#I hope NONE of them are white really. not nearly enough diversity in this book that has populations on 9 planets. AND I WANT AN EXPLANATION | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kob131 · 4 years ago

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https://rwbyconversations.tumblr.com/post/626550438587678720/the-scarlet-letter-lets-talk-about-rwbys-male

Can’t even say I stan RT since I helped in developing your own break in RT’s abusive business practices.

So let’s start with a blunt statement: RWBY’s male LGBT representation has not been good. If the series’ handling of female LGBT rep is good (which… well there’s worse shows) and the general standard for how you write LGBT characters in a show like this, its handling of male rep has been… how not to. And Before the Dawn kinda solidified the idea in my head that the show’s handling of its male LGBT cast just isn’t good enough, either by the standards of when RWBY began in 2013, or today in 2020 when compatively massive steps have been taken over the past decade to show a more diverse list of characters… or at least a more diverse list of female characters.

So how do you make good male LGBT representation? If we’re talking about how something is done badly, you’d think some ground rules would be established. ... Yeah, he never does that.

It’s big romance is (unless the writers are very stupid) going to be between Blake and Yang, their first out character was Ilia, Coco got sent to the Book Dimension where she confirmed “I use my sunglasses to perv on women without their knowledge” which uh… yeah you can definitely tell RWBY is written by men… and Volume 6 had Saph and Terra being a good example of an LGBT couple without any real drama. In the last three years alone, the show has drastically increased its lesbian and bisexual characters, alongside even including its first out trans character in May Marigold (albeit only revealed on Twitter). In general, these depictions of sexuality have been pretty OK. Would have liked it if Ilia wasn’t immediately written out of the show after Volume 5 as it made her feel a bit more disposable than intended but whatever, subject for another day.

A. What examples do we have of Bumbleby being canon? One or two animation things and voice actors? Cool, when’s White Knight becoming canon.

B. I’ve heard Barbara say similar shit. Acting like that’s a male thing is fucking sexist.

C. I’m sorry but by every single standard of LGBT writing I’ve heard-wouldn’t they be considered tokens and flat caricatures? Since they’re so irrelevant and have so little character? They’re barely even characters INCLUDING their kid.

Sorry but considering how there’s no ground rules made for what is good LGBT rep- I can only go off what others have said. And so many, OVERWHLEMINGLY MANY, people have said Saphron and Terra aren’t good.

D. Okay the Illa thing is yet another example of why ground rules need to be set. Saphron and Terra BOTH are written out in Volume 6 so wouldn’t they get chewed out too? What makes Illa getting written out different or more disposable?

RWBY’s male rep though is a bit spottier. There’s the plant bois in Volume 5’s premiere, we nearly had Pilot Boi until some last-minute revisions, and… Scarlet.

Look about the same as the female LGBT audience to me. Why is this so bad?

“Why Scarlet’s a bad launchpad for male LGBT rep”

I don’t like Scarlet or how his sexuality has been handled. Scarlet’s homosexuality wasn’t revealed in the show, or by the writers, or even in anything that’s actually canon. He’s confirmed gay in his sole of dialogue in a non-canon fan anthology, where the manga’s Twitter team had to say that Miles suggested the idea and approved of it.

In short, Scarlet is Dumbledore’d, where his sexuality is revealed in out-of-show material and in a way that doesn’t make it supremely obvious (Miles himself never commented to confirm this so this news was limited in how far it could spread. I’m genuinely curious how many people still don’t know Scarlet’s gay), and Scarlet himself is a nothing character who was written out of the show after Volume 3 and only reappeared in Before The Dawn, half a decade after he vanished. Compared to Ilia, as this came out after Ilia’s entire arc in Volume 5, it’s not a great starting point for mlm rep. But things would have been forgiven if it had gotten better, if the show did have more male LGBT characters introduced, even just on the Saphron/Terra level of just being around for a few episodes before leaving. Then it would have been a misfire but then we could all say “Things got better.”

Why should I care?

See, part of the job of a critic is to make the problems understandable to the audience. I emphasized ground rules because it gives the reader a base level understanding of what constitutes as good in this case. Why should I think Scarlet is bad when Saphron and Terra are on the same level and you said they were at least acceptable?

It… didn’t. Which is why when Before the Dawn released in 2020, a full two years after Scarlet was first confirmed gay, while the franchise had more than doubled its wlw rep, Scarlet remained the one male character in the entire franchise who had a name and liked men. I remember vividly a fake leak for After The Fall which claimed Yatsuhashi would come out to Velvet and admit to having a crush on Fox. And I remember as well how many people were disappointed when it was said to be false, because it would have been nice for Yatsuhashi’s character, especially after the fleshing out he gets in the CFVY books. If Yatsu had come out as gay in the books I’d like his writing enough to say he’s a good case for rep, albeit with the caveat of “This is all in side material.” But in reality, the leak was fake and Coco was confirmed gay instead.

I remember the same leak. Yatsuhashi also disappeared at the same time and even if he was fleshed out-he’s still irrelevant to the show so wouldn’t he be bad? And if it’s about having fleshed out characters, why did Illa whose a fully realized character get shaded while effective background characters praised?

Unfortunately, Before the Dawn proceeded to ruin Scarlet and made me at times feel genuinely uncomfortable as a queer man! Let’s talk about that.

And people said the same about Saphron and Terra and people get backlash for praising them over other lesbian characters.

I hate Before the Dawn. It’s… bad. I read it while on a vacation and the only solace I had about the entire thing was that I’d bought an M&M chocolate bar. The bar was finished before the book. That bummed me out. It’s not a very well written book, the prose is very Early 2010s YA Writer, none of the characters are memorable and there’s various Fun Incidents like “NGDO using children as bait for Grimm,” and “Neptune’s hydrophpobia being used as a threat to torture him and the scene is played for comedy.”

A. NDGO is repeatedly shown to be massive assholes in the book.

And B. I can’t really find anything wrong there. In one of my favorite shows, Justice League Unlimited, criminals get threatened with actual torture and even death and it’s treated as a joke. Yeah the context is different in that the victim are criminals but both the villains and Neptune get over it so quickly I see no real problem here. Especially since Jaune’s own low self worth was a joke up to Volume 5.

Theo was cool. I can’t wait to see him as written by good writers, he should be a highlight of the Vacuo arc.

Don’t go blaming E.C. Myers for this- Miles and Kerry helped. You’d have to call them shit writers too.

I had two hopes for Before the Dawn- “Don’t be bad,” and “Let Scarlet and Sage be well written.” I’d liked how After The Fall had handled some of its characters (barring, y'know, Coco perving on women), especially Fox and Yatsu who were surprising in how much I liked them. I was looking forward to seeing Myers give Sage and Scarlet similar treatment- two relatively nothing characters meant he’d have a blank slate to write them however he wanted, he could give them unique personalties and if nothing else it could be cool to see their Semblances.

You know how frustrating it is to see people blame Miles and Kerry for shit that Monty had a hand in and may have even been responsible for?

Yeah well we finally found the flipped version-

Miles and Kerry worked with Myers on the book. Just as Monty is just as much at fault as Miles and Kerry, they’re just as much at fault as Myers.

And then I read the book. (Sage fans I am so sorry for you, you got baited harder than Johnlock fans)

I thought we were talking about male LGBT rep.

Scarlet’s a giant dickhead in the book. It’s his sole character trait and his inner monologues go on, and on, and on about how much he hates Sun, how he revels in mocking him. Most of his dialogue is sarcastic put-downs about Sun and how lame he is, and Sun is never properly allowed to defend himself or point out how going with Blake meant he was able to help save Haven Academy.

You mean like how character criticized Yang for being so reckless even though she was trying to save Blake?

It shouldn’t matter what the intent or results are- Sun and Yang still did bad things and affected the people around them. They should be criticized, especially Sun here since A. He’s still doing it in the book, B. He hasn’t had any real flaws in the show which means his dynamics and interaction are limited and C. This addresses what people bitched at him about in Volumes 4 and 5 thus robbing them of the excuse to chew him out anymore.

(hey remember when Sun in Volume 6 expressly says to Blake “I was a bad leader for ditching Neptune and the others, and I need to work on that” only for Before the Dawn to have him staunchly refuse to accept that he let the team down? I don’t think Myers did but I do)

Remember how characters in RWBY don’t always learn their lesson, especially when it’s related to mental issues like...say....losing their parents and trying to run from their problems?

Also remember how MILES AND KERRY ALSO HELPED WRITE THAT BOOK?

Scarlet being a ratty bitch would be one thing if, again, the franchise had done more rep. He’d still be a badly written character, but it wouldn’t sting as much. But because Scarlet is still the only expressly confirmed male LGBT character in canon (the book teases that Nolan is gay but there’s never confirmation either way beyond him smiling at Scarlet), it means that he has to represent that entire ideal. So when the one gay man in Remnant is being an asshole and a snide loser, that means that by extension, this is how the franchise sees gay men. And that fucking sucks! I wanted to come out of Before The Dawn singing its praises, I wanted to like the book, but it was a massive letdown, especially coming off of the other big 2020 RWBY controversy involving gay characters.

Fun fact: LGBT people can be assholes.

In fact, Scarlet would be the ONLY LGBT character to be snide in the show. Kind of makes him unique in that regard. ...If he was an asshole in canon. When in canon, he’s portrayed as hurt and bitter over Sun’s repeated irresponsibility and doing what anyone would do in his situation.

So honestly, he’s pretty fucking human which I would praised BEYOND being LGBT.

Yeah. We’re doing this.

Remember, you choose to do all this.

Clover and Fair Game: Technically not queerbaiting. BUT:

But nothing. Once again, without any ground rules for what you constitute as ‘queerbaiting’- I only have myself to rely on. And just about every serious definition says Queerbaiting is baiting LGBT rep or pairings to get people to watch the show.

Issue? Not only was Fair Game not used to promote the show, there are other LGBT characters in RWBY. You can’t be queerbaited anymore than a straight person can be ‘straightbaited’ (We’ll be getting into SO MUCH MORE than this later...).

Let’s pre-empt this: Clover wasn’t queerbaiting, and Fair Game, while cool and I dig it, kudos to them for becoming one of the top 5 RWBY pairings on AO3 in one year that’s fucking impressive (I say with mild malice as an IronQrow main), never had a chance. The writing never seriously boosted it barring one interaction which was flirty (them talking in the lobby of the Schnee Manor), and everything else was out of show boosting through the social media teams and CRWBY hyping it themselves by saying they liked it. If you wanna blame people, blame the animators who went off-script with stuff like Kim Newman adding the wink as a deliberate nod to the Volume 4 waitress, or the social media team deliberately using the same policies for Fair Game as they do for Renora and Bumblebee.

So nothing I should give a shit about since marketing teams often work detached from the actual product and are notoriously CUTTHROAT.

It wasn’t Eddy’s fault that things escalated, and he himself has said that in retrospect, he should have warned people that this never had a shot.

But I can’t blame the Fair Game fanbase. Because Fair Game took off like wildfire. It came right as the fanbase began seriously asking for more male rep, Qrow’s pretty hot, and the Clover wink came right after the Great IronQrow Reawakening of November 9th, 2019. The rocket was primed, and they rode it to the moon. Finally, to these people, after seven years RWBY seemed to be doing something with mlm rep in show. People started getting into RWBY just for Clover and Qrow’s interactions. And if heroes were boring, Watts and Tyrian also had a fantastic dynamic that made Nuts and Volts one of the more popular villain ships overnight. Things seemed to be turning around! RWBY was remembering that gay men existed! You could hear the choir sing!

... You JUST said that show didn’t bolster the ship aside from one interaction (one that pales to the shit I use to say in private to fuck with people). It was obviously NOT meant to be a serious component of the show. If people got into a show for something it was never meant to stick to- it’s their own fault for when that part falls away.

… And for those people, that meant that episode 12 hit like Truck-Kun.

People got pissed. People were horrified. And it didn’t help that some members of CRWBY had said in the build-up that episode 12 would have some shots that made them nauseous (probably the Tyrian thumb thing) Out of context, it looked to these fans like CRWBY were basically laughing at their suffering, like they were saying “Lol, you thought you had a chance, get fucked, I hope your vomit burns on the way up.”

Yeah, Fair Game was never gonna be canon, and I think some people ran too far with it. But in the wider context of how desperate RWBY’s mlm community had gotten for basic crumbs of content? I can see why they’d run with what they had. The writers aren’t at fault for what happened, but CRWBY didn’t help matters. And that desperate mix of what felt like official backing from the crew, jokes about how cute the ship was, and the hope that finally the show would have onscreen rep? I can see why people ran with it.

Ah huh ah huh ah huh-

Now do that for the first three Volumes of the show with a bigger fan favorite, more build up and kill one half of it off at the end of the show’s big dark turn while the creators are even MORE unsympathetic.

Sorry but when compared to Arkos, this looks fucking minscule. And you invoked the Arkos comparison due to the numerous parallels. And just like with the Arkos fans, I’ll disregard this without a second thought.

‘But Mlm are STARVED for content-’

Then go somewhere else. I’ve been saying this to your Wlw AND Straight counterparts for years. You are not entitled to have ‘a meal’. The show didn’t advertise in universe around rep- That is not the point. This is like saying you hate nachoes because it dares to have chips instead of more toppings.

So why is the show more lackluster in depicting mlm characters?

I don’t think you ever answered that the question ‘is the show’s mlm lackluster?’ because you spent a third of this post talking about something you basically admit doesn’t count.

Money. Let’s be honest, most RWBY fans don’t care if the show doesn’t have good male rep. I’m willing to bet some of you reading this won’t care and just dismiss it as not being that big a problem.

I dismiss all the romance related shit as not being that big of a problem, so what?

I don’t think the writers care if the show doesn’t have good mlm rep because they’re not poaching that market. They’re after what they see as a bigger, more lucrative market, which in this case is female LGBT rep. That gets people buying games, watching shows, raising awareness and boosting awareness of your property, which means you make more money. In short: Two women kissing hits more markets and generates more attention than two men.

I’d believe that if not for the fact that there is barely any lesbian merch for RWBY, which would be the key way to cash in on that market and squeeze them for as much money as possible. In fact, there’s barely ANY shipping merch from Rooster Teeth. Rather unusual if they’re trying to cash in on a market.

‘Well what’s YOUR explanation?’

Easy: Misandry and moving goalposts.

Guys notoriously get shat on in the fandom more than women. Jaune is STILL being called a spotlight stealing MAry Sue and numerous people are siding against Ironwood because he’s a man. So making good male LGBT rep would just be inviting more pipe bombs in the mail.

And a large amount of people like to claim RWBY has yet to give GOOD female LGBT rep, constantly raising the bar to get what they want. And considering they make up the original hatedom in the show- they naturally hold more power.

Tl;Dr- You fucked yourselves out of good male rep by having male characters having any focus whatsoever be a death sentence.

Am I saying that Miles, Monty and Kerry deliberately sat down seven years ago and said “We’re not doing gay men because it won’t generate enough ad revenue and traffic to be worth the loss in revenue from homophobes?” No, that’s silly. But I’m saying that it’s less important for them, and it shows in the things that are small and add up. Things like Miles not verifying Scarlet’s sexuality or retweeting the manga account’s confirmation to spread the message (compared to how he enthusiastically confirmed Ilia being a lesbian himself during the Reddit AMA). It shows in how Pilot Boi would have been the first mlm character only to die in his second full episode until M&K were told about the Bury Your Gays trope. It shows in how Shannon believes that Ozma is “megaqueer” and Miles jokingly laughs it off instead of confirming it, leaving it to just be Shannon’s headcanon. It shows in how actor shipping is compared between the mlm and wlw ships, where Arryn and Barbara’s frequent pushes for Bumblebee are seen as “official confirmation that it’s endgame” while Michael and Kerry saying they enjoy Seamonkeys is treated as “well it would be cute if they did it, but they’re never going to.”

The whole point of AMA is answer questions, one of which was ‘is Illa a lesbian’ among SEVERAL others.

Yeah and Illa gets called a psycho lesbian.

Yeah and no other voice actor headcanon has been accepted. In fact, Kara pushes for White Knight and the writers don’t even so much as acknowledge that unlike Shannon. Also I dunno what ‘megaqueer’ means but his only on screen relationship was straight so that’s probably why it wasn’t confirmed.

Not the creators, don’t care.

I’m not gonna say anything like “CRWBY are gonna have Qrow end up with a woman like Robyn out of spite against the bad apples of the Fair Game crowd.” I’m not gonna say that I don’t think CRWBY cares about male representation in the series. It is, however, definitely a low priority for them, and because that leads to gaffes like Scarlet’s writing in Before The Dawn being offensive in his depiction, it only makes the contrast between the sexes all the more painfully apparent.

Again, the female side ain’t much better. Fuck, the straight side isn’t much better. This was never a focus of the show.

I’m kinda tired of waiting for Rooster Teeth to show that they do care about mlm. I’m kinda tired of RWBY’s male rep being written like it came from a 1993 time capsule where I have to enhance the screen to see a guy holding a sign of Sun’s abs or be content with the only onscreen rep still being the plant bois in Volume 5. I’m tired of how often the crew dances around answering basic questions about sexuality (and age, and birthdays, and heights, and so on) by treating it as a spoiler question, as if just wanting to know what way people swing would ever be a spoiler. I’m just… tired of all this. When the best mlm rep in Rooster Teeth’s history remains the two dads in Camp Camp who show up in a few episodes, that should say something really bad about your company and your biases (To say nothing of the recent Red vs Blue seasons and their blatant queerbaiting for Grif and Simmons and the whole can of worms that is Donut).

And their best rep in wlw according to some people is a psycho lesbian.

This is all just personal opinion that is next to useless without the basis needed for clear understanding. I don’t know what you would consider good male LGBT rep aside from a squeaky clean good guy...and many would decry that as condescending and unrealistic.

What can they do except ignore EVERYONE and just do whatever they feel like?

P.S. Someone’s representation is NOT their view on LGBT people. Especially since, as I have said, the reception of said rep can be outright contradictory.

I’d like to not feel like I’m borderline unwelcome because I’d like to see two men in this show kiss, and that the sole thing that represents people like me in this show is some British twat who complains about sand.

Oh fuck off. I’m also apart of a minority group (autists) and yet you don’t see me winging about how unwelcome I feel because there’s no autistic characters. I relate to characters like Ruby not because they have shallow autistic traits but because I constantly struggle with the same ideological dilemma Ruby does: the struggle to keep doing good in an uncaring, cruel world. THAT is what you should find relatable and welcome. Not something like sexuality.

I’d just like to feel like my sexuality isn’t a joke to Rooster Teeth (or at the very least, be like Donut and have it be a funny one). But at this point after the last few years? I feel like a very uncomfortable punchline to them. And it just sucks.

Cool-Welcome to club. You know, since EVERY sexuality has been used a punchline by Rooster Teeth.

Your sexuality should be the LAST thing that you use to find being welcome, especially with a god damn company. And you have no one to blame for your feelings but yourself here.

Your post is damn near useless and I don’t even know how honest that RT stuff is considering Miles and Kerry get away while E.C. Myers gets blamed for stuff you don’t like.

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loyalflutist · 5 years ago

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Scarlet Carnation - Chapter 3 (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Collaboration with @datsexykiwi

A/N: Not much to add here other than this took me a while. Hope you enjoy it! Chapter 4 should be up soon with Kate’s part.

>> Previous Chapter

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How long has this been going on for?

This… back and forth exchange between the two worlds... It has been going on for some time. Whenever she closes her eyes, when she falls into a state of unconsciousness, she would be bolted awake to another world.

One with an older Edelgard.

One with a younger Edelgard.

They were the same person, but also not the same.

They were perfectly identical, but drastically differed.

‘ Edelgard… ’

It would be incorrect to surmise that Byleth has gotten used to it. Nearly a whole month crawled by on the calendar, yet her comprehension defined the situation as a trippy episode. A long, trippy episode that continuously looped.

‘ When will this ever end? ‘

Byleth pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead as she stood inside the greenhouse. Slight fatigue, occasional headaches, and sporadic dizzy spells seem to have plagued the poor woman after the first week.

She narrowed her hues as the muscles from her left eye continuously twitch. Discussion with Sothis back in her world theoretically explained that her physical features may be unaffected, but the same treatment does not apply to her mentality. It was unnoticeable at first. Waking up between the realms was as natural as transferring from vehicle to vehicle. One week… two weeks… three… Then, a month. As today marked the end of the first month, Byleth was assaulted with the creeping nuisances. Her hand slid down till it vertically concealed half of her facial features.

‘ It feels like I’m awake 24/7… ’

There seems to be no cure for it either. Hark, it must have been a blessing that from the time she “returned” back to this dimension, she participated in nothing more than minor skirmishes! Battles hardly lasted an hour, the other side raised their white flags or were brutally eliminated in the process. Had she partaken in anything longer… Another small thud clunk against her skull. Almost as if on cue, the professor stumbled to the side as her entire vision tilted. If it weren’t for her outreached hand, she would have crashed right into a patch of flowers.

“...”

She kneeled down, lowered her head, closed her eyes, and slowed her breathing. Swirls of blackness rippled throughout the dark surroundings. Drums beat in the background, her blanketed vision pulsed in-sync with her pounding heart. She roughly scraped her nails among the ledge’s surface.

Fascination for everlasting peace and quiet found only in sleep was strong. Alas, reality was cruel and unfortunate to the teacher. Even a nap would toss her back to her own world, lest they occur at randomized parts of the day. (Comically, she had “woken” up when she was in the midst of taking a dip in the sauna!) The fact that blurred imagery inserted itself into the equation amplified her exhaustion. Flickering flames tickled her exposed skin, gentle breeze of the seawater reminds her of the great ocean, shadowed figures present with short white noise blurbs… Ambiguity is an understatement.

Byleth pursed her lips. She can’t even determine the source of the visions she’s forced to experience. Not even Sothis has the answer to it yet! Perhaps her savior would be found in death alone after all.

‘ I don’t have much of a choice, do I. ’

That alternative option sent a chill down her spine. Her fingers coincidentally brushed upon the scarlet carnation. She instinctively retracted her applied hand, cracked open her eyelids, and wearily gazed at the plant.

A flower that she had planted alongside with Edelgard... A flower that she still could not remember having planted alongside with Edelgard. Despite the blank card that Byleth keeps on pulling, it did not deter her from singing praises for the object of interest. The high sun’s rays made its petals glimmer with striking beauty. Conducting a basic observation had alleviated the foreign adverse effects in a matter of seconds. An exhale trembled past her partially parted lips as she grazed upon its thin petals once more.

‘ Scarlet carnation… ’

Byleth resisted the temptation to snap the flower’s stem. Instead, she mindlessly glossed her thumb and index finger over it.

It was a majestic piece of art. She recalled the much older lord speaking about it; a cheery disposition prominent with the subject. Every single time she returned to this realm, the white-haired would drag her professor into the greenhouse. Regardless of her teacher’s state, they would always walk into the organized greenery. No skips and no excuses. They would always arrive without fail.

‘ She really wants me to see the flowers with her. I wonder why? ’

Asking questions about this intriguing matter is a useless feat. First of all, despite her lack of social etiquettes, Byleth knew that a negative connotation would be implied. No matter how careful she chooses her words, they will slug Edelgard across the face. Second, it seems as though there is this odd fixation with the flowers. The ex-mercenary was not sure why, but the vermillion emperor made it a necessary part of her life to see the botanical object. She would touch the scarlet carnation, lean down, reminisce about their past, straighten her posture, turn to Byleth, and engage in a banter. Each day followed this protocol to a T.

Not even the others knew. Not even Dorothea, who was one of the few closest friends to Edelgard.

“Edie has been visiting the flowers ever since you’ve disappeared five years ago, Professor,” Dorothea remarked, a weary sigh followed. “I had originally thought she was watching over the carnations you’ve both planted. It turns out that she still visits them.”

“Is there a particular reason as to why Edelgard is so hung up on these flowers?”

When presented with this question, Dorothea shrugged her shoulders.

“I do not know the answer, Professor. All I know is that she always wanted to be alone with the carnations when you were gone.” A faint smile blossomed on the songstress, genuine like a lone sunflower in the midst of cruelty. “Perhaps it is a blessing that you came back. Now she doesn’t have to see them by herself.”

Byleth retracted her fingers from the plant.

‘ Too bad I’m here alone. ’

Unfortunately, Edelgard had to take her leave early. Ferdinand, Petra, and Dorothea called the emperor over for a strategic meeting. Although Byleth normally oversees and guide these alumni, Hanneman suggested that she take a break.

“You always seem so tired, Professor. I think you should relax for today.”

She remembered touching the skin beneath her eye while he strongly advised her. The ex-mercenary would normally object to such bewildering claim. Tired? Please, her physical condition is in tip-top shape. If they were to go into battle within the next minute, Byleth would be the first one in the frontline. She would have more than enough energy to slay those that stand in their way.

At least, that would be what she would do if she did not possess these obnoxious side effects. Besides, the older male seems to act as if it were in her best interest to heed his words; his firm and steady look made it impossible to counter and object.

“If only Manuela were here… She would have you checked up in no time.”

His attentive features of a wise scholar drooped. Hanneman’s vision began to metaphorically cloud as his thoughts crawled back to the other professor. Why, oh why, did Manuela side with the Kingdom of Faerghus? Out of all the quantifiable and qualitative problems he’s encountered, none of them were like this. Not a single research article or book could elaborate on the finer details of this intricate ordeal.

Did she betray him? Or did he betray her?

He shook his head. The contagious twinkle that shone behind his monocular dulled despite forming a small smile.

“Farewell, Professor. I will see you soon.”

Those were his last words before walking away and leaving Byleth all alone in the monastery’s garden. Silence followed afterward, save it for the two gardeners tending to the plants. Though the professor could have parted from the premise, she decided to stick around. Furthermore, the sun’s rays basked her figure; the temperature within her environment was at an ideal condition. (If she were to become an animal in the next life, she would not hesitate to choose a cat.) Mere minutes of serenity ticked by until it led to the present time.

“...”

She sat on the ledge opposite of the grandiose double doors. Fingers intertwined, she gazed past the open barriers. Students’ chatters and laughter had all been replaced with imperturbable guards and prideful soldiers. There were members of mercenaries outside of Jeralt’s group even present too! Byleth firmed her lips, the tip of her thumbs unconsciously tapping each other. She eventually closed her eyes as a warm breeze ruffled her large overcoat and bangs.

How ironic for a diverse population with little to no similarities band together under times of war.

‘ Edelgard really is something, isn’t she… ’

“Professor, is that really you?”

The ex-mercenary snapped open her lids. She found herself staring at three students; all of whom were from the Blue Lions House. Aside from Sylvain, Ingrid Brandl Galatea and Mercedes von Martrtiz were present.

Byleth widens her eyes as her thumbs stilled. She remembered them… Back in her world, she had taken the time to get to know everyone. As the days crawled by, Ingrid and Mercedes explicitly hinted their interest in joining Byleth’s class. Their brilliant auras radiated whenever they spot the professor. Small talks were engaged. An occasional visit with Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri wiggled their way into their conversations. Livelihood was an understatement once they came together. Unfortunately, it never went beyond that point. The two remained under Hanneman’s teaching; lamentations mushed in their intonation.

“Maybe one day we can join your class, Professor.”

She slowly got up from her seat, her gaze fixated on the two newcomers.

‘ It seems in this realm, they were recruited. ’

Then, a smile broke from Byleth. Although she had lost her father, Hubert, Caspar, Bernadetta, Linhardt, and the majority of colleagues from the Church of Seiros in this world, the fact that Ingrid and Mercedes were a part of her allies swelled a bubble deep within her chest. She placed a hand on it; a short burst of air coming from her mouth.

“You both…”

Without warning, Ingrid launched herself at the teacher.

“Professor–!”

Had it not been for the large, overgrown leaves, the warrior would have tumbled backward into the soil! Many question marks flew out of her head as Ingrid tightly hugged the professor; a torrent of tears burst through the dam in addition. This nearly gave Byleth a heart attack. Someone who is more of a knight than every knight that existed in this era has crumpled into a shriveled ball. How out of character for Ingrid!

The tactician quickly recomposed herself and closed her arms around the sobbing blonde. This caused a stronger reaction to arise from the young woman. Byleth partly opened her mouth as she began to pat her back. As Ingrid buried her face into Byleth’s chest like that of a mourning child, Mercedes clasped her hands together in the background.

“It’s a miracle that you’ve returned to us, Professor,” she softly smiled. “Although Lady Edelgard would not approve of my belief, I say that the Goddess has answered our prayers.”

“You think so, Mercedes?” Sylvain ran his fingers through his hair with a forced grin. “Frankly, I think it’s just a stroke of luck that the Professor is here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that she was here sooner?” Ingrid parted from Byleth’s bosom. She glanced over her shoulder and shot dagger-like glares. “I would’ve hurried from the battlefield!”

“I hope you understand that it took several weeks for the messenger to deliver the news to you.”

She blinked. Soon enough, the knight released her hold on the seated ex-mercenary and approached the red-hair. Byleth merely blinked as Mercedes clasped her hands once more for another prayer. The white magus began to whisper under her breath the instant Ingrid jabbed her finger on Sylvain’s chest plate.

“Several weeks? Um, it should’ve been several days, Sylvain. You expect me to believe that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were so busy flirting with her, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her! That was a guy, FYI.”

“Huh… Didn’t know you swing both directions… Can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“Ingrid!”

Their arguments escalated to a degree, but it appears that they swerved off course. Both ex-Blue Lion House members hands flailed as their banter continues. To summarize the extent of their on-going quarrel, it was like watching chipmunks go at it.

Byleth had to stifle a chuffed chuckle as she got up on her two feet. Physically, they have changed. The two females had chopped off their hair. One became a sturdy warrior. One became a combat medic. Yet mentally and spiritually, they remain true to their core. It was like a snapshot of the golden days from the Officers Academy. Someone had simply aged up the students by five years.

The professor’s chest ached, and she shifted her weight.

‘ I have to remember Sothis’s words. ’

This was not her world. She has no right to meddle in it. No matter how many times she had been dragged over to this realm, she must not be attached to any of these students. These students are not her students. Still… She looked over at the holy maiden. Mercedes, who had completed her small chants, felt a sharp gaze bear upon her fragile figure. The student, who was and is older than Byleth by one year, reciprocated the attention with a giggle.

Byleth curled her fingers inward, nails digging into the palm of her hand. How could she distance herself from them? They were not figments of her imagination. Everyone around her was so human. They were her students, yet they were not. They were just like Edelgard.

“Professor? How are you feeling?” She recognized the timbre of a mother in Mercedes’s voice. The magus closed their proximity until they were standing side-by-side. Although their hues occasionally swipe to the comical interactions between the two close childhood friends, their words paid utmost care to each other’s responses and well-beings. “You seem tired.”

“That isn’t the first I’ve heard from today.”

“I see…” After a period of silence, Mercedes continued. “It’s important to watch over yourself. It would be worrisome if you were to collapse.”

“I’ll try.”

“Trying isn’t good enough.”

“Okay, I will.”

The older female puffed her cheeks. However, she pushed the topic no further. Hopefully, the professor would adhere to her advice. As for the teacher, she decided to talk about another matter.

“Ingrid mentioned that you were both out on the battlefield.”

“Ah, yes. We had to scout in the Leicester Alliance for information during the past few months.”

“That explains why I didn’t see you and Ingrid when I first arrived.”

“I wish we could’ve come sooner… Though it was fortunate that we didn’t run into any enemies on the way back.”

“I see.” She briefly paused. “Mercedes, what happened these past five years?”

“Didn’t Lady Edelgard tell you everything?”

“Yes, but I wish to hear from you all,” Byleth reached out to grab the female’s hands. “I can’t imagine how much stress you’re all undergoing.”

“Professor…”

Mercedes’s exhaled, albeit with a slight tremble.

Despite the blank characteristics that adorn the ex-mercenary, Byleth has always taken steps for her students. For the maiden, it was a little odd as she is older than the woman. Hark, she even scolds Byleth! She should be the one to take initiative as a guardian to those younger than her. Yet that never occurred when it came to Byleth. Mercedes would wither into a fetal position at the comfort of the young woman’s presence. Not even Annette, her best friend, could put her at ease… No, it wasn’t that. It was because the only person she finds solace in is the person she was willing to betray her entire nation and friends... That included Annette.

She moistened her lower lip and dryly swallowed.

Where would she even begin? Being stressed is a euphemism. Another exhale. Edelgard wasn’t the only one suffering in this conflict… A gentle squeeze brought her back to the present. Banters and bickers steadily thumped upon her eardrums as she blinked rapidly. Mercedes slanted her now-sunken eyes and forced the corner of her lips to tug upward.

Ever since the Church of Seiros was overthrown at the monastery, Mercedes, Ingrid, Sylvain, Leonie, and Lysithea regrouped with Edelgard and the remainders of the Black Eagle Strike Squad. Betrayal of their house leaders and nations resonated deeply to their cores. Ferocious resentment and outrage blew up on their ends; Dimitri threatened to eliminate the traitors, Claude simply accepted his fate of losing the two girls. Both house leaders were disappointed in their decisions. The reaction they received wounded them deeper than any battle injuries.

Yet they continued onward valiantly. Mutual trust spurred as the five continued to march forward hand-in-hand. They had each other. They were the only one who truly understood the anguish of betraying those they love for their beliefs.

Frankly, they do not have much in common with the new emperor’s beliefs. Sylvain and Lysithea strongly believed in the permanent removal of the Crests. They were the closest to Edelgard. Leonie promised to protect Byleth at all cost after a promise with Jeralt. She wished to become a protector for Byleth. Ingrid and Mercedes were mostly aligned with Byleth. They trusted in Byleth more so than Edelgard. Overall, what they all possess was a slimmer of hope for the one star they followed under: Byleth.

“After we were told you died, I wasn’t sure how to react.”

Grief and regret gnawed at their very soul. The star they had tailed after disappeared without a trace. Questions began to bubble deep within their chest. Unlike the Black Eagles, the five were outsiders. The only connection they’ve ever had with the Adrestian Empire’s warriors was from the tactician. Otherwise, they would never spare a glance at them. Their hands were becoming clammy as they fretted and tiptoed around their irreversible decision.

“Was it right for us to remain by Lady Edelgard’s side? We’ve thought long and hard about it together.” Mercedes began to loosen her grip on Byleth’s hands. “In the end, we decided to stay here.”

“Why?”

Strength trickled back into her fingers as she tightened her hold.

“We believed you would return to us.”

Byleth nearly bit her own tongue. Though she may lack many crucial social etiquettes, the professor is no fool… even if silence isn’t the correct answer either.

Turns out, the five’s patience paid off. The professor they’ve come to love and respect has made her comeback!

Hallelujah! It was time to rejoice!

But the time before her arrival? It was complete Hell; dark red and black discolored their flimsy visual lens.

Though Lysithea recovered from her grief and picked herself up in a matter of days, the others were not so quick. Ingrid had holed herself in the bedroom for almost a full month. Quiet sobs echoed throughout the silent nights. Sylvain began to waver between Edelgard’s mission and Dimitri’s purpose for the war. Without the teacher, his sight muddled. Leonie constantly visited Jeralt’s grave and begged for forgiveness. How could she live up to his expectations if she couldn’t even protect his child? Mercedes frequented the chapel. Day and night, she offered prayers for the eventual return of the ex-mercenary. Oh, may the goddess please grant her blessings to the unfortunate lost soul that is called their professor!

Time marched forward without pause; time and tide wait for no man. One year clocked in… two years… three… four… then five years. The glimmer of hope the five scoured desperately for was beginning to dim. Alas, the five years did not crawl by with complete inaction; Edelgard and Hubert put them to work for the empire.

Leonie, Sylvain, and Lysithea were in charge of maintaining order here at the disheveled academy. The three would stand guard, switch shifts with patrol officers, and investigate any abnormalities or suspicious activities. Many eyes were required to uphold the recently seized area. Losing it would spell a great disaster for the Adrestian Empire’s future operations.

As for Mercedes and Ingrid, they were in charge of scouting the Leicester Alliance. Although there were plans to tackle small parts of the Kingdom of Faerghus, the political climate made it impossible to execute them. The best course of action was to sniff out plots from the divided domain. Edelgard and Hubert had also decided that their skills were best suited for gathering intel. Ingrid and her pegasus could travel high above the ground and cover great lengths; Mercedes is a priest who could heal and provide necessary therapies for the battalions.

Besides, it could be seen from a mile away that Ingrid needed some time away from the monastery.

“I knew Lady Edelgard took it hard when she lost you, but the same could be said for Ingrid.”

“?”

“She took it the hardest right after Lady Edelgard. Unlike the emperor, she became mute and refuse to speak to anyone other than to us four.”

“...”

A glance was shot at the knight. Ingrid was still up and at it with Sylvain. She had pulled on his cheeks as the red-hair tried to escape from her iron clutch. Tears flowed down his cheeks in an exaggerated fashion with every stretch of his skin. Their childish nature nearly cast trickery to distract most bystanders into a pleasant illusion of a peaceful today.

Is there a reason as to why Ingrid would feel so crushed? Byleth opened her mouth, only to be cut off by Mercedes.

“Perhaps it is best that Ingrid had Sylvain with her. If it weren’t for him, I’m sure she would have starved to death in the room… Not saying that you aren’t a part of her recovery. We’re thankful that you came back.”

“What about you?” Byleth shifted attention to the priestess. “How are you feeling?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“...”

Now it was Mercedes turn to become speechless. She parted her lips… but felt inaudible, airy words pass through her trachea. She tried again. The words were now caught in her throat. In turn, she clamped her mouth shut.

How kind of Byleth… The holy maiden was always so busy caring for others, she had forgotten about herself. Mercedes demeanor made it near impossible to determine how she truly felt. No one came to her aid. Not even Lysithea, Leonie, Sylvain, and Ingrid. If they ever attempted, like Sylvain, they incorrectly concluded about her inner turmoil. This pushed her raging, emotional storm further to the backburner.

No one would understand her. Why should she try to make them understand her?

Her internal strife intensified after the following events. The loss of Byleth was one matter. She could vividly recall the goosebumps that spread throughout her exposed skin. Mercedes felt the wind knocked out of her system by an invisible punch from the tragic news. Betraying her nation was also another matter. Dimitri must be so furious by now. He had always valued loyalty and goodness in people. The fact that Mercedes must turn her back towards him and their nation created a ripple to her adopted homeland. What weighed the heaviest was the fact she turned her back towards Annette.

Annette… Annie… Her Annie.

She would have to face her soon.

Does… it mean that she has to kill Annie?

Can’t she avoid it?

No, war is not as kind as she would expect.

Can she still pray for a miracle though?

Her knuckles became as white as a sheet.

“...I’m okay.”

The tiny whisper was so quiet, Byleth nearly missed it.

“Are you sure?”

Mercedes nodded. Was she truly okay? Not really. She wished to pound her fists on the pillow and scream into it. The wailing of Annette’s name swelled within her chest too. Each passing second enhanced its effect. It would be better if she could hop on a pegasus or horse and escape into the wilderness. Somewhere far away from conflict… Just like Marianne when she disappeared with her horse since the siege of Garreg Mach, only to never return.

However, the fact that her professor, in which she had not seen in five years, took the time to worry about her well-being tampered the tempting raw offer. How selfish of Mercedes! As someone older by one year, she has a job of looking over her juniors! She even promised herself to take care of Byleth!

Still, there’s nothing wrong with falling into her teacher’s outreach arms, right...? She yearns to have someone take care of her… and it turns out that this teal-haired female fits the role perfectly.

“Thank you for coming back to us, Professor.” Their physical connection broke apart. Mercedes genuinely smiled as she slanted her eyes. “You mean so much for all of us.”

Was she really that important to their lives? Byleth’s cheeks shone a tinge of pink. Despite her disconnection with this realm, the fact that she was held up with great esteem was difficult to brush aside. These students needed her… Without the shepherd, they were nothing more than lost lambs, awaiting for their demise by the wolves’ fangs and claws.

In turn, she smiled at them. It was rare for Byleth to smile. This caused the heated debate between Sylvain and Ingrid to die down once they peeked at her direction. Whenever she smiled, it only meant positive news were to follow. Three of the Blue Lion’s House members gave their undivided attention to the professor as she motioned to them.

“I’m happy to be here for you all.”

Sylvain, Ingrid, and Mercedes simultaneously placed a hand on their chest, their eyes nearly boggled out the sockets. Those honest words nearly ceased the three’s heart functions! A light discoloration tickled Sylvain and Mercede’s cheeks. As for Ingrid, a deep shade of crimson washed over the entirety of her face. This feature did not escape their eyes, especially from someone like Sylvain. He smirked and tapped his elbow to Mercedes.

“Looks like someone’s got the hots for the teacher…”

“@#*%$!”

Incoherent sounds spouted out of Ingrid’s mouth without warning. Still as red as a beet, the short-haired tried to slug him on the shoulder. Not that it stopped him from the teasing. He simply guarded his precious man-shoulders and heartfully laughed. Both Mercedes and him eventually ushered Ingrid to have a private moment with Byleth.

“Don’t do anything naughty, okay?”

“SYLVAIN!”

“I’m sure the goddess would forgive you if such sins were to be committed.”

“MERCEDES, NOT YOU TOO!”

Ludicrously, the knight regained control of her shaky limbs and shooed them out of the greenhouse. Watching the three act immature brought another wave of nostalgia. No… nostalgia didn’t fit the bill. Her true world possess all of her students when they were young; their personalities were retained. This world simply hit the fast-forward button, yet she was not present during the time-skip. In spite of that, Byleth stared in awe at their energetic selves.

It was as if the war never occurred.

It was as if they were back to their ordinary lives.

It was a crafty illusion that clouded their senses like a quick high.

Sylvain and Mercedes understood that their banters should come to closure for now. (They could always catch up with Ingrid later… and probably catch up on the juicy gossip.) The professor waved farewell to the duo as the knight puffed fumed. Byleth and Ingrid were left to their own device soon afterward.

“...”

Utter silence hung in the air. It did not help that there was a thick atmosphere that weighed down on their shoulders, undeterred by the group’s earlier optimism. When Byleth extended her hand out, Ingrid immediately took ahold of it. She enveloped them in her grip and placed them onto her own rosy cheek. Heat seeped into the female’s face as Byleth tilted her head from the development.

“I really miss you so much, Professor,” the blonde nestled into the tactician’s rough palm. “I thought I would never see you ever again.”

“Ingrid…”

“I know staying depressed won’t help me. Actually, it would only make matters worse. That’s what happened with my fiance’s death… But ever since Lady Edelgard reported on your death, I could not find myself to roll out of bed. It was as if I’m reliving it all over again.”

She inched closer till the tip of their nose bumped each other. Afterward, Ingrid promptly landed on the side of her face into Byleth’s shoulder. The plop nearly startled the professor, her shoulders instinctively hitched. Nevertheless, Byleth recomposed. Arms that were wide open encircled the knight in due time.

Not a single word was exchanged between the two. Just two women embracing each other into a hug. It was a tender reunion that might even rival Edelgard’s! Ingrid exhales tickled Byleth’s exposed neck.

“Professor?”

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

Ingrid deeply breathed. She parted from the teal-haired’s comfort. Lower lip moistened, the pegasus rider gulped.

“I…”

“...”

“I… Wow, this is… harder than I thought.”

“Ingrid,” Byleth captured the rider’s hands and smoothed the back of it with her thumbs. “Do not be afraid. I will always be here for you.”

“R-Right…”

She began a small breathing exercise. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in… breathe out. Ingrid moistened the bottom pink flesh once more.

“I…”

“My teacher, I have returned.”

Unfortunately, the private time they shared came to an abrupt closure as Edelgard arrived on premise. Their heads whipped towards the approaching emperor. Had the meeting been adjourned already? Or did the reunion spent more time than they had anticipated? Whatever it may be, lilac hues flickered over to the holding females. The vermillion royal raised an eyebrow at the peculiar sight. In addition, to Byleth’s confusion, her features had slightly darkened.

“Have I interrupted you both?”

“Ingrid was going to tell me something.”

“Oh, really?” Edelgard looked at the ex-Faerghus warrior. She sent a rather strong nod towards the blonde’s direction. “You may continue.”

“...I just wanted to say that I’m grateful for the Professor’s return.”

Elaboration was impossible at this point. The hand-holding connection severed by a gentle tug. Ingrid proceeded to place her hand on her metallic chest plate, face Edelgard, bowed to her highness, and promptly left the premise. This all occurred in less than ten seconds, and this entire process left Byleth baffled.

“Guess it’s just us two,” the professor pronounced. “I didn’t even have a chance to say anything to Ingrid.”

Edelgard placed a hand on her hip. The darken features had eroded from her physical traits as she faintly smiled.

“Perhaps next time. Today may be too late, but tomorrow has yet to come.”

Edelgard is correct. There was always tomorrow. However, when taken into consideration of the raging war, the probability of surviving the next day drastically varies. Conflict naturally brings about pain and anguish. The victor solely winning from raw strength, tactical intelligence, and a sprinkle of luck. Anything could turn the tide of a single battle. The future is simply unpredictable.

‘ My students will be okay. I am here for them. ‘

Could this be false hope? She shook her head. Perhaps. Nevertheless, there was no use to possessing a pessimistic perspective. They were not only fighting for a cause under Edelgard von Hresvelg’s flag, but they were also fighting to survive. It’s that simple.

“!”

Byleth lurched forward.

“Professor!”

Had it not been for the petite axe-wielder, the ex-mercenary would have smacked her face flat on the pavement. The whole world was spinning round and round as if someone accelerated the planet. Byleth squinted her eyes, her fingers digging into Edelgard’s armored arms. Another dizzy spell had struck the unfortunate teacher. Although the abrupt effect rapidly diminished, the teal-haired struggled to right her posture with the introduction of a dull headache.

This is becoming more of a nuisance, and this is the first time her symptoms became evident to someone other than Sothis. What better way than to succumb before the ruler? The timing was impeccable!

Edelgard adjusted her hold, her eyes locked onto Byleth. “Do I need to bring you to the infirmary?”

“I’m fine, Edelgard,” the teacher loosened her strong grip. Navy hues rose to meet with the alumni’s lilac irises. “I’m just a little dizzy.”

“Are you sure? You don’t seem fine.”

“I’m sure.”

“Professor, I would rather you not push yourself too hard.”

“I said I’m fine.”

It was stern. Accompanied by a glare, no room was left for any counterbacks with her response. Though her smiles may be rare, her irritation is all the more rare. This caused the white-haired to open her eyes wide. When Byleth saw the wound she unintentionally inflicted upon Edelgard, the hunched professor hastily pulled the graduated student into a strong hug without hesitation. Whatever symptoms that had possessed her were shoved far back into the dusty parts of her skull.

“I’m sorry, Edelgard. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Yes, the young lady was taken aback by the rough treatment. She had witnessed Byleth’s disapproval to other students and staff. Some battalion members were frozen on the spot when the female’s eyes narrowed to slits. The nickname “Ashen Demon” finally made perfect sense to the emperor. However, she had never been on the receiving end until now. What a surprise! But Edelgard is no fool. The female simply responded by briefly resting her face upon the woman’s shoulder. She understood where Byleth was coming from.

“That’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. Though this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“?”

When they separated, the emperor crossed her arms and studied Byleth with a level gaze.

“I… I just didn’t expect you to exhibit these strange symptoms.”

It almost sounds as if Edelgard knew what had plagued Byleth. This train of thought slashed through her mind as if it were melted butter. The seed of doubt had finally planted into the soil. Sothis words echoed in the back of her mind as a reminder of this particular Edelgard.

“Keep an eye on her. I felt like she is hiding something from us. She knows something and she’s not telling everything.”

Unlike the youngster who has much to learn about the battlefield, this older version had seen plenty in the past five years. What made it even more uncertain was the gap between the apparent takeover of Garreg Mach Monastery and last month. Suspicion began to clear bits of the enigmatic fog. Could she have known something about Byleth that she doesn’t?

As if the vermillion woman had read her mind, she shook her head.

“Unfortunately, I do not know what caused them. If only Linhardt were here, I would ask him… Perhaps Professor Hanneman might help instead.”

“I see.”

Looks like the small doubt she had on the older Edelgard vanished in a blink of an eye, the fog making its return. Byleth cursed herself for thinking of the emperor in that fashion. The presumed death status that had been bestowed to the teal-haired was by none other than Edelgard. Despite the proclamation, this ex-Black Eagle’s house leader, who had grieved for five long arduous years, impatiently waits for Byleth’s return.

The older woman chewed her lip. Edelgard had been waiting for an event that might have never came. How could Byleth see her that way?! It was almost as if the first whiplash wasn’t enough!

‘ Perhaps my symptoms are getting the best of me… ’

An awkward silence hung in the air. Though the two are close, there is a sense of distance between the two partners. Beads of sweat few out of their heads as they attempt to remedy the oddity. Their jaw would lower, but clamp shut. Rinse and repeat... It was all for naught. None of them would dare break the growing tension. The taller woman shifted her gaze to the royal figure.

‘ She also came back from the meeting… ’ Her fingers became agitated. Byleth had barely stomped on the desire to slap her own forehead. ‘ I really messed up. ’

Edelgard might have been tired. The fact that the ex-mercenary reacted negatively might have applied another layer of stress to the poor girl. Byleth pinched the bridge of her nose.

‘ Think, Byleth, think! ’

“...”

Another examination was conducted upon the royal figure. She had just returned from a tactical meeting with the other Black Eagle Strike Squad members… Knowing Hanneman, he would have rambled enough to put them to sleep had it not been for the fierce warfare. Then, a light bulb went off.

“Come, Edelgard,” Byleth extended her hand out. “I think it’s time you relax for a bit.”

The statement threw Edelgard into a loop. She blinked. Thereafter, the white-haired shook her head.

“I think I’ve relaxed plenty enough with you, Professor.”

That is true to an extent. Many tea party sessions were hosted, many shared meals for lunch, and there was even the occasional walk around the monastery as they chatted about unimportant topics. Fresh breath of air, it seems! Edelgard cannot call to mind if she had ever experienced these events after her instructor had vanished. Not that it mattered anyway. She has Byleth here and now, even if she is a little different. So long as Byleth was by her side, her heart could be put to rest.

Not bothering to argue with the lord, the teal-haired took ahold of Edelgard’s armored hand. The vermillion noble widens her eyes as Byleth faintly smiled.

“Nothing wrong with taking another evening off, don’t you think? The war may still go on, but that doesn’t mean you should overwork yourself.”

Right on the nail. As someone who had just preached to her professor about overworking, it appears that she has much to learn about the valuable trait. Edelgard felt the temperature rise from her head as she dragged her sight elsewhere.

“Should we have another tea time then?”

Byleth shook her head.

“I think a hot bath would be better.”

“Must we?”

“Yes.”

Edelgard didn’t even have a chance to reciprocate with a reaction. The sword-wielder easily pulled her out of the greenhouse. If anything, this might also ease the adverse effects on her mental state… and Byleth is willing to do just about anything to get rid of it.

Before long, they found themselves inside of the famous bath and sauna structure. It might have been a bit early for a dip in the hot water. The sun was still high up in the sky, barely any clouds shielding the alumni and professor from its harsh rays. However, everyone in the monastery has to thank the architect for constructing a building dedicated to the sauna and baths.

Located on the second story of the open monastery, soldiers and alumni happily splurged in the bath. Not only are there two open baths for both sex, there are also private sauna rooms for those wishing to sweat their stress away. It was the perfect short-term getaway. Nothing beats cleansing one's regrets and sins too, even if it is a temporary alleviation. Fortunately for the two, the only person present was Shamir.

“Hm? Isn’t it too early for a bath?”

The dark-haired archer questioned as she prepped for a sauna session. Towel over her shoulders, the naked woman bearing various scars sharply stared at the two warriors. (Though her presence seems intimidating, the effect seems to have diminished since the time she betrayed the Knights of Seiros.) Edelgard was busy stripping her armor and clothes in the background as the still-clothed Byleth responded.

“It’s good for relaxing.”

“Don’t stay there too long then. I don’t want to be picking up after your mess.”

Shamir motioned a hand in the air before entering into one of the eight empty sauna rooms. Now that the Dagda woman disappeared from their sight, this prompted the two to quickly enter the female’s open bath.

Regardless of the numerous times they’ve visited this place, they were always in awe of the spacious room. Buckets, soap bars, and shampoo dispensers were neatly organized and placed as if they were living in royalty. (The staff in charge of tidying did an excellent job!) Steam lazily floated in their surroundings. Humidity didn’t hold its punches as it began to tickle their nose. At least sensory adaptation came to their rescue before a sneezing fit becomes reality.

When they dipped their body in the warm water, they both collectively sighed at the same time. Byleth sunk her figure until the surface leveled to her lower neck. She briefly closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I needed this.” This cleared up her headaches and could easily prevent her dizziness for the next couple hours or so. She could get used to this. A drowsy episode began to roll its tape as the teal-haired stifled a yawn. “This is making me sleepy though.”

“You must be tired, my teacher.”

The sunken woman turned towards Edelgard. Edelgard had barely leaned against the short ledge, barely sinking into the shallow water. Her eyes were gazing into the distant aimlessly. As she mindlessly rifted through the liquid, the emperor muttered,

“It would do you no good to fall asleep here.”

Byleth chuckled. “Perhaps you can keep me entertained until we finish up here.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious.”

Edelgard finally whipped her head around. When she spotted that cheeky grin on the instructor, the alumni felt a pulse throb from the corner of her head. This Byleth… Was she always this sly? It has been far too long since she can recount her personality. Five years is too big of a gap. Under normal circumstances, the white-haired might be able to retain it. War, especially that in a stalemate with three nations, did a number on her memories. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

“Sometimes, I can’t even tell if you are being serious or not.”

What a jab! The ex-mercenary could not help but flash another smile at her direction.

“I like to think I am.”

“Professor!”

Another jab! This time, it was in the form of a splash! Warm water dripped from her disheveled teal hair ends. The instructor wiped her wet face with a single motion of her hand. A smirk followed afterward. She raised her hand.

“I think a retaliation is in order.”

Splashes after splashes came about. Soft giggles and chuckles emitted from the two Crest users. Although stoic on the outside, Byleth is known to have a little fun with her students; the nickname “Ashen Demon” would eventually be erased in due time.

Alas, playtime must come to an end. There was another reason as to why they visited the bathhouse; they had to wash up and scrub any unwanted materials from their skin. The two eventually volunteered to wash each other’s back. Teasing remarks and stories of their endeavors were exchanged during the wash. After tenderly caring and pampering the older woman, it was Edelgard’s turn to be treated like a queen.

“Those scars…”

Unlike the jagged lines that were strewn on the older woman’s body, there were lumps representing the successful healing of deep lacerations. Sides, back, and small parts of her arms… These hardly looked to be from battle. If anything, the epidermis had recovered its fibrous tissue a little too well. Byleth’s brows furrowed as she fleetingly brushed her fingertips over the sensitive bumps. Edelgard shuddered; her wet clumps of her white locks slowly slipped onto her professor’s moving hand. Without looking back, she answered,

“Hm? Oh, yes, they were from the time I was young… Though I have spoken to you about this, haven’t I?”

‘ She did? ’

Byleth can’t seem to recall. Once again, just like the battle against Rhea, Catherine, and other members from the Church of Seiros, she was back to drawing blank cards. How many times must this happen? A faint palpitation pulsed from behind her eyes, forcing the female to shut down further thoughts on the matter. If anything, she could always discuss it with Sothis once she crosses over.

“...I must’ve forgotten.”

“I see…”

A tinge of disappointment tainted her words. Nevertheless, Edelgard began to recall the times of her childhood. Traumatic past that no person, let alone a child, should be a part of were spoken. Details far too fine for a sane person’s eardrums were uttered. Inconceivable death tolls and experimentations for the sake of a Crest boiled Byleth’s blood. By the time her tale came to an end, a strong embrace entailed. Edelgard’s pupils stammered in place as she tried to look over her shoulder.

“P-Professor?”

“...”

Byleth had to hug her. She didn’t know the reason behind it, but hearing the history of Edelgard von Hresvelg made her chest ache. It was a potent ache that threatens to split apart her bony plate. The teacher buried her face into the moist shoulder blade.

“...I’m sorry.”

It was an unnatural articulation. Byleth’s words rarely wavered when it comes to delivery. She remains firm and full of conviction with each spoken dialogue. Today, at this moment, the older woman faintly croaked her apology.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

“For your past life.” So much had been explained regarding the two Edelgards. It was no wonder why they refused to opt for a casual summer wear out in public. Even if an unbearable heat threatens to bestow a heat stroke, the females rejected the proposal for a simple attire. She tightened her hold on the girl, almost as if she would disappear any second now. “I would do anything to trade places with you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but perhaps it is for the best that you did not endure what I have gone through,” Edelgard raised her scarred arm and placed a hand on top of Byleth’s head from behind. It looks as though the role has been reversed, the young female soothing the older. “The last thing I would want is to see my teacher suffer.”

Misery was her middle name, and she wouldn’t dare transfer it over to anyone, especially to her Byleth.

The tender, still moment had stretched for some time before Edelgard began to complain about the heat. This immediately prompted the professor to remove herself from her alumni.

Bath time was finally over. Still, the day was not over. By the time they dried their hair and body, were dressed in their attire, engaged in more banters, spoken to the staff in charge of the building, and reentered the outside world, the sun had settled to sunset. (Shamir had been long gone, which says something.)

Normally, Edelgard would have returned to her duty. As an emperor, spare time was scarce. Byleth wouldn’t allow that. This was a forced day-off from her professor, and the young axe-wielder understood her professor’s intention. Opposing Byleth would be equivalent to opposing an unbreakable wall. She’s certain that everyone, especially Ferdinand, must understand if they were to interrogate of her sudden absence. Besides, there was always room for Edelgard’s favorite activity: tea. She would never miss this when it came to the tactician.

They hosted the private party inside of Edelgard’s chamber in the second-floor dormitory. Tactical concepts and talk about the future often pops up in their conversation. Though Byleth knew that this was not her world, she could not help but be drawn in by the chosen topics. If she were to stay here with Lady Edelgard… the Edelgard that became an emperor, what would their future look like?

“I hope we can stay by each other’s side just like old times, my teacher.”

Like old times… Byleth could not help but slowly nod in response. As the moon eventually traded spot with the sun, so does the sleepy nature trade place with Byleth’s awakened status.

“I think it’s time I go.”

Byleth stretched her arms high up in the air. She now stood by the opened doorway, her yawns becoming a regular customer to her body. Though not much rest might be gained, the least she could do is hop back to her real world. Plenty of discussions must be held with the green-haired too; there was so much ground to cover.

Arms lowered back down to her sides, the professor’s eyes crinkled. She turned her back towards the vermillion royalty.

“Good-night, Edelgard. I will see you tomorrow—”

She felt a tug on her sleeve. One could easily mistaken that to be a child’s action. Unfortunately, it appears that the “child” in question is none other than Edelgard von Hresvelg. Those white gloves she casually wears pinched the dark overcoat and pulled her back. When Byleth glanced over her shoulder, she felt her brows rise. The young lady had a tiny bit of pink tinge fallen upon her cheeks. Head lowered, the white-haired mumbled,

“Could you… stay with me for tonight?”

“Is there something I need to do?”

“No, I… um… I sort of… have these nightmares…”

Nightmares… That’s right. Even back in her world, the younger Edelgard suffered from nightmares. Byleth’s thumbnail began to draw faint lines on her index tip. Unfortunately, the teacher was unable to eliminate the dreams that haunt the poor child. So, how could she say no to that request? It was also rare for a student to ask for a sleepover. The last time she had any, it was with Lysithea back in her world. That hardly counted as a stay as Byleth slept on the creaking chair, overwatching the sickly young girl.

Lilac eyes that yearn for comfort gripped her heart.

Byleth puffed carbon dioxide. She turned around and silently nodded. As if a script was played out, the older female soon found herself on the same mattress as the emperor.

She was not one to be undressed completely, but Edelgard finds comfort in sleeping without her clothes on. A blanket was draped over their bodies; a blessing that the professor did not have to unintentionally ogle at those peaks! She swallowed as her back rest on the cushion. Byleth made sure her navy hues were fixated on the decorated ceiling. Any distraction would be beneficial in this case, especially with regard to the abnormal temperature level flaring her cheeks.

Byleth could feel the heat radiating from her body warming her up underneath the covers. Despite the awkwardness with the emperor sleeping naked next to her, in which she never thought such a day like this would even occur, she finds Edelgard’s body heat rather comforting in a mysterious way. She expected that she would feel more awkward than this.

Edelgard shifted underneath the cover. From the corner of Byleth’s eyes, she spotted a dark piece of clothing peeks out from under the cover. Her curiosity was stroked. She turned to watch the white-haired student.

“You’re hugging a shirt?”

“...you could say that.”

The older female glanced over at the chair opposite of the closest wall. Her overcoat hung over the wooden furniture. Then, she reverted her attention to the ex-house leader. The Adrestian Empire’s noble brought the black piece of clothing close to her chest. (Again, Byleth is thankful for it hiding her fine breasts.) She looks like a small girl despite her age. A small, fragile girl twisted by the cruelty of fate… and right now, Edelgard looks as though she’s giddy about an upcoming field trip. The candlelights from the chandeliers barely shone those pink discolorations on the noble’s cheeks; the shadows flickered in time with the flames.

‘ Cute. ’

She wasn’t sure what took over her. It was as if Byleth’s body moved according to her instincts. She quietly turned over to face towards Edelgard. The emperor slowly looked up and made that peaceful eye contact with Byleth’s teal hues before looking away with reddened cheeks.

“Am I being too close?”

“...No, I… I prefer it like this, actually.”

She was being honest to Byleth, at least. The professor brought up her hand to tuck her bangs behind her ears before gently caressing her smooth cheeks.

This Edelgard before her... something about her was drawing Byleth towards her. She truly reminded Byleth of her radiant youthful Edelgard. Byleth wondered if she pushing too much and being too intimate with the emperor. She could imagine that Sothis would give her an earful lecture later. But she could face the consequences later. Right now, she gave Edelgard her full, undivided attention.

“I’ll chase all of those nightmares away.”

“You promise?”

“I will be here for you. Think of me in your dreams.”

“It sounds like you’re promoting yourself as a good luck charm.”

“I might be.”

Then, the emperor smiled.

That radiant glow from Edelgard…

That big grin from Edelgard…

Those words dripping with nectar from Edelgard…

She snuggled in closer towards Byleth’s chest and the professor’s hand unconsciously rubbed her arm to comfort the sleeping emperor, chasing away the nightmares. She fell asleep before Byleth could be as the professor was too busy evaluating the situation. The smile of the emperor engraved right into her very mind - that was the same radiant glow young Edelgard has. However, something was certainly off about it… something about that smile disturbed her.

‘ She’s smiling… but I feel like she’s smiling at someone else. ’

#loyalflutist #datsexykiwi #collaboration #collab #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #f!byleth x edelgard #f!byleth #byleth #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #edeleth #fan fiction #fan fic #chapter 3 #scarlet carnation

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years ago

Text

Come the Summer

(Sequel to the First of Spring)

AO3 link

Arya had just finished scraping the pan free of egg bits when Shireen comes to her and tells her she’s being summoned.

“What for?” Arya asks, confused. Renly has only on rare occasion summoned them, and he was not an early riser.

Shireen shakes her head. She has grown up lovely, though none of the young men of the court seem to have noticed, even though she carries with her name Dragonstone.

“I’m not supposed to say. I’m supposed to bring Gendry too.”

“He’s already on his way to the forge, I was going to join him.”

They were finishing up a helm for one of the new guard recruits. It was nearly done, but they really should get on it, and Arya doesn’t appreciate having to delay it.

“I’ll go get him too,” Shireen says before taking off, knowing that Arya can make it to the castle on her own.

Arya slips on her boots, slides Needle into its sheath, throws on her cloak (it’s raining lightly), and makes her trek up to the castle with no idea what could possibly be waiting for her.

She pulls her hood back down under the cover of the castle entrance. She tells one the guards who she is, and he makes to lead her into the keep.

Arya had no idea what to expect, but the last thing in the world she thought she would see were Father and Mother.

Suddenly, running to embrace them both, Arya feels like a child again, as if she hasn’t been married and on her own for five years. She has written them of course, extensively, as she has to her siblings, but being here and feeling them hold her tight, is different.

“Why are you here? And how come you didn’t send a message?”

“Oh, we were about to send a proper letter,” Mother starts, fussing with the straps of Arya’s tunic.

“But we had business to attend to in King’s Landing anyway, so we thought we’d surprise you.”

Business? Arya wonders. It must have something to do with the King’s recent marriage to that Tyrell girl. She hadn’t paid the news much attention, wouldn’t have felt it her concern at all, but the girl’s brother was a frequent visitor to Storm’s End.

“Is this about…” Arya starts to ask when another guard leads in a confused looking Gendry. His expression slips suddenly seeing Arya’s parents. His demeanor among highborns other than her had always ran the gamut, from his head ducked low in deference, to his eyes steeled and penetrating. She steps back and grabs his hand, hoping to steady him.

“Officially, we’re here to invite the both of you to Bran’s wedding. It’s a bit short notice, but he really wants you there.”

Suddenly Arya feels a weight lift from her stomach.

“They finally decided to take the jump?”

Shortly after him and Robb had returned to Winterfell, Meera and her father had come as well, under the guise of renewing House Reed’s oath of fealty. Unofficially, it had allowed the possibility of Bran’s betrothal to Meera to be laid out. Secretly, Arya had wondered if Meera even had a part in the discussion, but it would have been easy enough for her to just forget about Bran and keep deep in the Neck. Sansa had wrote her that by the last day the two were in Winterfell, that Bran had led Meera up the outside of the library tower and onto the roof, and the other girl had seemed more than happy to follow.

That had been nearly five years ago.

Bran’s letters had confessed to Arya, that while he had been besotted by Meera immediately, neither of them were truly in a rush to wed. Arya had nearly been jealous, Gendry and her having had to be so careful for so long.

“Your brother has finished training with Ser Rodrick,” Father explains, “And we’ve discussed arrangements with regards to inheritance. They both agreed it was time.”

“When are you leaving?” Gendry interrupts to ask.

Ned tells them, “We’re leaving Storm’s End in three days time, just long enough for everyone to rest up.”

Arya and Gendry turn to meet each other’s gaze.

“Do we have anything that will take longer?”

“That stupid helm should be done as soon as I can get that damned faceplate to fit.”

“Still?” Arya rolls her eyes.

“Dot?”

“On the road. Will that jackass who got ten pounds of nails at once be back?”

“I can dodge him or pass him off Kyn, he owes me anyway.”

“No mason appointments right?”

Gendry shakes his head, and suddenly Arya realizes they’re being watched as though they aren’t speak Common. She clears her throat.

“Go and try to fix that godsforsaken faceplate. I’ll bring us lunch and try to help.’

After he leaves, Arya returns her eyes again to her parents. It’s so strange having them near again.

“I should be getting back.”

Her mother steps forward, her expression borderline unreadable, as it had been through much of Arya’s childhood.

“I’ll walk back with you.”

Arya takes her mother’s arm as they walk out of the palace and up the small hill. The rain seems to have stopped, she really should do the wash later if it sticks. She realizes that Mother is glancing around at the ground, suddenly feeling self-conscious of the broken wheels and other debris.

“It’s like looking at your childhood bedchambers,” Lady Catelyn comments idly. Arya smothers a comeback. She had not been a neat child, and had been the subject of frequent admonitions that it was not the servants’ jobs to keep her cloak and books off the floor and her boots free of mud and snow. Arya feels her ears grow pink.

“It may not be much, but it is home.”

When they reach the house, Lady Catelyn stands in the doorway looking around as Arya steps into the cellar. Soft white cheese, bread and blackberry preserves, enough for the two of them. She pauses, then splits off a piece of the bread and offers it to her mother.

She takes it and eats it cautiously.

“Why does everyone seem to think I might accidentally poison them? Even Sansa didn’t know the secret of baking bread.”

That does makes Catelyn laugh.

There’s a long moment where Arya is considering.

“I...I don’t really, either of us, have anything really appropriate to wear to a wedding.”

“Sansa’s offered to take care of it.” Catelyn assures her, “She remembered that you only brought a single dress with you when you left.”

Arya’s ears burn at the reminder of how she’d left her home. Seeking a diversion, she remembers a book Shireen had lent her a fortnite before. She reaches and takes the book from its place on the table and hands it to her mother.

“Can you return this to Shireen? I meant to give it to her earlier, we’re done with it.”

Catelyn takes the book.

“It’s good to know your father’s efforts in educating Gendry were not wasted.”

Arya feels her stomach pinch in Gendry’s defense. Father had gone to great efforts to ensure Gendry and all his siblings could read and do their sums. Gendry often brushed it off, and Arya ended up reading to him from Shireen’s books more often than not, but he wasn’t dumb.

Her desire to defend him is cut short when they step outside, and Arya realizes that the mason who had come a few days before had finished the first layers in the circle completely and the rain had filled it.

“Hell, give me a minute,” Arya says, climbing the side.

“Can you hand me the bucket?”

It’s not too much, but if she doesn’t do this it will start attracting insects.

When the two walk down the hill as a pair, Catelyn asks her about the roof.

“We’re in the process of adding another room above us, but we can’t afford to do it all at once. And if the ring is complete, rain gets trapped. I should find something to cover it in the time being.”

She doesn’t ask about why they wanted to add on. The little cottage had been plenty enough for the two of them. Then several months ago, Arya had missed her moon tea for several days, and they’d been forced to consider.

And they’d decided it wouldn’t be the worst time.

Gendry, however, had immediately jumped onto the logistics. They might be able to squeeze an infant in a cradle in with them, but once it began to grow it just wouldn’t do. And Gendry had insisted that they would not want to deal with the masons and the plans and the scraping and moving when she was with child or caring for a very young infant, so they should get it done as soon as they could.

Arya was still grappling with the idea of being responsible for a tiny person, and Gendry was stuck on his own avenue. No wonder the others in Flea Bottom had called him the Bull.

Arya and her mother part ways at the crossroads outside the palace, and she goes forth to bring Gendry his lunch.

Later that night, they’re in bed going over what they need to do before leaving.

“What are we going to bring for a gift? I understand that sort of thing is traditional.”

Arya purses her lips in thought.

“We could give them that half barrel of blackberry wine down below.”

Gendry groans. They hadn’t known what to do with the massive oversupply of berries that the vine produced, until one of the fishwives gave Arya instructions of how to mash and ferment them.

They’d both been looking forward to it too.

“There was something I wanted to make Meera too, I’ll do that tomorrow at the forge.”

She sighs deeply. She’s happy to be getting to see everyone again, but…

“I wish being around your parents didn’t make me feel so small.”

Gendry’s rolled over with his back facing her when she says this.

Arya snorts.

“It’s not just you. Even just walking back here with my mother today made me feel like I was going to be scolded for getting muddy.”

Gendry rolls back to face the ceiling and Arya reaches over and pats him on the shoulder.

“The things we do for family.”

Leaving in three days is actually easy, the two of them have shockingly little to pack. The only reason Arya even chooses to take Needle is it’s pretty much the only thing they own that might be worth stealing.

Arya retrieves Sandy from the stables. The pale brown mule had been a belated wedding gift from Mya, but they had no place to keep her, and ultimately she had ended up just another of Mya’s pod. She fits both her and Gendry with only minor discomfort though, and brays in impatience when the horses need to be rested more often than her.

“We’re just going to pass through King’s Landing right?” Arya asks her father when they get close to the city. They’ve stopped to water the animals, and Gendry is adjusting Sandy’s saddle to make sure she isn’t too exhausted.

Ned nods back to her,

“We did our duty on the way down.”

“What was that business anyway?”

It is strange too, Arya thinks, no longer finding out the most of official business through gossip. She hasn’t missed it in Storm’s End, the alliances and feuds and machinations. But it wouldn’t be true to say she wasn’t curious.

“Queen Margaery has given birth to a healthy baby boy, and we went to give our congratulations.”

Ah, Arya had heard rumblings of that fact. Not as loud as they had been when King Robert remarried, but enough.

She cocks her head at her father.

“Was that really it?”

Ned pauses, as if debating whether he should tell the next part.

“Robert has chosen to disavow Tommen and Myrcella. He believes the assessment both me and Jon Arryn came to.”

That shocks Arya flat.

“What will become of them now?” Unlike their brother, Tommen and Myrcella had both been nothing but kind to Arya, and though neither of them were gifted with great wit or talent, they did not deserve the fates that most likely would be coming to them. Being labelled a bastard would be bad enough, much less labelled a bastard born of incest.

“Thankfully, he’s chosen to do it quietly, and leave out the more scandalous parts of the equation,” Ned replies. Arya lets out a sigh of relief. “Myrcella was promised years ago to a prince in Dorne. The two are fond enough of each other that the marriage will still stand. Tommen’s the one left up in the air.”

Ned stops and eyes both her and Gendry.

“King Robert also asked if I could try and convince you two to let him lay eyes on you.”

“That depends,” Gendry interjects, “Is he still a drunken whoring lout?”

Arya nods in agreement. The residents of Storm’s End had told them both the stories of Robert and Arya’s aunt Lyanna as soon as the two were recognized for who they were. Neither had been moved by it. Gendry resented any comparison to his father, long disdaining of his attitude towards women and lacking in his fondness for drunkenness. Arya too, had no fondness for her own apparent resemblance to her dead aunt. It was the kind of tragic love story that Sansa might have gone starry eyed over, not thinking of the needless death.

Ned nods, understanding. “Though as his health continues to decline, he seems less and less himself. “

“What of his queen then?”

“Margaery seems more interested in her own position than any of sort of connection between her and the King. She will remain, no matter what becomes of him.”

Her father’s words sit bitterly in Arya’s mind. Ambition, they would call it, Arya herself had no taste for it.

When they get closer to the Neck, the summer heat has truly shown itself, pressing down upon all of them. Arya had absolutely no need for the cloak she had packed, so it became a pillow.

When they reach the stopping point, Arya quietly asks her mother what’s been on her mind since the trip began.

“How much have I missed while I’ve been gone?”

“Somehow both so much and nothing at all.” Is Cat’s response.

“Did Bran ever end up taller than me?”

Her mother laughs at that. It had been a joke during Arya’s younger years, that the two of them were going to reach adulthood neck in neck.

“An inch or two. He’s barely even taller than Meera, and none of the peoples from the Neck are very large. He claims Robb and Sansa must have stolen all the family height and left you two and Rickon with the scraps.”

Cat gets a wistful look in her eye.

“What of Robb and Sansa?” Arya asks. She has written Sansa extensively over the last few years, but her sister seems to have more interest in how Arya was, and often dodges inquiries into her own life.

“Your brother seems so far away now. He’s been like this ever since Balon Greyjoy died and we sent Theon back to Asha. He’s had numerous offers of marriage, but hasn’t accepted any of them. He seems preoccupied, but can’t seem to say with what. Sansa is much the same.”

Arya feels her mother’s sadness deep within her. Of the few communications they had exchanged sense, Cat had told her that she did feel sad that she hadn’t gotten to see her wed, and Arya did feel guilt at having denied her that.

“Though, you will see them both for yourself soon. “

There is a bit of confusion,

“Both are coming? Then who remains at Winterfell?”

Cat shakes her head softly.

“Maester Luwin agreed with us, that he and Vayon Poole were confident in their ability to keep things running on their own, and that it would be good to try and give Rickon some responsibility.”

Rickon, Arya thought. Her youngest brother, who even as he entered young manhood, still seemed a wild boy.

“Rickon…” she starts.

Catelyn carries on, “Is much the same as when you left. He still wanders outside into the woods whenever allowed, sometimes for the entire day. I would almost believe that he was somehow a wildling changeling if I didn’t know better.”

Arya stares off into the forest thinking, deep in her mind, of her youngest brother.

Gendry comes up beside her, asking.

“Your father says they’ve spotted the guide.”

Greywater Watch moves, it being built upon one of the floating islands that fill the Neck. Which also means it cannot be found by raven or map, and they must wait to be guided in.

The man who eventually appears is rather small, with sandy brown hair. Ned steps forward to shake his hand, and then embrace him.

“Lord Reed, it is an honor to see you again.”

“Lord Stark, it is an honor to host you, especially in this situation.”

Reed turns, and the party begins to follow his lead, stepping their steeds carefully around the deep water and quicksand,

By the time their trek into the marshes and bogs reaches its end, Arya is soaked head to foot in sweat, and though only parts of him are pressed into her back, Gendry feels like he’s much the same. The air feels thicker here, heavy with moisture.Just when she feels like she’s had enough, Lord Reed announces they’ve arrived.

Greywater Watch may not be large as far as castles go, but it still looms before the party, rising suddenly out of the bog and drifting ever so slightly atop the water. The only guards Arya sees are a pair of boys of about ten with three-pointed spears. One of them ducks his head in deference when he rows out in a canoe to bring them aboard, and the other runs to the keep to announce their arrival, coming back out fairly quickly with the rest of the party come to greet them.

What her mother had told Arya was right, Bran looked much the same as she remembered, slightly taller than herself, his dark hair just a bit long. Sansa, who had resembled a woman grown even before she was one, was somehow even more immaculate, even in the swamp air. Robb stands beside her, confident and proud, even if he looks a bit out of place.

Arya suddenly feels herself taken over by a childish giddiness, and rushes forward to embrace all of them. She’s not sure who she manages to grab first, but everyone gets a turn.

Sansa reaches and touches the top of Arya’s right arm.

“Gods, you do have a smith’s arm,” she says, half disdainful, half admiring.

Robb pats her on the head.

“Still so small,” Arya sticks her tongue out at him.

Bran claps Gendry on the shoulder. Arya sometimes forgets that Bran hung around the forge as often as she did.

“Honestly, part of me thought Arya actually pushed you off into the sea as soon as we left and just never told anyone.”

The reunion is broken by Meera finishing greeting the rest of the party and stepping to do the same to Arya and Gendry.

From Bran’s description, Arya hadn’t been sure what to expect from Meera Reed. She’s about as tall as Arya, and lean. Her short, curly hair is tied back at her neck. And dressed in a linen tunic and leathers, she isn’t exactly the image of a fine lady who men fell in love with at first sight.

She’s wearing a huge smile though, and she adds,

“You’ll have to excuse my informal attire, there’s still quite a bit of work to be done.”

Arya hears Bran snort beside her.

“I can count the number of times I’ve seen her wear a dress on the fingers of one hand. Sansa didn’t know what to do with her. ”

Arya feels Gendry stiffen up.

“Milady,” slips from his mouth,

Meera’s smile crinkles,

“None of that, not here. We’ll all be family tomorrow.”

Gendry relaxes against her, and Arya feels Meera jump much higher in her esteem.

There is much to do, to prepare for the ceremony tomorrow. A few servants offer to carry their things inside, though Arya and Gendry choose to stay in one of the tents set up in the courtyard (it’s just been so hot, most of the people here are sleeping on porches as it is, or else just straight up outside”). Bran’s been in one since he’s been here, and he assures Arya they’re find, but reminds her to roll down the netting on the outside (“or the chiggers will feast upon you”). Mother and Father are discussing the seating with Lord Reed, Robb is helping Lady Jyana with preparation for the feast, and Sansa is sitting up with Meera’s brother Jojen while she finishes up some of the embroidery on Meera’s gown.

Bran has spoken a bit of Jojen, that the young man is quite sickly and prone to strange visions. He has told her that the Reeds call it ��greenseeing”, and it’s always sounded like something out of Old Nan’s stories. But when he’s lucid, Jojen is perfectly welcoming, and Bran seems to enjoy talking to him.

Just when Arya is trying to figure out where she can fit herself in, Meera taps her on the shoulder.

“Arya, I dropped a fishing net this morning in a nearby pond. Would you like to come and help me pull it in?”

Arya perks up, then spares a glance back at Gendry.

“The canoes will fit three if Gendry wants to come too.”

Gendry shakes his head violently,

“No, no thank you.”

“Really? You’d rather stay here by yourself with Father and all my brothers?”

When he nods in agreement, Arya cocks an eyebrow in confusion, but turns back to Meera.

“Guess it’s just us then.”

The canoes are docked back in a corner of the crannog where the horses are also hitched. Horses, she’d been told, were not always useful in the Neck, and there were only two kept at Greywater Watch. Arya feels an urge to suggest that a mule or two might suit the terrain.

Arya gets in first and Meera hands her an oar, before getting in and push them off. The only other things in the boat with them are two empty buckets. Meera offers her a tub of thick, foul smelling green paste, saying the bugs would eat her alive otherwise.

“Do you have a knife on you?”

Arya nods before marveling that she was being asked that question by a lady.

“Bran mentioned you and Gendry eloped? How many years has it been?”

“Near on five, “ Arya admits, She hopes Meera’s not about to ask for marital advice, because she’s not comfortable discussing such matters when they involve her brother.

“I tried to tell him we should do the same, just run off one night and avoid all this fuss.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well it would be rather awkward once we came home. Besides, people love a wedding.”

That is true enough, Arya must admit.

“It’s not like we had much of a choice. Gendry’s a bastard with no name, my parents would have never approved the marriage.”

Meera laughs at that.

“Sometimes I forget that things are so different outside the Neck. My mother’s a commoner too, and no one here said a word.”

Arya’s shocked silent. Oh. It seemed her and Meera were going to get along famously.

She gazes out over the water. None of the plants here look like ones she’s seen anywhere else, though she does recognize a bright purple flower from when they had passed through once before. Not touching that one again, she thinks.

It is rather nice out here, Arya notes. Despite the oppressive heat and humidity, the waters are calm, and the trees give plenty of shade. And everywhere her head turns, it seems there’s something new to look at.

“Does Bran like it here?” She asks idly.

“More than I could have hoped,” Meera admits, “I...I know what people from outside say about us, about this place. But he really seems to have taken to it. The first day, the keep was moored near one of the highest trees in the swamp. He disappeared after dinner, turned out he’d gone out to climb it.”

“That’s Bran for sure, Mother was always convinced he was going to plunge off something and break his neck.”

Meera points ahead of the canoe, “The turns up here.”

After they make it, she continues.

“He says he wants to try and organize the fighters here better. First night he was here, a settlement was raided by Freys.’

“He did always want to be a knight,” Arya says, “Though there are none here in the North. Mother called his training with our master-of-arms a squirehood, but he knew.”

Meera finds the net’s floater with ease, and the two of them haul the net onto the boat.

“Do you know how to gut a fish?”

Arya pulls out her knife. She’d forged it herself, her first big project, figuring no one’s standards were higher than her own.

“Knife goes in, guts come out.”

Though, she had only really gutted a few in Storm’s End, the one’s Dot had taught her to fish for off one of the piers. The fishermen usually did it on the boat. And Arya will admit, it is rather disgusting work.

After tearing off a rather stubborn bit of entrail, Arya fights to distract herself.

“I hope Bran’s not asking Gendry too many questions, he’s standoffish enough around my family without having to involve himself in matters that might involve being interrogated about what happened on our wedding night.”

Meera very quietly says, “He probably won’t ask.” When Arya stares at her, and slowly raises an eyebrow, she admits, “We didn’t quite make it.” Her cheeks have suddenly gone very red.

Well, it seems Arya has accidentally stumbled onto the exact subject she’d so wanted to avoid.

After being silent for a time, Meera continues.

“Bran’s been having strange dreams since he came here. A couple of nights ago, I woke and he was pacing the courtyard by where all the tents are. I climbed out my window to ask him what was wrong.

He told me he’d had a terribly vivid dream about being trapped in a cave and being unable to move his legs. He said there were monsters outside, but he couldn’t do anything to get away.

I tried to reassure him that it was probably just from being away from home- I mean, when Father and I went to Winterfell the first time I dreamed multiple times about being surrounded by blinding snow on all sides and somehow still be pursued by something- but he was really shaken up. So, I pulled down one of the canoes, and we went night boating.”

“That’s a thing?” Arya asks. It even sounds euphemistic.

“There was a full moon out, and the fireflies are thick in the summer. There’s the swamp gas too- pockets of air that sometimes catch fire. People have occasionally mistaken them for ghosts or spirits.”

“And did either of you see any of these spirits that night?” Arya asks wryly.

“Not a single one.”

They’ve finished up the fish, and Arya is happy for the rowing to escape her from this conversation.

Meera whistles on the way back.

“What is that song, it sounds familiar.”

“It’s just an old lullaby, though mothers don’t usually sing all the words. It’s just been back in my head lately.”

The sun is low and golden by the time they return, and Meera’s song perfectly suits the day.

When they disembark and Meera makes to take the bucket of fish to the kitchen, Arya is seized upon by Sansa and forced to spend the rest of her day being fitted.

The dress Sansa has brought to put on her is a soft blue silk, with yellow embroidery, and a blessedly loose skirt and short sleeves. It is rather lovely, even if wearing it makes her feel like some sort of fancy confection.

And even if she still flinched when Sansa pushed a pin too close.

Once she’s finished, Sansa brushes her hair. Arya generally can keep it free of snarls, even if she doesn’t do anything with it, so the action is almost soothing. She remembers having her hair brushed by her mother as a child, and for once does not remember the scolding.

“What about you, Sansa?” Arya asks after a long time. “No marriage prospects for you? No great romance I missed out on teasing you for?”

Sansa smiles, but her smile is a little sad.

“None. I’ve been given offers...but I feel nothing for them.”

“Nothing?” Sansa has always spoken of her own marriage, and Arya had been certain she would return to her sister having immediately latched onto the nearest handsome knight, and she’d simply been left in the dark for some unknown reason.

Sansa shakes her head, “They are young and old, handsome and not, gallant and greedy, and yet I feel nothing for any of them.”

“I used to think you could fall in love with a stick if it stood still long enough.”

“A stick Arya, really?”

Sansa pauses a long time on a rough section in Arya’s hair.

“Do you ever feel Arya, as if you’re waiting for something, and you can feel it coming, but it’s just out of reach? I have odd dreams sometimes…”

“Don’t talk to me about dreams.”

Bran has interrupted his sisters, sticking his head through the door.

“Have either of you seen Jojen?”

“He left earlier,” Sansa tells him.

Dreams...

“Yes, Meera did mention to me that you’ve had some rather...intense dreams being away from home.”

Her gaze is hard, and mocking. She hadn’t intended to bring what her and Meera had discussed on the boat up, but she could rarely resist the urge to tease a sibling. And even though Bran’s eyes dart towards her, Sansa doesn’t seem any the wiser.

Once Bran sees certain she’s not going to spill his secret in front of their more proper sister, he continues.

“Intense is putting it mildly. They feel as real as life when I’m having them. They- they feel like the way Jojen describes his visions.”

Visions.

“Do you think being here has somehow made you into a greenseer too?” Arya isn’t sure whether something like that is ridiculous or not, but the swamps here do feel like a whole different world.

“Even if that were possible, it’s wrong. Jojen sees visions of what has happened in the past, or will soon come to pass, or sometimes things that are happening right now. The dreams I have...they’re impossible. Sometimes I’m much younger than I am, and places I’ve never been. The worst one I woke up not being sure that my life was even real.“

Sansa stands and puts the brush down.

“I could go and ask where he went if you wish to speak to him so badly.”

She’s as confused as Arya feels, it seems. She wants to avoid the discussion, even if from her own admission, it seems she might understand.

Arya also feels the pull to push away the discussion of the impossible dreams. And so, once Sansa has left, she returns to her earlier needling.

“I’ll keep quiet if you can do the same. Though Meera couldn’t, so you two might be in trouble.”

Bran has gone very red. His cheeks have the barest hints of a beard upon them, though it looks like he shears it off. Its strange, even though he’d been as tall she was even years before, Arya still had a hard time thinking of him as a man.

“I could barely look her in the eye over breakfast without breaking into laughter, and she didn’t stop smiling all day, I’d be surprised if the whole castle didn’t already know.”

“So you couldn’t hold out a few more days, I never would have taken you for someone to be a stickler for tradition.”

Bran’s sat beside her, where Sansa had been. Arya had begun to regret that the two of them were never closer, they really were much more alike than her and Sansa were.

“If we were sticklers for tradition, Meera would be the one leaving home tomorrow. She would be coming to Winterfell and learning about our bannermen and how to prepare for being snowed in. Instead, I get to come and learn about how to hunt frogs, and how to grow vegetables in bales of straw.”

“Straw?” Arya asks looking at him funny.

“Oh, it keeps them out of the water so they don’t rot. You have to spread them with fish guts first…”

Arya cuts him off. Enough of her day has already involved fish guts.

“Her family’s known for years that Jojen wouldn’t be fit to inherit on his own. Meera tells me he’s always needed help, and she’s always been happy to give it. Though she did seem convinced I wouldn’t marry her knowing that.”

Arya’s feeling so much better about everything over this day,

“So you think you’ll be happy here? Even with the weird dreams?”

“That’s a joke. All these dreams have been making me do is be grateful for everything I have here.”

Sansa sticks her head back in and asks if Bran still wants to talk to Jojen, so their conversation ends on that note.

The fireflies are out heavy that night. They didn’t have them in Wintefell, or in Storm’s End. They look just like the stories describe though, though they don’t stay lit. The seconds of light as they hover over the water make the view from the tents on the ground borderline magical.

Gendry’s stretched out beside her. The other men apparently just made him carry and haul things all day, so he’s rather tired out and not inclined to talk much, or to appreciate the sights. Eventually, Arya pulls down the netting, stretches out and tries to sleep too.

Maybe it was the influence of hearing Bran’s stories, but Arya’s night is filled with strange dreams.

In one, she’s staring off a boat into the ocean, but she doesn’t know where she’s going. In another she’s back in King’s Landing, surrounded by screaming. That one ends blissfully quickly.

In the last, there’s a fire, and men she can’t get a good look at. She’s crying, and yelling, and Gendry is holding onto her, and it just won’t stop.

Gendry shakes her awake from that one, and it takes all her strength not to fight him, before her mind comes back to her, comes back to the day.

“Bad dream?”

She nods silently.

“I’ll blame the swamp.”

Getting ready in the morning is blissfully quick. Sansa frets about her own hair, she hadn’t planned to put it up apparently, but the heat is getting to her.

“Wait,” Arya suddenly remembers, fishing in her own bags for the hair pin she made her.

“It’s a wolfs-head, like the one Gendry made me.” She’d made one of a lizard-lion for Meera, but she’d already given it to her when she saw her heading off after breakfast.

“Did you make this?” Sansa asks, touching it with one finger.

Arya nods excitedly.

“The shapes are hard because the metal is so thin, but it’s one time that my small hands is an advantage. I can do the best chain around now too.”

Sansa twists her hair up, and Arya helps her slide the pin in the middle and close it. It holds nicely.

The godswood at Greywater Watch is tiny, everyone is pressed close together in front. The heart tree here is an enormous willow, with branches that shade nearly the entire ground from the blazing sun. For once, Arya pities the men having to wear their long sleeves and long pants. Bran’s in gray wool and leathers and looks like he might faint, though that might be from nerves.

Father and Mother stand behind Bran under the tree, and Arya is a few down, pressed between Sansa and Gendry, when Howland walks Meera in.

Her gown is white linen, flowing and short sleeved, with the neckline loosely laced. The skirt is embroidered with flowers of every color- Sansa had done that. She’s also wearing the pin Arya gave her, she notes with pride. She’s still smiling, and looks radiant. When he sees her, Bran can’t stop smiling either.

They say their words (without anyone forgetting their names, Arya notes), and Bran removes his cloak, and it’s at this point that Sansa starts crying (“again?” Arya says in mild disbelief), and when Bran leans in Meera tilts her head at the wrong moment and his lips meet her nose by mistake, and everyone still applauds, and Arya notes that her mother’s face has that same smiling-but-a-little-sad look that seems to be Sansa’s default now.

Half of the tents in the courtyard have been pushed aside to make room for the three long tables. It’s not a large crowd really. The castle itself has maybe only a dozen staff, and even though there’s a number of other houses in the Neck, it was not nearly as crowded even as the Great Hall could be in Winterfell.

The feast is modest, but delicious. The fish they brought in yesterday are fried, the extras made into a stew thick with roots and rice. The salad is nearly all wild greens, dotted with nuts. There’s cakes of bright orange yam fried in fat, and a pie of apples and blackberries, all washed down with a jug of strawberry wine.

There’s talk that Arya only half listens to, Hunters discuss sightings, rice farmers the rain. Gendry has managed to find a bronzesmith and is flooding him with questions. Lady Jyana, apparently, grew up a duck hunter, and tells Arya of the flock she’s kept and raised here for it’s eggs. A couple of archers mention the raids from the Crossing again, and are quickly shushed.

The food isn’t even all cleared before the music begins. Wooden stringed instruments Arya doesn’t know the names of, and pipes and homemade drums. There are no musicians it seems, everything having been brought by the people attending. Even Sansa whips out a reed flute, Arya didn’t even know she could play one.

Arya doesn’t know the tune, but after one song ends, she turns to Gendry’s, who’s finishing up his piece of pie.

“Want to dance?”

He looks uncertain.

“I don’t know any steps.”

She stares at him.

“What makes you think I do? I don’t even know most of these songs.”

And it Gendry steps on her feet more than a few times, she pays him back in kind. Robb manages to dance with nearly every unattached girl in the place. Sansa accepts a single dance from Jojen, who dances just a bit stiffly.

Gendry spins her at one point, and Arya catches her father’s eye. Ned meets her gaze long and steady, and Arya merely grins at him in return.

At one point, Lady Jyana touches her elbow.

“Can you call your parents over here? The bride and groom wish to make a silent getaway.”

Arya gestures Cat and Ned over and the group stand in front of the exit, allowing Bran and Meera to escape with ease.

“Barbaric practice I’d say, the bedding ceremony,” Arya comments once her parents have returned to the dance floor.

“We don’t really do that here,” Jyana agrees, “But someone got it in their heads, and neither yours or mine wished to risk it.”

And for not the last time, Arya is deeply happy that the only witness to her own wedding had been her sister.

Soon, though the night has already begun to fall, the music begins to wind down, and the guests begin to retire, and the few servants come and move the tables. The last song they stay for, Arya recognizes as the one Meera had been whistling the day before. It is odd for a lullaby, being about being left by someone who is the light of one’s life.

In the tent later, Gendry asks.

“So you have three more siblings right? So at most, we’ll only have to deal with three more of these things.”

“Fou, though Jon’s not supposed to be able to now that he’s taken the black. I can’t really see Rickon marrying anyone either. Perhaps we’ll luck out, and only have two more.”

Gendry’s on his back, hands behind his head.

“That’s still two too many.”

Arya rolls her eyes and settles back.

She’s woken a bit later by Gendry grabbing her arm rather tightly.

“What is it?”

But he remains silent, his eyes fixed upon her as if he thinks she might disappear. She reaches her other hand out to shake him. “Bad dream? Is it the swamp?”

His hand slackens around her arm, and he slides his hand down to intertwine with her own.

She remembers her own dreams previous night, and suddenly stands, tugging him by his hand.

“Come one, if you can’t sleep, we’ll go out in one of the boats. I hear there are lights we might get to see out here.”

Gendry follows her reluctantly, and looks at her like she’s grown a second head when she hands him an oar.

They see no lights that night, and the moon is only half full, but Gendry has no more bad dreams. The next morning comes soon enough. And if they end up flipping the canoe and walking back soaking wet, no one says a word to them about it.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gendrya #arya x gendry #breera #bran x meera

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scenes-in-between · 7 years ago

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Without (2/2)

When she unlocks the door without knocking this time, she tries not to think of it as giving up. Facing facts, yes. Accepting reality. Summoning the strength to carry on and take care of things in his absence. But not giving up.

Not for the first time, she thinks about what Mulder must have gone through when she was taken. They never really talked about it, not in any detail, but it isn't difficult to imagine how he might have fared, especially now that their positions are reversed. She was missing for three months; coming to terms with the fact that he might well be gone for just as long, or even longer, has not been easy, but it is a necessary starting point. She has always, always needed something to put her back up against when faced with loss, and merely sitting around, waiting and hoping for something to turn up on the Gunmen’s satellite scans, is not going to cut it.

So even though coming here tonight was not exactly a conscious decision on her part, she does her best to see it as an opportunity instead of a moment of weakness. Tomorrow, she will make arrangements to ensure his rent is paid automatically each month. She will figure out how to keep the fish fed regularly and keep his mail from piling up. On Monday, she will return to work and do her best to keep the X-Files division running smoothly. She will do for him what he did for her: hold down the fort so he at least has a home and a job to return to.

After shutting and locking the door behind herself, she squares her shoulders and carries her suitcase through to his bedroom, trying to ignore the smell of his leather couch and the sound of the fish tank filter and how the combination feels oddly like homecoming and homesickness all at once. The sheets are still rumpled from when she slept here before (was it really almost a week ago now?), and she shakes her head at the memory of waking up to the sight of Agent Doggett standing in the bedroom doorway. The thought that she now has to work with that man every day… But it helps nothing to get upset about it. It’s done, his re-assignment is final, and the only thing to do now is figure out how to deal with it.

She may not be able to fully think like Mulder, but she can try. She will have to try.

For the moment, though, she needs dinner and a shower, and possibly not in that order. Getting food delivered would involve more human interaction than she has the energy for right now, but no matter how empty Mulder’s refrigerator tends to be, he can always be counted on to have cans of soup in the cupboard. That will have to do.

***

The shower and soup help to restore her somewhat, but Scully nonetheless crawls wearily into Mulder’s bed before it is fully dark outside. She pulls his shirt over from where she left it before, trying not to think about how soon it will stop smelling like him. Even though she understands the science behind the strong connection between scent and memory, she is still taken aback just a little when, with her eyes closed, she can almost imagine he is really here with her.

“Come back to me, Mulder,” she whispers.

She desperately hopes that the dreams she’s been having are just that -- dreams. Products of anxiety and fear and imagination, nothing more. She has a feeling she knows what Mulder would say about them, but at least in this case, her reflexive skepticism is as much a defense mechanism as anything else. It is hard enough having him gone; coping will be nearly impossible if she allows herself to believe he is being tortured all the while.

God, this was the wrong thing to start thinking about just as she’s trying to fall asleep. It doesn’t even matter what the truth is. There is absolutely nothing she can do about Mulder’s current situation, and dwelling on it will only bring forward the helplessness she has been working so hard to keep at bay. She has to stay focused on what she can do, or else the futility of it all will consume her entirely.

Determined to get some rest, she rolls over and tries to find a comfortable position, but she flinches when her hand hits something under the pillow. Frowning, she sits up and pulls out what feels like a book.

No, not a book. A notebook.

Her heart starts to pound as she reaches over to switch the bedside lamp back on. This could be anything, yes, but something instinctively tells her that the small, spiral bound notebook is important. She turns it over in her hands once before opening it. Mulder’s untidy scrawl covers the first page, and her stomach flips when she sees her name.

Scully, Dana,

I’ve been sitting here for close to an hour now, just trying to find the words. Trying to figure out how to tell you what I learned today.

Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she reads on, dread settling heavily in her gut when his words take a completely unexpected turn. No, no this can’t be right.

Here it is in black and white: There’s something wrong with my brain. I’m sick.

Oh God, Mulder, no… Her stomach churns suddenly and violently, her hormone-flooded body responding to this revelation in the way it hasn’t since before she left for Arizona, and she lurches out of the bed.

She sits slumped against the bathroom wall after, blinking back tears. It can't be true. The medical records, the headstone… They're fake. Diversions meant to steer the investigation in the wrong direction. Skinner was right, damn it. Mulder wouldn't have kept this from her. He couldn't have. If he'd really been sick, she would have known.

Wouldn't she?

Unsteadily, she gets to her feet and rinses her mouth at the sink. She looks up into the mirror, staring hard at her reflection. What does it mean if the notebook is genuine? Does it mean Doggett was right, that Mulder faked his disappearance because he was dying and angry? No. Skinner witnessed Mulder’s abduction. He would have to be lying to her, too, and if that were the case, then why would Mulder have left this record behind for her?

There is, of course, only one way to even begin finding answers to those questions. She has to read what he wrote. It is, after all, addressed to her. He must have expected her to find it eventually. She's not sure how much to read into the fact that he left it under his pillow; did he really know that she would come here to sleep, to feel closer to him, if he went missing?

She takes a deep breath and goes back to the bed, praying she will be able to stomach whatever she is about to learn.

***

He was right. She is unspeakably hurt and angry that he kept this from her.

It doesn't take long to read the mere nine entries in the journal, and by the end of it, she doesn't know whether to sob or scream into a pillow. All this time… He’s been sick since December, and she had no idea. None. And now that she’s seen the medical records -- which she must grudgingly admit are likely genuine -- she also has no idea how on Earth it is possible that he had no outward symptoms.

The final entry, at least, puts to rest any notion that Doggett’s theory holds water. Whatever else he may have withheld from her, Scully is now certain that Mulder didn’t fake his disappearance.

Dana,

If you are reading this, then I officially have more to apologize for than I ever have. This isn’t the way I wanted you to find out about any of this, but I can only blame myself for that. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I know I don’t deserve it. I can only hope to ask for your understanding.

If Skinner and I find what we’re looking for in Oregon, I have to pursue it to the fullest. This would be true whether or not I had something wrong with my brain (you know that), but I won’t deny there’s a part of me that hopes they can just… fix me. You and I both know what they’re capable of.

Please don’t lose yourself searching for me. This ship has been hard enough to find while it’s sitting still. I promise that I will do everything in my power to come back to you. Abductees do come back, Dana. Even Samantha came back, if I’d only known where to look for her. I know trust that you won’t give up on me, and I swear that, if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

I’m sorry. For everything.

-M

If he thought his apologies would make her feel better, he thought wrong. She honestly isn’t sure she has ever felt so betrayed.

Any vindication she might have found in the knowledge that he was indeed abducted is tempered by the knowledge that he didn’t even try to avoid it. On some level, she supposes she has always known that if Mulder were given the opportunity to experience, first-hand, the phenomenon he has spent almost his entire career investigating, he would take it. At the same time, she hoped (foolishly, it would seem) that after things changed between them, he might think twice about barging off into danger and leaving her behind.

That he kept this illness from her as well only pours salt in the wound.

What in the hell is she supposed to do, now? He knew, he knew, that she would be devastated by this. For all his supposed heartbreak over the idea that she would have to carry on without him, he still left her to process everything completely alone. Acknowledging his own selfishness doesn’t help a damned thing.

When the tears come this time, she lets them fall. They don’t stop until she’s cried herself to sleep.

#x-files fanfic #txf: without #scullyfic #introspection #angst #mulder's stupid brain disease thing #sorry this took so long #also just... you know... sorry #;)

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marcusssanderson · 6 years ago

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Michelle Obama Quotes To Inspire More Love and Humanity

Looking for inspirational Michelle Obama Quotes? Here ya go!

Michelle Obama is an American lawyer, university administrator, and writer who’s also the wife of former U.S. President Barack Obama. She was the First Lady of the United States from 2009 to 2017, becoming the first African-American to serve the role.

During her tenure as First Lady, Obama played a key role in advocating for poverty awareness, education, health, and women empowerment. As an educated, intelligent, and independent-minded woman, she served as a role model for women and is also considered a fashion icon.

Born in 1964 in Chicago, Illinois, Obama is a graduate of Princeton University and Harvard Law School. Following her graduation from law school, she worked as an associate in the Chicago branch of the firm Sidley Austin, where she met Barack Obama. She married Barack in 1992 and the couple has two daughters.

Michelle played a major role in her husband’s presidential bid, scaling down her own professional work to attend to campaign obligations.

In 2018, Michelle published “Becoming”, her autobiographical memoir where she writes about how experiences from her childhood in Chicago helped guide her life path. The inspirational book quickly became one of the hottest titles of the decade.

A successful lawyer who juggled the roles of being a wife, mother and a professional, Obama has clearly tapped into her Everyday Power. In that respect, here are some powerful inspirational Michelle Obama quotes.

Watch first lady Michelle Obama’s final White House speech

youtube

Michelle Obama quotes from her speeches and interviews about life, success, love, and education

1.) “Being president doesn’t change who you are – it reveals who you are.” – Michelle Obama

2.) “How hard you work matters more than how much you make.” – Michelle Obama

3.) “Success doesn’t count unless you earn it fair and square.” – Michelle Obama

4.) “We need to fix our souls. Our souls are broken in this nation. We have lost our way. And it begins with inspiration. It begins with leadership.” – Michelle Obama

5.) “You can’t make decisions based on fear and the possibility of what might happen.” – Michelle Obama

6.) “My most important title is still “mom-in-chief.” My daughters are still the heart of my heart and the center of my world.” – Michelle Obama

7.) “Together, we can help make sure that every family that walks into a restaurant can make an easy, healthy choice.” – Michelle Obama

8.) “I hate diversity workshops. “Real change comes from having enough comfort to be really honest and say something very uncomfortable.” – Michelle Obama

9.) “I think that people are tired. They’re tired of the same old kind of politics. People want a new tone to politics.” – Michelle Obama

10.) “I am so tired of fear. And I don’t want my girls to live in a country, in a world, based on fear.” – Michelle Obama

More Michelle Obama quotes about life, America and our future

11.) “You see, our glorious diversity—our diversity of faiths, and colors and creeds―that is not a threat to who we are, it makes us who we are.” – Michelle Obama

12.) “If you are a person of faith, know that religious diversity is a great American tradition, too. In fact, that’s why people first came to this country: to worship freely. And whether you are Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Sikh―these religions are teaching our young people about justice, and compassion, and honesty. So I want our young people to continue to learn and practice those values with pride.” – Michelle Obama

13.) “Do not bring people in your life who weigh you down, and trust your instincts. Good relationships feel good. They feel right. They don’t hurt. They’re not painful. That’s not just with somebody you want to marry, but it’s with the friends you choose. It’s with the people you surround yourself with.” – Michelle Obama

14.) “We should always have three friends in our lives. One who walks ahead who we look up to and follow; one who walks beside us, who is with us every step of our journey; and then, one who we reach back for and bring along after we’ve cleared the way.” – Michelle Obama

15.) “My father’s life is a testament to that basic American promise that no matter who you are or how you started out, if you work hard you can build a decent life for yourself and an even better life for your kids.” – Michelle Obama

16.) “To the young people here, and the young people out there: do not ever let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t matter, or like you don’t have a place in our American story—because you do. And you have a right to be exactly who you are. But I also want to be very clear: this right isn’t just handed to you. No, this right has to be earned every single day. You cannot take your freedoms for granted.” – Michelle Obama

17.) “When you are struggling, and you start thinking about giving up, I want you to remember something that my husband and I have talked about since we first started this journey nearly a decade ago—something that has carried us through every moment in this White House and every moment of our lives—and that is the power of hope. The belief that something better is always possible if you’re willing to work for it and fight for it.” – Michelle Obama

Michelle Obama quotes about the American dream

18.) “It is our fundamental belief in the power of hope that has allowed us to rise above the voices of doubt and division, of anger and fear that we have faced in our own lives and in the life of this country. Our hope that if we work hard enough and believe in ourselves, then we can be whatever we dream, regardless of the limitations that others may place on us.” – Michelle Obama

19.) “It’s the hopes of folks like my dad, who got up every day, do his job at the city water plant; the hope that one day his kids would go to college and have opportunities he never dreamed of. That’s the kind of hope that every single one of us—politicians, parents, preachers, all of us—need to be providing for our young people. Because that is what moves this country forward every single day: our hope for the future and the hard work that hope inspires. So that’s my final message to young people as First Lady. It is simple.” – Michelle Obama

20.) “I want our young people to know that they matter. That they belong. So don’t be afraid. Do you hear me? Young people, don’t be afraid. Be focused. Be determined. Be hopeful. Be empowered. Empower yourselves with a good education. Then get out there and use that education to build a country worthy of your boundless promise. Lead by example with hope, never fear, and know that I will be with you, rooting for you and working to support you for the rest of my life.” – Michelle Obama

21.) “For all the young people in this room and those who are watching, know that this country belongs to you—to all of you, from every background and walk of life. If you or your parents are immigrants, know that you are part of a proud American tradition—the infusion of new cultures, talents and ideas, generation after generation, that has made us the greatest country on earth.” – Michelle Obama

22.) “I love that for Barack, there is no such thing as “us” and “them” – he doesn’t care whether you’re a Democrat, a Republican, or none of the above…he knows that we all love our country…and he’s always ready to listen to good ideas…he’s always looking for the very best in everyone he meets.” – Michelle Obama

23.) “Make no mistake about it, whether it’s health care, the economy, education or foreign policy, the choice we make in this election will determine nothing less than who we are as a country — but more importantly, who we want to be. Will we be a country that tells folks who have done everything right but are still struggling to get by, “tough luck, you’re on your own”? Is that who we are?… Or will we honor that fundamental American belief that I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sister’s keeper and if one of us is hurting then we’re all hurting? Who are we? That’s what this election is about.” – Michelle Obama

24.) “Barack and I were both raised by families who didn’t have much in the way of money or material possessions but who had given us something far more valuable – their unconditional love, their unflinching sacrifice, and the chance to go places they had never imagined for themselves.” – Michelle Obama

25.) “We’re here because we believe that everyone in this country should do their fair share, plain and simple. Which means that teachers and firefighters shouldn’t pay higher taxes than millionaires and billionaires. Not in America. We believe that if you work hard, you shouldn’t go bankrupt because someone gets sick. You shouldn’t lose your home because someone loses a job. Not in America. And after a lifetime of hard work, you should be able to retire with some dignity and some security. That’s what we believe.” – Michelle Obama

Michelle Obama quotes about success

26.) “We have this window of opportunity; we have a chance to make something real happen. Something possible happen, to live beyond our fear — think about that, and help us. Help lift us up, help us fight this fight to change — transform — this country in a fundamental way…. This chance won’t come around again.” – Michelle Obama

27.) “You may not always have a comfortable life and you will not always be able to solve all of the world’s problems at once but don’t ever underestimate the importance you can have because history has shown us that courage can be contagious and hope can take on a life of its own.” – Michelle Obama

28.) “One of the lessons that I grew up with was to always stay true to yourself and never let what somebody else says distract you from your goals. And so when I hear about negative and false attacks, I really don’t invest any energy in them, because I know who I am.” – Michelle Obama

29.) “The arts are not just a nice thing to have or to do if there is free time or if one can afford it. Rather, paintings and poetry, music and fashion, design and dialogue, they all define who we are as a people and provide an account of our history for the next generation.” – Michelle Obama

30.) “If your family doesn’t have much money, I want you to remember that in this country, plenty of folks, including me and my husband. We started out with very little. But with a lot of hard work and a good education, anything is possible—even becoming President. That’s what the American Dream is all about.” – Michelle Obama

Michelle Obama quotes about education

31.) “Changing the big picture takes time.. and the best things to do is focus on the things that we can make in our lives if we’re doing all that. That becomes the collage of real change” – Michelle Obama

32.) “It’s easier to hold onto your own stereotypes and misconceptions, it makes you feel justified in your own ignorance. That’s America. So the challenge for us is, are we ready for change?” – Michelle Obama

33.) “Studying in countries like China isn’t only about your prospects in the global marketplace. It’s not just about whether you can compete with your peers in other countries to make America stronger. It’s also about whether you can come together and work together with them to make our world stronger. It’s about the friendships you make, the bonds of trust you establish and the image of America that you project to the rest of the world.” – Michelle Obama

34.) “The truth is, in order to get things like universal health care and a revamped education system, then someone is going to have to give up a piece of their pie so that someone else can have more.” – Michelle Obama

35.) “Women in particular need to keep an eye on their physical and mental health, because if we’re scurrying to and from appointments and errands, we don’t have a lot of time to take care of ourselves. We need to do a better job of putting ourselves higher on our own ‘to do’ list.” – Michelle Obama

36.) “Barack and I were raised with so many of the same values, like you work hard for what you want in life. That your word is your bond; that you do what you say you’re going to do. That you treat people with dignity and respect, even if you don’t know them and even if you don’t agree with them.” – Michelle Obama

37.) “I come here tonight as a sister, blessed with a brother who is my mentor, my protector and my lifelong friend. And I come here as a wife who loves my husband and believes he will be an extraordinary president.” – Michelle Obama

38.) “Although the circumstances of our lives may seem very disengaged, with me standing here as the First Lady of the United States of America and you just getting through school, I want you to know we have very much in common. For nothing in my life ever would have predicted that I would be standing here as the first African-American First Lady.” – Michelle Obama

39.) “Being your First Lady has been the greatest honor of my life, and I hope I’ve made you proud.” – Michelle Obama

Michelle Obama quotes from her memoir, Becoming

40.) “My job, I realized, was to be myself, to speak as myself. And so I did.”– Michelle Obama

41.) “Your story is what you have, what you will always have. It is something to own.”– Michelle Obama

42.) “If you don’t get out there and define yourself, you’ll be quickly and inaccurately defined by others.”– Michelle Obama

43.) “This may be the fundamental problem with caring a lot about what others think: It can put you on the established path.”– Michelle Obama

44.) “Am I good enough? Yes I am.”– Michelle Obama

45.) “We needed now to be resolute, to keep our feet pointed in the direction of progress.”– Michelle Obama

46.) “Everyone on Earth, they’d tell us, was carrying around an unseen history, and that alone deserved some tolerance.”– Michelle Obama

47.) “Time, as far as my father was concerned, was a gift you gave to other people.”– Michelle Obama

48.) “The easiest way to disregard a woman’s voice is to package her as a scold.” ― Michelle Obama

49.) “Failure is a feeling long before it becomes an actual result” ― Michelle Obama

50.) “No one, I realized, was going to look out for me unless I pushed for it.” ― Michelle Obama

Which inspirational Michelle Obama quote was your favorite? What other Michelle Obama quotes would you add to the list?

Michelle Obama is a strong and intelligent woman. During her husband’s presidential bid, Michelle diligently campaigned on his behalf, traveling across the country, giving talks and making public appearances.

Besides, Obama offered her support for Hillary Clinton during the later’s 2016 presidential campaign. She made several high-profile speeches in favo

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fusionfitter-blog · 7 years ago

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Must See Tv Shows On Netflix

Best TV Shows on Netflix Right Now Scattered one of the better TV shows on Netflix are more and more of the streaming platform’s own unique sequence. Watching Television on Netflix has gotten better and better as the support continues to add to its amazing catalog of network and cable collection, not to mention the proliferation of flashy Netflix originals. In truth, the organization that invested its formative years in order to to see movies has since become to the world’s major enabler of binge-watching. Our listing of the finest TV shows on Netflix is here to assist you find the next Television series to devour, and we’ve appeared through the enormous catalog (USA only, sorry) to find these recommendations.

Master of None

Creators: Aziz Ansari Stars: Aziz Ansari Eric Wareheim Kelvin Yu Bobby Cannavale Premiered: 2015 The extended-awaited second time of Aziz Ansari’s masterful Master of N-One begins by having an homage to Bi Cycle Burglars and ends having a nod to The Graduate. In between are beautifully nuanced episodes as Ansari’s Dev Shah tries to navigate his love life and his job. Even when the display goes the conventional sitcom route—the will-they-or-won’t-they romance of Dev as well as the engaged Francesca (Alessandra Mastronardi)—the dialogue and interactions are decidedly not conventional. They talk like real folks perhaps not ones produced in a writer’s room. “New York, I Adore You,”which stepped from the primary characters to showcase the lively diversity of the town and “Thanksgiving,”which chronicled Dev’s childhood friend Denise (Lena Waithe) being released to her family, are easily the time high lights. The display is fun to observe, emotionally satisfying and thought provoking. Unlike any such thing else on television, Learn of N One is not only one of the better shows of Netflix, but perhaps one of the most of the most important in a long, lengthy time.

It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Creator: Rob McElhenney Stars: Glenn Howerton, Charlie Day, Rob McElhenney, Kaitlin Olson Network: FX The idea behind Sunny is simple yet brilliant—bring together the most narcissistic and cruel figures imaginable and let them wreak havoc on the planet. Dennis, Dee, Mac, Charlie, and Frank all run Patty’s Pub together, though that endeavor never seems to keep them occupied for lengthy. The group hatches one scheme after another, to entertain themselves. “The D.E.N.N.I.S. System,” for example, is Dennis’ foolproof method for manipulating women’s emotions so that they’ll love him. To provide you with an idea of the way that it operates, the strategic acronym starts with “Demonstrate value”and ends with “Separate entirely.”

Judging Amy

Lost

Creators: J.J. Abrams, Jeffrey Lieber, Damon Lindelof Stars: Matthew Fox, Evangeline Lilly, Naveen Andrews, Michael Emerson, Terry O’Quinn, Josh Holloway, Jorge Garcia, Yunjin Kim, Daniel Dae Kim Network: ABC When J.J. Abrams first marooned his plane-crash survivors on a remote island, no one realized the show’s name was a double entendre: It took crowd-sourced blogs to make feeling of all the hidden clues, relevant connections, time shifts and intertwined storylines, and every season has provided u-s significantly more questions than answers. But there’s some thing refreshing in regards to a Network-tv show that trusts the mental rigor of its audience in the place of dumbing every-thing down to the lowest common denominator. Sometimes it’s great to be a little misplaced.

Cheers

Creator: James Burrows, Glen Charles, Les Charles Stars: Ted Danson, Shelley Long, Kirstie Alley, Rhea Perlman, Nicholas Colasanto, John Ratzenberger, Woody Harrelson, Kelsey Grammer, George Wendt Network: NBC It was mo-Re than a bar where everyone knows your title. It was a life-style. Cheers rarely left the confines of the bar, but was able to weave slapstick comedy, romance and drama into the 11 seasons it was to the air. It started as the worst-rated series (74 out of 74) but climbed its way to the best 10 during the third-season. Two casting modifications couldn’t even slow it down. The ensemble forged all won awards in performing, in addition to the present winning four Outstanding Comedy Sequence awards. Unlike many sitcoms that touch on social issues that were seri ous, the show never felt like an afterschool special. Everything was done with superior humor.

The West Wing

Creator: Aaron Sorkin Stars: Allison Janney, John Spencer, Bradley Whitford, Martin Sheen, Janel Moloney, Richard Schiff, DulÃ© Hill, NiCole Robinson, Melissa Fitzgerald, Rob Low E Stockard Channing Kris Murphy, Timothy Davis -Reed Network: NBC Television’s quintessential political drama started in the Clinton era, soldiered on through Bush and 9/11, and ended in the earliest times of the Age of Obama. Weirdly, the show’s political climate was more secure than actuality itself. And maybe that was its attractiveness. The West Wing showed us government maybe not as it was, but as it could be—a White House operate by quippy, tireless, big-hearted public servants who believed in governing with decency. President Josiah Bartlet would give any of his real life counterparts an operate for their money.

Mad Men

Creator: Matthew Weiner Stars: Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, Vincent Kartheiser, January Jones, Christina Hendricks, Bryan Batt, Michael Gladis Rich Sommer John Slattery Network: AMC Look, you don’t need us to tell you that Mad Males is is among the the one of the biggest TV dramas of all time; you've the complete Internet for that, and frankly, that’s time you may be spending watching more Mad Guys. But with his tale of 1960s (and eventually, early ‘70s) ad men and women and the American Dream, Matthew Weiner has done something really extraordinary: proven that there’s drama in everyday activity. Unlike almost every other TV drama, this one doesn’t offer with cops, doctors or lawyers; there aren't any mafia dons or drug lords going down in a hail of bullets. It’s just a bunch of folks functioning together in an office, attempting to push forward and navigate perhaps one of the most of the most compelling decades in American background. Sure, it’s glamorous and brilliantly written, as well as the fact that Elisabeth Moss never won an Emmy for this is legal, but ultimately, it’s oddly relatable, and that’s what fantastic Television is supposed to do—show us ourselves.

Stranger Things

Creators: The Duffer Brothers Stars: Winona Ryder, David Harbour Millie Bobby Brown, Gaten Matarazzo Natalia Dyer, Charlie Heaton, Cara Buono Network: Netflix The only query viewers tend to inquire about concerning the standard of Netflix’s Stranger Issues isn’t “Is this a fantastically entertaining show?”but “Does it matter the show is s O homage-large?”Our take: No. Since springing into the cultural consciousness instantly with its to produce month ago, Stranger Points has been hailed as a revival of old-school sci-fi, horror and ‘80s nostalgia that's far mo Re successful and immediately gripping than most other examples of its ilk. The influences are far too deeply ingrained to independently checklist, although imagery evoking Amblin-era Steven Spielberg, John Carpenter and Tobe Hooper films drips from not quite every body. Using a stellar forged of child actors and lots of different characters whose hidden strategies we desperately want to see explored, Stranger Issues hits every notice essential to motivate a weekend- Netflix binge. As queries now swirl about the course of Time Two, following the first season’s explosive summary, we’re all hoping that the sam-e team of characters will be able to re-conjure the chilling, heart-pumping magic of a perfectly constructed eight-episode sequence. Please, TV gods: Don’t permit Stranger Points go all Correct Detective on-US.

Orange is the New Black

Creator: Jenji Kohan Stars: Taylor Schilling, Laura Prepon, Michael J. Jason Biggs, Harney, Michelle Hurst, Kate Mulgrew Network: Netflix Orange is the New Black is perfectly suited for the Netflix shipping method, if only since it could have been agonizing to wait a week for a new episode. But there’s more; the construct felt cinematic and compared to your average display, and I couldn’t help but feel that the all-at once re-lease plane freed the creators to make some thing less episodic and more free-flowing. Taylor Schilling stars as Piper Chapman, a lady living a content modern life when her past rears up abruptly to tackle her from behind; ten years earlier, she was briefly a drug mule for her lover Alex Vause (the superb Laura Prepon), and when Vause needed to plea her sentence down, she threw in the towel Piper. The tale is centered on the real life activities of Piper Kerman, whose book of the same title was the inspiration, but but you the screen model is miles better. Schilling is the motor that drives the plot, and her odd mixture of natural serenity combined together with the growing rage and desperation in the late change her life has has brought strikes the perfect tone for life inside the women’s prison. Within the first few episodes, prison is handled like a nearly-quirky novelty she’ll need to experience for 15 months, as well as the wisest option director Jenji Kohan made (and there are many) was to heighten the stakes so that what begins as an off kilter journey soon assumes the severe proportions prison lifestyle demands. And as great as Prepon and Schilling are together, the cast is so universally outstanding that it beggars belief. You can find too several characters who make gold making use of their constrained screen time to mention individually, but suffice it to say that there’s enough comedy, pathos and tragedy here for several shows. The reality that they fit s O efficiently in to one makes OITNB a triumph that is defining .

The Civil War

Creators: Ken Burns, Ric Burns, Geoffrey C. Ward Stars:: Sam Waterston, Julie Harris, Jason Robards, Morgan Freeman, Garrison Keilor Studs Terkel Network: PBS First aired in the fall of 1990, Ken Burns’ pioneering docu-series attracted a now-unthinkable 40 million viewers on the span of five nights, and re-established the Civil War as the central hinge of American history. This alone is no mean feat; include the series’ profound aesthetic impact, in the pans and zooms that enliven its archival pictures (now called “the Ken Burns effect”) to the use of well-known actors to give voice to the era’s letters and diaries, and The Civil War emerges among the the most essential works of non-fiction ever to air on American television. One might dangereux its interpretation of activities, in certain Burns’ choice to paper over the sabotage of Radical Reconstruction and only the more optimistic narrative of re-unification, but the elegiac note on which it concludes never fails to bring tears to my eyes. “History isn't ‘was,’ it’s ‘is,’”the historian Barbara J. Fields remarks, as a piano taps out its lonesome rendition of “My Region, ‘Tis of Thee.”“The Civil War is, in the present as well as in the past.”

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glittership · 8 years ago

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Episode #35 — "Cooking with Closed Mouths" by Kerry Truong

Download this episode (right click and save) And here’s the RSS feed: http://glittership.podbean.com/feed/

Cooking with Closed Mouths

by Kerry Truong

A gumiho could run faster than shadows spread, but since Ha Neul doubted that Americans would take kindly to a nine-tailed fox streaking down Los Angeles’ busy streets, they opted to walk to the bus stop in the falling darkness after work.

The cool night air was a relief after the hot confines of Mrs. Chang’s restaurant, where Ha Neul had spent the day carrying heavy dishes and enduring customers’ complaints. Mrs. Chang’s mediocre food attracted few customers, and her refusal to use air conditioning made those who did come disinclined to be generous. Ha Neul never told her this, of course, because what was the point of trying to change people’s ways? For this silence they were rewarded with meager wages and leftovers that turned to ashes in their mouth.

Full transcript after the cut.

[Intro music plays]

Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip, episode 35 for March 22, 2017. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you.

Our story this week is a GlitterShip original: “Cooking with Closed Mouths” by Kerry Truong.

Kerry Truong writes about many things, including folktale and horror. Their hobbies are futilely trying to train their dogs; tearing their hair out while reading comics; and eating good food. They like their meat rare, and if a story doesn’t mention food at least once, it wasn’t written by them. You can follow their queer firebreathing on Twitter @springbamboos.

We also have a guest reader!

R Chang hails from a small valley on the West coast, where they moonlight as an artist. Their dearest wish in life is to quit their day job and establish a farm for dogs.

Cooking with Closed Mouths

by Kerry Truong

Today was no different. After mediating between Mrs. Chang and angry customers, Ha Neul was finally left in peace, a bag of banchan the only payment for their troubles. They stood at the bus stop in a crowd of other commuters, careful to remain at the edges where they could go unnoticed but still hear the conversations around them. There was chatter about everything from peace in Viet Nam to some boxing championship or another. Ha Neul didn’t understand the voracious interest humans showed in things that would only fade from memory or repeat themselves in a matter of years. Still, they liked listening. There was something comforting about the way humans kept going, as full of energy as if they were the first to experience these things.

When the bus arrived, Ha Neul boarded in a stream of other passengers, shouldering their way through until they could find a place to stand. Proximity filled their nose with the tang of everyone around them and made their stomach clench. They ignored it, used to the hunger. Instead of thinking about it, they studied the people closest to them.

An older woman stood next to them in the aisle, her eyes drifting closed as if the lurch and stop of the bus were a lullaby. A pair of students on their other side consulted each other in urgent voices about what songs to put on a mixtape for a crush. Ha Neul listened with amusement. It must be nice, they thought, to be caught up in the rhythm of falling in and out of love; to hope over and over that warmth could be found in the clasp of another person’s hand.

At home, Hana was waiting for them, her homework fanned out on the kitchen table. Their one-bedroom apartment was too small for a proper desk, and neither of them had much use for the kitchen’s traditional function, so Hana had claimed it as her study room. The table was often strewn with books and papers and half-chewed pens. Ha Neul had given up on putting the mess into any kind of order. No matter how hard they tried, the table would be cluttered again within the day.

Hana waved when they came in. “Took you long enough to get home! Did Mrs. Chang give you food again?”

Ha Neul nodded, searching for an empty spot to set the bag down. After a moment they gave up and simply handed it to Hana.

“All mine, and none for oppa,” she sang.

Ha Neul sat down next to her as she searched through the bag, their body heavy from exhaustion. They relaxed in the warmth of the kitchen, watching as Hana tasted each banchan in turn. She was eager to try them all, which was why Ha Neul always accepted Mrs. Chang’s leftovers. It didn’t matter if the food couldn’t make her full. It reminded her of home, of a life where she’d had family and people to belong to.

Ha Neul’s stomach clenched again. They went to the refrigerator and opened it. It was nearly empty, except for the large plastic bag dominating the center shelf and several plastic cartons arranged in neat rows beside it. Ha Neul brought the bag to the table.

“Oppa, don’t you dare get blood on my homework,” Hana said as they stacked books and papers to clear a space on the table.

“I would never sully the homework of a top student.”

Ha Neul took a package wrapped in butcher paper out of the bag and set it on the table. The paper was damp in spots, its white color stained pink by the blood that seeped through it. The tang that Ha Neul had smelled on the bus filled their nose again, this time richer and deeper. Hana stopped eating to watch, her eyes intent. She could smell the blood, too.

They unwrapped the paper to reveal hearts, kidneys, slices of liver, and other organ meats, raw and glistening. Ha Neul ate a heart, ripping the muscle with their sharp teeth. It was savory, satisfying them in a way Mrs. Chang’s food never could, making them crave for more. They reached for a piece of liver as soon as they’d finished the heart. It was good to be home.

Hana was still watching them. They thought they could see the hint of a fang beginning to protrude in the corner of her mouth, but when they offered her a kidney she waved it away. “I’m not into solid food.”

Ha Neul raised an eyebrow, looking at the banchan.

“That’s different. I eat that for fun, not to get full.”

“Can you really taste it?”

“A little. It’s really faint though, like when you have a cold and can only get an aftertaste.”

Ha Neul didn’t understand, having never had a cold. They nodded anyway. “Do you remember what human food tastes like?”

Hana looked wistful. “I think I’m forgetting. I know that hotteok are sweet and kimchi jjigae is spicy, but even though I know the words I don’t remember the taste.”

She must be nearing forty, but time hadn’t changed the smoothness of her skin or the roundness of her face. If there was one thing that aged her, it was her eyes. They were too knowing. It was only now, with her longing so apparent, that she seemed exactly the high school student that she pretended to be.

Ha Neul had known that longing. It had been food that first drew them to humans, after all. So many colors and textures: thick, greasy noodles coated in black bean sauce, kimbap dotted with yellow, green, and orange vegetables, cream-colored crab meat marinated in soy sauce. They supposed it was harder for Hana, though, having actually known what human food tasted like. Reaching over, they squeezed her hand.

Hana squeezed their hand back and smiled at them. “How’s your food, oppa?”

“Delicious.”

“It’s still weird to me how you eat cows and not humans. Isn’t it unsatisfying?”

“It’s a good enough substitute.” When reduced to their innards, humans and cows weren’t very different, Ha Neul thought, and offal was easy to get from the butcher for no more than a few cents.

Hana trailed a finger through the blood that had congealed on the paper, then licked it off. “You know you’re welcome to come find dinner with me any night.”

The food soured in Ha Neul’s mouth. Being hungry around humans was one thing, eating them was another. Thinking about it made them feel ill.

“I don’t eat humans anymore,” they said, allowing their voice to get sharp.

Hana bit her lip, looking chastised. Ha Neul felt guilty, but they’d told her often enough that they didn’t want to be goaded about their eating habits. They’d tried living as a human long ago, hoping to discover the taste of other food. But a gumiho is a fox at heart, its human appearance a mere illusion, and Ha Neul’s hunger had only grown with each dish they’d eaten. It was all ash. In the end, they’d given into their hunger, only to be horrified by the uniform redness. They’d stopped eating humans by the time they met Hana. She should have known better than to tease them about it.

Ha Neul worried that she would sulk, but instead she rummaged through her backpack and brought out a flyer.

“Here,” she said, sliding it across to Ha Neul. Her voice was light, the previous subject waved away. “Talking about food reminded me of this. I don’t think I can wiggle my way out of it.”

Ha Neul chewed on a piece of liver and read the flyer. It was printed on daffodil yellow paper, the words on it thick, black, and followed by multiple exclamation points. Cartoonish pictures of rice bowls and tacos surrounded the text.

“A cultural diversity lunch? What exactly are the students supposed to learn from that?”

“How to appreciate other people’s cultures, I guess. Mr. Hanson says we should start learning about diversity in high school.”

“I understand that, but why food?”

“Because people like food, obviously. We’re all supposed to bring in one dish from our culture.”

“What do you want to bring in?” They stared at the pictures of rice bowls. Did her teacher expect her to bring in rice? Even Ha Neul knew that plain rice didn’t make a meal.

Hana answered without hesitation. “Kimchi fried rice.”

They couldn’t help laughing at her confidence. “And where in the world are we going to get that?”

Hana smiled. She was prettiest like that, which was exactly why she smiled widest if she needed a favor. “I was going to ask if Mrs. Chang could make it.”

Ha Neul’s answer was as ready as hers had been. “Mrs. Chang is busy and has no money to make kimchi fried rice for free.”

“She doesn’t even have to make that much. There are only twenty students in my class.”

“Isn’t that still a lot?”

Hana pouted. “Please, oppa? I don’t want to be embarrassed. What if everyone else brings something fancy and I don’t have anything?”

There was that longing again, not as obscured by the pout as she thought it was. Ha Neul didn’t understand. Food was food, so what did it matter if she brought banchan or kimchi fried rice? But they could see how happy this simple thing would make her, and that mattered. She was their sister by choice, the only person who wanted to share the partial life they led.

“All right, I’ll ask Mrs. Chang. Even if she says no, we’ll figure something out. Does that sound good?”

“Oh, oppa, I knew I could count on you!”

She threw her arms around Ha Neul, startling them. After a beat, they remembered to lift their own arms and hug her back. They held her close, taking comfort in the gesture that was at once strange and warm.

Many years ago, on a warm spring night in Korea, Ha Neul had heard a cry of despair. If they had ignored that cry, they might still be living in Korea, trying to find a way to fit into the jumbled new pattern that the war had created. But they had listened, and that was how they’d found Hana, blood on her shirt and two bite marks on her neck. They couldn’t abandon her to that despair. Instead, they had held their hand out and said come, there is still a way to live.

So the two of them had lived, as best as they could, side by side for more than twenty years. When they had decided to go to America, it made the most sense to claim that they were siblings. They’d argued about who should be the elder. Ha Neul had won her over by pointing out that if they were her older brother, they could support her while she went to school.

The papers had been made, and the two of them had moved to Los Angeles to join the number of Korean immigrants building a new life along Olympic Boulevard. While Hana finished her last year in high school and dreamed about college admissions, Ha Neul waited tables and lifted boxes, letting Mrs. Chang speak to them as if they were a child.

It didn’t matter to them whether Mrs. Chang’s food was good or not. They couldn’t taste any of it, after all. They were content seeing the variety of colors in her kitchen. She, in turn, was grateful for someone who stayed in spite of her temper and the customers’ insults. Ha Neul hoped that her gratefulness would soften her to their request. They made sure to be of extra help in the restaurant the day after Hana showed them the flyer, lifting heavy pots off the stove and chatting with customers until the bad food was forgotten.

The restaurant was never busy, and once the lunch hour had passed it was empty. Mrs. Chang used the time to eat her own late lunch. Ha Neul joined her, choking down the rice and drinking cup after cup of tea. They waited until most of the food was gone before saying, “Mrs. Chang, can I ask you a favor?”

Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps she thought they would ask for money. Still, her voice was not unkind when she answered. “What is it?”

“My sister’s teacher asked her to bring in a dish from her culture for a class project. I was wondering if you could make the food.”

“What kind of food?”

“Kimchi fried rice.”

Mrs. Chang sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think I have the time for that, Ha Neul.”

It was the answer they’d expected, but they were still disappointed. “It’s not too difficult to make, is it? I’ll even work extra hours in the restaurant in exchange for it.”

“After a whole day of cooking, do you think I’d have the energy to make more food for a bunch of children? I have my own family to take care of once I’m done here.” She stood up and stacked the empty dishes to take back into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Chang, please.”

“I already said no!”

Ha Neul stood up as she started walking back to the kitchen. “Then at least teach me how to make it.”

She turned around. “What was that?”

Food is food, Ha Neul thought, and food was only ash in their mouth. But they’d promised Hana that they would help her. “Teach me how to cook, Mrs. Chang. If I learn, then I can help you in the kitchen, too.”

She studied them for a moment. They wondered if they looked desperate, if it was that or the promise of help that made her say, “All right then. But I don’t want to hear any complaints because it’s too hard, understand?”

“Oh, perfectly,” Ha Neul said, and followed her into the kitchen, already questioning the wisdom of learning how to cook without taste.

Hana’s luncheon was in a week, and in that week Ha Neul dedicated themself to learning how to cook. The radio in the kitchen played Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder songs as Mrs. Chang showed Ha Neul how to make galbi and gamjatang, kimbap and gyeranjjim.

Although she wasn’t an unkind teacher, she was also not gentle. Ha Neul disliked the way she grabbed their hand to show them how to chop vegetables, or how she would take the ladle from them to taste soup. They learned quickly, however, and their dishes soon looked the same as Mrs. Chang’s. They began to take their own pleasure with food, relishing in the clean crack that split an egg and the feel of rice grains slipping through their fingers. Taste was lost to them, but they could still see, and hear, and feel.

The first dish they brought out to customers, however, fared no better than any of Mrs. Chang’s.

“Do you call this samgyetang?” asked a middle-aged woman with tightly permed hair.

Ha Neul had known she would be trouble the moment she’d walked in. Something about her pinched mouth had foreshadowed grief. Putting on a practiced smile, they said, “I’m sorry if the soup isn’t good. Should I bring you something else?”

“Nothing you brought is any good. The banchan isn’t even seasoned well!”

Ha Neul bit their tongue, even though their hands ached from chopping meat and mixing seasoning. Before they could regain the patience to smile, however, the woman sighed. “Forget it. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long time since I had a good meal, and I thought I’d find it here.”

Ha Neul studied how deep the wrinkles on her face ran, how calloused her hands were. They wondered how long she had been in America, and what kind of dishes she had the energy to make after a long day of work. Did she have family to care for? When was the last time she’d eaten something someone else made for her?

The woman got her wallet and began counting out bills. Before she could set them on the table, Ha Neul said, “I’m sorry, but could you tell me how you’d like the food to be seasoned?”

Later, Mrs. Chang told them that they had too little pride. “You listen too much to other people’s complaining.”

Ha Neul just laughed, and she looked at them as she often did, like something strange and half unwanted. Still, they kept listening to the complaints. They memorized how much sesame oil to add and how long meat should stay in the pan. They noted the exact shade of orange that carrots turned when they were tender but not limp, and the translucence of onions that would be just sweet enough. The complaints lessened and more customers began to come to the restaurant, brought in by word of mouth.

Mrs. Chang talked of giving Ha Neul a raise. They heard the hesitance in her voice and declined. It was enough to spend time in the kitchen while Mrs. Chang served the customers, her temper improved by their praises. Soon, Ha Neul became the kitchen’s only occupant. They preferred it that way, with only the radio to keep them company. This much of human food they had mastered, and they were content to stay in the confines of the kitchen for a long time, basking in its vivid colors.

The day before Hana’s potluck, Ha Neul stopped by a supermarket on the way home. They returned to the apartment laden with plastic bags. The kitchen table was as messy as ever, but there was no sign of Hana. No doubt she was out getting food. They cleared the kitchen table, making room for the ingredients they’d bought from the supermarket.

The stove, which had been untouched since they moved in, flared to life without protest. They made rice, and while the water bubbled and spit, they sliced kimchi and diced Spam. They didn’t like Spam. Its sickly pink color reminded them of red watered down, and it slid out of the can with a slither that made them shudder. But it was cheap and Hana liked it, so they tipped the diced ham into the pan without looking at it. Steam filled the air. Ha Neul made more than enough kimchi fried rice for Hana’s classmates, then set aside a little extra for her when she came back.

It was dark when Hana returned home. She was wearing a green polka dot dress, her hair in a ponytail. There was blood on her. Ha Neul could smell it as soon as she walked through the door, and their stomach clenched.

“I’m in the kitchen,” they called out to her.

She walked in, the scent of blood following her. It pervaded the kitchen, making Ha Neul forget, for a moment, the food on the stove. Their stomach growled and their mouth ran dry. They hadn’t eaten all day.

“Oppa, you’re cooking!” Hana said, coming up next to them.

They focused on the rice in the pan, stirring it to mix the kimchi and Spam evenly. The Spam had darkened to a deep pink. “Of course I am. Unless I’m mistaken, your potluck is tomorrow.”

“You look like a professional chef.”

They smiled in spite of the smell of blood in their nose. “Your compliment is appreciated. Now go wash your hands. I made some for you to eat tonight.”

Hana clapped her hands and ran to do as they said. By the time she came back, the scent of blood had eased, and Ha Neul could hand her the bowl of kimchi fried rice without their hand trembling.

“How is it?” they asked as she began to eat.

She closed her eyes and chewed. Ha Neul knew she could barely taste it, but there was happiness on her face. “It’s delicious, oppa. I know it is.”

They couldn’t smell the blood anymore. Ha Neul felt the warmth of the kitchen again, the steam in the air. They watched Hana eat, a little longing mixed with their pleasure in her enjoyment. The two of them would have made a proper family if only Ha Neul could sit down and eat with her. But if Hana was content with only the hint of flavor, then they were content with only this, its reflection.

They turned back to the stove, and shut it off.

On the morning of Hana’s potluck, Ha Neul carried a tin foil tray of kimchi fried rice to her bus stop, handing it to her carefully before running to catch their own bus. A disheveled man with a hoarse voice harangued passengers about sinning as the bus crawled its way down Wilshire, and the couple in front of Ha Neul argued in whispers, almost hissing as each accused the other of infidelity. Ha Neul listened with half an ear, looking out the window at the Ford Pintos inching past and the dusty haze that made everything outside glow.

The restaurant was dark and cool, not yet overheated by the stoves. Ha Neul put the chairs in place and wiped the tabletops while Mrs. Chang chatted with her sister, who had joined them for the day. The sister had arrived in America only the week before, and Mrs. Chang was eager to have someone who knew the same people she did and shared the same hopes for this new life.

Ha Neul didn’t interrupt their conversation, dreaming instead about the food they would make that day: the chill of the soy sauce on their skin, the true red of gochujang dark against the silver of the spoon, the steam beading their face in sweat whenever they lifted the lid off a pot.

No customers complained that day, and Mrs. Chang sent Ha Neul home with more galbi and banchan than usual. Ha Neul had made the food, but they chose to feel kindly towards Mrs. Chang for her generosity.

At home, Hana was waiting for them. The tin foil tray sat next to her on the table, still burdened with its food. It was bent slightly out of shape. Bits of rice flecked the tabletop around it. Hana’s mouth was pursed tightly, but it quivered when Ha Neul asked her, “What’s wrong?”

“They said it smelled bad and made fun of me for eating Spam. What do they know? I could eat them instead!”

Ha Neul knew she would have cried, if she could. They sat down next to her, some vice grip squeezing their chest. For Hana’s sake, they smiled. “I’d advise against it. They probably don’t taste good.”

“They’re ungrateful punks. You worked so hard to make this and they wouldn’t even eat it.”

“I am hardly insulted by the bad taste of children a fraction my age.”

Hana wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, a habit she still hadn’t unlearned. Whenever she was angry or upset, her hand went to her eyes as if there were still tears to stem. Ha Neul took her hand and squeezed it.

Her skin was dry and smooth, eroded by neither time nor care. In that respect, she was different from her classmates and everyone else around her. It was hard to remember that difference, however, when she was squeezing Ha Neul’s hand so tightly, looking for comfort after a hurt that should have been slight.

After a moment she said, “I wanted to eat this fried rice.”

Ha Neul squeezed her hand again. “You can eat all of it now, if you want.”

“No, I wanted to really eat it. I wanted it to taste like kimchi fried rice should, to make me full.” Hana stomped to the drawers and came back with a plastic spoon. “Even though those little ingrates can eat, they won’t make use of it.” She dug into the rice hard enough to bend the flimsy plastic and began eating.

Another layer of sadness settled over Ha Neul, heavy and thick as the smog that pervaded Los Angeles. They should have listened to their own advice from the beginning: food was food. How could it teach people anything? Perhaps for Hana’s classmates, the kimchi fried rice was not a sign of comfort and family, but of something else entirely. Perhaps some of their fox’s nature made its way into the dish, marking it as something fearful.

“I’m sorry.” They felt useless with only those words for comfort.

“It’s not your fault, oppa.”

The two of them sat in silence as Hana ate. Ha Neul knew she could finish the whole tray. It wouldn’t make her full, after all. They sat and watched her, trying to imagine what it tasted like and only remembering the crunch of the kimchi under their knife, the splash of red over white rice, the Spam glistening pinkly before they’d thrown it in the pan. Things which were only parts of the whole, not enough to fill the quiet of this kitchen.

Ha Neul wanted, as they hadn’t in years, to take a spoonful of food and taste it. But they knew, even before they finished the thought, that it would be nothing but ash. All they could do was say, “I’ll make you as much food as you want.”

Hana smiled, and though the corners of her mouth lifted, her expression didn’t brighten. She looked her age. “Even if I’ll never be able to tell how good it is?”

“Of course.”

They thought about the colors of different ingredients, the textures under their hands. No matter what other people thought, they didn’t want to forget any of that. As long as Hana wanted food they would cook, and the two of them would keep trying, again and again, to discover taste in the warmth of this kitchen.

END

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Thanks for listening, and I’ll be back soon with a reprint of “How to Remember to Forget to Remember the Old War” by R.B. Lemberg.

Episode #35 — “Cooking with Closed Mouths” by Kerry Truong was originally published on GlitterShip

#culture #food #gumiho #immigrants #kerry truong #GlitterShip #lgbtq fiction #queer fiction #short stories #science fiction and fantasy #podcast

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