#and also we feel like you are the single demographic most likely to appreciate our horrifically morally corrupt girlie

[mantisgodsdomain]

Worm fandom of Tumblr can we convince you to vote for our Cauldron-adjacent moth woman in exchange for goods & services. It has been nearly two years since we have actually read the source media and we don't remember 99% of canon but we can draw bug furries and we can be persuaded to reread Worm with the fresh mind of "we only remember watching Taylor's brainstate getting steadily worse while muttering "oh no that's us" the whole time and we literally could not name anything that happens in canon anymore".

For 1 vote we can be persuaded to rack our brain (full of holes) to try and remember any information about a given character for 1 victory we will reread Worm in a way where hopefully it sticks in our brain this time instead of dissolving out the sieve (maybe liveblogging). This is a serious offer because we take voter fraud very seriously. Please help us rig this tournament horribly so we can do war crimes to a fungus.

Voting link here. We are counting on you to consign us to reading Worm again.

[ihopesocomic]

I think what's also important to point out is that you're both making IHS for a completely different demographic from MP? Not that MP really succeeded at being an "adult series" but making a PG-13 comic means that some things have to be condensed and simplified for your child readers so it's easy for them to follow and understand. Hope I'm not coming across as too patronizing, I just think the way that IHS's storytelling appeals to both minors AND adults rather one camp is its main strength.

I think there's two important things to note here:

I feel My Pride opted to describe itself as "not for children" because it felt that working off that disclaimer meant the show could be unnecessarily violent and depressing. We've had fans use it as a defence for the show's bad writing before (even though a lot of the fans are obviously minors lol) and yeah no, that's not how "adult animation" works. There still needs to be a method and a reasoning behind these things. Not to mention that the bobblehead trigger warnings before each episode were easily one of the most insultingly childish things I have ever had to sit through. Your animation is supposedly for adults and yet you seriously have the characters being all 'so if you don't have a mane as big as mine, you shouldn't be here!" and "cubs: stay out!" like some Dora the Explorer shit? Honestly: get real. It's also incredibly irresponsible to present trigger warnings as these "tee hee funny" segments. Really shows how they had no idea what kind of audience they were presenting this show to and were just using the "it's not for children1!1!" route as a cop out.

Children's media can still be relatively mature. There are plenty of examples out there, some of which inspired this comic. There's just a limit to these things and I think people can make obvious guesses on what these limits are based on how we've ran this blog and shot certain things down. However, our comic still handles subjects that you would view as quite "adult", such as abuse and grief. Because children deserve to be taken seriously. It's because children - particularly teenagers - aren't unintelligent. They can pick up on things quick and understand certain mature aspects, mainly because some have experienced/are experiencing the same things that Hope and the other characters are experiencing in the comic. It's about your writing relating to your audience as well as trying to keep their sensitivities in mind, and this goes for media for adults as well as children. You don't suddenly stop having triggers once you're 18, unfortunately.

So, yeah, while I get what you're saying, anon, and I appreciate it, I don't want us to use our PG-13 rating as a reasoning behind our storytelling. We've already stated why our villains are written the way they are, after all. Because trying to make every single villain in media "sympathetic" is becoming a bit of mishandled curse and we don't want it to apply to all of our antagonists. It's completely doable to make your villains complex AND unsympathetic. - RJ

[littlecello]

Lazarus responses all in one place for better readability wahoo

belphegor1982 Holy cow, we really dodged a bullet there. Thank you for the write-up! I hadn't heard of Lazarus at all before. And now I'm very thankful that the fandom still exists and thrives! 💜

WE REALLY DID LOL. You're very welcome, glad to have been of service! And omg I feel the same ahhh! It's made me really appreciate the little space we built for ourselves over all these years 🥹

-

bisexualroger Was lovely to meet you and fern too! 😊 I definitely agree with this. I’m really glad I went for the experience, I’d have been gutted to have missed it, but ultimately yeah the shortcomings (especially with regard to how they handled the politics of the police 😬) mean it’s for the best we never got Lazarus the show. 

AHHH YES!! Seriously you all made my entire day 🥹🥹🥹 And god yeah, I am also genuinely glad to have been there, because the questions and forever-wondering would have killed my fandom-mojo I think. But now it's done the opposite and I am ENERGISED! I want to re-establish the best parts of the fandom as opposed to what we witnessed in that room! Seriously, all those cis-het men laughing so hard at all the bad jokes made me feel so uncomfortable.

-

youstupidplonkIt was so wonderful to meet you!! You’ve put this into words so much more eloquently than I have managed so far. I really do agree that the way they joked about current politics, both in the police and around the climate felt very out of touch. As you’ve said especially because the main demographic keeping this fandom active is young (from what I can tell) liberal people Thank you again for saying hi to us and taking the time to write this wonderful analysis ❤️❤️

LIKEWISE AHHH!! Your outfit was fantastic btw!! And I'm glad you feel my analysis hit the spot - hearing all the laughter around us and stuff made both Fern and me feel really lonely and out of place at times ghfkjgs. We're both really glad we aren't alone with our sentiments 🥹

-

fleurdeneuf oh wow, thank you for sharing all of this! i'm relieved the show won't be happening.

You're welcome!! It would've felt wrong not to do a little report on this, seeing as the event wasn't well advertised and tickets sold out so quickly. We've got to include the whole fandom in this! 💪

-

partywithponies I think it was very shallow as well in that it was almost entirely Life on Mars with barely any Ashes to Ashes to it at all, and coincidentally, Ashes to Ashes isn't as well known overseas. It didn’t feel for the fans, it just felt like what they thought would sell better. Poor Shaz didn't even get a single vague reference the entire event, and Alex, the literal third main character of the franchise, got one passing moment in the entire pilot.

I agree to some extent - they definitely went for what they felt would have the most recognition value. I do however think that they at least set up quite a bit of Alex involvement, seeing as she's the one who hits Sam and Gene in 2024 (or at least it's heavily implied that it's her). As for Shaz, I have to be cynical and say that with Matt and Ashley being old white men... they've probably forgotten about her and/or don't think she's important. Unfortunately.

Either way, I guess we can both agree that it's a good thing Lazarus isn't getting made as a TV show haha!

-

On a personal note, thank you all for your warm reactions to my little report :') I have to admit I was a bit trepidatious about posting it because of my (and our) negative feelings about it, as contrasted to what Fern and I perceived as a really enthusiastic response from the audience that was present... But I see now I needn't have worried. The fandom I remember and love is still here, and I can't thank you all enough for that. 💚

[greeksorceress]

hey!! i follow you on twitter (sorry for the lowkey stalking lol) and i saw that theartificialintellect said they’d be deleting all their fics :(((( because they don’t want their ‘pieces to be accessible to the wrong demographic’. what do they mean by this? i would ask them but they have no anonymous question function available

hello anon!

i’ve talked with ithrii about this. honestly, it’s not my place to say, but i’m sure ithrii will tell you about how they’re feeling if you contact them. also, it might be good too, to show support! 🤍

what i’m going to do is make the most of this ask and say a few things that have been on my mind for a while.

first and foremost, this fandom is wild. i’ve been in so many fandoms for the best part of 15 years now and house of the dragon is so far the most draining and toxic fandom i’ve been part of.

this doesn’t mean everyone’s terrible. i’ve met numerous people who are kind and brilliant, whom i consider good friends or admire a lot, and i’ve found people with whom i feel such a deep and strong connection. truly, some of the best people i know have come from this fandom. also, house of the dragon has some of the best fandom creators ever, both in writing and in art. specially lucemond, the quality of the content we get for them in insanely good. we’re truly blessed.

but yeah, some of the rudest people i’ve ever seen are part of this too. haters in this fandom just hit different, they’re unrelenting.

ithrii has been harassed for months, their stories have been receiving so much negative comments from both haters or insensitive readers and at the end of the day, it has been too much. and just like what’s happening with ithrii, this happens so much with lots of content creators. even right now as we speak, if you are part of the twitter fandom, and you follow ithrii, you can see the kind of comments they have to put up with.

that’s why i want to remind everyone that leaving positive feedback is very important. you don’t have to be best friends with the author, but leaving kudos is one click away, dropping a “that was so good!” takes just 10 seconds of our days. and it can change the life of a fandom writer. i don’t know why most people who put their passion into the comments are always the ones trying to hate, but we have to help authors to know they have people supporting them. i understand if you’re shy, my social anxiety skyrockets every single time i have to interact with someone, but this is so helpful and so necessary.

ithrii doesn’t deserve this. they’re an author that has always been real about what they write and what they like. and they’ve been such a fantastic friend. it pains me it has come to this. they deserve better, they deserve to feel they have a place in this fandom. so i really encourage you to go and talk to them, because they need to know we care about what’s going on!

thank you for the ask, dear anon. i’m sorry i cannot go about personal details because that’s ithrii’s story to tell. i just can tell you that any support will be appreciated. and also, this answer wasn’t specific just to your ask, i just wanted to seize the opportunity 🤍

[yaletownlaser2]

Light beam Tattoo Removal: The simplest way It Works

Ya think about laser skin image removal but are determining what to hope? Don’t worry; we’ve got your once again. This Yaletown Lazer Centre blog post could tell you all you need to recognise about how laser skin icon removal works, what things to expect during the course of action, and the outcomes acheive. Laser Tattoo Taking away: The Science

Beam of light tattoo removal can be described as complicated procedure necessitating highly specialized lasers to break down in addition to remove tattoo pigment.

The procedure works by wearing the ink straight into tiny particles which can be flushed away normally by the body’s things. Understanding that each skin image style requires a numerous laser wavelength to become erased efficiently is. The Procedure

The treatment commences with selecting the appropriate laser for the style of tattoo to get rid of. Because different hues require varying levels of energy to break down, your laser’s wavelength deviates depending on the color for the ink targeted.

Your laser is after that tuned to provide the suitable amount of energy with the pigment while inflicting no damage to next tissue.

During the functioning, laser pulses can be aimed at the tattooed region, breaking a ink into modest particles.

As a result, that tattoo gradually dies out and eventually disappears. Based on its size along with complexity, multiple solutions may be required to clear off the tattoo.

According to size and the demographics of the tattoo, the full procedure normally takes around 5 and 20 minutes. Patients will need numerous treatment options to remove the skin icon completely.

Some inflammation and swelling are after each treatment method but should be completely removed within a few days. Right after your doctor’s aftercare instructions is critical to guarantee a successful treatment and prevent problems. Aftercare

Aftercare Proper aftercare is crucial for good laser skin image removal outcomes. The location may feel popular and uncomfortable right after treatment and will more than likely be red together with swollen. Keeping the location clean and moisturized using a topical antibiotic during the healing action is critical.

Avoiding sunlight and covering the influenced region with a bandage or sunscreen to get at least two weeks following therapy is also imperative.

Understanding that laser skin icon removal may cause appreciable discomfort during and additionally after the procedure is additionally crucial. Some human beings experience irritation around redness, swelling, scabbing, bruising, or various symptoms.

To lessen it is likely that these side effects, right after your doctor’s tips carefully is critical. Those adverse effects should decrease within a few days for most situations. If they maintain, consult your doctor.

Eventually, it is critical to be patient. Laserlight tattoo removal uses time and may need numerous treatments ahead of ink is gone. The may differ from one person to another depending on several elements, such as the size in addition to placement of the skin image and the ink shade. Your doctor can provide most people with more information about a treatment plan. Final Thoughts

Relating to laser tattoo taking away, we at Yaletown Laser understand how significant it is to get wonderful results. We have dedicated to cutting-edge technology to produce the best care.

Most people always take a your own approach with every single customer, ensuring you're certain the process, what to count on, and how to accomplish the greatest results. Should you have any questions, we is always available to guide. Get in touch with us at present to learn more!

[costoflivingaotearoa]

Everybody Eats

My dad gasps when I tell him the price for a single cucumber at New World. “Seven dollars?! How are you supposed to feed yourself?” I always tell him that we manage just fine. We’re students. We’re supposed to struggle. Right?

I think Everybody Eats would beg to differ.

Everybody Eats is a charity restaurant, with a kaupapa of reducing food waste, food poverty, and social isolation in Aotearoa. These issues targeted are intersectional, with the “ability to solve each other”. Prior to our current cost of living crisis, “A 2014 global survey found one in six Kiwis ran out of money for food, meaning we have one of the worst food poverty problems in the developed world”. This case study aims to explore why young people are well-equipped to create transformational change to address the cost of living crisis.

As all previous case studies have demonstrated, the cost of living crisis encompasses many different structural injustices. Everybody Eats is specifically aiming to mitigate the structural injustice of food poverty. Food poverty is a structural injustice as it is mostly caused by a lack of money for food—a socio-structural position that restrains and limits one’s choices (Young 2011). This is also social-structural position that is often populated by young people and students.

To combat this, the organisation has chosen a pay-as-you-feel system of koha. The charity falls under the prefigurative politics and everyday organising forms of civic action. When founder Nick Loosley noticed the gap between food insecurity and food waste, he decided to redress this imbalance by living out his ideals in the present, stimulating change through prefigurative politics. Everybody Eats is also a form of everyday organising—a registered charity with Loosley as its leader, aiming to use donations to provide the communities in both Auckland and Wellington with free meals. This type of civic action follows an outside-in approach to change. Most of the upper management, including the founders, are hospitality professionals—none of them are involved in institutional politics. However, Loosley’s belief in prefigurative politics is his theory of change: “I had this hypothesis that if we cook and share food together, we might solve problems that we have within the food system”.

Everybody Eats is a prime example of how young people are well positioned to create change. I interviewed Ava, a 25 year old young professional who has been regularly volunteering at Everybody Eats since early 2021. She points out that although the volunteers span a range of ages, those in their 20s make up the biggest demographic. Ava attributes this largely to the rise in conversations about food waste and climate change in recent years. Many young people have grown up as stakeholders in these events, making them more likely to be aware and educated on the issue. Research on the Student Volunteer Army demonstrates that during times of crisis “people want to help”, and when given the opportunity, “they will just throw everything at it”. Thus, as young people are stakeholders in the issue, they may be more attracted to volunteer work that also addresses their own problems: “the best thing you could do for someone is give them an opportunity to help someone else”.

Founder and key stakeholder Loosley has a motto of “feed bellies, not the bin”. His goal is to provide “vulnerable people an opportunity to enjoy a dignified experience without feeling any guilt or stigma”, which is largely how the charity came about.

Diners are also a key stakeholder, with the majority of them unable to contribute a koha. One homeless diner sees Everybody Eats as not only a place for sustenance, but also a safe, warm space for social interaction. Another diner was there due to the rise in rent, leaving little money left over for food. For her, the charity provides her most nutritious meal of the week: “I really appreciate the vegetables these days, because vegetables are so expensive”.

There has been a dramatic increase in young volunteers and diners since the cost of living crisis. Ava has seen a significant change in the demographic of diners, particularly after the COVID19 restrictions were lifted, which was “quite frightening”. She observed a rise in young people and families as a consequence: “these kinds of services are so necessary now for lots of people just to get basic meals”. This aligns with the Green Party’s People’s Inquiry into Student Wellbeing, which found that in the months following the cost of living crisis, “22% (of students) were unable to afford food weekly or daily, rising to 32% fortnightly”.

From chefs to waiters, volunteers make of most of the organisation. Many of these are regulars who support Loosley’s ideals and concept, sharing a hatred for food waste. One volunteer admired how the charity tackled multiple issues in one, whilst bringing the community together. These volunteers are the backbone of the charity—they are the ones rescuing, making, and serving the food, so that the diners can enjoy it. They are implementing Loosley’s ideals. Ava admits that she volunteers there largely due to “selfish” reasons as it gives her “more of a rounded sense of fulfilment”. She also enjoys the community that Everybody Eats creates, with fellow young volunteers who provide a social environment. Ava mentions that a particularly special aspect of the organisation is how “the volunteers eat with the community that come in”, ensuring that there is no “disconnect between volunteer and recipient”. Volunteerism as a form of civic action “is recognised as an expression of social altruism and connectedness” and is “an important contributor to community psycho-social recovery”. Thus, young people also suffering from food poverty may be able to create a shared sense of belonging with the very community they are serving, making them more effective changemakers.

At the conclusion of our interview, Ava admitted that she did not see herself as a changemaker:

There are just these amazing, clever people who can save food that would be wasted…that can bring communities together and provide that social connectedness. I see those people as being the changemakers. And then what I can do is just to help these leaders make that happen.

Whilst Everybody Eats does continuously aim to create tangible change, there are a few inherent blind spots in the prefigurative and everyday organisation forms of civic action that mirror much of Ava’s rhetoric. Evidently, an issue with everyday organising is the disconnect that volunteers feel with leaders of their organisation. Like Ava, they may feel somewhat helpless in the wider political sphere, only playing a minute supporting role. Additionally, whilst the charity does manage to live out their ideals, they fail to infiltrate the institution itself—after all, Everybody Eats is just one actor lobbying against food poverty. As it only has two locations NZ-wide, there is still a critical issue of access for those in other regions. Furthermore, young people, who make up most of the organisation, still lack access to key positions of political power. These difficulties, especially in penetrating the institution, are all a direct consequence of structural injustice at work.

Nevertheless, this case study has proven the significance of young people taking on those supporting roles, like volunteering at Everybody Eats. With their ability to see eye-to-eye with the community, passion for the issue, and social-structural position, they are undeniably valuable changemakers for the cost of living crisis.

[100hearteyes]

any more thoughts on 'clarke and lexa make a porno'?

🤔😏

Part 1 Part 2

“Last but not least, worry no more, citizens of Capitola: after a grueling week of searching, our very own superhero Jasper Jordan has finally found his cape. He was wearing it all along.”

“It’s so good to know that he will be able to go on keeping Capitola safe.”

“Yes, what would we do without Jasper Jordan here to protect us? And from now on, you’ll be in Lexa Woods’s hands. Also, such good hands those are. She’s got very long fingers.”

“Oh. Well, I never actually noticed, but I guess they are. Thanks, Clarke. And now, perk your ears for the new hit single from our very own global country star, Harper McIntyre. It’s called Call Me Harp-by. She’s a creative genius!”

-

Lexa’s first instinct when she hears the studio door open is to hide. She checks her options: Monty is holed up under his desk playing on his GameBoy Color, Octavia has barricaded herself in a corner with actual hand-carved sticks and is roaring at Bellamy in a strange language, and Murphy is probably peeing into a bin behind the pillar on the far side of the room.

She’s too slow to think of a solution in the end and she can’t do anything but flush when Clarke strolls in and heads over to her, smirk plastered on her face. Lexa only has time to save her miniature Baby Yoda from Clarke’s weapon of ass destruction before her coworker sits on the edge of her desk.

“Hey, Lexa.”

Lexa forces a polite smile, trying to focus on her outline for the day rather than the butt cheeks planted on her desk, the body attached to them, or the face looking down at her with a sly grin. “Hello, Clarke.”

“What do you think of Harper McIntyre’s new song?”

The topic confuses her, but she trudges on with a brave face. After all, she’s got opinions on Capitola’s Taylor Swift rip-off and if Anya is going to make it a point of leaving the room every time Lexa so much as mentions them, then she’s going to take this opportunity with both hands and pull out all the receipts. “Uninspired. Derivative. Oddly reminiscent of Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“Yeah...” Clarke nods pensively, letting the subsequent silence drag on for a few more seconds. “I like your fingers.”

Lexa starts at the sudden topic change and struggles to keep her blush under control under the brazen intensity of Clarke’s stare. “Yes, I- I noticed. You mentioned. On the radio, for all of Capitola to hear. Thank you, I guess?”

Clarke hums, before clicking her tongue and hopping off of Lexa’s desk. She roundabouts it until she’s right next to Lexa, thigh brushing Lexa’s arm.

Lexa tries and fails to swallow down the knot in her throat as Clarke sits on her desk again, this time on her side, crossing her legs so her feet touch Lexa’s leg.

“So a little bird told me we’re starring in a porno together.”

Lexa almost yelps, scrambling out of her chair to fasten both hands over Clarke’s mouth. “The whole world doesn’t need to know, Clarke!”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but Lexa can feel her smile under her hands. Their eyes lock, a tacit understanding passing between them. Clarke's eyes are a vivid blue, like a cloudless sky or the color of Lexa's highlighters before Anya dunked them all in a bag of manure, and it's hard not to drown in the depths of them.

"Glad to see you two getting intimate already."

They spring apart as though they were burned. Lexa sits back down on her chair, while Clarke takes a seat at her desk, which to Lexa's chagrin is right next to her own. Anya chuckles as she sinks into her own chair, propping her feet on Lexa's desk, crossed at the ankles.

"Anyway," she slams a hand over a stack of papers, making Clarke and Lexa jump in their seats, "can you guess what this is?"

Clarke and Lexa look at each other with raised eyebrows, then at Anya. Lexa shrugs.

"This is your fucking Bible," Anya says, not waiting for them to guess. "Your Dianetics.Your Loose Canon. Your gospel." At her companions' still expectant stares, Anya heaves a dramatic sigh, throwing her arms up. "It's the goddamn screenplay."

Oh.

Oh.

It's like the snap of an elastic band. Lexa and Clarke shoot out of their chairs to snatch the script from Anya's desk. Lexa gets there first (going to the gym does pay off after all), dribbling around Clarke, and lets out a triumphant cry before sinking back into her chair, thumbing through the pages of the heavy tome.

She stops on a random page and feels Clarke press closer to read over her shoulder.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S KITCHEN - TWILIGHT

Enter Lulu. Plumber by day, detective by night. She stops by the island and twirls a lead pipe in her right hand before sheathing it like a cowboy's pistol.

LULU

It seems it's time to read your...

Lulu puts on her shades. ZOOM IN.

LULU (CONT'D)

...Anya rights.

-

Lexa balks, peeling her eyes from the page to gape at Anya.

"Anya rights? Anya rights? You can't just... Arbitrarily rename the Miranda rights. They have that name for a reason."

Anya rolls her eyes like Lexa just said something obnoxiously stupid. "I didn't just rename them, you dumbass. I fucking changed them. If you'd read the whole thing, you would know that the suspect has the obligation to remain silent. No more fucking cry babies in cuffs."

"This is..." Lexa opens and closes her mouth like a fish, trying to find a thread of logic in the midst of... Whatever fever dream she's living in right now. "I thought we were filming a porno, not a sexy cop movie. Plumber by day, detective by night? That's- it's not even remotely realistic."

"Lexa... Suspend your disbelief."

"I think it's really good stuff," Clarke chimes in, her breasts still firmly pressed to Lexa's shoulder blade.

"Thank you, Clarke!" Anya exclaims, throwing her hands up and letting them fall on her legs with a loud clap. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Lexa rolls her eyes, but fine. Fine. She will read more; she will give Anya a chance. She opens the book on a new page, several scenes ahead.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Blondie rubs her lover's love button like she's scratching at a turn-table, making Lulu scream louder than Saoirse Ronan in Ammonite when Kate Winslet was eating her out with her neck.

LULU

Oh, fuck! You're so good at this! Almost as good as my awesome best friend and mentor Anya, even though I've never had sex with her because that would be totally gross.

Blondie stops her ministrations to look up at Lulu and smirks.

BLONDIE

I know. After all, they don't call me DJ Diddles for nothin'.

-

Lexa stares incredulously from the two hundred-odd pages to Anya, wondering how grave a sin she must have committed in a past life to deserve this.

"What are you, a sex-deprived straight guy?"

Anya scoffs, yanking the script from Lexa's hands before she can do anything to stop it. "I can assure you there is no deprivation in that department."

"After reading that I am seriously starting to doubt that you've ever even seen a vagina."

"I thought it was good," Clarke pipes in once again. This time, Lexa turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Is she paying you to say that?"

Clarke tsks with a smirk. "I'm just smart enough to know better than to get on the lead producer's bad side."

Anya snaps her fingers and points at Clarke approvingly, and Lexa has never regretted a decision so deeply in her life.

"Anyway," Clarke resumes, standing up and grabbing her bag. "This has been fun, but I need to get going. Anya, stay classy. We'll work out the schedule this week. Lexa," she adds, her voice dropping a tone to turn into a seductive purr. She leans down, and it's all Lexa can do not to focus on how her breasts squish together and seem to become fuller and more inviting. She loses the plot when a pair of lips presses to her cheek in a kiss that is chaste, yet way too slow for propriety. "See you tomorrow."

Lexa's throat is dry as a desert as she watches Clarke leave, her hips swaying more than usual. She jumps in place when Anya clears her throat next to her. This time, she can't avoid her friend's shit-eating grin.

"No chemistry, you say?"

"Shut up, Anya," she grumbles, focusing back on her work. She has a full, five-minute newscast to prepare, she can't dawdle and joke around gossiping like some people. But then a thought pops up in her head and she turns to Anya, eyes narrowed. "Is this some elaborate plan to get us together? I refuse to be your little Love, Actually experiment."

Anya's stare is fifty shades of unimpressed. "Lexa. Don't take yourself so seriously. It's a bad look on you."

Lexa buries her face in her hands with a long-suffering sigh. Why is this her life? Why is this her best friend? Why is she hopelessly attracted to the worst, most unprofessional coworker on the planet?

"Why couldn't you find a normal hobby? Something that doesn't include me? Like baking. Baking would have been so much better."

"You know," Anya drawls almost nostalgically, "I actually considered that, but the criminally inclined baker niche was already taken up by Martha Stewart."

"She is surprisingly niche," Lexa says, intrigued.

"Indeed."

"But she's also able to appeal to a larger audience."

"Uh-huh."

"Fascinating."

"I know. It's like Punkya. You'd think a lesbian erotica magazine would only appeal to queer women and depraved straight men, but it's been selling surprisingly well amongst the straight female demographic."

Hm. Are all women secretly queer?

"Interesting," Lexa concedes, before veering the topic back to Anya's passion (and Lexa's torture) project. "So when does principal photography start?"

And there it is again, that nefarious gleam in Anya's eyes. It grows along with her Cheshire cat grin, curling and curling until it's pure, unbridled evil.

"Next week."

[ohnobjyx]

Would it be that impossible for dd and gg to come out as a couple (provided they respected censorship and didn't talk about it with the media)? I read the other day that homosexuality is not illegal in China, just talking about it and showing in the media, so could not someone as brave and crazy as dd attempt to come out outside of the media? after all they are the first 3 shipped real couples in china, they do have support. Coming out willingly would also save them from being eventually outed..

Hi, anon! (*this blogger cracks her neck and gets ready*) Let’s get into it!

Disclaimer: fake fake fake. Why would you think that we believe in bjyx?

Preface: this post might not be exactly a controversial opinion, since I think many will have the same one. However, it’s alright to disagree: we all have our own perception of the matter, which is coloured by our own experiences (let’s just say that an absolute objective view is difficult). I present here with the most objective post (at least in terms of data and facts) I could write.

Oh, and you all might have noticed, but being concise is not my forte. I tend to digress.

First of all, I assume that the concept of “coming out outside of the media” means that they could have told just close friends and family, without announcing it to the media.

But how would we know that they have done it? (and I don’t mean we should know for sure, ofc). For all we know, they may have already done this, and, from my pov, they probably have. Without entering in “fake” rumours:

TTXS bros know something (repeating myself for the nth time). From the way DZW jumps in whenever it remotely looks like dd is slipping up, how WH poses his questions, how QF teases him. It all seems references to a real, tangible thing, instead of baseless friendly teasing. It’s also very interesting that they have stopped their matchmaking mission and have instead started to defend why dd is “single”.

Their parents are their cover. Even if dd parents didn’t watch TTXS, wouldn’t someone else watch it and ask them about it? Wouldn’t they wonder about the supposed clothes that dd sends home, the medicine, the market stroll? Maybe I’m just projecting, but I wouldn’t use my parents as a shield if they weren’t aware of the situation behind it, because I’d be subjected to their questioning later. That’s why, unless I wanted to tell them or I had already told them, I wouldn’t use my parents as an excuse. So, once is alright, but dd has done it several times, and that, for me, means that his parents know.

That’s what I would consider “coming outside the media”. Of course, this doesn’t involve us fans, and it’s their decision, of which we probably will never hear about (or, at least, not soon, and that’s fine!). 

In my opinion, it’s also the best course of action, especially with all the rumours that are always circulating about them. It wouldn’t be a “brave and crazy” course of action, but rather the most sensible and rational, since it’s the best way to avoid misunderstandings with your friends and family. It’s also considerate for his friends at work, just so they know what to expect when they are on stage and it allows them to understand dd’s reactions.

(Again, we are talking about dd because that’s who anon asked about. I think gg’s circle is less close to him, so it may not be the case with him, but I don’t know enough to say what would happen).

Just let’s suppose his TTXS bros didn’t know anything and just kept trying to act as matchmakers for dd. That’s the kind of situation that’s bound to be uncomfortable for everyone because dd isn’t the kind of person who’d lie (and he doesn’t fast enough to improptu questions). 

The second thing I wanted to talk about is their fans’ support. I want to talk about numbers.

I’m going to explain why I only take the c-fans data as reference. We int fans don’t really count, because we don’t affect their careers directly, as c-fans do. Of course, our support is very useful in showing how many people are rooting for them, like what happened when Roseonly’s livestream with gg was live. And I like to think that they would feel better knowing that there are a lot of people in Chn and overseas that support them and whatever there is between them.

So int-fans do contribute to give more views and likes to their Roseonly livestream (if they can access it, which isn’t always the case), but they won’t buy the roses and impact with real money, so to say.

We don’t really participate in their endorsements, many won’t stay long enough to watch more dramas from them (and I do understand that the lack of eng subs is the main problem), and many don’t/can’t/don’t know how to push them up in the charts. We’ve talked before about how the c-ent industry doesn’t really need the int audience to make a lot of money, and to be highly profitable, and it still applies in a smaller case, like a single idol. 

That’s why I think that in matters of real, tangible fan support, c-fans still make a bigger percentage (around 80-90%) of their support.

So, as of now, there are 3 supertopics in w/ibo that features gg/dd (let’s leave the difference in supertopics for another day, but I don’t support the discussion about people’s sex life, thanks for your understanding):

BJYX. The largest supertopic (top 1) with a wide margin from the others. It has 2.570.000 fans.

ZSWW. It’s the number 5 in the CP supertopics, with 910.000 fans.

LXFY. The number 23 in the CP supertopics with 590.000 fans.

All of them added make 4.070.000 fans. But we have to take into account the overlapping in these three supertopics: many people (like me) are following the three supertopics at the same time. That’s why, in a not scientific way, I’m guessing that those 4.070.000 come to around 4.000.000 once you take out the people that are following the three at the same time.

Even 4 million people is still a huge number of people: that’s more people than the population of the capital of my country, and one tenth of the total census here.

Yet, in China, it means 4 out of every 1400, which translates into 0′003%. It’s also from a very specific demographic (mainly female and young). Of course, it doesn’t mean that they won’t get support from other people if it ever got out, but they can’t know what would happen then for sure.

It means that, in actual 3D world, there are a lot of people who don’t know about their CP. I read the other day some tumblr blogger saying that “we bxg are in our own little bubble, not that many people know about their cp” (was that you, @jcisthebestfightme?) which I agree a lot with. I mean, my w/ibo account and tumblr is filled with bjyx/yizhan, so much that it’s easy to forget that I arranged it to be like this, but that the majority of the people don’t receive so much info about them, nor they analyze their every move like we do.

The only thing they can know for sure is what general population thinks about same sex relationships.

In a recent poll I saw, with thousands of answers about what netizens thought of the legalization of same sex marriage in Taiwan, the supporting votes didn’t get to 50%. In Taiwan, public opinion was like this around the time same sex marriage was legalized:

An opinion poll conducted in November 2016 by the Kuomintang found that 52% of the Taiwanese population supported same-sex marriage, while 43% were opposed. Another poll commissioned that same month found similar numbers: 55% in support, and 45% in opposition. Support was higher among 20–29-year-olds (80%), but decreased significantly with age. (Wikipedia)

(I just want to say, I can’t wait for the younger generations to take over).

More data: the public stance in China could be described as: “no approval, no disapproval, no promotion”, and the public opinion is becoming more and more tolerant, but there’s still a deep-set homophobia, as in only 5% of the lgbt people comes out completely (around 20% comes out to their family), and around 80% of gay men are married to women due to social and family pressure (ofc, these data is from a few years ago, and new polls and surveys are needed, but don’t expect them to carry out a wide-range survey about this nor I think the situation has changed drastically).

In my opinion, society is slowly taking more steps towards tolerance first and acceptance second. One of their best achievement was the lgbt community and many netizens’ refusal to allow w/ibo to instate a ban on content related to homosexuality, which led to w/ibo actually reversing its decision and stop banning that content in less than 3 days.

However, the fact that a lot of people express their support doesn’t take away the truth of a lot of people openly opposing it (let’s remember that there weren’t so many antis to start with in 2/27, but its effects were undeniably large and unjust).

(If any of you read more data about lgbt rights in China, please remember that Hong Kong receives a lot more Western influence, and that public opinion in HK does not represent the actual situation in mainland Chn. Ofc, because they’re more open to lgbt, there are also more data and polls carried out in HK, so a lot of info is HK based).

Leaving this kind of data aside, let’s take another matter of numbers. While they have in total 4 million fans in the supertopics, dd has as of now 35,400,000 fans following him on w/ibo and gg has 26,690,000 fans.

One thing I’m sure they are aware of is the discussion that arises from time to time between the solo fans and the bxg. Another thing they must be aware of, specially dd, is that their fanbase has a lot of females who are their fans, not just because of their talent, but also because they’re single and therefore they can fantasize about being with them.

All in all, even though a lot of people support them, there would be also quite a number of “disappointed” people, with the danger of them becoming antis.

So while I do think they appreciate it, and leave clues specifically for us, and dd goes as far as interacting with bxg, I also feel that gg and dd might not see widespread support, enough so they’d feel comfortable coming out completely with the current public stance on homosexual relationships in Chn.

(And again, from my pov, they aren’t in the closet with their family and friends).

And last, but not least, does “coming out respecting the censorship and not talking about it with the media” mean that it would be known by the general public, or, at least, their fans (in a very hypothetic case, since I don’t know how this could be achieved)? Because then, even if they didn’t talk about it with the media, it would be as good as coming out publicly.

In an idol’s life there’s no “private” and “public”. There’s only “public” and “secret” (and by secret I mean things they “hide” in public/don’t talk about, even though people next to them might know about it). The line between public and private is very very blurred in the c-ent industry.

I always remember the case of an actor who had an affair. Because of his affair (he was married and had a son), he lost endorsements, he was taken out of tv programs and literally erased from filmed episodes. The things he did in private affected very directly his job (I don’t approve of the affair, but the consequences it had surprised me a lot). 

So, while I do think that gg and dd are getting bolder with time, when they were both very startled by the “you’d lose your job if you were in a relationship” phrase, the fear was real and palpable. However, I’m aware that that was their stance a year ago, and that a lot of things have changed (heck, we’ve gone through a pandemic, something I couldn’t have imagined a year ago), so I’m going to observe how they act from now.

That’s why, “coming out willingly would also save them from being eventually outed..” is true, but it’s also true that it would push them into a storm I’m not sure they’d come out completely unscathed. And it may be selfish, but I don’t want them to be the ones who test the public’s tolerance to gay idols.

I think I’m missing my point, so I’ll spell it out: if they want to come out, I’ll support them with everything I have, as I think many fans will do. If they ever prove us wrong dating another person, be it male or female, I’ll support them as a fan too. But I would like any action they take to be decided by them, instead of pressed by fans who just want a confirmation at any cost.

I’ve seen people saying that if they were really together, they should be “honest” with themselves and the audience and come out publicly. In my opinion, it’s easy to judge when you’re not the one who might lose something if you take a step in the wrong direction, and it’s not your income and your job in the line.

I’m sure (reminding you all that I believe that bjyxszd) that they’d come out completely if possible. I’m also sure that they have consulted with managers and public relations experts (and their team would have talked with them about it even if gg and dd didn’t bring it up). Therefore, I strongly believe they are doing what they think is better at the time being. 

To sum up: I’ll support whatever they do, but I don’t want others to push them to do things they don’t want/aren’t prepared to do. They are already between a rock and a hard place, so whatever they do with their relationship is absolutely their call.

So, anon, I hope I have answered you, but I leave here a short summary for you in the case the info was too scattered for you:

Would it be that impossible for dd and gg to come out as a couple (provided they respected censorship and didn't talk about it with the media)? I read the other day that homosexuality is not illegal in China, just talking about it and showing in the media, so could not someone as brave and crazy as dd attempt to come out outside of the media?

They might have come out to friends and family, and, based on dd’s interactions with the people around him and the words he has said, I do believe he has. Because gg is also an honest, sensible person, I think he might have done the same.

after all they are the first 3 shipped real couples in china, they do have support 

Chn is a big country. That means that in terms of public support, sometimes numbers that would be astronomically high in other countries, is not so much in Chn. Translating numbers into percentage, a 1% means 14 million people.

So it’s true that they have a lot of people supporting them, of course. 2 million people is a lot of people, especially considering that many don’t know about them. But when you have to take into account the general public (because it’d be a scandal), since their fans aren’t the only ones interacting with them, it’s still a low number.

Coming out willingly would also save them from being eventually outed.. 

That’s true in the case of family and friends. But if you’re talking about being outed in the media, that’s not possible. Known by the fans = Public.

And remember that in this case, the media wouldn’t talk about them, since talking about homosexuality in the media is prohibited. The problem would come from within the industry and the antis.

[writingsaboutzoomerism]

i was looking for a hooker when i found you

https://youtu.be/YYvWq0Jc4bc

Sorry for the departure from my normal content, but I’ve recently been trying my hand at some photo editing and music edits. Here’s the first thing I’ve felt was good enough to actually release: a lo-fi version of Metric - Lost Kitten, with some cover art edited together by yours truly.

The repurposed Japanese music video edits really do hit different. Go watch them if you haven’t. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INNkO4WnBT8 is the link to an alternate version, as I’m pretty sure the first edit got yanked off of Youtube. What fascinates me is how much the context of the video changes with the music underneath it; the original Japanese song it was attached to (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INNkO4WnBT8) hasn’t got a hint of that melancholy nostalgia to it, despite the shared visuals. Goes to show the power of context.

Metric have always been great songwriters and musicians, but Lost Kitten stands out for its utterly encompassing mood. I know of few songs that grasp quite so well the feeling of starting to pass the age when you’re truly young, and maturing with a pang of sadness at losing that unfettered and wild freedom of one’s prime. There’s joy in stability, but also excitement and wanderlust at the potential that any given moment could be one you’ll remember forever.

Of course, there’s a sizeable demographic who aren’t reminiscing, instead stewing in bitter aspiration for what’s described. In fact, that’s probably most of us, the people who haven’t ever let ourselves get blown away by fate to wherever it chooses, even for a single night. It’s a common dream, isn’t it, to live without regrets, and take the good with the bad. Yet we have no great triumphs or truly catastrophic lows. Our life trajectories are the equivalent of a Kansas interstate.

Anyways, I’d deeply appreciate it if you gave my edit a listen and some feedback if you’ve got any, and if you do like what you hear, go put on some more Metric! If you’re a fan of meaningful lyricism and early aughts rock, you’ll be right at home.

[alarawriting]

52 Project #42: Lineage

The air outside Jiangpao International Airport was hot and humid. Karula had always found her home too cold except in midsummer, so it felt good to her, the hot air against her skin making her finally feel almost warm enough. Taxi drivers called out to her urgently, aggressively marketing their services.

“Lady! I can take you to Jiangpao, very cheaply! I have the best rates of anyone here!”

“Younger sister, I’ve got a luxury car! I can take you to Jiangpao in the greatest comfort! You want to hire me!”

“My car’s the fastest, lady!”

One of the taxi drivers – a young man, maybe her own age, maybe even younger – with a mop of unruly black hair, slightly overlong for Senchai men’s fashion, came over to her and gestured at her large, heavy suitcase. “Elder sister, can I take your bag? All these drivers yelling at you probably don’t realize you want some peace and quiet after your long flight.”

Karula smiled. “I’m not going to Jiangpao, though. I’m headed to Nandijao.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I can take you there, sure,” he said. “My rates are very good.”

“Well, you’re the only one who decided not to yell at me from your car, so sure. Take my bag.”

“Your Senchai’sho is very good,” he said as he loaded the suitcase in the trunk of his taxi. “I can barely tell you have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Foirais,” Karula said, “but both my mother and father came from here.”

“Ah. I think everyone seeing a woman who looks Senchai’in, dressed in Southern clothing and too young to be a business executive, probably assumed you were from the South; that’s why they were yelling. But most of them probably thought you were one of the Given-Away Girls, not your mother.”

“Is that what you’re calling them over here?” She dug the disused seat belt out of the crevice of the taxi’s seat. “Given-Away Girls?”

“Well, they were given away,” the taxi driver said apologetically. “It’s not a slur or anything like that.”

He pulled out of the taxi roundabout and gently followed the flow of traffic toward the highway. “So what brings you to Senchai?”

“I’m researching my past, and I’m an anthropology student doing graduate work on Senchai’a folklore,” she said. “So I’ll be going to the Great Library.”

“Oh!” The taxi driver glanced back at her, sounding genuinely impressed. “You got your approval papers? They don’t usually let foreigners into the Great Library.”

“Of course.” She’d hardly have flown all the way from Foirais if she didn’t have all her permits in order to do what she’d come to do. “My cousin is a physics professor at Nandijao University, so she pulled some strings.”

“But you said you were researching your past?”

“My mother’s heritage,” Karula said. “My father—” was a philosophy student at the University who became a dissident, and had to flee to Foirais to stay out of prison—“grew up in Nandijao. But my mother was, as you say, a Given-Away Girl, so we don’t have any idea who her relatives are. All we know is what town she was born in.”

“Well, if it’s a small town and you know her birthdate, the records at the Great Library might help you narrow it down, but I don’t envy you. It’s got to be like looking for a single worm in an entire barrel of rice.”

It would be. The Given-Away Girls – she’d never heard the term before, but it seemed so perfect, she wondered why not – had birth certificates that showed their actual town of birth and birth date, but their parents’ names had been replaced by their adoptive parents. Girls had traditionally been seen as a burden in Senchai – parents had to raise a dowry for them, and then the girls ended up caring for their in-laws once they were elderly, not their own parents. When demographics in the wealthy nations of the South, like Foirais, had shifted so that there were far fewer children available for adoption, parents in Senchai had learned that if they gave away their daughters at birth, they would receive large sums of money.

Fueled by the promise of riches and the desire to send their daughters to a place where girls were valuable enough that adoptive parents would pay large sums to have a daughter, a place where their girls might grow up to be wealthy and secure, many, many parents gave up their daughters for adoption… to the point where the female population dropped low enough that the government of Senchai outlawed dowry, and made such adoptions require permits that were rarely given. But by the time the government took action, over a hundred thousand daughters of Senchai had been adopted out to other nations, the history of the families they came from lost to them forever.

With a father who had family back in Senchai, Karula Lefaire – her mother’s name, which was traditional in Foirais for women – had more resources to research the issue than most of the Given-Away Girls or their children did. And she also had more reason to.

“It’ll be difficult, but I’ll enjoy the challenge,” Karula said. “And it gives me a good excuse to do research for my thesis.”

***

From Jiangpao International Airport, it was an hour and a half to her cousin Ren Seiri’s house. Small talk with the taxi driver passed some of the time, but Karula was very relieved when she arrived. She was by nature too solitary to truly enjoy being locked in a small metal box with another person for an hour unless they were a good friend.

Ren Seiri greeted her at the door. “Younger cousin!  Come in, come in! I’ll have my son take your bag—”

“Don’t trouble him, I can carry it. I’m stronger than I look.”

“Nonsense, you’re a guest and you’re family from a long way away. Jai! Come help our cousin with her bag!”

Jai, who more or less bounced into the room, turned out to be around 14, taller than Karula but skinnier, and she was herself a thin woman. “Elder cousin, no, don’t burden your son! I can carry it!”

“No, no, elder cousin!” Jai said. “I’ve been lifting weights! Look!” He grunted as he lifted the suitcase over his head. It had wheels, but plainly he didn’t want to use them on the lacquered bamboo floor.

“Oh, well, that is impressive,” Karula said.

“Let me show you to your room, and then you must come have some tea. Perhaps some sweet bean buns. Or some real food. I have barbeque pork rolls and cold eel dumplings.” Seiri’s doctorate and professorship apparently didn’t stop her from behaving exactly like any stereotypical Senchai’in mother.

Ren Seiri was the daughter of Karula’s father’s significantly older brother. She was not quite twice Karula’s age, but she was plainly getting there. She was wearing a dress of Southern styling, but beautiful silk dyed in a very Senchai’a pattern, and elegant soft house slippers. Karula replaced her own shoes with house slippers before following Seiri and her son.

She finally got some time to herself by insisting she needed a shower and a change of clothes. It was an excuse, but a good one. Most people would, in fact, need a shower and change of clothes after so much time in the Senchai’a heat. Karula, unlike most people, hadn’t sweated into her clothes at all, and she found the air conditioning oppressive enough that she turned it off in her bedroom and then opened all the windows, letting the heat in. She ran her shower as hot as she could stand it, and pinned her long hair up while it was still fairly wet because the wet hair was chilly on her neck. The traditional Senchai’a gown and robe she dressed in were silk, but heavy enough to keep the heat in… not generally something a Senchai’in, or in fact anybody, would wear in high summer, but it would keep the bugs off, and it looked lighter and cooler than it was.

After her shower, her cousin insisted on feeding her tea, hot pork buns, cold eel dumplings, and pastries full of warm bean custard, plainly purchased fresh at a bakery less than an hour ago. Seiri had probably ordered them while Karula was in the shower. Karula didn’t eat the dumplings. Seiri said that it made sense that a woman raised in Foirais wouldn’t have a taste for eel, and Karula didn’t correct her.

Then Seiri bustled around the kitchen, making dinner, continuing to bring Karula cups of tea and prattle on about family members Karula had obviously never met, telling stories about Karula’s father’s childhood that she’d heard from her own grandparents. Karula appreciated the hospitality but this was driving her insane. This was much too much social interaction, but she couldn’t politely extricate herself from it.  She eventually managed to turn the conversation to teaching Jai some Foiraisse and telling him about the city she grew up in.

Dinner was Seiri, Jai, Seiri’s husband Shaon, Seiri’s sister Leirin, and Leirin’s boyfriend, who was apparently only allowed to see Leirin when Leirin was at Seiri’s house because their parents disapproved of him and it would be absolutely scandalous for her to be alone with her boyfriend without being chaperoned by family.  Seiri assured Karula that she would be meeting her grandparents tomorrow, but they had to travel from Jiangpao. She said this in a slightly derisive tone, not the mockery of a person looking down on a lower status person, but the mockery of a person who believes someone of the same status is putting on airs. So apparently living in Jiangpao was considered higher status, at least for well-to-do people, than living in a college town, and Seiri disapproved of this. Then they all spent the entire meal continuing to tell Karula all about the lives of people she’d never met.

Afterward Seiri showed Karula the photo album. She was very interested in the pictures her father had sent back to his family of himself, his wife and daughter; Karula had almost no pictures of her mother as an adult, as everything her parents had owned when her mother had been alive had burned in the fire.  It was astonishing how much her mother had looked like her.  They could be twins, if they hadn’t been a generation apart.  But then Seiri insisted on showing her all the other pictures, of the cousins, and the cousins’ cousins, and the great-grandparents, and everyone’s in-laws, and by the time she was done with just one photo album Karula’s eyes were glazed over and she had to plead exhaustion in order to escape to her room.

Karula’s long-lost family were so friendly, so welcoming. Such nice people.

She was so looking forward to spending tomorrow in the Great Library’s archive, not talking to anyone at all.

***

Senchai was famous – or perhaps infamous – for its bureaucracy and record-keeping. The country had started keeping detailed records of its citizens on papyrus, nearly three thousand years ago, when the country had only been the city of Jiangpao and the immediate province around it. Twenty-four hundred years ago, the empire had expanded to the point where local provinces were storing all of their own records. Emperor Nan had decreed that every record should have two copies made, and the second copy should be stored in an archive in the newly founded city of Nandijao, “Nan’s Treasure”.

Since then, through dynasties, foreign occupations, and revolutions, through the expansion and contraction of Senchai as wars moved the borders this way and that, every citizen of Senchai had had all of their important records – birth, marriage, any certificates they’d earned for the right to practice certain professions like medicine or accounting, and death – stored as copies in the Archives. The Great Library of Nandijao had grown up around the Archives, and the University of Nandijao, Senchai’s greatest and most nationally renowned university, had been founded there for proximity to the Great Library.

A famous story was told of conquerors who’d come in and tried to burn the Archives, who had been driven back by librarians, professors, and students from the University, wielding nothing but sticks and their own belts with rocks or heavy bars of soap tied to the end.  This story was held in some skepticism by many scholars, since the only records of the incident were held in the Archives, and the librarians were no more immune than anyone else to self-aggrandizing stories. On the other hand, it was also true that, had it happened, it wasn’t likely that records about it would have gone anywhere but the Archives. It was, after all, where copies of all records in the nation ended up; it sent records nowhere itself.  

There was currently a major project underway to digitize the Archives. The digitization had gotten back only two hundred fifty years so far, but that was probably far enough for Karula’s needs. Probably. So she didn’t spend any time sifting through papers centuries old; she spent the day scrolling through digitized documents.  It was still as quiet and undisturbed as she’d hoped. If only she could do this outside where it was warm, rather than in the air conditioning, it would be ideal.

It was lengthy work. There was a difference between a record of birth and a birth certificate. The record of birth stated that a certain mother had given live birth within a certain week, and the gender of the baby, but the father’s name and the child’s name were not recorded.  It was done for the census, not to track the lives of citizens. The birth certificates were amended on adoption, and if the original certificate still existed in the Archives anywhere, it was probably in a file cabinet for inactive documents, older documents that had revised versions.  So there was no record of Karula’s mother, specifically, but there were records of all the women who had given birth in the city of Chofu, in that week. Unfortunately, Chofu, while nowhere near the size of Jiangpao or even Nandijao, was still large enough to support thirty-one births of girls in the week of Karula’s mother’s birthday. And Chofu, being a port town, had been a major destination for pregnant women who planned to sell any daughter they might have to pale-skinned Southerners. Ten of the women who were recorded as giving birth that week did not appear on any birth certificates, and ten of the birth certificates were girls with Southerner names for parents.

This meant Karula had to trace back the family histories and origin provinces of ten women, any of whom might have been her grandmother. And then track back their families, though thankfully that went back to before the era of Given-Away Girls. And then compare to records of birth to make sure no daughters were adopted out to other families, because the fact that they’d have names in Senchai’sho would make it non-obvious that an adoption had happened. And then cross correlate that to whatever news had made it on paper to the Archives… because news was not a governmental record and there was no guarantee a newspaper would have been sent to the Archives in the first place.

She’d spend the first half of her days doing her genealogical research in the Archives, and the other half in the Library proper, reading folklore accounts, particularly the stories told in various regions. During the Revolution at the beginning of the century, the new leadership of Senchai had decided that folklore was ancient superstition that needed to be discarded as Senchai entered the New Century, but fortunately that had only lasted until the original dictator had died. The new government had decided instead that folklore was part of the rich cultural history of Senchai and should definitely be preserved, and they’d even sent people around to record the stories the locals would tell, and then take them back to the Library. It had been a spasm of nationalism that had resulted in Senchai joining in on the wrong side of a terrible war, but the effect, the attempt to preserve Senchai’s ancient culture, had continued onward even after the war.

After her work, she’d go walking in Nandijao. Senchai was the first place she’d ever been where everyone looked like her. In Foirais, where most of the citizens were pale people with round eyes and a wild variety of hair colors, Karula had had very few people she could look to who were similar to her.  Here in Senchai, her accent made her an outsider, but she at least looked like the folks here.  Mostly. There was the fact that they all had black or brown eyes, and hers were only brown at a distance; when she looked closely in a mirror, they appeared a tawny amber.  But since she hadn’t run around looking deep into most people’s eyes here in Senchai, she assumed it was a normal variation.

It was a little bit sad that no matter where she went, she was an outsider. In Foirais, her eyes and skin marked her as “not Foiraise” to many of her fellow citizens even though she’d grown up there. In Senchai, she looked like the people, but the moment she opened her mouth, she revealed herself as foreign. So she tried to get by in talking as little as possible. It felt better, somehow, to be thought of a mute or selectively non-verbal Senchai’in than a foreigner. She explored the city, bought food, newspapers, occasionally tiny memorabilia – nothing large enough that it wouldn’t fit in her suitcase.

And then she’d go to her aunt’s house and spend the evening having to listen to her cousin and her husband talk, endlessly.  At one point she’d gotten her cousin onto the topic of physics, in desperation. Cousin Seiri had been happy to talk about her own research, but then had drifted into the topic of her own doctorate, and then her college days, and then she’d monopolized the conversation talking about her youth for an hour. Finally, Karula had taken to cultivating a relationship with Jai, in self defense. He let her get a word in edgewise sometimes, and Cousin Seiri wouldn’t interrupt Karula and tell her about people she had never met and never would.

He was a good kid. Karula had always had a soft spot for kids. He liked playing football – the challenge of never using your hands, the excitement of making your body into the thing to hit the ball with rather than a stick or the parts of your body designed to hit things with – and he enjoyed making and flying kites. His father, also a physics professor, had taught him about aerodynamics when he was young, and they used to make kites together.  He was also willing to talk for long periods of time about his favorite comic books, and science fiction, and he thought her researches into folklore were cool. Especially the part about creatures who appeared in many, many different countries’ legends. Dragons, phoenixes, the qilin and its resemblance to Southern unicorns, the different types of undead around the world.

She tried to pull her own weight by helping around the house – sweeping, washing dishes, cleaning the kitchen counter. At first Seiri insisted that she shouldn’t do any such thing, because she was a guest, but Karula had responded by pointing out that she was family, and she wanted to feel like family. After that, Seiri let her do chores… as long as they didn’t involve going near the burner on the stove.

The first time she’d done that, and the only, had been when she’d tried to put on hot water for tea. At home in Foirais, she’d had an electric stove, and in her dorm at university, there had been no stove at all – you used the cafeteria, or you heated food in a microwave.  Cousin Seiri’s stove had a gas range. Karula had turned on the burner… and then stared, mesmerized, at the flames, the tea kettle still in her hand. Slowly she’d reached toward the flame with her free hand.

Seiri had seen her do it and pulled her away as she was about to touch the beautiful flame. “Oh, no, no! You can’t be doing things with fire!” She’d put the kettle on the burner herself and then pulled Karula away from the stove entirely by both hands, walking backwards, pulling Karula toward the family dining table.  “I’m so sorry. After what happened to your mother…! I didn’t even think! Of course you shouldn’t have to do anything with fire!”

That night Karula dreamed. In real life, Father had held her, both of them screaming, begging for Mother to stop, as Mother had run back into their burning house, and Karula had struggled in Father’s arms to follow her, to pull her back. In the dream, Father wasn’t even there, and Karula ran through the burning hallways, opening doors into rooms her house had not actually had, looking for Mother. And then she’d found her, wreathed in fire, her eyes golden and glowing… and Karula had walked toward the fire, intent on immolating herself as well.

She didn’t normally remember her dreams, but she woke the moment she touched the flame, shaken, tears on her face.

***

After twenty-three days of running into the dead end of “there are no records of this at the Archives”, Karula decided to go to Chofu for herself.

“You make sure to get a good hotel,” Cousin Seiri insisted. “If I were you I’d get a Southern-style hotel. I know there’s a Hillain and a Morenta in Chofu, and they get good reviews.”

“I can stay in a Southern-style hotel anywhere near home,” Karula said. “I’m looking for something Senchai’a, but nice. Do you know any?”

“Oh, of course! But the truth is, Chofu’s just a small town in comparison to Nandijao, so I don’t know how many options you’ll have.”

The truth was, Cousin Seiri had never been to Chofu and needed time to contact her network of friends and family to find out what was good there. Karula trusted Cousin Seiri’s network better than she trusted official reviews, so she waited, and eventually booked a room in a Chofu inn called the Soaring Fish.  It was a traditional inn, so a dinner buffet was served nightly, large platters of fried rice and stir-fried meats in various sauces, and the guests were expected to take whatever portions they wanted.  Karula, arriving on a late train, was grateful. It was the first time she had stayed at a traditional Senchai’a inn; she’d stayed in many Southern-style hotels with restaurants attached, and in many of them the hotel served breakfast, but she’d never before been somewhere that the hotel itself served dinner.  She was always happy to warm up with a hot meal.

The next day she went to Chofu’s Children’s Peace and Health Center… a euphemism for the place where parents could abandon children, no questions asked.  Since the revolution Senchai had been torn between the modern ways they wanted to adopt and the traditional mores most of the country held. In past times, the traditions demanded total obedience from children to their parents, but nowadays children had rights, and parents had obligations to them.  It was also a tradition for parents in dire poverty to sell their daughters as servants, but nowadays that meant the sex trade, so it was extremely illegal. The society’s safety valve was the Children’s Peace and Health Center, where runaways would be sheltered, and children even as old as adolescents could be dropped off by parents.

Orphans were sent there as well. Some of those were adopted out quickly; the Children’s Peace and Health Centers mediated almost all the adoptions in Senchai. Those who weren’t ended up in orphanages, but the Peace and Health Center that had brought them in would continue to look for adoptive or foster parents for them.

Karula had visited the center in Nandijao; it was elaborately hidden. A shrubbery maze, a basement level of tunnels, and a network of walkways above formed a labyrinth with many, many exits – at a park for children, at an office building for doctors, at a shopping center… and the Children’s Peace and Health Center. This ensured that it was almost impossible to tell whether a given person with a child was taking the child to the Center, or to a doctor’s appointment, or a play date.

Chofu wasn’t nearly so wealthy a city, nor nearly as invested in appearances. The Children’s Peace and Health Center was simply there, on a street near one of the bus stops. It was a Southern-style rectangular blocky building, built back when Senchai perceived the South as more medically advanced and progressive. Thus it was out of place, and very ugly. On her way to the front door, Karula passed a strange version of a revolving door. It was only half a person’s height, and instead of being a glass door, it was a crib and an opaque partition. Experimentally, Karula pushed the empty crib slightly, noting where it would enter the building.

It was at this Center that her mother had been presented to her future parents, had been adopted and taken away from her homeland. Had her biological grandmother laid her mother down in that crib and spun it to push her baby into the Center, to be taken by employees, never to be seen by Karula’s grandmother anymore?

Inside, it looked just like a Southern-style medical office, with a receptionist behind a clear partition. “Hello!” the receptionist said. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to research my mother’s history.”

“Oh, well, you must understand that we keep very little information on birth parents.”

“That’s all right,” Karula said. “I’ll take what I can get. How would I look her up?”

“Do you have the names of your open-hearted grandparents?”

Karula blinked. “Open-hearted?”

“Oh, we don’t like to use the term ‘adoptive parent’ here. It sounds like they’re lesser than birth parents somehow. Anyone who’d take a child into their heart and adopt them is open-hearted and generous, so we call them ‘open-hearted parents’.”

Ah. A euphemism. “I do. My mother’s mother was Charlée Lefaire, and her husband was Gantoise Lefaire.”

“And your name is?”

“Karula Lefaire.”

The receptionist’s eyebrow went up. “Your mother didn’t marry?”

“In Foirais, children take the mother’s family name, not the father’s.”

“Oh! Of course! Pardon me for prying, I’ve never met anyone from Foirais before.  Most of the Given-Away Girls or their families come from Anacrisia or Southland.”

“Well, I’ve never been to Senchai before, so now we’re matched.” Karula smiled at her. “Do you have any record of either of my open-hearted grandparents?”

The receptionist typed, her long lacquered nails clacking against her keyboard. “Yes. Charlée Lefaire, and there’s Gantoise Lefaire.  Oh, interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“Your mother would have been Jirène Lefaire?”

“Yes.  Do you have any record of her birth name?”

“No, we don’t keep that. But she was adopted at 16 months, not infancy.  And this says she entered the center only two weeks before her adoption. So she wasn’t an infant surrender.” More clacking. “I might be able to get some more detail.  Prospective parents like to know if there was any family history of violence or drug abuse or anything like that which they might need to know about their new child.”

Karula suspected that children with problems like that in their past were probably the last to be adopted. Or second last, after disabled children. “So what kind of information would be kept?”

“It’ll tell me if she was a legal surrender – meaning, she was taken away from incompetent birth parents for legal reasons – or… oh. Oh, that’s different. I don’t see that often.”

“What are you seeing?”

“She was surrendered by the fire department.  That only happens if the child is rescued from a fire and the parents are dead or can’t be found, usually. Fire department personnel do general rescues, so it could have been a flood or an earthquake…”

“No,” Karula said. “Fire does sound likely.”

“Did she have burn scars?”

“Nothing like that, but she had a… strange relationship with fire.”  She didn’t want to talk about that. “The birth date on her birth certificate is 13 Sanwa. Is that the birth date you have also?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“But you don’t have her birth name?”

“No. As I said, we don’t keep that.”

What she’d said was that information wasn’t kept on the birth parents, but Karula said nothing. “Do you have her adoption date?”

“22 Ren.”

“That gives me a lot to go on. Thanks.”

***

The Archives back in Nandijao didn’t have perfect records of newspapers… but the Library itself kept copies of newspapers going back sixty years, all the way back to the Revolution. Karula’s mother would have been 45 now, and Chofu was a large enough city that newspapers would probably be kept from it.

On 4 Ren that year, a house fire claimed the lives of Bai Ji-Wen, 25 years old, and her husband, Bai Sanli, 30.  They were survived by their infant child, who wasn’t named, but Karula could guess. Named after her mother, perhaps, Ji-Wen, or maybe Ji-Len. “Songbird”, and if it had changed to Ji-Len, “Little Bird.” Ji-Wen or Ji-Len becoming the Foiraise name Jirène made perfect sense.

Bai Sanli, born 30 years earlier, had married Tenra Ji-Wen when he was 26, whereupon she’d taken his family name. Tenra Ji-Wen, who’d have been 21 at the time, had been born in a fishing town thirty kilometers up the coast from Chofu, called Bangji. That was Karula’s next destination.

“Where are you going to stay?”  Cousin Seiri was, in Karula’s opinion, overly worried about this. “That’s so far away! You’ll be out in the middle of nowhere!”

“It’s all right,” Karula reassured her. “I’m good at finding my own way.”

“But you’ll be a young woman all alone! Don’t you know what can happen to young women in the forest when nobody’s around?”

“I’ll be fine, Elder Cousin,” Karula said. “I’ll call and let you know how I’m doing.”

“But will they even have service out there?”

Karula raised an eyebrow. “Elder Cousin… the entire country was wired for land lines a generation ago. If I have no cell signal, I’ll just call from one of those.”

In addition to landlines and electricity, the government a generation ago had made certain there were train lines all over Senchai, so Karula didn’t have too much difficulty getting to Bangji.  Once she got there, there was exactly one taxi at the train station, and the very bored taxi driver seemed very surprised to see her. “Oh! You’re a visitor!”

“I guess you don’t get many in Bangji?”

“I come out here every day and wait at the train station,” the old man said. “I’m supposed to be retired, but who can live off the government stipend? So I drive my taxi. But only two or three times a week am I needed, and usually it’s university students coming home to visit. Who are you here to see?”

“I’m a researcher from Foirais,” Karula said. “I’m here to collect stories from people. Is there anywhere I can stay?”

“Well, the Wangs run a bed and breakfast, but I don’t know if their room is available. I haven’t picked anyone up at the train station, though, so… probably.”

***

Mrs. Wang was also elderly, a small woman whose white hair was collected in a traditional Senchai’a bun. Karula had wondered how Bangji could support even one bed and breakfast, if they had so few visitors. Presumably the Wangs were also on retirement stipend. Strictly speaking, retirees on the stipend weren’t supposed to work; in theory, the government could reduce their stipend by the amount they made from side jobs. In practice, the government might possibly care about people in a retirement community, or in some areas of big cities where a lot of government ministers lived, but no one was ever going to come to Bangji and find out that old people had side businesses.

“Mr. Jo tells me you’re looking for a place to stay?” Mrs. Wang had come out to speak to the taxi driver, and then went around to the passenger side to talk to Karula. “I do have a room if you’d like!”

“That would be wonderful,” Karula said.

The room turned out to be small but very clean, decorated with rustic wooden sculptures of sea dragons, turtles whose shells glittered with stars, and giant fish-birds. This was perfect. It was legends of creatures like that that had brought Karula to Senchai, and out here to Bangji.  A mandala made of sea shells decorated the wall above the bed, which was a mattress on the floor, covered in sheets in the traditional dark blues and purples of the squid ink the locals harvested and sold for textile pigment.  A feather-filled silk comforter in a paler blue color was folded at the foot of the bed. The walls were thin bamboo, but solid enough for her purposes. There was one long, low piece of furniture with drawers running alongside one wall.

“This is beautiful. I would be pleased to rent from you.”

Mrs. Wang nodded. “We make our own breakfast at 6 am, but if you come down to the kitchen before 9 am, I’ll make you something. Typically our breakfast is rice porridge with smoked fish and fried dough twists, but if there’s something specific you want, I could make you anything. I used to be a cook at a local restaurant, before I retired.”

“Whatever you’re making for yourself is fine, as long as it’s hot. I can come down early.” Karula usually woke at sunrise, or just before it, the imminent appearance of the sun filling her with restless energy.

“Early is best,” Mrs. Wang agreed. “Our daughter sleeps late, and it’s best not to be at breakfast at the same time she is. So much energy!” She smiled.

“I don’t mind children, or their energy, but if you prefer that I avoid your daughter—”

“No, no! If she approaches you, feel free to be Elder Sister or Auntie, as you please.  There aren’t a lot of children in Bangji… not anymore, anyway.”

“Because most of the town has become venerable, I imagine?”

“That, yes, but… well, there have been some tragedies. Several children have disappeared.  The police weren’t able to find any common factor, and every home here’s been searched thoroughly, and there are no strangers in Bangji most of the time.  So we think perhaps they were taken by wild animals, but no one’s found animal spoor, either.”

“That’s terrible!”

“We try to watch over Lai-Mei all the time, but she’s so young and energetic, and she behaves as if there’s no danger at all. We try to tell her, but she doesn’t always listen.”

“Well, if I run into her, I will surely try to caution her. Perhaps I can use my youth and energy to counter hers, and keep her safe.”

***

Mr. Wang was equally friendly and equally garrulous, talking to Karula about his garden, which was indeed beautiful.

“In my younger days I traveled all over Senchai,” he said. “I gathered up plants from all sorts of places. Back then we didn’t really think about things like invasive species.” He smiled wryly.  “Nowadays I try to grow local plants only, but some of these are just too beautiful to do without even if they came from halfway across the country.  Like these.” He showed her flowers with purple and pink bells. Another had clusters of tiny orange and red flowers making patterns that looked like larger flowers.

“You’ve lived here a long time,” Karula said. “I’m trying to track down my mother’s family.  Do you remember anything about a family named Tenra?”

“Tenra? Can’t say I do. Mrs. Wang might know, though. As I said, I traveled, but she’s lived here her whole life.”

***

Karula spent the day gathering stories from people about legends in the area.  People in Bangji were full of such stories, and they all claimed that this had really happened, to a friend of a friend. Stories of dragons who almost managed to barbeque the friend of a friend. Stories of the great bird-fish surfacing less than an hour’s sail away from the shore. Qilin in the forest at the base of the mountain to the west of Bangji. Malevolent demons. Witches who had certainly cast baleful spells and hexes on innocent people, oh, around 30 years ago.

She asked several people about the Tenra family. No one remembered them. This seemed strange to Karula; Tenra Ji-Wen had married at the age of 21, 50 years ago. Had she had no family by then? Had her family been transplants from somewhere else? Had they moved on? Surely one of the elderly residents of Bangji would remember. But none did.

When she returned to the Wangs’ bed and breakfast, she almost tripped over a little girl, perhaps 9 or so.  “Well, hello.”

The girl looked her up and down, an almost insolent expression on her face.  “Where did you come from?”

“Foirais, but my mother was born in Chofu, and her mother was born in Bangji, according to the records.  Are you Wang Lai-Mei?”

“That isn’t a real person,” the girl said. “I’m Lun Lai-Mei.”

A child old enough to keep her original family name when she was adopted was probably one of the Thrown-Away Girls, a darker and sadder term for the abandoned girls who were surrendered to the Children’s Center as toddlers or older.  “Ah. Well, Lun Lai-Mei, I’m Karula Lefaire.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Lai-Mei said. “I’ll just call you Elder Sister anyway.”

“Yes, but it’s polite to share my name with you, since you shared yours. I’m staying with your parents while I research my family.”

“I figured that. You definitely aren’t from Senchai, so why would you be here unless you’re a guest?”

“My accent makes it that obvious?”

“I could just look at your face, Elder Sister. You don’t look Senchai’in.”

Karula blinked.  Both her parents were Senchai’in born in Senchai; how could she look anything else? “Why not?”

Lai-Mei smiled. “You’re too tall.”

Karula was a little on the tall side for a Senchai’in woman, but not to the point where she stood out. “I’ve met many Senchai’in women who are taller than me.”

“Well, it’s something,” Lai-Mei said. “I don’t know what.”

Lai-Mei herself didn’t quite look fully Senchai’in. She was beautiful, tiny for her apparent age, long straight hair pinned up with hairpins in the back that had seashells on them. In all respects but one she was the perfect picture of a Senchai’in girl… but her eyes were bright, vivid green. Perhaps her mother had had an affair with a foreigner, and that was why she’d been given away. Or perhaps it was a natural variation. Karula hadn’t met any Senchai’in with eye colors other than black or brown, aside from herself… and her own eye color was subtle enough that neither Cousin Seiri, nor Jai, nor anyone else who’d seen her up close in good lighting had remarked on it. But there were a billion people in Senchai, and many distinct ethnic groups, so perhaps green eyes was a rare but known phenomenon. Like red-haired people in Foirais.

“Lai-Mei!” Mrs. Wang called from the door. “Don’t bother the honored guest!”

“She’s not bothering me!” Karula called back. To Lai-Mei she said, “I might see you tomorrow if I’m not too tired when I come home.”

“This isn’t home for you, though, Elder Sister,” Lai-Mei said.

“This is my current base of operations, and that’s good enough.”

By Senchai’a standards, the child was extremely rude, but Karula found it a refreshing change, actually. All the children she’d met so far had had mostly perfect manners – Seiri might think Jai’s desire to monopolize a conversation talking about his interests was a flaw, but Karula, here to learn from Senchai’in people, didn’t see it that way. Lai-Mei was blunt. By Foiraise standards, she was actually fairly normal. Children were children all around the world, after all.

***

Elderly Mrs. Jin, 98 years old, was mentioned in a discussion in town of who might remember the Tenra family.  So Karula went to her house.  It was in better repair than she expected for a 98-year-old woman, and Karula could see why; two shirtless young men were working on the property, one clipping the hedges and one repairing a shutter.

“Is Mrs. Jin home?” she asked one of them.

The young man laughed. “Grandmother never goes anywhere anymore. What you want to ask is, is Mrs. Jin awake, and the answer is, probably not but she loves visitors, so go in and wake her up if you like.”

Inside, a middle-aged woman was pureeing rice and some sort of vegetable in a blender. “Hello! Are you here to see Grandmother?”

The term was a generic one of respect for the elderly, but Karula thought perhaps this woman was really Mrs. Jin’s granddaughter. “I’m doing some research to track down my mother’s family,” she said, “and Mrs. Jin was referred to me as someone who might remember my grandmother here as a child.”

“Oh, she loves it when people want to ask her about the past! Let me go see if she wants to wake up to see you.”

She ducked behind a sliding bamboo partition, and was gone for a couple of minutes. When she returned she said, “Come this way. Grandmother would be happy to talk with you!”

The old woman was reclining on a couch that was absolutely drowning in pillows. “This is the guest, Grandmother!” the woman yelled.  “She’s staying at the Wangs’ bed and breakfast!”

“Glad to see they’ve got some custom,” Mrs. Jin said in a surprisingly strong voice for such an old woman. She was very small, with gray hair cropped in a modern short haircut, and Karula would have guessed her to be in her 70’s or 80’s. Then again, Karula had hardly met enough nonagenarians to have any idea how to tell a 90-something from a younger but still elderly person. “Come close, girl, and sit down on these floor pillows. Neither my eyesight nor my hearing’s the best anymore.”

“We keep trying to get her to go to the doctor to be fitted for hearing aids,” the middle-aged woman said.

“And I keep saying no! Because at my age, why should I travel? If the doctor wants my money, he should come here.”

“The national health ministry would pay the doctor, not you,” the woman sighed.

Karula took the offered seat, right in front of the old woman. “My mother was a Given-Away girl, but I managed to track down the identity of her mother. A woman named Tenra Ji-Wen was born here… maybe around 70 years ago?”

“Oh.  Oh, I remember that. The Tenra family. Such a shame what happened to them.”

“What happened to them?”

“The father was in logging, if I remember right. Cut down trees, bring them to the city to sell to the middlemen who make logs into wood for carpenters.  There’s a lot of forest around here, but in those days there was almost nothing else; you could barely get to Bangji except by water.  There was a road, but it was packed dirt and full of ruts from the carts.  Well, you know how it is.  Every time it rained the whole thing turned into mud and we were trapped here.” Mrs. Jin nodded slightly to herself, her eyes – focused and bright a moment ago, unfocusing. Karula wondered if she was falling asleep, but it seemed she was just collecting her thoughts.

“I think it was… 40 years ago they paved the road? They were having a revolution, outside of Bangji, but it never came here. They came from the government to tell us how to run our lives, and we smiled and nodded and did just what we pleased as soon as they were gone. Found out later, they’d never returned! Bandits or wild animals or something. They disappeared without a trace.  We didn’t learn until two or three groups from the government came through and then left.  They were all vanishing. So the soldiers came, you know, because they thought we were killing these people, but we told them our protector spirit must be getting overly aggressive, and we hadn’t known it was killing. We laid down a lovely large tuna at the shrine and prayed for the protector not to kill the government workers anymore, and that did the trick. Soldiers were still suspicious, though. They quartered here for a few years, but eventually they realized, Bangji may hold to a lot of the old ways, but a lot of the newfangled stuff they wanted to bring in? We were already doing it.”

This was fascinating but had nothing to do with the Tenra family that Karula could see. For a moment impatience warred with her scholar’s curiosity. The scholar won. “Your protector spirit? Can you tell me about that?”

“No one who has ill intent toward Bangji can come here, and anyone who develops ill intent while they’re here, they never leave. The government people wanted to take away everyone’s land and make it the property of the state and then give it back to us to work on it. Well, that’s just stupid. We already live as a community; everyone takes care of everyone else. You know, everyone in the town calls me Grandmother and they all come by to take care of me, feed me, help me to the bathroom… I can’t walk on my own anymore. It bothered me at first, that everyone came, because I always used to do for myself. I took care of my kids and all their friends, and all my grandkids, and all their friends, and I was the one who did for people, and it was hard to get my head around being the one they were doing for, but you know what? I thought about it, and I earned it. I worked hard to take care of all those kids and now they all take care of me, and that’s the way life’s supposed to be, right?”

“What is the protector spirit?” Karula asked again.

Mrs. Jin cackled. “A dragon, of course! A sea dragon, what else would a fishing town have? We’re not large enough for the fish-bird to honor us with its presence, nor holy enough for qilins, but there’s so many dragons. The sea is full of them. The land too.” Her eyes went unfocused again.  “It’s the land dragons you have to watch out for. So many of them died in the purges out there. So many. The children don’t even know who they are.”

“What’s the difference between a land dragon and a sea dragon?”

“Well, what do you think? One lives on the earth and one lives in the water!  Land dragons have earth and fire and air in their souls.  A lot of them breathe fire like the Southern ones. Sea dragons have water and air, no fire or earth, but they’re more magical.”

“And what is the protector spirit?”

Mrs. Jin went unfocused again.  “I wish I knew anymore, young lady.  Back in those days the protector was definitely a sea dragon, but the soldiers… I worry about the soldiers.  For a while it was gone. Then it came back, but I’ve never seen it, so I don’t know if it’s the same one. I don’t know if the price is worth paying anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t the price be worth paying?”

Mrs. Jin shrugged. “You didn’t come here to listen to me ramble about everything and anything, though. You said Tenra Ji-Wen?”

“Yes.”

“I could tell,” Mrs. Jin nodded. “You look exactly like her. Exactly. We weren’t close; I didn’t have kids yet when she was born. She must have left, what, maybe she was seventeen? eighteen? How old are you, granddaughter?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Close enough. I knew her but we were out of sync; she was too young to be my playmate and too old to be my kids’ friend. But we all knew her. So hard she worked, since she was so small. She couldn’t even go to school. Someone had to take care of her father. She cooked and cleaned for him.”

“Wait, what happened to her mother?”

“Oh, I didn’t say? Such a tragedy, she burned.  Whole house went up in flames when Ji-Wen was little. 2, 3? Something like that. The father was out, he was a logger. I mentioned that, right?”

Karula held herself very still, showing nothing of her reaction on her face. “You certainly did, Grandmother.”

“It was a miracle. Something preserved that little girl. They found her in the ashes, crying.  Her mother must have gotten her into a cellar or something so the fire wouldn’t get her.”

“She didn’t have any siblings?”

“No, she was her mother’s first, and her poor mother never lived long enough to have another.  The father didn’t even remarry until she was, I don’t know, 14 or 15?  And the stepmother was respectful to the daughter, of course, we wouldn’t have stood for it otherwise, but Ji-Wen wanted to get away anyway. I think she probably wanted to get away the whole time, but she needed to take care of her father. So she left, a few years later. We never saw her again. Whatever did happen to her?”

“I’m not sure,” Karula lied. “I need to do some more research.  I believe she’s dead, but the details…?” She shrugged.  “It’ll come together from my research, eventually. Do you know where her mother came from? The one who died?”

“No. Sad to say I wasn’t the gossip back then that I became! Oh, I cared so much about what the kids my own age were doing, but nothing about the old people. That’s the problem with humans, you know. The young ones don’t think the old ones are people.”

“I certainly think older people are people,” Karula said, startled.

“I don’t exactly mean that. Like… we’re just here. We have our own lives, but the kids don’t care. Whereas we care about the kids, because we remember being them, but they don’t remember us unless they can remember past lives!” She chuckled. “You’re different, though. Most people who come to me with a question, they don’t have any patience for how my mind wanders. It’s been doing that since my 50’s, you know. Amazing when you think about it, I’ve been old for almost as long as I was young. If you count 50 as old. Most of the 50 year olds don’t, but the young ones like you do.”

“Your stories are fascinating. But I’m a student of folklore, and to a lesser extent history, and it amazes me to talk to someone as venerable as you, Grandmother. To be alive from before the revolution! The things you must have seen… Is there anyone coming to you to write down these stories?”

“Write them down?”

“Someone should, if no one is. Would you mind if scholars from Nandijao came here to write down the story of your life? You could tell them anything you’d like. Grandmother, you are living history and we should all learn from you.” Karula stood up. “I must go now, if there’s nothing you’d like me to do for you, but I would love to come back soon.”

“Yes, you do that! I’ll have Izhen make you tea.  We still do it the old way, you know. I’ve got one of those new-fangled gas stoves for heating water, but we do it in the fireplace, just like when I was a girl.” She gestured at the fireplace, which, thankfully, was dark at the moment.

Karula bowed hastily, dragging her eyes away. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back!”

Her hands didn’t shake until she was back in her room, safe from anyone’s eyes.  The Wangs’ house also had a fireplace. But they hadn’t lit it since she’d arrived. It was summertime; they didn’t need to.

Karula had planned to take this trip on summer break because it made the most sense with her schedule. She was beginning to realize there was another reason why it had been a very good idea to do it now, as well.

***

No one but Mrs. Jin even remembered the Tenra family… which made sense, if they’d kept to themselves after tragedy struck. Mrs. Jin would have been a young woman when it had happened, but most of the town elderly were in their 70’s or 80’s; they’d have been children. It didn’t seem that there was anyone as old as Mrs. Jin, or even close.

If she wanted more detail on Ji-Wen’s mother and father—particularly mother – she’d have to go back to the Archives.  But she wasn’t lying to flatter the old woman; Mrs. Jin’s stories were a national treasure and should be preserved at all cost.  She wanted to stay here and listen to more of them. And she wanted to know more about this protector spirit. Would she be able to find independent corroboration in the death records of the government agents disappearing? That too was a question for the Archives, but to ask it, Karula needed more of the details.

***

Mrs. Wang wasn’t originally from Bangji, and Mr. Wang waxed garrulous about all the things he’d seen in his travels, but wasn’t nearly as talkative about anything local.  It took conversing with six retired people before she found someone who could give her more information about the protector spirit.

Mr. Sho was in his 70’s, but still quite vigorous. “It’s all the fish!” he boasted.  “Here in Bangji, we eat nothing but fish, and it keeps us healthy and strong!”

“I can see that,” Karula said. “I’m surprised no one but Mrs. Wang seems to be in their 90’s. All of you retired people seem so healthy!”

“Good health is a treasure,” Mr. Sho agreed. “But we do our duty. Jin Tai-Lee is the town grandmother, you know. We all love her.”

“Yes, she seems so.”

“So we don’t let her go to the temple. Better we go, before our health starts to fail us.”

Karula blinked. When had they gotten onto the subject of attending the temple? “Which temple?”

“There’s only one,” Mr. Sho said. “The shrine of the protector spirit. Where we sacrifice part of what we catch. Large fish, when we bring them in. Many fish, when we can’t get a big one. One time we gave a bucket of crabs!” He laughed.  

“And the elder people in the village do this?”

Mr. Sho nodded. “Sometimes the protector doesn’t like the offering. Well, gods and spirits and demons, they all must get bored with the same food every day.”

“What happens if the protector doesn’t like the offering?”

Mr. Sho leaned forward, his expression very serious. “It’s absolutely vital to do, you know. No one comes to Bangji anymore. There used to be bandits and pirates, and the protector spirit would save us. Then there were people from the government, who wanted us to live the way they were trying to force the rest of the country. But nowadays there’s nobody. We drive trucks full of fish down the road, now it’s paved, and we drive on back. No one for the spirit to protect us from.”

“So without anyone for the spirit to protect you from, I guess you’re afraid it’ll be angry and bored if you don’t give it good offerings?”

“If it doesn’t like the offering… it would be very bad for it to come back to the village to find one it prefers,” Mr. Sho said somberly. “So we old people bring it, and that way, if it doesn’t like the offering we provided, well…”

“Wait. Are you telling me the protector spirit – the protector spirit takes elderly people as a sacrifice?”

Mr. Sho nodded. Karula couldn’t see any sign on his face or in his voice that he was joking.  

“Is there a specific time it’s done? Would it be safe for me to go up to the shrine, or would the spirit assume I’m a sacrifice?”

“Nobody knows anymore,” Mr. Sho said, sadly. “We do what we can, but the spirit… well, we don’t speak ill of it. It might be listening.”

“It’s not protecting you?”

“We don’t know if it is or not,” Mr. Sho said. “All we know is what we have lost.”

***

“I’m probably going to return to the Archives for a while,” Karula said, as Mrs. Wang served dinner. It was a bed-and-breakfast, not a bed-and-breakfast-and-dinner, but Mrs. Wang was treating Karula more like an actual houseguest than a paying guest. “But I’ll be back.”

“I wanted you to play with me!” Lai-Mei said angrily.  “You’ve only been here a few days!”

Karula smiled indulgently. “Maybe I could find time to play with you tomorrow. My train won’t leave until afternoon.”

“Lai-Mei, this is a guest. Behave yourself!” Mrs. Wang scolded.

“It’s all right,” Karula said.

“There aren’t any children around here for her to play with,” Mr. Wang said apologetically.

Karula remembered Mrs. Wang telling her that there weren’t many children here because some of them had disappeared, possibly taken by wild animals.  She’d wondered, then, why the police hadn’t been called, why there hadn’t been extensive searches. Yes, this was far out into the countryside, but how could anyone do nothing when children were disappearing?

But Mr. Sho had implied, very strongly, that the protector spirit needed to be appeased with the lives of the elderly citizens who brought the sacrifices, from time to time. And that if they didn’t, the spirit would come to the village to find something to take.

Modern Senchai’a scholarship followed the same line as the South. There was no such thing as spirits. Nothing supernatural in the world. No dragons, no fish-birds, no qilin. Everything could be explained as fossils that ancient people had found and speculated on, or mistakes humans had made long in the past that had been carried forward in legend. Karula hadn’t truly expected to find any evidence that any of the stories she collected had any reality to them.

And yet… it didn’t surprise her. Somehow.  She considered it a genuinely reasonable theory that a protector spirit turned malevolent might have taken children – to eat? What did the protector spirit do with the sacrifices? – because it wasn’t pleased with the quality of what had been provided to it.

Was she being too credulous? Probably. Was this most likely the nonsense of peasants without any modern education? That could well be. But what if it was real?

She needed to see the death certificates. She needed to see how many children had been born here, and how many had died. She needed to return to the Archives.

But first, she wanted to see the shrine.

***

The sun had just come up the next morning when, fortified with one of Mrs. Wang’s hot breakfasts, Karula headed for the cliff where the shrine to the protector was.

Bangji was a tiny bump of a peninsula, bounded on one side by the start of the Mingshen Mountains and on the other side by thick forest, which climbed up the mountains to the extent that it could. The shrine looked out over the cliffside that faced the ocean, looking toward the east and the sunrise.  There was a winding path up the side of the cliff, with steps.

It took her an hour to make it all the way up. She was young and healthy, her legs strong; she wondered how long it took elderly people to get up here, carrying a big fish. How did they get a tuna up these steps? A large tuna would need two people to carry it at the best of times. She tried to imagine two old men, trying to tandem-carry a gigantic slippery fish, up a mountainside staircase that took a young healthy person an hour. Then she imagined that those two old men knew that if their protector spirit didn’t like the tuna, they themselves might be eaten.

After all that, the shrine itself was an anticlimax. Throughout most of Senchai, temples were large, elaborate things, or at least as large and elaborate as poverty-stricken locals had been able to build. During the revolution many of them had been destroyed, but when the new leadership came in after the revolutionary leader had died, their push to restore Senchai’s lost traditions in the name of nationalism had gotten most of those rebuilt with modern materials and architecture.  They were also, generally, shrines to ancestors. The spirit worship thing was more like you’d find in Niyong, to the east. Which was not that shocking; much of Senchai’s eastern coast had a lot of Niyong’s culture, customs and food intermixed with their own. And with Bangji being relatively isolated from the mainland, it was even more likely.

But Karula had never seen any evidence that Niyong’s spirits were real, let alone that they’d travel to Senchai for worship.

An actual Niyong shrine would generally be made of wood. Bangji’s was made of stone instead; there was plenty of easily accessible stone nearby, as the cliff face was a plateau, with another cliff a short distance inland, on top of it. It was a simple rectangular building with terra cotta tiles for a roof and white and gray stones mortared together for its walls. Inside, a candle burned in front of a tapestry showing Bangji, from the perspective of the shrine on the cliff, so the individual buildings were embroidered too small to make out much detail about them. There was no representation of the protector spirit itself anywhere, but there were some smashed pieces of terra cotta that might have once been statues.

Outside, facing the ocean, there was a very large stone circle with a very small stone wall ringed around it, and a pedestal about twice as high as the tiny wall in its center. Stains on the pedestal and a slightly fishy smell suggested that here was the place they sacrificed to their protector.

There was no evidence of a real protector spirit here. There was no evidence of human blood, but there was probably a lot more fish sacrificed than people, so that proved little. None of it told Karula anything except that Bangji had borrowed some customs from Niyong, which was hardly a surprise.

Two-thirds of the way down the steps, she was met by Lai-Mei. “Elder Sister! I thought you’d gone back to Nandijao and forgotten your promise!” the little girl said indignantly.

There was either a protector spirit, a wild animal, or an evil human being taking children from the town and killing or kidnapping them. Karula felt cold. Had the Wangs never told Lai-Mei the danger, or was she just that headstrong and self-confident?  “Why aren’t you home? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here?”

“I wanted to find you. I was afraid you left.”

“I told you I wasn’t leaving until afternoon, and it’s dangerous out here. Lai-Mei, the reason you don’t have playmates your own age is that children have died. Or vanished. It’s not safe for you.”

“But it’s safe for you?”

“I haven’t heard of young adults disappearing.”

“It happens sometimes,” Lai-Mei said vaguely. “But we can be careful. I want to play a game of hide and seek with you!”

“I was going to go back to the house and change clothes. I’ve been up the mountain and I’m all sweaty.”

“What’s the point to that? If you play with me you’ll just get sweaty again, right?”

The child had a fair point. “…all right.  But why don’t we go down to the base of the cliff?  I don’t feel like this is a safe place for hide-and-seek.”

“Okay!” Lai-Mei began skipping down the stairs. Even with longer legs, Karula had to rush to keep up. She smiled indulgently.  She could see where the Wangs’ complaint about Lai-Mei’s energy levels came from.

The base of the staircase was an area Karula had explored fairly extensively since coming to Bangji, though obviously she couldn’t know it as well as a child who’d lived here for years.  Lai-Mei turned and looked up at her as Karula stepped off the stairs. "Now let’s play Hide-and-Seek,"  she said, a bright smile on her face.  "And if I find you and catch you, I'll turn into a dragon and eat you up."

Karula grinned. Children's sense of the fantastic always delighted her.  "And after you eat me up, then I'll chase you?"

She laughed. "You won't be doing anything. You'll be eaten."

"Oh, of course," Karula said, still smiling. "All right, I'll go and hide, and you count to a hundred."

"To ten."

"Oh, no, it has to be a hundred.  I'm a stranger to this area-- you need to give me time to find a good hiding spot." Karula took games very seriously, and had no intention of losing to Lai-Mei.  She thought it was wrong, in general, to throw competitions to make kids feel better; adults who deliberately lost to children gave them an inflated sense of their own ability.  And in some senses, her mother’s death by fire when she was a young child had aged her, made her too burdened to easily make friends with the carefree innocents most children were.  She had missed out on a lot of this kind of simple play when she’d been a child herself. Maybe she was enough of a child to want to win the game for its own sake.  

"That's fair.  To a hundred, then."  Her smile showed tiny white teeth.

Lai-Mei covered her face with her hands to count. Karula ran through the woods.  She could think of several places she’d found in her explorations that would make good hiding places.  

It was a forest. At the base of a cliff. There were plenty of large rocks jutting out of the ground, and plenty of tree coverage and brush. Karula found a spot behind one of the large rocks, where a scrubby bush had grown because a tree couldn’t take root near such a large rock. She was able to climb over the rock and carefully lower herself into the spot where the bush met the rock, shoving parts of it out of the way. Lai-Mei would be too short to see that the top had been disturbed, and from the front of the bush, there’d be no disturbance visible.

She was alone with her breathing for all of two minutes.  Then a shriek split the air. “Found you!”

Karula looked up, expecting to congratulate the girl on her expert finding skills.

Lai-Mei was standing on the rock… looming. There was no other way to describe it. Like a tiny nine-year-old girl suddenly had enormous invisible mass, ready to reach down and crush. And her pupils had turned to slits, like a cat’s.

"I see you," Lai-Mei caroled.  "And now I'm going to eat you up."

It made no sense why Karula suddenly felt fear. This was still a nine year old girl. Lai-Mei’s smile was full of sharp teeth now, tearing carnivore teeth, and her pupils were slits, but she was a child. Still, Karula rolled herself sideways along the rock to get out of the brush, and started running as soon as she was out.

Lai-Mei leapt down from the rock, over the bush, which should not have been possible for a child her age, and landed. Karula knew this, not because she was watching – her eyes were focused in front because she was running – but because she heard the thump of the child’s landing, a short distance behind her, and no sound of rustling branches or leaves.  She glanced behind herself, once, very quickly. Lai-Mei was there, grinning hugely now, her mouth all teeth, and her skin had started to take on the mottled pattern of scales.

Karula kept running.

Around trees, rocks, bushes. Through all kinds of cover. Dodging this way and that.  And behind her, Lai-Mei never faltered, never stumbled. She laughed, the high-pitched laugh of a little girl playing a fun game, as she chased after Karula, and the sound of the laughter was never cut off by heavy breathing. This was easy for her. Fun. She was playing cat and mouse, dragging out the game.

“Do the Wangs know?” Karula screamed back over her shoulder when Lai-Mei was entirely too close.

That sobered the girl slightly. She stopped shrieking and giggling.  “No, they don’t, and I don’t want them to. They’re my parents! I’m here to keep them safe.”  Then she giggled again. “I get really hungry, though…”

Karula was rapidly running out of breath herself. She used her adult height to grab a tree branch that was too tall for Lai-Mei – too tall for herself, really, but amazing how high a person can jump when their life depends on it – and pulled herself, with arm strength and then support from her legs walking up the tree, onto the branch. Lai-Mei looked up at her.  “Do you think that’s going to stop me?” she giggled.

“I want to know why,” Karula said.  “Why me?”

“You’re an outsider. I can’t eat any more children. People with children are moving out of the town.  They’ve been here, their families, for hundreds of years and they’re running away because of me. I have to protect Bangji, and that means I can’t have people just running away and moving out. If they keep doing that there won’t be a town.”

“Have you considered maybe eating the fish they bring you?”

Lai-Mei made a face. “I ate fish. I ate a lot of fish. Fish is boring all the time!  And the old people who bring it are crunchy, like I burned them. They don’t taste burnt, but they haven’t got any more juice in them than if I did. I want prey who’ll run away from me and get their blood pumping, and I don’t want it to be anyone who lives in Bangji. That means you.”

“You’re not the original protector spirit, are you. What happened to it?” The longer she could keep the girl talking, the more of her breath and strength she could get back. Also, the scholar in her wanted to know, even if she was about to die.

Lai-Mei shrugged. “Dunno. Probably got killed in the revolution or the purges or something. A lot of dragons died that way. My parents probably did too. I didn’t even know I was a dragon until I came here and went to school and then I saw pictures.”

“You’re a fire-breather? So, a land dragon?”

“I don’t know. I just told you, all I know about dragons is what I’ve read! It’s not like anyone ever came along to take me to dragon school or something.”

Dragons taking human form. The massive upheavals of the revolution, and the rebellions, the counter-revolutions, the purges. A quarter century or more of violence. Things in Senchai were peaceful now, but hadn’t been as little as ten years ago. Nandijao and Jiangpao had been peaceful enough, civilized, calm, but her father had had to flee or else he’d have been taken in the night like his friends were, and out in the countryside, government officials had still been bringing down soldiers on the heads of small towns like Bangji, because they weren’t “modernizing” fast enough. Maybe they still were.

Karula thought of a dragon in human form killed by gunfire, or a bomb, a level of violence that even a fantastic, magical creature had never evolved to deal with.  She thought of an egg left behind, of a baby born able to shapeshift, and humans taking in a wandering child.  Senchai’a dragons were supposed to be ancient and wise, but how would you ever get to be ancient and wise if you were young, and untaught by any of your own kind? “Why do you have a last name, then?”

Lai-Mei giggled. “Haven’t you figured it out?” She traced a character in the air with her finger. “Lun!” And the character she traced, the word she spoke, was the word they’d both just been using. Dragon.

“The Children’s Center taught me how to read and write when I was very little, and I learned to hide myself. I could only eat the other children if it was safe to. I wanted to go someplace where there would be more to eat, so I ran away and I found the Wangs, and Bangji. I found that they feed dragons here, as long as the dragon protects them. So I told them my name was Lun Lai-Mei. But I never told them the characters.” She sketched her true name in the air. Dragon Pursue Fierce.

“You have the order wrong,” Karula said. “You should have been Lun Mei-Lai. ‘The fierce dragon is coming?’ The way you have it, it sounds like ‘the dragon pursues ferocity’.”

“I’m going to kill and eat you, and you’re correcting my grammar? I was three! Or four, I don’t remember exactly.”

She changed, unfolding from a girl-child to a small dragon.  A land dragon, with the serpentine body of a Senchai’a dragon, and wings, and nostrils that snorted puffs of sulfur. She was no bigger than a minivan and no longer than a hearse, and her head was just slightly larger than an adult’s proportions would be, but she was definitely a dragon.

"You see, Elder Sister?"  she laughed. "I've caught you now, and become a dragon.  And now I'll eat you up."

I’m going to die here, Karula thought. She could jump out of the tree and keep running, but she had no advantages against Lai-Mei anymore; the dragon was bigger than her, and could fly, and her serpentine body could probably twist through the trees. There was no way she was going to get out of this one.

Not like this. Not without… not without the fire.

It had started when she was a teenager. A candle, a gas burner, a fireplace… any fire mesmerized her, and she’d had intrusive thoughts about self-immolation. Like her mother, who’d run back into their burning home. As she’d gotten older it had only gotten worse. Her food had to be hot, but she couldn’t cook it herself if there was a flame involved, or she’d put her hand in it, try to immolate herself.  She’d come here hoping to find out why, if there was a connection of some kind between the things she felt and the way her mother had died… and she’d found evidence that her grandmother and her great-grandmother had died the same way.

She’d wanted to find something to save herself.  But if she was going to die anyway… she wanted to taste the fire.

“Are you sure you’re a dragon there?” Karula taunted her. “You look to me more like a big dog.”

“…What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Karula grinned, as insolently as she could manage.  “You call yourself a dragon? Maybe a lion.”

Lai-Mei lunged at her with a shriek, but Karula dropped to the ground, dodging the large mouth. “Oh, yes, use your teeth!” she yelled mockingly. “Dragons are supposed to be ancient and wise, not brute beasts! But sure, you’re totally a dragon!”

“Nothing you say will matter when I tear you apart!” Lai-Mei growled.

“Oh, but you’ll remember it. You want to think of yourself as a big strong dragon because you managed to terrorize some children and some superstitious old people, but I know the truth! If you were a dragon, you’d be able to flame me to death, but you haven’t even tried! You don’t even have any flame!”

“I’ll show you flame!” Lai-Mei snarled, and breathed a blast at Karula.

Karula screamed.

It burned, it was agony, but it was a cleansing agony, like the feeling of ripping off a scab or drenching a cut in rubbing alcohol, times a thousand. It was agony, but it felt right, it felt like she had been waiting for this all her life. She fell backward into light so blinding and red it was the same as darkness, as her flesh charred away. But her scream never stopped, growing higher in pitch and harsher, more tinny, and wings unfolded from somewhere as their prison of human flesh burned away, and her scream was the shriek of a giant bird. And her eyes opened.

Lai-Mei slithered backward a few steps and reared her head back, startled. “What—”

And Karula knew, now.

The memories of her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother, ancestor after ancestor going back thousands of years. Give birth to an egg and set yourself aflame so the baby bird will carry all your memories, all that you are. Learn to take human form. Branch out, have more children. Boys who will carry the trait into the human population, so there will be more of your kind, eventually, more lineages. Girls who will become you as soon as they die in fire.  

Karula was the Phoenix, and had always been, as her mother before her, and her mother’s mother, and backward to the dawn of time. And the Phoenix didn’t die in the flames. The flames burned and purified, took away the human shell if the Phoenix was born in one.  The ancients had had it wrong. There was more than one Phoenix and there had been for thousands of years, but within a single lineage, the daughters all carried the memories of the mothers and all the ancestors backward through time.

She spread her wings and shrieked again.

Lai-Mei screamed. "What-- what are you? You-- you were human--!!"

"No more human than you, little dragon,"  Karula called to her, with a voice that was the song of a bird.  "I am the Phoenix.  I was your guest, and you tried to kill me."

She rose into the air, wings flapping, and then dove at the dragon with a predatory screech. Lai-Mei breathed another blast of fire at Karula, but the flames that seared her strengthened her, so soon after her rebirth. She raked at the dragon’s eyes with her talons.  

Screaming, Lai-Mei took wing herself, flying like an awkward chick.  She wasn’t used to flight, not combat flight, not against an equal opponent. Karula was smaller than the dragon, but not by much; the part of her that was still Karula the human scholar wondered how she could possibly be flying at the size she was, and how Lai-Mei could possibly be flying, when both of them were far too large for their wingspans.  The part of her that was the immortal Phoenix knew that the physics of the human world didn’t apply here. Karula flew ahead of her, almost effortlessly, still mocking her.  She had never flown before, but she was the Phoenix and had flown a thousand thousand times, and in that she had far more experience than the nine-year-old dragon.

Though Lai-Mei ripped at Karula and blasted flame, the bird’s greater knowledge of flight made her more maneuverable. She dodged each time, easily, taunting the dragon-child with challenges that were fierce bird cries. Karula’s beak and talons were less deadly-- she scored the dragon many times, drawing blood, but there was no hope of defeating her that way.  Instead, she maddened the child, so that when Karula winged away from her, Lai-Mei followed, coming after her as the name she’d chosen suggested.

Karula flew and flew, and Lai-Mei followed and followed, always to the east. They closed with each other more than once, Lai-Mei’s teeth closing on fiery feathers, Karula’s talons slicing a leathery wing – but Karula would always break free, climb and head east, and Lai-Mei followed in her rage. And thenthey were over the deep ocean.  

Karula climbed steeply, straight toward the sun.  As the sunbird, the Phoenix, the bird of fire, she could look straight into the sun without penalty.  It was not the same for the dragon.  Land dragons were creatures of caves and mountains, with no more resistance to the light of the sun than a human would have.  Lai-Mei tried to pursue upward, but was blinded.  She leveled off, looking around herself for the phoenix, glancing upward sometimes… but never far enough upward. It wasn’t noon yet, but it was close enough that aiming straight at the sun brought Karula almost directly to the top of the sky.  

She dove then, landing hard at the scruff of the dragon’s neck, and dug in with her talons, pinching off the nerves to the wings and paralyzing them, as her weight drove them both downward.  Lai-Mei screamed and struggled, her wings beating feebly and erratically.  The pressure points to fully paralyze her wings weren’t accessible to a phoenix’s talons, but near-paralysis and weakness would do the job as well.  She twisted her serpentine body and tried to bite Karula, but the bird was in exactly the position that the dragon couldn’t reach her from, and Karula’s enormous wings drove both of them down toward the ocean.

When Lai-Mei hit the ocean, she sizzled and steamed.  The sea dragon who’d been Bangji’s protector spirit, long before Lai-Mei’s birth, would have thrived in the ocean… but that dragon wouldn’t have breathed fire.  And wouldn’t have eaten the children in the town she was supposedly protecting.

Karula took care not to touch the water herself as she submerged the thrashing baby dragon, and with the power of her wings she held her there, Lai-Mei’s head thrust down by the bite of Karula’s talons in just the right places, until her struggles weakened.

She turned into a human girl again, causing Karula to reflexively let go of her as the feeling of thick scale under her talons changed to soft human flesh. Lai-Mei bobbed to the surface, gasping, and looked up at Karula pleadingly through the waves. "I'll be good!"  she wheezed, struggling to stay afloat and to get enough air.  "Please, let me go, Karula! I'll never hurt anyone ever again!"

Karula hesitated.  Could the little dragon truly be blamed for knowing nothing of what it meant to be a dragon, of having the morality of a beast, when she had lost her dragon parents and mentors before she even hatched?  And it would break the Wangs’ heart when Lai-Mei never returned.

As it had broken the hearts of the parents of Bangji when their own children had never come home.

There was no blame here. No moral culpability. Lai-Mei had become a monster. It didn’t matter whose fault it was that she had done so.  It was tragic how the dragons had failed her, how the people of Senchai and their violence had failed the dragons.  But she had eaten human flesh.  The human Karula Lefaire might have wanted to take pity on a little girl… but the Phoenix knew that, to protect the dragons and the phoenixes, all the wild magical creatures of the world, and to protect the humans as well, a magical beast who’d eaten human flesh couldn’t be allowed to live.

She landed on the child, letting her weight push the girl underwater. Lai-Mei thrashed and struggled, and tried to pull Karula down into the water with her, where her own magic would fizzle and be extinguished.  But Karula had wings, and they were stronger than anything a human child’s strength could bring to bear.

In the water, a human could live longer than a land dragon, whose fire was part of their life force. But humans couldn’t breathe water either. Karula held Lai-Mei under until she stopped moving and air stopped bubbling out of her mouth.

The “protector” of Bangji was dead.  She had never been an adequate protector – the price she’d taken from the village for her protection had been far, far too high. But the village expected a protector, and in a nation where bureaucratic zeal was fond of stomping out dissidence, variance, and any deviance from the One True Approved Way, a tiny village that held to the old ways in so many things was in danger, without a protector.

Karula climbed toward the sun again, and then banked, turning toward the village. Someday perhaps she would be human again; someday she might bear a daughter to be the Phoenix after her.  And having already undergone her transformation and mastered her relationship with fire, she wouldn’t be compelled to immolate herself before the daughter was old enough to understand. She’d be able to teach her child before once again becoming the bird of fire. Someday. Perhaps.

But right now, there was a village whose only protection from a harsh central government that demanded obedience and order… was floating dead in the waves, with the marks of Karula’s talons in her flesh.  And that meant Karula had an obligation.

She swept over the town, once, her fiery wings making a contrail in the air as she passed.  The villagers looked up at her in amazement. And then she turned, and climbed again, and landed at the shrine.

On the land she could hunt for herself, but she could not dive into the sea to catch fish.  There were no large wild animals around here, and people needed their goats and pigs to survive. She would not take from humans what they needed to live any more than she would take their lives.  

But she hoped they would bring the next offering soon.  She was hungry.  And she hoped it would be hot.

***

Sorry, apparently 11 am on Monday is the new best time for posting my 52 Project fics? Still gonna try to get the next one out by Friday, though.

[yelenasdog]

il un a visage gentil (prof!gwilym lee x prof! gn reader)

genre: fluff

summary: who knew the attractive english lit professor also happened to speak french? not his new coworker, that’s for sure.

words: 1.7k

warnings: reader embarassing herself a lil bit, that’s it :)

a/n: hi!! first of all, no pronouns are used as this is from readers pov, so anyone can read. second of all, so i typically don’t write for gwil, but i had this idea in french the other day when my french teacher (sweet old french man who deserves better LMAODSJO) was going over some assignment that for some reason had il un a visage gentil in it LOLOL. that being said, i obvi don’t speak fluent french and this is all fictional! love u, hope u enjoy!!

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

“Hello everyone, and welcome to your first day. I’m Dr Gwilym Lee, and I am the head of the English Literature Department here at Oxford University. Feel free to call me Gwil, it’s what all my students do.”

I slanted my eyes from my position at the door, gripping the frame just a tad tighter than I had been before hearing his voice. I continued to listen to the doctor talk as I made my way behind the last row of seats in the lecture room, trying not to make any noise. My heels were thankfully mute against the carpet, not drawing any attention towards me, the professor keeping complete focus on his students.

“One of the first things I wanted to kind of, um, touch on, is that I will be quite flexible. I understand that you have lives, as do I. As long as I can see an honest effort being put into my class, I will hold no repercussions for late work or being physically late to class.”

With that, he looked up to where I had just sat down, quirking a brow. The eye contact was momentary, only lasting what seemed to be a second, if that.

I cleared my throat, looking to my feet.

“We at the english department are quite proud of our status, ranking 4th in english programs overall in the UK. Now I won’t continue to bore you with the statistics, but-“

I made a scan of the room, seeing how only 1 or 2 pupils were actually listening, the rest either slumped over looking at their phones, or pretending to take notes on a laptop while really watching netflix. (More than one student was watching gossip girl, oddly enough.)

Considering it was only 5 minutes into the hour long lecture, I was confused, as he was holding my attention, at least, quite well.

After about 30 minutes, I realized that my own “first day lecture” was in 15 minutes, which assured that I most definitely had to leave. I was saddened by this (even though I had only even planned on staying in Gwil’s room for a small while.

I sighed quietly, picking myself up from the surprisingly comfortable seats and making my way towards the door. Just as I was about to go, I felt eyes boring holes into the back of my head. I turned, realizing Gwilym to be the perp. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again, quickly walking out and down the hallway to my own room.

I made it in, hurrying down the many stairs, past where a few students were waiting.

“Hi, everyone, I’ll just be a few moments, just waiting for the rest of your new classmates to arrive.”

I smiled briefly, before slamming my office door audibly, chest heaving with my back against the shaded window. I closed my eyes, unaware of why I had been so panicked by the brief interaction, not to mention the butterflies it hatched in my stomach.

After giving myself some time to decompress, I exhaled, smoothing out the skirt of my dress and rotating. I placed a hand on the handle, preparing myself for the fresh faced freshman.

As I opened the door, I heard half a knock, before whoever was behind the door (poor soul) essentially fell on top of me.

Expecting to see a red faced pupil who had just made a very interesting first impression, I looked up, suddenly becoming the one with a warm and itchy wave of embarrassment making its way up my neck.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” He stood up, reaching out a hand. I hesitated before reaching forward and gripping tightly, allowing him to tug me up.

“It’s alright, Gwil, really.”

He opened his mouth (not that I was paying any mind to his lips), presumably to ask my name. Before he got the chance, I beat him to it, blurting out my full title, unfortunately in a quite awkward way.

The students that had gathered had mostly turned their attention elsewhere by now, only a few of them still watching the live disaster that was my interaction with the incredibly attractive man in front of me.

He spoke up as I tried to maneuver my way around him to the podium positioned in the front of the room where my laptop was waiting.

“Well, I had assumed you were a student who was trying to sneak off early, but I stand corrected, then.” He looked around my slowly filling space, a slight amusement hiding in his gaze.

“Yes, sorry, I had caught you at a bad time, I was hoping to introduce myself, you know, trying to make a good impression. Feels like the first day of school all over again.” I laughed, bringing a hand up to brush away a stray strand that had somehow managed to escape my bun.

“It’s alright, don’t stress about it. And trust me, I get it. New jobs are scary.”

I huffed, looking out at the sea of judgmental young people that I now would have to face after that fiasco. Lovely.

“You could say that again.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a short amount of time, the clock striking 2:30 being what woke me from my trance.

“That’s my queue.” I gave a small wave as he walked off, a smile spreading across his face at the motion.

I turned to my teaching assistant, fully believing he was out of earshot.

“Il un a visage gentil, eh?”

She only laughed, nodding her head and plugging in my macbook, allowing the screen to come alive with a flurry of colors in my powerpoint.

“Hi guys! Or should I say bonjour!” I paused, receiving a few chuckles in the crowd.

“I’m sorry for getting us started so late, I had a small mishap. I’m Dr Y/n Y/l/n, and I am your professor this year in the French undergraduate course, where you will have the opportunity to study medieval literature, modern day linguistics, and much more, which I will get into later on.

 We here at Oxford have the single largest French department in Britain, which we have come to have extreme pride in. We also have a french cultural center, where you will find a large selection of programmes and literature to choose from. If you haven’t yet checked it out yet,” I briefly looked up, seeing Gwilym still stood at the top of the stairs. He gave me another small smile, crossing his arms.

“Sorry, lost my place. Where was I?”

-

After class, I walked up to where the tall man had now moved to the side, allowing students to flood right by him.

“Gwil, hi!”

“Hi to yourself.”

I blushed, the feeling of fuzzy-ness once again flooding my entire system at just the brief statement. Odd. Extremely odd.

“That was very nice, I have a feeling this class will be quite popular in the coming years.”

I smiled and nodded my head. “Thank you, I appreciate it, truly. Although, I must say that I can tell everyone is racing to get a spot in Professor Gwilym Lee’s class 100% percent.”

He cocked his head, slimming his eyes.

“Really, you think so?”

We continued to walk down the long hallway, neither of us quite aware of where we happened to be going.

“Oh for sure, I can imagine you’re especially popular with a certain demographic, too.”

His confusion seemed to only grow, stormy blue eyes seemingly lost.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” His voice slightly raised an octave at the end, earning a chuckle from me.

“Look, all I’m saying is that with looks like that, I bet your roster was full in seconds.”

I paused, the flow of conversation stopping as I came to terms with what I had just accidentally said. Out loud. In front of my new coworker, who happens to be incredibly gorgeous. A wonderful first day I’m having.

We resumed walking, a blanket of complete silence falling upon us all the way until we reached the entrance to the facility.

The chilly December air hit my face immediately, as well as droplets of rain that were falling so hard it felt like small bullets were grazing my nose, which I could barely feel after just a few moments outside.

“Here.” Gwil muttered, pulling out a bright red umbrella and using it to shield us both from the angry pellets sent from above.

“Ah, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Then it was quiet again between us both, minus the sounds of chattering students and the rain hitting and then sliding off of our cover, coming in contact with the ground with a final splat.

“You know,” Gwilym began, always the one to break the silence.

I hummed, turning my head in his direction.

“I speak a little bit of French, as well. And I think you also have a nice face.” He nudged my elbow and laughed, while I closed my eyes and sighed, hanging my head.

“So there really isn’t any other way I could possibly embarrass myself right now, is there?”

He only shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, now that I think of it, there might be one more thing I can think of?”

“What would that be?”

“Saying no to a cup of coffee?”

It was like I froze over completely, my mind suddenly growing blank when I needed it mostt.

“With me?” I asked, the question more aimed towards myself, a miniscule act of reassurance and affirmation.

Gwilym smiled brightly as he shook his head, and I swear, I had never seen anything more amazing.

“Yes, Y/n, with you.”

I stuttered, embarrassed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, specifically at my lack of verbal skills.

“Yes, yes of course, that sounds amazing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

He offered me an arm which I gladly took, and we started walking to the quaint campus cafe just across the street from our building.

It was the same cafe where (not that we knew it yet) the both of us would make many late night coffee runs together during midterms week, the stressful time growing to become one of our favorites as it was now filled with giggles and caffeine. 

Usually it would end up with one of us, that one of us usually being me, leaving a ring of coffee on the other’s ungraded assignments. Or even better, spilling an entire drink on the paper, only a “sorry!” written in Gwil’s rushed handwriting at the top of the curiously scented paper as explanation.

But as I said, we didn’t know that yet.

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

kinda gross but whatevs, like and rb if u did indeed enjoy it. mwah, go eat some protein, take an electronics break and drink some water. love u 

xx hj

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXXIX: Nun the Wiser

Through the still silence and the lack of temperature (despite its location geographically, inside the fog was a feeling of neither warmth nor frozen cold, but just dead air) within the mist-filled landscape I made my way into hell. As if a lighthouse beacon, the orange glow inside of the diner could be seen, even as a faint glimmer from afar. There were strips of lighting, meant as a sort of walkway, but the destination meant more to me than the journey. After all, the journey was a torturous undertaking.

Three knocks: no answer.

Foreboding already. Should I have expected anything less?

When I fled from the convent, I didn’t know what I would expect. All I heard were rumors of a lone restaurant, buried out in the depths of this accursed omen that I could take shelter in. What happened back in that convent that I was forced to flee? Have I committed some horrible crime against the church? Was I excommunicated? Or was it that my former home had been destroyed, forever set ablaze by the darkness in men’s hearts and as such, I could no longer return, as I no longer had a home to return to?

No. I wouldn’t speak a word of it. I’ve made my vows and henceforth, there would be not another word on the subject.

Whether or not my presence was welcome, I pushed open the door with my delicate and frail hands. It crept slow and a credible creaking sound followed. As I awaited the chaos that followed, light leaked through and shone almost as bright as heaven itself (oh, the irony). Once the light faded, lost in the abyss which surrounded me, I was face to face with a crowd of sick and dying alike. Injured and scared, people all huddled together en masse.

However, through all of that, there was an air of perseverance: food was brought to everyone’s table by a young girl with snowy hair. Commotion could be heard in the kitchen from afar, even with all the wails and conversation of the crowded dining hall: sounds of pots and pans clattering and clanging, hisses and searing of oil, meats, and vegetables. Its aroma permeated throughout the air and I allowed myself a sniff.

I walked through the dining area, as if aimless and without a purpose. Of course, I wasn’t without aim, but I had to appear as such until the right person showed up. Seeing as I didn’t know what the right person looked like yet...I may as well have been without aim.

Soon enough through my wander and best attempts not to be swayed by the delicious aromas set at each table, someone took notice of me and sauntered up to me: a tall and radiant black beauty. Her smile beamed with such a brightness that I was sure that through all the darkness in this world, she must have been a source of light.

“Heya. I take it you’ve come seeking shelter?” She squatted down and leaned her face close against mine. As welcoming as she was, I had to back away, for fear of her noticing anything in particular about my face. Let it be known that I was more than a little bit self-conscious. That even with my mouth and the top of my head covered by cloth, that there would be something seen about me that would be deemed revealing.

Once I backed away one step, I gave a single nod in return.

“Well, go ahead and seat yourself wherever you like. There’s not a lot of room, so you might have to huddle up next to someone,” she informed me.

While I appreciated the offer and should have been grateful with just that, I couldn’t bear to just sit tight and wait for a meal. Not only that, but I wasn’t about to remove the cloth from over my mouth. If I were to do that, then others could see my lips. Even something as simple as that…

So I produced a notepad and a pen from one of the pockets of my black habit and wrote down a note, then handed it to her.

“Oh? What’s this?” She scanned her eyes across the paper and had a look of delight on her face. Afterward, however, she scratched the back of her head and gave a sort of confused face of distress.

“Wait right here. I’ll get my husband.”

I nodded, and was once again left alone in the aisle between the despondent people. I took quick glances, little notes of the demographics: all adults, luckily. No child should have to deal with such hellish circumstances. Though...there was the white haired child, delivering plates to tables and asking around. What was her deal, her story? What was it that brought her to such a place?

“Is the menu visible for you?” She asked one of the guests, a flat brown haired young man in a puffy vest and jeans.

“Don’t you mean ‘have you had time to look at the menu’?”

She looked down and smiled, then shook her head.

“Yes, but I imagine it only takes a second to look at something, so long as it is visible to you. Amen.”

Is she supposed to be the waitress here? If so, she doesn’t seem to have this whole ‘hospitality’ thing down. Then again, she is a child, so maybe the others go easy on you.

“Oh, Astraea. I can never be mad at you. You still have much to learn,” he waved the waitress off.

“Yes. I do. So, are you interested in eating food?” She asked, again, her voice remained soft and polite.

Well, she’s got the kind part down. Hopefully all of the refugees are as nice to her as that young man. At the very least, it seems they’re all familiar with her. Damn, though. I was really hoping that I could work as a waitress here.

“Yeah, I think I’d like mashed potatoes with biscuits and gravy,” the young man replied.

“Those are interesting foods to eat. I will let the head chef know,” she informed him.

“Thank you, Astraea.”

“You’re welcome, Olivier.”

She then spun around in place, then ran off.

“Star power!” She cried out in a sugary sweet voice as she ran toward the kitchen.

“Astraea. How many times do I have to tell you not to run in the dining room? You could slip and fall, not to mention drop someone’s order,” scolded an older man who sounded exhausted.

I faced forward to see him: a gaunt looking man with jet unkempt hair which almost covered his eyes, and they would, too, if not for the glasses he wore. His eyes had a dull, hazy look to them and there were bags underneath. Despite such a despairing air about him, his attire was far more dignified and sharp dressed: an ironed-out tuxedo and slacks, with white gloves covering his hands.

He approached me, then stopped and pulled out the paper that I handed to the beautiful woman, who, by coincidence, stood beside him.

Ah. So he must be the husband.

“So let me see…” He held up the paper close to his face. “Your name is Sister Cecilia. You’ve taken a vow of silence, and you’re a nun who was exiled from her convent. You came here seeking shelter and would like to help out any way you can. Did I get all that?”

I nodded. There was more that I would like to add, but everything had its place.

“Isn’t she cute, hun? I don’t think we’ve had a nun show up here before,” the wife commented.

Am I some kind of spectacle?

“Trust me, they’re not all that interesting. No offense,” he focused his gaze on me.

“None taken,” I wrote down. He leaned over and peered at what I had written.

“So that’s how you communicate, huh?”

I nodded.

“Well, you should consider making your words bigger. Some of us, myself included, would have a hard time reading anything so small.”

Again, I nodded. It was sound advice, and something which I hadn’t considered.

He drew an exasperated breath, then shook his head.

“Anyway, we’ve no need for sermons. I don’t think prayers will help our situation.”

“She could provide moral support,” the wife suggested, “besides, a few of the folks here are Christian, so she could entertain them.”

‘Entertain’? Is that the right word there?

“Nuns provide more than just prayer,” I scrawled the words down, then added, “it’s customary for a sister to go out and help out in the community.”

He looked around the dining room, then back at me.

“This is a community, yes, but by necessity, not by choice. You may take shelter here, but I have no work for you.”

“Oh, come on, Ray! You know we can use all the help we can get!” Ray’s wife nudged him.

“You can give her a task, then,” he groaned, “but I’m telling you, between you, I, Tigershark, Aurora, and Astraea, we’ve got most things covered. Not to mention whenever Wendy shows up, she takes some of these folks back to their homes. Anyone else would just be overkill.”

I then watched as he walked off toward the back of the diner. His wife, however, remained in front of me.

“Sorry about that, Sister. He used to be a lot more cheerful. Ray Sunshine, they’d call him. ‘Cause that’s his name, but also because he used to be more of a ray of sunshine.”

“I understand his disposition, given what lies outside,” I wrote down, big enough so she could see (heeding Ray’s advice) and held it up to her.

“Yeah...it’s not pleasant. He and I have both gotten our fair share of injuries out there. Of course, we’re used to the environment being extreme, but usually it’s because of blizzards or intense chill. This is different, though. Anyway, not to worry, I’m still Sunny! Nice to meet you!”

She held out her hand and I deliberated on whether or not to shake it. In the end, I extended my hand as well and took hers.

To my knowledge, there’s nothing she can infer about me from my hand.

She squeezed my hand and I squeezed back to meet her grip in turn.

“Oh wow, Sister. You have a firm grip,” Sunny observed.

I nodded. When she let go, I pulled out my pen and my notepad.

“As do you,” I wrote down.

“Ha! I have a feeling you and I will get along just fine, Sister Cecilia. I happen to have a thing for ladies with firm grips.”

I’m confused, but I’m going to assume that was a compliment.

“Thank you. You truly are a light in these dark times,” I wrote down.

“Oh my, you flatter me. If I wasn’t already married, I’d consider going out with you.”

Would you be saying such things if you knew who I was?

It was hard to tell whether or not she was serious, but I took it as a serious statement all the same.

“Need I remind you, I’m a nun,” I wrote down, slow and deliberate, emboldened so that she knew my words were serious. “We’re celibate and have taken a vow not to enter into any relationships, unless it be with God.”

Even then, hard to have a relationship with something that doesn’t exist.

“Aw, I forgot! Guess I’ll just have to admire you in my thoughts.”

I swear. If she ever finds out who I am under this saintly image, she’d change her tune real fast.

“Anyway…” she looked around with a precocious and carefree expression, “I’ve got it! You can be a hostess!”

“What is that?” I tilted my head and wrote down. I knew of a waitress, and a hostess sounded like the same thing. Which, to me, was a little redundant.

“Simple: you’d stand by the door and greet anyone who comes in. Then you’d direct people to their seats and let them know that you’ll bring the waitress to see them. Think you can do that?”

Really? Was that it? It seemed...too simple. Minimal effort. That, and “greeting people”? By holding up signs that said “welcome in”? Well, I couldn’t complain. If that’s what she had in mind, then I’d take whatever position I could get. It’s just…

“I imagine people don’t come by very often,” I wrote down so that I could address a flaw in Sunny’s proposal.

“Yeah, you got me there! Well, members of Aurora’s crew like to come in and out, since we share our food with them, so I’d say that should keep you somewhat busy. But yeah, I see your point. So...hmm...maybe...oh! You could help out Astraea, our waitress? See, she’s pretty friendly, but she can get a little confused at times, and she may need a little extra help as a waitress.”

I pointed my left thumb in the direction of the wandering child waitress.

“Mm-hmm! That’s her!”

Thank goodness. I can finally put my customer service experience to good use.

“I’ll do my best,” I wrote to Sunny.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, hun!” She held up a thumb and smiled wide. She really was, by all accounts, radiant.

In the midst of our conversation, I failed to notice Astraea, the waitress in question herself, approach us.

“Hello, Sunny. Might this be another human that eats?” Astraea asked in a wispy voice.

“Yes, dear. This is Sister Cecilia. She is a nun,” Sunny explained to her.

“A nothing? But how can she be a nothing if she is something?” Astraea tilted her head.

“Not nothing, n-u-n, nun. They’re a type of religious folk.”

“I don’t know what that is. Are nuns human?”

Are nuns...excuse me?

In a fit of confusion, I scribbled down just one word:

“What?”

And held it up, first showing Sunny, then Astraea.

“Those are some interesting symbols,” Astraea pointed to the sheet of paper I held out.

“That’s a word,” Sunny explained, “because she’s taken a vow of silence, she writes down whatever she wants to say and has people read it out.”

“Vow of silence? How did she make a vow if she can’t speak?”

Sunny chuckled.

“I’m pretty sure she can speak. She probably spoke plenty before she took that vow. It’s just after that vow that she stopped speaking. Am I right, Sister Cecilia?”

I nodded.

More or less.

“I see. How interesting. I may have some difficulties holding conversations with her, but I am willing to try. Amen,” Astraea replied to Sunny, then returned to her waitress duties.

“As you can see, she’s a little confused, but she’s got the spirit,” Sunny assured me.

From what little I saw of her, I was inclined to agree. However, what that ‘spirit’ in question was, I had no idea.

Either way, I have a strange feeling around her. Like she knows more than she lets on. Or that she’s not all that she seems. I don’t know where that feeling comes from, yet I am unable to deny it all the same.

“So, before I let you go, Sister, is there anything else I can help you with?” Sunny asked.

I nodded, then jotted down my question:

“Where may I rest?”

Sunny gave a nervous chuckle.

“Anywhere you like. There’s not a lot of space, but anywhere you can find is good enough. Just don’t sleep in one of the restrooms, as I’m sure the others wouldn’t like that too much.”

Nor would I like sleeping in a restroom, either. Although I would like to eat in one of them, that way I have at least the smallest morsel of privacy whilst I eat. Under no circumstances should I let others see my mouth, as it would be far too revealing.

On the subject of privacy, I let my worldly desires get the better of me, as I wrote down a request:

“I would like a room to myself.”

Sunny hung her head low. It still wasn’t the dejected atmosphere which Ray held, but it was all the same, a look of disappointment.

“Sorry, Sister. There’s a lot of people and not a lot of space. I would if I could, but circumstances are dire and resources are already tight.”

Of course. I should have known better than to have made such a request.

“I understand,” I wrote out, “I’ll be fine with any room, then.”

“Hmm...there’s a room in the back. You’d still be sharing it with a couple of other people, but I can roll out a futon bed for you to sleep on, as I’m sure you wouldn’t want to share a bed with two other people.”

Yeah. No. Most definitely I did not want to.

“I can also roll out a sleeping bag, air mattress, take your pick.”

“Futon is fine,” I wrote down.

“Good! It’s in the back, down the hall, to your left when you walk in. Mine and Ray’s room is upstairs. Tigershark and Astraea share a room at the other end of the hall, so if you ever wanna visit them when they’re not busy, feel free.”

If I recall, Ray mentioned Tigershark being the head chef. That was, to say the least, an interesting name. Not to borrow one of Astraea’s words, but it was just the truth.

After Sunny explained all that, she too left and headed toward the back of the restaurant/shelter.

I’ve now been acquainted with almost all the staff here. That just leaves folks like Tigershark, Aurora, and Wendy. But if I had to choose, I’d say that Tigershark is the one I’m most interested in meeting next.

As if a prayer were answered, I heard a yell come from the kitchen. Gruff, yet shrill in its timbre.

“Order up!” Roared the voice of the head chef, and it sounded like the voice of a child.

Wait. You don’t mean…the head chef, too…?

My eyes followed the movements of Astraea as she strolled from one end of the dining area and into the kitchen door. Then, a few seconds later, she walked out with a plate and a glass of water in hand. On the plate was a dish of shrimp risotto and two gyoza rolls.

How...peculiar.

In tandem with the plate and glass being set down at one of the tables, the door to the kitchen burst open and out from it was a muscular young girl with red hair and orange streaks in the style of a pageboy haircut. She wore an apron with what appeared to be denim overalls underneath, and underneath those overalls was a long sleeved blue and gold striped T-shirt. Tight-laced leather boots topped off her attire, and if there were any more details to take note of, I didn’t have much of a chance to observe, as she darted toward me.

“Hello!” She beamed. “Are you new here? My name’s Tigershark!”

I nodded, then wrote down the same thing I wrote for Ray. I handed Tigershark the sheet of paper and her eyes scanned across the page.

“Oh wow! I’ve never met a real life nun before! I think Ray told me about them once.”

Astraea soon joined beside Tigershark.

“Look, Tigershark, isn’t this an interesting human?” Astraea pointed me out.

“Yes, she is! She’s a nun! I’ve heard about them before, but never seen them!”

Astraea looked down and smiled.

“I still don’t know what a nun is,” her assured statement made it seem like she was content not knowing, yet it seemed quite the opposite.

“They’re like how you say amen a lot, but with them, it’s their job!” Tigershark explained, in what may have been the simplest and least accurate of ways.

“Does that mean that they get paid for it?” Astraea put her finger on her chin and wondered.

“No,” I wrote down.

“What does that say?” Astraea looked at the paper.

“It says ‘no’. Like, she doesn’t get paid, I guess?”

I nodded. Correct.

Tigershark held out her hand. Same game as Sunny, I suppose. I took it and shook, and to my surprise, Tigershark’s grip was also very tight.

Then again, much like Sunny, Tigershark has quite muscular arms.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sister Cecilia!”

When she let go, I wrote down:

“You as well. You’re almost as tall as me.”

It was true; although if I had to guess, she was about 137 centimeters, she was still what I would consider tall for a child, and as for me...let’s just say there was a reason I wore heels. As uncomfortable as they were on my feet, with them on, I was 154 centimeters, and appeared just tall enough that I didn’t have to be so self-conscious about my height.

“Really? Well, Ray says I’m growing fast, and I’m almost 11! I’ll have my 11th birthday in a few weeks, and then in a few months after that, I’ll be 11 for real! I’m just not sure about the exact day!”

That was...confusing. Did she not know her own birthday? In any case, the thing I was most shocked about was the idea that she still had more growing to do. I feared for the day in which she outgrew me. Me, a grown adult woman.

“When it’s Tigershark’s 11th birthday, it will be mine as well,” declared Astraea. “We decided it last year. I will also be 11 because I recently learned that I am not 19 but in fact, Tigershark’s age, due to the fact that some of my years weren’t actually a year long.”

Again: what?

For the remainder of the day, I shadowed Astraea and made sure she did all that was expected of her. I’d often find myself writing down apologies to the guests and asking for their patience, although by the look of things, they were more or less used to her. Not long after, I turned in for the night in the room which Sunny had directed me to.

Inside were two other people, just as I was told there would be: one, a balding man with a tank-top on, an inappropriate attire for the type of environment we were in (or, I would say that, except the fog has negated any sense of ‘cold’ or ‘warm’ altogether) with cuts and bruises all over his arms, chest, and face. He drew labored breaths as he lay on the bed in what looked to be a cold sweat. As red as his cuts were, and as purple as the bruises were, at least it seemed that none of his wounds were open.

He must have only come here recently, I noted.

Knelt down on the floor beside the bed, was a woman, with brunette hair tied in a bun and wearing a thick, brown overcoat. She too had scratches on her face, like claw marks, and her overcoat itself was torn up, almost in tatters. Neither of them looked in great shape, yet the kindest thing I could say was that they would live. They had each other for comfort and that had to count for something. That was more than I could say about myself; what could I offer them? Empty prayers. Such things would have done them no good.

Despite my request for a room, I nevertheless felt like an intruder to those people. They didn’t acknowledge my existence as they were too preoccupied with their own predicament. All the better. Even in a superficial sense, I’d love nothing more than to have been left alone.

So I walked past them and laid myself down on the futon next to the dresser. I curled my legs and removed my high-heeled shoes. I’d be damned if I didn’t have some bruises and calluses from wearing them for so long. Those things were a punishment far greater than any of my sins. Yet wear them, I had to, for the sake of appearance.

Being who I was, I had to throw away any notion of ‘comfort’ for the sake of appearance. There was little comfort in my attire, especially given my blasphemous thoughts. Some folks held faith in a higher power, others were comfortable with having faith in humanity; I had neither. We were all cruel creatures of desire who both suffered and inflicted suffering upon others. We created deities as scapegoats to pawn our problems off on, we –

No, I had to stop before it spiraled further. Such thoughts were a bad habit, and within the pockets of my bad habit were notepads and pens, an endless amount of papers as a means of communication. Beside that was a means of protection, one which I hoped I wouldn’t have to present. At least not yet.

What am I doing, dressing up like some holy woman? How long am I going to keep up this act? I hold nothing sacred, nothing holy. I devote myself to no one and nothing, but act with self-preservation. So when will I present myself as a faithless, faceless mannequin like I really am? Or as a mannequin, am I meant to be dressed up to play a role, put myself on display, and pass by without a second’s thought.

My eyes shut. Soon I was on my back, and although I knew little rest would come, I still tried to bring myself to some semblance of respite.

I had a dream about bells. Church bells or school bells, couldn’t tell. That I had any dream at all was a miracle, as I wasn’t one to remember many of my dreams. That, and sleep seldom came to me. But there I was, sat up on the floor, and the bells still rung in my ear.

“SISTER CECILIA!” Roared the voice of Ray from afar. Such a vocal force vibrated through my skin and past my ribs, reverberated past my heart and out the other end.

Who?

“SISTER CECILIA!” Again, those two words, harsher, more urgent.

Oh, right. That’s me. The bell tolls for me.

I rushed to my feet and held up my veil, making sure that the coif was on tight. The last thing I wanted to happen was for the hood to fall and for the others to see my hair. That would have been too much to handle, especially on the first night of being here.

Once I had it all straight and fastened, I darted out the door to the room, down the hall, and into the dining area where I saw Ray and Sunny side by side with the front door swung open. There was a howling, malevolent force outside. Not a gust of wind, but a shriek and a growl, some inhuman and near-inaudible sound. In front of them, between the hinges of the unknown gray outside and the discomforting familiarity inside was a skinny, near-emaciated looking shirtless man. He coughed, gagged, sputtered and blood ran from his mouth. Gashes surrounded his torso and I had a hard time imagining that he would live at all.

“Don’t just stand there! Help us out!” Ray turned to me.

But while I should have helped, something else compelled me to stay where I was. Something, or perhaps, someone else: Astraea.

She stood off to my side, to my right, next to one of the booths. She too stood in place, and had a look of concern about her. But it wasn’t a concern that you or I might have had for someone sick. No, it was a sense of confusion, instead.

“Why are you helping that human up?” Astraea asked, in much the way a child might ask why the sky was blue.

“Because he’s hurt,” Sunny replied.

“Why is he hurt?”

“Because of what’s outside?”

“Why? What’s outside?”

“We don’t know,” it was Ray’s turn to answer.

“Why don’t you know?”

“We just don’t!” He snapped. That did not deter her.

“But why? Why can’t you tell? Why can’t it be bears, wolves, a blizzard? Why is he hurt at all? Why do people get hurt? Why are people hurt when they come here? Why does pain exist? Why –”

She. Just. Kept. Going. On.

I’ve always hated it, that word: Why? It was like when we’re young, that’s all we ask, and we expect an answer, but then when we get an answer, we’re just left with more questions, and no matter how much it’s broken down, there’s always going to be more questions until it all becomes pointless. Doubt is healthy, necessary, even, but do we all have to know the reason for every little thing?

“Astraea, go back to bed, honey,” Sunny urged.

“Why should I? Why can’t I know? Why can’t you know?”

Why won’t it stop? Was my own question. I was ready to put my hands over my ears and cover them up, open my mouth, scream, reveal my voice, have everything come crashing –

“Stop! Just stop!” I wanted so bad to yell that out.

– But I was saved by the cross tone of Ray Sunshine.

“Damn it! Sister Cecilia, are you going to do your job and help us out?!”

That snapped me out of any possible trance I was in and I rushed to their aide. I helped the poor man up and led him to an empty space at one of the booths. He moaned and wheezed and bobbed his head. There was a part of me which didn’t expect him to make it, that he would drop dead, before I even got him to take his seat.

But lo and behold, he did. He looked miserable, in tears, but he too, I would have to hope, would survive.

“I’ll bring you a glass of water. The waitress will be with you shortly,” I wrote down on my notepad and held it up to him. He squinted at it with a blurred vision, then looked up at me and nodded.

I began to walk up to Astraea, but Ray intercepted me.

“I’ll take it from here. You should get some rest,” he placed a hand on her shoulder and instructed.

“Thank you,” she replied. “So I shall. But please ask the man why he was hurt for me,” she requested. Ray glanced back to where I had placed the man, and it was like he was ready to roll his eyes. Instead of that, however, he turned back to Astraea.

“Will do.”

At the same time Astraea walked away, Ray walked past me, in the direction of the new guest.

“He’ll tell me the same thing they’ve all told me. He doesn’t know why he’s hurt any more than I do, but he knows his pain is real,” he muttered to himself, a grim sense of futility in his voice.

“Ray, let me help you,” Sunny pleaded. “I’ll bring the food out.”

“Do as you like,” he gave a dismissive reply.

As for me, I thought that was all I was needed for, that I too would head back into my room. But I kept my word. I walked off into the kitchen and filled up a glass of water. When I returned to the table, I set it down. Ray was still there, and he glanced at me.

“I could have done that myself,” he groaned.

Don’t give me that bullshit, I was ready to snarl, myself, just not out loud.

“But you didn’t have to,” I wrote down instead. Tact. It was as important in that hellscape as it ever was anywhere else.

He could have put up a fuss, but he looked at me for a few seconds longer, first his eyes showed scorn, then they shifted to a reluctant show of surrender. It was that shift which caused him to stand back up and wave his hand up.

“I’m going to make him a warm meal,” he called back to me, “you’re free to go back to bed until the next person arrives, or until morning. Sunny and I can handle this.”

As enticing as the offer of rest was, I followed him into the kitchen and wrote down.

“I can still help,” I showed the words to him.

“Yeah? What can you do?” His cold dismissal returned again. That time, I was stumped. There was no rebuttal I could have, but it felt wrong to just walk away, either.

“Well? Anything?” He pressed on.

I still had no answer and it dug deeper into me.

At last, he let out a sigh.

“Here: get out the eggs, flour, anything else I need, while I cook, OK?” He conceded. As someone who normally didn’t like work, let alone being told what to do, I was somewhat elated that he allowed me to help him in any way at all.

That was but the first night, in early August. Ever since then, there had been little progress in the way of the situation outside, or inside. Ray and Sunny gave the residents what little medical attention they knew to give. Ray was still the same self I witnessed upon my initial entry, but at least as the days passed, he acknowledged my presence. It wasn’t really progress, but it was something. Maybe all that I could hope for.

Each time someone entered, the bell would ring above the door, and I would assist whatever victim or passerby of the fog happened to cross the threshold into our domain. Some people’s injuries were worse than others. Sometimes, there were few injuries at all, and all I had to do was greet them and point them out to their table. Those were the lucky ones. I too was lucky, as when I first entered, the furthest I felt was an oppressive feeling that I was surrounded and eyes were on me in every direction.

Sometimes people carried with them the mindset of a customer, and not some desperate soul seeking shelter. That despite what horrible ordeals they’ve had to endure, they retained their entitled attitude. Those were the worst. Men, women, whoever. Young and old and anywhere in between. It didn’t matter. They were all a grating nightmare.

“Welcome in,” were the two words I would hold up on a sheet of paper when someone entered.

“Why howdy, ma’am!” Entered a burly middle-aged man in a cowboy hat and ultra thick mustache.

“Allow me to show you to your seat,” I held up the next sheet of paper. It had become a routine, and it was fine enough, I served a purpose, just as I wanted to. But damn, at times it could be boring.

“Why won’t you talk, little lady?” He asked instead. I had the most primal urge to growl, but I suppressed it.

“I’ve taken a vow of silence,” I wrote down.

“Aw, but I’m sure you have a lovely voice. And what’s with that cloth over your mouth? Got a cold or something? How am I going to see your lovely smile?” His voice was condescending, coy and playful. Absolutely disgusting.

I stomped down on his boot, so hard that despite the hardened leather that he wore, he felt every ounce of my disgust.

“Owww!” He wailed, raised his leg and held his foot in his hands, “damn you, little lady.”

Too late. I’m already damned.

“Now. Right this way,” I wrote down and although reluctant, he nodded, tears in his eyes, and followed me. When I found an open seat, toward the back wall of the dining hall, he looked at me with scorn in his eyes. But he was free to feel however he wanted. I was done with him.

I walked over to Astraea, who had just finished setting down a plate at another table. I poked her shoulder, then pointed in the direction of the nosy man with the unbearable mustache.

“Thank you, Sister Cecilia. Amen,” she replied, as she did. Beside her, was a customer, a puffy blonde haired woman with a rosary around her neck.

“Oh, how wonderful! We have two devout Christians!” Proclaimed the lady.

Wrong on both counts.

“I don’t know what that is,” answered Astraea.

“Don’t you believe in God just as well as I do?”

“I don’t know of any gods.”

“But you should! My faith in Him moves mountains.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s just that strong.”

“Interesting. My faith moves my own two feet.”

“So you have faith? But what do you have faith in?”

Astraea smiled. Truth be told, I worried for her. She bore no ill words toward anyone, yet those ultra-religious types were so easy to set off. Like a firecracker.

“I have faith in what interests me, and there are so many interesting things in this world.”

“That’s all well and good, but you should know what it means to pray! I insist we have a prayer circle once we’re not busy.”

“Why?”

“Because! It would be good for you!”

Astraea walked away, not giving her an answer, yet she continued to show off that kind smile of hers.

“Humans are so interesting,” she remarked.

I followed her. What else was I to do?

Yes, when it came to a monotheistic deity, especially of the Christian variety, I had no such beliefs. It was that fact which made my very existence as a nun a farce. Even as far back as when I was young, I didn’t believe in the existence of some higher power. Despite my pessimism and bitter attitude, it had nothing to do with “if a benevolent God exists, why is there still suffering in the world?” Because as far as I could tell, suffering would find a way regardless of how all-powerful something was.

No, it just had to do with the fact that it made no sense to me. To put such a thing in such a high regard when at best, a celestial entity like that would look at us humans with indifference. After all, did we ponder the daily lives of bacteria? Wonder about the complexity in such small organisms? Even if we did, we didn’t shed tears over them, and our concern only extended to how much it affected us. So why put so much stock, so much worship, into something that even if it existed, didn’t care about us one iota?

Not only that, but why “He”? Why not “She”? Why “heavenly father”? Hell, why any gender at all? If those beings were such all-powerful entities, why would they need to be identified with a man, a woman, anything? Weren’t they above that?

There were so many imperfections which denoted a human, not a divine, origin. For all that talk of a creator, such a thing was at its core, a creation. At least I could have some respect for the religions with many deities. They didn’t hide or deny the human elements of their gods.

Of course, there was but one more aspect: proof. There was none one way or another. For all we knew, there could and there couldn’t be something out there, far off in the cosmos. But we had no way to tell, so why put stock into something which may not even be there at all? It just didn’t make sense, and I didn’t have the patience like Astraea to ask an endless barrage of “why?” Or “how?” As it stood, if there was some celestial being among us, how would such a thing present itself? What pronouns would they prefer?

“She’s such a wonderful girl, isn’t she?” One guest remarked about Astraea.

I shrugged my shoulders. Her words and actions often left me in confusion. Maybe that in itself was “wonderful”, just a different connotation of the word.

When all of the food was served, Tigershark ran out from the kitchen.

“Another meal was a success!” She stretched out her arm and held up her thumb.

“Good job, Tigershark,” Astraea gave Tigershark a pat upon her head.

Things soon went south: a few tables down, someone began to gag, then throw up. All three of us ran toward their table. It was a young woman, thin and shaking in her seat.

“Oh no! I swear, I cooked it all well!” Tigershark pouted, then reached over and wiped the woman’s mouth.

“What did she just do?” Astraea asked.

“She threw up,” Tigershark informed her.

Have you never seen someone throw up before?

“Sorry,” uttered the woman’s aching voice, “I think I was just so hungry I ate it too fast and...urp.”

“So you throw up when you eat too fast?” Astraea wondered.

“Kinda. Lots of things can do it. You can eat too much, or eat something that doesn’t taste good, or sometimes tummy’s just mean,” Tigershark elaborated.

“I see. Excuse me, then,” Astraea stated, looked down and smiled, then walked toward one of the restrooms.

Don’t tell me…

I followed her. It could have been nothing, but...who was I kidding? Was it ever ‘nothing’ with that child?

She left the door to the single stall restroom open and I saw her in front of the toilet’s seat, retching, and soon black bile emitted from out of her mouth. It looked unreal, and among the stream of vomit, there was blood and what looked like discarded chunks of flesh. It made me want to retch, at the very least look away, but something compelled me not to. Toward the very end, I even thought I saw small limbs, like arms and legs, and even branches off of trees billowing out. I blinked, and she was done.

“Are you OK?” I wrote down. She looked over to me and wiped her mouth.

“Sorry you saw that,” Astraea answered instead with a strained moan. She wiped her mouth, and I walked over to her, then saw that there were no such grotesque things like I had imagined. I was more baffled that for a moment, I even considered such imagery. She flushed the toilet, then walked past me and splashed some water on her face in the sink. After, she washed her hands and while ignoring what I wrote down, turned to me.

“That was most unpleasant. Yes. Why do people eat if that can happen? I do wonder,” she mused to herself, then walked past me.

For what it was worth, her face looked spotless and after that whole ordeal was done, she seemed fine. Like it was just an afterthought.

“Astraea! Are you okay?” Tigershark ran up to her as we exited the restroom.

“Yes, my friend. I must have just gone so long eating and not disposing of the food that I had too much within me.”

“Make sure you pee and poop sometimes!” Tigershark urged.

“I will take care to do so, thank you.”

Just a few hours later, the five of us gathered for a “prayer circle” – Ray, Sunny, Tigershark, Astraea, and I. None of us wanted to be there. Well, maybe Sunny did, mostly just for fun. Tigershark and Astraea did, as well, but more out of a sense of curiosity. So I guess that just left Ray and I.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” Ray scoffed at the idea when the woman presented it.

“Aw, please, Ray, won’t you indulge me?”

“This could be fun,” Sunny added, “and if nothing else, it’ll give us both a break from all the hardship.”

Ray let out a dejected sigh.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

We all sat in the circle, and by coincidence, I sat beside Astraea.

Good. There’s just too many things about her that don’t add up. Maybe while everyone is distracted in prayer, I can find out the answer for myself.

“Oh, heavenly father, thank you for this meal –” The woman began, and everyone closed their eyes. I opened them soon after, though, and scribbled down a few words on a torn scrap of paper.

“What are you, really?” I passed the paper to her. She opened her eyes and noticed it, then replied:

“I don’t know how to read. Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone else echoed soon after. If not for the group prayer ending, I would have thought that Astraea had everyone in a trance.

“Thank you-know-what that’s over,” Ray exclaimed, then got up out of his seat.

“What were you two talking about?” Tigershark turned to Astraea and I.

“She wrote something for me, but I don’t know how to read,” Astraea explained.

This is embarrassing, I couldn’t help but think to myself.

Tigershark took the scrap of paper.

“Oh, she was asking you what you are,” Tigershark explained.

“Twinkle, twinkle little star...I am a waitress,” Astraea answered.

“There you have it, Sister Cecilia,” Tigershark turned to me, then back to Astraea. “By the way, would you like me to teach you how to read?”

“Yes please. Amen.”

I shook my head. I learned nothing, save for the fact that Astraea couldn’t read. But was that even the truth, or was that just something she told me? Oh, I didn’t know what I was going on about anymore. It was useless to wonder about things which held no purpose.

When we all dispersed, I was ready to resume my duties as a hostess, but Tigershark came up to me and jumped up and down.

“Yes?” I wrote down before turning around.

“My birthday’s coming up! Well, it won’t be my actual birthday, but I’ll be celebrating it in a few days, because that’s when I celebrated it last year. Ray said that we can’t do much because of the thing outside, but he’ll still make me a cake and sing to me. Will you be there too?”

I didn’t see much of a choice in the matter. Where else would I go?

“Yes,” I jotted down my simple answer.

“Thank you! I know it’s in your name, but I want you to know that I like you like an actual sister!”

It was strange, but I found it a sweet gesture, nonetheless.

“I like you too :)” I wrote down.

While in reality, I wasn’t a fan of children by any stretch, I felt it necessary to show kindness to them above all. Especially in this context, where outside of the domain of the diner was too dangerous. I didn’t feel this was any place for a child, and I would stand by that, but since she was already there, much like Ray must have felt, I needed to make sure she felt as happy as if there were no problems outside.

“I’m so glad! I had another sister named Demetria, but she’s not here anymore. I really miss her. Her birthday is a few days after mine and I wish she were here so I could tell her happy birthday.”

That struck me somehow. I didn’t know who such a person was, but she must have been important to Tigershark in some capacity.

“I see. I’m sure she misses you too,” I wrote my reply, unsure if that was actually the truth. There was no real way to tell, as I didn’t know who she was.

“Thanks. She used to live in the room you sleep in now, back before all these people were here. I liked to tease her and prank her, but I can’t do that anymore since she’s not here.”

Ha. I couldn’t imagine anyone missing being pranked, but I could tell her feelings about her supposed sister was still genuine.

“I hope you can see her again someday,” I wrote down before going on my way.

“I hope so too! I’m sure you’d like her if you met her as well!”

Would I? I had no idea. I didn’t care for most people as it was, so I didn’t see what would have made her any more special. Still, again, it was a nice thought.

I did wonder, though. What she must have been like, what life in general must have been like before the disaster that the fog brought with it.

Days later, Tigershark’s birthday came around. The unfortunate thing was that true to her word, little was done for her. There was a cake, there was some singing. Ray gave a sweater to Tigershark that he had knitted, and Sunny gave her an old pair of boxing gloves. She was happy with both gifts.

“Sorry I don’t have anything for your birthday this year,” Astraea told Tigershark.

“That’s okay! You just being here is fine with me! Besides, you let me play your video games, and that’s fun!”

Oh yeah. I forgot about that detail. Sometimes those two, when they weren’t busy with their restaurant duties, would sit in the back of the diner out in the hallway and play on Astraea’s Nintendo Switch.

“You can play video games with me and tell me what each word says on the screen! That way I can learn to read!” Astraea presented the game and console to Tigershark one day when I just happened to be in the same vicinity as them.

“What’s this? ‘Fire Emblem: Three Houses’, it says,” Tigershark read off the cartridge.

“Is that what it says? I always just thought it was called video games,” Astraea remarked.

The two sat together and didn’t pay me any mind.

“Look! It’s Sothis!” Astraea would point out. “She’s my favorite!”

It wasn’t long until each of them were pointing to each character.

“Ray looks like an older Lindhardt!” Tigershark exclaimed.

“Yes, but where are his glasses?” Astraea pointed out.

“Catherine looks like Sunny!”

“Yes, but her skin is too light to be Sunny,” Astraea corrected.

“Shamir looks kinda like Remora!”

Someone else I didn’t know, I see. Maybe she too was once a resident of the diner.

“Shamir’s skin is too light as well.”

Does it have to be a perfect 1:1 comparison? I couldn’t help but ask myself.

“Flayn reminds me of Demetria!” Both of them cried out, and that got me to look their way.

What?

“She’s short, has green hair, and likes fish. It’s perfect!” Tigershark sounded so excited, like she reached a breakthrough.

“Yes. Flayn is the perfect Demetria.”

Such nonsense, I shook my head.

“Who would be like Sister Cecilia?” Tigershark then wondered.

“Hmm...maybe Mercedes?” Astraea pondered. “She’s blonde and likes church stuff.”

“Oh, oh! I can see that!” Tigershark beamed.

Fuck it. I’ll bite.

“May I see the characters?” I wrote down and showed them.

“I’m still not very good at reading,” Astraea tilted her head and muttered. “What does it say, Tigershark?”

“She wants to see the characters in the game! Can we show her?”

“Yes. I shall allow it,” Astraea smiled, then handed the console to me.

I scrolled through each character in the menu.

There’s one called Lady Rhea. Somehow that name stands out to me. But it says she’s the head of the church, and I never really got along well with heads of churches.

I scrolled through some more. There was one character, Bernadetta.

Heh. Bernadetta. I can relate to her vibes. I too would like nothing more than to be left alone.

At last, I stopped at one character: Marianne. She was a demure looking young woman with short, blue hair.

For some reason I feel like she resonates with me, but I don’t know why. Wait. Why am I comparing myself to someone with short, blue hair?

I shook my head. Those little observations weren’t really much. I didn’t even really know the game that well. I handed the console back to them and wrote down:

“You’re right. Mercedes fits me most.”

They both grinned, as if I told them that they won a contest. Ah, well. Best to let those two think that, anyway.

After that exchange, I left the two alone. Still, it was nice to think that even from something as simple as that, Tigershark could be happy.

On a slow period, a little over a week after Tigershark’s birthday, I found Ray at his desk in the back of the diner. It was the perfect opportunity to ask him something which had been gnawing at the back of my mind. That, and we never really got to have much of a discussion together.

I sat down at a chair beside his desk and that was when he turned to me.

“Sister Cecilia. What can I do for you?” He asked, sounding bored.

“I was wondering about who used to live in the room I’m in,” I wrote down and showed it to him.

“You mean the guy and the girl?” He asked in return, referring to the ones I shared the room with.

I shook my head.

“No. Before the fog.”

He nodded his head slow.

“I see. Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious,” I wrote, “I heard Tigershark talking about her before.”

“Ah. Yeah. It used to be Demetria’s room.”

“Can you tell me about her?”

“She was someone who came here originally because she had a crush on someone who frequented here. I liked to give her a hard time about it, but I let her stay because the whole thing amused me. Can you relate to that at all?”

“What?” I wrote in response.

“Having a crush. Have you ever had such feelings for someone?”

“Only for God.”

And even then, not that. After all, I can’t have love for something that doesn’t exist.

He leaned back, then smiled a slight smile.

“Was that some kind of joke?” He asked.

“I have to try to keep a sense of humor, even in the darkest of times. There needs to be some light, no matter how small,” I wrote down my reply.

“I see. I used to think such things as well. I seem to have lost my sense of humor ever since this fog. She got lucky, though, that Demetria. She left before everything went south. She said that she needed to figure herself out, and I respected that. I even extended the offer that she could return at any time. However, once this fog started up, I didn’t want to risk such a danger. I texted her and told her that I didn’t want to see her again, hoping she’d get the message without asking any questions.”

“Did it work?”

“I have to assume so. I just feel bad for it, like I wonder if I made the right decision. She probably has a bad impression of me now, like I don’t care, when the opposite is true, and I’ll have to live with that. What do you think, Sister Cecilia?”

“I think you made the right call,” I wrote for him. “I think it’s for the best that she’s not here, given the circumstances.”

“Thank you, Sister Cecilia. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if she was still with us.”

“I don’t know,” I had no other words to offer.

“Me either,” he shook his head, solemn at the thought.

Great, now I feel bad for asking. It’s like I touched on a sensitive subject.

Nervous, I pulled out my switchblade from my pocket and flicked it in and out. As embarrassing as it was, I had a habit of fidgeting with it when I got nervous.

“Oh? You have a knife?” He pointed down.

Crap. I wasn’t paying attention. I really wanted to hide this from others.

Desperate, I wrote down an explanation:

“Yes. The head of the clergy gave it to me, said that I needed something for self-defense.”

“Heh. It’s just that Demetria also had a thing for knives.”

Interesting. Something in common.

“Father Time gave it to me before I left the monastery.”

Funny that priests were called that. I never even knew my own father.

“Father Time, huh? That’s an interesting name for a priest, or anyone in general.”

“Yes. Time comes for us all,” I answered. Like before, I had to have some kind of sense of humor, even with a topic I never thought to bring up.

“So it does. I’m just wondering when that time will come,” he replied.

“Soon enough. You have to have hope, Ray,” I wrote down. It was a hollow gesture, as not even I had hope, or even knew what to hope for. But I wanted to comfort him in any way I could.

“Hope for what?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” I had to admit, and that was when I got up out of my seat. As always, we were at a standstill.

There was still no clear indication as to when such a hopeful time would come, or when that time would be right. In early September, two new faces showed up: One, the person named Wendy who I had heard of when I first arrived. The other was a nuisance and a sailor who called himself Captain Acab.

Wendy showed up one day and strutted in, nary an injury to be found. Before I could even direct her to a seat, she walked past me and sat at an empty booth. I was a little appalled that she wouldn’t wait, not even acknowledge me, and so having taken her seating as a slight, I walked up to her.

“The waitress will be with you shortly,” I wrote down and held up the paper.

She looked up, texting on a phone in her hands.

“She will, will she? And who might you be?” She flashed a smile. I even thought I saw a wink.

“I am Sister Cecilia, a nun who has taken on a vow of silence,” I introduced, holding up one sheet of paper that had been written on long ago.

“I see. You might make for a good conversation partner, then. Name’s Wendy Day. I’m an escort and I’m currently pretending to be the owner of this phone in my hands. I’m texting this girl’s mom and being like ‘ay, what’s up, ma?’ I’ll be honest, it’s hard pretending to be someone else, but I like to see their reactions.”

“Why would you do that?” I wrote down and asked.

“Well, she gave me her phone and asked me to do so while she sees someone named ‘Hera’. As to why I agreed...I dunno, but the next time I see her, I’ll give this to her. Say, wanna see a selfie her friend sent her? I’ll tell ya, I had no idea she’d have such a cute friend. I bet Remora would be jealous if she knew.”

Before I could reply that no, I did not want to see a picture of this stranger’s friend, Wendy held up the phone anyway. On the text screen was the face of a girl with dark hair and silky, olive skin. She was smiling in the photo and held up a peace sign.

“What do you think? Cute, huh? Not that I think so, but like I said, I bet a certain someone would get jealous.”

“I refuse to comment on someone I know nothing about,” I wrote down.

“Suit yourself. You can get the waitress now,” she shooed me off. I was just about to go when she added, “say, how are you liking it here?”

Despite my better judgment, I replied with the two words: “It’s hell.”

She snorted up a babyish laugh.

“I guess so, huh? What led you to this hell, though?”

“Rumors,” I gave my simple reply. The longer I stayed, the more I felt like I would be in an interrogation.

“Figures. Rumors can be such a nasty thing. I try not to put too much stock into them unless I have evidence. Well, I usually pull people out of here, but I think Ray wants me to stay a while longer this time. That way I can protect anyone, in case things get too bad.”

“I hope things don’t get too bad,” I wrote out my reply.

“You and me both. I also hope she gets here soon. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty tired of pretending to be someone else. Plus, she promised me some action.”

Whoever she is, I would rather less people deal with this predicament, not more.

“Best of luck to your friend,” I wrote down instead. As always, I tried to be as nice as I could in my words, even if my true self was rotten to the core.

“Heh. Thanks. And best of luck in hell,” she flashed me a grin once more. At last, I felt I could move on to other places in the diner. I just didn’t know what moving on would bring…

“Ding-ding!” Went the chime of the bell above the door.

Damn it. What now? I cursed that bell and every new entry that walked in. Yet as it was my job, I rushed to the aide of whoever it was who entered.

When I got to the door and was all ready with the sign welcoming the new inhabitant in, I was met instead with a tall man (well, tall for me, anyway) with shaggy blue hair along with a long, blue beard and mustache.

Who is this? Krusty the Clown?

His face looked frozen and he shivered in place, then, he looked down and once our eyes met, I saw the bloodshot look in his and a look of either surprise or pure terror filled his face. That should have been my warning as to what came next, as he wobbled some more before collapsing over me.

I tried to hold him up as best I could, but he was just too heavy, and the angle was too awkward.

Ugh. Please. Stand up.

He didn’t even look that injured. So what was it? Exhaustion?

“Sister Cecilia, what are you doing?” Ray’s voice called out in the background.

I huffed and thanked my lucky stars it didn’t make so much of a sound.

“Hurry up and get him off of you and get him to a seat,” he scolded.

It was still too much of a struggle. Desperate, I reached for my paper and just tried to hold the man up with my own shoulders as I wrote down one word, as bold and big as I could make it. Then I held the paper up for Ray to see.

“HEAVY.” It said.

Ray took a look and scoffed.

“Of course he’s heavy, but people are going to fall from time to time. You should be used to this by now,” he continued to scold.

It’s not just that, but I’m wearing heels, which makes it very hard to move my legs much.

Ray helped the strange bearded man up. Then, when the man was back upright, and leaned against the hinges of the door to keep himself up, he spoke up.

“Heh, sorry about that. I guess you could say I ‘fell for you’,” his voice was low, but in a sort of fake and deliberate way. Also, he reminded me too much of that creepy cowboy man I remember helping out. All in all, bad vibes.

“I’m not impressed,” I wrote down.

I showed him to a seat, and one that for better or worse, wasn’t far from Wendy’s.

“Arr, thanks, miss,” he crooned like he was trying to talk like a pirate. He then pulled out a pipe from his pocket and put it in his mouth, and that was when I noticed the sailor uniform.

Maybe it’s not just an act. Either way, he could use some work in sounding more genuine, but that’s just me.

I soon pointed Astraea toward the sailor man and she strolled over to him.

“Here is a menu. Please take the time to look at it so that you may eat food. I will soon return, so be ready for me. Amen,” Astraea recited.

“Thanks, matey,” he told the waitress.

When Astraea returned, just a few minutes later, he asked her: “Say, who’s the pretty lady in the black dress?” Pointing to me. I felt sick to my stomach.

“That’s Sister Cecilia.”

“Holy hell, she’s beautiful.”

I scowled.

“Err...I mean, pardon me, being a sailor, I tend to curse like me.”

“Hey Ahab. Are you going to order or not?” I wrote down, done with his dilly-dallying.

“It’s ‘Acab’, lass. Because the ‘C’ is very important to a sailor, yes,” he took a puff of his pipe and nodded.

I’ve only known that guy once, but I swear he’s gonna give me a headache.

Some odd minutes passed and I floated around each table. Astraea returned to the sailor’s table with food in hand. By then, I had stopped paying attention to any of his antics, but somehow in the short span of time, not only had he received his food, but so did everyone else, and Tigershark was seated atop his lap.

How did this happen? I had to wonder.

“Arr, lass. How goes ye?”

“You remind me of Santa!” Tigershark exclaimed.

He bellowed out a hearty laugh.

“Aye. Ye think so?”

“Yeah! And your lap is really comfortable! Say, why do you shiver so much?”

He scratched his chin.

“When ye sail the mighty winds of the ocean, ye feel every breeze. Yea.”

“Wow. You sailed in the ocean?” Tigershark asked, amazed.

“Aye, lass. I’ve sailed every which way in search of my mortal enemy, Moby Duck, a giant duck who strikes fear into even the heartiest of men. Its call, ‘shuba shuba’ brings shivers to my spine to this day. In fact, I was close to facing off with my enemy when my ship crash landed near here.”

Giant duck? Seriously? You’re not fooling anyone.

“Wow! A giant duck!” Tigershark’s mouth hung open and was sucked into his story.

Fine. Maybe you fool one person.

I really wished that the sailor along with every troublesome guest was able to leave so I didn’t have to deal with them. With each passing nuisance, I wished the fog would dissipate, but my wish never did get granted. It really felt like all of us were stuck in a perpetual state of suffering. Tigershark and Astraea were able to keep their high spirits, but what about everyone else? Even then, how long could those children last? None of us could hold out forever, and if something didn’t change sooner or later, we might all fall to the ravages of time.

It was a quiet November. Little progress. Late in the evening, not a single soul stirred. By some miracle, we were all asleep, whether it be in the dining hall or one of the rooms. I was the only one left awake.

I took the time to let down the cloth over my mouth, open wide for a sigh of relief. I’ve spent so long, having to do everything in silence, find small windows of time to eat in private, without the watchful eyes of anyone around. Shower, use the restroom, anything. There were precious few moments of ‘alone’ that I was granted, and that moment happened to be one of them.

On the bed beside me slept the middle-aged couple: Turmeric and her longtime boyfriend, Cumin. Those two never gave me much mind, always absorbed in each other. As much as I disliked seeing their displays of affection, I was thankful for their quiet. When I first saw them, the two were in terrible shape. Now, however, they looked much healthier, even if their faces displayed sheer sorrow whenever I caught a glimpse of either of them.

“How long do I have to keep this up?” I asked myself, my voice, foreign and hoarse. It had been ages since I spoke a word, and in the dead of night, I allowed myself the simple sin.

What brought me to a startling fright, however, was the door to the bedroom, opening up. It creaked a slow discordant creak and I jumped in place before turning my head.

Astraea stood in the doorway, and even through the darkness I could see her blank stare and that snowy, shimmering hair.

“Oh, Sister Cecilia. So this is where you sleep,” she spoke up, a breezy whisper, yet both clear and direct.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, but then covered my mouth. I couldn’t believe I did such a thing.

She too looked surprised, and covered her mouth, then let go.

“Ah, so you do have a mouth.” She crept in, and closed the door behind her, then tilted her head and a slight smile spread across her face.

“Don’t worry, Sister Cecilia. Your secret is safe with me,” she assured me, but I did not feel the least bit reassured. I scrambled for my paper and pen and in haste, wrote down:

“Well I know you’re not human.”

She dropped to her knees and leaned in close, closer than I would have expected. Her eyes widened and it was like I was staring at a bug through a microscope.

“I’ve gotten better at reading,” she informed me. “And yes, I am human. I may not act it sometimes, but I don’t have to act like a human to be one. Just like you don’t always have to act like a nun to be a nun.”

She then stood back up and headed for the door. Before she left, she craned her neck back and turned to me.

“Goodnight, Sister Cecilia.”

Trembling, I waved back to her, and my heart would not cease to pound against my chest.

What the hell was that all about?

I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night as I just wondered: Why? Why did she enter that night, and why did I feel so uneasy? More questions than answers floated around my mind and once again, I just had little else I could do but hope, hope that things would change soon.

[daphnefangirling]

Why I Started Shipping Bughead

This post is my contribution to Day 2 of @bugheadcentral‘s Bughead Appreciation Week. 

Now, here’s the thing: I quit the show when the article about the ‘storyline that shall not be named’ was leaked. I haven’t watched a single episode since and don’t plan on watching the remaining seasons. What comes below are my feelings about Bughead from episode 1.01 to 4.16 which serves as the de facto series finale where I’m concerned. This got completely out of hand so if you want to read my VERY LONG ramblings, keep reading after the cut.

--- It's almost like Bughead has always existed --- There's this quote from an interview with Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa where he says: "It's almost like Bughead has always existed, Bughead will always exist, it's bigger than any of us." That first part was not the case for me. I'll be honest: I only really started actively shipping Bughead when they kissed in episode 1x06. But, thanks to Netflix, I did go back and rewatch the first episodes to see that, really, the seeds for Bughead were planted right from the end of the 2nd episode when Jughead walks into Pops with Archie and Betty turns around from the booth where she's sitting with Veronica and Jughead is lighted when he smiles at her while Archie is left in the dark. And that's when I realized: it was Jughead that Betty needed to see in a new light while Archie needed to drop to the background (and live his own love story with Veronica). Why is that scene important? For many reasons, but the most important one for me is that it showcased right away the chemistry between the two characters with the playful banter Jughead exchanges with Betty about the two boys joining the girls only if they're paying. It hinted at a longstanding relationship that happened prior to the start of the show. In my headcanon, that's exactly what happened with Betty and Jughead: he was the friend that she always overlooked and once they started spending more time alone together (without Archie's overshadowing presence to fuel Betty's infatuation over the idea of them as a couple), that's when she realized that it was Jughead who was her perfect match, not Archie. As for Jughead, you can see as soon as the next episode how important Betty is to him when he accepts to join the Blue & Gold simply because she's the one to ask him. Again, the chemistry between the characters is palpable in that scene and hints at a playfulness that was completely endearing for me. Jughead's affection for Betty and the importance he gives her in his life is showcased again in the following episode when he decides that the last movie to be shown at the Twilight Drive-In will be Betty's suggestion of Rebel Without A Cause. So even before they actually start interacting regularly, there are clues as to how important this relationship is for the both of them. That, of course, is cemented once they really start investigating together in episode 1x05 (there was no going back after that, Bughead was full steam ahead and I never looked back either on my affection -obsession?- for them). 

I want to mention that since I started shipping Bughead, I have gone back to the comics from my childhood (and modern ones now too) and there's actually a lot of evidence of how "Bughead has always existed" which I was pleasantly surprised to find out! I'm so glad Roberto caught on to that and decided to transpose that spark of an idea from the comics into a fully fledged relationship on his show. I will never thank him enough for making Bughead canon and giving me this beautiful couple that has become the wonderful ship it is now, even if it also existed before Riverdale came along (shoutout to @bughead-in-the-comics btw who provides us with all the amazing Comics Bughead content).

--- Bughead will always exist --- Now, I myself am not part of the "young" portion of the audience that Riverdale is aimed at. I’m 37 and I often feel like a grandma in this fandom! But maybe it's because I'm older (and wiser?) that I can see the importance of having Bughead be the anchor couple of the show. To have that stability, that profound love that isn't torn apart at every opportunity, that relationship where both parties communicate openly with one another, where they respect and value their partner enough to trust them with their heart and even their life sometimes, that's the kind of love that's not portrayed enough on our screens. That's what Bughead brings to the picture, that's why they matter, why they're important, why we relate to them and want them to thrive together. And overcoming obstacles together is important obviously, but seeing the soft and tender moments between them is too. It's all about balance, that's what you have with Bughead: in a Riverdale world where there's crazy stuff happening in every episode, to have Bughead be the stable ship that steers the show for the audience to identify with or aspire to, it's essential. One of Bughead's most memorable scenes perfectly illustrated this: in episode 1x10, we were shown cute moments before the party, conflict during the party and resolution at Pops after the party. In what is certainly one of the most beautiful scenes to grace our screens, that diner exchange where they confess to their mutual darkness and are just so accepting of each other, so tender with one another, that is a perfect example of what makes Bughead so special and different from most ships on television (especially on shows aimed at younger demographics). That scene is a staple of what Bughead is at its core, they are different but they accept each other wholly and their bond is stronger than the obstacles they have to face. And the stakes are so much higher now: they've shared more intimacy than ever before (heck they’re practically married), they will always exist because this fandom will keep them alive long after the show is over (and after they’ve ruined it).

--- [Bughead] it's bigger than any of us --- There is a purity to Bughead’s love story that is so rare, they truly struck gold with those two. There's magic there, Riverdale has something very special in their hands and it should be treated with the respect it deserves. Because to "harm" Bughead is to cut straight through the heart of many of the fans. That's how strongly we feel about those two, that's how important they've become to us, that's why we write (and read) fanfiction, create fan art, manips, video edits, buy Bughead merchandise, etc. It's because we connect with them on such a deep level, they breathe life into us when watching the show. They keep us coming back when everything seems like it's falling apart, Bughead being together helps us navigate the stormy waters that Riverdale can be sometimes. I have been a fan of many other things in my life, but I don’t remember ever feeling this strongly about anything else. I don’t think I’ve ever devoted as much love to a fandom as I have for Bughead. I’ve been sad (and I feel like the whole fandom has been sad) ever since they messed that up. And so I come back to "why I started shipping Bughead." It’s because I realized very early on how special they were. How unique and beautiful that relationship was and I was invested from that point on. It gave me such pleasure, joy and satisfaction to watch one of the most romantic relationships unfold on my TV screen each week. Additionally, it has meant being part of this community, this family (on Tumblr, Instagram, Twitter and even Facebook), it has brought new friendships into my life, it made me start reading again (both Archie Comics and fanfiction), it made me come to peace with the fangirl in me by purchasing a ton of Bughead merch both official and unofficial, it made me discover talented artists and commission Bughead pieces for my Bughead room... It’s been quite a ride ever since March 2017!

[lizzybeth1986]

This won't make you feel better, but this anon might have an explanation for the problems in Pixelberry's stories: essentially, I think it's because media and fandom culture in general has been hijacked by people with much older value systems, value systems where "whether behavior hurts people or not" was at best a secondary concern. The way Olivia is coddled, for example, does resemble how children used to be expected to be grateful to abusive parents for at least being given food and shelter.

Thank you for the ask anon.

Initially, when you'd sent the first ask, I'd had a different answer planned. Because sure, those kind of mindsets could very possibly factor in on how they treat a certain character type or trope...but it never actually happened with any sort of consistency. There were these invisible unspoken rules that certain characters would get away with breaking, and other characters would be punished for. So if there is no consistency in this treatment, how could I believe that it comes from a value/belief system that the writer holds, and nothing else comes into play?

Which brings me to the second thought you had. It's possible, yes, that the demographic they're hoping to cater to the most are the ones who may benefit the most from seeing white (and perhaps straight) characters thrive above others. The ones who will benefit from black and brown characters being placed on a heirarchy of worth - the most exoticized being the most "worthy" of "good treatment". But PB does benefit from a show of appreciating and celebrating diversity, and they do know it - as you can tell from the posts they were putting out during Black History Month last year:

(Thank you @nikkisha16 for helping me source these!)

This is a "nice gesture"....if we ignore the fact that only three out of the handful of default black characters featured at all. And if we ignore the fact that Griffin from this tiny list was hardly given an opportunity to use his skills in the biggest "disaster relief" diamond scene in the series, just to make more space for the white guy. Or that Luke's "alternative romance" arc was given more attention than the one where the MC chose him - to the point where we didn't get to see his mother (more attention to the alternative arc is often a surefire sign that the team is focusing on another LI and presuming said character as single by default, which is why you'll see more effort in the playthroughs where they're single). If the demographic you aim to please are the ones who may not notice or care about what actually happens to such characters in their respective stories...why this posturing? Why this pretence that you care?

It's not that PB is evilly rubbing their hands and contemplating on which character of colour to screw over today. It's very rarely as cut-and-dried as that. Very often it is just as possible that they don't know, or notice how some of these subconscious beliefs translate into their art. Ignorance of how damaging certain tropes can be for certain communities, and an unknowing favouritism towards certain characters based on their skin tone just as plausible causes for the mess we see in most stories of PB now. And a certain dismissiveness, would account for why it keeps happening despite people pointing out these problems. (I mean, this is the company that issued an apology on Twitter for Drake Walker calling a pink cake girly. And I don't recall them making apologies for anything else thus far)

It takes awareness to understand the cultural weight of some of these tropes and archetypes, and certain kinds of treatment in some cases. It also takes awareness to figure out ways to empower these characters within their stories and arcs! And I do believe for that kind of awareness to emerge in the storyboards and the office meetings...there (possibly? Idk what the PB office is like) would need to be more voices from varying communities in the rooms. For instance, look at this incredible interview by Chelsa Lauderdale on the experience of writing Griffin's character in The Elementalists:

Griffin is the rich, fullfilling character that he is because the writer brought her own experiences and worldview to that character. And you can see glimpses of that promise in so many different black and brown characters when they're given even half a chance. Kiara's ambition and logical bent of mind. Hana's loyalty and struggle to discover who she really is. Sloane's courage in taking on the world while battling an anxiety disorder. Teja's love for her craft and desire to excel in her field. Jax's protectiveness towards the underprivileged. Lily Spencer's humour and playfulness and recognition of those who have less privilege. William's (RoE) recognition of his work-home imbalance and his commitment to change that for this woman he loves. James Ashton's creativity and insecurities. Victoria's wisdom and her experience in the film industry. Aurora's desire to make a name that's her own, so that no one will ever view her as benefiting from her aunt's high position again. But unfortunately, we're often only allowed glimpses for a lot of these characters, rather than whole stories that use these traits as a foundation. Having writers from diverse backgrounds and with diverse experiences - not just a handful but many - with voices that will be embraced and respected, would go a long, long way in both pointing out these blind spots and in enriching the writing and stories themselves. Only a handful of writers cannot be burdened with the task of "educating" an entire company, but a vast team of diverse writers would mean there is an environment where they can more openly question and maybe shoot down more tone-deaf narrative choices.

@massivelysilentchaos made an amazing post about this sometime last year IIRC. A lot may have changed since this post, but there's plenty in it that still applies. More now than ever, I tend to go back to this one paragraph in her post (but please, please read the full thing):

I think a lot of PB’s problems with regard to representation in their writing could be helped by having more diversity on their writing staff. That’s not to say they don’t already have a fairly diverse staff (at least it looks that way from their blog) but some of their narrative choices are tone deaf in a way that tells me they could benefit from more black and brown perspectives on more of their stories. Specifically I’m thinking of the choices to have a book set in Trump country where an eventual protagonist pulls a gun on a potentially black MC or the recent decision to include the detail that Syphax, a black man who spent 8+ years at Lena’s scholae where MC was presumably taught to read and write, can’t read. Both of which were entirely unnecessary to the overall story they’re trying to tell and left a bad taste in mine and many other black fans’ mouths.

To add to this - I can speak, as a South Asian woman who was excited everytime a South Asian character appeared in a series - of Teja Desai getting one solitary scene to address her parents' initial doubts about her becoming a filmmaker, and one solitary scene about being a "woman in a boys club" as a director - which the writers never bothered to connect to her current work ethic - and being presented her as overworked, pressurized, frazzled by the punishing amount of work she was taking on - only for RCD's narrative to turn around and compare her to Marcus von Groot, the mediocre white male whose lack of control over his crew came from his own incompetence and delusions of grandeur (btw, in subsequent books he was written as this adorable funnyman the MC could bond and hang out with). I can talk of Jackie Varma, who was placed in a position where players could pick and choose between her and Bryce (with Bryce having more free scenes), before the narrative wrote her out for a large chunk of the story. Even in Book 2, scenes we get with her explore OUR backgrounds more than hers. Given that getting into medicine or engineering is such a huge deal in our communities, I can just imagine the ways in which that would tie up with Jackie's work ethic. And I know that many desi voices in that room would maybe make those connections and understand how to tie that into these stories.

I'd like to close this post with a quote from Chelsa that I showed you all earlier in this post: "Stories can perpetuate stereotypes or change narratives. That's really up to the people who write them". And perhaps, the people who hire the writers as well.

[cxhnow]

Growing Up With Chloe x Halle

The Bailey sisters on why they didn’t switch up overnight — the world just caught up to their speed.

On their 2018 debut album The Kids Are Alright and on Freeform’s Grown-ish, a 19- and 17-year-old Chloe and Halle Bailey sang “Watch out world, I’m grown now.” So you’ll have to forgive them for acting out a little on their new sophomore record — they warned us. While Ungodly Hour might sound like a pivot to the grown ‘n’ sexy side of R&B similar to plenty of their peers, trading TKAA’s colorful doodles for chrome angel wings and skin-tight latex, they’re really just living the same truths they preached up and down TKAA: Own your insecurities, work hard, don’t get distracted by drama. “When we created this album, we said, Okay, we want to show all the different sides and layers of us,” Chloe tells me, sitting side by side with her sister, over Zoom from their family home in Los Angeles. “We don’t just want to show this one side. A lot of people still think we’re teenagers.”

Now 22 and 20, the former child stars are ready to explore the topics they’ve been singing about since they were kids making covers on YouTube, the ones that landed them a record deal with music royalty before they were old enough to vote. The new album calls out former flings, seethes with jealousy, and apologizes when necessary. Lyrics like “It’s four o’clock / you sendin’ me too many pictures of your …” and “No drama, no baby mamas” immediately started dating rumors online, roping in their Grown-ish co-star Diggy Simmons. While most fans are having fun with it, those a little, um, outside of the Baileys’ age demographic are still struggling (try to get through this Breakfast Club questioning without cringing). In case you missed it: They no longer have to change Beyoncé lyrics from “You showed your ass” to “You showed your butt” — on “Do It,” they proudly sing “I’m a bad girl, shake a li’l ass.” Alongside all the perks of growing up, the album makes sure to normalize the struggles, too.

When the coronavirus pandemic sent Halle home to L.A. from The Little Mermaid rehearsals in London, their house (complete with mom, dad, and younger brother, Branson) became their album rollout headquarters. One of the few albums to not be pushed due to the coronavirus, Ungodly Hour was originally planned for June 5, but the deaths of George Floyd in Minnesota, Breonna Taylor in Kentucky, and far too many others across the country, created a moment that Chloe and Halle felt they couldn’t ignore. They pushed the album one week, to June 12, and continued to use their platform to share petitions, funds, and awareness, while also personally signing petitions and making donations. As both an escape and work, they’ve been focusing their energy on the album, diving into elaborate DIY remote performances and mashing up songs, but making sure to leave Sundays for rest. After a busy weekend tearing up the BET Awards and Global Citizen virtual stages, channeling Aaliyah in one performance and going full rock and roll in the other, they’ll be back on Instagram Live this Thursday for Ungodly Hour Tea Time, where they often chill out in Snuggies, try to remember what day of quarantine it is, and update their supporters on their lives.

How has it been, emotionally, to have to sing and dance while all of this turmoil is happening? Halle Bailey: Emotionally, what’s keeping us afloat is music and feeling better through the art. I think that’s why we love music so much because even though we create it and we sing it, we use it as our healer, too. Everything going on really makes you reflect. But we’re young black women, this hasn’t been anything new to us. Our community has known about this for a very long time, and it’s constantly upsetting. But what I’m appreciating about technology and social media is that our voices can’t be silenced anymore. And the things that they used to try to hide, they can’t any longer. We’re seeing these injustices happen over video, and [so is] the rest of the world who’s usually ignorant to the racism that’s been underlying in this community. They’re seeing it and they’re upset as well. So it’s good because change can only happen when we’re all working towards a common goal. I can’t wait to see what comes out of this.

I feel like every time we have one of these moments where everyone is just mourning so publicly in such a communal way, there’s also music that uplifts us. Talk me through deciding to postpone the album.

HB:  During the height of the George Floyd protests, emotionally, we just were not right to release a project. Our little brother and our father — when we see a video of George Floyd getting killed in the street, we think that could be them tomorrow. And we wanted to shine the light on what needs to be seen. That George Floyd video, Breonna Taylor, all of the other brothers and sisters that we have lost to police brutality — that is what needed to be at the forefront and what still needs to be at the forefront.

And when The Kids Are Alright came out that was right around March for Our Lives, the Women’s March was happening. How does this moment compare for you?

Chloe Bailey: Wow, now that I’m thinking about it, this time, it feels a bit more like change is really going to happen. Around The Kids Are Alright, we went to the March for Our Lives and we were around that incredible energy; it was really positive and uplifting because we were all banding together. But for some reason, this time right now … I feel like we have the entire world’s attention. Actual change is going to come out of what’s been happening. So, it feels the same but different, right?

HB: Yeah, I definitely think this one feels more massive. Feels like, Okay, maybe we’re getting somewhere this time. Maybe it won’t just go away a week after all of this is over, you know?

In the early stages of Ungodly Hour, did you go in wanting it to be something that showcased your maturity? Or did that come out as you were going with it?

HB: We absolutely knew that we wanted it to showcase our growth, the evolution of us into young women. Because I feel like The Kids Are Alright was very much us finding ourselves and that project took three years to make. So with that length, you can kind of go through and see like, Oh, wow, they must have been really shifting through and figuring out what’s wrong and what’s right. So, for this project, it was like, Yes, we are here. We are now grown women. I’m 20. My sister’s about to be 22 this week.

CB: Hey!

HB: So we took that and we were just like, Let’s show who we’ve become. And let’s show the side of us that people don’t see whether it’s the naughtier side of us or the insecure side of us, or the part that picks every single thing apart about ourselves out. We wanted to show all the layers of us as young women, once you kind of know who you are, but also you’re still learning.

You’ll never be a finished product.

CB: Never, constantly evolving. And that’s the goal.

There have always been glimpses at your boss-bitch attitudes, hints of it in your music and on Grown-ish. Do you ever get the sense that you’re waiting for the industry and fans to sort of open their eyes and catch up to where you’re at?

CB: I’m not gonna lie, there are some moments. And I remember when we were even creating this album we were putting a certain pressure on ourselves. Because we were thinking, What do we want the world to hear from us? What do we think the world wants us to sound like? What would make people become more receptive to us? I remember we were creating for, like, one to two months in that mind-set, and we were creating some of the worst music we ever have.

HB: Yeah, it was. It was trash.

CB: It was because we weren’t creating from our hearts. We weren’t being honest with ourselves, and as a musician, you gotta be vulnerable and share that true part of yourself or the music isn’t going to be very good. Once we threw that out the window and said, You know what, let’s create a good body of art, the album continued to write itself. But that main lesson for us was never change yourself; the world will catch up to you when it’s ready. I feel like they’re kinda ready now for this project. It’s older and more mature than The Kids Are Alright because we’re older and more mature than who we were when we created that.

In making a more vulnerable album, were you nervous about expanding your image in that way? Was there anything that you debated not including or things that didn’t make the cut?

HB: Wow, so, I will say that our parents kind of had a hard time … well, not a hard time, but just like opening their eyes to the fact that, Okay, these are the topics that we’ve decided to talk about. This is what’s happening. It was really fun for us to watch them. I completely understand how they feel because, you know, we’ve been just little babies to them and now we’re growing and they’re hearing [about] certain things that we’ve been through, or that we just wrote in the music. They have been like, “Oh, okay, so that’s that.”

Fans tweet collabs at you all the time, but what’s your actual approach to choosing who you work with? (Ungodly Hour features just two major collaborations: Swae Lee on “Catch Up” and the title track with Disclosure.)

CB: Definitely we have to be fans of them, number one. Even though we make music, we are such big music fans and music lovers. Two, we have to feel like the person can sonically fit the song. We don’t want to throw just anyone on a song just because they have a big name, which is really cool too. It’s really great to get big features. But it’s so funny because we have a big wish list of who we hear on which songs and some people bite, some people don’t. It’s always fun to see what the end result will be. And I know we’ll start putting out remixes and stuff soon, which will be fun.

HB: It’s very interesting because it’s hard during the creative process. You kind of have to open yourself up to somebody you do not know when you make music; it’s a part of your heart that you’re sharing. So, it’s a very intimate thing to do with a stranger. Which is why with my sister it’s really easy. But when it comes to us working with new people, we gravitate towards the ones who have very open spirits and souls, nice people.

Chloe, would you ever produce for other artists?

CB: Absolutely, 1,000 percent. That would be so much fun. I would be getting out of my comfort zone, because the only person who I can comfortably produce in front of is my sister and blast it loud over the speakers. Whenever we have other sessions with other producers and we’re collaborating, I’ll put my headphones in, I won’t blast it on the aux with theirs. I have my little computer on my lap because I like using weird sounds and samples and chopping them up in a weird way. Sometimes it’s trial and error, so I don’t want people to hear my mistakes.

HB: She’s amazing and she should just blast it everywhere she goes, okay?

CB: I would definitely love, love, love to do that.

Yes, we want to hear you everywhere! So, when shelter in place started, you guys very flawlessly transitioned to doing these home covers and incredible remote performances. What’s the process of coming up with these concepts, especially the more elaborate ones?

HB: Oh my gosh, it’s really just a bunch of play. When we’re coming up with concepts, our creative director Andrew Makadsi is really amazing at seeing our vision for the songs before we actually perform them live. It’s been really interesting and exciting to have new songs to play with. But as far as the covers, you know, those are easy. We can do those in our sleep; we just love singing other people’s songs.

How long does it take to pull together a remote performance like the Today show one for example?

CB: Our amazing creative director came up with that and it took him a day. He just kept sending us a bunch of references and photo ideas he thought of and we picked the backdrop we wanted. The song arrangement, because we always like to switch it up every time, takes —

HB: Like a day.

CB: It takes us like ten minutes to arrange the songs. But then we took some of the choreography [by Kendra Bracy and Ashanti Ledon] that we learned during the music video shoot, and we added new choreography ourselves for the Today show performance. We were like on the floor and stuff — we did that the night before we filmed it. That took us like 30 minutes because we wanted to make sure the moves weren’t awkward because we’re not choreographers, so we would prop up our iPhone and that would be our little dance-studio mirror.

You guys are really doing it by yourselves in quarantine. So, what’s the tennis court situation? Has that always been there?

HB: Yeah, it has actually, we just haven’t really used it. I mean, we’ve been where we live for about two years now. We never really thought to use it until quarantine happened ‘cause we always go somewhere else to shoot performances. That’s been a beautiful evolution — using what we have. We feel so blessed to just be able to do what we love and also do it somewhere nice.

The tennis court performances have been life-giving.

CB: It’s been so useful, from the at-home photo shoots we have to do and then the performances, like I’m so grateful. We don’t actually know how to play tennis, but there are basketball hoops on each side so our little brother Branson’s usually out there. So, when we do have to do these things, I feel bad because he’s always out there shooting hoops, but he’s like, “Okay, you can have it for two hours …” [x]

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 50.15 - Imperial vs Exeter

With only the high-scoring loser play-offs left to play before the second round, we’ve met all of the teams that wlll feature on this series, so we can now do an accurate breakdown of the demographics of the contestants who have graced our screens. 

But aside from the fact that the BBC Uni Challenge website doesn’t have a gallery of team photos (so I’d have to go back through one by one to check), there’s not much point going over numbers we all know by this point. The majority of the contestants are white, and male, and they have been since the year dot. 

People say that it is a disgrace any time there is an all male team, and then others will fight back with the idea about the selection process being meritocratic (which it technically is, but only with the same caveats that every other so-called meritocratic system has - namely that they are never truly meritocractic - more on this later), and the argument changes to one about encouraging women to try out and how to overcome the overt misogyny that they know they will be subjected to by the viewing public if they appear on the show.

I think you can work out where I stand on the fundamental issue, and people have written about it better than I could in the past, so I’ll discuss a different but related point - how often would the top four scores in the trial quiz (and I understand that there are more complicated selection processes nowadays but I’m simplifying for the purposes of the analogy) result in the best University Challenge team? 

Diversity is inherently strengthening, in the way it brings different perspectives to groups of people, and it seems obvious that diversity of knowledge would bring substantial benefits to a University Challenge team. To keep this simple, imagine you have eight triallists completing a quiz with four sections - history, literature, science, politics - and twenty five questions in each of them. 

The four highest scoring contestants score between fifty and sixty, and the four lowest score twenty five, but the lower scorers all got 100% on one of the sections. Combined, the “losers” would score 100%, while the “winners” would have some overlap in their correct answers and score less. 

Now, I know you probably wouldn’t want a team of such specialists, and that the “winners” would definitely be able to fill in each others gaps to a certain extent, but it seems fairly obvious to me that there will almost always be someone at the trial who would improve the team as a whole, even if their individual score wasn’t the best.

If you were choosing a football team from a group of a hundred people and the best eleven players were all left backs you wouldn’t be able to field a team fully comprised of left backs. So its not necessarily the case that the four best quiz scorers would make the best quiz team.

There may be some selection processes that account for this more than others, but the point I’m trying to make is that regardless of whether or not the four highest scoring players at the trials were white guys, this is not likely to be the best possible team (it may be that the best replacements are also white guys, but when you see the subjects on which some teams struggle, its clear that this wouldn’t always be the case).

RIght, I feel like I’ve rambled on a bit there, but let me know what you think. In the meantime I’ll get onto tonights match, between Imperial and Exeter, who both arrive having suffered defeats at the hands of strong teams. Three of the four high scoring losers appeared in the first four episodes, so we haven’t seen either of these teams for a while. 

Imperial seemed to grow into their match and finished very strongly, so I’d have them as slight favourites going on, but you never know. Anyway, lets not bother with the rules; here’s your first starter for ten.

This was the first match filmed after the hiatus caused by the pandemic, and if you look closely, you may be able to spot some tiny changes... The contestants are all separated by perspex screens like the kind they got in to separate the desks at my work, and they are all earpiece’d up so they can hear each other during conferences. The fact they’re wearing earpieces, or maybe the fact they’re all protected by the screens seems to make the sound quality better, and they all sound louder than usual when discussing the bonus questions. 

Imperial captain Kohn kicks off the post-pandemic party and Paxman tells him he’s going to relish the bonuses on translations of Old English poetry. He agrees. They only get two though, and Exeter take the next three starter questions to open up a fifty point lead. Kohn grabs a couple more - he seems a lot more relaxed this time out with no crowd in the studio - and Imperial claw it back to five. Between them, the two teams have answered fifteen of the eighteen possible bonuses so far. 

The music starter goes to Kohn too, and he looks surprised as he says Abba, before having a conversation with Paxo about how they both share an appreciation for the group. They miss a bonus on R.E.M which rankles me a little bit, but the scores are tied at 85 apiece going into the second half.

If it seems like I’m only talking about Kohn, its because I am. His buzzing was on fire, with some coming stupid early. On one he hears the name of a mathematician and instantly comes in with his most famous achievement, and on another it seems he uses the words ‘second movement’ as his trigger clue for a music starter. He’s getting no help from his teammates, though, and the large lead he has built them is eaten away by Exeter, who are getting buzzes from across the table. They close to within ten, but yet another from the imperious Imperial captain keeps them at bay for the moment, but again they rally, and the gap is five.

Paxman reads a list of sporting venues in Ireland and asks which sport is played there. Riden guesses Gaelic football. Wrong. Marrow guesses Golf. Wrong. Gong.

Final Score: Imperial 160 - 155 Exeter

An incredibly close game, that, with Kohn single handedly running the show for Imperial. Unlucky for Exeter that they couldn’t quite beat him in the buzzer race just one more time. Join me next week for the second playoff match in which either Edinburgh or LInacre, Ox will complete the second round lineup.

As always, thanks for reading, and if you’d like to read some more exclusive content, you can subscribe to my Patreon for as little as £1/month where I’m currently doing retro reviews of the 2015/16 series.