can understand what it wants. it didn't succeed in draining their magic, so it didn't take their memories of magic either. the annihilation made a tremendous misstep in not isolating these guys when it targeted them, because in working together, they were able to escape it.

so they are in the unique position to realize what's happening, where no one else can.

whatever this thing is, it's old. and it's powerful.

and it's very, very hungry.

and that's the cliffnotes of how these four guys have to band together to save the world before all the magic is drained away for good.

[bananastarion]

Random bg3 confessions:

I fucked the Emperor in my first playthrough, back when only 5% of players had done so

Rolan has accidentally died in various ways in all of my playthroughs, I'm determined to keep him alive in my current one but we'll see :/

I let Astarion drain me of all my blood and kill me because it's hot and I get to punch him after

My characters all let Astarion drink their blood every night because it makes me (and Astarion) happy, and most of the time I don't even bother to remove the debuff

I got a rare achievement in my first playthrough by sparing Sazza's life three times

On my good!durge run, I still got the slayer form anyway by completely cheesing the game

I cut off Gale's hand in one playthrough and sent him off to die alone in another, despite him being one of my favorite characters

I cannot fight with Gale to save my life. Idk if it's a wizard problem or a me problem, but in battle he is constantly dying and missing every attack. Instead of playing on tactician mode I just play with him in my party to up the difficulty.

I regularly breakup with Astarion to hear all his dialogue, then quickly reload a save

I can't bring myself to kill any cats in this game, so I turned on nonlethal when fighting the gremishkas

I am not above save scumming if I'm determined to have something epic happen, like I reloaded countless times to get the displacer beast to side with me

I slaughtered all the people in umberlee's temple in my first playthrough since I lost access to their quest thinking that's how I get the wave mother robe- turns out you can't get it that way.

I went through my whole first playthrough having no fucking clue who Wulbren Bongle is because I failed to rescue the gnomes at moonrise (accidentally)

I skipped the entire mountain pass and a big chunk of Lae'zels quest in my first playthrough

In one of my playthroughs I broke my paladin oath to side with Glut and slaughter all the myconoids, apparently too naive to figure out that there was in fact a "wrong side" to pick in this situation (astarion approving should've been a big hint)

I was too dumb to solve the chess puzzle, so I just blasted my way through the whole thing

Likewise, I just googled the answers to the brain puzzle in the oubliette even though it was pretty simple because I'm lazy

Having a naked statue of Astarion in my camp has become tradition

When I first got Astarion's confession scene, I squealed and kicked my feet like a schoolgirl. I'm 30

I started romancing Wyll in my first durge run, knowing full well I was going to pick Astarion again in the end. I felt so bad turning him down

Even tho most of the characters I play are good aligned, that doesn't stop me from greedily robbing every last little thing from every home and establishment I find like the Grinch. By the end of the game I have more gold than I could ever conceivably spend on anything

I'm pretty sure I got Kagha to redeem herself, solved the problem at the grove, but still slaughtered her in the end anyway with no consequences simply because I didn't like her

I have still never ascended Astarion, or given any of the characters their bad ending (except for killing Gale)

[rawliverandcigarettes]

One thing that becomes clearer and clearer every time I dare to dip back into The Empire of Preys, is that it's a story for... almost nobody.

(beware: I express a ton of feelings regarding the series under the cut, not all of them positive --and I talk a little bit about my current relationship to the Mass Effect fandom)

Don't get me wrong: I adore it, I am still extremely puzzled at how my brain even began to conceive a story like that, and the first chapter is a complete banger in my honest opinion, and the characters are uncomfortable in a very interesting way, and the worldbuilding is extremely dense with things I hope are meaningful, but.

It's also... pretty hostile to readership? By that I mean: I don't think it can be read passively. A big part of reading TEoP is, first, to understand how systems function normally; and then, understand how these systems interact altogether, how they can be abused, how they are actually abused, and what chain of events these systems will lead to. I am really proud of this interconnectivity --at the same time, it is incredibly dense and demand work. For all the fun and games I can try to inject in there, there are basic principles that can't skip being understood well for the plot to make sense; it's a politically driven story in the dryest possible way --with disaster bisexuals and fashionistas sprinkled on top to lush it up a little, but at heart it is a story about systems interconnecting from the bottom to the top, and it's a tangled mess in there.

So it's... If I'm being honest, and in spite of my genuine love of it, I have to admit it is a little hard to dedicate myself to pushing it further to the degree of polish that it needs. Not to say I won't do it --I will-- but it's impossible not to notice how *barren* the Mass Effect community has gotten in the last couple of years, this year being particularly bad. The readership was barely there anymore when Halfway Home got out, and I'm like... who's even left in there to read 200k worth of words of salarian/turian/asari politics in excruciating detail? Who's even interested in peeling up that toxic system of governance and how soft imperialism manifests in that universe? I still am, because I am invested in that version of Mass Effect and the characters I have put together in that context. But who else?

Of course, there's always this thing of "don't write for an audience, write for yourself", and I'm an absolute follower of that mentality. However.

However.

(oops here comes a condensed version of that Halfway Home post-mortem I promised six months agoooo)

Halfway Home was *hard work*. It's work I decided to go through on my own, and I knew from the start it wouldn't reach that large of an audience --on virtue of being stupid long, about an OC (and a salarian at that, who cares), and having a trigger warning list longer than most people would find reasonable. I am happy that I did the work, and that I chewed the text over until I was absolutely sick of it --but it was basically the best version of what 7 years worth of change and growth and experimentations could get to before absolute burnout. And I am even happy about the readership! I had wonderful comments and I am truly honored that some people invested in that story to the degree they did, and I am fully aware that stories that take much more work get even less attention on the daily. But I would lie to say that I kind of felt... drained, when I saw that I had, indeed, taken too much time to complete it, and the fandom was basically dried up when I finally released it. Watching seven years of my life disappear down the Ao3 drain felt... Well, I won't lie. It felt kind of bad. It felt kind of like grief.

At the end of the day, it is true that nobody ever cares more about your story than yourself --and again, I am neither fishing for attention nor am I really complaining, even. It is a difficult story to sell and to read through, and I always knew the readership would be extraordinarily slim (and it did find it, and I am beyond uwwuuuuwuwu about it, truly ;;). I knew all of that going in. But I also won't lie that fandom timing was... horrendous --and it is even worse today. The fact that I have *barely* seen a hint of speculation on my dash from the latest N7 trailer does kind of say something as well. Sometimes, things come and go. And I suppose that's okay.

But what of The Empire of Preys? What of my deep care for the characters? What of my (I think, understandable) reluctance about jumping in to the next installments, knowing *for sure* that I'll be lucky if I graze 500 hits on Ao3? And that's me being beyond generous, honestly? I wish I didn't care about that, but I guess I do, a little. I also think it's understandable, wanting to work on things and see an impact from whatever you do --even if it comes from love and care. I'm glad I got to do it once, but do I want my literal masterpiece (I know the wording is strong, but I genuinely think TEoP is the best thing I ever did, counting my professional work that will be experienced by a *much* larger audience, and I have zero ideas how I could top it off conceptually given it felt like everything was being served to me in a trance-like state) being sandwiched between futanari porn and a story about a... certain main pairing being plastered absolutely everywhere and tending to suck all the oxygen in the room. No hate to either concept in particular, I actually like the coexistence of everything, it's part of what's cool about fanfiction! But, also. Also.

I suppose it is the curse of having a brain that works best creatively in the context of fandom --and daring to believe in the importance and necessity of creativity for its own sake, without monetary gain. But also, the very human entitlement thing of... not wanting to pour all of its life energy into a black hole.

It's complicated. I do not have a good answer as of now, at least regarding TEoP. I will keep on working passively on it as of now, once in a while, rediscovering it's genuinely really good from time to time and then moving away from it somewhat, until next time. I'm still doing Zelda stuff as of now, which... has been way more rewarding creatively, not gonna lie. It's a fandom full of lifeblood, with ideas bouncing around, people wanting to meet up, boundless creativity. I have written a micro-trilogy this year (it's here if that interests you), and, while in the same ballpark of attention than Halfway Home, it was undeniably more rewarding. I think I also needed to change mediums --I am currently experimenting with animatics, visual storytelling and extremely humble 2D animations, and I'm having a blast.

So... Yeah. I am fairly certain I will complete The Empire of Preys, because I love it deeply and I want to complete it, for its own sake if anything. But in regards to a timeframe... I'm not promising anything. It will happen. Not sure when! I'm following where creativity feels the more urgent at the moment.

But one day, this is a story that will exist, at the very least, and I think I'll love it deeply as well no matter how it's received. But I think I need a little bit of a positive feedback loop right about now, and so to work on projects that like... will be read. Or watched. Or played. Or experienced. And I'm not positive The Empire of Preys will be that for me, at least right now.

[killintrill]

People think that bc my grandparents don't make me pay rent that they don't get me in every other way for money like nah these old mfs rlly drain me and it's not like I could even conceive telling my poor lil granny no when she got me off the streets and clean and their idea of borrowing is me never actually getting the money back and it rlly sucks tbh glad I degrade myself and fry chicken at the gas station to make that money jus to never actually have it love adulting this is so much fun so glad I fucked my life up and was a junkie for the first like 7 years of my adult life and am 26 living w my grandparents what a fuckin dream bro dont feel like a pos daily or anything

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for December 12, 2023

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 30:15-16 (KJV): 15 The horse leach hath two daughters, crying, Give, give. Three things are never satisfied, yea, four things say not, it is enough: 16 The grave; and the barren womb; the earth that is not filled with water; and the fire that saith not, it is enough. Proverbs 30:15-16 (AMP): 15 The leech has two daughters, crying, Give, give! Three things are never satisfied, yes, four that do not say, It is enough: 16 Sheol (the place of the dead), the barren womb, the earth that is not satisfied with water, and the fire that says not, It is enough.

Thought for the Day

To introduce four things that are never satisfied, Agur described the leech; as a blood-sucking worm. It feeds through two suckers, one at each end of its body, thus the depiction of “two daughters” clamoring for blood. Horse leeches live in well water and spring water. As animals and humans drink, tiny leeches enter their mouths and attach themselves inside the throat or similar places. Feeding on their host's blood, they grow rapidly and can cause bleeding, obstruction, and even death. The leech presents a vivid picture of human parasites. They enrich themselves by draining others and giving nothing but trouble in return. Like the leech, the following four things are never satisfied:

The Grave or Sheol: It takes countless souls every day but is never full. "Therefore, hell hath enlarged herself, and opened her mouth without measure: and their glory, and their multitude, and their pomp, and he that rejoiceth shall descend into it" (Isaiah 5:14).

The Barren Womb: The effects of sin upon humanity rob some women of the ability to conceive. It is heartbreaking for a woman yearning to have a child to be unable to conceive. She is never satisfied and tries every method possible to become pregnant. God's promise and power can break the curse of a barren womb (Deuteronomy 7:13). Whoever follows Christ has God's blessing, including the ability to conceive. My husband and I have seen many women able to become pregnant after being prayed for.

The Earth: It is never satisfied with water. No matter how much rain falls, the earth will become dry and need more. Drought is a curse. Israel was warned that if they turned from the living God to idols, the earth would suffer for it. (Deuteronomy 11:13-17).

Fire: Its very life depends upon consuming everything that it touches. It is devastating to view the aftermath of a fire. At the time of this writing, Arizona has endured its worst drought in over a hundred years, and many fires have ravaged the land. When driving by these areas it is sad to see mile after mile of charred timber that had once been a green forest. It is far sadder, however, to see people's lives ravaged and destroyed by sin. Like fire, sin is never satisfied, but consumes more and more of a person's soul and life.

God has promised to provide for all our needs. He entreats us to trust in Him. "Let your character or moral disposition be free from love of money [including greed, avarice, lust, and craving for earthly possessions] and be satisfied with your present circumstances and with what you have; for He [God] Himself has said, I will not in any way fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support. [I will] not, [I will] not, [I will] not in any degree leave you helpless nor forsake nor let [you] down (relax My hold on you)! [Assuredly not!]" (Hebrews 13:5, AMP).

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, praises be to Your Name for delivering us from the curses of the enemy! I thank You for Your many blessings and am grateful that You have redeemed us from the curse. Lord, set us free from all dissatisfaction and discontent. Lord, today, may we find our peace and contentment in You. Father, we are grateful for Your protection against the curses of the devil. Thank You for protecting our property from fire and sending us rain in due season. We are grateful for the refreshing rains You send, and we know the animals, trees, grasses, and the earth are happy, too. We thank You for Your many blessings and pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Monday, December 11, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., USA.  X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981

[dewydandelionfeilds]

Blood.

A familiar presence.

The only thing every human can say they've known.

Morso than grass, Morso than clean air, More than the earth, More than even safety.

Because blood is there, from the moment you are conceived, till the moment you die.

It’s there when you learn to ride a bike, when you lose your first tooth, when you shave for the first time,when you're first brought to the cage.

It feels as though I’m drowning in it.

My nails, permanently stained.

There's a drain in our ceiling, right below the final room, where the nightmares begin and end.

My place is right below it. My job is to give comfort in their last moments.

To assure the people that were in the cell with me, that I'm right here.

As I was the person before them, and as I will be the next.

‘Until the next is me’

My mind whispers as the girl's unflinching eyes stare down at me, her fingers slipped through the bar.

Her mouth twitches like she wants to sob, but the most she can do is lay there as tears slip from her eyes.

She’s ashamed, and humiliated, as she lies in a room as they pick apart the last of her personhood

She had planned the escape. She had seen the list. She had known her blood would spill, but she didn’t tell me. She couldn’t bring herself to prepare us for her pain

I knew anyway.

Her blood drips on my head,taunting me, and I can do nothing but cover the eyes of the others with me, in hopes that they won't witness the broken final wishes of freedom in the tears of to whom the blood belongs. The final wishes of her that will haunt me.

Today the blood falls differently.

It pours over my head drenching my hope.

It fills my ear,clogging my optimism.

It invades my mouth, no matter how tightly closed I keep it, the fear of it succeeding, silencing me.

The silence the blood brings is in a way, worse than the symphony of animalistic tearing that takes place before.

The symphony before allowed us to remember whomst we’re losing, hope that they’ll be more than a child that was condemned to damnation. That they’ll be different.

The crimson that spills scoffs and whispers to us

“You are all the same.”

It’s bizarre. No matter how poetically I attempt to frame my mind, to ignore the copper taste, and the crimson-stained walls, I am unable to make this feel poetic.

Why must we drown in the very thing that makes us alive?

- part 1 -

[hobgobbin]

just remembered I have to work tomorrow

[butch-reidentified]

For anyone who needs to hear this: being attractive ("to men" is the part that isn't said out loud) is NEVER going to make you happy! Truly, never. Being "hot" is not going to fill your soul. Trends and standards will always change, and rapidly. Your pleasure in it will always be superficial. You will drain away your money at Ulta, at the salon, at the cosmetic surgery center, at the clothing and accessory stores that are popular this month. You will endure blistered feet and razor burn and soreness and itchy clothing that sticks to your skin every time you walk outside and it's above 70 degrees. You will not be able to live in the moment because you are too busy checking the mirror, pinching your natural healthy fat, wondering if they can see this or that "flaw" on your face or body, touching up your hair, reapplying makeup, adjusting your clothing so it sits *just so* and doesn't reveal that there is a real, natural, human body underneath.

None of this will bring you happiness. Being desired, even just blending in, is a pitiful reward for so high a price - financially, mentally, spiritually, physically, and emotionally. Have you ever added up the money you spend on your appearance each year? Each month? How many wonderful outings and hobbies could you have if you set aside the eyeliner and the brand name lingerie and the razor and the 17 skincare products you have (but no man does). How much mental and emotional energy and freedom might you have if you never thought about your appearance in daily life, as unconcerned with how "hot" you are as when you were a child? How much more present would you be with those you love when you are entirely focused on existing with them rather than whether they have noticed the way your stomach looks in this outfit?

This is among the most liberating feelings I have ever known, if not the most. I had spent so many years brainwashed and trained like a show animal to groom myself into a beautiful doll. Whether I told myself it was for approval or just "for myself" made no difference on the impact it had. I was conditioned to see a ghoulish alien creature in the mirror when the layers of makeup and flattering, constricting, merciless clothes were stripped away, my own face - my FACE, the first thing that tells a stranger who I am, the face only I have - a "problem" to be constantly tinkered with and never solved. I could not, would not dare to conceive of abandoning these costly crutches. Certainly, there is nothing worse than ugly, is there not? Surely I will fade away into an unlovable irrelevant pariah if I go outside with my natural body hair in shorts on a 95 degree day, forsaking makeup to permit my skin to breathe.

For a long time, I was not even conscious that I felt that way. I was unaware of my fears, telling myself comforting lies about my choices being utterly my own and uninformed by the world in which I live. It was hard to accept that these were lies; as I said, they brought comfort. It was harder still to choose to leave my home bare-faced, hairy, and comfortably dressed at whatever size my body likes to naturally be. It was not something I felt like I wanted to do "for myself" as my beauty rituals had allegedly become, but something I had come to realize I had to try for the sake of my health, self love, and well-being in all areas.

Much like adapting to drastic life changes to cut short the progress of a disease, these changes were initially painful and undesirable, but they were entirely worth it. Some time later, my face became me, a vessel for communication and expression of my emotions, rather than a canvas on which to stuff full my pores and suffocate my skin. My body shape and its fat became neutral things I tend not to consider at all unless choosing a size in clothing - no more of this constant distress and self-monitoring. My comfort has increased as I abandon the chafing and tight straps and sucking in my stomach and tweezing and shaving in favor of comfortable, flexible, weather appropriate clothes and the body and face born to me. My truly debilitating hatred of my nose evaporated entirely over time; where I used to cling to my covid masks and contouring and consulting with plastic surgeons, I now have only my sniffer. It does what it's meant to well enough, and that's as much as it crosses my mind.

Body positivity and loving how you look may feel like an impossible ideal. Part of that is social conditioning, but another part is that it's an illogical goal. Did you love your body and face as a child? Or were you simply blissfully unaware of the idea that how you are shaped might matter? In all my years of playing the beauty game to varying degrees, I had tried body positivity/love several times, typically with no result at all, but occasionally even with a backfire. Body neutrality was much more realistic and sensible, and more attainable as well. I believe it to be healthier. There will always be a problem if we are committing much of our focus, attention, and energy to our appearances, whether it be to hate them or adore them. It is by definition self-centered.

On the other hand, body neutrality has delivered me the freedom to do whatever fun activity I want without worrying about whether I'll mess up my hair or makeup, or whether I'm wearing the right shoes or if my clothing is too constricting or revealing for said activity. If I should want to climb a tall and beautiful tree, I will not be concerned with an upskirt peeker or what to do with my heels. Most importantly, though, I have noticed drastic changes in my life I did not expect. I have become much more even-keeled and internally at peace overall, not just about my looks. I have noticed myself engaging much less with my phone and much, much, much more with the people around me. I am far more focused on and attentive to others, more equipped to be present in shared moments. I am never looking for a stopping point in a poignant conversation so I can excuse myself to the restroom and adjust my concealer.

My favorite part is that I am so deeply connected with myself in a way I had believed impossible. I am entirely me - not a mind in a body, but a mind and body as one. I do not wear my body like a suit which must be measured and altered; I am my body, and my body is me, and I am suddenly in love with being vividly alive.

[fumblingmusings]

*Kicks door down* Okay so the reason Arthur needs... has to have a property out Glastonbury way is because it's just absolutely dripping with old folklore in a manner that the Home Counties like Essex or Kent around London just plain aren't. Those are Saxon and Anglo and Norman. He needs to reject Norman every once in a while. He goes North for Cumbrian lakes and West for Somerset wassailing and even more West to sit at the bottom of a Cornish tin mine when those moods take him.

Glastonbury is weird and old and filled with things that just don't make sense at first glance, never mind the music festival next door (which I am sure Arthur attends off his face for the entire time). Half of it is a manufactured neo paganism of course but it only springs up here because of these old stories. And I think it makes Arthur all the stronger for it.

And it's Celtic, not Norman, not German, not even Roman... it's like the core part of Arthur from when he was a baby. It's his connection to his mother and his siblings. If he ever feels truly like a black sheep, all he needs do is return here and remember. Like even Bath, as wonderful and beautiful and important as it is - is still Roman.

Okay, just to rattle of odd things about the town and why I think it's kind of important when thinking and conceiving of Arthur as a character. It's a microcosm of his history and culture and what's been done to him.

So.

Glastonbury is built at the foot of a hill. The hill stands out like a sore thumb from the surrounding area as everything else is flat. The church fell during an earthquake in the 1200s (we just... don't have earthquakes strong enough to do that) but we kept the tower. A hollow beacon.

Glastonbury has several iron age lake villages nearby and the Somerset Levels were once upon a time underwater and so all you had was the Tor, poking out as an island amongst the fens, something it does even now in the fog:

And it was the Normans who drained it and made the island join the mainland but that island is probably possibly potentially where King Arthur is buried. We think. Obviously this is contentious.🤭

So it's maybe. Probably. Most likely. Avalon itself. Isle of Apples. England's national fruit. Glastonbury has the apple festival plus the orchards in the parish and considering it was after all an island once...

Glastonbury Abbey, long before it was a ruin, argued they had his bones. Arthur's. The reformation lost them and the abbot was hung drawn and quartered by Henry VIII. How convenient. Glastonbury Abbey by some counts pre-dates the Roman attempts to enforce Christianity. So it's old as heck. Older than any Anglo-Saxon invader.

It had an English Hawthorn (aka - I shit you not - a Mayflower [cough cough Alfred cough]) tree that bloomed twice a year in the dead of winter and no-one could understand why (stories about the holy grail feature and pop up in other places in Glastonbury). Parliamentarians burned it during the Civil War (Godless and pagan as it was and as spiteful and superstitious as they were) but they used to take cuttings from the tree to send to the Royal Family each Christmas because of its winter flowers. Other cuttings were made and descendants of the tree survive in other places. There's a butt ton of folklore for Hawthorns which I don't have time for but essentially they're fairy houses and borders and don't bring the flowers into your house or you will die. It smells of rotting animals but tastes of bread and cheese. It's a fucked up plant essentially. And it had pretty flowers that we wear on May Day celebrations. Dichotomy. That's... that's Arthur.

And then there's the springs. The Chalice Well and the White Spring. One runs red. One runs white (no it runs clear but it does have chalk in it). They pop out literally across the road from each other despite having completely different sources. They've never dried up in 2,000 years.

One is blood (the Holy Grail returns) and one is milk (I think it's supposed to be the goddess Brighid's milk but I may be misremembering - it's someone's breast milk) so the spring's path and pools runs the most fantastic iron red and clear...

So. Not to be like... insane. But Arthur needs to have a home here. He needs to be able to come back to a place which is his connection with his mother that isn't just the standing stones and tombs of Avebury and Stonehenge and West Kennet. A place which is alive and lived in and used.

A place where the Romans couldn't touch it where the Saxons fought battles to get it where the Normans changed the landscape beyond recognition where Henry VIII sold it and hung drawn and quartered it where the Parliamentarians purged it where his namesake rests. A place where he can drink milk and blood (ooft that's a bit metal eh) and remember. It's a big bundle of changes and trauma and yet it remains all his.

And then he takes too much acid and kind of looses it during the music festival and comes back to five days later with two STIs and desperately needing a bath. #WorthIt

Look at this nonsense. You just know Arthur is passed out in a hedge after listening to something like Marina Diamandis' Savages on stage and having an panic attack of how close it hits home.

[rothjuje]

I love before and afters, I love photography, and I love real estate so I have been staring at these for hours. Plus after the amount of work and stress and sweat and tears that went into these pictures I deserve to admire them. There are obviously way more but it wouldn’t let me post more than 10. 

I don’t have any emotions, just a lot of thoughts. And questions (I always have questions). The couple things I forgot to take down are killing me (vintage plates above kitchen door etc). Obviously the previous realtor took photos at sunset so they were darker, and our photos were taken at the brightest part of the day but were also noticeably brightened/edited. It is crazy to me though just how much lighting and flooring and paint choice matter.

Other random thoughts...my hatred for our brown corduroy couch grows daily. And our house clearly doesn’t look like this lol, I cleaned like a crazy person for days. And we’ve gutted a lot of random furniture. Our backyard is definitely not as nice as previous owner’s.

It was weird looking up the old pictures on Zillow. We moved into the house looking like that and we have poured so much into it.

If I’m being perfectly honest, our time in this house was not a good season for us. We spent all of our savings on house updates (wood floors, fence, etc), then found out we couldn’t conceive with medicated cycles. So then drained our savings again for IVF, which was very hard on me physically and emotionally. Then I had a falling out with some close friends which was devastating to me. Then we built up savings again to spend every penny on NICU bills. And then the pandemic hit and we spent almost two years in fear.

So. Very happy to leave this place, and Texas, behind.

I have been so stressed for so long here. I really want to focus on making our new house a home. I want bright colors and a space that makes me happy. I also want to play more board games and watch less tv like we used to. I want to cook more. This past year has been filled with so much stress and anxiety about the pandemic and Justin’s new job and the move. I am ready to exhale and start anew.

[porgthespacepenguin]

Thoughts about episode 2.8 (3/3)

Finally, I’m done with this episode. Oh, who am I even kidding, I’ll be back. I’m a woman possessed.

(By the way, watch out for an upcoming post about episode 2.1 because with the benefit of hindsight, this episode was unhinged. They’re toying with us.)

This time, I’ll start with plot things, before I go again on an inevitable Qcard tangent.

(Spoilers under the cut, you know the drill.)

Agnes goes to war

So, finally some movement on the A-plot front. Frankly, I’m relieved. We have only two episodes to go, and team Picard is all over the place:

Q is dying, has no powers, and cannot help them,

Rios has two civilians on board,

Guinan and Picard just lost a day with FBI!Guy,

They have no way home without the Borg queen,

In fact, they have no way home at all,

The Europa launch is in 19 hours,

The Queen has teamed up with Soong to prevent it,

And now she’s assimilating soldiers...

Need I go on?

Given that Queen Agnes needs to travel to the future somehow, and given that La Sirena is already borgified, I’m relatively certain she’ll manage to take over the ship.

Soong, despondent at finally facing some consequences for his actions, has clearly decided who to blame:

Even without his powers, Q is more than a match for Soong, on every conceivable level. But with every minute that passes, Q is weakening a little more, and Soong, already a dangerous man, has nothing to lose. So watch out, Q, please. You have enough problems without a powerful enemy.

The Queen explains to Soong that he has a choice to make:

“(...) two possible futures. One leads to you bringing humanity back from the edge of exinction. They’ll call you ‘the father of the future’. Your statues will grace capitols. Or you die alone, no glory. Forgotten in a pool of your own 90-proof vomit.”

Well, when you put it like that...

Of course, there’s a third option:

“Or... atonement, maybe even... forgiveness?”

But that would require some soul-searching, and wouldn’t get him any statues, so Soong doubles down and sides with the Borg Queen, bringing his considerable means to her cause: money, access to satellites, soldiers...

At least the man is consistent. Consistently evil, but consistent.

So team!Picard is dramatically outgunned and outnumbered. How are they ever going to pull it off?

They probably won’t.

In fact, I suspect things are going to spiral until we’re circling the metaphorical drain: one despair event horizon, potentially coming to your screens in episode 10. Yay?

But because this is Star Trek, this will be the darkest hour before the dawn, and they’ll manage to eke out a win at the last moment.

But it may cost them more than they imagine.

The Agnesification of the Borg

Speaking of the Borg Queen: in my post about episode 2.7, I wrote about the borgification of Agnes; turnabout being fair play, time to flip that thought upon itself.

We know, from 2.1, that the new Queen is different:

The Queen asks for Picard’s help, and later expresses a wish for peace. Utterly unprecedented, for the Borg, who normally behave quite differently, consuming everything in their path like locusts.

At the time of Star Trek: Picard, the Borg are shells for their former selves,

“(…) effectively decimated, functionally hobbled.”

Their civilization is essentially destroyed.

Yet here comes along a new queen, with a new fleet, from somewhere else. And her behavior is at odds with what Starfleet expects from the Borg, seeking negotiation over agression, integration over assimilation.

Something has changed – but what?

Enter Agnes.

Agnes, whose deep, abiding loneliness made her long for the perfect togetherness only the Borg could provide: who has not been assimilated so much as has assimilated herself.

In 2.8, although Agnes is still fighting, the Borg Queen has clearly taken the reins, and Agnes is fading. She’s killing people, eating batteries and behaving like a Borg instead of a human.

But when the Queen tries to kill Raffi, Agnes wakes up and refuses, walking away.

Later, as Raffi wonders that Agnes didn’t kill her, Seven remarks,

Indeed. Mercy is a human quality.

“It’s a Jurati quality.”

Much as the Borg Queen is changing Agnes, so is Agnes changing the Borg Queen in turn. And most likely, they’ll keep changing each other until only the best qualities of both remain.

As Agnes said to the Queen in 2.6 (an episode named “Two of One”!):

“It’s by design (…) 50/50, remember?”

Ultimately, this season of Picard is about the successful integration of the self. Fighting both sides of yourself is not the answer: reconciling them is.

Most prominently, of course, Picard needs to reconcile his brain and his heart. Agnes, on the other hand, needs to integrate her humanity with the Borg in order to chart a new course for them as a species.

Raffi vs. Picard, Heart vs. Brain

Raffi and Picard. What a fascinating pair.

The show cleverly plays them off each other as reverse images of two emotional extremes sharing a similar wound: a desperate fear of loss. 

But when their fear of loss is triggered, the way they react to it is diametrically opposite.

Raffi reacts with her heart and let her feelings overrule her judgement. She clings and manipulates, plucking on the emotional strings of others to get the reassurance she desperately needs: she praises Seven for her ‘Borgness’, guilts Elnor into staying, shames Picard for Elnor’s death… The list goes on.

Picard, her mirror, reacts with his brain and lets his logical mind takes over and shuts down his emotions, using virtue and duty as a shield, at times behaving more like an admiral than a friend.

He just doesn’t let himself get too attached to anyone. If everyone is temporary, and nobody takes root in his heart, then their inevitable loss will be survivable.

Both of them deflect any attempt at vulnerabilty. Raffi shields herself with dark, self-disparing jokes, and Picard with emotional distance:

Raffi and Picard need to find a middle path between the heart and the brain, and ultimately a healthier way to interact with others.

Mirrors, I tell you.

Considering all this, I find this parallel, shall we say… worrying?

Are they really going to do this to us? Have Q die in Picard’s arms?

(If you need me, I’ll be in the drawing room. Crying. In the dark. Thanks.)

Trios and Qcard

Oh, look, a Qcard tangent! Honestly, is anybody surprised at this point?

Because of Tumblr’s dumb-as-a-brick image limit, however, this section is now its own separate post.

That said, I encourage you to read it because CHOICES WERE MADE, and this show is unhinged for it.

Not, mind you, that I’m complaining.

That’s all folks

For now, at least.

If you’ve followed my ramblings across all three posts, I must commend your saintly patience and thank you heartily for reading. ❤️

Or, if you haven’t, and for some reason have a itch for more incoherent ranting:

And more: masterpost.

Episode 2.8 Part 1 (Q-card)

Episode 2.8 Part 2 (Soong vs. Q)

Also, feel free to ask me anything, should it tickle your fancy.

(I’d also encourage to read @celestialwarzone​‘s excellent metas if you haven’t already:

Cirque du soleil (Q and the sun)

Through a door, lightly

The meta to end all metas (upcoming)

You certainly won’t regret it.)

Read more:

[Back to part 1] [Back to part 2]

[gunkreads]

Okay. Just finished Faithless Hawk by Margaret Owen. I am. I am. Borderline catatonic. Knocked flat. Consider my flabbers gasted. Absolutely fucking floored.

Hefty spoilers, probably.

Ok so it’s two books: The Merciful Crow and The Faithless Hawk. Owen learned from Bardugo and kept her Russian-YA-fantasy series as a duology rather than a trilogy, which does wonders for the pacing, but that’s a whole other conversation. I have a couple things I wanna address front-and-center:

One, the way Tavin is written. I, as a guy, have never felt seen by male love interests. The books I’ve read that feature leading ladies with male love interests tend to paint them very, very flat; cardboard cutouts who are defined solely by their interactions with the protagonist. Yes. I know what you’re going to say. My pity for every girl and woman who’s had to grow up reading books in which they were treated that way is immeasurable. It really is. I truly feel so incredibly lucky to have grown up with a wide variety of easily accessible heroic protagonists of my gender.

But to move along, Tavin has this kind of softness to him that pierces a deeper layer of characterization than many male YA love interests reach. It’s really truly driven home near the beginning of Faithless Hawk when Fie touches his tooth and sees through his eyes from when he thought he’d found her body. That scene did more for well-written ManPain than anything else I’ve seen in recent memory. It gave him the full complement of ManPain Generators: a Fie-shaped hole in his heart, a distinct and clear goal to fill it, something that completely shreds all hope of doing so, and the ability to have a bone-rattling, gut-curdling sobbing cry about it. It was fucking good.

Two, the use of refrains. “When, not if” is the first really big one, but it’s far from the hardest-hitting. I love stories with refrains in them. Wheel of Time has its intro paragraph, Kingkiller has “a silence of three parts”, Red Rising has “live for more”, etc. etc. etc. This duology has a wonderful complement of refrains that do a good job of treading the line between “this is something a character would conceivably repeat to themselves” and “this absolutely fucks but nobody talks like that”.

Very specifically, the repeated mention of the Money Dance in all its forms. It culminates in that absolutely diaphragm-clenching final iteration at the gates of Dumosa, but every time it comes up it adds just a little depth to the world. Fie knows that a Money Dance isn’t always a dance and isn’t always about money, and that’s something I appreciate as a lover of incredibly strung-out metaphor.

Three, the unabashed badass factor. Owen isn’t afraid to dish out lines that just rip your ass to shreds and toss it down the storm drain to rot. Really, anything surrounding Tavin is so goddamn Zuko-brand emo in the best way and Owen smacks you with so many good fuckin lines. “The best thing he could do with his life was die” and shit like that. C’mon, Margaret. Man. Don’t do that to me.

And the fact that Fie being... uh... feisty... actually tracks. Those of you who read my long-winded rants know that I have a serious issue with a certain popular YA fantasy author’s approach to “wit”. Owen neatly circumvents that by having Fie’s feist come from something, rather than being a trait in and of itself. She does a consistently good job of building Fie up to outbursts; it never comes from zero. Fie can be collected when she’s calm, but the situation rarely calls for it, especially in the latter half of the second book, so it works well. Also, her scathing remarks are legitimately scathing and never feel like an authorial attempt to tickle my (the reader’s) sense of humor. There’s funny shit, for sure, but it’s entirely contained within the narrative and never asks the reader to step in and laugh with the characters; they’re already laughing themselves.

And also, can’t forget the whole “we’re here to carry you.” God damn you Sean Astin for making me read the words “carry you” in your voice.

Four, the names. Look. I’m a sucker for a good name. “The Eater of *literally anything that isn’t traditionally eaten and has some metaphorical weight*” is pretty much the best possible name ever. Little more need be said here.

Five, and this one’s more for me as a person rather than me as a shitty amateur internet critic, it makes me wiggle in my chair and go “Eeeeeeeee!!!!” a lot, it makes me laugh out loud in my stupid little strained giggle a lot, and it makes me cry a LOT.

Make no mistake, this book has its flaws. I’m sure. I bet it does. Probably. Somebody else could point them out to you.

No, I’m kidding. I can.

There’s something left to be desired with the philosophy behind the politics at the end; it’s a little uninspired. “Oh, yeah, we’ll abolish the monarchy and put up a ruling council” YEAH BUDDY NEVER HEARD THAT ONE. Not a big deal, all told, and kind of falls squarely outside the purview of the story’s main themes, but I do wish there was a little more complexity behind it. Felt like too neat a bow to wrap up with.

The book is far more about character than world. You really don’t see shit about the world except through Fie’s eyes and her secondhand stories from others. It leaves a world with a lot of mystery and a lot of untold stories. This would be totally fine, but for some reason I got the feeling that these stories were just a little too faint to make the world actually feel bigger than this story. Throughout the two books, I never had a moment where I felt like I wanted to know what someone else was doing. This could be to Owens’ credit--her characters are too interesting to care about anything else--but it does make the world feel a little smaller. Like I said, the bow that tied off the story was a little too neat. 

Tavin can feel a bit cardboardy at times. Maybe a lot of times. He’s very much cut from the “hot strong warrior boy with a sordid life who just can’t love you” mold and it’s kinda silly. It’s played fairly straight and it works just fine; serviceable if nothing else. He’s not particularly 3D--more like 2.5D, think Paper Mario--but his contours are defined by the way he bounces off Fie so it works out okay.

Honestly that’s kinda it for criticisms? I just liked the books a lot.

Unexpectedly pretty solid and casual gay and bi representation, as well as at least two characters, one named, who use they/them pronouns. Not something that makes the series any more worth reading than it already is, but worth noting and kinda nice.

Actually, to go back to the thing about the worldbuilding: weirdly enough, it reminds me of John Wick. Just the first one, really. You see the surface of this placid pond of a world, but there’s a chill that runs through your bones that tells you it’s deeper than it looks. You see the character move through it and you realize they know every single little tooth of every single little gear that moves this machine. To be negative, the ending of the series feels a little bit like if John Wick had ended with him just walking in and killing the whole council and then went home happily to his dog where nobody would ever bother him again and he’d take naps on rainbows and sip on sunshine.

I understand and appreciate a happy ending. I loved that it was an unambiguously happy ending. It made me happy, if you can believe that. But there can be happiness in complexity. Some threads can be left loose, some problems can remain to be solved, without making the ending tragic or sad. Could’ve been nice.

But yeah you should read these books. They’re very good and prove my point that YA isn’t an indicator of quality, but rather of audience. If you, like me, are in your 20s, just let yourself automatically age everyone up by 10 years and you’re chillin.

[five-rivers]

Changeling Chapter 1

A DP Fae Au fic. I've been promising you this for so long XD. I can hardly believe I'm finally delivering, even if it's only one chapter for now.

.

Chapter 1: In the Beginning, There Was an Offer

.

They studied legends. According to those legends, today, Beltane, was a time of renewal, of birth, of fertility.

It was not supposed to be… this. Their dreams weren’t supposed to be crushed today. Not under this sun, not under these blue skies and among softly blooming flowers.

This kind of news should have come with rain. It should have come with storms.

Maddie wiped tears out of her eyes and Jack patted her on the back. The air smelled sweet and dusty at the same time. The bench was uncomfortable.

“We could try adoption,” said Jack. He sounded shocked, too. Drained. His voice was pulled taught over a great hollowness. “Lots of people adopt. We can- can do some good in the world, maybe.”

Maddie sniffed and cried harder. She’d wanted her own children, and Jack knew it. Adoption was all very well and good, but at this point the suggestion felt like some consolation prize, and she felt terrible for even thinking it was, because Jack was right, it could be a good thing, and…

She wanted children. Her own children.

“Excuse me, I believe I can help.”

There was something about how he said that, about how the voice wound and slipped through her ears that had Maddie’s head snapping up. The man who stood to the side of the bench wore a long coat with a deep hood. Symbols, symbols that Maddie had spent hours, days, weeks, researching were stitched into the fabric. His eyes glittered in the shadows. The fingers of his hands, clasped in front of him, were too long, their coloring faintly lavender, as if they had been dipped in ink and retained the stain even after they’d been washed clean.

This was not a human.

“How?” asked Maddie, feeling hope drip back into her limbs even as Jack tensed behind her. “How can you help?”

.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” said Jack as they drove home. “We really shouldn’t have done that. Maddie, they’re evil, there’s always a catch and it’ll always be looking for a way to push us into it.”

“The catch is in the open,” said Maddie, leaning back against the seat of the car and closing her eyes. “It isn’t as if it’s in the fine print and we’re going to stumble into it. We have one, and then I get my tubes tied, or you get snipped, and we go on with our lives.”

“What if we have twins? Triplets? Maddie, we should have talked about this.”

“There wasn’t any time,” Maddie said defensively. “I had to decide right away.”

“What are we going to do if we have twins, Maddie?”

Maddie bit her lip, her eyes opening without her full permission as she thought. “We know how to deal with things like him.”

The car jerked just a little to the right as Jack failed to suppress his flinch. “Do you remember our work on motivations? On why they take artists, musicians, children?” he asked. He forged on without waiting for an answer. “Creative sterility, we called it. For this one to be able to cure sterility, he has to be powerful. I don’t think nails in pockets and inside-out clothing is going to stop him.”

Such protections were hit and miss to begin with. One faerie might hate bread, another might love it. The sound of bells would drive off one, and another would wear them in their hair. Even cold iron was no guarantee against them.

“We’ll have to find something better, then,” she said, firmly.

.

Maddie laughed. Not a twin. A single child showed on the ultrasound monitor. A girl. A beautiful baby girl. Perfect.

On the other side of the bed, Jack sunk into a chair, obviously relieved. “She’s healthy?” he asked the OB/GYN.

“Completely,” she said. “This is quite the miracle the two of you put together here.” She shook her head. “We must have gotten something wrong during our examination. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am to have put you through all that, and I won’t blame you if you wanted to find a new doctor.”

“It’s fine,” said Maddie, patting the woman’s arm. “It happens.” Yes, being approached by a powerful fae just ‘happened.’ “The important thing now is to make sure there aren’t any complications.”

.

They made sure Jazz was born on a Sunday, with two middle names, one of which Maddie made sure to forget. They scheduled her baptism for as early a date as possible, even though both Jack and Maddie were as lapsed as it was possible to be.

Precautions.

Jack had his surgery only a month later.

They were safe. They had won.

The family of three snuggled together on the couch. Well, Jazz snuggled inasmuch as a newborn was able. They watched TV.

“Jack, dear,” said Maddie, roused to awareness by a news story about a rising young businessman. “Is that our Vlad?”

Jack blinked at the screen. “I think you’re right,” said Jack. “I haven’t seen him since college. I don’t think we’ve talked to him since college.” He frowned. “Did something happen? The three of us used to be so close… He was the only one in the whole folklore department that would put up with our theories, do you remember?”

“I don’t know,” said Maddie, trying to remember. “It was like he was there one day, gone the next.”

“Do you think he’ll mind us getting back in touch?”

“Only one way to find out.”

.

(As it turned out, Vlad did not particularly care to get back in touch.)

.

Jazz was not a normal child.

She saw too much. She understood too much. Her teeth grew in early. She learned how to get the milk out of the fridge at about the same time she learned how to walk. Her eyes were too large, even for her age. She didn’t start talking until she was almost two, and when she did, it was in complete sentences. She took to responsibility like a duck to water. No, she demanded responsibility, from waking up the family in the morning to answering the door. She loved rules and games, and the rules of games.

But they had never raised a child before. Perhaps this was simply how they were. Perhaps this was within the expected variety of humanity.

Most importantly, Jazz was theirs. Completely.

.

Maddie was not terribly concerned when her period missed a few days, or even when it was late by a week. But when it started pushing two…

She bought a test.

It came back positive.

.

Danny’s birth was different from Jazz’s in almost every particular. Instead of being infused with a sense of joy, proceedings were overshadowed by dread. Jazz had been born in a hospital. Danny would be born at home, behind every ward and protection Jack and Maddie could conceive of. The midwife they hired was more than used to odd belief systems and threw a few of her own traditions in as well.

It couldn’t hurt.

.

It didn’t help.

After the birth, Maddie held Danny in her arms. He’d been born in a caul, which had been slightly alarming, even though Maddie had known that it was a thing that happened regularly, and that, by most accounts, it was lucky.

He was such a tiny little thing. Smaller than Jazz. Which made sense, he was a little premature.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised him, whispering into the silky, wispy curls on top of his head.

Someone knocked on the door. Maddie jerked her head up, even though the front door wasn’t at all visible from the basement. Jack flinched hard enough to drop the towels he was holding. The midwife froze.

“Hospitality,” croaked Maddie. Those rules were always humanity’s first defense against the uncanny. Don’t want something in your house? In your life? Don’t invite it in.

Although, she had arguably already invited in the fae they were worried about. Hence all the other contingencies.

The knock came again. And again, louder.

Jack let out a sigh of relief. “It can’t get in,” he murmured. Then he smiled, broad and bright. “We just have to wait it out.”

Maddie nodded, tears in her eyes. The knocking continued. This was far from ideal, obviously, but she’d been half expecting the fae to simply rip through the wards like tissue paper.

Perhaps the theory that more powerful fae were more bound by custom, more vulnerable to their weaknesses, held water? She and Jack had always dismissed it as fanciful, but they’d never been able to gather evidence before.

Then, a sound that made her heart stop.

“I’ll get it!” called Jazz, childish voice muffled by distance and the obstacle of the floors above. She’d been told not to answer the door when Danny was being born, to wait patiently in her room, but for all her unusual maturity, she was only three.

Faster than she’d ever seen him move, Jack bolted for the stairs, pushing aside several pieces of furniture and medical equipment in his haste. He took the stairs four at a time and nearly taking the door off the hinges.

He wasn’t fast enough.

“Who are you, mister?”

“Me?” said a voice Maddie had prayed against ever hearing again. “I am your uncle, my dear. Did your parents not tell you about me?”

.

Jazz tipped her head to one side and stared up at the man, making her eyes extra big. She knew it made a lot of people uncomfortable when she looked at them like that, so she treated it as a kind of test.

The man smiled, kind and patient. He was kind of funny looking, but in a good way.

“No,” she said finally. “Are you Mommy’s brother or Daddy’s brother?”

“Ah, you already know about uncles, then. I was worried I’d have to explain. May I come in? I would like to greet your little brother, as your parents promised I could. I have gifts for both of you.”

Jazz liked gifts. “Okay,” she said. “But I dunno if Danny’s been born yet. Mommy said it can take a while. And I dunno if he can have gifts, yet. He’s gonna be really little. That’s what all my books say, and also the internet.”

“Jazz! Don’t!”

Jazz turned to see her Daddy skid around the corner, just as her uncle stepped across the threshold.

“Not quite on time, I fear,” said uncle. “Young Jazz has already let me in.” He patted Jazz on the head. She ducked away and stuck her tongue out, like she always did when Daddy did that. “Having greeted my niece, I would like to see my nephew.”

.

The fae did walk past the rest of the wards as if they weren’t even there. It didn’t even break them, just ignored them. Some of them he even commented on, as if approving.

He gazed down at Danny with his otherworldly eyes. The midwife had retreated to the corner of the room, refusing to look at what was happening. Jack had attempted to attack the fae with his bare hands, only to be pushed away with something approaching gentleness by an invisible wall. Maddie didn’t know where Jazz was. Upstairs, somewhere, hopefully.

“So beautiful,” the fae said, brushing Danny’s forehead with his off-color fingers. Faster than Maddie could react, he had a pair of scissors in his hand and was cutting off a lock of hair. “A lovely child.” The lock of Danny’s hair disappeared into the fae’s coat.

If Maddie didn’t know better, she’d call the expression on the fae’s face love. But she did know better. Love was as incomprehensible to the fae as fae laws were to humans, so she’d call it by its true name: avarice.

She tightened her grip on Danny, as if she could keep the fae from plucking him from her arms.

“Not now,” said the fae, after another moment. “Soon, I should think.” It ran a hand over Danny’s head. “Soon.” The fae looked up, meeting Maddie’s eyes. “I will return,” he said, “in one year.”

“For what?” demanded Maddie, unwilling to get her hopes up.

The fae blinked slowly. “For his birthday.” He tilted his head. “To determine whether or not he is ready. Perhaps, also, to visit my niece.”

“You stay away from Jazz!” snarled Maddie. “You have no claim on her.”

The fae merely shrugged, then smiled, slyly. “She does, however, have a claim on me. I promised her gifts, before your husband whisked her away.”

“Gifts,” repeated Maddie, hoarsely.

“For the sister of my child, yes,” said the fae, voice and face as calm and even as ever. “Would you ask me to forswear myself?”

“Then,” said Maddie, “you can leave them here, with us.”

“You will give them to her?”

“Yes,” said Maddie, through her teeth. She did not say how long she would let Jazz be in the presence of these ‘gifts.’

“Very well, then,” said the fae, pulling a number of boxes out from beneath his coat. “One year. Be prepared.”

And, with that, the fae faded from view, as if he had been an illusion all along.

Danny was still with them. Their son was still with them. Still theirs.

“One year,” she said, breathless. “Only one year.”

“One whole year,” corrected Jack, rushing to her side. “You’ll see, Maddie. Next time, that fae won’t know what hit him!”

“One whole year,” echoed Maddie, weakly.

“One year to prepare,” said Jack. “Look what we did with half that time! We’re Fentons! We can do it!”

“We can do it,” breathed Maddie. “One year. We’ll be ready.”

Jack nodded, firmly. “We’ll be ready.”