#and now sand and ray are getting into a business together which will force them into proximity with each other even if things get messy

[grapejuicegay]

@thehollowprince YES THIS IS SUCH A GOOD CATCH!!

Begin Again because it's a new year, a fresh start. Begin Again because they've removed the "problems" from their friend group. Begin Again because they've graduated and they're starting a new project. Begin Again because Boston and Nick are starting a new lives away from all of this. Begin Again because all their mess is cyclical and they're going to keep doing this again and again until they all fall away.

i genuinely loved that final scene so much though because these characters can judge boston all they want and blame him for all their relationship issues but now boston is a world away living a whole different life and they're all in solid stable relationships but the appearance one singular mix sahaphap has all of them drooling and offering to keep him company. like how do you blame boston for any of the mess this would cause.

it's also the biggest fuck you to the contractual obligation of giving the fixed pairs their happy ending because you can spend the whole episode showing how they're all happy and sorted and over their issues while nick and boston need to figure themselves out but you can also put mix sahaphap into a scene and say yeah it's a month after their very fun new year where everyone got along super well and their relationships were all great and solid and you can have ray dressed like sand and mew dressed like top but they will still all clamber over each other to get to mix and it just ENDS on that and there's enough plausible deniability but also WE KNOW. we know.

[scrumptiousstuffs]

Only Friends, Episode 8 - Save Me

In which Mew goes on a destructive streak (on himself), Ray is not helping the situation, Top is a sad puppy, Cheum has enough while Sand attempts to again put some boundary with Ray (and failing)

Mew

Well…he truly went into a bender after breaking up with Top. It’s clear he is still devastated by Top’s betrayal and him getting together with Ray is partly revenge, partly because Ray has always been the one person (in his group of friends) who loves him unconditionally, and currently Mew needed the affirmation he is desired and attractive (remember he proclaimed to Ray he think he is “boring and plain” in the bookstore - and Ray immediately replying “You are delectable.”) - yeah, that tells us Mew’s self-esteem has gone down the drain after knowing Top/Ton slept together (recall he kept thinking they got together because he was inexperienced and from his perspective laughing behind his back, we know it’s not true but well Mew judgement is somewhat impaired for now).

So, having Ray who put him at a pedestal and has never said no to him is good for his self-esteem…just terrible for everything else 😫😩…in some way, Mew is using Ray to “gain access” to all the risky behaviours that Ray engages in - getting drunk, smoking, partying daily and trying Coke - notice Ray never “introduce” it to Mew (and I will disagree with Twitter/Tumblr people who said so, because it’s always Mew who initiated it, BUT Ray enables them, also notice Ray was the one who asked whether Mew is sure he wants to try smoking cause it was also Mew who nag him to quit before)…

Similarly, the scene in the bookstore - you can see with flashbacks, Mew is deeply missing Top. And when Ray came over, the conversation led to Mew again being the instigator for the Halloween Party, informing Ray he wants “to get drunk, and party all night long.”

The fact that he couldn’t even bring himself to reciprocate Ray’s declaration of love (and he admits it - “you are the one I should love”) or kiss him in private is also another clear sign that Mew is not over Top. It was only when Top is in front of him, he made a huge scene (partly also driven by him already drunk and high) that he impulsively kisses Ray to prove a point (on a side note, that was a good kiss boys! - so KhaoBook series in 2024 anyone? 🫣)

I’m not sure how much he will spiral further but if he wants to keep his honour student status, well, I guess the next few episodes will tell us whether Top can bring him back to reality - I have hope for this especially because when Mew drunkenly but brokenly told Top “Why must you be an asshole?” before passing out on Top’s shoulder, Top tenderly looked at Mew.

Top

Which brings me to Top. He has truly eaten the humble pie this episode, and I felt sorry for him. Yes, he was (most likely still) arrogant and can be an asshole, but he truly does seem to connect with Mew and loves him. His mistake was to take what Ton said in face value and slept with him due to bruise ego (and I’m glad he told Ton off during the party - gawd the latter still tried to take a jab on Top’s fall from the grace by nastily implying Ray/Mew has slept together many times - firstly so not true cause Mew can’t even kiss Ray in private, and secondly not his business if they did sleep together)

Top looking at Mew concernedly from the outside because he knows the current behaviours are uncharacteristic for the latter (also perhaps a touch of guilt as he is likely aware at some stage he is responsible for Mew going into a downward spiral because of his encounter with Ton)

I applaud Top on him continuously trying to make amend with Mew, discussing the situation with Chuen and also helping out with the Ray situation (because let’s be real, he did not help Ray out for Ray himself, more for Mew/Chuem, although bribing the police force??? 😩🫠🫠🫠🫠… I do not condone that. Also, is it common for rich people to carry chunk of cash to party like that?? Why can’t he help the legal way?? Urgh..don’t mind me, I’m just ranting out loud now)

Anyway, it was sweet of Top to bring Mew back safely to his house and clean him up after the party, but hemm…cuddling and sleeping with Mew after that (yeah, again not a good idea as at the present time Mew has broken up with him and never gave him permission for Top to sleep in the same bed/cuddle with him)

Ray

As much I love Ray (and kudos fo Khaotung who brings this complex, multi-facet individual to life, I also feel if anyone else played him, not many of us will be as emphatic towards him), his actions in this episode, yeah…left me wincing and shaking my head at times.

Ray unfortunately has yet to accept his alcohol/drug abuse is an issue and it’s affecting his relationships with everyone - be it Mew, Sand, Chuen and Boston. It doesn’t help at baseline, he is depressed and a lonely individual, which in turns shape him to be selfish and clinging hard to anyone who showers him with any positive attention.

Mew is one such individual for Ray - the fact Mew was there at the lowest point for him definitely made Ray sees him in rose tinted glasses. Whatever Mew wants and says, Ray will follow (especially when it lines up with what he normally does - the drinking, partying, smoking, drugs etc.) When they are not a couple, it’s easier for Mew to lecture on Ray’s bad behaviour (albeit unsuccessfully), but now with Mew joining in the chaos, Ray’s destructive behaviours are going further into hellhole (I also find it interesting Ray seems so aware he is not first choice for Mew - “At least he let me cross the friend zone line”, “We are seeing if we can work things out” - these 2 sentences when he had the conversation with Sand outside the bar are very telling. Similarly, he didn’t even look surprised when Mew couldn’t say back he loves Ray. It seems Ray consciously chose to be with Mew cause he is the “safer” option when compared to Sand cause he at least knows how Mew will behave towards him while Sand is largely still unknown)

Sand is another person Ray connects deeply. The one person who has time after time help him without any transactional gains. And it’s interesting to note Ray’s destructive behaviours are somehow mellowed/lessened when Sand is around. Sand appears to be Ray moral compass. He genuinely listen to what Sand says (even more than he listen to Mew, although I don’t think Ray recognises this). Ray persistency in seeking out Sand (be it in the bar and uni) is exasperating on Sand behalf who is trying his hardest to put a guard around his heart - but well, Ray has the most effective puppy eyes I have ever seen and he uses this in good effect. Ray himself acknowledges he feels good in himself when around Sand, and he is certainly possessive of Sand’s attention (more so than he was with Mew, in my humble opinion). I think it’s clear now, Ray is truest and most honest when he is high/drunk - because his filter is completely gone. So, him putting himself between Sand and Mr Freddie Mercury, followed by him bluntly saying he knows Sand has feelings for him, and that Sand will never leave him (I also think he is projecting his own feelings towards Sand here..) - yup it’s him telling Sand to be honest about his feelings towards Ray (I'm not justifying Ray behaviour here - he should not have kissed Sand without consent and it was cruel for Ray to bring up Sand feelings out in the open like that - but as we have learn, Ray lashes out when he is angry (also, I think there is a hint of panic on Ray's behalf that Sand will leave him, just like his mom left him and he perceiving his dad abandoning him)

Sand

Sand is truly living up to his moniker of "best boy" ever. He got his heart broken into pieces by Ray when the latter decided to attempt a relationship with Mew. Time and time again he attempts to put a barrier around his heart and set some boundary with Ray - but as we can see, Ray is hard individual (for Sand) to resist. I know a lot of us thinks Sand can do better than Ray - but well, the heart wants what the heart wants, yeah? (also doesn't help that each SandRay scene has the yearning and intimate feel that I can't help root for them - even when they are fighting cause you can see them fighting their attraction here, maybe cause it's played by FK?) - for e.g the scene between SandRay outside the bar, you could tell Sand was holding back tears and his voice break a little, and Ray clocked on it - the latter touched his arm, wanting to stop Sand from going while Sand asking to let go... urghh, my heart breaks from them.

And even after the massive fight between the 2 of them at the party, Sand's first concern when the police busted the scene is to find Ray - knowing the latter will be in further trouble if he is caught with drugs. And Sand, attempting to lie for Ray about the drugs to the police or him pleading the latter to stay still when the police put Ray on a chokehold with a knee on his windpipe...

On a side note, I also find it interesting the difference between how Sand and Mew treats Ray and his risky behaviours. I can't really articulate it properly but Sand seems to recognise Ray needs to take the first step if he wants to change for the better but Sand will be on standby and support him when he does. Mew, on the other hand (until this episode) while also being supportive tends to be more condescending. I think because Mew comes from a stable family, he can't understand at the base level why Ray can't change/stop his destructive behaviours easily.

Btw, I also love SandNick friendship - them bonding on their failed relationships and one-sided loves is just.... 🥺🥺🥺

Boston

Ton is keeping a low profile this episode. He knows he is now the outcast in his group of friends, and they are barely tolerating him. But oh, him drinking alone and looking at Nick's picture on the phone - is that a hint of some feelings towards Nick???

But just as when I thought there is some redeemable quality for Ton... he again prove to be the most consistent character in this series so far. Him nastily jabbing on Top at the party, insinuating Ray/Mew have slept together countless of time???? (urghhh, Ton seriously?)

Or him leaving with Atom (his brother's friend!!!! - I cringed at the end of episode 8) and from the preview of the next episode - yup it appears he did the deed with Atom (look, I'm not saying Atom did not play a role in this - that boy was clearly hitting on Ton and despite Chuem warning Atom, he made the conscious decision to leave the party with Ton). But the whole situation is just terrible (and if Ton has some decency, he would have decline Atom's invitation but oh well...we all know what Ton is like). I can already tell the whole Atom/Ton situation will also implode with Atom as the casualty.

Nick

Well, at least his working career is on the right path because his love life with Ton has sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Him approaching and attempting to make amend with Ton at the party - urghhh, again the heart wants what the heart wants, yes? - But I hope it gives some closure for Nick to move on with his life and put Ton firmly in the past (I'm actually not holding my breath on this, but we will see).

And now Nick with Dan (Papang's character) - well, that's a whole new dynamic that will be interesting to see. It's clear Dan is interested in Nick, but hemmmm....I'm not sure having a relationship with your own intern is morally ok due to the power difference between the 2 of them (it's giving me the ABAB vibe except more serious???). Also, Dan seems to have a daddy kink (I mean he asked Nick to call him "Daddy Dan" if the next episode preview is correct), and err, I'm not sure I'm into that.

Namchuem and April

Poor Chuem is at her wits end with the group of boys this week. For obvious reasons she is barely communicating with Ton. And now with Mew on a destructive streak, it seems she has lost the one stable force in their circle of friendship. So, I am not surprised she teams up with Top to get back Mew on the right path.

Some people in Twitter/Tumblr may say Chuem barely cares for Ray - I think she does, but Chuem is self-aware she cannot control Ray's habits. And up until this episode, she appears to rely on Mew to do the “handling” of Ray’s bad habits. Could she have done more? Sure, but also remember most of us in our early 20s can barely handle our own problems let alone someone with complex issues like Ray (and this is again why someone like Sand is so special - despite him being the same age as the everyone else, he appears more mature/grounded, doesn’t take shit from anyone and genuinely seems to love Ray in all his drunken mess). Also, personally, I don’t think Cheum is as close to Ray (when compared to Mew), and if Mew could barely control Ray, what hopes does she has. And her asking Top to help out Ray because he doesn't want Ray to go into jail (well, if that is not her caring for Ray on some level, I'll eat my metaphoric hat)

So, her bursting out in anger and ranting her frustrations towards Ray, I don't blame her at all- because it is true, in their circle of friendship, Ray has always prioritise Mew with Chuem most of the time as an afterthough. I'm not sure whether she blames Ray for Mew behaviours (and if she does - that is one thing I will say she shouldn't be doing cause all of Mew downward spirals are initiated by Mew and Mew alone, except Ray is there as an enabler)

Anyway, I'm glad Chuem has April - cause the latter, she is a GEM. Supportive and truly the best GF anyone can ask. Also, some wise word from April when she pointed out the boys are adults and can make their own decisions (even if those decisions leads to catastrophic consequences). They as friends can try and advise, but ultimately, it will be up to the boys to accept said recommendations or not.

As usual, this episode has left me with so many feelings and emotions. The above is me again just getting my thoughts straight before the next episode. It seems episode 9 will be "fluffier" but if we are getting SandRay reconciliation, I want Ray to at least have a proper conversation with Mew before doing so.

(Again kudos to all the cast members who you can tell act their hearts out - my personal favourite moments include SandRay conversation outside the bar and when Mew brokenly told Top "why must you be an asshole?" - cause both First and Book conveyed their heartbroken state through their eyes in those scenes superbly well)

[multismileee]

after ep. 8 OF updated feelings

UPDATE AFTER EP 8:

Mew -> He needs to get himself together, the path he's going down is not good for him at all. I also think he is realizing that he doesn't love Ray, but more so the "thrill/adventure" and "difference" Ray brings. In the end he is sticking with Ray because he knows that Ray "loves" (yes I'm putting that in quotations) him and he won't get hurt like he did with Top. ALSO IDK WHO NEEDS TO HEAR THIS BUT HE IS A GROWN MAN... NO ONE IS FORCING HIM TO DO ANYTHING, HE IS CHOOSING TO DO THIS.

Top -> At first, I was like wow look at him actually being kind of decent this episode but I saw this theory, and now I just don't know. I think it just shows how I can never guess the intention of this man. The theory was that he was the one who called the cops; which would explain why the cops immediately asked about drugs, went straight upstairs and caught Ray instead of finding Mew who was also drugged out in the kitchen, how they knew Ray would have something on him, and why Top had a wad of cash ready IN AN ENVELOPE to give to a cop that just happened to be a dirty cop.... it's all way too convenient. If that is the case, and he did it to seem more trustworthy and the "hero" FRICK HIM. I also saw people be like "aw look at how he cared for Mew" AS HE SHOULD, HE SHOULD BE GROVELLING. Idk maybe it was just me but cuddling someone while they're unconscious felt kinda weird to me.

Boston -> Man was really just minding his business this episode and wow look at that, he's so much more bearable when he stops causing unnecessary drama. I think Boston was starting to feel something for Nick, like hello sir you're telling me you just stare at all your ex flings in the bar while nursing a drink??? Yeah I didn't think so. He is still messed up for what he did to Mew, and it makes sense that everyone is mad at him BUT him comforting Atom was sweet of him (Ik sue me, I found it cute... I like them as a platonic duo and i'm probably going to gauge my eyes out next ep.) and he ate Cheum up in the one scene outside, and I think that's what pushed him to say yes to Atom at the end of the episode. He must be thinking that since everyone already thinks i'm a bad guy, I might as well be the worse I can. I hope that next ep. he accidentally calls Nick's name and/or finds out about Nick and Dan. Also, I can understand why he didn't want to see Nick, he must have felt betrayed not once but twice. Not saying that he didn't do bad things, if not worse, but I can see why he said for Nick to leave him alone.

Nick -> I just don't know man. LMAO THAT"S ALL I HAVE TO SAY.

Ray -> Oh Ray. Listen I have mixed feelings for this man, I think in general, he wasn't particularly in the wrong for dancing with Mew because like I said before, him and Sand were never officially anything. Sand knows this, he knows this, so while it's not wrong, it just sucks. I liked that Sand talked to him and put up his boundaries but IT HURT... "When I'm with you, i'm so d*mn happy" like please open your eyes and realize the one you care for is Sand!!!! You can also tell how sad he was when he realized that Sand was distancing himself like UGHHHHHH. What I don't agree with is how at the party he stopped Sand from kissing that dude (he was definitely jealous, did you see the way he basically ran? But he has no right to.) and him kissing Sand while he is trying out a relationship with Mew is wrong. Mew doesn't deserve that and neither does Sand. Also I hate the way Cheum acts with Ray (we'll get to that in her part). I felt his pain when he was screaming at the party, and I truly think he needs to learn to love himself first before he can love anyone. OH AND I ALMOST FORGOT BECAUSE I BLOCKED IT OUT OF MY MEMORY, BUT HIM TELLING SAND "stop fooling yourself, Sand. You like me. You love me. You can't walk away from me." WAS SO CRUEL AND DISRESPECTFUL. He needs to start apologizing for all the out of pocket things he says to Sand, because he is starting to use him as a punching bag and I will not stand for that. The whole confrontation at the party was so uncalled for, he had absolutely no right. Also how does he not realize that Mew doesn't genuinely love him?? He kissed Ray just for vengeance in front of Top, that's all it was. #getRayglasses:(

Sand -> CONTINUES TO BE THE BEST CHARACTER TO EXIST. Okay first of all, we love a man who knows his standards, and upholds his boundaries. He was having none of it from Ray, and would keep reminding him that Ray has Mew now. I noticed this small detail and idk if anyone else saw it but when Ray asked for the lighter, Ray put the cigarette in his mouth like he did last time they were outside, probably waiting for Sand to light the cigarette in his mouth. However, Sand handed him the lighter instead AND Ray looked so freaking disappointed. (Not only am I taking this as a sign of Sand distancing himself but also how much that distance is going to effect Ray). He stood up for himself at the party, "I'm not your second option" YESSS WE LOVE KNOWING YOUR OWN SELF-WORTH. What gets me is that even after all that and the way Ray has treated him, Sand still runs to protect him when the cops came because he knew that Ray was doing dr*gs. He came to the party because he felt bad for what he did to Nick, he comforted Nick after his confrontation with Boston... everyone say it with me: SAND BEST BOY!!! If no one else gets happiness, at least Sand should. (preferably with Ray after he goes to rehab and apologizes for all he has said).

Cheum -> Listen I know I said to give her more scenes, but this is not what I meant. It was incredible that she got on my nerves so much. I can appreciate that she is trying to be a "good friend" to Mew, and she doesn't like the way his personality did a full 360, and the actions he has gone up to but blaming that on Ray??? Like girly what? Firstly, Mew is a grown adult (As April said, I love her she kept saying everything I was thinking), he makes these decisions. MEW is the one who keeps going to Ray to get this escape, he's the one who wants to try these new things. It makes me question if Cheum genuinely likes Ray, I mean it seems like she always sees the worst in him. THEN he meets with Top, and says, "who do you think made him this way" when Top said that Mew has changed... oh so it wasn't all due to Ray?? Crazy. But what's even crazier to me is that after a 2 minute talk, she instantly folded and decided to help Top. After everything Top did to Mew??? She invites him to a party without even consulting with Mew if he would be okay with his ex being at the party, and then got an attitude with Ray after he tried to kick Top out even though Mew was the one who threw the drink at him. Her saying "Or I can't because I don't own the place" LIKE GIRL WHEN DID ANYONE IMPLY ANYTHING?? It just really gets me how hypocritical she is with her response to Mew vs. Ray. With Mew she's like "Oh he's so innocent, he needs help because he's making so many bad decisions" which I'm glad because this IS out of character for him, but with Ray, she never tries to understand and instead says it in a way that sounds like she's blaming him. I mean she wasn't wrong when she told Ray to take responsibility for his actions, he was being reckless but idk the vast difference is dizzying to me. Then she interrupts Boston and her brother's conversation, and while I understand that she's protective of her brother and has bad feelings towards Boston, Boston was actually just being a good listener at the moment. HE ALSO ATE HER UP WITH THE "Consider what kind of big sister you are and why your brother is not telling you anything" like maybe just maybe instead of being in everyone's business, Cheum should focus on her girlfriend and her own family/ personal life. Idk maybe this has been building for a while because she's suddenly saying "you never cared for us". I guess I'm just confused because from ep 1, it seemed like Ray's friends only cared for him during parties/ his money.

SORRY FOR THE RANT OMG

[savagebisand]

The girls are fighting but who brawled first and Who Makes Mew 180 Next Ep? From disgust and disbelief at Rays accusations to Confronting Top...

Seen a couple theories posited that the SandRay fight is actually before the RayMew fight and at first I was like there is no way buuttt now I'm thinking about it more I can see a scenario playing out

Imagine Ray is riled up by that point and hellbent on telling Mew what he discussed with Boston earlier, they argue about Rays choice to tell Mew what he knows about Top and Ton because Sand just seems the person to go that's only gonna make it worse, Ray is refusing to listen and Sand snaps with "can't you focus on me instead" and Ray who is now Decidedly Pissed Treble because Sand is not listening and agreeing, everyone is lying to his best friend and wants him to play along aNd Sand wants to ask him to pick right now to focus on their issues instead. This is quite frankly far too much for Rays smooth pretty rich brain to problem solve at once. He tells Sand he has no business in it and what even are they to each other anyway and when Sand can't really answer the question bc isn't that Rays choice, enough is enough. Sand is in his way and he's on a mission, so an already desperate and exhausted Ray shoves Sand aside. Literally. Goes in all guns blazing to tell Mew a truth he thinks Mew deserves because how can this possibly go wrong? Ray is being good. He is looking after the person he said he would save back.

Mew, on the other hand, does not want and is not ready for this truth especially not from a rowdy Ray who has always had an issue with Top and kissed him just last week anyway. This is jealousy talking right? What else should Mew think when Ray just told Mew he hasn't moved on from him in years and still loves him. Oh the tragedy. But oh the glee. Because if this is the case and Sand follows Ray back in to battle because FFS he's infuriating but he cant leave Ray in that state and seemingly picks Ray up from his mortal kombat style finish him blow from Mew (again literally and metaphorically). There is ample room for Sand taking a hurt and shell shocked Ray home and providing that oh so sweet hurt/comfort. Perhaps we will get SandRay patching bruises up together, finally. Perhaps they can finally have that communication they blocked off last ep. That is, ya know, before Ray realises without Mew as a bluff he might actually be allowed to love Sand and that's impossible, time to push Sand away with five times the force.

Sidenote: It is very interesting to observe that Nick is there as well. Now Sand did not shock me after all he's the bar singer and that is the bar, he may not be there for Mew but this is where we find Sand anyway when Ray isn't with him. But Nick? Nick has never entered that bar space before, in a way it hasn't tainted him the way it has all the others. It's another thing he hasn't been exposed to that sets him apart. But suddenly Nick is there in this world with the core four once again seeing different sides of them. Arguably, he has no business being there, he's not friends with them really and Boston has never made a point of showing him off before unless it benefits Ton to do so (e.g. the pool party where Nick was in charge of a specific job). He could be there for Sand which, again, is interesting.

Even more intriguingly, we can see Title's character in the background of the RayMew fight scene. Evidently, this character is significant somehow, enough to be in the opening credits. I'm very much side eyeing what his role is here and now of all moments. I do think there's a strong chance after Nick witnesses RayMews showdown, he takes it upon himself to confirm what Ray claims to Mew. I don't see Mew believing anyone else but someone seemingly inconsequential, with no reason to lie other than Nick. And we do have the TopMew fight in this ep as well so evidently Mew starts believing Rays talk at some point.

The only other possibility I could see right now is feral protective Sand trying to back Ray up, pissed as hell that Rays pretty face looks so beat up and devastated, by throwing an off hand comment out that makes Mew double take and realise Ray is telling the truth because again he approves of Sand, thinks Sand is lovely and doesn't see why he'd lie. Sand knows as much as Nick does so either of them have the potential to be candidates Mew would rather hear the hard truth from.

Then again, sometimes this show blindsides us into thinking there will be more drama than there really is. It's quite possible Mew only starts to believe what Ray claims because one of Tops ex flings crops up and gives mew some sort of vague warning that seems to corroborate things mew had already noticed and ignored and what Ray was accusing Top of. I'd rather it be Nick personally cause I love that crazy gone girl. But I do agree with others who have pointed out Mew and Ton have another confrontation later which is more likely to be about the cheating, in which case it makes sense for Nick to bite his tongue for now esp since Boston is currently where Nick wants and being more "coupley" toward him and if Mew and Top have relationship drama, it may only push Ton toward Top more again.

That does lead me to wonder if Sand being the one to back Ray up in this RayMew showdown and make Mew doubt Top where Ray couldn't is what prompts Nick and Sands fight where Nick claims Sand has embarrassed him and hurt his feelings and Sand argues why should you care, he's an asshole. I could see why Nick would be hurt and annoyed if Sand telling Mew causes issues for Nick and Ton because ya know Boston's in a pissy since Mew is off with him, Tops giving him shit since clearly Boston gave shit away and perhaps Sand even lets something slip like "just ask Nick" which is why HE personally is embarrassed cause now Ton is also onto him. Also Sand stands with the most to gain. It pushes Ray into his arms more to be there for him when everyone else is dismissing him, esp Mew and Sand doesn't like Top in the first place and knows Top has a habit of carelessly fucking other people and putting his feelings first.

But this is only friends, maybe in reality the argument RayMew have isn't even about Top anymore by the end of it, maybe what Ray tells Boston he knows which clearly makes Boston nervous has nothing to do with BostonTop at all. From the small snippets we have we truly have barely any context but these are some scenarios I'd like for the timeline of things.

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hello. I had a question regarding your post about blind characters. I have a character in my WIP that must cover their eyes.. but it’s blind. He may need to tell people he is blind to explain why he covers his eyes though. I was wondering how I might write this character without offending. Thank you :)

I think I want to start by explaining the “covering blind eyes” trope and why it has become a harmful trope. I think understanding why it’s hurtful helps everyone learn how to handle it better.

I would guess that the “blind people wear sunglasses” trope comes from Hollywood for the specific reason of 1. wanting to signal to the audience that the character is obviously blind and 2. avoid breaking the suspension of disbelief by preventing the audience from catching the sighted actor look at visual stimuli (because disabled characters are almost always played by able actors).

But this changed the way the public expects to experience blindness. If watching a sighted actor wear sunglasses and say he’s blind is all the exposure to the blind community a person has had, that’s the only model of blindness they’ll recognize. If they meet a blind person in real life who doesn’t wear sunglasses, it’s going to break this built perception and cause an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. 

And then there is the common “cloudy-white blank gaze” that pops up in media. It stems from the fact that cataracts is the most common cause of blindness and the appearance of severe cataracts is a cloudy film in the eyes obscuring the iris and pupil. It can also alter what color a person’s eyes appears to be, making them appear paler and grey in the beginning and then as the cataract advances it becomes more yellow/brown and alters a person’s vision to appear more yellow tinted.

There are lots of other eye conditions that makes the eyes look visibly different. Albinism for instance affects the color and structure of the iris. Eyes might be congenitally misshapen. The muscles might be weak or not work and one or both eyes point significantly outward. Someone who was born blind and experienced no visual stimuli might also have weak muscles around their eyes because they never had a reason to focus their eyes on anything.

And unfortunately humans have the habit of feeling uncomfortable when they meet someone who looks very obviously different from the norm, whether that’s a personal style choice (hair color and style, tattoos, clothing choices) or something they can’t help (a visible disability, skin color, scars). 

To the paragraph above, @gothhabiba replied with:  “it's very weird & ahistorical to claim that racism or ableism are some kind of natural "human" trait.. like frankly it's apologia”

You’re right, I wasn’t thinking beyond that generalization or assumption.

Perhaps a better way to put it is: I was raised in a society where I was taught from childhood to think that there was only one kind of human being to be. White, cis, straight, abled, conservative. That’s a very western thing and that’s a thing I’m going to constantly be unlearning.

Racism and ableism and homophobia aren’t innate, that’s a western thing that was forced onto the rest of the world by colonialism. And because western media created this idea that the world is white, abled, cis, straight, and Christian-value leaning, it taught people to think that was the norm so that seeing someone different from that archetype would cause a cognitive dissonance, which causes discomfort.

And instead of working past that cognitive dissonance to learn more and realize there’s so much more to life than media taught you, society encourages you to ignore that cognitive dissonance by sticking your head in the sand-- or TV screen.

So combine these two tropes or common beliefs together and you get something a little dangerous: the idea that blind people cover their eyes because they look obviously different and they’re ashamed (or should be ashamed) of that.

And if you’re someone who’s just gone blind or who was born blind and you have little to no contact with the blind community, then this societal belief that you should be ashamed of how your eyes look becomes detrimental to your self-esteem and further builds internalized ableism.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve read or watched a blind character cover their eyes with sunglasses because they were ashamed of how their eyes looked. And I distinctly remember a few times where a sighted friend of the character was trying to convince them to stop wearing sunglasses because there’s nothing wrong with looking different--which is true, but it plays into this fantasy of being the perfect abled ally who saves the blind character from being miserable. 

In an ideal world, the character has no reason to believe looking different is a bad thing or diminishes their worth or makes people dislike them. And if they develop this belief, it’s more likely that someone more involved in the disabled community, most likely someone disabled themselves, will set them straight. Or that the character will learn to accept themselves on their own, looks included.

But there are some perfectly valid reasons for any blind person to wear sunglasses. They might have an interest in fashion and sunglasses complete the look they’re going for. They could want to protect their eyes from UV rays while they’re outside. They may experience light sensitivity and sunglasses reduces any discomfort or pain. Those are incredibly common reasons to wear sunglasses whether you’re sighted or blind.

But there are some more complicated situations.

In your words, your character must cover his eyes. You never specified why, so my primary guess is that he has some kind of power that is unpleasant or has devastating affects and the only way to prevent it is to keep his eyes covered. My primary guess stems from this post where an anon and I discussed a retelling of Medusa, a hypothetical blinding of oneself to avoid ever killing anyone ever again, and what I think I would do if I was in that scenario.

So how do you write a blind character who must cover their eyes and avoid some of the complications?

1. Your character must always have the ability to say “fuck off, it’s my business, I don’t have to tell you why I’m blind or why I cover my eyes.���

Most blind people really, really don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of why they’re blind and how they feel about it and what it’s like being blind with a stranger they’ll never see again or a new acquaintance they don’t know well yet. You have exceptions to that rule where sure, educating the public about blindness is a thing you want to do and you’re committed to helping your community, but I still have days where I don’t want to talk about being blind or disclose my medical crap.

And if someone doesn’t respect their right to their privacy or pushes too much, the blind character is allowed to be angry, is allowed to tell them off and complain without anyone else in the situation vilifying them or saying they’re “overreacting” and “should have just disclosed private information because big deal or whatever.” If they are angry, that’s their right, and it’s not unreasonable, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

2. Your character should not be ashamed of being blind or of covering their eyes. It is a part of their life, they’re used to it by now, even if they weren’t in the beginning.

The shame and internalized ableism is something that should be written about, but that’s for an own-voices story with a blind author. I don’t think an abled person will ever be able to understand how much society expects you to hate yourself and your disability because “being disabled is a tragic thing that ruins your life” and how that does affect your mental health, self esteem, your relationships with others, your medical care, and what kind of accommodations you can get.

3. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few sarcastic lines in response to uncomfortable conversations.

Stranger: so what’s with the...

Blind Character: what’s with what?

S: the... you know

BC: you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific

S: Your eyes?

BC: They’re... eyes

S: but you’re...

BC: Blind?

S: uh...

BC: yeah, I’m blind. *walks away*

Or this conversation:

S: *to some other character* so why are his eyes covered?

(author’s note: which, honestly, that’s fucking rude. At least have the guts to ask me yourself)

BC: If I look anyone in the eye they instantly perish.

*awkward silence*

BC: instantly.

Friend: It’s truly tragic

BC: *melancholic* that’s how I lost my sister. *chokes up* She was so young

Or this conversation:

S: Why are you wearing that?

BC: It’s called fashion Karen!

Or this conversation:

S: are you like... blind?

BC: yes?? why wouldn’t I be?? Wait, are you sighted? Are you one of those sighted people? You poor thing! What caused you to gain your sight? Do you have a car? A bike? Were you born sighted? What’s it like to see color? Do you miss not having to see 

God, I want a chance to try that last one. I haven’t interacted with a stranger in almost a year. One day...

4. Honestly, it’d also be cool if someone’s reaction to your character covering their eyes was like, “cool sunglasses,” or “cool *insert random character, even one you made up* cosplay,” (which is ten times funnier if this character is a notable figure in modern society like an actor who people might cosplay). 

5. You know, if he’s covering his eyes with some kind of blindfold, he should totally have custom blindfolds for his moods. Like, I have a mask that says “suck it up buttercup” and another that says “not today” because sometimes that’s the mood. And sometimes the mood is one of my floral masks, and sometimes the mood is my cat mask.

So, just some thoughts. I hope that helps.

Edit: a commenter said: “op, unless i'm mistaken this kind of reads like anon meant the character ISN'T blind but lies about being blind to explain covering their eyes? it seems like they made a typo on the word "isn't"”

So my original response to the question was based on the assumption that the character is blind. However,

If the character is not blind, then do not under any circumstances have them lie and say they’re blind to escape a mild inconvenience. 

It’s better to have the character actually explain the situation or straight up leave the conversation or invent a more ridiculous lie than to perpetuate the very real stereotype and misconception that there are people who fake being blind and therefore it’s okay to discriminate or harass them if you even suspect they’re faking.

Do not under any circumstances perpetuate that stereotype. Do not harass someone because you don’t think they’re blind enough.

[yejiroh]

Siren Scales & Village Tales

•••

For @chaoticyuna 's Summerween event!

Siren Gojo with a female reader.

Word count: 2.3k

TW: large bodies of water, bullying, blood.

•••

“The water was always murky by the bog trees, billows of dirt and sod and other bits always falling into the water by the pounds. Further down the dirt road that passes through the swamp, and you’d find a well, then a town.

“A merchant’s town, children waddled through the puddles that filled the pit holes- it wasn’t a rich area, despite all the good business. In the center of the town, a big fountain captured the sun’s rays during the golden hour- usually around 5 in the afternoon.

“Now, back to the well- it’s kind of important.

“The well, around 3 feet wide, was built of what was now crumbling bricks- terribly small, but just big enough to fall down; should you be unlucky enough.

“But there was also a rumor- as there is in every town and village. And, like other rumors that resided in other towns and villages, it was that of the supernatural. But in this case…

“Sirens.

“Sirens were fish tailed peoples with webbed hands and glowing eyes. It was said that if you ever heard one singing, you’d be inclined to bring yourself forward, to take their hand and fall.”

“Fall?”

“Yes, fall. Fall down the well, they would tell you. However, once in a blue moon, there’s a survivor, one who crawls their way up from hell and back to the siren as if they were addicted to their voice; coming back every day while the sun is still up, just to leave crying their eyes out as the sun comes down.”

“Why only during the day?”

“Well, no one knows. It’s just something that happens. Like a law of nature.”

***

“Don’t you think it’d be better to just relax once in a while? It wouldn’t hurt you, I promise.”

Despite all the reassurances of saying a story was a story until proven otherwise, better safe than sorry. And the only well in a 15 mile radius was this one. 

Curse them for being so cheap. 

Your hands burned from the rope as you dragged the bucket up, clear water sloshing around spilling out some. 

“Nanami, with all due respect, you are the last one I want to hear the word ‘relax’ from.”

Gravel bits dug into the souls of your shoes, some chunky enough to feel even through the rubber. It kind of stung. 

“Y/n, I’m going to be frank with you; mermen? They don’t exist. Neither do griffins, or hydras, or any of that fairy tail nonsense you’re always babbling about. It’s just us two, and old Mr. Gakuganji down the road.”

Sighing, Nanami adjusted his glasses, not bothering to wait for you as he loaded the last gallon onto the wagon, getting ready to go. 

***

People surged forward, coins and paper money grasped in hands before thrown at you two, grabbing at the jars of the well water. It was always like this, the town coming up to the well water like it was their life sustainer, and maybe for some, it was. 

“Y/n! Welcome back! Did you see anything unnatural today?”

A mocking laugh, a tall man tore his shirt off- Aoi Todo. Behind him, the Zen’in twins chuckled.

“Actually Todo, I haven’t. BUT, I do have something else to note. That well water you’re drinking? It hasn’t been boiled yet.”

Watching his face contort, a smile is set on your face as Aoi began to hurl, tiny worms and water with last night's feast falling onto his feet.

“Y/n! What the hell! Did your siren buddy put you up to this?”

“What happened to them not being real?”

It was the same conversation everyday. And, like everyday, you was met with a horrible answer.

Todo scoffed before spitting onto the ground, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“No man is every gonna want you, you stupid woman.”

“And if I don’t want to marry?”

***

As the hours passed, dusk came, bringing the stormy clouds with it- but it wasn’t yet raining. A ripple in the lake waters caught your eye- maybe a fish, but the fish weren’t in season, so it was unlikely. 

You shouldn’t have been out after curfew- there were rules for a reason, yeah, but what was the harm? Especially after dinner, where you’d only had time for stale bread; chewing down the more than stale pieces was troubling. 

The sands of the lake were dry, like all the water had been taken from the ground, pooling into the lake. Odd.

“A  law of nature? But that's so…”

“Boring? Stupid? Illogical? Aye, it is.”

Kneeling down, you dipped your fingers into the water. There was something missing from the story the elders told you, you're sure of it; no matter how many times you waved your hand in the shallows, not a single ripple- only from that tail you saw earlier. 

Something rumbled, whether or not it was the stormy clouds or your stomach, you didn’t bother to check. 

Dipping your feet into the water, a sigh of relief escapes your lips- a breath let go you didn’t know you were holding. 

Another roll of thunder- but something caught your eye; the tail again. 

It was only for a moment, but you could make out the colors and fin shape. Various shades of blue and silver and yellows, shifting in the light, and the fin, large and (almost) pillowy. 

It hit the water, disappearing once again. 

“Stran-THE HELL?

Digits quickly grabbed your foot, webbed and slimy, pulling you under before you could scream. 

Something pressed into your mouth- maybe seaweed? Bitter and salty, whatever it was was quickly shoved down your throat, forcing you to swallow. 

As clear as the water was on the top, it was far too dark and dirty underneath. The vice grip that had pulled you down was now dragging you deeper, the breath you were saving long gone with the swallow, your eyes began to close. 

‘Count the digits!’

A tiny raise of suspicion, you felt around for a limb, feeling up before coming to your wrist. 

Forcing your eyes to open, the tears that pricked at your eyes were quickly swept away with the current.  

Head feeling light, panic was soon replaced with adrenaline, and you raised your legs, knees to your chest, before kicking out hard. Your feet hit the thing holding you, and it let go quickly, allowing you a chance to escape. 

Already out of breath, you swam up as fast as you could, finally breaking through the water’s surface. You sucked in a deep breath, coughing violently as you wiped the water and dirt out of your eyes, hurrying to the land. 

Behind you, waves crashed, and the water of the lake that seemed crystal clear was now red and thickened. The air became heavy with the scent of iron, and soon the entire lake shifted up, sands and all, dragging you up with it.

“Now, now, it's not strange, is it? I think it’s quite the opposite. Normal even.”

You found yourself in the palm of a hand- or, in the webbing between fingers that curled in, as if to cradle you.

Finally getting a good look at the thing in question, it didn’t take long to put two and two together; the fish from the beginning, the thing that pulled you under...and now…

“I’m Y/n, what the fuck are you, and what’s your name? Also, you’re hot.”

And it was true. Big glossy blue eyes that seemed to be lashed by the purest white doves feathered around,the hair, just as white as the lashes, seemed to trail deep down, and looking down, you leaned over it’s thumb, holding it tight as you peered down. Purple scales glimmered all the way down. 

Two fingers grabbed your collar, picking you up, bringing you to face an eye. 

“You’re a funny little thing- I could just eat you up”-it opened its mouth, biting the air before laughing”- “I am Gojo. You’ve heard of me, yes? I’m a Siren...but I guess the more accurate description would be to say that I am this lake. And thank you, Y/n. You’re much too kind, considering I was about to drown you. Here, let me brush you off.”

As Gojo patted you down, your insides churned; it was much too fast, and to be frank, it was more like you were getting spanked. It didn’t help that dust clouds rolled off you. 

“Y-you-ow-’re a -OW-guy?- STOP THAT HURTS!”

Gojo laughed, smiling as you coughed and waved your arms.

“A guy hmm...I suppose I am. You’re quite big for a fairy. And what the hell are you doing near a lake with no wings?”

“Fairy? I’m a human. There’s a whole ass village down the road through the forest.”

“Human? Oh...Ohh, yeah that makes a lot of sense.”

“Are mermaids- sorry, sirens- -lake dudes?”

“Lake dude, siren, doesn’t matter.”

“Right. Are y’all supposed to be this huge?”

 Gojo gasped, a webbed hand on his chest and mouth hanging open before promptly putting you down, laying down himself as his lower half dissolved into water, the pit that was the lake somewhat there again.

“Big? You think I’m big? I’m just a small lake! You flatter me Y/n!”

Propping himself on his elbows, he rested his face in his palms, looking at you with a smile. 

“Eh, it wasn’t for flattery- just curiosity.”

“Still...well, now I feel bad. I was gonna eat you.”

“Eat me?”

“Yeah.” Gojo scoffed before looking down, glaring at the ground. “There’s this human who calls himself Todo- a real-

“Pain in the ass? Insufferable? Obnoxious? Egotistic? A liar?”

“YES EXACTLY- you know him?” Gojo put his head down, and you watched in interest as some of him crumbled to sand before promptly climbing up onto his nose.Tapping it lightly, you let out a out a small “oomph” as he rose up, eyes on you. 

“Yeah, I know him. He’s actually why I’m here now- kinda. The fucking jerk kept messing with me, talkin’ about how, ‘Oh, Y/n, did you see anything weird? A siren perhaps?’ and yeah, the fucking town laughed at me, but it’s okay, cause the well water he drank hadn’t been purified ye-”

Gojo interrupted you, waving his hands around in the water before bursting into laughter.

“The WELL? Not the one by this place I hope? Oh god, thank Yaga y’all purify that!”

Joining in the laughter nervously, you asked why, which sent the siren bawling into more laughter,forcing him to place you on his head so you wouldn’t fall off.

“Oh, oh my gosh- stop tugging my hair Y/n- that well water is connected to this lake- me! Y’all would have been drinking my piss and body had you not purified it! And I can’t have a pretty thing like you melting from the inside out and drowning in your own blood because of scales or something!”

“So...what I’m getting at here is...Todo is going to die if he hasn’t already? I mean, he spit it out, but he still drank a bit-”

A sudden burst of wind, you tugged Gojo’s hair again, holding on so tight your knuckles turned white. 

Gojo hummed, deep in thought before exhaling slowly.

“Well- no pun intended-, I believe he’d turn into a fish. At least, that's what happened to the last guy who did that. Man, he was a crazy one. Called himself Get, going on and on about how everything he consumed he could turn into. Weird shit, Y/n.”

“Turned into a fish but could shapeshift?”

“Ah yeah- you guys know magic and stuff is real right? Anyways, my body, as you can see, is basically this entire lake- not like a lake god or something. Once I die, this place will have never existed. Back to what I was saying, I have a strict ‘no-no’ policy. A little spell just so I could get more dinner. And, I don’t think anyone would want to just be a lake their whole damn life.”

“Huh...that makes sense.”

“Yeah. “

“So…”

The two of you paused for a moment, and you couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly; to think that sirens were only bloodthirsty monsters- well, he did try to kill you, and it was true that they were beautiful, but the fact that you were literally sitting on the head of one now- one who claimed to be small- it was entirely laughable. 

Clearing your throat, you crawled over, leaning down to come facing his eyes once again, poking his forehead.

“Say...Gojo, you wouldn’t mind eating Todo if he turned into a fish right?”

“Hmmm...not really. Why?”

“Just asking. I’ll drop by here tomorrow, yeah? It’s getting late, and I gotta make sure no one took my dumplings.”

And with that, you said your goodbyes, promising to meet again, you with your vial of well water and siren scales, and Gojo with a gold coin.

“Payment, my dear. Nothing is free in this life, you know. Hopefully now you’ll have some better village tales to tell now.”

[certifiedskywalker]

Not Who I Should Be - Din Djarin

plaguenecromancer said: If that's okay, may i request Din Djarin x insecure reader? With him comforting her? A gal needs some fluff in her life 🙏 (if you're comfy with it ofc!)

AN: I’m sorry you’re feeling a little insecure. It’s not a good feeling, no matter what you’re having doubts or negative feelings about. I hope this comfort fic helps you feel better!

Boredom permeated every fiber of your being. The heat made it worse, stoked the flames of your tedium. Even inside, tucked into the shadows of the little home Karga had given you when he became magistrate, you itched to retreat from the fatigue. You longed for a fight, for something to work towards. Instead, you stayed still, tucked in by your window to watch beings of all shapes and species stride through the streets of Nevarro’s main city.

Boredom, this dissatisfaction, had not struck you in cycles. Not since the days before Mando and his small, green charge had entered your life. They had made life interesting, made crash landing on Nervarro’s sands worth it. Though, now, without them and their adventure, all you had was empty time. Less than savory thoughts and doubts had risen up to fill it.

‘What ifs’ plagued you most often, never leaving like the heat. What if you had pressed Mando, Din, to let you go with him after forcing Moff Gideon to retreat? What if you had stowed away on the Razor Crest? What if Din had not said that you would be safer if you stayed and that a life on the run was not a life for you? What if you were stronger, leaner, and meaner like the rest of the company the Mandalorian man kept?

Worst of all: what if you had told him how you felt?

In an attempt to free yourself from your regret, you shook your head and moved away from the window. People watching only worked as a distraction for so long. You needed to busy yourself with something, anything else. If you didn’t...you released a trembling breath.

Rather than stand alone with your doubts, you started towards the small kitchen nestled in the corner of your quaint abode. As you made your way over, you ignore the mirror hung on the far wall. All your worries and hurt seemed to gather in the reflective glass. If you wanted to shake the dull darkness, you would have to stay away from it; and yourself.

For the moment, the tea making process would serve as a distraction enough. As you reached up into one of your cabinets for a cup, there was a knocking at your door. The sound made you jump slightly. You had not been expecting anyone. Warily, you made your way towards the door and peeked out between the curtains of the window beside it. You saw a familiar head of dark hair lingering in the doorway and a wave of relief washed over you.

Eagerly, you reached over to unlatch the door. A moment after, it opened with a soft clanking and Cara Dune gave you a knowing grin. You quirked a brow at her in a silent question. Her grin only widened; a sight you were not used to.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” 

Cara nodded and waved her hand. “Follow me.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Cara was already walking away. You sighed and slipped on your shoes before following after her. Nevarro’s back streets were not as crowded as the main thoroughfare. Despite his seedy past, Karga had eliminated most of the crime, via decriminalization or more reasonable law, which, in turn, eliminated the need to use the dark back alleys. The lack of traffic allowed you and Cara to make it to the catina-turned school quickly.

“The school?” You asked, but, as usual, Cara pushed forward without an explanation. And, as usual, you followed after her. Anticipation twisted your stomach as you wondered and walked towards whatever surprise Cara had in store. You were half expecting a wounded child or an infestation of womp rats tucked into the school’s walls. 

Once inside, your wondering turned to confusion. Class was in session with the reprogrammed protocol droid referencing the New Republic Core Worlds and the varying hyperspace lanes that connect each Rim of the galaxy. You glanced at Cara who, still smiling, leaned towards you. She extends a hand towards the front of the class. 

You follow the direction of her pointed index finger. Heads of hair and attentive children blocked your view of the front of the class. Moving to the side to get a better glimpse did little to help. With a few steps forwards, you saw that the desk on the far left was empty.

No, not empty. 

A little head of green skin peeked out from over the desk behind him. The Child. Your eyes widened at the sight. Suddenly, with a mind of their own, your feet started towards him. Before you even reached his side, the Child turned his head and his large, dark eyes met your gaze. A small gasp of excitement fell from your lips.

He remembered you, even after being away so long.

Without paying any mind to the lesson taking place, you scooped the Child up into your arms. He cooed as you lifted him, tiny hands reaching out towards your face. Small and warm, the Child’s hands rested on your cheeks. You let out a breathy laugh and smiled.

“I missed you too,” you said softly, “and the shiny man that carries you around.” The Child squealed at your words and you took the sound as a sort of giggle. “Where is he? Hmm?”

Knowing that, while he was responsive to you, you wouldn’t get a true answer from the Child, you sent a glance over your shoulder at Cara. When you did, you saw that she was casted half in shadow. The sight was enough to make you do a double take. Looking back for longer than a moment, you saw the shadow’s source.

Standing partially in front of Cara was your Mandalorian. You stared into the dark lines of his visor, wondering if he was staring at you too. The regrets you had run from suddenly caught up with you. Air was knocked from your lungs as Din took a step towards you, suffocated you with a wave of self-consciousness. Whatever lecture the protocol droid was giving was quickly drowned out by your heartbeat thundering in your ears. 

He takes another step and you feel your skin warm. How ridiculous you must look and what a mess too. Your slip-on shoes were tattered as was the cardigan shawl draped over your shoulders. This morning, you had dressed to stay indoors. Now, you were standing in a classroom, precious Child in arms, and staring at the only man you had ever truly fallen for.

Another step and you feel your chest tighten. You have a million things you want to say, but only one thing you want to do. Despite that, your feet stay firmly planted to the floor, unmoving. There would not be any running into his arms or even meeting him in the middle. Fear and doubt gripped you too tightly for that. 

One more step and, “hey.”

“Hi,” you whisper, suddenly aware of all the pairs of eyes in the room. A few of the children, unentertained by the lecture, stare awestruck at the shining, metal man that had just strode into their classroom. “I mis-”

“We should leave these kids to their schooling,” Karga said, stepping out from beside Cara. You peeked over Din’s shoulder and nodded at him. As Karga and Cara made their way towards the door, you followed suit. When you passed him, you heard elements of Din’s  armor clank together as he stayed close on your heels. Even a pace or so in front of him, you could still feel the warmth of his body behind yours as you all made your way to the Magistrates office. 

Once there, the trio wasted no time in telling you their newest plans.

“You’re going to blow it up?”

“Erase the stain of the Empire from our glorious home planet,” Karga extrapolated with an all too knowing smile.

“So, you’re blowing it up,” you sighed. The Child let out a coo, big dark eyes peering up at you from where he was nestled safely in your arms

“See! Even the baby agrees with me!” Karga clapped his hands together and let out a chuckle. You frowned and shook your head before refocusing your attention on the Child. 

Before you could respond, poke holes in this horribly vague and wild plan, Din’s hand reached out. Gloves fingers reached towards the Child, stroked the top of his head and down the curve of one of his large ears. You looked up and saw the Mandalorian fixed on the little creature. Though, he must have sensed your eyes because the visor lifted quickly; his hand still lingered near your arm. If you were not so enraptured by Din’s close proximity and focused line of sight on you, you may have felt how his covered fingertips so carefully brushed against your upper arm, the place where the Child’s head rested comfortably.

“Can you watch him?”

 The stillness of Din’s voice was usually what stirred your stomach; his tone was always forward, stoic. But, with that question, there was a bend that made your heart flutter in your chest. He was worried, or overwhelmed by something, you weren’t entirely sure. All you were sure of was how, when he spoke to you like that, you would do just about anything he asked of you.

Though, as much as you adored the Child, you wanted to help. You yearned to be where the action was. In this case, an abandoned Imperial outpost. Not quite the complete savior from boredom you had wished for, but it would get you away from yourself long enough. Din leaned closer and you swore you saw a flash of his eyes in the rays of light that struck his helmet's visor.

“Y/N?” Mouth suddenly dry, you struggled to find your voice while lost in his; lost in the way he said your name. No, you would slow them down, weaken the team. The last thing you wanted was to add more worry to Din's already heavy shoulders. He hadn’t even asked if you wanted to come with; he knew that you weren’t combat material, not a hardened warrior, not a worthy addition to the team. When you finally found your voice, your held the darkened gaze of Din’s visor, staring into the blackness at the points you imagined his eyes would be.

“Of-of course.” You cringed at the stammer laced in your words. Nerves and doubts had ways of undermining your every attempt to remain collected in front of others; the Mandalorian especially so.

“Good.”

Good? You felt your whole body warm at the single word. Self conscious, you opened your mouth to say something, anything to deflect attention from your burning cheeks and wide eyes. Luckily, Karga always had something to say.

“Then it’s settled! Let’s check in with our get away driver.” Karga turned on his heels and, somewhat leading Cara out of the office, left the room. Cara sighed and nodded at you before following the man’s trail. 

“You’ll be alright here?” You focused your gaze back on Din. His visor, his gaze was still trained on you. You don’t think it ever left.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. He was nervous too, wary about leaving the Child, his child, in your care. Your lips turned to a frown,  weighed down by the weight of Din’s and your own self doubt. 

“If he gives you trouble, I’m a comm away.” You nodded at his reassurance, but your expression did not change. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” you said softly, watching as Din started towards the door. He gave you one last look, hand gripping the door frame with one foot out under Nevarro’s sun. “Stay safe.”

Din lingered in the wake of your words before he finally nodded and followed Cara towards the edge of town. You watched him go through the window, and found yourself where you began: waiting for an adventure, an escape from your own mind. A small chittering from the Child pulled your gaze back in. His little green hands were reaching up towards your face again, wonder in his dark eyes.

“You’ll keep me busy, won’t you?” You asked, and the Child cooed in response. “We’re both kind of lost, aren’t we?”

“Am I boring you?”

The Child yawned in response, with his eyes slowly closing and, even slower, blinking open again. You took a long breath before you reached over from where you sat to pick him up. Pieces of ration bread clung to the skin around his mouth, a few crumbs falling to the floor of your little homestead before you could wipe them away. You would have to clean later.

“Guess my little stories aren’t as exciting as the adventures you’ve been on, huh? I can’t imagine all the places you and your Mando have gone.”

With eyelids heavy, the Child only chirped once in reply. You strode over to the piecemeal couch you had found and placed against the far wall. Mismatched tones of red cushions swallowed you as you sat down. Your body sank into the fabric, held you as softly as you held the Child in your arms. Every aching bone and muscles sighed in relief as you wedged yourself in the couch, snug between the cushions and the armrest.

In the distance, somewhere in the city’s nightlife, a creature howled. Though, not even an explosion or the opening of a clanky door could distract you from the Child. Except for yourself. Except for the doubts and thoughts and insecurities that swirled about your head. Your brain felt like a dusted engine, ready to burst under the pressure. Finally, it did.

“If I were fitter, quicker to the draw….” you laughed at yourself bitterly. “No, if I were better, overall, I would have gone with you and him. If I weren’t scared, in my head, I might have too...I’m just-”

The Child chittered softly, in tune with the rise and fall of his little chest. For a moment you waited for him to make another sound, say his piece. Then, the same chittering, the same long breath. He was asleep and you were alone with your thoughts again. 

“I’m just not who I should be,” you finished.

A sigh fell from your lips as you shifted to set the Child down. Like you, he sank into the cushions but he wiggled his way deeper. You wished you could sleep as soundly. As you moved to your feet, you caught the telltale clanking of your metal door closing.

With a lurch in your heart and stomach, you spun around on your heels, frightened but ready to attack the intruder. Afterall, the Imps were still after the Child. But it was not a platoon of sneaking Stormtroopers or officers clad in black that greeted you. It was your Mando, Din.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just you. You scared the starlight out of me!” You kept your voice to a louder whisper, as to not wake the Child. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“Neither was I,” Din admitted, taking a few steps towards you so he too could lower his voice. “The outpost wasn’t as abandoned as Karga said.”

You raised your brows at him. “But it’s…”

“They’re gone, for now. As long as he,” he tipped his helmeted head towards the Child, “and I stay here. It’s not safe, for anyone.”

“Are you two ever safe?” You ask, a joking, bittersweet twinge to your words. When they had left, leaving you on Nevarro with Cara and Karga, you don’t think you ever stopped worrying about Din and the Child. Or wondering about what your life would have been like if you had gone with them. A glance at the Child sent you back to those daydreams; instinctively, you smiled.

“No,” Din answered seriously, “and that’s why I never asked if you wanted to join us.” You turned your eyes from the Child back to Din. Dark and unyielding, the visor of his helmet was trained on you. “Not because...you’re capable, Y/N. You’re…”

“You don’t have to say anything. I understand why.” You raised a hand and waved him off. “You better get going anyway.”

In an attempt to escape the white-hot embarrassment that had begun to crawl up your neck, you started towards your kitchen. How could you have been so unaware and let him hear you? Why were you even talking to the Child like that? Why did you have to be so-

As you passed Din, his hand caught your upper arm. It was a harsh grab. It was more like you were a floating piece in a hologram puzzle and the user finally put you in place; right where you belonged. Warmth spread to every far reach to your limbs, every track of skin. Overwhelmed by the heat, you looked up and out towards Din once more. 

“You’re exactly who you should be: brave, when it counts, and kind. I wish I knew more people like you, but you’re enough for me.”

Tears stung behind your eyes, begging to be shed. You were frozen now but warm still; a sort of puddle captured in the freezing grip of words you didn’t know you wanted, needed to hear. When you muscles finally thawed, you didn’t say a word. Instead, you leaned into Din’s touch and he, much to your surprised, opened his arms for you.

Beskar was cold against your skin, seeped through the fabric of your clothes. A stark contrast to the flames of want and affection that engulfed you. Din’s hand dropped from your arm and wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His other arm moved so that his left hand cradled your head, held it to his chest.

In that moment, your thoughts scattered, succumbed to the heat captured between your body and Din’s. For the first time, there was no smoke in your head that tarnished everything you did, said, or felt. It was only you and Din, together; exactly where you should be.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

(submission) The Undertow

(tws for temporary death, drowning, and separation)

    The tide washes out.

    False opens her eyes to a brand-new world, filled with life and color. Around her, a coral reef stretches as far as she can see. Fish dart between the branches of the reef and through the pitted rocks underfoot.

    What’s odd, though, is that she’s stuck.

    Something, she thinks, is very wrong. She glances down at her body, which is wrapped in the rough branches of some sort of calciferous red growth, and as much as she struggles, she can’t move, the surface rubbing against her skin.

    Behind her, she hears a frenzied splashing. She can’t turn around all the way, so she shouts to whatever’s behind her.

    “Get away from me!” she yells. If it’s a drowned, maybe she can scare it away. If it’s something worse...well. She wasn’t expecting a death this early in the season, but it had to happen at some point.

    Luckily, it’s just a human that calls back. 

    “False? Where are we?” asks Stress, her distinctive voice putting False back at ease. What passes for ease when you’re stuck in a coral reef, anyways.

    “I...don’t know,” False says, enunciating each syllable with careful precision, considering the options. “This is glitched, I suppose.”

    False can almost see Stress’s face brighten. “Oh, shame. Well, our dear admin will have it fixed in no time, then.”

    “Yeah, I’ll send him a message. Maybe he can teleport us out real quick.” She sighs. “We’re going to have to restart the world, probably. That’s annoying.” Taking out her communicator, which is only slightly waterlogged, she swipes it open and types out a quick chat to Xisuma. 

<FalseSymmetry> o/ 

<FalseSymmetry> x we’re stuck in coral. tp please?

    The two women wait. Five minutes.

    “Might as well start trying to get out of here!” Stress says, her voice a note cheerier than usual. It’s forced.

    False snaps out of her thoughts. “Sure.” She takes her fist and slams it down on their colorful prison. “Oof, that hurt,” she says, peering down at the spot where it made contact. “And barely a dent!”

    “Guess we better get working, then,” replies Stress, who’s trying her best not to sound too downhearted.

    They do. It’s not going great when Stress notices a bit of a change in their environment. “Falsie...do you think it’s possible the water might be getting the teensiest bit higher?”

    False nods grimly. “Yep.”

    Stress grimaces. “Oh boy. And Xisuma still hasn’t replied?”

    “Nope.”

    “Ah.”

    A moment passes in a nervous silence while the duo continue to chip away at the coral.

    “You don’t think he’s ignoring us, do you?” Stress says, a small quaver creeping its way into her quiet words.

    “Of course not. He’s probably just...busy.” False stops and cocks her head. “You know. I bet if our spawn is glitched, other peoples’ might be as well.”

    “That makes sense, I suppose.”

    A small wave washes over them. When they reemerge, coughing from the salty water, they find that Stress can no longer keep her chest above the ocean.

    “This isn’t going to be a pleasant way to die, is it?” asks Stress, hands bleeding from the abrasive reef. 

    False shakes her head. “No. It isn’t.”

        The ocean is not a kind place. It never pretended to be. The two Hermits just happened to be in its way, and that was not the ocean’s fault. 

    The tide rolls in, just as False’s hand finds Stress’s.

    The tide washes out.

    Their newly-respawned heads break the surface of the water, gasping for air. This time, they’re face-to-face, and the coral is yellow. False wonders if it’s slightly softer than the previous kind, or if she’s just imagining it. Either way. Small blessings.

     Their eyes meet, and they pick up where they left off, only a touch sore. They don’t talk much this time around, except for Stress’s question about the message to Xisuma. And yes, False double-checked it was to the right person. She sends it again in the main chat.

 <FalseSymmetry> anyone there lol?

    Silence. On all fronts. Stress is making good progress on this new coral, until they both have to stop to fight an inquisitive drowned. Not an easy feat, but they manage, though the duo lose more hearts than False would like.

    Stress manages to get a leg free and starts kicking with renewed vigor, until she’s finally out. The water is lapping at their mouths now, as Stress frantically tugs at False’s cage.

    “C’mon,” Stress mutters. “We’re almost there…”

    A wave knocks them both underwater, and by the time Stress resurfaces, further away from False, the blond Hermit is completely submerged. 

    Stress thinks that she has never swum faster in her life as she races toward False, hoping against hope that there’s somehow still time to save her.

    She dives down to False, who is wriggling around frantically. She tugs against the coral, but she knows it’s too late. False lets out a scream, bubbles escaping to the surface, but points to Stress’s left. She’s confused, but she looks anyways--and the trident from the dead drowned is sitting placidly on a piece of sponge, unseen by both of them until now.

    Stress pushes off the battered coral, so close to breaking, but too far, all at the same time. She scoops up the trident and swims back to False, who’s starting to slow, eyes rolling up in the back of her head. With a mighty swipe, she clears the rest of the prison, and drags the unconscious False to the shore.

    Stress retches, the ocean coming out of her lungs in short bursts as she collapses on the warm sand. Next to her, False lies prone. She doesn’t know what to do. Should she put her on her side? Wait, isn’t that for drunk people?

    Hopefully, False will sort it out on her own. Hopefully. In the meantime, Stress realizes that the sun is setting. She needs to get them in a shelter, ASAP. There’s no time for even wood--she just digs out a small hole in a nearby hillside, and, breathing heavily, brings False’s body into it. It just barely fits both of them, but she’s grateful to have it.

    Stress can’t even think about dying again, if it means having to get out of that ocean. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to; False stirs to wakefulness sometime in the middle of the night, greeted with a motley chorus of zombie groans and drowned gurgles, plus a few others that neither of them want to try to name.

    They huddle together in the small chamber, wet dirt and cold stone stealing precious body heat. When morning comes, they stay there for a little while. Neither one wants to be the first one out, but eventually False stands up, the joints in her spine cracking like fireworks. She peeks her head out, but there seems to be no imminent danger at the moment, so she cautiously ventures onto the beach from their escape. A spider lies perched in a small tree nearby, but she leaves it be. As she looks out over the glimmering water, alight with the sun’s first rays, she sees the broken branches of the coral that trapped her and Stress, waves gently carrying away the scattered shards. She watches them for a second, and as she does, the tide washes out.

    The tide rolls in.

    They’re so careful. Neither one of them wants to go back to the awful enclosure of stony coral and risk having to repeat the experience. Monsters are run away from, shelters are dotted around the map like flowers, and their armor has never been more prized. The duo have awful luck mining, though. They barely get enough for decent gear, but Stress reminds False that they’re lucky. Judging by the death messages that scroll through the chat like clockwork, not everyone has been as fortunate as them. And at least they have each other.

    Or they did, before Stress falls into a soft bed of bone-chilling powder snow, along with a few creeper friends.

    False doesn’t ever want to see that same look on Stress’s face ever again. It’s imprinted into her mind now, a mix of surprise and awful resignation.

    She types out a frantic message on her communicator. It doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked for weeks now. She knows it doesn’t work, and Stress does as well. But it doesn’t stop her from imagining where her only companion is right now, sending her chat after chat, begging her to come help her escape from the watery grave.

    False considers respawning. Back where Stress is. She could help her then.

    False would consider herself a practical person at heart, but she has never before been in a situation like this. Hermitcraft has never had a situation like this. She considers her options, falling back against the rough trunk of an oak tree, leaves raining down on her impassive face.

<StressMonster101> drowned.

    She’s taking too much time. There’s no more room for error. Only action. Rustling through her pack, stuffed to the brim now with the remains of Stress’s inventory, she realizes that she has to find a way to get these items back to Stress. If she manages to escape on her own, they can meet up halfway there, and if she doesn’t, then False will have her work cut out for her. 

    It’s a backtrack of nearly two weeks. False does it in four days, not stopping to rest. She wishes desperately for a saddle, but when she happens upon a meadow full of horses, she grabs the nearest one, swinging herself upward onto the back of a very unwilling participant. False doesn’t care. The horse accustoms itself to her surprisingly quickly, and though False’s legs ache from the non-stop bareback ride, she knows she’ll get to Stress sooner with it. Turns out, golden apples can make a horse go through the night.

    She names the horse Salvation. Sal, for short.

    The journey gives her brain too much time to think, so she doesn’t, just hangs on to the death messages in the chat. It’s gruesome, but they reassure her that Stress is even still in this horrible world. 

    Sometimes, there’ll be a lull in the terrible rhythm, but those never last for long.

    During a quick break, she gets bored and puts a braid in Sal’s mane, then uses a few of the nearby flowers to decorate it. She doesn’t realize until she re-mounts him that they’re alliums.

    The tide washes out.

    When False finally arrives at their old beach, she nearly cries in relief. Instead, she screams out Stress’s name as she jumps off of Sal’s back. Stumbling into the waves, she repeats her cry, voice already starting to go hoarse.

    “Stress! I’m here!” False shouts. “Stress!”

    She’s up to her neck now and there’s no sign of her. Maybe she made it out. Maybe False would believe that if she hadn’t just seen her death message on her communicator.

    False treads water, weaving between the elaborate natural structures that make up the reef. She’s almost about to give up when she hears a weak cough, and rounds the corner to find an emaciated Stress, hanging from the coral wrapping her body like an exoskeleton.

    “Stress, Stress, I’m here,” says False, wrapping her arms around the other Hermit’s body as tears start to stream down her face. “Oh my g-d. We need to get you out of here.”

    Stress looks up at her, the first sign of movement she’s shown since False laid eyes on the woman. “You came for me,” she whispers. “You really came.” Her eyes flutter shut.

   The tide rolls in.

    Stress wakes to a gently crying False, who’s sitting beside her on the beach. Attempting a smile, she nudges the other Hermit. “Doing alright?”

    False smiles at her. “Never better.”

    She lets out a whistle. “Ok, so, correct me if I’m wrong, but you managed to get here quite quickly, if you came all the way from where I left?”

    “Sure did.”

    “How?”

    “Well, meet Sal,” False says, pointing towards the forest behind them. “He was a big help.”

    Stress squeals, and she thinks she can almost feel her eyes getting bigger. “Are those flowers?” She hobbles over to the horse, latching onto his neck. “I love him!” 

    False laughs, and Stress thinks she’s never been gladder to hear someone do so.

    “But seriously, though.” False pauses for a second. “I think he’s going to be pretty important if we’re heading towards spawn.”

    Stress nods. “Yeah, I think that’s a good plan. Bound to be a bigger concentration of Hermits there, right?”

    “Exactly. Listen, this time we’re going to be super careful about beds. I’ll make sure we upgrade our armor as much as possible. I’ll do better--”

    Stress puts a finger up to False’s lips, startling her into silence. “Nope. You did the best you absolutely could. I will have absolutely no self-blaming on this road trip.”

    “Road trip?” False asks, nose crinkling.

    “Absolutely.” Stress responds. “This is Hermitcraft! We’re here to have fun and make friends. And I see only one direction for that.”

    “To spawn, then!” False laughs, mounting Sal and hauling Stress up after her. 

    “To spawn!”

    The ocean watches the two ride off with mild interest. They’ll be back, after all. Sooner or later, they’ll always be back. No one can leave for long. But for now, it has other...friends to take care of, and the tide, as always, washes out.

[mrs-takami-keigo]

Summer Nights

For my second piece of work for the BNHArem collaboration I give you Summer Nights. Honestly this was so much fun to write. The theme was Summer, and summer to me means vacation and romance! You can find all the summer goodness with BNHA by other amazing and talented Authors here! 

Pairing: Shouto x Fem!Reader

Description: You’ve always watched summer romances in movies and read them in books, but you never thought it in a million years it could happen to you. 

Rating:SFW

Word count:6.0K

“Look! It’s the beach!” Ochaco beamed as she pulled on Tsui’s arm dragging her across the white sand. Soon Mina, Hagakure and Jiro followed behind them, giggling once the cool clear waters of the sea touched their feet.

‘Even at twenty-one they can’t control themselves.��

Shouto stepped out of the van putting on his black Ray Bans sunglasses, the summer sun beat down on the exposed skin his white v-neck didn't cover. Even with his dark sunglasses on, he could tell the hawaiian sky was a picturesque light blue. Vast beaches full of travelers and locals alike. The air was fresh and crisp with the smell of local restaurants mixing it to it. Tall palm trees rustling in the breeze, Shouto was sure he had never felt so calm in his life.

“Hey we should stay as a group to check in!!” Iida started after the group when Momo stepped in, placing her small hand on his shoulder.

“Oh let them have their fun. We’ve all been so busy these past three years with hero work, we deserve this vacation.” With a defeated sigh and mumbles of how irresponsible people could be, their old class rep turned around making his way to the entrance of the hotel.

“Okay boys! Me and Iida are going to go check in. Can you help unload the van and meet us inside!” Momo waved her hand as she passed the group of hotel staff, their mouth’s were slightly hung open admiring her stunning beauty.

“Man, why do the girls get to have fun and we gotta do the work? I thought this was a vacation?” shaking his head at his lightning powered friend's whine, Shouto reached into the back of the van to pick up his hard black suitcase.

“Shut up and just grab a damn bag, dumbass!” Bakugou snatched up his own suitcases before shoving past everyone stomping his way into the hotel. Shouto and the rest of the group followed behind the hot tempered blonde. The sliding glass doors opened for the group  where they were greeted by hotel staff members who had genuine smiles gracing their features.

A woman walked up to Shouto,”Aloha, welcome to honolulu.” She reached up and placed a lei with beautiful purple and white orchids around his neck. Giving her a soft smile in return Shouto continued his journey into the massive hotel lobby.

Shouto had stopped in the middle of the semi-busy area, lifting his sunglasses to sit on top of his head pushing his hair back, so he could admire every detail of the building. The only word he could come up with was glamorous. The lobby had white and grey marble flooring, tall white pillars with intricate flower designs lined in gold wrapped around the cylinders holding up the extravagant ceiling. Gold moldings lined the high ceiling and a giant crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room. Seeing as how it was summer people were all over, be it at the check-in/out desks, the concierge or even sitting on the wine colored couches and chairs that were placed strategically in the lobby.

“Wait, watch where you’re go-” Before he could react, Shouto felt someone bump into his back, forcing him to rock forward, sunglasses clattering to the floor. Looking over his right shoulder he caught a glimpse of your soft hair on top of your head before he felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. Feeling like everything turned into slow motion, you lifted your head, Shouto’s eyes widened.

‘Beautiful.’

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Your voice sounded like a sweet medley that calmed Shouto’s heart. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No I’m fine, a-are you okay?” He turned his body so he could face you, now he was able to take in all of your beauty. What you wore was so simple but you made it look stunning. A white tank top with the word bridesmaid in black lettering, a pair of blue denim bermuda shorts and black platform sandals, that's all you had on but still managed to take his breath away. You went to pick up the sunglasses that fell when you bumped into him, that’s when he noticed one multi-colored and one pink and purple crystal bracelet on your wrist.

You reached out your hand offering his glasses back. “Yeah I’m fine!” Shouto slowly took his glasses back from you. “But um next time maybe don’t stop in the middle of the entrance, it’s a little dangerous.” Shouto swore he felt his heart stop when you smiled at him.

“Hey! Come on, everyone is waiting for you!” Both you and Shouto looked over at your group of friends, all of them wearing the same top as you except one, calling over to you.

“Looks like I gotta run, don't wanna upset the bride. Oh and sorry again.” You sent him one last smile before running towards your friends. Shouto watched as your friends kept making glances at him before you turned to look back at him. A smile graced your lips as you sent him a small wave of your hand. One of your friend’s, the bride he assumed because of her shirt, leaned over and whispered something in your ear. Her action caused you to have a shocked expression before turning away from him quickly. Shouto let out a small chuckle, wondering what your friends could have possibly said to have made you so flustered.

“Hey, did you forget something Todoroki?” Deku’s voice brought him back to reality. “Why are you just standing here?”

“It was nothing Midoriya, just looking at the interior.” Looking at his close friend he let a small smile pass his lips. “Let’s go join the others shall we?”

Making his way back to his group, Shouto passed one more look over his shoulder only to see you were already gone.

‘Who is she?’

It wasn’t till that next night at the luau did Shouto see you again. You and your group walked past his table, his observant eyes catching every smile you passed to your friends as you found your seats. The way your royal blue floral sundress that came down right below your knees blew in the night breeze. You had your hair tied up in a ponytail, a beautiful Hawaiian hibiscus was placed on the base of the ponytail. Shouto tried to make it not apparent that he was watching you but couldn’t help himself, the more he looked at you the more he noticed. 

The tables for the luau were long wooden picnic tables enough for your group and his to fit together. Finally picking a spot on the bench, he had a perfect view of you, on the other side of the table slightly to the left closer to the stage.

“Those girls down there are beauties aren’t they?” Denki slung his arm over Shouto’s shoulders, taking a sip of his soda, Denki saw that Shouto had never stopped looking at you. Clearing his throat Denki decided to speak louder. 

“Isn't that the girl you were talking about last night? The one that bumped into you and you said smelled like a beautiful garden of roses, daffodil’s, peony and a hint of dahlia?” Shouto tore his eyes away from you to glare at his so called friend, ready to freeze or burn that big mouth of his off, just wasn’t sure which.

You heard the blonde as he spoke to the man you ran into the day before. Watching as the embarrassed male slammed a hand over his blonde friend's mouth and saying something through his teeth, making the others eyes widen. You couldn't help but chuckle at the dynamic of the two, the blonde looked like he was a puppy that had just gotten scolded.

The sound of your chuckle caught Shouto’s attention, he looked at you with a horrified expression. He realized that you heard what Denki said, meaning you know what he said about you. A light blush formed on his cheeks before he turned his gaze down to his drink, playing with the little umbrella it had in it.

“I think he likes you.” Your friend nudged you in the ribs with her elbow a smirk formed on her lips.

“I don’t know. I only bumped into him and said less than ten words to him.” You kept your gaze on him. He kept fidgeting with that paper umbrella trying to look at anything but you. “Maybe he’s just embarrassed cause I told him it wasn't smart to just stop like that.” Those pesky butterflies were still in your stomach from when you first made eye contact with him. His face looked like it was sculpted by angel’s themselves. Then his eyes, god those eyes, you felt like if you had looked at them any longer you’d turn into a blubbering mess.

“Well I found out from some of the staff here that he and his whole group are actually pro-Heroes from japan. It’s kind of like a summer vacation/reunion for them.”

“Even on vacation your journalistic self can’t help but find out the latest scoop huh?” You stuffed a freshly baked roll in her mouth, earning a light slap on your shoulder.

You heard the start of drums starting to pound in a rhythmic beat signaling that the show was starting. You paid attention to the performance of the hula dancers as they told stories with their fluid movements, it was beautiful. The night carried on with more performances, food and fun moments between the performers and the audience. The show soon came to a close, leaving you wanting more. But ever so often you felt the gaze of a certain hero, your heart racing every time you felt it.

“Wasn’t that awesome?” Your friend had her arm intertwined with yours as you walked the torch lit pathway back to the small villas. You could only hum in agreement, not really paying attention to what she had been talking about. For some reason your mind was still jumping back to the red and white haired man. There was about him, something that made you want to know more about him.

Not watching where you were going you bumped shoulders with a woman who was passing you causing the room key that was tucked into your pocket to fall out. With a quick apology to the women you resumed your walk down the path never realizing the key fell out of your pocket.

“Excuse me!” You heard a man shout from behind you, making you and your friend stop. “I think you dropped this.” Turning around you saw the man that haunted your thoughts jog up to you holding the room key that had fallen. Stuffing your hand in your pockets where that key should be you had finally realized it had fallen. He was soon in front of you the key was being held in between his thumb and pointer finger, holding it out for you.

“I’ll meet you back at the villa.” Your friend sent you a sly smile wiggling her eyebrows as she pushed you a little forward towards the awaiting man.

“Oh um thank you. I can be such a clutz sometimes.” Reaching out a hand, your fingertips brushed against his, gently taking the plastic object back. It may sound cliche but you were sure there was a small rush of electricity that ran through you with just that slight contact.

“It was no problem.” He rubbed the back of his neck once the key was back in your hand. Now it was your turn to look at him like he did you. He was a decently taller than you by a few inches, his red and white hair framed showing off the impeccable structure of his face. The scar on his left side didn’t hinder his beauty in any way. His sharp eyes were just as mesmerizing as they were the other day. The white and turquoise striped short sleeved button down outlined his broad shoulders, the first few buttons open showing off the silver necklaces he wore. Black khaki shorts that seemed to go perfectly on his long legs, and black leather boat shoes. All in all he looked like the perfect man to you.

“What’s your name?” You're not sure what came over you ask that. You could have just walked away after saying thank you but for some reason you couldn’t.

“Shouto Todoroki. And yours?” You told him, only to have him repeat it back. The sound of your name rolling off his lips set your heart racing. “It’s a beautiful name.” Silence fell between you two. “This may sound a little forward but would you like to take a walk on the beach with me?” You can tell he was hesitant to ask you, but that only made you smile.

“I would like that Shouto.” He smiled back at you as he moved to the side so you could start walking back towards the beach. The walk for the most part was in silence, just the gentle sound of the summer’s night breeze dancing through the palm trees.

“So, I hear you’re a pro-hero in japan.” You decided to break the ice, hoping to get to know him better. “What’s that like?” By the time you decide to speak you two had made it to the end of the concrete pathway where the sand from the  beach started. Stopping you bent down to take off your wedges, not wanting to walk in the sand with them. Looking next to you, you noticed Shouto doing the same. Once he got his own shoes off you both picked up the shoes and made your way down the beach.

“How did you find that out?”

“I have my sources.” You shrugged flashing a playful grin at the man accompanying you.

Shouto chuckled at your response. You could feel those butterflies fluttering again. “It’s hard work, but worth it. To be able to protect people is the main reason why I wanted to become a hero.” His voice was a little gruff at times but calming at the same time. “What do you do, are you a Pro as well?”

You had reached the shore, the sounds of crashing waves roared across the empty beach. The full moon high in the sky reflecting beautifully off the dark sea as if it were the moon's personal mirror. “No, unfortunately.” A wave crashed, making its way up the sand, the water tickling the tips of your toes. “I was born without a quirk.”

You turned your head to Shouto, his face showing expressions of being apologetic and of sheer panic, you were used to it by now. “But it doesn’t bother me. I may not have a quirk but I still have powers.” You wiggled your fingers like a witch would do in the cartoons you would watch on TV when you were younger.

Shouto tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I have the power to let couples have their dream weddings.” You let out a laugh as the confusion became more apparent. “I’m a wedding planner. I may not be a well known one but one day I will be. That way I can do my part for people, it may not be as impactful as what you do but it’s still something.”

“I think that’s an amazing power you have. To be able to help people with their dreams isn’t a small feat. It's something very admirable actually.” The smile that graced his face was nothing short of breath taking. It was almost contagious how his smile made your own wider.

There was a silence that fell between you two again, but you were comfortable around him. Just what was it about him that made you feel like this around a stranger? Was it because he was a hero or was there something else to him? Something deeper? You wanted to find out.

“Can I ask you a question? And I’m sorry if it’s out of line but how did you get that scar?” You had turned to face him, stepping closer you got a better look at the imperfection on his skin.

“Oh this,” he raised his palm to it gently grazing the scar with his finger tips. “My mother poured boiling water on my left side because it reminded her of my father.”

An audible gasp left your lips as you stepped closer to him. Not sure what came over you but you raised your hand to cover his. “I’m so sorry, Shouto. I shouldn’t have asked.”

His body froze. You were so close to him, your scent encased him, pulling him further into your mysterious spell. What have you done to him, he felt like his heart was about to explode whenever you simply looked at him. But to have you this close and touching his hand he was sure he had seen the heavens open, and you were the angel greeting him.

He leaned slightly into your hand. “It’s fine, it happened so long ago. It’s a part of how I became the man I am today.” Taking your hand in his, he walked you both over to a set of lounge chairs. 

He then explained his childhood to you. What his power is, who his father was, how Deku helped him make his fire his own, everything. As he told his story you felt water gather in your eyes. He had been through so much, and yet he was this kind, confident and all around beautiful man.

Shouto honestly couldn't explain why he opened up to you the way he did. It took his classmates, his closest friends, much longer to get this deep with him. You made him feel like he could open himself up, that he didn’t need to be ashamed of his past.

You two went well into the night, sharing stories of your past and dreams about your futures. It wasn’t until you saw the sky start to turn lighter did you realize that it was almost six in the morning. You’ve spent more than seven hours with a man you had just met. Shouto offered to walk you to your villa that you shared with your friends, in which you gladly accepted.

Shouto walked down the same path from before, glancing to his right to look at you. The blush of dawn illuminated your skin, shining brightly through your tresses. That serene smile on your lips made his heart do backflips. He was so caught up in watching you he didn’t realize that you were both standing in front of the villa.

“This is me.” You moved to stand on the stoop in front of the door, making you eye level with Shouto. “I really enjoyed tonight Shouto.”

“So did I.” His voice was soft like he didn't want to speak too loud in case it broke the spell you had on him.

“Well, I guess I’ll just see you around the hotel.” You gave him a short wave as you turned to open the door.

“Wait.” You were stopped by Shouto’s hand as he got a hold of yours. Looking down at your connected hands you felt like your body was on fire. “May I see you again?”

Raising your eyes from your hands, you met his gaze. He had a slight blush forming on his cheeks, his eyes searching yours for an answer. You couldn’t help it, no matter what he did you always felt a sense of happiness around him.

“I would really like that.” You watched as relief washed over him, his shoulders visibly relaxing, his brilliant smile came back.

“Tonight at nine, can you meet me at the beach again. If you’re not busy that is.”

“I think I can fit you in my schedule.” with hands still connected, Shouto raised your hand to his lips. Placing a gentle kiss in the back of it.

“Then I’ll see you tonight.” He released your hand, taking a few steps backwards, his eyes never leaving yours.

Turning around you unlocked the door, opening it. Stepping through the door you closed it and pressed your back against the wood. Taking the hand he held on to, you placed it above your racing heart.

“Shouto Todoroki , what have you done to me?” Still feeling like you were on cloud nine you made your way to your room, hoping to get some sleep before your friends decided to go sightseeing.

Over the next five days of your vacation, you met up with Shouto every night at nine on the beach. Tonight was no different. This was what you looked forward to each and every day, to see Shouto, to hear the stories of his days in highschool with his friends, to spend all hours of the night with him just talking.

Walking to the beach you noticed Shouto was already there. His dark jeans rolled up his calves as he stood in the water, face turned up to the sky. You could feel the air in your lungs be sucked out. The way the moonlight was reflecting off his porcelain skin, made him look like an unearthly being, highlighting the sharp features of his face. Silky strands of his two-toned hair flies in the wind, a smile plays on his lips. He was perfect.

Rolling up your jeans, you walked into the water to stand next to him. “It’s a beautiful night isn't it?” The cold water rolled over your feet coming up over your ankles. It was one of the chilliest nights you’ve had all summer. Thinking maybe you should have brought a light jacket with you, you rubbed your exposed arms trying to generate heat.

“It is, now that you’re here.” You could feel the heat in your cheeks start to rise. One thing you learned about Shouto over these nights was that he wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Are you cold?” Shouto started to come closer to you, wrapping his left arm around your shoulders, his body touching yours. It was then you realized he was using his fire side to keep you warm.

“Thank you, Shouto.” His quirk had amazed you when he told you what it was. On the third night he had done a small demonstration, showing you how it works. You could still remember the excitement in his eyes when he made you a small ice figurine of the flower you had in your hair that first night.

Suddenly you thought back to what your friend asked ‘So what are you gonna do once we have to go back to reality?’. You only had two more nights to spend with Shouto, two more nights to live in this fantasy. What were you going to do, you didn’t live in japan and he did. You were just a wedding planner and he was a hero, you lived in two entirely different worlds.

“Hey Shouto, I wanted to give you something.” You broke apart from him, already missing the warmth he gave you, you faced him. “Remember when you asked me about my bracelets?” he nodded his head, watching as you reached in your back pocket. You pulled out a crystal bracelet much like your own, only this one had black and a light brown small round stones on it.

“I got you one, this is a protection bracelet.” You took hold of his wrist, sliding the elastic object over his large slightly calloused hand. “It’s made from black obsidian which is known as a grounding and protective stone and tiger eye; it's going to help bring you balance and help you release fear and anxiety, aiding you in making unclouded judgments and understanding. I thought that you could use this seeing as how you have a tough and dangerous job.” You played with the little polished stones now on his wrists. You wanted to give him something to remember these summer nights with you, because you knew this is all it would ever be, summer nights and a summer romance.

“I feel bad, I didn’t get you anything.” He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, letting his hand slide down to the ends playing with it between his fingers.

“You don’t have to, the memories of these past few nights are all I need.” his eyes stared into your own, like they were trying to say something to you but you couldn't figure it out.

You gasped as Shouto pulled you into a tight hug. His hand stroking the back of your head, long fingers running through your hair. “Sometimes memories aren't enough. Tomorrow night I promise, I’ll give you something you can always remember me by.”

That night you spent it like all the other nights, only difference was Shouto had held you for the better part of the whole night. Soon it was time to say goodnight, like every night. Once you closed your door Shouto headed back to the villa he shared with his friends, he looked at his wrist staring at the bracelet. He had to get you something just as meaningful in the morning. Letting out a sigh he looked back up at the star lit sky, tomorrow night he was going to ask you if you wanted to continue this romance once the vacation ended.

You had butterflies in your stomach all day long. Something about what Shouto said last night had you on your toes. Deciding you were going to dress up tonight you put on a black and daisy printed spaghetti strapped dress that came up to right above your knees. You made sure to spray your signature perfume, knowing that Shouto liked the smell of it just as much as you did. After talking with your friends about it, maybe it wasn't so bad to carry on with this romance after leaving Hawaii. So many people you know and even couples you planned weddings for had done the whole long distance thing. ‘This could work!’ You smiled as you picked up pace making your way to the beach.

Once you reached the beach you noticed Shouto wasn't there yet. It wasn’t like him to not be here before you. Shrugging it off you made your way to the lounge chairs you and Shouto declared as your spot. Pulling out your phone you decided to play a game or check your social media sites while you waited for him.

Five minutes turned into thirty, thirty turned into an hour and before you knew it you wanted on that beach for almost an hour and a half. You felt silly for never getting Shouto’s number, what if something happened to him and his friends. You were about to get up and make your way to the front desk to ask them to call his villa for you when you saw a hotel staff member run towards you.

“Excuse me are you,” He said your name, before handing you a beautifully wrapped box and a letter. “Mr.Todoroki asked me to give that to you.” without another word the man turned around and left.

Sitting back down you placed the box on your lap as you opened the letter.

‘To my Flower,

 I’m so sorry to have left without a word but something came up back in japan and they needed all of us to come back immediately. These past few days seemed like a fantasy for me, YOU were like a fantasy for me. I was afraid that one day I would open my eyes and you would be gone, that you were only someone I imagined. You are a woman who must be too wonderful, too beautiful, too great to be true, it's odd to think that a man like me could catch your eye and possibly your heart.  

I was going to use tonight to ask you if this could turn into something more than just a past memory, if this can become our reality. If you want to become MY reality. Inside the box is something you could cherish forever and my contact information. Hope to hear from you soon, my flower.

-Shouto

Folding the letter back up and placing it against your stomach, you switched your attention to the small box. The wrapping paper was a beautiful lilac and gold metallic marble pattern, with a mesh white ribbon wrapped around it, a perfect bow on top. You almost didn't want to open it, it was so beautiful.

Pulling the ribbon you gently untied it from around the box before pulling at the paper. The gift had a little weight to it, your mind wandered trying to come up with what could possibly be in there. Once you got rid of the paper, you were left with a small dark blue velvet box. Slowly you opened the lid. You nearly dropped it as a gasp passed your lips, hands shaking, water gathering in the corner of your eyes.

Inside was a Hawaiian Hibiscus hair pin made out of red sapphires, he remembered your favorite flower. You had mentioned it to him the first night and it was never brought up again. You ran your fingertips over the stunning stones, taking it out of its case you clipped it to the side of your hair. With it securely in place you looked back at the box hopping to find a small card with his phone number.

Confusion struck as you noticed there wasn't a card in the box, tilting your head you turned the object over shaking it hoping something was going to magically fall out. But nothing, going back to the letter you re-read the last line over again just to make sure you did read it right. Grabbing the envelope you ripped it open but once again, nothing.

Shouto forgot to leave his number for you, you had no way of contacting him. Was this fate's way of telling you this wouldn't have worked?  Did fate save you from an impending heartbreak? You looked up to the stars as tears started to flow from your eyes. You and Shouto were never meant to walk down this path together, at least not in reality. Now you only had these summer nights to remember the man that set your heart on fire. With tears streaming down your face you held the letter to your heart.

“I’ll cherish these memories forever, Shouto.”

It’s been five years to the day and you haunted Shouto’s memories. Those nights were still fresh in his head, if he closed his eyes he could still feel that soft breeze on the beach, your scent wafting around him. The way your smile was somehow brighter than the sun, your laugh was like a lullaby in his head, he could remember it all. When he landed back home he had expected you to have sent him a text message but nothing, even days, weeks, months later there was nothing. He was devastated, he truly wanted to believe that you had felt for him the way he felt for you but he was mistaken.

“You're still thinking about that girl icy hot?” The sound of Bakugou’s rough voice brought him out of his reverie. He had been put on patrol with his old classmate, there was a big convention going on in town so they were put on duty to make sure nothing happens in the surrounding area.

“No I’m not.” Shouto continued to walk alongside his friend, as his hand played with the bracelet on his wrist.

“Tch don’t lie, every time the summer comes your head gets further in the clouds. It’s been five years man, let it go.”

He’s tried so many times but couldn’t, you were all he could think of. He tried looking for you but didn’t know where, he racked his brain thinking back to the conversations but you never said where you lived now. He was hoping that one day your paths would cross like they did in Hawaii on that beautiful summer day, and just hope he wasn't too late.

“Come in Ground Zero and Shouto!” The heroes could hear the dispatcher call for them in the hidden earpiece they had.

“Shouto and Ground Zero here, what’s going on?”

“Looks like some criminals decided to show up at the convention center. Other heroes are on their way but you two are the closest!” Looking at Bakugou, Shouto watched as he blasted himself in the air going towards the center.

“Time to get your head out of the past icy hot and focus on the present!!” Shouto was never one to take advice from the hot tempered hero, but maybe this time he would.

They arrived at the scene to see people running and screaming out of the convention center. police officers and EMT’s trying to get people to safety and taking those who were injured “Bakugou, you get the attention of the criminals, keep them busy until backup arrives, I’ll go in and try to evacuate as many people as I can.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” He took off into the building, one thing over the years hasn't changed and that was Bakugou’s anger.

Running to the back of the building Shouto found an entrance that seemed to have not been noticed by the criminals, Shouto figured he'd start the evacuation from the back working his way to the front making sure everyone was safe. Running into rooms, and halls he got out as many as he could making sure the coast was clear for the civilians to run to the exit.

He had gotten everyone out and was about to go aid Bakugou when he heard a woman screaming as she was being held back by the police. “My friend is in there! She’s still in there!” There was sheer panic and desperation in her voice .

“Do you know where she is?” Shouto was slightly out of breath having ran through the entire building.

“She was in the dressing room of the main hall!” Shouto nodded his head at her before running off back into the building. ‘How could I have missed her!’ Gritting his teeth Shouto pushed himself faster, he had to get to her and then go help Bakugou.

“Oi Todoroki where are you?” He could hear Bakugou over the earpiece.

“There is one more civilian in the dressing room, once I get her to safety I’ll head over to help you.”

“Help me?” Shouto heard a loud explosion followed by Bakugou laughing. “Who said I needed your help, just figured you'd want in on the action!”

Shouto was about to respond back when he heard the sound of someone screaming. Using his ice as a booster he slid down the escalators leading him to the main hall where the woman’s friend said she was. Slowing down and stopping right outside the door, Shouto heard the criminal speaking to the woman.

“Just come out and nobody gets hurt!” Shouto used that as his moment to freeze the criminal, surrounding him in ice. “What the-” The criminal tried to break free but couldn’t.

“It’s useless, you can't break my ice.” His voice was low and deadly sending shivers down the criminal’s spine. Shouto walked into the room, tables were flipped glass was broken but the woman’s friend was nowhere to be seen. “Miss, you can come out, it's safe now.” He walked closer to the stand up closet, figuring that’s the first place a person would hide. Shouto put his hand on the small door knob ready to open it when he got a whiff of it.

‘Roses, daffodil’s, peony and a hint of dahlia? It couldn’t be, there's no way’.

Nearly ripping the door off it hinges, Shouto’s eyes widened as he saw you. A mix of black mascara and tears streaming down your face. Your body shaking from fear hands clenched into fists on your side. You opened your eyes, meeting Shouto’s shocked ones. That’s when he saw it, that hair pin he gave you all those years ago, placed on the side of your head.

“Shouto?” Was the last thing you heard yourself say before everything went black.

[darkisrising]

Five Times, by DarkIsRising, pt4

Previous parts can be found all together here on ao3

Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted)

4.

The screaming pull of a child’s need comes through the Force and it’s so loud that Luke immediately shoots up to standing and slams his head into the top paneling of the Millennium Falcon’s internal comport that he’s been working under.

“Fuck, kid, what’d you go and do that for?” Han shouts from somewhere out in the main cabin.

Luke can’t answer; he can only clutch his head as he’s battered about by both his own physical pain and the tendrils of someone else’s metaphysical anguish. It goes on and on, washing over in waves that Luke barely surfaces from before being pulled back under. He might be yelling back, at this point he isn’t sure.

Find me, it calls in no language and every language and it slips beneath his skin, burrowing somewhere deep and undeniable. When it finally fades away he shimmies out of the narrow crawl space to find Han and Chewie staring down at him.

“Do I need to check for a concussion?” Han asks suspiciously and Chewie growls his own concern.

“No, I’m fine,” Luke says, his voice comes out as distant as that cry he can still hear echoing through the void of space. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Go?” Han shouts after him as Luke hurries off the Falcon’s ramp toward where his X-Wing is docked beside it. “Don’t tell me you think you’re gonna be flying anywhere when you’re barely walking straight. Come on, get back here, let me at least give you a ride.”

“Can’t,” Luke shouts back, grateful to see Artoo shooting off the Falcon’s ramp past Chewie to get to Luke’s side. “I gotta do this on my own.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t kriffing know,” Luke shouts back. “But it’s important. I can feel it.”

Whatever Han is muttering to himself doesn’t make it to where Luke is clambering up a ladder to his starfighter’s cockpit, though he’s sure there’s something in there about dank farrik Jedi and their dank farrik feelings.

Which. Fair.

It is, after all, Luke's dank farrik Jedi feelings that are leading them blind through the galaxy. Whenever Artoo tries to whistle for a better set of coordinates Luke has no answer for him.

"Just, forward. That's all I know. Somewhere out there."

They wind up on the planet Tython. Luke has been here before, seeking out answers to the questions that have plagued him about his own existence, but he’s never seen it like this. The gentle hum of the Living Force is scarred where stormtrooper bodies litter the rocky landscape and blaster bolts cut across boulders like tears.

Luke stands among what he can only assume is the wreckage of a ship. The scattered debris is so obliterated it feels wrong to even call it rubble. It's pure destruction, and Luke can't shake this sinking feeling that he knows this ship.

Artoo is curious when Luke picks his way over the fallen troopers back to the X-Wing. Luke can only shake his head.

"I don't know what happened. Whatever it was we're too late."

A mournful hum sounds and Luke pats the droid's domed top affectionately. "Yeah. I know. But I'm not ready to give up yet. I say we keep looking."

The child's call is faint now. Still, it wraps around Luke’s skin—the thinnest of Cyrene silk threads—that he's careful not to snap as he follows its light pull.

Ceding the controls to Artoo, Luke sinks into a deep meditation, surfacing only enough to mutter out directions before falling back into that half-life where everything shines with purpose.

"Almost there," he maybe says, maybe only thinks, as they flash by worlds and stars. The whispers of Jedi past offer him blessings and well wishes, fortifying him with their strength for his mission, as he passes through their plane. "Hang in there, youngling, I'm almost there."

He rouses when his X-Wing’s comm turns on, a woman’s voice says “Incoming craft identify yourself.” He hears it but he can’t reply. The Force is binding to him too tightly. He is barely even conscious of himself as an individual as he dons his black cape and pulls the hood over his head. He is an instrument. A tool. A weapon. He is all of the Jedi before him and he has come to safeguard their future.

There are droids, sleek and deadly, that he barely sees as he cuts past their forces.

He can hear the child now, so close, and he can feel the moment when the child hears him, too.

Finally there’s nothing between them except a pair of cratered doors. When they open he steps in and powers down his glowing green lightsaber.

A Mandalorian in the shiniest beskar Luke has ever seen speaks and his voice is familiar. Luke is too busy to think about that, though, as he casts out a line toward the youngling and waits for a response. In the here and now only the child matters—everything else passes by like sand trickling through his fingers.

“Come, little one,” he says. The child hesitates, looking instead to the Mandalorian, and the space between the two of them ignites with a warmth, a love, that skims the air like the first ray of sunlight across an empty, black ocean.

“He doesn’t want to go with you,” the Mandalorian says and it’s true. He doesn’t.

In the end it’s Artoo, rolling in behind Luke that does more to convince the child to leave than Luke can manage on his own. Luke is grateful for the droid, because truth be told he isn’t totally sure what he’s saying or doing at that point. The child—Grogu, he can hear from the child’s thoughts—had called and Luke had answered and it isn’t until he’s sitting in the cockpit of his starfighter with coordinates plugged in for Yavin IV’s moon that Luke is starting to feel more like himself rather than a handy vessel for the Force to work through.

Luke looks down at the child in his lap, blinking away the last traces of the fugue that had taken him over. There isn’t much room in the X-Wing’s cockpit, so it's a good thing that the youngling is so small.

“Hey,” he says with a smile and Grogu’s green ears tip back with curiosity. “I’m Luke Skywalker, by the way.”

The child doesn’t have much interest in Luke after that, though he does manage to twist the bulb off of one of the starfighter’s stick shifts. Luke watches it float into a three fingered hand with amusement. It keeps Grogu distracted for a little while.

They are halfway through their jump to Yavin when Luke feels the youngling's thoughts turn back to the man they’d left behind on the star cruiser’s bridge.

“Your dad seems nice,” Luke offers tentatively. His experience with children is pretty limited--and he can safely say that he’s never taken care of a fifty-year-old toddler before--but this seems like a safe topic of conversation. “He has kind eyes.”

The child in his lap gurgles in agreement.

[curedeity]

Drowning While Burning

Summary: Daphne is drowning, being pulled deeper and deeper by the currents ( a Daphne character study based on s1)

Once, when she was a small child, a storm had ravaged the castle for several days. Her parents had known it was coming, and had been preparing for the city to be sheltered for a week. Jobs were being called off, and families encouraged to remain home.

    Daphne was blissfully unaware to the panic of frenzied work that had hit to castle, her eyes too fixed on the black clouds moving that slowly filled the horizon, and the tingling thunder that she could almost hear if she just 

    Listened.

    Rain beat down the roof, pellets smacking against the smooth walls with a warlike intensity. It was as though the sky was trying to flood the city, to beat down all that had reached up and encroached in its domain. Lightning burned against the rainclouds, illuminating all their tumultuous angles. It was a mess of geometry that even years of schooling later Daphne would never be able to comprehend.

Thunder cracked through rooms, booming down hallways with ferocious intensity. It rattled the armor lining the walls, like thousands of soldiers quaking in their boots. 

    Far from running into her parents’ arms, Daphne remained at the window for long stretches of each day. Her face smudged the glass as her eyes struggled to make sense of the water-distorted images.

    Her vision wasn’t necessary for her understanding though, because Daphne could feel each raindrop that clattered against the ground of the land, the tormentous rage of the storm. And she adored it.

    Yet the storm passed, and her life returned to its routine of tutors and training. 

    She had always admired stories of heroes, of the rage and justice that drove them, of the way they pushed and pushed and pushed until they got what they wanted.

    Whenever Daphne pushed like that, she just grounded.

    She wanted to fight against the current, but she just kept getting dragged deeper and deeper into the depths.

    Flames licked across Daphne’s fingers as she lit her way through the flatlands of Domino, only faint rays of the second sun to light her way otherwise. Fire still burned, a fact her teachers had always been remiss to mention. One would think that controlling it, the heat of the flames wouldn’t be felt. But they still rushed through her fingertips, trying to melt away skin and bone until she was nothing but particles in the air. 

    But the flames didn’t hurt her. They only burned.

    Behind her a guard followed, metal clanging as pieces of his armor jumbled together. How embarrassing it must be, she thought, to be so scared of something that you��ll wrap yourself in metal and try to shut the world out. Yet so many did.

    Daphne didn’t know fear, back then, and so when the guard called for her to turn back, to return to the castle, Daphne merely continued marching forwards.

    There was much in Domino Daphne had never got the chance to see, stuck as she was in her pretty little ceramic castle. The forests where beats romed, the sand dunes that crawled with clawed insects, the rivers that destroyed the stones that blocked their path.

    Daphne wished to see it all.

    Her feet were bare as she climbed to the top of the dune. Her toes sunk into sand as she stood atop it, looking out over the golden sea, behind her still able to hear the metal clanging of her guard.

    She had been practicing magic for so long in that stuffy too-big castle, with all its rules and handicaps. Daphne brought the light she had summoned close to her chest, and let it

    E X P A N D

    It crackled around her skin, burning through every opening she’d give it. Energy coalesced around her being.

    She was the guardian of the Dragon Flame, the force of creation. What more was there for her than this? 

    Sand fell away deeper into the desert, the earth cracking open as large, jagged claws struck out, digging into the ground and dragging its body along. 5 eyes swiveled until they were all locked on Daphne. It stared at her light, and she hoped it burned away its retinas.

    Her teeth were bared, jagged. The flames tugged her body along and she gave into them, charging at the beast. The dragon roared to life within her, ready to attack as she saw fit.

    And then she was bat away with a single claw, ribs breaking under its heavy weight, and she was sent rolling away.

    Daphne was grounded for that day, after she awoke to tears from her parents. She held the tears close to her chest, and realized heroes weren’t real, because how could one be prepared for and win each battle? Each useless battle?

    Temperance. Patience. Not every day is a storm. Choose when to rage because even a fire cannot burn forever.

    She released her body to the current, her limbs flailing as she was dragged along. Her mind could finally wander, outside of the panic of movement, and ideas flooded her thoughts.

    Alfea was strict, but no stricter than the castle. Rules were set in place, and Daphne learned them. What use was breaking a rule, when she didn’t even know them? Each action must be thought through, and Daphne would be making informed decisions.

    She received top marks in every class, the librarian becoming a presence she was more used to than her own roommate from how much time she spent studying there. Her professors praised her diligence, even Griselda seeming to have a soft spot for her.

    I don’t get it, her roommate admitted to her when Daphne returned to their room with a dozen textbooks balanced in her arms. You’re a princess, with the strongest force in the universe. What could you need this much studying for?

    Daphne shook her head at that. Power is nothing if one can’t control and channel it. Sure, I’m powerful, but what would that mean if I didn’t know how to cast a single spell, or judge the best way to solve a situation?

    Knowledge is not power, knowledge is merely the way power can be exerted most efficiently.

    With her flames, she burned away all the hazards in the woods Professor Palladium had sent her to for her examination.

    With her knowledge, she skipped class the next week to go get ice cream in Magix with her roommate to cheer her up for her less-than-average score.

    She swam with the current, angling her body just a tad upwards, though from the memories that were slowly swirling in her skull, she knew she’d never reach the surface.

    The monsters had come out of nowhere. Or to be more specific, they came from the rot the Ancestral Witches had slowly been spreading all over Magix. A tar that slowly drained the life from every forest, that cast furtive shadows in the eyes of everyone. The reason for the dwindling letter she received from her ever-busy parents.

    The reason for the monsters that had appeared, all wrong angles and grotesque limbs, rising out of the ground, out of the forested depths.

    Alfea was too far away, her group had ventured deep into the forest for their project. One of them sent up a sparkler, magical lights now dancing over their location so that anyone out there would come save them.

    But they had traversed too far, and now they were out of range.

    Stupid, Daphne called herself. A stupid moronic idiot. You spend all your time studying and you couldn’t have taken two drops of common sense and guessed something would go wrong?

    Daphne had always been too exploratory. 

    She dodged out of the way of a titanic punch, burning away its skin as she let fire wrap around herself. Whispered words that fell from textbooks into her mouth, she felt her flames morph into light, crackling with energy, and she hurled the bolt at the creature, already wrapped in her roommate’s water.

    Then she heard a cry, it pierced through the sounds of battle, the guttural shrieks of the monsters and the calls of spells. Her head whipped around to see the fire of one of her kin, her people, be whipped away by a sweep of a monster’s tail, and claws close in to rake across her chest and tear out her heart.

    Daphne dove, her flames igniting the air as she rocketed through the sky and tackled her charge out of reach. 

    Ice flooded her veins as claws sliced through her back, catching on her wings and shredding those too.

    And the coalescence of her magic fell to 

    P                                                    E                                          E

                              I                                               C                                     S

    Were her screams loud? Did they crack through the sky like that which she had earlier? Was she turning heads?

    Was she?

    She was. 

    Daphne was, and Daphne had someone to protect. The responsibility of the crown, no, the responsibility of power settled upon her. She had people to protect, a world she loved.

    And as blood poured from her shattered back, the flames pushed their way out of the open cracks. The red liquid was set aflame, and it disintegrated into the smoky air, becoming just a part of her flames. 

    A new pair of wings burst out of her skin, forcing the air to make room for them. Heat cracked her body open, and Daphne let herself burn with all that she had saved up.

    Today was the day she’d storm.

    But who would she be if she didn’t try?

    Daphne’s dress pooled on the floor in perfect ripples as she sat in her chair, back straight and hands folded. Her face was the picture of serenity, the tiara sitting on her hair gleamed in the light from the solitary window.

    Daphne knew how to cover the cracks in her appearance, where the fire slipped out. She was nervous, yes, but now was not to time to show it. The world was at war, and with her new responsibilities she would be the pillar of strength they’d turn to. 

    Faragonda had wished her luck, yesterday as she’d been handed her diploma and officially graduated. Palladium told her that she was the finest student he’d had the pleasure to teach. Griselda had told her that she wouldn’t fail, she’d lived up to her high standards after all.

    Daphne had not cried then either.

    The fire was constantly there, simmering in her bone marrow. Her blood was lava, hotly pumping through her body as her heart pounded away with every step she took.

    Daphne didn’t feel very strong though. The universe could be weaved by her fingertips if she just stretched herself enough, and yet she felt like a scared little girl. 

    And that was okay, because fear was something Daphne had learned, and it was something that wouldn’t stop her. Fear was just knowledge of danger, on some level, instinctual or otherwise. 

    Daphne was in danger, yet so was everyone else. The world was at war, and she’d had a target drawn on her back from the day she was born.

    Why not illuminate that sign? 

    The door creaked open and a guard gestured for her to follow. Daphne’s heels clicked against the floor and she walked through the halls. Her dress trailed behind her, and ribbons danced with the movement.

    Daphne was just a girl, with only 20 years of knowledge crammed into her head. It was fair for her to be scared. But now, she had a purpose, a reason her flames continued to burn day and night.

    She took her place in the hall, all eyes turning to her as she glided through them, looking up at her mother and father. They smiled at her, their faces worn and aged, sadness lining them that they had not done their jobs well enough to prevent their daughter from ever having to take this responsibility. 

    Off to the side, her younger sister Bloom was sobbing. Daphne knew, with all her heart and all the power of the Dragon’s Flame that roared through her, that she would do anything to make it so that Bloom would never have this burden.

    But Daphne, Daphne could carry it. She would. This was her choice.

    And her parents laid the mask across her eyes, and magic drenched over her as she was accepted as one of the Nymphs of Magix.

    Water poured over her, fast and furious as the lake raged. Was it trying to drown her? She was its protector! 

    Daphne glided through the halls, her wings too worn out to materialize any longer. Her blood burned away before it touched the ground, thankfully not leaving a trail for the Witches to follow.

    Like they wouldn’t just track her flame, why did it even matter?

    She laid her palm against her sister, feeling the fire underneath Bloom’s own skin, the Flame they both shared. Daphne had often wondered if Bloom’s magic, her experience, would be anything like Daphne’s?

    There was no time wondering.

    Sparks lighted the air as Daphne drew her hand in circles, a chant falling from her lips with instinctual memory. Space ripped open at her command, and with only one final look, Daphne shoved her sister off to safety.

    Then she turned around, shadows already crawling across the floor towards her light. Could she win against the Ancestral Witches? Daphne had no room for doubt. 

    If she perished, then so be it, her family was already torn, her people slaughtered, she had vowed her life to them.

    Daphne wanted to live, but she wanted to live with the circumstances she chose.

    This was a fight she chose to have, she’d rise to this challenge. 

    Fire arced across the walls, burning away stone and the murky shadows with it. Daphne marched, her hands alight with magic and fury. Her wings were burned away, the vestiges of them turned into pure power.

    And Daphne hurled it all at the witches.

    Light Shattered.

    Darkness Rose.

    And Daphne Burned.

    Or was the lake raging with her? Raging at the injustices committed against her? Was this her now? 

    Daphne sank to the bottom of Lake Roccaluce, sand parting for her immaterial body as the waves swarmed around her, embracing her. There was no real light this deep beneath the surface, but Daphne produced her own, glowing with the sheer existence of her.

    She had lost. Despite all her efforts, all the roles she had undertaken, her world had still fallen to the assault of the Ancestral Witches.

    Her home was destroyed, her parents gone, and Bloom lost somewhere on Earth.

    And here Daphne was, stuck in the depths where no one ever went. The fire barely present within her soul anymore, there was only cold frost.

    Daphne had failed.

    No, no she had not failed one thing. She had kept Bloom safe.

    Was that enough?

    That would have to be.

    The witches may have killed Daphne, ridding her of what was now her mortal husk. But Daphne was still here. And she didn’t have to be alive and in her body to burn.

    In fact, Daphne’s spirit had been on fire for quite a long time. It had always burned with her love and her anger and her purpose. She watched the waters torment all around her, rippling and beating against their earthen walls.

    And Daphne knew that the next time, she would storm, blazing more brightly in the rage of nature than ever before.

[prongsisabadger]

The Wolf Pack

Chapter 2

Master Plo's ship was not the first I'd seen, the port at Mos Eisley was full of them; but it was the first ship I boarded that I could remember. Jedi master Plo Koon had been returning from a peacekeeping mission in the outer rim, and had stopped in Tatooine for fuel. It was a coincidence that he heard the Meilooron vendor talking about me. When I told him this, He said it had been the will of the Force. An energy field he had said. Then what had the Force deemed special about me? I asked him this.

"Tell me, Child. What would the tusken say are your best qualities?" He asked in return.

I thought about it for a second.

"Well, I can always tell when someone is following us, or how far a sandstorm is from our position. A'Koba once said I have very good instincts, but I do believe it comes from growing up in the desert." I answered as we walked up the ship's ramp.

"Kriari, the tusken have lived in the dune Sea for eons, if one tells you you have good instincts it is not a hollow complement. And neither is it entirely true." Said master Plo as he took the Pilot's seat and started pushing buttons and turning switches.

This puzzled me.

"How so, Master?" I asked as I took a seat on the copilot's place, still admitting the interior of the beautiful ship. It was much bigger than I'd imagined.

"You are a force sensitive, Child. Your midichlorian count is higher than the average life form, and as such, you have a deeper connection to the Force." he answered absentmindedly, like it was simply a fact of life. "When properly honed, your abilities can allow you to become a Jedi Master and help keep the balance of the universe."

The engine hummed to life as Master Plo pushed one final lever and started the takeoff sequence. I watched it all in awe and with unwavering attention. One day I would be able to pilot a spaceship, one day. Slowly, Mos Eisley started shrinking beneath us, and we approached the sky with every second that passed. The sky, the final frontier, that unreachable place where ships disappeared to, sometimes never to be seen again. The clouds parted before us, light blue turned to navy and then to black, and finally, Tatooine was a terracotta sphere behind us and the absolute emptiness of space was the only thing separating us from both setting suns.

"It's so odd to be so close to them." I muttered.

"Them, Child?"

"The stars, Master. We use them as a reference to navigate the Dune Sea. They are much prettier up close."

Master Plo Chuckled.

We are still very far from them, Kriari. Up close, a collapsing star can be quite daunting, not to mention deadly."

"But are they pretty, Master?" I insisted.

"In their own colossal, terrifying way, Child, yes. They are quite the sight."

The navigation droid that had been standing by the corner plugged in to its station and set the coordinates for our destination. Master Plo looked at me one more time before jumping to hyperspace. I don't remember if he said anything, I was too busy watching the galaxy fly past me.

…

The journey would be long, he told me. We should get started on some training exercise so I don't get cabin fever. And that is how I ended up cross legged on the floor staring at a rock. Master Plo sat by the table, writing his report for the council, he'd said. My mission was to make the rock move using the force. So far, all I'd been getting was eye strain.

"Staring at the rock won't make it move, Child, use the force." Said master Plo, never looking up from his working station.

I sighed in frustration. I would not let my journey end here, it was only beginning. I took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before exhaling it all. I closed my eyes. The force was an energy field in all living things, that bound the universe together. So, technically, the force was inside me too. I didn't have to look at the rock to get it to move, I had to look to myself. Figuring out how the Force worked with my body. It had always been there, so it wouldn't be easy to find, but I had to try. Meditation was not a foreign concept to the Tusken, it took a lot of patience and confidence to wait out a sandstorm. It took a lot of determination and calm to find your way when lost in the Dune Sea. The Sand People might have been ruthless, but they also were a very spiritual people. The desert of Tatooine might be an inhospitable place for some species, but there was a delicate balance to its ecosystems and the Tusken tried their best not to upset it.

Keeping this in mind I started to regulate my breathing, making it longer, deeper. Connecting with my body, with my surroundings, with the Force. There was a sense of total awareness in the stillness of my mind, a certainty of things, of presences, of movement. There was the ship, the droid, Master Plo, the rock. And what if the rock moved? A little to the left at first, slowly, so as not to overdo it. Then, It would move to the right, a little faster, decidedly, with more purpose. And then it would be lifted in the air, level with my head and floating steadily as if held by an invisible hand.

I opened my eyes.

And smiled.

"Good job, Kriari." He said beside me. I dared not look away afraid the rock might fall. "Your focus is strong and steady. Is meditation a part of tusken tradition?"

I shook my head.

"No, Master. But it is common practice to meditate when waiting out a storm or when one is lost. Keeps us from panicking."

"I see. Now try that again with something bigger. It will only be more difficult from here on out."

He said as I let the rock down as gently as I could and took a pair of binoculars from my pack.

Then, I got started.

…

The first time I saw Coruscant I was six years old. The entire planet was like a miniature galaxy of blinking lights against a dark background. In the light of gay, the metallic and glass surfaces reflected the light like water in a pond and ships and speeders alike were like a shoal navigating the currents. It was beautiful, and crowded and busy, and nothing like I'd ever seen before.

The Jedi Temple was, in my childish eyes, the most beautiful structure of them all. The eternal flights of stairs, the massive pillars that flanked the entrance, the numerous structures that combined to form a pyramid-like building. The sun was setting on the city, on the planet, and the orange reflection of the sun rays bounced from one structure to the other. Everything about the temple was beautiful in it's own simple way, it was big, but it was elegant and the shades of white, ivory and tan made it all feel like it was indeed a spiritual place. A place of knowledge and of wisdom, and most of all, a place of calm and strength, and balance.

The guards at the landing platform stood tall and proud at the entrance, and they both acknowledged Master Plo with a nod and nothing more. I followed suit. They did not look at me twice, so I thought I can't have been the first child they'd seen through the gates, nor would I be the last.

"Do not fall behind, Child. We need to report to the council." Said Master Plo when he felt me get distracted.

I picked up the pace so as not to get reprimanded again. If there was something you learned when living with the Tusken was not to make anyone repeat themselves. Ever. The Jedi didn't seem to be the type to discipline children, but I didn't want to find out the hard way. As we walked the never ending corridors, underneath the high ceilings and through the heavy metal doors, we passed many Jedi, and many children as well. Most of the Jedi carried a metal cylinder with them, just like the one Master Plo had hanging from his belt. It seemed to be a symbol of status among these people, the children didn't have one, and neither did the maintenance staff.

We took one of the elevators to the top floor, and it opened to an antechamber lined with ivory seats. On the floor there was a symbol I'd seen in all the Jedi's left shoulder pads. I guess this is it. We stood in the centre of the room and waited. Before long, the doors opened and a Master came out followed by a Togruta child. She could not have been older than four.

The guard ushered us in, and once we made it to the centre of the circular room they closed the doors behind us. There were fifteen seats with their backs to the windows, facing the centre of the room, but only twelve were occupied. Whether the members were absent or dead, I wouldn't ask.

"Master Plo, you have someone to introduce us to, I see." Said a little green life form sitting on one of the chairs.

"That I do, Master Yoda," he said motioning me to step closer. "This is Kriari Foreas, she was living with the Sand People in Tatooine."

"A Zabrak living with the Tusken? I did not think that possible." Said another, his skin dark and his eyes piercing. "How high is her midichlorian count?"

"It is surprisingly high, Master Windu. The Tusken claim her mother left her there for protection. They found her dead in the dune sea a few days later." Answered Master Plo.

Meanwhile, I stood my ground, watching the interaction between them, waiting to be addressed. The other masters whispered in speculation, but none of them spoke up.

"Then, this curious child shall we meet? Hmmm.

I stood forward, and approached the masters until I was a few feet away.

"Tell us, Child, How was your experience with the Tusken? Did they treat you well?" Said the man with the sharp eyes.

"Yes, Sir. I was treated like one of them and helped the trade with the merchants in Mos Eisley."

The masters of the Council exchanged looks.

"Were you not sad to leave?"

"No, Sir. I knew I didn't belong there, not really. I wanted to learn about the galaxy. I still do."

"If we give you a little test, mind you?" Asked the little green one.

"No, Sir." I answered.

Master Windu took out a little pad and had me guess which figures appeared before him. I had to close my eyes for a while, to block out everything else. The nerves, the eyes, the strange place, the strange people. In the end It went well, or so I thought. One image appeared after the other and within a few minutes, the test was over. I opened my eyes and looked back at Master Plo. He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Well done.

"Her midichlorian count is high, but it is her history with the tusken that concerns me. They are known to be a ruthless people." Said master Windu.

"Discriminated on species before, have we? Hmmm Master Windu?" Asked the one called Yoda.

"No, Master Yoda."

"A decision to make you have then child, want to be a Jedi, you do?" Master Yoda asked me.

"I want to learn how to be the bridge between races and cultures, Master." I answered after a moment's deliberation.

"Made then, the decision is. May the Force be with you, Child."

[middleinthenight21]

Damirae week 2020- Day 2

Royalty AU

Warning: Adult content. 

The kingdom of Nanda Parbat is in the heart of the mountains, separated from society with a small population. However, they have a powerful army, whose warriors are so efficient that each could fight with six men at the same time. The leader calls himself "The Demon's Head", a strict and rigid old man who had reigned for more than fifty years.

Recently, his grandson had assumed the role. A young man who followed in the footsteps of the previous leader and made it his priority to enrich his kingdom through the war. He had obtained an expansion to the north, as he had investigated the new lands that brought a fruitful business in cultivation rice and control of trade routes with neighboring countries.

She pretends to be interested in the information about Nanda Parbat written on the parchment when one of her tutors’ flits around the small room they use to teach her. They had tried to instruct her in politics, history, she had an Arabic lesson for three hours a day and they were trying to teach her religion, all of this with blows.

The teacher's bar gently taps his hands and gives her a sharp look, as if reminding her of what could happen to her if she doesn't cooperate.

Raven is not well regarded in the harem of the palace; she is a foreigner who was brought from revolutionary France in a conquest. She had a background involved in rebel groups in her land conspiring for the fall of the despotic and corrupt monarch. She was not raised by her customs, does not worship the gods themselves (she is not even sure she believes in one), does not speak Arabic fluently, does not possess the traits considered attractive in women in Narba Parbat, and does not have the character or behavior that amass in young ladies from an early age.

Her first day in Nanda Parbat had been sad and confusing. She walked from her country handcuffed by soldiers who hardly gave her sidelong glances and murmured in another language when they first observed her. She was afraid that they would do something to her, and she already misses her friends, they were fine, she knew it in her heart and that brings relief. The monarch had fallen, Richard and the rebel grouping would build something better, it was a matter of time before the demon's head was removed and they could rise from the ashes.

She's just mad that she wasn't there to see that.

When she first observed the kingdom, she thought that she truly was no longer in her land. There was no smoke from the chimneys, nor the vast expanses of forest, there are no abusive noble lords to answer to and that green moss that is impossible to pull off the walls. Everything is very clean, tidy, even the climate is a subordinate, since it is warm, and her clothing made from the wool of the sheep begins to weigh on her body. A drop of sweat falls from her forehead.

She was dragged, tied by ropes around her hands. Held by a soldier dressed all in black, from whom only his slit eyes distinguish, she is forced to walk when the men get into a carriage pushed by a donkey.

Her feet hurt; she feels the pain of two days of walking without rest. She is poorly nourished and the dirt forms as a layer on her body.

She felt like she was about to pass out when her head is boiled by the rays of the sun.

"It would be nice if they gave me water," she asks.

The men gathered in the carriage look at her, some look away without caring about her request, others tilt their heads without understanding what she is saying. Raven repeats her words, but this time she mimics simulating clasping her hands together and drinking water.

No one listens to her.

"Why are you looking away? I am a person asking for something as basic as water. "

Raven knows that it is not because they do not understand, she is aware of the treatment that is given to women in some countries, France had not been the exception, however, the illustration and the books had penetrated deep into her soul. In her land women had been an important part of the revolution. They had united in arms when these soldiers invaded the kingdom and attacked the palace, the people had taken advantage of venting their anger towards the monarchy and bourgeoisie. It was the people who gave victory to the kingdom of the demon's head.

Perhaps she had grown too accustomed to raising her voice and being heard.

The one who she sensed was the captain leaned forward on his horse and hit her on the back with the hilt, silencing her. Raven writhed in pain, her teeth colliding with each other and her hands trembled at her sides, when she looked up the old man was looking at her with satisfaction. She looked at him with rancor and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Shaytan," he growled.

What did that mean?

The captain threw a leather bag at her feet, it is like a horn and from the sound he knows it contains water. She runs to the water, her throat feels dry as if it were made of sandpaper, she realizes that the entire caravan has stopped and there are dozens of eyes on her.

The old man on the horse is watching.

Raven's senses are activated.

She takes a small portion of water, holds it in his mouth for a few minutes trying to take small drinks and her throat thanks her. However, she takes note of the sweet taste, it is fresh as if just brought from a cold spring. She holds it in her slightly puffed cheeks so the soldiers wouldn't notice.

When there is no danger, she swallows the contents of the horn without decorum. The water that falls from her mouth she uses to moisten her body and the warm crown of her head where the sun's rays hit hardest.

"Thank you," she says to the old man, bowing her head in a kind of bow. She thinks that, if it were not for the fact that she was taken from her land, she could come to admire the man, since she had seen him worried about the health of his soldiers and distributing the supplies.

The captain raises his eyebrows, surprised.

He contemplates the empty bowl of water in his hands and looks at his soldiers "Shaytan dhaki."

Raven frowns, confused.

The next thing she remembers is being dragged towards the entrance to the city of Narba Parbat. The city has a rough beauty, the palace is a whitish construction like those foreign paintings of the eastern palaces with straight lines and the towers look like small houses stacked in earth tones. She had thought of Nanda Parbat as a city made of sand in the middle of the desert, but it has a deep oriental inspiration.

Nanba Parbat is surrounded by a wall made of stone.

The captain grabbed the rope when they reached the city gates and veered off in another direction. Her legs tangle with each other, she struggles to keep up with the gracefully trotting horse, and nearly falls several times.

She hasn't eaten anything in days and her feet are pounding. Her head begs her to stay alert, she doesn't know where this shoulder was taking her, she is a foreign girl and nobody would worry if she appears dead in the distance, she has no one to claim her and she needs to defend herself if necessary.

"Where are you taking me? "

The man turns his back on his horse.

They enter the city through another entrance, almost sighing in relief because at least more people would see if something would happen to her, even with all that, she is still a foreign girl.

They pass through a market. People stroll in robes, street vendors shout the prices of their products, there is music in the air somewhat like a flute. Large fabrics work like a makeshift ceiling, everything is cool in the market and there is a powerful smell of spices and incense in the air.

She is impressed by the colors, smells and textures.

In France there is nothing like this.

The women look at her, look scandalized, and some who walk with their children cover their eyes and take them away from her.

What is wrong with her clothing?

The captain pulls the rope, they continue to cross the market until they reach a house that is close to the royal palace. She thinks that perhaps he is going to hand her over to the authorities and they will execute her, but they deviate towards a small construction from which they see young people enter wearing elegant clothes. They are not the dresses that she is accustomed to seeing in the bourgeoisie, but soft fabrics in green and gold tones, their hair is dark, long to their back and their skin is golden or dark.

These women are delicate, like flowers and care about their appearance. She feels dirty and insignificant compared to them.

Raven frowns.

A woman opens the doors, she is plump, and a green veil covers her hair, her face covered in wrinkles, and when her gaze falls on her mouth twists down. She gives her a look from head to toe, to finally look at the man and from her mouth come a series of words that she does not understand, but surely, they are repudiation. She can feel it, she was always an intuitive person and she knows that she would not have the sympathy of this woman.

The captain responds and pulls on the rope, pulling her body forward.

The woman strides over to her and takes her hard by the chin, examining her face and touching her dirty hair. She claps her on the ribs, growling a sentence, and grimaces. She touches her hair again, pulling the strands as if she thinks the color is false, with fingers she from rubs and gem with the other hand and finds no pigment.

Raven pulls away, but her grip on her cheeks is like a hawk's claws on her prey.

The lady continues to touch the dress checking her body under the fabric, when she lifts her skirt Raven grimaces and instinctively kicks her to get away, she screams and hits her in the face. The slap is loud and leaves her cheek burning for a few seconds. She takes her face, digging her nails into her chin, yells at the captain who now looks funny, and pushes her away, as if wanting her to get as far away as possible.

"Shaytan," she growls.

Again, what does that mean?

The captain says something, and the woman looks her directly in the eyes, her mouth opens and closes for a few minutes. Finally, she grabs her arm and takes her into the room.

She doesn't have time to think about anything.

Raven screams and tries to get her to release her several times, but she is weak from walking, dehydration, lack of food and sleep, and the woman is much heavier than she is. That does not prevent her from giving up, she does not want to enter that place and she struggles with all her strength to release her. With a little luck she could escape from the city, but the woman whistles and more people are joining to take her inside.

She quickly learns what can happen for not obeying, she spends more than a month between lessons, flower baths and new clothes, she is forced to visit mosques and meet their gods, however, she does not believe that any entity comes to save her. She learns that ´´Shaytan´´ means demon in Arabic, she earns that nickname for her apparent rebellion against the authorities and the attitude that they disapprove of. She also learns that she is in a harem and that they were preparing to serve the demon head.

She shows no interest.

She is not interested in what they have to say about the leader, nor does she want to please him in any way. She has other things to worry about.

She doesn't make friends inside the harem, with every lawsuit that forms around her. Like when they tried to recite a prayer out loud and he refused, or when she escaped through a small window one night and was caught in the middle of the river in a boat. The gossip spread like wildfire and the women moved further away from her side.

A guard chases her everywhere after her frustrated escape attempt.

Raven just wants to go back to her land, she has no interest in satisfying the leader, in looking beautiful to him and ducking her head when it will happen, she doesn't want to be reminded every day that she is inferior and that her life is wrapped around a thread that supports the demon's head. She does not belong to him.

She walks through the local market pretending to be interested in fabrics and spices, she had invented an excuse ´´I need new perfume and more dresses´´ and they believed her, so they gave her a bag of gold coins to spend, while the guard walked behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye is a merchant who works in the port.

On her first getaway, she traded a handful of coins for a small pot but was unsuccessful as he was in plain sight and soon to be made aware of her absence from the harem. The merchant was famous for helping unfortunate political prisoners or lovers to flee. He bought bribes from certain authorities and infiltrated you in such a way that no one had managed to find one of his clients.

She needed to talk to him, with the coins she had she could buy her way back to her country.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she says to the guard.

The man raises his eyebrows and looks away. Raven hides behind a tent and runs away as fast as she can.

The merchant had turned to the right and when she reached him, she pulls him by the clothes so hard that he almost falls off. The man would be in his forties, of course she wouldn't be scared of a nineteen-year-old, but she is with him.

"Ah, it's you." He shakes his robes from the dust.

She gasps looking everywhere "I needed to go."

He raises one of his graying eyebrows. The language is hard on her tongue, not used to talking to others, she needs practice, Raven does not waste time and puts the bag with the coins in his hands, and the merchants feel it, as if with that she could check how much it was worth.

"No. "

What?

"Why not? "

He winces indifferently "It's very little. "

"They are gold coins."

"Listen, I know you want to abandon your life of luxury in the palace, but what I do is not legal and I risk my head every time someone important is taken out of this kingdom" he answers, as if he was explaining a subject to a little boy. "The Demon’s Head is known for his indulgence and does not like his treasures fleeing to other countries" he looks at her from head to toe.

"I don't belong to him," she spits.

"Think what you want." He rolled his eyes. He puts the bag of coins in her hands, and leaves. "Bring more gold or please your lord, shaytan. "

Raven sighs.

***

She is in the harem garden. Sitting reading on the grass regardless of whether she soils her purple dress.

The old Zaira, the director of the harem, had sent them to make different dresses for Raven, since green or gold does not go with her pale skin and would not be attractive to her lord, so they choose purple, red and blue tones. She does not the fabrics as well as the other girls. She doesn't mind getting his clothes dirty.

"I saw him." There is a murmur in the garden. The young concubines gathered among the flowers to chat with their group of friends. Raven is hidden behind a bush where she had buried a book, since she is prohibited from reading anything else that is not authorized by Zaira. "He is very handsome and young" they laugh.

She put her back against the bush wanting to hear better.

"Did he look at you? "

"He was very busy training with one of his instructors" she says, her voice is low and disappointed ", but Zaira told me that the leader has not looked at any concubine" now she sounds more animated. "He has been heavily involved in politics to have time for women. I heard one of the ministers talk about developing a new map. "

"He's so committed," another sighs.

She rolls her eyes.

"We'll dance for him next week," reports one. There is a group gasp. "Zaira confessed to me that the girl who dances best will spend a night with him, in addition to that on that night she will have access to the royal treasure and will make us choose any jewel as a gift."

Jewel?

She remembers the merchant's words; she needs a gem to secure her exit from this harem and palace which is a true nightmare.

He almost visualizes the faces of her friends, her mother tongue in her mouth and the flavors of her tender native.

She needs that gem.

***

"I want to dance. "

Raven stands in front of Zaira, the woman is giving lessons to the young women who would dance for the Demon's Head and she not included in the list.

"Who are you to demand such a thing?" She gives her a contemptuous look. "Why the sudden interest in the Lord? "

She sighs "I want to know how he is. "

A simple answer.

Raven had had experience lying, being a rebel during the revolution. She grew up on the streets, not like these women who came from wealthy families, are the daughters of soldiers and were made with a gold chisel.

"You are lucky, shaytan" with a gesture the young women open leaving a space for her to enter the group. Before she can put herself in her place, Zaira takes her arm, stopping her. "If you weren't so unusual, I would have let you go a long time ago. I did not accept you out of courtesy, but by the lord. If you make one of your numbers, I will personally see to it that you disappear from this palace."

She smiles sweetly at her. "Don't worry. I matured, I am dedicated to faith now and I understood that I owe everything to the Demon’s Head."

During her time as a rebel she was not a lone player, she was happy to surround herself with a group and find others who would fight for the same thing, the common good above all. She did not expect to find her rebels here, maybe if not they will threaten her so much could look at them well.

Zaira released her arm giving him a suspicious look, but she settled with a smile between the concubines and pretended that the woman's words meant nothing. She had managed to become one of the concubines who would dance for the Demon's Head, now she had to get his attention and win that night where he would give her the most expensive jewel that would ensure her exit from this cursed kingdom.

***

When the night came when they would appear in the Demon's Head’s room, the leader would be sitting on a throne with his back to the doors of his room and when he chose one of the concubines everything would stop, the unselected women would return to the harem where they would not go out, unless the selected one was not liked by the leader and that is a humiliation. The selected one would be chosen not only for her beauty, but for her way of dancing and as it pleases the Lord. When she is chosen, she would make her way through the room and announce herself, as tradition dictates.

Raven had been enlisting all day among scented baths, fragrances, worthless little jewels, and elaborate dresses. She decides again with the dressmaker that there wouldn't be a green dress for her, instead she has a blue dress with gold accents and thinks that's enough.

They are not allowed to show their faces, so they emphasize their eyes with black eyeliner, and she thinks she looks like a blue cat.

"We want the color of your eyes to stand out the most," the woman says with a brush.

She did not know why these people are so obsessed with the color of her eyes and her short hair that is dark, it is supposed to be because she are foreign.

When they walk to the hall where the ceremony would take place, she realizes that she is nervous, her hands itch and she feels like a prey in her dress. The color of her dress draws the attention of the other concubines, since they chose colors such as green and the gold that is used by the Demon's Head, not a bright blue.

The interior of the palace is luxurious, with its gleaming floors and gold trim. The air has a scent of essences and incense, distinguishes small lighted bowls whose smoke perfumes the corridors.

"I don't think the Demon's Head is fixed on the French one."

She knows that she is not appreciated within the harem for her behavior, although she had calmed down in the past few days as she is focused on getting that gem. These girls did not have to worry about her, because she would get the jewel and disappear forever, it would be as if she had never arrived.

Doors open and she stiffens.

"Don't raise your head. Don't look him in the eye unless you are selected” Zaira instructs in a harsh voice.

She feels his eyes on her body, and Raven smiles to herself.

When they enter, they form a perfect circle in the center just as they had rehearsed. Raven turns her back on the throne but knows it's there. The musicians are positioned to the side, their instruments in their hands ready for the signal from the Demon's Head, and they begin to play.

She takes the group's hands; they make a round, tracing patterns with their feet to the rhythm of the music. The typical music of these areas is different from that of her land, Zaira had said that her hips were rough, and she needs to balance them to the sound of the songs, it is like holding an instrument only with her hips. It's very strange.

The others follow the choreography without difficulty, but have trouble keeping up and think this is boring.

The same routine: they hold hands, turn, move their feet and hips, make waves with their hands, hold hands, and they would follow the process.

Zaira said that this dance represents femininity and fertility, an act of seduction, but this is tedious and she does not imagine what it is to have to witness one of these dances once a week, it is not surprising that the man had not decided on anyone.

She decides to look up a bit and is surprised by the youth of the demon's head, he would be about twenty years old, golden skin and green eyes. He had on a jade green robe that revealed a muscular torso, high black pants and there is a ring with a large diamond on his index finger.

He is not even looking; he is concentrating on his sword listening to Zaira who probably talks to him about the concubines because of the way her head glances at each one.

The Demon's Head is a handsome and rich man, with a ring on his finger, if she earned it she would have her ticket paid to her land.

Compared to these girls, she had nothing to lose.

She leaves the dance, the musicians freeze, the concubines stop and look down, Zaira is red with anger and her teeth clench so hard that she is sure to have some chipped teeth.

The leader leans forward following her movements, carrying a sword in his hand that he is not using, so she does not think he considers her as a threat. He looks impartial, his expression is blank, and it is difficult for Raven to know what he is thinking, perhaps he does not consider her prank so funny. There is no way back.

Raven positions herself in front of the concubines, bows her head in reverence, and walks back with her head down; the other women make way for her and step aside. She can feel her anger up to here.

The musicians begin to play a different, softer tune and try to follow her. She is not good at moving her hips like the natives, but she knows her own charm and tries to show it. She raises her arms allowing her wide sleeves to reveal skin up to her elbows.

It is forbidden to show skin.

The harem director is scandalized.

She turns and takes off her shoes, leaving her feet bare. She does not know where she gets so much daring, especially in the face of a society as conservative as that of Nanda Parbat, but the man in front of her has been in battles, contemplating deaths and his army is known as the league of assassins, it´s not like he is a saint.

Her dress had an opening, it is almost invisible, it would only reveal up to the knees, she knows that Zaira has not seen it and it reveals the skin of her leg almost by accident. She is aware that her features are strange, people whispering for her pale tone and servants would try to make her take on a more attractive shade sunbathing, but it has not worked and she does not look cute when the sun hurts her skin giving it a red tone, like a shrimp.

One of the musicians drops his instrument and has to run to pick it up.

He still hadn't killed her or screamed for her daring, that's good.

She raises her eyes, sees how an eyebrow rises when their gazes intertwine, and she has never seen a more beautiful and masculine face like his. Tradition says that concubines should wear veils that cover their hair, face and waist, but they had already broken a rule, why not two?

She had been a rebel in her country, here too.

She takes out the scarf that she keeps around her waist, caresses her face with the fabric, as well as her torso until she reaches her waist, he remains as neutral as ever, but follows the path of the scarf and it is a good sign. She smiles under the scarf that covers her nose and mouth; it is a true smile.

She approaches turning to where the leader is, the handkerchief in her hands flies and moves her hips, letting him see her bare feet and legs, crouches back in strides allowing him to see her cleavage and now he gulps.

Her hair is tied under a veil in a transparent blue shade, she caresses her hair looking at the man directly in the eyes, her hands go down her collarbone, between her breasts and her stomach.

Raven smiles at him as one of her hands quickly goes up to her face cupping her left cheek. She feels the evil, mischief and lust within her intertwined in this dance, it's like a statement.

When the music ends, she is sitting on the floor bowing with a smile on her face. She is tired, but something inside her jumps with happiness to get his attention, she thinks it would be fun to see how far this man would let her go.

"Who are you? "

She feels the tension in his voice and closes her eyes tight. Shit, maybe she was wrong, and her breach of tradition was stronger than she thought.

"She is a foreigner, sir. I'll get her out of here, if ... "

"Did I ask you, Zaira?" He interrupts her.

Raven sighs.

"I asked you a question." Raven shuddered at the harsh sound in the man's voice. "Look me in the eye when I speak to you. "

She looks up, their eyes meet, and she feels a tug in her insides, he probably also felt it because the man recoils a few inches on his throne. Perhaps the maid who had made her up was right and her eyes did stand out through the makeup, it makes her look mysterious and more feline.

She remembers that even with the cold tone of this man, he is still the one who followed the path of the scarf over her figure.

"They call me shaytan, my lord."

"That can't be your real name."

"I have abandoned my old name. Embraced the customs of Nanda Parbat along with my new name."

Zaira shakes her head and narrows her eyes in her direction.

A smile formed on the lips of the Demon's Head "You were noticed when you interrupted the dance of the concubines. Did you know that it is a tradition that takes more than a hundred years? "

The concubines exchanged a look of alert, since the leader had not given them a sideways glance and is conversing with the foreigner.

"I thought you needed entertainment, my lord." She trailed off the nickname justifying the accent and her intermediate command of Arabic. The Demon's Head realized.

The leader observed Zaira and whispered something in her ear, the woman grimaced in disgust and ordered those present to leave.

What did this mean?

Raven looked down again, as the room emptied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the concubines open their eyes in surprise, some of them trying to hide their anger and glancing hatefully towards her.

Zaira grimaces, just by seeing her she can see the promise of revenge in her eyes.

The room was completely empty.

Had she succeeded?

She was chosen?

The Demon's Head stood up, the sword is now in its scabbard, and his green cloak rippled through the air as it followed. He opens the doors behind the throne, they lead to a dark room whose only lights are lighted metal fountains, a polished wood floor, the windows are open. She has a view of the entire kingdom that is represented in small lights, there is a bed in the center of the room and small furniture where there is a pile of parchments in different positions.

Sheets hang from the ceiling, swaying to the rhythm of the warm wind. Where they come from, they would not think of having the windows open day and night, since it was always very cold.

The room is beautiful.

"Come in," he orders.

Now his voice has a boring note, as if he had experienced this before and had the predicted ending. Raven's life was never fun, she had a difficult childhood with an abusive father and ran away when she was just a girl. Preferring to live on the streets where she found friends, she had a reason to fight and now she is here in front of a ruler; but his life was written in stone, marked by traditions and customs. What a disappointing life.

He sits on the edge of the bed and leaves the sword on a piece of furniture.

"Take off your veils and clothes."

Is this what this would be like?

Raven is not someone with a sex life as active as Richard or Kory, she had had a short list of loves that had not led to anything important, however, she was not supposed to start a sexual relationship this way. She wonders how little fun this relationship must have been for this man; she surely has a protocol to follow when it comes to these things and she thinks it's horrible.

Not that she is an expert, in fact her experience is limited.

He is now looking at her, as if she had no objections. Raven raises a hand to the scarf that covers her hair, but her hands get tangled and it's a lie.

"I can't take off my scarf."

She realizes that she is nervous, but still needs to make a good impression and leave him so happy that he would guarantee a gem.

Pretend a face of innocence "Can you help me, my lord? "

He sighs and gestures for her to come closer. Raven listens to him, but does not do exactly what he wants, but turns her back on him.

"Are you making fun of me?" He says, undoing the scarf over his hair, there is still one more that covers half her face.

"I never would, my lord."

But he is laughing.

His hands are warm, and he stays longer than necessary at the nape of her neck and traces a path to the clavicle and down to her chest. No one had ever touched her like this, as if she were something soft, and she sighed under his hands, stopping the rapid advance, took his hands stopping him on purpose and gave him a kiss on the palm.

Not yet.

He freezes.

Raven turns around, looks him directly in the eye. His eyes are green like jade, it looks like river water or the color of moss that is born from humidity.

She runs a hand through her hair, her short hair caresses her shoulders and one of her hands buries her buds feeling the texture and the smell of flowers they used to bathe her.

"I've never seen hair this color before," he whispers. He caresses her hair feeling the softness, he looks into her eyes, his eyes are deep, and they leave her breathless. "Where did you come from, shaytan? "

A malicious smile springs from her lips. The protocol of visits to the demon's head had been explained to her, only he could touch and ask to be pleased, the concubine existed to give pleasure, not to receive it.

"Perhaps from a nightmare, sir," she replies.

Raven caresses her chest, feels his bare skin, it’s covered with small scars and tenses when there is skin-to-skin contact, but he doesn't push away. He’s warm, just as she expected, and her thumb traces a scar across his ribs, he gasps and stands up.

"You don't look like a nightmare."

"Oh, I can teach you what I can do, and it will change your mind," she replies. With the back of her hand, she runs through his muscles until it sits on the clavicle, where she traces the protruding bone and notices the scars.

The Demon's Head does nothing.

She thinks she has done something wrong, that he would kick her out, but instead he just looks at her.

He is taller than she, he has a tall head and has to tilt his head to look her in the eye. Violet meets green, Raven could drown in his eyes and die, suddenly she is afraid of being rejected, because he will call someone else and live thinking about what she might have.

He advances, his hands traveling to the veil that covers her nose and mouth, a small dagger in his hand breaks the fabric with agility and it falls to the ground.

He gasps when he looks at her face.

He looks without fabrics to separate them for the first time and Raven feels like they've gotten rid of a wall. Her hands tremble at the sides of her body, her legs are two branches shaken by the wind and the heat settles at the base of the stomach, it is like fire and she doesn't mind burning herself.

He looks like a statue, static, but she feels how his eyes make her feverish, she imagines herself touching and how the most powerful man in the Middle East melts under her palms; she is sure that he is thinking the same. Zaira's voice is strong in her head:

If he chooses you, I don't think so, shaytan. You are not allowed to take the first step, the head of the devil as the supreme leader of your life and the empire must be who determines what the act will be like. No games.

They endorse each other, when their lips meet it is an uncomfortable kiss because it is a collapse of teeth and a fight for whoever has control over the other's lips, and they cannot find a position that accommodates them, but soon he tilts his head and it is much more functional. His hands are all over the place, he touches her torso through the corset, her waist and hip to her rear where his hands stop.

Raven gasps loudly, letting the sound sweep through the room without worrying about being heard; He runs his hands over her torso enjoying the firm skin under the pads of his fingers and runs a hand down her smooth back through the fabric. Sure, the cloth is there and it's annoying, she has to take it off. He throws the robe to the ground without caring about how he does it, the fabric falls apart into threads, leaving half torn in place.

He is kissing her hard and Raven laces his hands around her neck to help wrap her legs around his torso. The openings in the dress don't allow her to do this, but he slides a dagger to break the skirt and ends with two slits down to the hips.

Raven laughs against his mouth, but quickly stops doing it as he shifts his attention to her neck, placing butterfly kisses on her skin until he goes down to her collarbone and is too excited to feel anything else.

Sighs.

He tightens her hair, and feels her tense, now he runs his tongue over her neck to her ear. Raven writhes like a worm.

To punish him she pushes her hips against the base of his stomach, dangerously close to his crotch. The man now stops and watches her, as if she had done something very wrong.

The burning fire plays with his face and Raven gives him a look of innocence deciding to ignore his erection through his pants. This is the same man who had observed her with a neutral face while dancing.

There is a knife in his hands, and he is tearing the dress. The knife comes down through the ribbons on her back and the corset is out, left in a plain dress that falls square in a pale blue hue.

"You destroyed a dressmaker's job, sir," but she's already raising her arms for him to take off her dress.

He has a better idea because he draws her to his body, wraps his arms around her waist, and his hands intertwine at the start of her butt.

"I'll have another one made for you." He kisses her so hard she leans back.

There is a smile on her lips. In her life she has seen beautiful men, she can sit down to contemplate some faces and bodies, but this man is on another level, it seems that he was made by an angel who wants to replicate the most beautiful thing he has seen in an individual.

"Anyway, they did me to take it away from you."

The next time they meet they are slower but want to touch each other. Raven lets him have her entire body exposed like no other man in her life, he may have a kingdom, but her resides within these four walls.

In the tradition it is dictated that the man should always be on top, it is not allowed that the woman is the one who rode him, but they experience everything, and they do not care about customs.

He squeezes her breasts and Raven sighs increasing speed. She would kiss him hard, biting and finding his tongue, the Demon's Head looks like a moldable object under her hands and it's fun, but she’s also slipping.

She gives herself to him and if he asked her for anything, she would do it without thinking.

"Called me Damian," he confesses between kisses, when they are exhausted and sweat drips down their bodies. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths. "That's my name. "

She looks at him askance. Her body is sore, she is sure she has more than love bite on her neck, stomach and breasts, her hair is a sweaty mess, she cannot even brush it with her fingers due to the number of knots, she feels irritation on her thigh where He had bitten her, it would leave a scar, and her lips are swollen and aching.

"So, you're not called Demon Head, Damian?" mocks.

He clicks his tongue and winces when he turns to look at her. A sheet covers part of his body, but he is naked; looking at his sculpted torso there are scratches, bites and bruises, she does not want to see the chaos that is his back.

Did she do that?

"What about you, Shaytan?"

She grimaces as she looks out, the mountain range looms in the distance and the lights of the kingdom are dimming, welcoming a new dawn.

"I had it somewhere else," she sighs. "When I lived on my land, I had a name, but I discarded it. Now I don't know what to think. "

She drops onto the bed, the mattress is soft, and the sheets are made of a delicate material, it's like butter. Her head does not touch the pillows, the bed is too big for two people to cover the entire space, she is sure that it is made for him, he will invite more than one lover to his rooms.

She wonders how many people have touched him the way she had.

It is now her life, dancing and trying to attract the attention of a man who has at his disposal a multitude of lovers. Maybe she had enjoyed it so much that she held on too soon.

"Do you want me to keep calling you Shaytan?"

She looked at the ceiling. The bed has a ceiling made of carved wood covered by fabrics in golden patterns that fall down the sides, just like the veil that he had torn from her face with his dagger.

Maybe if he hadn't been so permissive with her ...

Could she answer a name nicknamed by others for your attitude?

"They call me Raven," she confesses. Her voice is monotonous, devoid of all humor, and in the bed of the leader of the nation who had ripped her from her land, she realizes that perhaps she had not completely left her name, but she is still a demon. "Can we keep it as our secret, sir? " She watches him.

He focuses his gaze on the ceiling, meditates for a few minutes, and nods.

Raven smiles.

She takes the sheet from him and rises from the bed muttering a complaint about the pain in a certain area, and searches the floor for her clothes, but finds her dress cut. She is not willing to walk to the harem in a torn, dirty and stained dress.

"Where are you going? "

She looks at him.

When she sees him, she thinks that maybe they were too abrupt, since Damian's eyes are swollen and red, as well as his mouth and scratches on his arms, red marks on his neck and torso, as well as pieces of cloth on the bed.

"Isn't it just for one night?" The question. Zaira told her that the selected one would only stay one night with the demon's head, and after a time she would be called, only if she pleased her lord.

"Stay another day."

Raven contemplates the idea, has no objection.

"I have no clothes."

"You don't need them."

Okay, so maybe she could get used to this faster than she thinks.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

Calling your name, the only language I can speak

(FanFiction soon)

[semperintrepida]

The Sellout, chapter six

six: the not date

Two hours before Kassandra was supposed to meet Kyra downtown, she paced beside the wall of windows in her condo and tried to keep her eyes away from her old nemesis, the clock. This wasn't the unforgiving squeeze of pressure in the final seconds of a basketball game or the relentless climb of lap times at the track. This was time moving at a glacial scale.

She paced, and wondered how many steps it would take to wear a groove into the concrete floor. She paced, and tried not to think of the ways Kyra's presence had filled this room so completely, or how Kyra had stood by this window and sat in that chair. She paced, because if she stopped, her footsteps would fade and she'd have to admit how fucking quiet it was in here.

Her tank top stuck to her skin as she moved, and she realized she was sweating. The room was too hot, but the numbers on the climate control were the same as they'd always been. Her heartbeat was up, her breathing fast and shallow. With some effort, she diverted her steps away from the windows to the wet bar, and when she picked up a glass and a bottle of bourbon, her hands were trembling slightly.

She tipped a healthy pour into the glass, along with an ice cube, and as she lifted the drink, it slipped from her hand and shattered on the granite bar top.

Motherfucker. At least it wasn't from the bottle of antique single barrel.

She dug out a bar towel and a trash bin, and swept the shards and liquid into the bin along with the towel for good measure. She dug out another towel for the floor. On her knees mopping up broken glass and now all her muscles were jittery, not just her hands.

Try again. Another pour — this time it was the antique single barrel to make up for how well her evening had been going so far. Careful now. The bourbon hit her like a caramel bomb, and it sat back and fumed vanilla while the taste of fruit and honey danced on her tongue for several seconds. Nearly 130 proof and it went down smooth as cream.

The drink wrapped around her like a cashmere bathrobe as she savored it and watched the sun's rays slant across the river. After a while, her muscles were steady again, but her heart was still a whirring motor forced to idle on the dragstrip, waiting for that green light to go.

She carried her drink with her into her bedroom, threw open the doors to her closet, and surveyed her wardrobe. Time to do battle with Portland's sartorial lawlessness.

Individuality ruled this place, and nothing was ever cool if anyone else did it too. It was the opposite of L.A., which never met a trend it didn't want to chase. Portland was reflexively anti-trend, and even those with money had changed their ways to compensate, trying to downplay their net worths through their choice of clothes.

In this town, the penalty for overdressing wasn't embarrassment — it was distrust.

Kyra had that antiauthoritarian streak too. Kassandra had never met someone so repulsed by her money. Most were the opposite, wanting to get real close to her real fast. She'd learned early on that people were best kept at arm's length.

She was eight years old the first time her mother spoke to her directly about money, old enough to understand that a private boarding school in upstate New York was not how most kids grew up. Most kids saw their parents more often than birthdays and Christmas — even her classmates, most of whom belonged to the Northeastern elites. She'd been a bargaining chip in a divorce between an American father and a Greek mother, and New York was where she'd landed in the settlement. She never saw her father, even though he lived in New York City and was the one paying her tuition. He was too busy becoming a billionaire. Her mother lived in London then, working as a diplomatic attaché in the Greek embassy. Kassandra had quickly learned not to miss either of them. On rare occasions, her mother would fly in for a few days to visit her. They'd spend most of their time together in awkward silence, or muddling through stilted conversations like near-strangers. In one of them, she'd complained about a schoolmate, one of the day-goers who lived in the town nearby, who kept asking her for things, like pens, or notebooks, or erasers; who'd treat her sweetly as long as she handed them over but cruelly whenever she refused. Her mother had looked at her with her opaque diplomat's gaze and said, You are a child of two families of wealth and power, Kassandra. Some recognize the resources you have, and want it only for themselves. They will try to take it from you. And Kassandra had nodded as if she understood.

Pens and notebooks became pocket money became real money soon enough. She didn't truly understand her mother's warning until she arrived at Stanford, but by then she'd learned there were benefits to having all those resources, too.

She could have damn near any woman she wanted, and she did, quite often. And when she was done, she put them back where she'd found them. She had no idea how big her cumulative hotel bill was from all those indulgences around the world, but it was probably enough to buy another home to go with the apartment in New York City, the flats in London and Athens, the house in Seattle, and the condo in San Francisco.

She sipped her bourbon and ran her hand along her collection of bespoke suits. Then she heard her mother's voice again, from some other memory in their distant past. The way we present ourselves to the world is a message, and a single glance will tell a stranger your taste, your means, and your confidence.

Odd, all these thoughts about her mother. She was back in Athens now, the Cabinet Minister of Economy and Development in the new government. Kassandra hadn't seen her in years. But she'd been right about the message a wardrobe could send, and as Kassandra pulled hangers off the rack, she wondered what message Kyra might be composing.

She set her drink aside and pulled on a pair of sand-colored trousers cut from fine English twill, a lightweight denim shirt in a medium wash, and a linen sport jacket the golden brown of a Cuban cigar. Would Kyra wear a flannel shirt to a fundraising gala? She'd probably get away with it if she did. Maybe she'd wear the lumberjack one and lean full tilt into Portland's "Stumptown" persona.

Kassandra frowned as she adjusted her collar in the mirror. A tie would be too formal for this audience, but to go without was unappealing. She browsed her drawers of neckties and accessories until she found a navy blue neckerchief and a matching pocket square. Perfect.

She imagined Kyra the lumberjack smirking into her own mirror at home. Hell, maybe she already had someone there to show off for, someone to ask, How do I look?

Then Kassandra fought back a sigh and lifted her wrist to unbuckle her watch, and in her bedroom's cavernous silence, she could hear the watch's mechanical movement tick-tick-ticking away.

.oOo.

Five minutes past seven o'clock, she was strolling up Alder Street in search of the right address when she heard a "Hey!" from a passing car, and looked over just in time to see Kyra emerge from the back seat of a taxi.

She'd guessed wrong. Kyra had left the flannel at home. Instead, she wore black on black on black: a long-sleeve button-down tucked into tight jeans cuffed at mid-calf over combat boots. She wasn't here to be charming; she was here to kick ass.

Kyra raked her with a glance. "You look... nice," she said, and it was hard to tell what flavor of nice she really meant.

Style lived and died by details, and Kassandra could take in all of Kyra's details now that she was standing up close. Kyra's shirt was fine linen, embroidered with small dots of charcoal grey thread in a pattern reminiscent of Dotted Swiss fabric. It gave the shirt texture and interest. Kassandra had never seen her without mascara and eyeliner on, but now she'd added red lipstick, a dash of color mirrored at the cuffs of her jeans, where the rolled fabric revealed red stitching.

And she'd pulled her hair up into an artfully messy bun, exposing the lines of her neck along with a silver necklace and circular pendant. All together, it was a bold, confident variation of what Kassandra was learning was her signature style. The only thing missing was her tattoos, hidden under long sleeves.

Kassandra swallowed into a suddenly dry mouth. "So do you." She meant it.

The smallest hint of color crept into Kyra's cheeks. "So," she said before the pause grew awkward. "Who am I supposed to be tonight? A friend, or..."

"A friend would be fine." More than that would be dangerous for Kassandra. She'd have to be satisfied seeing Kyra struggle to hide how much she despised her.

Kassandra gestured towards the massive wooden door behind them. "Shall we?" A carved wooden sign was affixed to the wall beside the door that read, Multnomah Whiskey Library, Members Only.

She pulled the door open and let Kyra pass through first.

"So this is the infamous Whiskey Library," Kyra said once inside.

"Ever been here before?"

Kyra snorted. "Fuck no. I'm not paying for the privilege of paying for drinks I could easily make at home." She peered into a glass display case as she passed. "Okay maybe I don't have any twelve hundred dollar bottles of bourbon. But I could make you a damn good cocktail, so good you wouldn't even miss it."

I could make you a damn good cocktail. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Make me a cocktail sometime."

She shrugged. "Maybe. You're a decent tipper. That's earned you some points."

"You'd actually make me pay for it?"

"We're not friends yet," she said breezily. "And I don't work for free."

The doorway to the greatroom beckoned. Kassandra leaned close to Kyra and whispered in her ear. "We're supposed to be. Tonight." Close enough to catch Kyra's scent: a faint hint of coffee, and the spice of some aromatic wood. Cedar maybe, ancient and heady, wafting from the sun-warmed deck of a Kyprian trireme as it cleaved the clear blue waves of the Aegean...

The pleasant image dissipated when Kyra came to an abrupt halt just inside the greatroom. She craned her neck, taking in the sight of heavy oak beams and crystal chandeliers hanging high over brick walls paneled with mahogany. The entire back of the room was dominated by the bar, an imposing structure made of even more mahogany, crowned by shelves packed with bottles. The bartenders wore waistcoats and ties with their shirts, and used an antique library ladder to reach the bottles on the upper tiers.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to hop over that bar to fix you something right now."

Kassandra laughed. "No. However, I am expecting you to have a nice time." And to have a chat with her target. If her hunch proved true, he'd find Kyra very intriguing indeed.

"I'll drink to that," Kyra said drily.

The room was filling up. They moved through the throng, pausing here and there as Kassandra greeted those she knew, until they reached the bar.

Kyra wandered off to order, while Kassandra recognized a man standing nearby as one of the Multnomah County commissioners.

"Chuck Meeran?" She offered her hand. "Kassandra Agiadis. So wonderful to finally meet you."

His handshake was as carefully modulated as any politicians' and he had to tilt his head up to look in her eyes. She could see the wheels turning as he tried to place her name, then the slight widening of recognition. "Ms. Agiadis. It's a pleasure." Only a fractional stumble over the unfamiliar pronunciation of her name. Not bad. He flashed her a friendly smile. "I take it you're not here on coffee business?"

She smiled to match his own. "I'm just a civilian tonight," she said. She glanced at the drink in his hand and pulled on an air of confused helplessness. "I've never been here before, is there a drink you'd recommend?" Men never relaxed around her until they felt themselves superior in some way. Sometimes it paid to speed the process along.

"First time at the Library, really?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but I just moved here from Seattle." A wink and a smile. Maybe a donation to his re-election campaign later. Greasing the wheels, for the day when one of her companies needed a zoning change, or a variance.

"Ahh yes. As a Timbers fan, I'll try not to hold it against you," he said generously. "Now let's see, if you like a lot of rye..."

She half-listened as he incorrected himself, while sneaking glances up the bar at Kyra, who was leaning conspiratorially in conversation with one of the bartenders — a stocky woman, tidy in her wool waistcoat and polka-dot pocket square. Kassandra felt her eyes narrow, and only after some effort did she manage to wrangle her face back to neutral as the Commissioner blathered on.

It took a few minutes, but Kassandra extracted herself from the conversation with a promise to schedule lunch "very soon" and a glass of some unremarkable bourbon in her hand.

Kyra and the bartender were chuckling over some shared joke. "Seriously," she said, rolling her eyes as the bartender chuckled some more and moved away to take another order.

Kyra leaned back against the bar as Kassandra approached. "Jesus, you weren't kidding about all the Patagucci vests."

"It's a thing," Kassandra said. Even trend-hating Portland wasn't immune to the plague of finance and tech bros who'd decided that fleece vests were the pinnacle of style. "I don't understand it myself."

The area around the bar was starting to get crowded. Kyra pushed herself away from it to let a laughing couple move past. She sipped her drink and studied the assembled guests. "Why am I here tonight, Kassandra?"

Kassandra led her to a slightly more quiet corner of the room. "I want you to meet someone."

"Are they here yet?"

Was she that anxious to leave already? Kassandra hoped not, because her target seemed to be missing. She scanned the crowd again just to be sure, using her height to full advantage. No sign of him. "No, not yet."

Kyra's gaze settled upon her. "I bet you go to shit like this all the time."

"More than I'd like to."

After that, silence. Maybe Kyra had run out of things to say, because supposed to be friends wasn't at all like they actually were.

Closed or open. Those were Kassandra's options. Stay closed, and stand in awkward silence or chat about small, safe subjects. Or she could open up, reveal a little of herself and hope that Kyra might follow. "I spend hours and hours a day talking to people. Sometimes I just want to sit with a book and a glass of bourbon."

Kyra nodded. "I get that. Sometimes it's like... if I have to listen to one more story about someone's day, I'm gonna go mad. Maybe I'd like someone to ask me about my day for once."

"People want a side of therapy with their latte."

"All for four bucks," she said. "But don't get me wrong. Customer service is my gig, and I like it well enough, it's just..."

"Too much of anything will kill you," Kassandra said agreeably.

Kyra eyed her over the edge of her glass. "What about you? If you didn't have to be here, what hot book would you be on a date with?"

To Kassandra's surprise, Kyra's voice held none of her usual mocking tone. She thought of the half-finished translation of Sappho she'd been working on. Kyra would probably roll her eyes and think it horrifically pretentious.

Kyra made Kassandra want to edit herself to impress her. "I've... been reading a lot of poetry lately." A bad answer, but it would give her time to wrack her brain for a good one.

"Oh? Like what?"

A commotion at the front of the room saved her. She looked up, saw a man posing dramatically within the frame of the greatroom's doorway, and smiled.

He strolled into the room: blonde and beautiful as a Greek god. He wasn't Aphrodite emerging from the waves, but a man named Alkibiades, known more for his wit and insatiable appetite for hedonism than his generosity. And if Kassandra was going to win this evening, she'd need to convince him to change his ways, if only for a little while.

Kyra's attention followed Kassandra's lead, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of him. "You want me to talk to Alki Henriksen? Climbing Magazine coverboy Alki Henriksen?"

Kassandra grinned. "Yeah."

"What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and chat him up?"

"Of course not. I'll make an introduction." Or she would, if she knew Kyra's last name. God damn it. How had she overlooked that important detail?

"You know him?" Kyra was saying, between incredulous head shakes. "Of course you do."

She'd never seen Kyra this... flustered. It was delightful. "Don't tell me you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," she said a little too quickly. She knocked back the rest of her drink and handed the empty glass to a passing waiter. "Well, what's the plan?"

First, the matter of Kyra's name. "Do you have a business card?"

Kyra shot her a suspicious look, but didn't argue, just reached into her back pocket and pulled out a stack of cards, sliding one off the top and handing it over.

Cliffhanger Coffee Kyra Delianos, Proprietor

No way. Kyra was a fellow Greek. Kassandra's mind flooded with questions. Did she speak Greek? How did she end up in Portland of all places? But now wasn't the time to ask. She shoved her curiosity into her pocket along with the card.

One last thing. She reached for Kyra's wrist, but stopped before making contact. "May I?"

"Okay..." Kyra's brows wrinkled. "Wait, why?" she asked, but she didn't pull away when Kassandra gently lifted her arm and began rolling up her shirtsleeve.

"You have more credibility than anyone else in this room. You own a business here, but you're also a part of this community," Kassandra said as she folded the fabric, her heart jumping every time her fingers brushed Kyra's skin. "And you very clearly don't look like someone who lives in Lake Oswego or West Linn." Stepford, cookie-cutter suburbs, filled with what passed for the wealthy in this part of the country. "It's worth emphasizing that you're a patron and constituent. To this particular audience, that carries weight." She finished the cuff, then moved on to the second sleeve.

Kyra looked skeptical but didn't say anything, just dropped her eyes to watch Kassandra's hands work the fabric of her shirt.

Kassandra smoothed the cuff just above Kyra's elbow, then ran a fingertip down the delicately shaded lines of the tattoo she'd revealed. "Besides, I think they're beautiful." And with that, she turned and stepped into the crowd.

Time to go fishing.

She cast her line easily enough, edging through the crowd that had gathered around Alkibiades and hooking him with a simple, "Walk with me?" They weren't exactly friends, but their history was such that it was enough to get him to join her without question.

Kyra, to her credit, hadn't moved from where Kassandra had left her, and she greeted their arrival with a casual ease. No sign of the nervous fluster of before.

"Now Alki," Kassandra said. "I know you get so bored talking to the same stale people at these things, and you know I can't tell a cam from a carabiner, so I brought you someone who does." She turned her gaze to Kyra. "Kyra, this is Alkibiades Henriksen. Alki, this is Kyra Delianos."

They shook hands. "Alki's short for Alkibiades?" she asked.

He grinned. "My mother had a flair for the dramatic."

"Kyra owns a coffee shop here in town," Kassandra said. "Cliffhanger, off of Belmont."

"Cliffhanger, you say? I like you already."

Kyra's eyes flicked over her and back. "I'm so glad Kassandra introduced us, because I owe you a thank you."

"Oh?"

"One of your ropes saved my life once."

Kassandra had chosen wisely. Kyra knew how to work a conversation, balancing her compliments with questions to get him to talk about himself and his company, and soon enough they were discussing things like the hand feel of synthetic fibers and dynamic versus static elongation and Kassandra took that as her cue to step back and get out of the way.

A tall, trim man in a sport jacket wandered past her elbow. "Merritt!" she said with a smile as she joined him. He owned the top tier men's and women's teams in this soccer-obsessed city. "How nice to see you. And how are your Timbers and Thorns..."

.oOo.

For the next half hour, Kassandra worked the room with a smile, a firm handshake, and a stack of business cards. She spoke with a tipsy neurologist from OHSU; a partner at some law firm with a comically long name she'd already forgotten; and a creative director at Wieden+Kennedy, who was all too happy to tell her how they'd picked the locations to animate in this year's anime-inspired advert for the Oregon tourism board.

Alki caught up to her as she finished her circuit of the room. "Kassandra! I really must thank you."

"For?"

"That introduction." He nodded over the crowd towards Kyra, who was off in a corner chatting with a few other guests. "She's exquisite. Like a wild tigress. Is she yours?"

"No. And she'd better not hear you say that or you'll end up wearing your balls for a necklace."

"So not yet."

"She can barely stand to be in the same room with me." What the fuck was she doing, letting that slip? There was something about him that disarmed her in the most inconvenient times.

His face lit up. "She's fair game, then?"

Careful, Kassandra. She smiled at him while taking a slow and measured breath through her nose. "You'd have to ask her."

He dropped his mouth open and pressed his hand against his chest. "Tamping down your anger on my behalf? Are you trying to turn me on?" Then he laughed. "I never thought I'd see the mighty Kassandra sell herself short. Your tigress only has eyes for you, darling."

Kassandra found herself meeting Kyra's gaze across the room, but before she could nod, or smile, or do anything at all, Kyra looked away abruptly.

"I know carnal interest when I see it," he said sagely.

"It'll never happen."

"Why not? Did you kick her puppy or something? No, don't give me that look. I know you're no puppy kicker. Stealing her puppy for yourself would be more your style."

She ignored him. "Have you forgotten who I work for?"

His eyes widened as he connected the dots. "Oh dear, that is awkward." He paused, considering. "But look at you, still trying anyway. I admire your persistence in the face of adversity."

"You're speaking to me like you know me well."

"Oh, but it's true. Like recognizing like. It's what we do, you and I: float high above it all to keep everyone from coming too close. But sometimes one of those pesky mortals becomes too captivating to resist." He lifted a brow over clear grey eyes and fine, androgynous features. "Is she worth coming down from Olympus for?"

She found herself gritting her teeth. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

"Come now, Kassandra. All this sexual tension's making you mean."

To hell with him and his money. She was this close to writing off the bet she'd made and telling him something she'd regret. But then she'd be wasting all of Kyra's efforts, and setting back the Library's fundraising as well. She took a breath, then laughed a laugh that said Let's change the subject. "We've been talking far too much about me," she said. "So, what magazine cover did you land this quarter?"

He was all too happy to tell her about his latest climbing adventure, to Peru this time, and then the conversation shifted as it always did to his ambitions for Vertus, the climbing gear company he'd founded.

"Then Kyra flat-out told me that Vertus had no reputation other than making 'bombproof' gear."

That did sound Kyra-esque.

"And then she said if I wanted to be Yvon Chouinard, I'd have to start acting like him."

Yvon Chouinard, the founder of Patagonia, Inc., known for his activism and philanthropic efforts. "She's got a point, and she's not shy about stabbing people with it."

"Is she that candid with you?" he asked, smiling as Kassandra nodded. "Oh to have a front row seat in the theatre when that happens." He paused in thought. "Well. Between the two of you, I've had a wonderfully enlightening time this evening. But I'm sure you invited me here for a reason, Kassandra."

Her smile was small and knowing and there was no need for her to say more.

"I'd love to see my name at the top of the generosity leaderboard tonight," he said. "How many digits do you think it would take?"

"Six."

"For you darling, my wallet's wide, wide open."

.oOo.

A short while later, Kassandra was camped near the bar with a well-deserved victory drink in hand. No way she was losing this bet now. She couldn't wait to see the look on—

"So that was Alki Henriksen."

Kassandra turned and found Kyra walking up to join her. "It sure was."

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked. "Scratch that, I can already tell. You're just reeking of smug satisfaction."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome." There was humor in her voice. "He said the two of you met at a Blazers game."

"We did, yeah."

"He also said you used to play, once." She gave Kassandra an appraising look. "Were you any good?"

Kassandra shrugged, her edges still raw from her earlier conversation with him. "I was all right."

A voice spoke from behind her. "'All right'? She was the best player in the country three years in a row."

Kassandra turned with a grin. "Hello, Roxana."

They embraced, briefly, as Kyra watched them with thinly-veiled curiosity. Roxana squeezed Kassandra's hands and stepped back to study her. "'course I'll never fucking forgive you for knocking us out of the Final Four."

Stanford versus Cal, that never-ending Bay Area rivalry. They'd split their regular season games that year and traded spots in the rankings back and forth until tournament time, and then everything came down to one game, win or go home, Stanford down one point and only two seconds left on the clock...

"You were guarding me so close it took a fucking circus shot to win that game," Kassandra said.

"Only you would have taken that shot — and only you could have made it."

They grinned at each other until Kassandra remembered her manners. "Roxana, this is Kyra. Kyra, Roxana." The two of them shook hands like two leopards meeting: an instant sizing up of the other, shoulders pulling back, spines straightening.

"Nice to meet you," Kyra said.

"The pleasure's mine." Roxana shifted her gaze between Kyra and Kassandra and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I interrupted you two, but this was my first chance to say hello all evening."

"It's been what, five years since we've seen each other?"

"Near enough."

"How are the kids?"

"Kiana's on a good travel team and thinks she's going to play for Stanford. I don't know if I'm going to survive wearing your colors for four years."

"She's got plenty of time to change her mind."

Kyra lifted her empty glass. "Excuse me a moment," she said.

She cut through the crowd with a feline grace. Kassandra turned back to Roxana to find her smiling curiously. "A friend of yours?"

"Something like that."

"I'm not sure what I think of this new humble, evasive you."

Damn, it was good to see her. She'd always been beautiful, and over the years, she'd found contentment in a balance of family and career that had only deepened her beauty. Roxana wasn't the one who got away, but a vision of what might have been.

What might have been, if they'd been able to make a long-distance relationship work while Roxana was playing ball in Russia and trying to catch on to a WNBA roster. What might have been, if Kassandra had never gotten into the back of that towncar with her father, not knowing that she was about to be driven straight into a car wreck that would tear her and her life to shreds.

Roxana had tried — she'd tried harder than anyone else — but when Kassandra finally got out of the hospital, she was too far gone, too into her anger, too busy pushing everyone away while she tried to figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life now that basketball had been canceled from her equation.

"It's good to see you," she told Roxana. "And I'm going to win our bet, just so you know."

"Now there's the Kassandra I know and love."

"Nike still running you ragged?"

"I flew in from Boston last night. We're going all in with Eliud — if anyone's going to run a sub-two-hour marathon, it's going to be him."

"I can't think of anyone better to lead that charge," she said, smiling as Roxana wrestled with the compliment. "So what have I missed in five years?" she asked, but as she listened to Roxana tell her of what might have been, her eyes kept drifting to the crowd, looking for Kyra and the possibility of what might be.

.oOo.

It wasn't until the fundraiser was winding down that Kyra found her at the bar.

She'd left Kyra alone to mingle without distraction, and every time she'd caught a glimpse of Kyra in the crowd, she'd been deep in conversation with someone new. Good. Let her build that network.

"They're saying Alki pledged half a million tonight," she said without preamble. "No one else came close."

Kassandra smiled into the last of her drink and finished it off. "Mmmhmm."

"That's a lot of money," she said. Then she gave Kassandra a sideways glance and added, "Not for you, I'm sure, but..."

Any answer from Kassandra's mouth would be wrong. That topic had too many dangerous currents, was too perilous to their friendly façade. "Did you have a nice time tonight, at least?" Safer waters.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Nearly ten o'clock. She'd overstayed her deadline by an hour.

"But not for long."

That confused her, but then she followed Kassandra's eyes to the area behind bar, where the bartenders were moving racks of glassware and wiping down the bartop, cleaning up after the fundraiser and getting ready to reopen for the bar's private clientele.

They got the hint, and headed for the exit.

"This carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin. Or a speakeasy," Kyra said. Then she gave herself a self-deprecating snort. "That was a terrible metaphor. It's not even close to midnight."

On the sidewalk outside, they stopped and looked at each other, both trying to figure out something to say.

Kyra beat her to it. "I did have a really nice time," she said, and there was an ember of warmth to her that hadn't been there before.

Kassandra wanted more of it. "Would you like to grab a—"

"Kassandra! You weren't going to leave without gloating over your victory, were you?"

Fuck. She turned to Roxana in time to be enveloped in a bear hug. "Actually, I was—"

"Alki Henriksen opening his wallet. Unbelievable. I thought I had you beat for sure after I got Tim and Merritt to sign on."

At the edge of her vision, she could see Kyra's features freeze over. Fuckfuckfuck.

Roxana smiled at her fondly. "You should join me on the Library board, you know. We could use you."

It took Kassandra a moment to regain her wits. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long to say yes." She checked her phone. "There's my Uber, I've got to run. Lunch sometime? Soon."

"Yes, for sure."

Then Roxana disappeared into the back of her ride. She'd left Kassandra on the sidewalk and taken all the air on the street with her.

Kassandra turned slowly. "Kyra, I—"

"You used me."

"To raise more money than I could have on my own."

"So you could win a bet. That's all this was to you. Another chance for you to lift some trophy in your own mind," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade. Then she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't stop, didn't turn around. "On a walk."

"At this time of night?"

She ignored the question, putting more and more distance between them.

"Fuck," Kassandra muttered, then hurried in pursuit, falling into step beside Kyra, close enough to be caught in the splash zone of Kyra's seething anger.

Kyra kept her eyes straight ahead. "What are you doing?"

"Walking with you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"I don't care," Kassandra said. "You want to go somewhere? I'll see you there safely. You want to walk around, aimlessly? We'll walk around, aim—"

Kyra took two quick steps and pulled ahead, then whirled around and stopped square in Kassandra's path, somehow filling the entire sidewalk with her immovable presence. "Stop it," she said, raising both hands in front of her. "Just... stop." Her eyes searched Kassandra's face. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

Sudden pain was something Kassandra knew. A lowered shoulder bashing into her chest hard enough to crack ribs. A highside flinging her from her dirtbike onto the rocks. And now she had another entry for the list: a few simple words in the shape of a question. "If that's what you want, say it, and you won't see me again."

Kyra stared at her, and Kassandra felt herself standing up straighter, her spine and ribs tightening as if pulled by a great winch; her body closing the gates and readying the defenses.

Then Kyra laughed, the sound as thin and brittle as the shards from a broken window, and just as dangerously sharp. "I want a fucking drink."

She walked away, and Kassandra followed helplessly after her. One block up, another block over, and then Kyra headed straight for a hole in the wall with the discouraging name of "Scooter McQuades" printed on a boxy sign that flickered fluorescently into the night.

If the Oxford English Dictionary had an entry for "dive bar," it couldn't do any better than a description of this place: a dimly lit snapshot of the early nineties, where the music was abrasive and loud, and decades of grime stained the walls.

The woman behind the bar looked over at them and smiled. "Kyra! I'll be damned."

It was interesting, how quickly Kyra could relax in the right circumstances. Like a light switch flipping.

"Ann! I didn't think you'd be working tonight." She smiled apologetically. "It's been too long, I know."

"You're busy. I'm busy. It's all good." The bartender was older, maybe in her fifties, dark hair streaked with grey and faded tattoos on her forearms. Cotton-candy pinks and blues. But her movements behind the bar were as clean and purposeful as a scalpel and her eyes were lively with humor. She quirked an eyebrow just long enough to give Kassandra an appraising gaze, then turned back to Kyra.

"What are ya hankerin' for, love?"

"PBR and tots."

Then it was Kassandra's turn. "What'll it be for you?"

Kyra interrupted before she could open her mouth. "She'll have a PBR, too."

"How do you like them tots?"

"Cajun."

"Won't take but a minute, I promise." She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Well, don't just stand there, have a seat, both of you. Booth, bar, pick your poison."

Kyra chose a booth near the windows. The cracked vinyl seats had once been emerald green, but time had faded them to a dull moss, and someone had patched the worst of the wear with strips of black tape. At least the top of the table seemed clean.

Kyra leaned back against the vinyl and stared at her.

Kassandra had been grilled by hostile lawyers in the courtroom and shouted at by C-level blowhards in the boardroom, but nothing compared to the withering scrutiny she was getting in this dive bar — and Kyra hadn't even said a fucking word.

The drinks came, along with a steaming basket of tater tots, and in moments the booth smelled of beer and fried potatoes. Kyra tossed a soggy cardboard coaster emblazoned with "Kilkenny" in front of her, then placed a pint of PBR upon it.

"Drink it."

She did. It was better than she thought. Better than she remembered, during those beer-soaked college days when she played hard and partied harder, a different sorority girl in her bed every night.

Kyra sipped her own beer and nodded at the bottles of Jameson lined up at the end of the bar. "I want that bottle of whiskey. But I know I shouldn't have it." She popped a tater tot into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully. Reached across the table for the bottle of ketchup. Shook it forcefully and tapped out a puddle onto a paper-lined corner of the basket.

Kassandra couldn't remember the last time she'd had a tater tot. College, maybe? She picked one out and ate it. Spicy heat. Paprika and cayenne and plenty of MSG, probably, the flavors floating on a raft of grease and fluffy potato. It was good, and as comforting as a warm blanket.

She glanced at the ketchup bottle. Not Heinz, something local. Organic, artisanal ketchup in a dive bar, reminding her that she was still in Portland after all.

Ann bustled by with a tray full of pints destined for another table.

Kyra nodded in her direction. "She's owned this place something like twenty-five years," she said. "That's what I want. I want my shop to last." She pushed the corner of her beer coaster with a fingertip. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

She moved her finger in a slow arc, spinning the coaster. Her glass spun with it, leaving a wet trail behind on the tabletop.

"I don't have a safety net, Kassandra. I don't have any family left, and my money's tied up in my shop. If I fuck up, it's all on me." Her hand stilled. "And I think about that every single time I have to make a decision about the shop or about money. It's always there in the back of my mind. Always."

She pushed the coaster hard enough for the beer in the glass to slosh from side to side.

"I'm not telling you this because I want your pity. I chose this business. It's just... I have a lot to lose, but my everything wouldn't even be a blip on your radar."

"I understand."

Her smile was patient. "No you don't, but that's okay."

She tipped a tater tot into the pool of ketchup. Fished it out. Ate it.

"My lease is up this fall, and judging by that look on your face, you know exactly what that means for me. I'll get to play the negotiation game with my landlord, trying to get to a place where the rent increase won't crush me."

Kassandra thought of the shiny new furniture store next door to the coffee shop. The deck was stacked against Kyra; all that outside money pouring into the neighborhood was there for one purpose: to raise rents.

"So I'm still thinking about your offer, because I'd be a fool not to."

"There's no universe in which I'd ever mistake you for a fool."

Silence, then. Maybe she'd killed the conversation. Maybe Kyra just wanted to sit in peace and drink her beer and eat some tater tots, and forget for a moment that she was the only one holding up the weight of her world.

The world revolved around money. Kassandra saw the windows of the coffee shop going dark, the bar and chairs and tables vanishing, a FOR LEASE sign pasted up against the glass. Outside money. Kyra's problem was the kind of problem she could solve.

One tater tot left. Kyra's brow arched in silent question, and Kassandra shook her head in a take it motion.

Kassandra finished her beer, and watched the remnants of foam slide down the walls of the glass. After a while, she cleared her throat, looked at Kyra, and said, "So, how was your day?"

Kyra blinked, but then a slow smile spread across her lips. "It was interesting," she said. "I had the day off, so I climbed all morning and spent the afternoon figuring out what the hell I was going to wear tonight." Then she laughed, more from disbelief than humor. "And then I go to this fundraiser with no idea what to expect, and end up talking to Alki fucking Henriksen, the god of climbing. He wants to meet about doing a collab with my shop. I never would have dreamed of that being a possibility. Never. Though I'm sure he's just trying to get in my pants."

"He wants both. Business and pleasure." Like recognizing like.

"It's tempting; he is a beautiful man."

They'd make a striking couple. The thought of it was vertiginous. She kept her face blank and her mouth shut as she studied the worn formica next to her glass.

"But I already have enough of a distraction on my plate."

Kassandra nodded. "I know." Everything kept circling back to the same place.

Silence for several seconds, then Kyra spoke again. "I wish our circumstances were different."

That made Kassandra look up. "So do I."

"Do you? Would you even notice me if I was some rando on the street, I wonder." Then she waved one hand dismissively while tipping back her head to drain her beer with the other. The glass hit the table with a bang, and she slid it aside. "No, don't answer that. I've got to open the shop early tomorrow."

Kassandra grabbed the check before Kyra's glass came to a stop. She dropped cash on the table, then picked up the pen and receipt and wrote her number at the bottom.

"What's this?" Kyra said as Kassandra pushed it in front of her.

"My phone number, if you ever need it. Or if your opinion about our circumstances ever changes."

For a moment, she thought Kyra might not take it. But Kyra did, her fingers gracefully folding the paper before slipping it into her front pocket. And then they were standing, and Kyra was saying goodbye to Ann, and they were walking outside to stand face-to-face on the sidewalk. Déjà vu.

They stared at each other.

In the backwash of fluorescent light, Kyra's eyes were sheened with black opal. "I was kinda hoping I'd have a horrible time tonight," she said, and she reached out and tucked a stray lock of Kassandra's hair back behind her ear, and then her fingers drifted down to the lapel of Kassandra's jacket, and over to the knot on Kassandra's neckerchief, and she gave it a gentle tug, and smoothed its tails so they hung neatly. "I really was."

She stepped back, and her eyes said something in a language Kassandra hadn't yet learned how to read.

"Will you text me?" Kassandra asked.

"I don't know." Her gaze moved past Kassandra's shoulder. "Oh, I want that taxi."

Three long strides and Kassandra was in the street, flagging it down, opening the door.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," she said as Kyra settled into the back seat.

"Wait, how are you getting home?"

"Walking. It's not far." Then she closed the door, flashed a smirk and a wave as Kyra rolled her eyes and the taxi pulled away.

Chapter six of The Sellout.

[valiantly-onward]

The Serpentine War Ch. 7

Chapter 7: The Alliance

It was going so well until the giant snake showed up.

The Anacondrai were on them in an instant. Maya’s raised shield met an Anacondrai sword with a clash! Ray tried to summon his fire again, but it didn’t respond. Only his instincts saved him from getting skewered. The loss of his katana crept back in, cold and fearful.

Then a battle cry erupted from behind. Ray chanced a look over his shoulder. There they were at last, the village defenders. Red masks were pulled over their noses, reminiscent of the ninja of days long past. Despite their disorganization and haphazard collection of old swords and spears, they never slowed.

The villagers crashed into a wave of violet. Metal clanged. Anacondrai roared. Ray found himself trapped in the middle. He tried to find an opening in the chaos, but he couldn’t shoot fire without hurting one of his own.

In his desperation, he thought he might have cried, “Maya!” Whether in his mind or out loud, the crashing of the battle drowned it out.

Then world slowed. A single Anacondrai sword cleaved the air over Ray’s head. He raised a hand, uncertain if fire would follow.

But the sword never dropped. Instead, as if yanked by an invisible rope, it flew straight up and soared away. The snake it belonged to was pulled along behind it. A cluster of Serpentine rose into the air and dropped again in a jumble.

Ray stared. “What the…”

Something swooped overhead; Ray ducked instinctively. He snapped back up, ready to fight, but it was no snake, no trick of the Serpentine. It was a man in a golden helmet, hovering in the air.

Lei’s wild laugh escaped the ruckus. She stepped out of the shadows to shake her fist at the flying man. “Dojin, you cut it close!”

“And you - behind you!” the man called back.

Lei spun to face a blue Serpentine and disappeared into the battle.

The Anacondrai ranks were reforming from Dojin’s attack. Before the nearest could rise, Ray shoved forward and slammed his boot into the warrior’s snout. He swiped up the Anacondrai’s fallen sword.

Woah. Ray allowed himself a millisecond to admire the craftsmanship of the weapon, even if he had no idea what it was made of. Each serrated edge had been formed with individual precision, needle-sharp and not at all brittle.

Maya appeared at Ray’s side again - she’d lost the shield, but she seemed alright. Many of the villagers lined up behind the two of them. Ray swung the sword in a wide berth to fend off the approaching Anacondrai. They were not frightened. Before he had the chance to defend again, they rushed forward.

Above, Master Dojin dove in again. He skimmed the top of the Ancondrai, swerving between their swords. He clawed at their snaky heads, pulled some off the ground with his strange power, and basically wreaked havoc. Ray’s hope spiked. They might actually have a chance. Together, they could win this!

Stupid giant snake.

The ground began to tremble. At first, Ray thought it was Serpentine reinforcements. And in a way it was. But it was worse than Anacondrai.

It curled around from the side of the mountain, crushing a section of village wall. A giant snake. A real snake, not a Serpentine. Its mighty maw opened larger than Ray’s whole body. Purple scales, darker than the Anacondrai’s, swept through the snow and rubble.

It reared its head in an “S” behind the floating Dojin, who was busy surveying the battle.

“Dojin!” Lei’s voice cried from somewhere unseen.

The man spun just in time for the serpent’s giant fang to pierce his shoulder.

Dojin did not scream. When the snake released him, he simply dropped from the sky and landed in a heap at the base of the fountain. His helmet clanged against the stone.

Ray wanted to push through the Serpentine, but they were too thick, too strong. Like fighting a stone wall.

Thankfully, he caught sight of Lei appearing in the shadow of the mountain face. She locked eyes with him across the square and shouted, “To the outer wall!” Then she and Dojin vanished.

Ray glanced to the side, where Maya was. She shot him a quick look, a determined look, and pushed forward.

The battle raged. Ray’s fear was long since evaporated. It was all instinct now, promising him life but not particularly caring if it was wrong. And he was getting tired. His Elemental energy seemed nearly spent.

Amazingly, the giant serpent seemed to retreat, as if its work with the old Elemental Master was its only purpose. An effective purpose - Ray and Maya were the only Masters left fighting. As the snake slid back around the mountain, the Serpentine renewed their attack with force. Villagers fell under the crushing might of the huge Anacondrai.

Maya kept fighting. Her expression was a fierce, fierce thing when she was angry. But Ray was used to the feeling of losing. He knew this battle couldn’t be won.

It wasn’t really his decision to make, but he made it anyway. “Retreat!” he called to the villagers.

It seemed they’d been waiting for the word. The line broke, and the villagers scattered. The snakes raised a cacophony hiss of triumph.

Only Maya remained. Her sight of the fountain was cut off and that seemed to be interfering with her powers. Smaller and smaller balls of water emerged from her fingers.

“Maya!” Ray shouted. “Let’s go!”

She threw more water. It sputtered.

“Maya!”

She dropped her hands with a frustrated yell, then turned on her heel and sprinted after him.

The Serpentine gave chase. Ray kept Maya and the villagers moving, but he had to turn and fend off the black snakes. A blade sliced his upper arm and he barely felt it.

As the warriors dropped away from Ray’s dying fire, he saw someone approaching through their lines. A regal green Serpentine with curling black markings, bearing a golden staff. Its slitted eyes landed on Ray.

Was this the leader, then? The commander of this forsaken battle? Ray wanted so badly to dive through the warriors and set fire to the creature. But he could see his death too clearly in that scenario. It took all his willpower, but he convinced himself to wait.

And run.

They reached the outer wall. Ray took one last look at the smoking buildings, and that green snake with the staff. Even from far away, it leered at him. Smiled to show its fangs.

Ray smiled back, baring his own teeth in challenge. This wasn’t over.

He would not rest until they were free from these monsters.

~~~

“Hold still.” Maya jerked Ray’s shoulder back. “Pouting won’t make it better.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“‘He said, while pouting’.”

This caused Ray to scowl. But he was quiet as Maya finished bandaging his arm.

Flying on dragonback was actually smoother than expected, but if three was a crowd, four was certainly pushing it. Maya had to lean over Ray’s shoulder to get a good angle, which did terrible things to his pulse.

He called to Lei against the wind. “Where did that big snake come from?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She shifted the injured Master of Gravity - for that’s what he was - against her dragon’s neck. He wasn’t dead, but he might still be, if they didn’t hurry.

Ray leaned to the side to avoid Lei’s flapping braids. Below, Ninjago was just sand and rocks. Ahead, the ridge of the Echo Canyons rose above the dunes. Lei’s dragon dipped, ever so slightly, until Ray could see their destination: a small valley between two stone walls, not quite a canyon but a tier above one.

People below scattered for Lei to land. Maya slid off, then Ray and Lei with the Master of Gravity.

Ray surveyed the “valley.” A few worn tents stood between them and the rock walls. Ray noted half a dozen people, if that, looking back at him. Many sets of eyes were drawn to the Anacondrai sword in his hand. He hadn’t realized he was still holding it.

A man hurried toward them, wearing an armored wrap and a full beard Ray would’ve killed for. The wind tousled the man’s black hair.

Lei saw him immediately. “Lorin!”

“Lei.” The man reached them. “I thought you were defending Jamanakai Village.”

“Were,” Lei corrected. “Not anymore. Lorin - Dojin is hurt.”

“I’ll take him.” The man scooped up the Master of Gravity like he weighed nothing - which he probably didn’t. His brow deepened as he turned to Ray and Maya. “Fire and Water, I take it?”

“Yes,” Ray said for both of them.

“I am Lorin, the Master of Earth.” He offered them his free hand. Pleased, Ray shook it, and Maya did the same.

“Lorin,” Lei interjected. “Where’s Wu?”

“Command tent.” He jerked his head toward one of the tents, slightly bigger than the others. “Go. I’ll come when I’ve taken care of our friend here.”

He jogged off with Dojin. Lei guided them toward the command tent. The other Masters followed - Ray assumed that’s who they were. A blonde woman in a long blue coat and boots. A short, mustached man with a fez and green vest. A pair of identical men wearing red full-body armor. What a varied, jumbled lot.

They ducked under the tent flap. Sure enough, there was Master Wu. Amazingly, his staff was away from his hands, leaning against the tent wall. He and an old man in blue robes leaned over a table of maps.

Wu looked up as they entered. “Master of Shadow. Ray, Maya - what are you doing here?”

“Jamanakai Village is lost,” Lei announced. She bowed her head. “I - I’m sorry.”

Wu’s gaze fell low, his eyes shadowed by the dim candlelight. “Dojin. I sent him-”

Lei nodded in confirmation. “He was injured, but he’ll be okay, with luck.”

“And the villagers?”

“Most of them escaped. Not all.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Ray couldn’t stand the silence. He slammed the table with his palms. “So what? Jamanakai’s gone, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still stop the Serpentine. So what’s next? What do we do now?”

“Well said, Master of Fire,” replied the old man. He looked at Wu. “This does change things. We believed the Serpentine would abandon the effort to move through the Canyons if they could not obtain Jamanakai Village. Now that they have possession, we will likely be facing a war on two fronts. One will be here. The other will be their contingency route, which we have yet to find.”

“I see only one path.” Wu laid a finger on a map. “The direct way from the sands, south of the western Sea of Sand and the mountains. There is a pass here that will give them direct access to the majority of our lands. Ray, did you see Anacondrai?”

Ray started, surprised to be called on. “Yeah, we did.”

“Not many,” Lei added. “Only half a battalion. But that was enough.”

Wu nodded his agreement. He pointed at the brown smudge on the map that indicated the Echo Canyons. “Then of the half moving this way, few are Anacondrai. So the rest of the Anacondrai must be somewhere else. If we can stop them before they reach the pass, we may be able to push back.”

“Master Wu,” a voice rumbled from behind Ray. This was Lorin, who must’ve arrived while they’d been talking. His face was a mask of concern. “There is town in those hills, not far from the pass. My hometown. The Serpentine will have to move through it. We must defend it.”

“So we shall,” Wu promised. He straightened before the gathered Alliance. “It is decided. Five of us will remain here in the Canyons. The rest will go with Lorin and head off the Serpentine. Make haste, my friends.”

@greenygreenland

[docfuture]

Princess, part 11

      [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly. Next chapter is mostly done so I’m going to try to get it out later in August.]

Previous: Part 10

     Five days after Speedtest.  Three days after the isotope exchanger had worked enough for Flicker to restart her body chemistry.  Then a scramble of pain, healing, and memory triage before, finally, sleep.  She'd awakened, mentally fogged, to start a messy program of biological recovery and physical therapy, complicated by the need to spend more time in the isotope exchanger to reduce her not-immediately-lethal-but-still-a-problem radioactivity.  For her minds, a fuzzy time of finding and patching connections, habits, and memories that were temporarily broken, misplaced, distorted, or newly intrusive.  For respite, ghosting to Antarctica, gliding in the low sun over ice and cold air, never near anything living.  Sleep remained fitful.       Evening.  The last really needed isotope exchanger session done.  Body and mind were now holding together, even if neither were yet anywhere Flicker was particularly happy with.       Talking to Doc in his lab.  He frowned at a brain scan, some graphs, and a schematic of a cybernetic inductor.       "I checked in on your medibots, because you mentioned your start routine this morning was still rough.  Looks like your mind work was okay despite that, though?"       "Caffeine helped," said Flicker.       "And you can drink it again, and eat.  Progress.  I'm concerned at this scan though.  It still shows signs of cybernetic interface withdrawal.  I don't know how long that will last, given everything else.  How bad is the ennui and poor appetite?"       "Caffeine helped.  A little."       "Hm.  Not much we can do other than wait.  I had the Database forward the medibot scans and other information to Dr. Reinhart's partition."       "Thanks.  But I have a question."       "Yes?"       "You agreed to all of Dr. Reinhart's terms, including Database access, even though she's got a really questionable background, and doesn't want to meet or talk to you.  Her last message mentioned it wasn't an encouraging sign, because it meant I needed help pretty bad."       "Well, you do.  Frankly, I'd be more worried if she was cheerily optimistic.  And the Database picked her as the best choice.  Fortunately Jumping Spider knew a bit about her, and was willing to do that interview.  So I'm satisfied for now."       "I guess I don't get how you're okay with the uncertainty about a mind control expert."       "I did verify that she wasn't gaming the Database threat index.  The correlations are suggestive of a mission-oriented vigilante targeting actively harmful individuals with power that have little or no likelihood of being stopped or removed by other means.  Plus a few covert operations agents trying to kill her.  The threat index understates her effect, because she operates in realms where data is sparse and of poor quality.  As for the alleged mind control, it may just be a combination of psychological manipulation and some kind of hidden influence.  But there is no question she uses her reputation as an effective tool."       Doc waved a hand.  "And I have a reputation for being paranoid about mind control, which isn't going to make her more eager to meet me, is it?  Our security protocols may not be compatible, and I can think of several other potential good reasons for her to stay away.  But ultimately it doesn't matter.  She doesn't want to talk, so that's that.  She owes me nothing.  I wouldn't mind discussing mind control defense with her, and I don't like uncertainty any more than you do.  But I've had a couple more decades to get used to it.  I know I can't solve all the world's problems myself.  Priorities."       A crooked smile.  "Now, none of this means that you should accept everything she says uncritically, or that you should strive to emulate her, morally or otherwise.  And I'm sure she'll drop some unpleasant surprises on you.  But she agreed to help, and she certainly understands the stakes.  Are you having trouble with social boundaries again?"       "When did this become about me?"       Doc just looked at her.       "Okay, yeah."       "Boundaries are a difficult problem for you.  So I hope your work with Dr. Reinhart is productive, and that you eventually have an opportunity to discuss them with her."       *****       The next morning had certainly started off productive.  And difficult.  Flicker had been very much looking forward to finally recovering enough to talk--physically talk, with real air, vocal cords, sound, and hearing--to Dr. Stella Reinhart.       Flicker faced Dr. Reinhart in her office.  Stella.  She said to call her Stella.  She was in her late twenties, about 170 centimeters tall, with dark hair and green eyes, and wore jeans, boots, a leather jacket, and a work shirt.  She looked dangerous because she was dangerous, and had the sort of intent, purposeful expression Flicker had learned to watch for when evaluating an emergency site at high speed--if someone like that was running, it was a very good idea to find out why.       The office was bland, more often used by the assistant who handled paperwork for Stella's consulting business.  But there were comfortable chairs.  Stella sat in one, not behind the desk, after saying a few words about subconscious framing and symbolic barriers.  A cable ran from her laptop to the now thoroughly guarded office net connection and from there to the Database.  DASI was on duty, capital S for Security duty, with subtle and wide-ranging countermeasures.  Excessive?  DASI didn't think so, nor did Stella.  One less thing for Flicker to worry about, which helped.       The office was in a half empty building in a not particularly prosperous location, but it did have sliding doors opening onto a patio.  Dr. Reinhart had left them open to accommodate Flicker's claustrophobia.  Flicker had set up a portable force screen to keep out weather and complete the veil of security.       Flicker's speed mind idled, handling just alerts and safety.  She was talking with her physical body and brain only, entirely at human speed, about something stressful, with no help from speed mind.  Holding back was hard.  More so in the aftermath of Speedtest--her old problems with self-interrupting and awkward blurting had returned.  She chased thoughts and sentences faster than her mouth could complete them, as clumsily as when she was thirteen.       Embarrassment intruded as she veered and rambled, but Stella had suggested this starting test, after initial introductions.  Every verbal issue, every bit of awkwardness that she normally compensated for, everything she smoothed over, eliminated, or hid with speed, visor and Database--all that was data, that told Stella how the human half of Flicker's mind worked.  And Stella could use that as a baseline to probe how the high speed half of Flicker's mind worked, and how she coordinated.  So she endured.       Flicker stumbled to a stopping point.  She'd managed a partial, excessively wordy, and not entirely coherent description of her problems and goals.  She had digressed from and mangled her text summary, but talking out loud, in her own words, from her own mind, without notes, had been the point.       She took a calming breath and tried to untense.  This was the only part where talking was essential.  I can switch to text now if I really have to.       Stella smiled and thanked her, then turned to type at her computer.  Her exact words escaped as Flicker's speed mind started a flurry of mental replays and second-guessing, but the Database flashed 'Break time' on her visor.  Relief.  Out through the doors, speeding past land and human complication to the Pacific.       Slow coasting, well under 0.01c, while the two parts of her mind reintegrated.  A wordless reckoning that normally went one way--slow mind to fast on waking up, and back before sleep.  Tides flowing predictably over the sands of short term memory.  Now the flow went both ways, boats loading and unloading as both minds took turns at 'Let me put that in a better place...'       Still less stressful than the talking had been.  Even deciding when to breathe had been awkward--speed mind had smoothed that for so long she'd almost forgotten.       Fifteen minutes of waves and sunlight and motion.  Coasting along crests and troughs.  Manta rays breaching, sudden unexpected joy, a reminder that the world held marvels still happening.  It helped.  When she got the message to return, she was much calmer.       Back at the office, a quick smile from Stella.  "I have good data, and some preliminary assessments.  I'm afraid we're unlikely to complete your priority list any time soon.  One thing is clear; mind isolation during treatment is not a viable option.  Your 'speed mind' is essential to your functioning and current identity, even at normal speed.  So we'll work towards better coordination.  But I have some serious concerns."       A glance at her screen.  "I should emphasize my disclaimer:  This is a compassionate personal intervention in the absence of a qualified specialist.  I am not a clinician, my research methods would give an IRB heart attacks, et cetera.  And I have some reservations about the process by which I was selected.  I sent the full text to your Database earlier.  Did you read it?"       "Yes," said Flicker.  "I understand why you might need it for legal protection.  Also if you're, like, a serial killer who eats souls, I have Officially Been Warned."       "That works.  I still go to conferences, and I create enough controversy on my own.  It would be inconvenient to be widely banned from international travel.  But I imagine you still have some questions."       Flicker shrugged.  "I'm curious about a few things.  But if you weren't already doing weird superhero-adjacent and spyworld stuff,  I don't think you'd have the experience to help without researching me for a year first.  Anyway, go ahead."       Speed mind shifted and reversed, back in her normal mental dance, speeding up and slowing down to aid stability and coherence.  The desire to clarify and add to her awkward presentation to reduce social embarrassment was strong.  But it was time to listen.       "For your difficulty speaking," said Stella, "I agree with your Database AI that most of your returned problems should fade with social practice.  You appear to have optimized your verbal coordination in order to present as a neurotypical human, so any change would cause temporary issues."       "Because squishy brain is autistic.  And yeah I did.  It's a real pain to get strangers to listen if you don't talk 'normal human'."       "Your distress is understandable.  You do have traits in common with individuals with Asperger's and ADHD, but given your unique mind, it's probably best to view them as suggestive analogies--you have similar problems with similar coping mechanisms.  'Non-neurotypical' is as far as I'd go, and much of the cause may be consequences of the connection to your speed mind.  Other issues are clearer."       Stella leaned back in her chair.  "Such as PTSD.  You have layered coping mechanisms, but your Database stress history indicates that you tend to overwork or otherwise push yourself back to a ragged edge whenever you manage to achieve progress in reducing its effects."       Stella clasped her hands in front of her face.  "I doubt that dealing with the underlying issues will be an easy or quick task, but this is something you need to mitigate.  I'll try to help you set realistic expectations when I understand more.  One particular note.  I can't speak to Doc's own mental health.  But the elements of his work and life habits available for study indicate someone rather unhealthy for a PTSD sufferer to emulate.  And whatever he might say, you took early cues from what he did."       Stella frowned.  "Your memory problems...  I'm going to defer judgement on some of them until you've had more time to recover from your recent incident.  And there are a number of other potentially serious long-term conditions that I now consider less likely, but can't yet rule out.  But I am concerned that your Database AI already warned you about everything I've brought up so far, and some other issues that are more recent.  I'd recommend revisiting your heuristics."       Flicker spread her hands.  "I didn't ignore the Database.  I just couldn't do anything useful.  I patched what I could and kept going."       "That invites trouble when a new problem disturbs your patches."       "Well, yeah.  I get angry at things I can't fix.  So I put them out of my mind to stay sane."  Flicker looked away.  "At least out of my conscious, human mind.  Part of me remembers.  And stays angry."       She looked back and tried to smile.  "I sometimes joke that I haven't lost my mind; I keep backups.  Doc always retorted with how arduous it could be to try to restore from one.  And that a mental backup doesn't bring things back the same, because the world has moved on.  He was right.  I had to try to restore a few things I misplaced during Speedtest and it was a pain.  It stirs everything up, and I kept running across crap I'd stashed away because I couldn't deal, and I still couldn't deal because it was hitting all at once during a restore."       The smile probably looked more like a fixed grimace.  "So don't tell me about trouble and patches right now.  I know."       "Good," said Stella.  "I will be going over things that seem obvious.  People make tradeoffs, and mistakes, and I'd rather annoy you than miss any.  But I also understand that this session has been stressful for you, and you aren't fully recovered.  I can give you some initial recommendations and we can be done for the day, if you would like."       Flicker took a deep breath, then let it out.  "I'd like to keep going, now that I have my minds working together again.  It's just... I should have reworked my priority list after you told me how you wanted to start, and put my anger issues higher on it.  And there's this book I read, called Practical Power Dynamics..."       An alert flashed on Flicker's visor and she sped up.  The Database needed her override approval to resolve a convoluted permissions problem, which she granted.  Stella's base permission level was only equivalent to a trusted outside academic researcher, so approval requests were going to be common for a while.  Flicker slowed back down again to listen.       "Where did you get the edition you read?" asked Stella.  "It doesn't look like it was from the Database."       "No.  There was a version, but the Database didn't let me read that one.  There were a bunch of hazards and warnings.  The version I read is there now, I scanned it then locked it down.  Doc doesn't know about it.  I got it from Journeyman.  He said he traded a bibliomancer to reconstruct an original text copy.  Then let me read it, because he was worried and thought it might help me."       Stella put a hand to her forehead and studied her computer display.  "I see.  What that alleged bibliomancer did should not be possible.  But never mind that now.  Was your visor recording when you discussed it, and if so, would you be willing to share a transcript?"       "Sure."  Another bit of access granted.       Stella spoke slowly while scanning her screen.  "I'd like to ask a favor of you.  Please do not reread Practical Power Dynamics, or try to use any of the techniques, before I've had a chance to make some annotations for you.  And assume it's more dangerous to you than the author intended.  You read what appears to be an early draft that was never distributed."       Flicker frowned.  "How do you know that?"       "I wrote it."       "Oh, that's great!  I had a lot of questions, but I couldn't--I mean it was still dangerous.  But you can tell me what to watch out for.  I loved the humor, the way you made pieces fit that everyone just seems to assume or ignore.  And the parts about anger were..." Flicker trailed off.  "You don't look happy.  What's wrong?"       "Well, at least you weren't completely blind to the danger," said Stella.  "I started writing what became Practical Power Dynamics when I was about your age, at a time when I was not managing anger well.  I would not write that way today.  I need to see what I can do to defuse some hazards to you.  I wrote it as a vector for social engineering, and I didn't devote enough attention to second-order side effects in atypical individuals.  Even after I toned it down."       Flicker thought about that at speed for a while.  It made sense that Stella was worried.  Doc spent a lot of time worrying about extending methods to new domains, and the false sense of security you could feel because you were doing familiar things you'd done many times before.  The methods might only be safe because most of the unexpected failure modes had already been found--but a new domain could bring new ways to make horrible mistakes.  You just couldn't be sure.  That had been one of the main points of Speedtest.  There were a lot of things going on in Practical Power Dynamics, and Flicker's mind was a new domain for many of them.       "It didn't feel like it caused damage," she said.  "I didn't try any of the active techniques because I was warned about traps, but the insights helped."       "I can certainly understand why you liked it.  I wrote it to resonate, but that doesn't mean it helped."  Stella smiled wryly.  "The text you read has the potential to magnify a number of problems.  And even the distributed version was never intended for someone like you--I did not consider the psychological impact of absorbing the whole thing in under a minute.  Not to pry into restricted details, but have you by any chance experienced an episode of unjustified arrogance or megalomania recently?"       A sudden chill.       "...I know that feeling, it's Now I Am Invincible, it's incredibly dangerous for a superhero..."       "...maybe."  No, be clear. This is safety information.  "Yes."       "The book definitely didn't help with that."       "My partner thought it would help with something.  He wouldn't just..."       Stella frowned.  "It might have seemed appropriate as a form of disaster aversion.  A 'break glass in case of emergency' psychological reset to forestall something worse.  But not as a long term solution, and he'd know that."       Flicker closed her eyes.  "It wasn't and he did.  He's gone.  We aren't patrolling together anymore."       Flicker had been managing to compartmentalize up to that point.  Journeyman hadn't returned to Doc's HQ while she'd been recovering, or sent any message other than a brief note wishing her well.  She'd set aside awareness of that, and their last conversation, pretending he was just temporarily away again.       But their load-bearing social fiction had collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble.       Speed up.  Shift focus in speed mind.  Ignore her human emulation, it was working all too well.  Try a different perspective.       Consider the positive.  She'd learned too much during her time with him for reflexive avoidance of memory to be appropriate.  She had her own strength, her own self, her own plans, where he was but memory and data.  That could be a placeholder, a way to consider him as Flicker adjusted.  It was definitely less disruptive than an emotional shutdown.       Now slow down and return.  Emotion and context flooded back, but she had a reference point.       Her visor was beeping at her.  She opened her eyes, and saw the alerts--the reason for the beeping.       Warning: Situational awareness lost, Alert: Emotional crisis reaction signs, Alert: Potential dissociation trigger, Alert: Database permission upgrade request for Dr. Stella Reinhart--crisis context information.       She virtual typed to grant the permission.  Then straightened, her face under control.  This was her problem, not his.       The book dedication had been perfectly clear.  For Doc Future.  It's a trap.  She'd read it anyway.       So had Journeyman, but at least he hadn't ignored three blocks, eleven warnings, and 47 advisories, like she had.       Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Stella was glaring intently at her laptop display and speedreading--a page for each tap.       Flicker took the opportunity to do breathing exercises and calm herself.       "What a mess," muttered Stella, as she continued to read.  "Flicker?"       "Yes?"       Tap.  Tap.  "I'm sorry, clinical detachment and academic objectivity aren't going to be sufficient for everything.  How do you feel about 'Angry woman on your side'?"       "That sounds nice, actually."       Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  "Good to know.  Also, do not ever underestimate your Database security AI.  She was on the phone with me for all but five seconds of the time between when you started to read Practical Power Dynamics and when she interrupted your fight with Journeyman to announce my tentative willingness to help.  And she called Jumping Spider to secure an emergency override in there, too.  I have a theory about that, but it's probably not something she's allowed to admit.  I'll see if I can sort through it.  Along with everything else.  This is going to take a while.  But..."       She paused in her paging.  "I'm curious about the last few months before you became partners with Journeyman.  The Database records are somewhat opaque.  You were patrolling sporadically, and it's clear you weren't very happy, but I'm wondering to what extent that was due to PTSD."       "I don't think about those months very much anymore," said Flicker.  "Doc tried a couple of things to try to get me to cheer up, like asking if I wanted to partner with Jetgirl.  I said no.  I mean, she's a good friend, and we have an arrangement where she can call me for support when she needs it, but she usually doesn't, so it would have been more like being a sidekick.  And I didn't want that.  Journeyman actually needed my help, so I could accept his as an equal."       She looked down.  "I wasn't feeling very connected during that time--not continuously, anyway.  I remember specific events, but I'd have to check the Database for a lot of the dates and chronology.  Everything after the Japan quake.  That was just before I turned fifteen, and... I didn't do too well."       Stella raised an eyebrow.  "The Database evaluates your actions as saving more lives than anyone else.  And it's not close."       "Well, but you should really account for speed.  I mean, if you scored a flower-picking contest just by numbers, I could win with speed, but that doesn't mean I'm good at it.  And... I don't like to talk about the quake.  There were some media bits trying to turn me into a hero of the response and... No.  Just no.  Not respectful.  They're still rebuilding and recovering and it's not my story to tell.  I usually keep it compartmentalized.  Mostly what I remember is to be wary of arrogance."       "Mm.  Would you be willing to tell me your viewpoint?  Your personal experience is most definitely yours to share."       "I suppose."  Flicker took a deep breath and looked back up.  "It wasn't bad for me personally.  I didn't get hurt.  It was just...  There'd been some warnings, but it was confusing because of foreshocks, so no one could really tell how bad it was going to be.  I got the alert from Breakpoint before the main quake hit--his Danger Sense went off and he wasn't even in Japan, so I knew it was going to be bad.  I didn't know where the epicenter was going to be exactly, so I just went off the Database's best estimate, and went up and down the coast writing giant kanji for 'Earthquake' in the air so people would know.  My plasma flash and shockwave boom actually helped there, because it got people to look out windows and see.       "Then the quake hit, and went on and on, and the estimates kept going up: it's 8.4; no, it's 8.6; no, it's 8.7; no, it's 8.8; no, it's fucking 9; it eventually turned out to be 9.1.  And then my Database com started dropping signal because my visor couldn't synchronize my position for tight beams any more.  I was used to really accurate position data, and everything had moved.  Everything was still moving.  Ground level wasn't ground level, and everything had literally gone sideways.  GPS was messed up, and the Database kept trying to correct for shit and it wasn't enough.  There was one error that caused trouble for a while that was from the Earth not rotating on the same axis any more.       "So, I'm running around with intermittent comms, stopping external debris and ripping the roofs off of buildings that were collapsing on people, then making the choices for intermediate floors for the big ones--do I rip it out?  Will that hurt the people who might ride it down more than having it fall will hurt the people below?  And can I get the debris out of the way fast enough without blinding and deafening everyone?  What kind of building is it?  I knew very little Japanese, and my visor translator was shit without Database support.  The hospitals were solid enough that I let them take their chances, because there just wasn't much I could usefully do, but a few of the nursing homes and big apartments with lots of old people were pretty bad.  I'd pulled collapsing buildings apart before, and it was like that, except... two thousand buildings at once.  And seeing all those scared people.       "And finally Doc got a message through, telling me I needed to punch a hole through to the ionosphere with rocks, because the Volunteer was on suborbital coming in as fast as he ever had and needed me to get the air out of way so he didn't kill anyone with his shockwave on arrival.  So I went up to a place called Fukushima and made a pathway for him, so he could keep a bunch of nuclear reactors from melting down, then went back to ripping apart buildings.  Until I got another message from Doc telling me I needed to let them go and start taking the edge off the tsunami."       Flicker looked out the doors.       "I thought, fuck that, I'll stop the tsunami.  It's just a wave, right?  Moving water, way offshore, no humans near, I could use all my speed and power.  Energy and momentum.  None greater than mine."       She shook her head.  "It wasn't just a wave.  A whole huge section of seabed had been stuck bent over like a big flat sheet of wood, then released.  One end went up like seven meters.  All the water above it went up too, and the surface was now above sea level.  And all that water had to go somewhere.       "It wasn't just a wave.  Water flows downhill.  Doc knew.       "I started with the lateral plasma sweeps and the shockwave hammer loops and the entrainment runs while I had the Database figure out just how much damage I'd do if I vaporized enough of the excess water to stop the tsunami.  Database took a long time."       She looked back at Stella.  "I could vaporize enough to stop it.  But--best case--it would kill five million people with a shockwave of plasma and superheated steam.  More likely fifty.  And fuck up the weather over the whole Northern hemisphere for months.  The floods from the rain alone would... anyway.  Stopping it was way worse.  So I just had to take the edge off as best I could.       "It was enough to let the Volunteer stabilize the reactors.  And I thought it would be enough for almost all the people, I really did.  And then the Database had enough data finally to tell me it wasn't."       "Why not?" asked Stella.       "The other end of the board.  A big stretch of the coast of Honshu dropped when the seabed rose.  What had been sea level--was now a meter below sea level.  And the ground above it, and the people on that ground, were now a meter lower.  So what looked safe--wasn't."       "I went back one last time to write more Kanji.  'Run.'  But not everyone could run.  And not everybody who could would leave behind the ones who couldn't."       "I did as much as I could," she said.  "Maybe too much, some places--reflections and a change in the shape of the seabed meant I likely made things worse in one spot.  But 'only' about two thousand people died in the tsunami.  Plus maybe fifty or so I killed trying to stop it.  Most of them in boats in really bad places, but they might have lived, except my shockwaves meant they didn't.  I couldn't... it was just 'Sorry, it's not your day, ever again'.       "Even after it started hitting I kept running around, clearing debris, trying to give people a little more time.  And then, finally, it was over, ebbing back, and Hideki and the Japanese superheroes were arriving, and Golden Valkyrie's Choosers, and all the emergency responders.  And all the ordinary people who helped.  If anyone was heroes it was them.       "I went on autopilot for a while, just followed Database instructions after my com was back, not trying to process, because I couldn't.  There was a weird voice yelling on my com whenever I saw bodies for a bit until I figured out it was me and stopped.  And... Well, I don't really remember much after that.  You can read about it in the Database if you want."       She waved a hand.  "You know what?  You want a hero?  K'Krowl the Younger.  Kaiju from the Deep Kingdoms.  Big lizard.  Lived up near the Aleutians.  He was headed south along the coast, on his way to attack Tokyo, when the quake hit.  He was underwater, I didn't know he was there.  And there was this boat.  Just... in the wrong place.  K'Krowl felt the quake and knew what it meant.  He headed inshore and surfaced, and just before the biggest wave hit he picked up the boat.  And held it in his arms.  Except I was coming down on a lateral plasma run, chopping away at the wave.  I'd seen the boat, and they were just... I mean, they weren't gonna live.  I had a massive entrained stream of plasma, steam, and seawater behind me.       "K'Krowl crouched over, and tucked that boat under his chin, and took the wave on his chest and my plasma on his back--I burned him bad, his upper back was just cooked.  But he kept his footing, and protected the people on the boat.  From the tsunami, and from me.  And when it was all over, he put the boat down at the shore, and waved to them, and went back into the water.  He decided he didn't want to attack Tokyo that day after all, and went home to heal.  Hardly anyone saw him except me and the people on the boat.  And with everything going on, no one else knew until the people he saved contacted the Deep Kingdoms embassy, and they ended up with a ceremony, and gave him a medal, and if anyone ever finally resolves the Tokyo Compromise, and turns the attacks into, like, ceremonial visits or something, it'll probably be him."       Flicker shook her head.  "K'Krowl the Younger.  That's a hero.  Not me.  I didn't get hurt, and mostly ran around a lot.  Nothing bad happened to me.  Not bad bad.  Just memories."       *****       Eventually, Flicker realized she'd been staring at the 'Low Situational Awareness' advisory on her visor for a long time, and came back to the present.  There was a text from Stella:  Let me know if and when you're ready to speak aloud.       Flicker focused on the room again.  Stella was frowning thoughtfully, tapping at her computer.       "I'm ready," said Flicker.  "Did you have questions?"       Stella looked up.  "I was a little curious where you got those death numbers.  They don't match the Database, and that's very unusual for you.  The death toll from the tsunami appears to be closer to 1,500, and you can only get close to 2,000 if you also include everyone in the area who was killed by the quake, went missing, or died for any other reason for the next week.  Or use one early, inaccurate media estimate."       She tapped her chin with a finger, still frowning.  "And I don't see any clear evidence to indicate that you were responsible for any excess deaths while mitigating the tsunami.  There were people you didn't save, but that's not remotely the same.  The only way I can get to your estimate of 50 is to take everyone dead or missing who started on a boat in the tsunami region, and everyone missing in the region who started on shore, but who had a boat that also went missing, and assume they were all alive before your intervention, all dead afterwards, and all would have survived if you'd done nothing."       She locked eyes with Flicker.  "There was exactly one boat that definitely had live people on it, was in your path, and could have been destroyed by you while they still had a possibility of surviving.  That was the boat K'Krowl picked up."       "Does it really matter?" said Flicker.       "Yes.  You're guilt-maximizing, and you need to stop.  It's not healthy.  Don't want to be a hero for this?  Fine.  But you helped."       Stella waved a hand.  "I'm not a hero.  I've done far worse things than you.  But I still try to help.  You really didn't want to talk about this and you want to stop, so we'll stop.  Perhaps sometime we can come back and get you a little better perspective.  But not now.  You're in worse shape than I thought."       "Well, I was technically dead for two days last week, so I suppose--"       "Not short term.  Long term.  You're better at compartmentalization, coping, and masking than I expected.  That means you've been better at hiding worse problems.  But it just means more work, for a longer time.  One thing I strongly recommend--no patrols for a while.  No going 'on duty'.  You can intervene in events classified by the Database as 'major disaster' or higher, or a serious threat to someone you know personally.  Otherwise find something else to do.  You need to recover, and not just from being dead."       "But--"       Softly:  "No.  Patrols."       Stella sighed.  "Are you familiar with boiling liquid expanding vapor explosions?"       Flicker blinked at the change of subject, then got the analogy.  "Yeah.  Can't always stop them so sometimes I just rip the tank to control the direction and shape of the explosion.  But I'm not close to blowing up.  I know how to reduce the pressure."       "I understand.  But we need to do some work the slow way--reduce the temperature first.  There are other things that might increase the pressure."       "You want more of a safety margin?"       "Yes.  I am reasonably good at giving advice, but bad at providing comfort," said Stella dryly.  "I'm not neurotypical either, and certain choices and events in my personal development shape my approach.  I have no desire for it to increase your difficulties."       "You seem pretty functional to me.  And--"       Stella shook her head.  "If I weren't able to convincingly project normalcy, I'd already be dead.  But I do have a talent for constructive distractions.  So, why don't we leave off diagnostics and recommendations for a little while and have something to eat instead--I took the precaution of preordering takeout.  Perhaps we can discuss a few things you might find interesting and less stressful."       "I'm not..."  Think, don't just react.  "Okay, that does sound good."       They ate, and talked, and it helped a little.  It was a start.

Next:  Part 12