#but i’m not actually worried about that. the composition will be the bigger pain

[dirtbra1n]

and when I get the spare time to make that big long post with exposition and speculations and things I’d change…….

[iron--spider]

Okay, so. Cherry. I loved Cherry. 

Behind the cut is a review of sorts, with some spoilers and some loving and some bitching! It’s very, very long.

The reviews and responses have been rolling in for months now, and there have been a few notorious critiques that had me worried. As most people who follow this blog know, I’m not the biggest fan of the Russos, for reasons that are obvious lmfao. I was hoping this would be a different situation, especially since I’ve gotten to watch a LOT of interviews where they’ve discussed why they made certain choices in the film, why it’s so personal to them, etc. But the early reactions really got me nervous and I was worried they’d botched this one. I got an early screening on February 12th through American Cinematheque, and I went in looking forward to Tom and anxious about everything else.

 I loved it. I loved every single choice that was made, on every single level. I’d like to preface this by saying I absolutely hated the book. Sure, it had moments, shining lines here and there, but overall I felt nothing for the main character and the stream of consciousness and the way the events were presented. The absolute lack of an ending. When I read the book I already knew Tom was gonna be in the movie, so I was building what I wanted the film to look like in my head.

 The narration. I knew we would need that to keep the story grounded, to give it a center, and they included that and it worked so beautifully. Breaking the fourth wall. The entire book you feel like this guy is talking to you, and if there was anything to carry over, it was that connection with the audience, but they enhanced it by paring it down and using his eye contact and words to us sparingly. A solid, almost unreliable POV from the main character, which they included in spades with all their different stylistic choices, from the different lenses to the names of the banks and the authority figures to the lack of information about particular things to the quick cuts in certain places and lingering shots in others. The stylistic choices were one of the main things, if not THE main thing, everybody has been complaining about, and I was truly sitting here expecting something outrageous. But it all flowed beautifully, it all felt extremely purposeful, and none of it took me out of the moment. In fact, all of it immersed me even deeper in the movie and the story, and made the lead even more real. We were seeing it all through his eyes, through his feelings, through his changing circumstances. It was an EXPERIENCE to me, a journey that needed these particular choices. I feel like the whole thing would have been more of an uphill battle had they not done the six chapters, so that’s another choice I felt like added to the film in a positive way and made it better. It also highlighted the changes that the main character was going through in such an excellent fashion, and added to the whole ‘odyssey’ feel.

 Before I get into speaking about Tom, I will speak critically for a second. I’ve seen this thing four times now, three viewings before the review embargo was up and one after. I tried to watch it from a different headspace and see what they were talking about. My opinion never really changed drastically, but I can acknowledge some things. I loved the ‘breaking the fourth wall’, but I do think there could have been more of it. It enhanced the movie a lot for me and there were a couple more moments where I could have gone for it (though I think people do miss some of the eye contact moments, such as the one in the car during the whole thing between James and Pills&Coke). I think the entire bit in the beginning is absolutely necessary to get to know our character and understand where he’s beginning, what his circumstances are, but I do think it pales in comparison to the rest of the movie. I didn’t notice the first couple times, but while he’s in the doctor’s office discussing pain levels/PTSD, there’s a cut to the doctor that’s literally a millisecond long that was pretty unnecessary. I can also say that the scene with Tommy (drunk guy in the bar) was one of those moments from the book that didn’t need to be included, though it’s clear that they were trying to test the character’s mettle for the upcoming war he’d have to participate in because of his bad choices, and it was also a look at a version of what he could (would) become after he got home. But it didn’t really need to be in there.

 Those are literally the only things I “didn’t like”, and even then that’s the wrong phrasing, because I liked everything lmfao.

 Ciara was a casting choice I questioned initially, purely because she has such a young-looking face, but I was completely incorrect about doubting her. She killed it. She’s such a natural actress and she was able to meet Tom beat by beat in such a difficult story. Their chemistry was lovely. In fact, I loved all of the supporting characters and what they added to the story. They made the whole experience that much more real.

 Now, Tom. I mean. You guys know I love him and a lot of people like to say that if you have a bias towards someone, your opinion counts less when it comes to judging them. But I feel like there’s a reason why I have this bias to begin with, and it’s because Tom’s talent is just undeniable. He always pulls me in, he always makes me excited for what’s next, he is everything I want to see in an actor. He brought Peter to life in a way that had never been done before, and he uplifts every single movie he touches. This one really gets me particularly emotional because he’s said on so many different occasions that Cherry means a lot to him, because of the work he put in and because of the message it carries and because of the people he met and learned about during the whole process. I just—there are hardly any words big enough or meaningful enough to even describe his performance. It’s one for the ages. It’s agonizing and heartbreaking and mammoth. It is truly special. I know that they changed the book a lot, so this is based on a real person and his real experiences, but in the end it’s more of a composite of what Nico was at the time and not an exact replica—so I feel safe in saying that Tom, through this huge, powerhouse of a performance, created an entire person that felt so, so real. You can feel his past and all the memories in his head and the way he thinks about things. You can imagine what he’d say about something in a scene without him actually saying it. This character changes so drastically from the first scene to the last, and yet you still feel like you know him as he progresses through his journey. Tom expertly weathers every single nuance, every time the character experiences a moment that will push him further into darkness, every hesitation despite falling headfirst into such mistakes. I love Tom because he’s so subtle even in his bigger moments, and by this I mean he’s always got layers upon layers upon layers going on in each individual moment. Like the hospital scene in particular, after Emily’s overdose. There’s so much going on with Tom’s character there, from the deep horror in possibly losing the love of his life, to the heavy shame he feels in having facilitated her journey here. Just the way his voice hitches as he tries to help, while still hiding what they’ve done. The way he avoids the nurses’ gazes as he’s trying to connect with them to get an answer about her well-being. The way he almost deflates when he finally reveals that she took heroin. He is phenomenal. Every moment and every movement tells you more about this character, and that’s just down to Tom’s incredible talent. 

 Tom deep dives into every moment and commits fully. People have asked me what my favorite scene in this film is and it’s so hard because the entire thing is just a showcase of just how good he is. The bus station scene in particular stands out, because it’s one of those moments where he just truly disappears. The entire movie you hardly remember you’re watching Tom, but in that scene it’s like you’re there, like you’re actually witnessing this heart wrenching moment between two broken people. The way he shrinks into himself with that horrific shame after what’s happened to her. The complete and utter pain in his eyes when she tells him there’s no stopping what she plans to do. Tom never ever seems like one of those actors who knows what’s coming, who has rehearsed this moment or that moment over and over and over again. Everything is natural, everything comes as it comes and that’s why what he does feels so real. He isn’t acting. He is becoming.

 The Russos have said more than one time that they chose Tom for this role because he’s so likable and you feel empathy and sympathy for him, and that’s also one of the best changes from the book. The character feels so far from you in the book, you feel so disconnected from him, but Tom just has something that connects you with him, that makes you root for him. Every single time. He’s one of the most immensely watchable actors I’ve ever seen. If this was any other “indie” actor, any of the Hollywood favorite directors, I know this film would have been an awards darling. 

 That leads me to how critics are behaving. This movie was not the movie they made it out to be. They have loved films that are so much more outrageous in terms of story and filmmaking choices, and yet they’re acting like this is the craziest most off the wall thing they’ve ever seen. It’s really really whack and over the top to me. These ~film~ people, professionals and “film Twitter” have gotten it in their heads that as soon as someone is involved with Marvel movies that they’re suddenly damaged goods, can’t act, can’t do their jobs. I feel like Scarlett is the only one who’s escaped from this, with JoJo and Marriage Story, though the latter did get some slack, too. It drives me insane when all of these people writing about Tom are like “oh this is such a departure from Spider-Man!” No, Spider-Man is a departure from all his previous films. The vast majority of his movies are dramas. His first movie was The Impossible! But despite all this, critics love to shit on him and bring him down because he’s Spider-Man. It absolutely doesn’t help that this was helmed by the Russos, in fact it hurts the situation even more. Critics revel in bringing them down, in acting like they’re glorified for no reason. And like I said, they’re not my favorite, but these critics knew what their opinion was gonna be before they even watched Cherry. And they held onto that no matter what they actually felt. Thankfully, MOST of them are acknowledging how wonderful and impressive Tom was. But whatever score this movie has on RT now (a site that should be abolished, frankly) it doesn’t deserve something so low. 

 I understand film is subjective. But these people don’t seem to. I hate the gleeful “Cherry is bad!” bullshit, which goes beyond criticism so many times, is always extremely exaggerated, and acts as if because this particular person believes it’s bad, then everyone else should as well, and if they don’t, they don’t understand film. I’m tired of this shit and I’m tired of them underestimating and trying to stop Tom in his tracks. They want so desperately for this MARVEL BAD narrative to be true that they’ll rip these people apart whenever they get the opportunity. It felt very strange to have already seen the movie when the embargo was lifted, because it was like “did they see the same movie I saw?”

 After all that, I’d just like to say, do not be influenced by people like that. That’s what they want. They want you to listen to them and completely write off the movie, forgoing to see it at all. Please make your own decisions—if you love Tom, this is not something to be missed. He is a revelation. I personally, and wholeheartedly, think it was a beautiful movie. I’m gonna watch it again. It reminded me of so many of my favorites, and it rose above them too. It did not shy away from its subject, it is a cautionary tale, but it is told with love, with care and with kindness. It’s clear this was done by people who are close to the subject, who want people who struggle with PTSD and drug use to come out of the shadows they’re forced into and get the help they deserve. Cherry is so rewatchable to me, and it’s so staggering to see Tom just shine here. He is the best actor of his generation. And he’s only getting better.

[cloudy-ocs]

— masterlist

1. The Survival Show

mari and jisung were aware of the mutual hatred between each other, they tried not to let it show during filming, but they did have their slip ups.

mari and felix were eliminated together, this was shocking to not only the boys but to everyone watching. for their to not only be two eliminations in one but to also have both the foreigners be eliminated, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

and unfortunately, someone had very strong feelings about it.

when jyp walked out mari was the first to let her emotions free, she covered her mouth as she began crying, arms automatically locking around the boy next to her, both shocked and disappointed.

the two got around, saying their goodbyes, hugging each of the boys, apologising profusely. there was really only one person left to say goodbye to, and that was jisung, who had his arms crossed as he tried not to cry.

when mari pulled him into a hug he didn’t refuse, though he didn’t make an effort to hug her back, only leaning in to whisper his disappointment to her.

“maybe if you listened to me and tried harder, you wouldn’t be leaving us behind.” and with that he pulled himself away from her, ignoring the look he had received from chan.

“i’m sorry.”

2. When They Became 10 Again

there was no way to describe the feelings she felt, the support from the audience, the boys, jyp, it left her feeling warm and excited.

felix, minho and mari all shared a hug, gripping each other tightly, almost as though letting go would mean one of them would leave again. they felt the others crowd around them, forming a larger hug around the three, everyone smiling from ear to ear.

the group dispersed into smaller groups, everyone celebrating the return of the three members with cheers and hugs.

that night was truly a night of surprises for mari, as jisung walked up to her, though he didn’t look too happy, and gave her an awkward hug, patting her back before letting go.

“welcome back, not that i missed annoying you or anything, i still hate you.”

and for once, mari didn’t take offence to it, giving him a smile she shook her head.

��i hate you too.”

3. That One V-Live “iM AUSTRALIAN.”

“who’s that behind the door? oh there’s someone behind the door ?” mari didn’t actually think anyone was behind her, she focused on the screen trying to watch for any movement and when she came up short she went back to the comments, not realising that there in fact, was, someone behind her.

he creeped up behind her as slowly and quietly as he could in a dance studio, though halfway through his patenience ran thin and he decided to just bolt at her instead.

he ran up behind her and slammed his hands against her as he yelled out, successfully scaring mari and making her drop the device she was using.

“jisung, what the hell!” clearly he was amused as he was now clutching his stomach whilst laughing.

“you should’ve seen how high you jumped, you were like a cat.”

unamused, mari got up and grabbed the gym ball closest to her, the camera capturing both of them perfectly in frame.

“yeah you wanna see what’s funny?” and without giving him a chance to respond, she threw the exercise ball, watching as it hit him square in the chest, laughing at him as he fell back.

however, the ball had rebounded off of him and was now about to hit mari square in the face.

without a second to dodge, mari was hit by the ball, also falling back from the impact.

the two, now both of the floor, looked at each other for a moment before laughing, not together but at one another.

“imagine being dumb enough to get hit by the balk you threw.”

“imagine being so weak you literally fly from the impact.”

“i’M NOT WEAK, I GO TO THE GYM WITH CHAN.”

“i’m gonna tell him you didn’t use formalities.”

“you never use formalities, hypocrite.”

“i’M AUSTRALIAN.”

4. Learning How To Produce

“you’re so bad at this, it’s actually painful to watch.”

“jisung, shut up, ive never done something like this before.” he laughed at her as she pouted, eyes still focused on the screen as she tried adding more bass to the song.

“you’re gonna overdo it.”

“i like a heavy bass, stop distracting me.”

“you’re gonna make the bass too overpowering and it’s gonna sound bad.”

“you sound bad.”

“i do not sound bad, thank you very much.”

“okay, sungie.”

he smiled triumphantly as she continued to work on the song, her mind solely focused on the production of the song, her eyes zoned in and her tongue slightly poking out between her lips.

“i think i’m done.” mari smiled proudly at the screen, then to jisung, who was already staring at her in amusement.

“okay, play it.”

so, jisung may have been right on the overdoing it, but mari wasn’t about to let him know that, he didn’t need a bigger ego boost.

“i love it.” she said whilst cringing outwardly at the sound.

she huffed, pausing the song before sheepishly turning towards jisung.

“can you help me fix it?”

“what’s the magic word?”

“...please?”

“wrong.”

“i-”

“tell me i am the most talented, amazing, handsome all rounder idol you’ve ever met.”

“lying is a sin, jisung.”

“i hate you.”

“it’s mutual.”

he glared at her then at the screen where the composed song was layed out, his glare turning into him trying to hold back his laughter.

“i’m sorry, i really don’t want to laugh but, it’s so bad. i didn’t even realise someone could make a song composition this bad.”

mari frowned at him, this time she was genuinely upset. sure it wasn’t the best, but she tried, and she was proud of herself, or was proud of herself.

she wasn’t necessarily angry at jisung, but her feelings were hurt and her ego was crushed, she sniffed before pulling the keyboard towards her, deleting the whole song before grabbing her hoodie and walking out of the studio.

she ignored jisung’s calls of her name and continued towards the elevator, okay so maybe she was being over dramatic, but she didn’t like being laughed at, no one likes being laughed at.

“mari i’m sorry, it wasn’t that bad, i was just teasing.”

“go away, i’m going back to the dorms.”

“please don’t go back with puffy eyes, they’re gonna think i made you cry and then felix is gonna get mad at me.”

“you did make me cry.”

“i said i’m sorry, here, i’ll help you make a better song, free of the magic word.”

“it wasn’t even a word you idiot.”

“that’s bullying.” he shut his mouth as she glared at him, wiping her tears as she held his gaze, he sighed before grabbing her wrist and gently pulling her back to the room, forcing her to sit back in the chair.

“i promise i’ll help you, and i won’t laugh, i know how hard it is when you first start.”

“exactly, you jerk.”

“i was just tEASING YOU.”

“yOU WERE BEING MEAN, you laughed at me.”

he let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his face in annoyance before exhaling once again.

“okay, i’m sorry, i swear i won’t laugh.”

mari went quiet, looking down at her hands before slowly looking back up at him, holding out her pinky.

“pinky promise?”

“i-” he rolled his eyes, trying to hold back his smile as he linked his pinky with hers.

“pInkY PrOmise.”

“dONT MOCK ME.”

5. The Sydney oPrAh House

“i love sydney.”

“i know you do, mar.”

“i’ve missed sydney.”

“i know you have.”

“i want to go see the sydney opera house, jisung.”

“i know- wait what.”

“the sydney opera house? i wanna go see it.”

“opera? wait i’m so confused, i thought it was the sydney oprah house...”

“...”

“it’s opera?”

“are you dumb?”

“DONT QUESTION MY INTELLIGENCE, IM VERY SMART.”

“YOU THOUGHT IT WAS OPRAH THIS WHOLE TIME? WHAT NEXT, ‘oh i thought it was one of oprah’s houses’?”

“... maybe.”

“you’re annoying.”

“how do you even know that word? your korean isn’t even that good.”

“i take full offence to that.”

“good, you were meant to.”

“i hate you.”

“don’t worry mar, it’s mutual.”

and as the two bicker back and forth, chan and minho stare at them from a distance, watching in amusement as they argue.

“they love each other.”

“oh for sure, if something happened to mari, jisung would go wild.”

“same goes for mari.”

“ah, kids.”

[the-starless-sky]

cozmez / drama part full translation

As usual: If you want to see the prettier version a.k.a subbed version with proofreads, please head to the Paradox Live discord!

Names: Yatonokami Kanata: K Yatonokami Nayuta: N Suiseki Iori: I Mobs: M

P.S. This translation starts right after the sample (again!), so head there if you haven’t read it yet!

K: If I have to go back to that time, I’d rather…

N: Hm?

K: It’s nothing. I’m fine if I have only you, Nayuta. If you’re here, I can do anything.

N: Me too. This world is shit. There’s nothing good about it at all. Let’s rise up, just the two of us.

K: Yeah.

N: Then? What kinda people show up in that Paradox Live?

K: Huh? Dunno. But whatever kinda people they are, it’d be a cinch for us, right?

N: Well, that’s true. Ah, but, promise me just one thing.

K: What’s up with you, being so formal like that?

N: I want you… to not use your phantometal too much.

K: Huh?

N: Recently, y’know… Don’t you think the time until the trap reaction activate shortened?

K: There’s nothing like that.

N: I heard about it once. If you use it too much, you’ll get swallowed by your phantometal―

K: That has nothing to do with anything!

N: Why are you so angry? I… I don’t want Kanata to get bad… That’s why…

K: Ahh, shut up! I ain’t scared of trap reactions! I ain’t made that weak to die ‘cuz of that!

N: I’m not talking about that―

K: Look, Nayuta! This is our chance to rise up. When the time comes for the fight of our lives, it’s now or never! You understand, don’t you!?

N: …

K: Sigh, who is it…!?

I: Yo! How do you do? It’s me, me!

K: Aah, hello.

I: Come to my place a bit, I’ll be waitin’!

K: Sigh… understood.

N: Who is it?

K: It doesn’t matter who it is. Something came up. I’m gonna go out for a bit.

N: Is your body okay? I’m going too―

K: It’s fine so just stay at home, Nayuta.

N: ...Okay, got it.

***

I: Come in! Sorry for always havin’ ya come.

K: What do you need from me?

I: Haha, don’t be hurryin’ like that! Greedy men don’t get popular, y’know? You’re such a party pooper. Well, here’s what. Actually, that there’s someone who has a dirtmetal with super high concentration of phantometal purity around here... Or so I’ve heard.

K: I’m not that free to look around everywhere with just a rumor to go by.

I: You’re being really aggressive today, aren’tcha? Don’t worry about that, I had Zen figure out a mark for you, to some extent. It’s fine if you just go and face some of them. It’s a huge issue this time. I’ll dish out some of the payment in advance. Please finish it by tomorrow morning.

K: But the sun’s already setting. Are you telling me to work without sleep?

I: Oi. Be careful how you speak. Ain’t it always like this?

K: …

I: So! You’ll probably get busy this month, but―

K: No, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to pass this one.

I: That’s rare. Is that okay?

K: Yes. A bigger chance has come, so. Bye.

I: A big chance, huh? Hmmm…

***

N: Ah. Welcome home.

K: Yeah. I’m home.

N: Are you… okay?

K: Yeah.

N: ...Kanata, it’s better for you to sleep now. You’re tired, right?

K: Huh? Yeah… I’ll do that.

N: Go and sleep first. I’m gonna take a breather outside for a bit.

K: Ah, Nayuta…

N: I know. I’ll be back quickly.

K: …

N: Sigh. There’s no helping it. Fine, I wont go outside. Learn to go to sleep by yourself already.

K: Shaddup…

N: Then, I’m turning off the lamp.

K: Nayuta.

N: Yeah?

K: We’ll start making our song tomorrow. The one for Paradox Live.

N: Got it.

K: That’s all. Good night.

N: Good night.

***

N: Mmm.. what are we gonna do for the hook?[1]

K: Hm… you’re right. Get it a bit more dope…

N: At this rate, it’s gonna take us a day just to finish our track.

K: You’re used to it, aren’t you? We’ve been doing this since we’re small, anyway.

N: You look like you’re having fun, unlike yesterday, Kanata.

K: Only when I’m doing rap. Rap is good. Our background’s became our weapon. We’re gonna kill everyone with this weapon.

N: Yeah. Let’s definitely do that.

K: Aah~ It’s not upper… I want our hook to be like… going ‘dizzy-dizzy’ in low temperature…

N: Kanata’s really good at making songs like that, huh.

K: Well, that’s ‘cause I’m a genius.

N: Don’t get ahead of yourself, idiot.

K: Huh…? Wait, wait! I just got an inspiration! Oh man, seems like we wont get any sleep today.

N: It’s good that you’re enthusiastic, but don’t push yourself too hard, okay? We’re gonna have battle with all teams in the competition, right? We’ll have to make a lot of songs, right?

K: I’ll make however many songs we need.

N: I’ll tell you this: not just any song works, okay?

K: Of course. They told us to make songs based on the theme of each battle, right? It’s a pain in the ass, though. Well, it doesn’t matter what the rules are: we’re still going to win.

N: That’s right. As expected, we have to go hard from the get go for things like this.

K: We’ll show them the absolute different in true strength and shut those people up. We’ll blow ‘em hard with our insane lyrics and music. The other guys’ll just half-assedly put together lip service to make their lyrics, anyhow. Something like that ain’t hip hop.

N: Yeah. Let’s show those asshole wacks living an easy life what the real thing is like. The winner will be us.

***

K: Is that Club Paradox?

N: Waah… there’s so much people.

K: Annoyin’… are these guys that free?

N:Ain’t it interesting if we just swindle all of ‘em?

K: That true.

N: Oh well, the ten billion’s ours anyways so who cares about the details.

K: Haha, you’re right.

N: Ah, but y’know…

K: Hm?

N: These clothes, they’re nice, right?

K: Well, guess they are. As I thought, it’s a good thing to let Nayuta choose our clothes.

N: The people are increasing…

K: What a pain. Let’s just quickly get inside the venue.

M1: Oi! Look at them! Aren’t they cozmez?

M2: The real deal!? It’s the first time I saw them! Dang…! Ah… I wonder if they’d give me a handshake…

M1: You idiot, don’t even try! By the way, the little brother Nayuta in flesh has a dangerous feel, huh!? Ah, our eyes met…!

K: Oi, it’s you, right, shitty glasses?

M1: Eh!?

K: You said something just now, didn’t ya?

K: Stop whisperin’ and say it clearly, wontcha?

M1: Eh… no, I…

K: What’s that about Nayuta, huh!?

N: Leave it, Kanata!

M1: N-no… it’s nothing…

K: Tch.

N: Don’t pick a fight with the guests, Kanata.

K: Sigh. Yea.

N: Sigh… even so, people are talking as they please, huh, about us.

K: Our surroundings has nothing to do with us. We’ve never had any ally up until now, anyways.

N: Haha, that’s true.

K: Nayuta.

N: Hm?

K: I’m gonna rise up. But I can’t do it alone. It’s meaningless if you’re not here.

N: It’s the same for me, Kanata. Let’s get out of this shitty world. The two of us, together. If it’s for that goal… I’ll give it my everything.

Notes

[1] In hip hop, hook is the reff/high point of rap. It’s the most distinguishing phrase in the song – it could be talking about the lyric and/or the composition.

[halehavetogosometime]

omo shipping meme: witcher

Any of y’all kinky bastards into the Witcher yet?

If you’ve wandered here from elsewhere: here be Omorashi. That’s kink to do with pee, folks.

This is an interesting meme to do in this fandom, since it’s not anything close to a contemporary time period. Some stuff didn’t seem to apply at all, so I modified/removed prompts as seemed appropriate.

So here’s my take for Geralt and Jaskier:

--- Who wets because they didn’t want to get up from a video game/computer/work or other activity?

Obvs no video games, but I can see plenty of situations where Jaskier gets, like, super involved in composition, maybe... or, better, is performing someplace, for important folks mebbe, and has some close calls because the banquet goes on so long without a break or whatever. But I would think the hit to his reputation from wetting himself while in the spotlight would be much greater than insisting the musicians get a break, so i wouldn’t think there’d be many actual accidents.

Geralt, however, has definitely pissed himself in the course of a fight/his work and gives 0 fucks about that. it’s not even harder to clean off his clothes/leathers/etc than monster guts, so what the fuck ever.

--- Who insists they can hold it even when they can’t?

Def Jaskier. Like, I can see a scenario where Geralt would do this playfully if they were doing a hold for fun or as part of a sex game or smth. But genuinely? Jaskier is more likely.

though I also accept the take that Jaskier is obnoxious as hell when he needs to pee but can’t right then, and would never put himself through the pain of prolonging the torture, insisting he was chill when he was actually uncomfortable... and yeah, I can see acerbic Geralt in a situ, maybe at some kind of feast or ball where  he can’t just rudely walk away, for fear of reflecting poorly on Jaskier, and he’s no notion how to get away without being rude, so he’s just... he’s fine. he’ll be fine. he can hold forever-- it’ll be fine.

fuk.

--- Who pees in a bottle because they didn’t want to leave their warm bed at night?

I mean, is that not what a chamber pot is? And this is the era of chamber pots. And they both have dicks. I can see somebody making an argument for Geralt, with his canonically advanced sense of smell, preferring not to have waste just sitting around where he’s gonna sleep... but honestly, urine can’t smell worse than monster guts, so, again, I doubt he gives a fuck.

--- Who doesn’t pay attention to their fluid intake?

Jaskier probs. I would think that Geralt is usually hyper-aware of whether or not his body is in optimum condition. When it’s your primary tool/weapon, and you could be in a fight for your life at literally any time... it’d have to be some kind of extenuating circumstance to catch Geralt off guard.

But I can see Jaskier, high on good fun/food/company/wine being caught by surprise as he suddenly is quite full, out of nowhere.

--- Who has the larger bladder?

Geralt for almost certain. Like, Jaskier is a performer and traveler, probs used to good long stretches without prime opportunity for relief, he’s probs no slouch... but Geralt is literally a mutant bred to be physically superior.

--- Who is more likely to have a shy bladder?

Neither, both too pragmatic and comfortable in their own skins, probs. But I could see arguments for either, if an author wanted to go there.

I can see an argument for Jaskier, just because he can be a nervy little dude sometimes, so is the one more likely to experience the kind of anxiety that might cause such a thing (and he’s the one who insists it was unfair of somebody to kill that knight dude while he was “relieving his bowels, is nothing sacred anymore???” XD), perhaps especially while out on the road with Gerlat, where every stray noise in the underbrush might be a monster ready to bite his dick off or something.

And I can see an argument for a hyper vigilant Geralt, who struggles with getting comfortable/secure enough to take a piss, knowing he was uniquely vulnerable during such a time, and working so hard, so often, to NOT be vulnerable to all the shit that would gladly see him dead.

(I can also see a scenario for either one where they struggled with paruresis as a young person, and overcame it, and are caught by unfortunate surprise when it comes back, later in life, for no good/apparent reason)

--- Who will only use an appropriate facility?

Again, the time of chamber pots, I bet most folks have a real loose definition of what constitutes an appropriate facility. One could make an argument for Jasier, city person that he is, vastly preferring designated facilities... but again, he travels, and there are only bushes for “rest stops” between towns, so if he ever felt that way, he’s probs long since gotten over it.

I could actually see an argument for Geralt the other direction. like, he is mostly comfortable pissing in the woods, and actually finds it uncomfortable to do suck things indoors at all... or maybe just really dislikes the smell.

--- Who is more likely to have a holding kink?

Jaskier strikes me as the kinkier mf. like, I can totes see omo as a thing he’s low-key a bit into, like, he kinda digs being forced to hold during a performance, and then once they’re on the road together, he’s gotta play his interests real cool. but once he and Geralt are fucking, then I def can see him bringing it up, either trying to get Geralt to kind of dom him a bit and make him wait, or, shit, maybe getting Geralt to agree to wait.

I can see Geralt that way too, though. like, he spends a lot of time real focused on the state of his body, yeah? so I can see him approaching omo as, like, a way to challenge himself. like, “I can’t control the chaos, but I can control myself”, etc. in that scenario, once Jaskier works out that it’s, like, a sexy thing for Geralt, I put Jaskier 110% down to experiment/play with that.

  --- Who challenges the other to holding contests?

In the same vein as above, it seems like the kind of contrary, kinky shit Jaskier would do. But also Jaskier would have to know that Geralt was likely to beat him. so Either Jaskier finds the who situ hot enough to be worth the loss...

Or it’d be Geralt. Not explicitly phrasing it as a contest, but more goading Jakier into it subtly.

--- How would each react to having an accident?

I think Geralt, as mentioned above, really wouldn’t care. Were it to happen in a way that inconvenienced Jaskier or someone, or happen at a ball/feast/party etc mebbe he’d be a bit shamefaced, but in general, that will not be the grossest thing to happen to him this week, so I don’t think he cares much.

I think Jaskier, vain hedonist that he is, is more likely to be genuinely embarrassed or humiliated, and probably play it off with humor.

But in most situ, they’ve got bigger stuff to worry about, and hygiene at this point in “history” is low enough, (and their professions, I cannot state enough, involve being in close proximity to animals/wildlife/monsterguts), I don’t think it’s the sort of thing that would ruin either of their days for very long.

--- How would each react to the other being desperate/having an accident?

I think Geralt would find Jaksier in that position a bit funny or obnoxious based on the situation (and whether he had a kink), but likely would do his best to help him eventually, as he does with most things. (unless it was Jaskier being stubborn/prideful/arguing with Geralt that led to the situ, in which case Geralt would probs be quite happy to let the sucker piss himself, and serve him right).

Roles reversed, I think Jaskier’s first response would be surprise/incredulity to see the Witcher that far out of control. he’s quite protective of Geralt in his turn, however, so again, depending on the situ, he’d be helpful, likely.

--- Who is more likely to wet because of anxiety/fear?

Jaskier, 100%. I’m not sure Geralt experiences fear intensely enough most of the time to get to that point.

--- Who is more likely to wet deliberately?

Jaskier, if part of some kinky game, I think. Geralt in a fight/if it serves some purpose.

[whatscallion]

don’t panic!

Pairing: Flirtatiously Quill x Unnamed OC ( it’ll make sense )

A/N: This is the first time I’ve really done an OC / Reader insert deal, but figured that the writing challenge set by @spxderbarnes would be a good time to start! Besides, who doesn’t enjoy Quill (okay, ignoring infinity war bc obvious reasons). Hope I did this remotely right. Lots of references to one of my favorite book series, and a fun film - ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’. Best if read in the voice of Stephen Fry. Summary: A failed date at Milliways, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, that is unabashedly crashed by a group of rowdy individuals - including one Star Lord. Shooting and great hair ensues. Word Count: 3,097

Special thanks to @cptsteven for dialogue help.

There were once stories written in the stars, carefully planned as to not tip any balance one way or another. There are those who wish to see this done, just for the sake of planetary chaos. This rarely bode well for the galaxy’s inhabitants. Yet amidst it all, there tended to be a common denominator, one that would surprise even the most powerful of beings.

And he had a knack for timing.

Milliways was, as always, a popular destination for all kinds of critters across the universe, both intelligent and not. The establishment boasted its exotic dishes through dismal advertising - most of which was by word of mouth, passing through the different curls of languages painting the cosmos. It was most known for its drinks, all of which required an incredibly high pain tolerance in order to consume. If that was survived, then surely the hangover would do the trick in granting untimely death. Fortunately enough, only about 5% of the universe’s populace could actually afford such a drink, so lesser beings didn’t have to worry, often opting for the local tap water, which was arguably just as bad.

But there she was - that bored girl from Terra who’d been unfortunately stood up in one of the most far-reaching restaurants anyone has or hasn’t heard of. How she managed to get there required a ridiculous amount of impossible abnormality. It was enough to require a change of clothing and sugary coffee to get by all those stars and that unending void. But it did end, in a sense, because that’s where Milliways was. There were all kinds of physics surrounding how it managed to ride the wave of the expanding universe, offering unparalleled views into a very true and very seamless abyss, but that was neither here nor there.

The tap water had something of a metallic taste to it, and our girl only took a sip or two before finally letting that scowl bleed through to compound her already lacking disposition. Through months of travelling as an unexpected guest aboard some intergalactic pirate ship, the novelty of alien compositions had worn off completely. Every possible color of the rainbow had come in every possible shape and texture any one being could think of. The excitement of the Final Frontier had waned, just as the restaurant’s atmosphere had over the course of several millennia. A once posh venue serving only the elite, Milliways had degraded itself to a tourist trap with questionable patrons and even more questionable dishes.

She grumbled about her absent date, expressing her disdain for what she’d been dressed in ( iridescent mesh had not been her choice, but that of the ship’s captain ) through a deep sneer and a subtle fidget. It was also incredibly uncomfortable, but of course, she’d been reassured she’d draw more attention than a Ta’avarian on the planet Nucleux, whatever that meant. It was becoming more and more apparent that the ship she’d been on had been waiting to unload their unwitting bounty to get on with their lives rather than pander to a fragile Terran who couldn’t even hold her breath for longer than a minute.

For a moment, she wondered how improbable it was to get a hamburger in this place that was made from a discernible meat. But thoughts were ceased as the doors to the restaurant whipped open to reveal a handful of very colorful individuals who immediately commanded attention through presence alone.

That and they were quite loud.

A tree ent, a raccoon ( that she assumed lived in a nest on the tree ent ), a scowling green woman, a larger scowling green man with intricate markings ( which she assumed was the reason he was shirtless in a restaurant ), and a man who looked surprisingly normal despite wearing green ( short ) gym shorts, a sweater, and flip flops. Never in her life had the Terran seen such a diverse group of individuals, prompting her to stare longer than what was deemed admissible, even by a Kloxin’s standards. For those unaware of the race known as ‘Kloxins’, they are an arachnid type species that can ensnare the mind if all eight eyes are met simultaneously. This would wreak havoc on the universe if everyone had eight eyes as well, so the Kloxins are doomed to simply control one another for the time being until evolution can throw them a bone.

The seemingly rowdy group went and sat in the corner of the restaurant, which held a perfect view of absolutely nothing while boasting about shooting this or slicing into that. The Terran girl only looked away when she felt the dryness of her tongue since her jaw had dropped somewhat. Right when she thought she’d seen it all, or at least became numb to it all, she became surprised at what this team was comprised of. She turned in her seat, greeted only with her reflection in the mirror at the back of Milliway’s bar, though it was frowning at her. Envy, curiosity, anxiety - they all wracked through her system, and she’d offered whatever imaginary greater force her soul in exchange for regular clothing. Her kingdom for denim. Whoever that was was obviously busy, for her attire didn’t change in the slightest, bringing her to groan in self-pity.

Hidden behind her hands that had been stained blue since first being picked up off her planet, there was a subtle shift in the space next to her. Some sort of extra-sensory thing she wished she could put her finger on, choosing to believe cosmic radiation had started to change her when really, she was just being perceptive and it was oddly quiet. She peeked through her fingers, finding that the most normal of that loud crowd had chosen to sit beside her, though he wasn’t looking at her.

She couldn’t help but glance down at the gym shorts that looked as if they’d gotten two inches shorter since he’d entered the place.

“You look normal,” he finally said, just before hailing down the robotic bartender for a glass of tap water, neat. “Like you’re not from anywhere near Centuri or anything.”

For those unaware, the radiation belt surrounding Centuri covers millions upon millions of lightyears of space, thus turning most inhabitants into something that resembles what your aunt would bring to Thanksgiving for dessert: globby, bits of things floating in it, and unappetizing in color.

“Uh,” she started, unaware that she’d been served something that resembled a hamburger, but strong suspicions would have her believe it was merely a facade for something tasting akin to celery. Mind reading robots tended to operate that way, acting on visual dreams rather than the substance that created them. “I guess I’m normal? I don’t know what to categorize as normal. Earth isn’t very normal to begin with.”

This managed to grab the man’s attention, bringing him to turn in his seat to face her completely, making it increasingly difficult to not steal another glance at the magically diminishing shorts. His eyes were alight with curiosity and relation, which forced the Terran to assume he knew the planet she was from. She could only hope that his opinions of the place were good, making him one of the very few she’d come across with the right attitude. More often than not, she feigned being from Earth’s moon which was the equivalent to being from America’s Alaska when traveling abroad.

Same neighborhood, but unassociated to those who don’t know better.

“Earth? Really? Hey, I’m from there. What a coinkidink. Did ‘Temple of Doom’ just blow Indiana Jones out of the water or what?” He looked too hopeful for that, but the truth was out of her mouth before she could really stop it.

“What? No. It’s the worst of the original trilogy. Earth collectively doesn’t even talk about the fourth one.” The girl sounded harsher than she intended. Probably.

“Trilogy? They made another one after ‘Temple of Doom’? And another after that?” While he looked minutely downcast, there was an eagerness to know more about the planet she came from. Which was his planet as well. “What uh- What else did they do?”

“Remade ‘Footloose’.”

“WHAT.”

His exclamation was enough to draw the attention of the restaurant’s patrons, all of whom were now settle with varying gazes upon the two at the bar. While she seemed a bit shy about the attention, her neighbor seemed unphased by it, as if he were used to being watched with differing states confusion.

He was oblivious, until someone spoke up.

“‘Footloose’? You’re kidding me.” It was more a growl than anything, followed by the unmistakable noise of a chair skidding across worn laminate flooring. The man in the shorts turned before the Terran girl did, both now looking across the dining room at what could only be described as a heaping pile of slimy ropes mushed together to vaguely resemble a bipedal . . . thing.

This was a member of the Gliphtrin race, who are infamous for finding sheer joy in throwing small rocks at bigger rocks, then eating said smaller rocks. But eating was unnecessary since they were all collections of smaller beings that greatly resembled boiled hagfish, absorbing their needed nutrients from the air around them. They are, collectively, notorious for having tempers and holding grudges. In fact, they hold the record for longest grudge held, which predates the universe’s creation by three and a half days.

No one is really sure what the grudge is, or who it is against, but it is known to be fierce and misplaced.

“Ooooooh, heeeey . . . you.” The green-shorted man had obviously forgotten this particular alien’s name, and it was apparently the wrong thing to do. The Terran girl could just sit there and watch as if a fly on the wall, wishing she had a glass of water she could hide behind - preferably one that didn’t threaten her livelihood. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it hanging? Low and a little to the left?”

“You stole my fuel! And left me deserted on a desert planet! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD THAT IS FOR MY SKIN?!” This growing conflict between green shorts and rope monster was growing a bit comfortable as far as the Terran was concerned, which would explain why she slipped from her seat to put distance between her at the verdant booty shorts. This felt like an inevitable disaster, which would be truly fatal considering they were in a place that was nothing more than a pocket of air in the vastness of space, which had no air.

The lingering sensation of possible death sat heavily at the back of the Terran’s mind as she continued to sidestep away from the only other Earthling she’d met in roughly six months. This felt like a bad mix of whatever was going between the two and tainted water, which was proving to be volatile, even by the universe’s standards.

“Hey! YOU said you had spare fuel! YOU said I could have what you had in order to get to Knowhere! YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR TRUSTING ONE OF YOUR WEIRD TALKING FACE HOLES!” The flipflopped man had a way with words, it seemed.

Nowhere? Huh, thought the Terran, now at the edge of the bar.

The rope monster roared with all billion mouths it apparently had, which rightfully incited chaos almost immediately. The Terran girl dove behind the bar in a shimmering flash of iridescence, quick to curl into a ball against the shattering of numerous bottles that had been adorning the back counter. Fear held her tightly, keeping her from even imagining the war carrying on just a few feet away from her small safe haven in the corner of a dingy countertop. Imagine her surprise when a body had hopped over and fell to the floor beside her.

The booty shorts man. And he had a gun. Or what she assumed to be a gun. It wasn’t a gun by Terran standards, but it was definitely something you pointed at something else to make it stop moving one way or another. Part of his sweater was burned off.

Oh.

That got the Terran’s attention. She hadn’t quite noticed there could’ve been muscle beneath that poly-blend.

“DAMN IT!” He wasn’t nearly as happy that his clothing was ruined. “Rocket! ANY LUCK?!”

There was nothing but cackling in return, which had actually been a good answer since the tension of the situation slowly dissipated from him as he sat up, checking the gun thing in his hand and finally noticing the girl he’d been talking to was right beside him.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t think you were alive. So that’s cool. I’m Peter, by the way.” He held out his free hand, and took her own, but the destruction raining down around them kept her from really returning the favor and giving him her name. From the pocket of his shorts ( which she really could not get over ), he produced a small device - an MP3 player. “This calls for some mood music, yah know?”

She immediately recognized the tune as he put it on.

‘Kiss’ by Prince. A classic.

“If we all get out of here alive, wanna come with? Couldn’t help but notice that whole forlorn doe-eyed look you had going on earlier. We could use a girl on the crew.” It was mind boggling to the Terran that Peter was so calm as glass and splintered wood peppered the air so continuously. This must be a somewhat common occurrence.

“I-...what? That green woman-..”

“Gamora? She’s alright. Bit rough around the edges. Actually, a lot rough around the edges. Did you know she slept with that Iron Dude once? She said he cried.” There was ample snickering on his part, which made up for the complete lack of comprehension on the Terran’s part. “But hey, you should definitely think about it. It’d be fun and nice. We’re cool. I’m the coolest, because I’m the captain. I have my own ship and everything. And music.”

She was just so . . . flabbergasted.

“Peter, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything since we just met, and there’s a lot going on, but are you flirting with me?” Part of her hoped he wasn’t, just because the timing would be so strange - almost too cinematic and cliche.

But a much larger part of her hoped he was.

“I don’t know, maybe?” He spoke as he reloaded his gun thing, or so she assumed. “Is it working? Because if it is, I’m definitely flirting.”

This man wearing shorts that left so little to the imagination and ( what she knew to be ) Old Navy flip flops was being so smooth despite the complete hot mess he made himself look like. The crooked smirk beneath the slightly grown facial hair was the kicker. It was then that the Terran found herself budding a whole new appreciation for the jaded hue and a new take on casual wear.

Before she could answer, the entire bar area fell prey to what had been a nega-space hand grenade, which had instantly condensed the entire bar structure to one single atom before exploding it outward in a grand display of absolute annihilation. But in the wake of something so absolute, there was only silence. Who had lived through that?

Everyone.

The Gliphtrin had scattered after basically being disassembled during the blast, and most of the patrons had been dubiously ( and conveniently ) knocked out as well. It was undoubtedly the crew that Peter had arrived with that were the first to stir from where they’d landed during the fight and subsequent explosion, murmuring curses at both parties involved. It was pertinent that they leave immediately before word of their usual shenanigans got to the Vogons who would almost literally bury them in necessary paperwork.

“That was less than I expected,” the raccoon cackled as he scrambled for the door, Treebeard following with only one arm less than he’d shown up with. “I’m disappointed in kids these days. Ain’t a good fight in the stars.”

“We’re not really looking to fight, Rocket,” the green woman spoke, sheathing a sword that had been hidden away when she’d entered the restaurant. “We’re running out of places we’re not banned from. If we keep this up, we’ll be eating whatever Drax feels like cooking.”

“I make great meals. I don’t know what you’re talking about, making it sound like torture,” the large tattooed man said, flicking what looked to be a finger off his bare shoulder. “If I wanted to actually torture you, it would not be with life-sustaining food.”

“On the bright side, we’re all alive, right?” Peter had gotten up, somehow forgetting the Terran’s existence in the process. Maybe the blast had scrambled his brains a little. “And I know, I know - I say that every time, but I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.”

They were heading out when they heard a very meek ‘hey’ from the collateral left behind them. When Peter turned to look back at the noise, almost expecting one of the mini-rope monsters egging him on, he could only do that damned crooked smirk again at the site of torn mesh.

The Terran girl.

“Hey, buttercup, you’re alive! Wanna come with?” Even if he’d been unabashedly flirting before in the midst of a firefight, there was still some semblance of sincerity there as he watched her stand, completely ignoring the incredulous looks from his cohorts. “We’re heading to uh . . . I think it’s Gre’qrium next. Right?”

He had to look to those standing around him for confirmation, which he got by way of enthusiastic nods before they began to amble off.

“Whaddya say? I heard it’s got rivers of pearls, incredible food, and a really relaxed policy on clothing.”

“Hell yes, I do,” she answered, more than thankful that her date had stood her up at that god awful restaurant. She started to walk with him towards a teal and orange ship that looked a lot cooler than the pirate ship she’d previously been on. “Wait, what do you mean relaxed policy?”

“It’s a nudist planet,” the green woman answered from inside the ship.

“Oh,” said the Terran. “That’s uh . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, throwing an arm around the girl in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “It’s not like they look like us.”

“They look worse,” said the one she assumed was Drax. “Beautiful, but worse.”

“We’ve got a trip ahead of us. Tell me what I’ve missed at home. Clothing optional.”

Peter winked.

Everyone but the Terran rolled their eyes.

[jedifighterpilot2727]

I love the chapter where Kara and Lena adopted Lexi so much! Can you post a link to that?

People talking about how much they love Lexi always gives me feels! Especially the adoption chapter! Here ya go!!

Sometimes, Home Finds You

Important side note - there are TONS of kids out there who need a home, just like Lexi. Especially neurodivergent kids! So next time you’re family planning, give adoption a thought!

The orphanage is so loud.

It’s always loud.

And there are other kids everywhere, all the time.

The only saving grace is that they had eventually stopped trying to talk to her or get her to play once they realized she had no interest in talking to them. It’s not that she didn’t want to, really; she just didn’t know what to say, or how to play their games, or how to stand being around them when they were always so … loud. It’s stressful, and she’d much rather spend her time reading, or coloring. And the other kids are mostly happy to leave her to it - for that she’s grateful.

None of them really like her, she doesn’t think.

No one ever really likes her.

Her parents must not have liked her all that much to have left her in a place like this. Not that it’s all that bad for an orphanage, but Lexi doesn’t have to be a child genius to know that an orphanage is a place to send kids you didn’t like. Or kids who didn’t have anyone else.

”Once you’re here, you never leave.” Hailee, one of the older kids had told her when she first arrived. Hailee had been adopted not long after, so there was some irony.

Lexington is still here though, almost a year later, so maybe there’s some truth to the statement as well.

Ms. Peggy used to read to her, in a soft voice that didn’t make Lexi feel like she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears a squeeze her eyes shut. But Ms. Peggy had left a long time ago.

Ms. Janice and Mr. Pete, they’re nice enough, but she can tell they don’t really know what to make of her. They look at her like they’re studying her, with sad eyes and sad smiles, and she isn’t sure how to respond to that.

So she doesn’t.

She hears the grownups whispering, hears words like ‘autistic’ and ‘mute’ -  but she doesn’t understand what they mean.

It’s just as well.

She’s content to sit and read or color, and ignore the the children around her.

But some days, like today, they’re just so loud.

Too loud.

She hates this feeling inside her, like her bones are vibrating and her insides are bubbling up and -

It’s too much.

Pressing her palms against her ears, she darts from the room, evading Ms. Janice and slipping out the door.

The old building’s hallways are a maze, but she knows where she’s going.

The garden is small but quiet, and she loves it here - when she’s by herself, and that hardly ever happens unless she’s trying to escape from the noise. They always find her, but if she’s lucky, she gets a few minutes peace.

She presses her back up against the giant statue, sinking down until she’s sitting cross-legged on the grass, hands still clamped against her ears, eyes squeezed shut.

* - - - - - - -

Dr. Egrett smiles at them across the desk.

“So, this is the final bit of paperwork, all you need to do is sign here and you’ll be good to go!”

“Actually,” Kara looks to Lena for confirmation. “We’d like a chance to speak to speak with Lexington first, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, just -“

A knock on the door interrupts him, and one of the teachers sticks her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but she’s in the garden again.“

“Oh dear.” Dr. Egrett looks worried.

“Is something wrong?” Lena’s fingers tighten around Kara’s. “Is it Lexi?”

“She’s fine, she just - she has episodes.”

“Episodes?”

“Sometimes things get overwhelming for her she hides in the garden. It can take a long time to coax her back inside, I should go.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go.” Kara suggests and Lena nods.

“Very well, the garden is right this way.”

* - - - - -

Finally, the awful feeling inside her dies down, and she lets her rocking slow to a stop. Her hands slip from her ears to rest in her lap and her eyes blink against the afternoon sun. She doesn’t always get this much time to herself, usually Dr. Egrett or Ms. Janice has come to try and talk to her by now; and she hates that, hates how it adds to the noise. This time, the only sound is the fountain trickling beside her, and she glances around, suddenly anxious to be left alone.

But Kara is there, watching her with a smile.

“It got a little bit loud, huh?” The blonde woman whispers, and Lexi pauses before nodding.

“I used to have a a lot of problems with that when I was younger. Still do, sometimes.” She smiles again, and Lexi can’t help but smile with her.

“Is it okay if I sit with you?”

Lexi nods again. She likes Kara, and Lena. They’ve come to visit her a lot lately, and she wonders why. She’s heard the bigger kids talk, knows that grownups come and sometimes kids leave with them, but more times than not, they don’t.

She tries not to get her hopes up.

They sit in silence for a long time, before Kara scoots down to lay in the grass, watching the sky above. Curiosity gets the best of her, and Lexi crawls over until they’re side by side, strands of black and blonde hair mixing in the grass as they stare up at the clouds.

“Sometimes,” Kara says softly, “when I feel overwhelmed, I like to just watch the clouds go slowly by. If you’re focused on one small thing, it’s easier not to let all the things going on around you become too much.”

“Plus they look like weird shapes sometimes, so that’s cool.”

“Like that one,” Kara points above them. “that one looks like a dog.”

Lexi follows her direction, and it does, indeed, look like a dog.

“Or that one, it kinda looks like a dragon.”

“Or a bird.” Kara shivers.  “I don’t like birds.”

“Not that you should not like birds, they’re not really dangerous or anything. I just … don’t like them.”

It’s a long time before another voice softly cuts through the silence.

“You two look to be enjoying yourselves! May I join you?”

Lexi squints up into the sunlight to see Lena standing over them. She nods, grateful when Kara adds -

“We’re looking at clouds.”

“Ahh, well in that case.” Lena lies down on Lexi’s other side so that they form a sort of half circle, the crowns of their heads meeting in the middle.

“That one looks like a carbon atom.” Lena says after a long pause, and Kara answers with a laugh.

“A carbon atom? Really, Lee?”

“What? It does!”

“You’re such a nerd!”

“Mmm, says the woman who’s read every Lord of the Rings book twice.”

“I’m a geek, there’s a difference.”

“Whatever you say, love.” Lena’s shoulders shake in laughter, and Lexi can’t help but giggle.

"Oh great, you guys are already ganging up on me? We haven’t even made it home.”

Lexi wonders at that, but nothing else is said - at least about the going home part, and she tries not to let herself hope.

The next half hour goes by with Kara and Lena pointing out various shapes and images, complete with a mini-lecture on cloud composition and formation from Lena. Kara paints a picture of what clouds feel like, claiming Supergirl told her once, and Lexi can almost imagine that she’s up there, floating among the clouds.

But like all good things, it must come to an end; and all too soon they’re sitting up, pulling Lexi with them. She thought at first they were going inside, but instead they just sit, maneuvering so they’re all in a little circle facing each other.  

“Alright, Little One, there’s something we need to talk to you about.” Kara starts.

“It’s nothing bad.” Lena promises, reaching out to pluck stray  grass from Lexi’s hair. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Oh! No, nothing like that! I didn’t mean for it to sound like you were in trouble! It’s a good thing! Or at least, I hope it’s a good thing!”

Lexi watches them carefully. ‘Good things’ didn’t always mean good things.

“We know that you’ve been living here for a while, and trust me, I know places like this can be scary.” Lena clears her throat. “But we would actually like you to come live with us. If that’s something you would want.”

“You’d get your own room! And we have dogs, two of them! They’re not exactly like Krypto in your book, but I think you’d like them.”

“And I know it’s a lot to take in, and it would probably be a overwhelming at first, but you’ll have plenty of time to adjust - we promise not to rush things. We’d love to have you be a part of our family.”

They’re both staring at her, and it’s too much, too many thoughts, and too many feelings.

So Lexi does the only thing she can think of -

She runs.

*  - - - - - -

“Well, that didn’t go as expected.” Kara’s voice is steady, but Lena can hear the pain in her words.

“No, not really.” Lena lets herself be pulled up from the ground, and dusts off her pants.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t really know?”

“I’m not sure what I expected to happen, but I certainly didn’t expect her to run away.” Kara worries her lip, reaching for Lena’s hand.

“Not exactly the desired effect.”

“I thought she liked us.”

“She’s been through a lot for someone so young. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.”

A moment passes before Lena speaks again.

“I wanted to tell her about all the books we were going to read, and the chocolate chip cookies we would bake, and her Supergirl bed, and the little tiny desk she could color at, and how we’ve been so excited to have her; but I didn’t want to sound like I was bribing her. Maybe I should have said all of that.”

“Lee, you don’t have to bribe her, she’s not even three. Like you said, I’m sure she’s just overwhelmed.”

“So you think she’ll change her mind?”

“I don’t know, but she has to make the decision for herself.”

“I know, I know. I just … hoped she would choose us.”

Kara’s arm comes up to drape across her shoulders and she feels a kiss being pressed to her hairline.

“I know, me too.”

“I guess we should go talk to Dr. Egrett, see where we go from here.”

Kara murmurs her agreement, and they make their way back to the old brick building, Lena’s heart growing heavier with ever step. When they open the door, Dr. Egrett is waiting on them.

“So it seems there’s been an unexpected development.” He says without preamble.

“Not exactly what we expected, but maybe she just needs time to adjust to the idea?”

Dr. Egrett blinks at them.

“Time to adjust? She’s packing a bag!”

Lena meets Kara’s gaze, heart pounding in her chest at the implication of his words.

“I’m sorry?” She finally stutters out.

“Oh, it’s not all of her things, obviously.” He waves a hand. “Toddlers are not efficient packers. But it appears that either she’s running away or preparing to go home with the two of you immediately. As her usual response to stress is to hole up somewhere, not runaway, my bet is on the latter.”

“You think she wants to come home with us?” Kara stutters.

“Now, Mrs. Luthor-Danvers, I know you were planning on returning for the child tomorrow after giving her tonight to adjust to the idea, so I understand if you would like keep that arrangement; however -“

He’s cut off by a tiny blur of Lexi rushing past him but she pulls back and stops when she sees Kara and Lena. Her hair is a wild mess around her face, and her hand-me-down t-shirt is wrinkled and skewed; backpack over her shoulders and the Supergirl coloring book Kara had given her clutched in her hands as she stares up at them; bright blue eyes unblinking as a shy smile spreads across her face.

Lena kneels down, motherly instinct taking over as she straightens Lexi’s shirt and brushes back her hair.

“Did you go get all this because you didn’t want us to leave without you?”

Lexi nods frantically.

Lena feels Kara kneel beside her, knows without asking what their decision is - knows even before her wife speaks, one hand on Lena’s back, the other extending to Lexi.

“Well, come on, Little One. Let’s go home.“

[peachhoneii]

Anomalous: BP

Summary: Shuri knew brilliance when she saw it. Where Riri Williams was concerned, she didn't consider the unexpected in her calculations.

Strongly hinted Shuri x Riri...bring Riri Williams to the MCU.

As a teacher at the Wakanda Information and Science Outreach Program in Oakland, California, Shuri was responsible for cultivating and nurturing brilliance. She always carried a sharp eye for it, her mother said; admittedly, she could spot it in the center of a person’s eye like a blistering star in the deep vacuum of space.

She surmised this was a consequence of being raised among the brightest men and women on the planet, a minor consequence if her theory was accurate.

In Wakanda, opinions and ideals occasionally clashed, but the facts, their truths ultimately ruled at her lab. Voices were singular, all determined for the betterment of their country, of their people. America was different. Their voices were many, a giant mob of variety. She stared back into their confused, reluctant faces. She suspected the thoughts floating in their heads. With those stares, she spotted stars twinkling cautiously, and she didn’t try to stop her grin from spreading.

Word spread quickly with the Internet. Ain’t she some princess, she heard them whisper behind her back.

Anticipating these words, she spun around with a quickened tongue and sharpened mind, “I’m not some princess. I’m the princess, and my name is Shuri, get back to work.” Their dark faces flushed beautifully as their peers laughed and patted them on their back, but she knew a quick come back was required. They respected her intellect, everyone did eventually --- this could not be avoided. There was something more she wanted from them, something she didn’t want to say aloud, and wasn’t sure if she’d ever earn it.

“I need you look at something for me.” A manila folder fell on the desk, prompting her to look behind her. When she faced the speaker, Shuri didn’t know what to say. She was used to seeing stars. They were faint but clear, a receding light in the back of their heads. But looking at this girl there was nothing faint about her. She stood tall with her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets --- despite the February heat, and stared, no, examined Shuri, awaiting her response.

“It depends.” She crossed her arms, ivory teeth sparkled under the lights, “What am I going to be looking at?”

Her name was Riri Williams.

Quiet, observant, and a little tedious at times, always the questions – always picking at her silently, she was brighter than she appeared, Shuri deduced. She was more than a little relieved when the girl finally approached her.

Shuri wouldn't admit to waiting in silence. It sounded desperate, holding her breath in the shadows to be approached when she, Princess Shuri of Wakanda never waited, never shied from confrontation.

As Riri stomped off on the sidewalk, prompting Shuri to follow, the spark that led to this development, those dangling suspicions, was left to flourish. Her intuition was reliable, and that was that.

“I live a block away from here. Near the corner store.” Her serious mold cracked to reveal an easy smile, “My mom and aunt are at work right now, so we shouldn’t have any disturbances.”

“You know you haven’t told me anything about what you’re planning to show me.” She couldn't stay for more than fifteen minutes.

“I know.” On her right side the dimple of a nickel protruded as her cheeks raised, “But I kind of want it to be a lowkey surprise, and I know you won’t be impressed, and it’s pretty awesome.”

Shuri barked, “It takes a lot to impress me.”

“I am impressed.”

“No, you’re not.” Riri closed the garage door and rounded to the other side where the suit was propped up on a metal table, “I know that look. You’re not impressed.”

Shuri shook her head, “I am impressed,” her attempt to maintain a neutral composition failed miserably as she broke into a fit of giggles, “…with how bad it looks…where’d you get this stuff, form the junkyard?”

“Actually, yes!” Riri laughed, shoving her. Shuri bit the side of her mouth, tasting the slight rusty flavor of blood slithering on her tongue, “Finding those parts were a pain in the ass.”

“If you knew this, why bring me here?”

“I don’t know.” Her laughter reminded Shuri of the great moon, and when she gazed at her, eyes lidded, her stare was the like the rising sun ready to take on the world’s chores, “An honest critique without an audience?”

There was something honest about her posture. Almost ashamed to have brought her here, a princess in her run down home, she shrugged regretfully. Her bottom lip struck out in a pout. Her defiance was equally inevitable, daring Shuri to say more, and all she could do was smile, laugh lightly as she stepped to the poorly armored suit.

“The design is not terrible..” She nodded thoughtfully, “It’s the material, and you can find better things at the center.”

“I want to keep this project under wraps.”

“Why?”

“If my mom knew about this,” she gestured to the suit, “she'd demand I tear apart. She lost a lot when Pops died, and I don’t want her to worry about this.”

“So you keep it here?” She surveyed the unstable walls, the dirty floor, “It’s the perfect hiding place, right in the home. Where’d you keep it?”

“In my bedroom. I dragged it down.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip. Shuri watched, transfixed, as the chipped canine gently gnawed on the tender, puffy flesh. A slip, a minor one at that, and the skin could very well break.

“We should take it to the center.” She tapped the metal skeptically, “But I fear it may fall apart on the way. You put this away, honestly, it’s unsightly, and we’ll come back to pick it up.”

“You will have access to my labs during the available hours.” She smirked at her and ripped an arm off. Riri audible gasp made her chuckle, “Don’t worry, this is why you’re here. You can rebuild it, bigger, better. What did that old American show say? You have the technology.”

“Yeah, I have the technology.” As angry as she was for the destruction of the arm, she shook her head, laughing lightly as she worked, “I wanted it to be mine. My mom and I are visiting MIT next month. I could get in.”

This project couldn't be made public. She didn't dare confide in T'Challa just yet. It might have been greed, selfishness on her part. She wanted to keep her discovery all to herself. She knew this brilliant star, this anomaly among her students, would rise without her. She giggled, pinched the girl's warm, feeling the tender goosebumps on her skin, and licked the back of her front teeth as she pulled back, slapping her hand away.

It would end, whatever this was. Her heart swelled with disappointment.

Riri's thick hair styled in what she called boxed braids bounced stiffly on her shoulders as she roared with laughter.

“You can't escape me so easily, Ms. Williams.” She muttered as she watched on the sidelines as the girl started to remove the suits body parts. She would start from the ground up, she claimed, leaving Tony Stark a relic in the past, “And don’t forget, if you’re going to impress anyone, it’s going to be me.”

“Trust me, I know, and I’m excited to do that.” Sweat beaded above her eyebrows, and snaked along her neck. The muscles in her arms flexed as she lifted the metal, “And you’re going to be in the audience when I do.”

Shuri knew brilliance when she saw it, and the second Riri Williams’ dark smile teased at her, she realized she wasn’t observing twinkling stars but was the witness to construction to one of the world’s brightest stars. Great, dark, and incandescent, her smile deepened, and something in her stomach fluttered in knots.

It appears I have created my competition, her head leaned against the wall, a sweet taste filled her mouth, I like it.

[owenescobar]

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[vikireedphotography]

Payload

You’re moving to the moon? Does it come with a swimming pool? 

History prepared us for the failure of computer AI to estimate mankind’s tendency to obliterate every extra inch afforded them.  Earth was rapidly collapsing from the weight of climate change, and the imminent move to our final home, Ganymede (Saturn’s 7th satellite) was forced.  

Yale Sevarin was a witness to the last straw.

Russia dropped a RS-28 Sarmat thermonuclear bomb atop US NAMRU-3; a Naval Medical Research Facility loaded with pathogens, viruses.  Just to help you sleep at night, NAMRU-3 was a Level-3 containment facility. Think lethal airborne infections.  It was the Commander’s last near a time in a combat zone.  

Two-years later the International Federation of Earth, (aka Saturn One Mission) became the most important thing in the world, literally.  Losing Naples to rising sea-levels, along with the priciest real estate in America, wasn’t enough to engage-funded action.  Even after The Bomb the thought of it being too late was impossible to communicate to a population swooned by Energy Czars and members of a solid minority of political fanatics lived to neutralize the science-laden doomsday warnings. What turned the world’s powers into a hive of information sharing and cooperative engineering and merging space program research and tech?  

 The Seats of Power were held at gunpoint by folks who understood that Cowboy Moosaholic demonstrating defecating in an outhouses was meant for them.  Mothers exploded in panic when Puppy Patches sang to children about the use iodine pills to interrupt absorption of radioactive iodine in their thyroid glands. The idea of purifying everything that passed the lips was discommoding for a drive-thru culture.  The line may have been crossed when Daniel Tiger told kids about the inevitable slaughtering of pets and livestock to save resources for themselves and to reduce methane in our atmosphere.  It was too late but it got everyone’s attention.  

Commander Sevarin became synonymous with heroism.  After a decade in the Air Force, applying his particular skill in managing payload and all integrated systems was the sole factor in the last plane out of Qatar to carry more troops to safety on a Hercules C-130 than engineers would ever certify as possible.  

The carrier held 45,000 pounds of cargo, 64 fully prepared paratroopers at 160 pounds, 92 ground-troops of varied weight loaded with 27 pounds of protective gear for starters. There were 11,000 souls and dogs at Al Udeid’s Airbase.  There were other Hercules there, but not enough room for all based on standard weights and measures.  Yale tried to implement a thorough and detailed passenger arrangement, but the scene mirrored the evacuation of the Titanic.  By falling into training, but having so many extra bodies; they’d done the equivalent of having a lifeboat with two rich ladies and a fur coat.   By the time the last plane was being swarmed by stragglers, if you can call so many dead men and women that; they had no choice but to listen to Pilot Commander Sevarin.

He knew at worst he’d only had about ten or fifteen percent of the population to worry about. The physics would be daunting but he felt calculable.  He began dumping chutes, oxygen, fuel beyond the amount needed to get to Point Z.  The dedicated military personnel knew, as they watched their first mushroom cloud from a technically safe position; that they needed to go-now and they didn’t question Sevarin’s order to remove seats, water, ammo, weapons, packs, palettes, phones, vehicles, weapons, ammo,  boots, and all but skivvies.  The Commander kept to himself that he fully expected to throw a few men into the ocean if his calculations proved flawed.  

Staff Sergeant Louis Felly was liked, as a budgeting officer he interacted with every aspect of base life. But his desk job had helped him gain a lot of weight in recent years. At 280 pounds, he was afraid to leave his office, had no weapon, and one could imagine his heart and lungs were well represented by his purple face, and sweat-soaked body.  He was the last one to make it to the Hercules, when Sevarin’s precise reorganization of bodies had been completed.  Felly looked like he might arrest on the tarmac.  The Commander knew even one more thing would cause him to spend precious time, as much as 45 minutes to figure out a way to fit Felly.   The fastest way was to remove two existing passengers, which he couldn’t stomach.  

Yale descended the rear-ramp and stopped the heaving, sobbing mess of a man.  

Having to yell his message made it physically painful to doom the fellow.

“I’m at max capacity! You don’t have a choice, I don’t! Others will come.  I’ll radio for rescue!”

Felly looked behind him at the hangers and abandoned buildings.  Even the dogs had gotten on board the other planes that were or had taken-flight.  This whole base would soon be a target, like other Allied bases in the region.  

Felly grabbed his ankles sobbing, with half-naked, mostly young folks laying, leaning, stacked, hyperventilating and not talking on board behind Sevarin, who was six-foot-two compared to Felly’s panting, slobbering oven-mit of a body.  

“I’m sorry, sir. Wait for rescue, we have to leave as is!”  

Felly screamed some of his last words. Sevarin gave him that.

“Just give my wife a message:  tell my wife that our son’s only job in his life will be to kill you.”

Felly then rolled down the end of the ramp and away, the exit-ramp lifted and no one had to be thrown into the ocean on the way home.

A decade later, the moon’s Dark Side compound was completed, the other two domes-MoonLife itself- would reside. All twelve American Flags and the four Japanese remained where astronauts originally planted them, the domes were built on either side as a memorial. The flags of China, Russia, and India were retired without publicity.  Life on earth was hot enough.

It took five years to ready the moon for it’s first residents once the Dark Side dome was completed.  A fine first run, implementing the solution to construction materials:  moondust and cyanobacteria.   By combining the baccili with moondust and some water and gelatin, the bacteria is activated.  Going into a feeding frenzy and replicating it bonds to the minerals and keeps going until it hits the walls of whatever mold you put it in.  When it has nowhere to go, the composite stops growing and dies; hardening into a green-tinted concrete or a clear media that would become the dome.  To NASA and the newly founded International Space Federation, the green-tint disappeared two-months before the first citizens arrived via the space elevators stationed around allied nations, and from the International Space Station, they would take another space elevator to the moon.  

Once arriving, there was no major physical acclimation because of the atmospheric and habitability management.  Earthlings would arrive on the moon in less than a week and disembark to find themselves in a Disneyland-like Utopia organized around a simulated beach, a town green with a faux wooden gazebo, moving sidewalks, trams encircled each dome with air-locked stops named after peace-loving leaders.  Hydroponic gardens, simulated parks with actual seeded trees from earth, a public pool, recreation center and a mix of three story apartments, efficiency pods and more stately single-family homes in each of the two domes.  The colony was called Saturn-1.  

On Ganymede, now only a three-year flight due to Japan’s innovation in comburent recycled propulsion, as it was named.   Having reformulated the cyanobacteria concept for Ganymede’s composition, the first and much larger Ganymede dome was finished a mere fifteen years after the Dark Side dome became actively inhabited by engineers and their families. Saturn 2 Colony was a bigger and better Disneyland.  It had to be, because the planet we knew was rapidly becoming a large scale Pripyat amusement park.  

Among the hundreds of specialists who created these worlds, was Pilot Commander Yale Sevarin. He had the ability to make a quick-lunch out of AI simulations.  How could a computer value the agony of reminiscing about the smell of warm, freshly plucked strawberries or processing the agony of Felly’s fate?  He was among the first to arrive on Saturn 1.  Because of his mental steel, he was consulted as to who could not come to the moon or salvation on Ganymede.  The incredibly ill or infirm, the mentally-ill, murderers, rapists, pedophiles, finally all livestock and pets (although DNA from all species of living things not human as possible were amply collected).  It wasn’t a moral judgement.  There was simply no way to accommodate their special needs and potential disastrous impact.  There were no police or prisons off-earth.  Hopefully forever.

When Yale turned 63, he was offered retirement.  The world sighed as the first outpost of hope was now a functioning community and the first dome on Ganymede was ready for the residents that had made MoonLife home and homey.   It was not his plan to go there.

He was exhausted from digesting problems that involved casualties, human traits, and payloads. The Federation didn’t ask him to continue in his role as the flights to build Saturn 2.  They could see he was fully shell-shocked.  Sevarin’s ears rang with the vibrations of every machine on the moon, even when no one else claimed to hear it.  Living inside a dome was depressing enough for a pilot.

Being confined for so many years and immersed in unpleasant noises, and daily doses of ‘live or die’, MoonLife outdoors was his reward.  No one but he could sleep in the parks, by the beach or treat the town green’s gazebo as his mailing address.  

His homeless apparition was popular on MoonLife, much like the first children born on Saturn 1 (Heidi and Kevin were blogged and vlogged about endlessly in the effort to promote normalcy on the moon.  They were more popular than any Royal Baby on earth.)  Commander Sevarin was a war hero; he’d been given a commendation by the President, his arrangement of the survivors on the plane generated movies, news stories and tall tales alike.  

Such was his fame that Administrators at The Control Tower installed a sealed box for fans to drop donations, love letters, banana powder, offers to live in their homes and requests for interviews.  His rejection of these offerings and his refusal to be that guy anymore made further appealing.  Yale hoped to live long enough to see something like woods here so he could live in a tent and enjoy the simulated weather as if he were still in Connecticut, before he joined the Air Force and was enlisted by NASA.  

It was PTSD, but everyone had post-traumatic-stress-disorder in a Post Cairo world with endless angst over the Pre Cairo world.  The Federation officials had no problem granting him some freedoms given how he earned his place.  Saturn 1 was his oyster and he kept his security-clearance in exchange for attending regular status quorums at The Federation Control Tower.  For a few hours a month he got to sleep on the simulated beach.  

Besides, there were no insane people on the moon.  He was just special.

Eyes closed, warmish air, the itch of silica in his thinning hair.  He looked up at the rise of the Dome, able to see real stars and a crescent Earth, not man-made clouded blue skies.  The wave machine generated slow, slurping, laps against the bottom of his bare feet.  So glad he insisted on the addition of layered audio enhancement.  It created the illusion of a vast ocean like The Atlantic or Pacific-which would surely dwarfed by the thawing waterways on Saturn 2. Yale could imagine visiting that; but he wouldn’t want to live there.

Sevarin opened his eyes feeling sociable, deciding to visit his donation box at the gazebo.  Deep sleep happened.  So often he lacked adequate recharge because the terrified quaking Felly would stare him down from inside, or the nightmare where the space elevator would stop forever with him in it.  

He opened the donation box, its treasures tumbling through his hands like spigot-water.  Food, fan mail, art- red letter?  He opened it gamely.  

In the middle of the paper was written in generic block letters:

‘GANYMEDE IS AN EXPENSIVE ACT OF FUTILITY FOR YOU.”

Sunday wrecked by paranoid flashes, in this case, warranted.  Now he knew he was not the only lunatic on Saturn 1.

He was loathe to report the disturbing note, as it surely would trigger a psych house-call. In this case, gazebo-call.   Ever since he abandoned his place on the fancier array of homes laid before the town green, the psychological component of the MoonLife team had ordered regular visits.  PTSD was a known factor in violence, anti-government ideology, addiction problems, etc.  

Yale didn’t aid his cause by growing his beard and hair and often going barefoot always sporting rumpled and mismatched clothing. No, they might take away his freedom to stay outdoors.  

Sevarin was out of retirement with his new role:  Secret Police.    

His first day was spent at Tower Control, where Yale was known to appear with coffee for his former colleagues then work the terminals, reviewing data. Occasionally he’d find something they’d missed.  The red letter’s author had to be caught on video.  CCTV footage would end the mystery.   He found instead a three-hour loop of nothing happening at the gazebo repeated the entire night.  Clearly, only someone in the Tower had access to that kind of alteration.

All but one-person was busy preparing for the first Saturn 2 transport in two weeks.  The trend continued as he returned to the Gazebo. On a berm intended to be a gathering place for Saturn 1, claimed a generous view left to right of the finest homes-part of the Tower Control High Priority perks.  He went directly to his donation box.  A basket of potatoes and another red letter.  He looked at the outside this time:

 “TO:  COMMANDER YALE SEVARIN”.   No ‘from’. The message inside:

“YOU WILL KNOW ME SOON ENOUGH”.

 He wished he could burn-it and piss on it.  He jammed it in a pocket in his wrinkled, not so clean trousers.  This, like the potatoes would find a home in the air-lock by the Dark Side Dome later.

Liri Wilson’s morning was routine enough.  Aneeka, her live-in au-pair and housekeeper made coffee.  NASA had created a space-substitute and a prelim bean but it lacked earth-warmed inspiration.  It was the only imported earth product aside from rare quantities of aged booze.

Her class of residence had three-stories and walls that reached the top of the dome.  Just a foot of bacilli plexi between her swanky party and certain death.  

The automatic blinds which retracted almost unnoticed on a schedule, featured a large dark splotch of a shadow amidst the horizontal ones created by the slats.  

When Aneeka appeared with three-year-old Jeson in her arms and rubbing his eyes; Liri enjoined her.

“What do you think that is?”  Aneeka was only twenty-two, having been born to some of the original workers in the Dark Side Dome.  First she looked at the shadow Missus was pointing at, then up at the dome’s ceiling.

“Maybe a shirt? A moon rock?”  

“How’d I miss that? How did maintenance miss that!?”

“Show Mister?” Aneeka added.

“Right I will. Anyhoo, let’s get that boy fed, we’ll go to the beach maybe?”  With the kiss from a baby she moved on.  Yale hadn’t noticed the peculiarity, too busy spying on Milo leaving that morning.

Nothing unusual. Milo heads Environment and Habitability. Down the line, a non-descript parade of civil servants looking bored being on the moon.  He had to assume the red-letter writer knew to lay-low.  Once a soldier and pilot; being homeless means anywhere is your home and you don’t really register with people.

Yale sat on the floor of the gazebo, eating a cake left in the box.  No further red letters.  As light dimmed, he sucked down substitute chocolate milk.  

Twenty minutes later he observed the Wilson House alight with a party-full of his targets.

The blinds were up because it was virtual night.  All of the familiar bosses glided down the moving sidewalk and hopped off at the front door.  It was a normal party until Milo activated the opalescent privacy screen in his living room.  The only way to ensure no eavesdropping, filming, recording of any kind. Nicknamed the “Cone of Silence” after a television antiquity from earth.   Interesting.  Who were the high rollers playing blackout with?  Suddenly, Liri reappeared with empty glasses, fixing to refill them in the kitchen.  She saw the “Cone of Silence” Paused then quickly but delicately grabbed the comm handset on the kitchen wall and listened.  You couldn’t block a hard wired comm, but they had no reason to worry about a wife.  

She appeared spooked and spastically replaced the handset, scurrying out of site with her fresh cocktails.

When the party concluded, Yale perked-up.  Spilling out of the front door, all said ta-rah, nite-nite, etc., recoupled and let the sidewalk coast them home-except for a Science Officer, Rami Mandoon-he waved his wife ahead. His head scanned ceiling to house and back.  

The Lewis house lowered its blinds and Yale dragged his finger from Rami’s head to the vantage point which held Mandoon’s focus: the ceiling of the dome. A dark patch that looked like a misshapen flower broke-up the illusion of stars in the simulated night sky.  

The next morning, Milo called after having made an early silent exit; skipping breakfast with the baby.  

“Liri:  listen to me.  Don’t interrupt.  Call Akeena’s parents and have them meet you at the platform for Shuttle 2.   Be there before three p.m. You cannot be late. You must not take a later shuttle to the elevator.  This is serious.  I cannot tell you why and I have to get off comm now.  Are you clear?  Say NOTHING to anyone. Tell me you heard me.”

“Darling there’s a sort of greenish ice on the celing…”

“Shuttle 2, three p.m. I love you.”  Comm broken.

She tried connecting over and over but his comm was shut-down.  

As this conversation ended, Yale was in Tower Control, reviewing system status for everything from environment, to transport.   He’d seen the ice.  Fight or flight would be the administrative response to something that clearly would have appeared in A.I. data if nothing else.  He’d seen no technicians milling around Wilson’s home or anywhere out of the norm.

It failed to show anything but the routine.  He would be panicked if he had a wife and child, like Milo does.  He focused on him as he delivered coffees and scratched his beard exaggerating his loopy retired boredom.  Lewis’s cup remained untouched on his office desk.  

It occurred to him, that the Dark Side dome might yield data.  Integrity loss could be overlooked because it was hidden from view, it’s the oldest structure on MoonLife.  It took fewer than ten minutes to see no one was living there, maintenance was offline.  True, the technicians had largely left for Saturn 2.  They’d left last year, to make schedule on construction with the planned evacuation happening and needing to be ready for inhabitants in six years when they would arrive.  But no one left?

As furiously as he could, Yale requisitioned an engineering drone, taking it offline first and cloaking it.  They were the longest 25 minutes of his life.  He hummed to look casual and laughed at nothing to avoid the appearance of actually doing something very important.

He turned the cameras on.  Even with night-vision employed it was shockingly obvious that the dome was not smooth, clear plexi anymore, but a lumpy curved rock.  The synechococcus bacillus hadn’t died once the forms were filled, but they had merely gone dormant.  The air-lock between Dome 2 and this first one, was not only shut down but devoured by what reminded him of sparkling, dripping candle wax, blobbing over each new layer.  This had not happened in the year since the construction teams had left for Saturn 2. This was why the first import of fresh Terra people was hard scheduled in two weeks.  Sevarin tingled recalling The Federation treating his retirement three years previous as an honor for his life’s dedication to humanity.  He thought himself a special case and was desperate to stop worrying about other people’s lives so he embraced what he now saw as a con.   How could the bacilli remain dormant when we had artificial rain, a beach, pools and lakes? They only needed water and without the gelatin engineered, the reincarnated bacteria would grow into a concrete, splitting the protective domes.  

Death to all here with certainty.  

Yale then disguised a system query as a signal and repeat ping but what he really was doing was retrieving Milo’s comm activity, starting with this morning.  

CLASSIFIED:

DATE:                        06/14/52

MEMO FROM ISF COMMAND, EARTH, KSC-0917 a.m.

SUBJECT: ML/SAT. 1 /M.LEWIS COMM-ALERT (RED/1A)

Capt.M.Lewis of IFS Team on Saturn 1/MoonLife comm’d spouse at 08:41.  Alerted her to board Shuttle 2, destination Space Elevator Station at 1500 p.m.  Capt. Lewis immediately closed comm after aforementioned conversation with spouse. Unreachable directly.  Appears to have removed internal GPS tracking.  No change in Operation VACATION.  Tracking Capt.Lewis on CCTV.  Will update as needed.  Referring to Capt.Lewis as Fox1, his spouse as Fox2 going forward.  Fox2 is currently at Tower Control activating Operation VACATION as previously commanded.

Additional: Comm.Pilot, (ret) Savarin (now referred to as LOGO1) is unscheduled but also inside Tower Control.  Alert Watch ACTIVE. Subject is known to visit Tower Control since retirement, documented loss of faculties, living outdoors since retirement of commission.  Likely a social visit.  Internal GPS tracking active.  Updates to follow.

CLASSIFIED:

DATE:                        06/14/52

MEMO FROM ISF COMMAND, EARTH, KSC-1545 p.m.

SUBJECT:  FOX2, STATUS UPDATE

CCTV tracks FOX2, in the company of Jeson Lewis (age 3) and Aneeka, Bindi and Daku Smithson (DOMESTICS employed by FOX1) to Shuttle 2.

FOX2 appears to be alerted by Shirley Mews (Spouse of Director Alton Mews, 2nd In Command, Saturn 1) who is safely on Shuttle 3, departing at 1500 p.m.  FOX2 leaves platform for Shuttle 2 and breaches safety fence to communicate with Mrs. Mews, who expresses visible panic and gestures indicate she has invited FOX2 on board.  At this point FOX2 climbs between cars, boarding Shuttle 3.

Simultaneous to this incident, The Smithson Family and Jeson Lewis choose to board Shuttle 2 when it arrives.  Akeena Smithson is seen and heard to be screaming for FOX2, who cannot hear her from inside of Shuttle 3.   Presumably informed by FOX2, who was directed by FOX1; the Smithsons and minor Jeson board and the doors close on all departing shuttles.  

Some alarm appears to spread among those who are waiting for Shuttles 1, 4, 5 and 6, operating normally with local stops between Main Shuttle Station and Space Elevator Docking.  

Subjects directed to Shuttle 2 all appear to have boarded as directed securely on 06/13/52. No evidence of a security breach on their parts.  Included on Shuttle 2 are all executives and technical staff who were needed to implement OperationVACATION, but who are deemed as non-essential for activities on Saturn 2; and who’s presence on Saturn 2 may be disruptive upon completion of Operation VACATION.  

At 1509 p.m. FOX1 and Comm.Pilot Sevarin (ret.) arrive at Shuttle Platform 2 after being visualized on CCTV running from Control Tower at full speed.

FOX1 is observed collapsing, possibly crying. Vocal enough to draw the attention of residents arriving at Shuttle Station for local rides.  ISF COMMAND has grave concern about FOX1 and Comm.Pilot Sevarin alerting Saturn 1 remaining population.  

FOX1 is observed likely ingestion of cyanide capsule behind commission pin on uniform, made standard from the start of Operation MoonLand.  Appearing to have a seizure while still sitting on the ground, then fall to his right side and cease moving.  

Unaware residents attempt to call for help at Tower Control, which will result in no answer as the TC is empty on relevant Floors/Offices Three and Two.  

KSC has initiated 3 day simulated rainstorm ahead of schedule immediately to force residents indoors.  

The tactic appears to work everywhere except for The Shuttle Station, where residents are hovering around a deceased FOX1.  

CCTV also observes Comm.Pilot (ret.) Sevarin searching FOX1’s clothing and person.

Highlighted at minute-mark is a section of video running 19.2 seconds, attached with full CCTV report on the incident for review.  

Comm.Pilot Sevarin (ret.) retrieves a red piece of paper, unfolds it, reads it, then walks to CCTV Unit #986S1.  Subject climbs on a nearby bench and holds one side of the paper to unit’s lens. It reads (confirmed) in FOX1’s handwriting:

“TO:  COMMANDER PILOT YALE SEVARIN, ‘HERO’

FROM:  LOUIS FELLY, SON OF CAPTAIN FELLY, MURDERED.”

After holding this side of the paper to CCTV Unit #986S1 for approximately .09 seconds, flips the red paper over to reveal a second message, which Sevarin holds up to the same CCTV unit’s lens for remaining 10.07 seconds.  It reads (same handwriting):

“MY ONLY JOB IN THIS LIFE WAS TO KILL YOU.

I TOLD THEM YOU WOULD TRY TO STOP THEM.”

At 1539 p.m., the aforementioned red note disappears from view of CCTV Unit #986S1.

Updates to follow.

 Sevarin felt badly for Milo, even though he’d hatched a successful plan to follow him all the way from his childhood to the moon to finish his father’s business.  Certainly Milo didn’t plan on suicide but he’d missed his ride to Saturn 2.  

For the first time since he arrived at MoonLand, Sevarin felt alone because this was the first time his story was important.  If he told it, the people left behind under the cannibalistic Domes would react to their imminent demise with the same panic seen on The Titanic.   But all of the lifeboats were gone, our leadership having taken just two that appeared to be important, to a dirty escape.  Milo was right, I would’ve hampered the IFS and NASA; looking for a solution and trying to engage the hive up until the last minute.   They decided to save themselves.  

Sevarin walked down the still moving sidewalk to his gazebo to shelter from the pounding, but thankfully warm simulated summer rain.  Looking up at the simulated overcast daytime sky, hoping they’d let the program go and grant him sunset over his beloved beach.  He’d find an umbrella by then.  

Yale wanted to live. That’s human.  But this journey from Al Udeid to the moon had cracked him and soon the microbes would fill the void.  He grew bored and shuffled to Milo and Liri’s home, having removed his security key from his body.  The plan was to watch some movies and figure out what was going to happen when the rain stopped.  It really didn’t matter if it did.  But on route to his destination, he noticed in the windows of lesser residents, in ground floor apartments, and in storefronts laying inert on the floors of their sealed homes.  Some were still besotted with rain, having done exactly what it was meant to do. Made sense.  You can’t panic and alert family and friends on Earth if you’re dead.  

He wasn’t sure it was safe indoors at this point.  Thankfully the people who pitied him left some lovely food in his box, and he’d held onto a book they’d left there. He also had a comm device but it was predictably offline so he couldn’t find entertainment that way.  

The next day, he awoke on the gazebo which was showing signs of reproducing and becoming uncomfortable.  As were the sidewalks, which were now jammed up by the calcification gone wild.  He heard a sonic boom and looked up to see see what was probably one of the Shuttles feathering down in small luminescent shreds.  Two left for Ganymede and one, in a sense had come back.  

Yale spend a fair bit of time wondering what the plan on earth was.  We’d been telling the public for nearly thirty years “Stay here and die, come to Saturn 2 and live!”  Now there was no safe place to move the population in groups.  They might get a lot of people to the Space Station by elevator if they hurry, and we all know who those folks would be. And those left behind still had guns and bombs and trucks; once the infantry men and women realized they were being left to die, they might not protect those elevators very long.  

CLASSIFIED:

DATE:                        06/15/52

MEMO FROM ISF SPACE STATION-1800 p.m.

SUBJECT:  STATUS OF SATURN 2 TRANSPORT.

AUTHOR:  GENERAL MICHAEL THREFALL, ISF

This is to confirm SIMULTANEOUS ENGAGEMENTS OF TARGET, AKA, SHUTTLE 2.

NOTHING INTACT, SOME DEBRIS FALLING TO LUNAR ATMOSPHERE. NO WITNESSES PRESUMED ON MOONLIFE /JUPITER 1 BASE.  

SUCCESSFUL RECEPTION OF SHUTTLE 3; REQUEST INSTRUCTION AS TO HANDLING OF UNEXPECTED PX. (FOX2, SPOUSE OF FOX1, PRESUMED DECEASED BASED ON CLASSIFIED REPORT DATED 06/14/52).  

FOX2 EXTREMELY DISTRAUGHT AS HER CHILD WAS ON SHUTTLE 2.  

MEDICAL EXAMINATION PROVIDES INSIGHT THAT FOX2 IS HEALTHY AND PREGNANT, FIRST TRIMESTER.  

WISH TO CONFIRM EXISTENCE OF PILOT COMMANDER YALE SEVARIN IF POSS.

UPDATES TO FOLLOW.

 Being last man on pseudo-earth meant he was free to commit breaking and entering; in the hopes that whatever they pumped in the domiciles to kill potential chaos had dissipated.  

“EUREKA!” celebrated Yale, adorning a facemask made of his shirt.  Smashing the living windows at 12 Adams Street, where Milo lived. Gas and air hissed out.   He returned a few hours later, just as the scheduled rain program finally ended.   Hoping to have a luxe sleep before he drowned himself at the beach, he raided the Wilson’s pantry, closets and screening room.  

Mid-film he realized that Milo wasn’t included in the escape plan.  He’d serve a purpose, providing he got on Shuttle 2, since that’s the one he told Liri to board and the one that probably got blown-out of the sky.   When those on earth demanded to know why people on Ganymede weren’t answering hails?    The IFS on Saturn 2 would have a name.  God rest all of your souls, there is nothing more that we can do because of the incompetence and sedition of a man in disguise, Captain Lewis Felly Jr.   Yes, the son of that guy.  

It made Sevarin laugh as he stepped further into the fake surf than he ever had.  The wave machine had stopped generating but the audio enhancement thankfully was inconsequential to shutting down and killing everyone on MoonLife.   It made him laugh to think of poor, pathetic Felly.  

[kirkwallgirlesque]

Look, I have no idea what this is but it’s old and features the party composition I usually take to the Deep Roads instead of the Merrill I took this time (Merrill was fun but I think canonically Varric was there. Or maybe there weren’t only three people with him really! I don’t know what my own canon is. x’D Anyway it’s a thing that I wrote and never did anything with, moslty because nothing really happens and it just ends kinda abruptly. xD But this is a thing that Happens so here: That Time Hawke Twisted His Ankle in the Deep Roads:

"Do we really have to sweep through every little corner?" Anders asked wearily when Hawke slipped through a narrow, half-collapsed doorway into a small room just off the main hall. Small rocks skittered across the floor, and some bigger chunks fell from the ceiling when Hawke slightly shifted something he leaned on.         "Well, you don't have to. I still like to know that little nooks like this don't have a tunnel for any darkspawn to squeeze through to ambush us in the middle of the night" Hawke said from the darkness, and then yelped, and the scarcely burning torch he had been carrying clattered onto the floor and went out. Anders' heart skipped a beat, and he jumped to the doorway. There was a scuffling sound, like someone fumbling for a hold of something and failing, and then a thud and a loud huff.         "Hawke?"         "I'm okay," said Hawke, but his voice was strained, and there was a pained quality to his breath. "Maker's breath, ow..."

       The tight coil in the pit of Anders' stomach loosened, but didn't unwind completely. He sighed, and let his shoulders slump.         "'Okay' and 'ow' contradict each other, love," he said. Hawke uttered a laugh from the darkness and grunted.         "My ankle twisted," Hawke said. "Ow, oh... I don't-" There were more sounds of movement from the dark room, and Anders could faintly see Hawke straighten himself. "I can't really put my weight on it... ahhh..."         "Can you get out of there?" Anders asked.         "I can try falling through the doorway," Hawke offered, but hobbled to the light either way. He tried to squeeze through the doorway, but the weight he had to put onto the decaying stone sent the whole collapse rumbling ominously, and then the whole pile shifted. He stumbled bawkwards against the back wall of the room to avoid getting caught under any falling stone, and his cry of dismay was almost drowned by the noise.         Anders rushed to the doorway as soon as the collapse settled, and Varric and Carver were right on his heels, alarmed by the loud rumbling. Hawke was coughing inside.         "I'm good," Hawke croaked. "I'm good! All right. All right."         "I don't claim to know that much about stone, but that collapse looks bad," Varric said, eyeing the doorway warily.         "And of course my brother would push past something like that." Carver heaved a heavy sigh, and brushed his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Don't we have enough problems without something like this happening all the time?"         "You'd get bored out of your mind in no time," Hawke said lightly. "Uh, Anders, you think you could get in here and heal my leg? I think I we can get out safely if we don't touch the wall but I don’t think I can do that at the moment."         "You think?" Anders let out a laugh that sounded wrong - too shrill, too harsh. It scraped against his own ears.         "Do you have a better idea?" Hawke asked, clipped, clearly frustrated, and hissed through his teeth when he moved his leg. Anders' heart clenched.         "You could heal it yourself," Anders said, but then remembered the clammy paleness on Hawke's cheeks since the last battle - he had already used too much of his mana reserve, over-excerted himself. Any more would start bordering on dangerous. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "You're right. Give me a moment." He started taking off his feathery pauldrons and his belt, fearing they might catch the jagged edges of the stones.         "You better hurry, Blondie," Varric said when another pebble fell from the ceiling. There was ominous clattering somewhere above, but nothing came down.         "You're not helping", Anders hissed, and shoved his things to the dwarf's arms. Varric didn't have a humorous reply to offer, which made Anders feel even worse. He approached the doorway with an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest, and slipped carefully and slowly past the collapse. He wanted to leap and run, but held himself together in the fear of unsettling something, or stumbling onto Hawke.         He knelt beside Hawke against the back wall, and Hawke's warm hand fumbled for him, found his fingers, and squeezed thankfully. Hawke was huddled against the wall, and his other hand was holding the injured ankle. Anders offered him a faint smile in the dim light, and squeezed his fingers back, trying to swallow the rising uneasiness that had been bothering him from the very first moment they stepped into the Deep Roads, but was now rapidly spiraling out of control. The small room was even more confining than he'd imagined - the fallen rubble covered much of the floor. He couldn't see the ceiling, but he could feel it hanging above him heavy, resting uneasily in its foundations, putting a weight on his chest.         "Let's get that leg healed so we can get out of here," Anders said, slightly short of breath. The strong scent of stone was overbearing here. Hawke grunted, and shifted to give him a better angle. Anders tugged at his boot.         "We have to take this off," he muttered, and Hawke just nodded, hissing through his teeth again when Anders moved the leg to unbuckle some of the belts on the side of the boot. When the boot was off, Anders pressed his palms gently on either side of Hawke's ankle. The skin was hot to touch, and the leg was already swelling - Hawke had never been lucky with his ankle and only urt it a little. Anders let magic pool into his hands first to soothe the swelling, and then to mend the pulled and twisted tendon on the side of Hawke's foot. Hawke sighed contentedly, and let his head roll back against the wall.         "Oh, that feels better... Thank you, love."         "Thank me when we're out of this hole," Anders muttered through gritted teeth.         Healing Hawke's leg couldn't have taken more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Every little clatter and clink of falling and moving stone made Anders flinch.         "That should be enough until we get out," Anders said, and rubbed his face with both hands. He was tired to the bone, and there was a headache beginning behind his eyes. "I'll bandage it afterwards, just in case. You should watch that foot for a bit, the tendons will have loosened from that twist..."         "Might be easier said than done," Hawke said amicably, and pulled his boot back on. "We’re strolling through the Deep Roads with all sorts of nasty Darkspawn lurking behind every other corner."         "Don't remind me," Anders groaned.         "Hawke", said Varric with a pained voice, "I'm pretty sure you can't stroll through the Deep Roads. Those words just don't go together. Like the Chantry and gambling."         "No, they go together," Hawke said absently, buckling the final strap around his calf. "You just don't want them to."         Varric laughed.        “At least the collapse seems to have mostly settled,” Carver said from the doorway, peering up. “Looks like something big’s wedged itself up there. Still I’d be careful though.”        “I can always blast the stone outwards if things start going haywire,” Hawke said, getting up and helping Anders on to his feet as well. Anders knew for a fact that it was a lie but didn’t say anything. Saying it out loud would have made the though more terrifying.        “And have all that crap fly on us instead?” Carver sounded irritated.        “Well, back away if you’re worried. Actually don’t, give me your hand so I can lean on something if I can’t touch the stones. Thanks.”        “You know,” Anders said when Hawke was safely on the other side and he and Carver both extended their hands to help Anders through as well. He scrunched his nose but couldn’t help but smile when he stepped right into Hawke’s arms and was pulled into a warm hug. He felt a little light-headed with the fear lifting its weight from his chest. “You’re really lucky that you are cute.”         “Oh, I know,” Hawke hummed and squeezed a little tighter. “I know.”

[anjnaswami]

An Essay on M.S. Gopalakrishnan and Musical Meditation

I wrote this essay in April of 2015, when I began to access a depth of musical exploration that I’d been afraid of for many years. After a brief hiatus, I’m slowly getting back to that depth, intentionality and patience with my practice of music. Perhaps the habit of listening is one that can easily be forgotten if it is not constantly nurtured, but rediscovering the insights of my younger self is helping me forgive myself and move forward in this process. 

* * * 

It was the summer of 2009. I was in a hot Mylapore flat, jetlagged and sleepless after a night of no power (and as a result, no air conditioning). This had been the first trip that my mother and I had taken alone, and emotions were running high. Her mother (my grandmother, and a second mother to me) had passed away just a month before, and here we were in Chennai, embarking on what would become two draining months of rigorous musical practice and half-hearted mourning. It was late morning and despite the heat and my insomnia, I was still in bed, covered head to toe in the tent of stolen airline blankets I had created to protect myself from the ravenous mosquitoes that frequented our dusty bedroom. These were persistent mosquitoes, and even in the dry Chennai summer, they thrived on the blood of the residents of Alamelumangapuram Road.

My mother told me one last time to get out of bed. I groggily came out of the bedroom and she handed me a stainless steel tumbler of coffee that had been heated and reheated many times since she woke up. The tumbler sat in a davara, a shorter, wider version of the cup – something like a saucer, but deeper and used to cool down whatever hot beverage one was drinking. I poured the hot, milky coffee into the davara. The tumbler had become unbearably hot, and my already unsteady fingers trembled even more as I tried to transfer the coffee back to it. My fingers finally gave in and the hot coffee spilled all over me.

There certainly wasn’t enough time for my mother to make more coffee and for me to shower. It was already 10:30 am and my guru, H. K. Narasimhamurthy, would arrive at eleven. Over the past three years, HKN Mama had made a series of two-month visits to our house in Maryland, where we spent four to five hours every evening with intensive learning and practice. He taught me hundreds of songs, and spent the school day meticulously notating and printing out the compositions he planned to teach me that evening. When I came home from school, we would sit across from one another in the living room, which had been completely cleared out, except for a large rug, and a few photo frames and souvenirs that sat on the mantel of our broken fireplace. We covered every kind of improvisation, trading phrases back and forth, until we were tired of whatever raga we were in. I had never met so humble a musician. He would remark on how practicing with me was a challenge for him, and how we were learning and growing together. He was proud to have worked so closely with one student, and it satisfied my ego to dwell in his compliments. At the end of his trip in the spring of that year, he told my parents that he would like to take me to his guru, Parur M. S. Gopalakrishnan. MSG was a legend, and it had been my mother’s dream to have me study with him, or at the very least train me in the Parur style of violin. MSG rarely taught, and had very few students, but HKN Mama believed that he would agree to teaching me.

When he arrived at eleven, we had our typical session, practicing and improvising through various compositions and ragas for a few hours. He asked me to play some varnams (warm up pieces that were especially essential to the Parur technique), and after much discussion, he decided that I would show MSG Sarasuda varnam in raga Saveri. MSG was famous for his rendition of this varnam, and as far as I knew, I, too, had mastered it.

“MSG” was so legendary a name that he existed almost as a fantastical person in my mind, and the gravity of learning from such a genius had yet to set in. I had seen him play live when I was very young and less serious about music than I was now. Other than that, I only knew him through recordings of his concerts, which I seldom listened to. In spite of his international renown, he lived in the same Mylapore house he was born in. This was the house where his father Parur Sundaram Iyer locked him in his room for hours and made him practice. The rigor that had made MSG a household name was unimaginable. I had heard stories that Sundaram Iyer would leave MSG to practice for up to eighteen hours a day without a break for food. HKN Mama, Amma, and I sat in the oversized ambassador car that we had hired for the summer, which our driver Satyamurthy squeezed into the increasingly narrow streets of MSG’s neighborhood. There was a crooked yellow board that read “Parur M. S. Gopalakrishnan, Violinist” hanging over two thin, rusty, grated doors that opened to a terrifyingly constructed cement staircase. HKN Mama climbed them without looking at which steps were slanted and which were too short. My mother, who was extremely afraid of heights, asked me to walk behind her, so I could catch her in case she fell.

As he reached the narrow top step, HKN Mama said, “Namaskaram sir!” MSG’s wife came and opened the door. We came in, awkward and apologetic of our presence, as was custom when meeting such brilliant artists. I hugged my violin, and my mother carried a plastic bag of fruits to offer him. MSG sat hunched over, looking out at the netted balcony and listening to the distant cacophony of horns outside, completely unaware of the fact that we had come in. He wore a tight, worn, short-sleeve undershirt and an old veshti with occasional holes in it. His wife brought a tumbler and davara and sat them on the wooden chair in front of him. “Paal,”she said. Milk. He poured the steamed milk into the davarah. His fingers trembled like mine at the heat of the tumbler, but instead of immediately pouring the milk back and forth, he held the tumbler with his two palms and rolled it back and forth, slowly and meditatively, letting his ring clink against the tumbler in steady rhythm. “Vaango,” he said. Come in. And he poured the milk back and forth between the tumbler and the davara.

Once introductions had been made, HKN Mama told him that I would play Saveri varnam for him. He watched and listened closely as I played it. Once slow, twice fast, the second time in staccato or ‘cutting bow’ as we called it. When I finished, MSG was silent. And instead of addressing me, he looked at his student and said, “What is this, Narasimhamurthy? You’ve taught her without any gamaka?” Gamakas were the oscillations and ornamentations that were the cornerstone of Carnatic music, and were particularly important to MSG’s rendition of varnams. It was a painful moment. HKN Mama and I had both disappointed our gurus. After a beat, MSG turned to me and quietly said, “Okay, so you want to learn from me? This week, we will only work on this varnam. If by the end of the week the way you play this varnam has not completely changed, you don’t have to worry about coming back here.”

We had been there for half an hour, and in the next fifteen minutes, MSG Mama began re-teaching me the varnam. He played each phrase slowly, correcting me as I badly reproduced what he had played. And then he sent me home.

That evening, I practiced Saveri varnam and only Saveri varnam for four hours. Making the adjustments that MSG Mama had asked me to make. The next day, he listened to me play the varnam again and again for 45 minutes, occasionally making a comment or an adjustment. I went home and practiced Saveri varnam for seven hours. And so it went the next day and again the next day. It was frustrating and unending. I slept, ate, and breathed with only Saveri varnam on my mind.

But MSG Mama’s silence during these 45-minute sessions was perhaps the most terrifying. I suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that unlike HKN Mama, who always played along with me, MSG Mama could hear everything. He was listening intently as I played the varnam again and again. And all of a sudden, I was listening, too. It was something I had never done before. To actually listen to what was happening!  To listen to the point of forgetting that it was me that was playing and MSG Mama that was listening to it. My seven-hour practice sessions of Saveri varnam became more and more intense. They were trance-like. I had played the varnam so many times that I was no longer playing it. I was just existing in it, and slowly becoming it. It was no longer about the placement of my fingers, or the speed at which I was playing. It was about something much bigger than that. During class, MSG Mama stopped correcting me. He just listened as I became the varnam and the varnam became me.

After one week, I played the varnam for 45 minutes again, and at the end he said, “Good. Come at five tomorrow. And think about what you would like to learn next.” The rest of the two months went by very differently. Each day, he would ask me what song I wanted to learn, or what raga I wanted to work on. He would record it for me. I would go home and memorize it. The next day, he would help me internalize it and record the next song. The rigor of my seven-hour practice sessions lessened. I had become so preoccupied with learning the next song that I forgot what had happened that first week. What happened with Saveri varnam was beyond memorizing and internalizing. It was about forgetting, becoming, and then transcending. And I had naively neglected to follow the process that MSG Mama had taught me when I first met him.

A year later, my mother and I returned to Chennai for another two month intensive with MSG Mama. The morning after we reached, she handed me a tumbler of hot coffee and a davara. I poured the coffee into the davara. The tumbler was hot. My fingers trembled like MSG Mamas. I rolled the tumbler between my palms, and the heat began to transfer to my hands. The tumbler cooled down and my hands became warm, and I rolled it until my hands and the tumbler were one.

* * * 

I have just, after a very long struggle with music, returned to the kind of rigorous practice I had when I first started learning from MSG Mama. My mother and MSG Mama have both passed on, but it is only now, after almost five years of depression and anxiety around playing music, that I have been able to actually begin processing the lessons that I had with MSG Mama and truly feel transcendent when playing. Last week, I was practicing Saveri varnam, and started to relive what happened during that first week of lessons, and the way that MSG Mama rolled his tumbler was such an important part of it. Encapsulated in this little act was MSG Mama’s entire approach to musical meditation. With patience and intentionality, he took two seemingly separate entities and equalized them. Whether it was him and the violin, him and the composition, or him and the audience he was playing for, the drive behind his music was always connection, transcendence, and oneness, and for those who have really opened up and listened to his music, it is this overwhelming transference of energy that we have felt.

- Anjna Swaminathan

[belovedexile]

[12/30]

today is world bipolar day and I want to write something, though I’m not quite sure what to write. a couple of years ago, I would have stayed as far away from this day as possible; I absolutely wouldn’t have acknowledged it-- I thought bipolar was a bad word and I didn’t want to be associated with it. today, I feel differently, but it was a long road to get here. a long road of not really understanding what this illness meant to me, wondering if it defined me or changed me, or what it said about my chances of living a satisfying life. I’m still often unsure of all of these things, only now I hold the word a little closer. I’ve spent a lot of time admonishing diagnostic categories, yet somehow I’ve found a lot of comfort in this one. I’ve found writers and artists and friends who share it and who all have this gift of profound attunement to the fluctuations of the universe beyond what the rest of the world sees. sometimes I worry I’m romanticizing. bipolar is not a super power though I think sometimes I tell myself it is in order to cope. but it is a different way of seeing-- a way of seeing I’m growing to appreciate and understand and make friends with. to embrace it, but not let it rule me. 

when I was first diagnosed, I was horrified. I thought bipolar was synonymous with totally fucking crazy and didn’t really see a way to transcend that word. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want it to be. I was self-medicating with drugs and alcohol to the point that I hardly knew where I was. I was going through packs of cigarettes faster that I could get to the gas station to buy new ones. I couldn’t wear short sleeves anymore because I had so many cuts on my arms. I stopped going to class, stopped leaving my room, stopped turning the lights on. I only ate whatever I could get out of the vending machine which was usually cheetos or a hershey bar that I would spit the almonds out of. I made up excuse after excuse to friends and professors and family; I got really good at making up stories. sometimes it makes me sad that no one ever got really good at deciphering them.

I think of myself then, and I look at me now, and I think there must have been some kind of superpower involved. I’m not cured- whatever that means. but I am an entirely different person than I was then—unrecognizable in every way. people that only know me now can never imagine me then, and the people who have been around for both (though few) are incredibly dear to me.

the other night I was at this bipolar support group that I just started going to. a man there talked about going off of his meds because he wanted to try life without them. the facilitator supported him, but warned him that this thing never goes away. “there are good days and bad days but we are never completely healed,” she said. that freaked everybody out, but I think I understand what she meant. we can and do get better, but maybe somehow it’s always a part of us. that person essentially rotting under the covers in her room wasn’t really me, but I recognize her. I care about her. I know she could come back, but I think I’m bigger than her now.

a couple of months after I was first diagnosed, I was in a really cool anthro class where I did a lot of work surrounding bipolar disorder. in the early stages of my project, I was looking for artistic representations of bipolar. we had this composition book we were supposed to keep our ideas in and I would paste pictures and quotes and poems in there. I didn’t understand myself yet and I think I was just looking for some beauty in the illness-- I thought that would make it all make sense.

I realize now that the beauty is in the return. it’s in the triumph. it’s in surviving the pain and the trauma and the two suicide attempts at 19. it’s in reclaiming life with a new and enlightened perspective. that doesn’t make it all any easier, but it makes it all the more beautiful. I’m on my 9th good day in a row. nine. I actually can’t believe it. and it’s not like weird unhinged mania-- it’s just stability. what a concept. 

so I guess on this world bipolar day, I’m proud of myself (I’m trying to say that more often) and I’m grateful for my crazy little story that I only remember in fragments. sometimes new pieces come back to me and they fill in the blanks and the lost year becomes a little less lost. but nonetheless, I’m trying to become more consciously aware of how much I’ve built from so little, and appreciate this part of me for exactly what it is. happy bp day, my friends.

[woodardmiles1992]

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[pisati]

don’t know much about biology beyond what I learned in high school but I decided to try to go over these publications posted on the FM/a test website; at the very least as a researcher I can see if the methodology is solid. that way I have a case to build for my GP in case she doesn’t feel like looking through the website before I ask her to sign this authorization form

now there’s a lot of things I’m unfamiliar with, but I learned from one paper that one study in particular is looking at the cytokine expressions of peripheral mononuclear blood cells. so firstly I had to figure out the significance of cytokines.

wikipedia tells me that cytokines are very small proteins that aid in cell signaling, which means, on my assumption, that cytokines help tell cells what to do (kinda like hormones, but different). cytokines are produced by a number of cells, but (importantly, to me) they’re also expressed by a number of different immune cells. from wiki: “they act through receptors, and are especially important in the immune system; cytokines modulate the balance between humoral and cell-based immune responses, and they regulate the maturation, growth, and responsiveness of particular cell populations.”

okay. so I imagine low cytokine levels are correlated with autoimmune dysfunction, and, heyo, look what I’ve got. interestingly enough they’re also involved in endocrine signaling, and I’ve had endocrine issues since the minute I hit puberty.

this study did conclude a statistically significant difference between cytokine expressions in specific blood cells of healthy controls vs fibro patients.

and these are people who have been diagnosed with fibro per established fibro criteria; interesting to note that 9 of the 110 patients tested had clinical depression, and they ran those samples in some special thing and determined that depression has no significant impact on cytokine levels. so if I DO end up getting this test and following this pattern, people can’t tell me it’s just because I’m sad.

I was a little concerned that the sample size was so small (only 110 fibro patients; majority female, but also fibro does tend to affect females more than males). also majority white (noting the asterisk at the bottom of the demographic chart saying they marked people who said they were Hispanic as Caucasian, which.. what?), and conducted at UI Chicago. I didn’t see more specific demographic information, so the limited sample size is of slight worry (university studies can be tricky demographically because of a lot of factors well beyond the reach of the actual study). however, I did like that at the end they established that this is the first test of its kind in both methodology and types of peripheral blood cells used, and they made sure to control for treatment (i.e. made sure patients were not on medication so they could get an accurate assessment of what the disorder looks like). 

The fibromyalgia syndrome by definition lacks any consistent patterns regarding pain intensity, which is a totally subjective process. Pain duration is a required criteria per the American College of Rheumatology definition for the diagnosis of FM, which we adhered to. In the past, FM was claimed to be a rheumatologic, neurologic or psychiatric disease despite the fact that there were no objective links to any of those pathways. Our findings uncovered evidence that FM is instead an immunologic disorder. They prove that the immunologic basis of FM occurs independently of any subjective features. Hence, this illustrates the very strong clinical value of our test protocol. The fact that individual cytokines exhibited similar dynamics in patient samples reveals that the FM patients are uniform in regard to their cellular immunologic responses.

this basically says that, yes, there is a physical basis for fibromyalgia, and it doesn’t correlate with subjective things like pain levels. while this isn’t definitive proof (not to mention they only looked at fibro, though some subjects also had diagnosed autoimmune disorders), it’s a solid basis given that, despite other conditions, fibro patients had this in common to a statistically significant degree.

--

a second study that I’m just reading now looked at cytokine and chemokine (a specific type of cytokine) levels in fibro patients and patients with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis, and the abstract says that the study showed a unique cytokine/chemokine profile pattern in fibro patients, different from systemic inflammatory autoimmune processes. they also note in the conclusion that the specific test they did showed, firstly, different profiles for each group (healthy, autoimmune disorder, and fibro), and as well, the test had a 93% sensitivity for fibro and an 89.4% specificity for an FM diagnosis. while not perfect, certainly statistically significant. 

this study did not control for the same factors as the other one, and even mentioned that there are other factors like circadian rhythm that can alter results (apparently time of day of blood draw can be of significance somehow), but the sample size was much bigger, and even this one showed statistically significant differences in cytokine and chemokine levels. this combined with the results of the other study is assuring. 

We posit that using a cytokine/chemokine stimulated response composite score is clinically useful in the differential diagnosis of FM patients as well as in patients where the role of inflammation versus central sensitization would benefit from further delineation. For example, changes in the score could be used to monitor response to different interventions.

this is definitely making me feel better about going for the test. I think it’s worth a shot, to see if I fall into this pattern. or if I don’t stick out like a sore thumb for fibro, where on the scale I do fall. the second study was a reproduction of the first, and it confirmed what the first found, and confirmed a difference in a fibro profile from RA and lupus. that is, from a research standpoint, very reassuring. often, even with different (or less controlled methodology), you’d expect to see different results, but confirming findings is major.

I really hope my GP signs off on this. 

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Pleeeeeease write about Lexi getting told she is going to be adopted. And them bringing her home for the first time!! I love that little girl!!

Important side note - there are TONS of kids out there who need a home, just like Lexi. Especially neurodivergent kids! So next time you’re family planning, give adoption a thought!

Sometimes, Home Finds You

AO3

The orphanage is so loud.

It’s always loud.

And there are other kids everywhere, all the time.

The only saving grace is that they had eventually stopped trying to talk to her or get her to play once they realized she had no interest in talking to them. It’s not that she didn’t want to, really; she just didn’t know what to say, or how to play their games, or how to stand being around them when they were always so … loud. It’s stressful, and she’d much rather spend her time reading, or coloring. And the other kids are mostly happy to leave her to it - for that she’s grateful.

None of them really like her, she doesn’t think.

No one ever really likes her.

Her parents must not have liked her all that much to have left her in a place like this. Not that it’s all that bad for an orphanage, but Lexi doesn’t have to be a child genius to know that an orphanage is a place to send kids you didn’t like. Or kids who didn’t have anyone else.

”Once you’re here, you never leave.” Hailee, one of the older kids had told her when she first arrived. Hailee had been adopted not long after, so there was some irony.

Lexington is still here though, almost a year later, so maybe there’s some truth to the statement as well.

Ms. Peggy used to read to her, in a soft voice that didn’t make Lexi feel like she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears a squeeze her eyes shut. But Ms. Peggy had left a long time ago.

Ms. Janice and Mr. Pete, they’re nice enough, but she can tell they don’t really know what to make of her. They look at her like they’re studying her, with sad eyes and sad smiles, and she isn’t sure how to respond to that.

So she doesn’t.

She hears the grownups whispering, hears words like ‘autistic’ and ‘mute’ -  but she doesn’t understand what they mean.

It’s just as well.

She’s content to sit and read or color, and ignore the the children around her.

But some days, like today, they’re just so loud.

Too loud.

She hates this feeling inside her, like her bones are vibrating and her insides are bubbling up and -

It’s too much.

Pressing her palms against her ears, she darts from the room, evading Ms. Janice and slipping out the door.

The old building’s hallways are a maze, but she knows where she’s going.

The garden is small but quiet, and she loves it here - when she’s by herself, and that hardly ever happens unless she’s trying to escape from the noise. They always find her, but if she’s lucky, she gets a few minutes peace.

She presses her back up against the giant statue, sinking down until she’s sitting cross-legged on the grass, hands still clamped against her ears, eyes squeezed shut.

* - - - - - - -

Dr. Egrett smiles at them across the desk.

“So, this is the final bit of paperwork, all you need to do is sign here and you’ll be good to go!”

“Actually,” Kara looks to Lena for confirmation. “We’d like a chance to speak to speak with Lexington first, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, just -“

A knock on the door interrupts him, and one of the teachers sticks her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but she’s in the garden again.“

“Oh dear.” Dr. Egrett looks worried.

“Is something wrong?” Lena’s fingers tighten around Kara’s. “Is it Lexi?”

“She’s fine, she just - she has episodes.”

“Episodes?”

“Sometimes things get overwhelming for her she hides in the garden. It can take a long time to coax her back inside, I should go.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go.” Kara suggests and Lena nods.

“Very well, the garden is right this way.”

* - - - - -

Finally, the awful feeling inside her dies down, and she lets her rocking slow to a stop. Her hands slip from her ears to rest in her lap and her eyes blink against the afternoon sun. She doesn’t always get this much time to herself, usually Dr. Egrett or Ms. Janice has come to try and talk to her by now; and she hates that, hates how it adds to the noise. This time, the only sound is the fountain trickling beside her, and she glances around, suddenly anxious to be left alone.

But Kara is there, watching her with a smile.

“It got a little bit loud, huh?” The blonde woman whispers, and Lexi pauses before nodding.

“I used to have a a lot of problems with that when I was younger. Still do, sometimes.” She smiles again, and Lexi can’t help but smile with her.

“Is it okay if I sit with you?”

Lexi nods again. She likes Kara, and Lena. They’ve come to visit her a lot lately, and she wonders why. She’s heard the bigger kids talk, knows that grownups come and sometimes kids leave with them, but more times than not, they don’t.

She tries not to get her hopes up.

They sit in silence for a long time, before Kara scoots down to lay in the grass, watching the sky above. Curiosity gets the best of her, and Lexi crawls over until they’re side by side, strands of black and blonde hair mixing in the grass as they stare up at the clouds.

“Sometimes,” Kara says softly, “when I feel overwhelmed, I like to just watch the clouds go slowly by. If you’re focused on one small thing, it’s easier not to let all the things going on around you become too much.”

“Plus they look like weird shapes sometimes, so that’s cool.”

“Like that one,” Kara points above them. “that one looks like a dog.”

Lexi follows her direction, and it does, indeed, look like a dog.

“Or that one, it kinda looks like a dragon.”

“Or a bird.” Kara shivers.  “I don’t like birds.”

“Not that you should not like birds, they’re not really dangerous or anything. I just … don’t like them.”

It’s a long time before another voice softly cuts through the silence.

“You two look to be enjoying yourselves! May I join you?”

Lexi squints up into the sunlight to see Lena standing over them. She nods, grateful when Kara adds -

“We’re looking at clouds.”

“Ahh, well in that case.” Lena lies down on Lexi’s other side so that they form a sort of half circle, the crowns of their heads meeting in the middle.

“That one looks like a carbon atom.” Lena says after a long pause, and Kara answers with a laugh.

“A carbon atom? Really, Lee?”

“What? It does!”

“You’re such a nerd!”

“Mmm, says the woman who’s read every Lord of the Rings book twice.”

“I’m a geek, there’s a difference.”

“Whatever you say, love.” Lena’s shoulders shake in laughter, and Lexi can’t help but giggle.

“Oh great, you guys are already ganging up on me? We haven’t even made it home.”

Lexi wonders at that, but nothing else is said - at least about the going home part, and she tries not to let herself hope.

The next half hour goes by with Kara and Lena pointing out various shapes and images, complete with a mini-lecture on cloud composition and formation from Lena. Kara paints a picture of what clouds feel like, claiming Supergirl told her once, and Lexi can almost imagine that she’s up there, floating among the clouds.

But like all good things, it must come to an end; and all too soon they’re sitting up, pulling Lexi with them. She thought at first they were going inside, but instead they just sit, maneuvering so they’re all in a little circle facing each other.  

“Alright, Little One, there’s something we need to talk to you about.” Kara starts.

“It’s nothing bad.” Lena promises, reaching out to pluck stray  grass from Lexi’s hair. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Oh! No, nothing like that! I didn’t mean for it to sound like you were in trouble! It’s a good thing! Or at least, I hope it’s a good thing!”

Lexi watches them carefully. ‘Good things’ didn’t always mean good things.

“We know that you’ve been living here for a while, and trust me, I know places like this can be scary.” Lena clears her throat. “But we would actually like you to come live with us. If that’s something you would want.”

“You’d get your own room! And we have dogs, two of them! They’re not exactly like Krypto in your book, but I think you’d like them.”

“And I know it’s a lot to take in, and it would probably be a overwhelming at first, but you’ll have plenty of time to adjust - we promise not to rush things. We’d love to have you be a part of our family.”

They’re both staring at her, and it’s too much, too many thoughts, and too many feelings.

So Lexi does the only thing she can think of -

She runs.

*  - - - - - -

“Well, that didn’t go as expected.” Kara’s voice is steady, but Lena can hear the pain in her words.

“No, not really.” Lena lets herself be pulled up from the ground, and dusts off her pants.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t really know?”

“I’m not sure what I expected to happen, but I certainly didn’t expect her to run away.” Kara worries her lip, reaching for Lena’s hand.

“Not exactly the desired effect.”

“I thought she liked us.”

“She’s been through a lot for someone so young. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.”

A moment passes before Lena speaks again.

“I wanted to tell her about all the books we were going to read, and the chocolate chip cookies we would bake, and her Supergirl bed, and the little tiny desk she could color at, and how we’ve been so excited to have her; but I didn’t want to sound like I was bribing her. Maybe I should have said all of that.”

“Lee, you don’t have to bribe her, she’s not even three. Like you said, I’m sure she’s just overwhelmed.”

“So you think she’ll change her mind?”

“I don’t know, but she has to make the decision for herself.”

“I know, I know. I just … hoped she would choose us.”

Kara’s arm comes up to drape across her shoulders and she feels a kiss being pressed to her hairline.

“I know, me too.”

“I guess we should go talk to Dr. Egrett, see where we go from here.”

Kara murmurs her agreement, and they make their way back to the old brick building, Lena’s heart growing heavier with ever step. When they open the door, Dr. Egrett is waiting on them.

“So it seems there’s been an unexpected development.” He says without preamble.

“Not exactly what we expected, but maybe she just needs time to adjust to the idea?”

Dr. Egrett blinks at them.

“Time to adjust? She’s packing a bag!”

Lena meets Kara’s gaze, heart pounding in her chest at the implication of his words.

“I’m sorry?” She finally stutters out.

“Oh, it’s not all of her things, obviously.” He waves a hand. “Toddlers are not efficient packers. But it appears that either she’s running away or preparing to go home with the two of you immediately. As her usual response to stress is to hole up somewhere, not runaway, my bet is on the latter.”

“You think she wants to come home with us?” Kara stutters.

“Now, Mrs. Luthor-Danvers, I know you were planning on returning for the child tomorrow after giving her tonight to adjust to the idea, so I understand if you would like keep that arrangement; however -“

He’s cut off by a tiny blur of Lexi rushing past him but she pulls back and stops when she sees Kara and Lena. Her hair is a wild mess around her face, and her hand-me-down t-shirt is wrinkled and skewed; backpack over her shoulders and the Supergirl coloring book Kara had given her clutched in her hands as she stares up at them; bright blue eyes unblinking as a shy smile spreads across her face.

Lena kneels down, motherly instinct taking over as she straightens Lexi’s shirt and brushes back her hair.

“Did you go get all this because you didn’t want us to leave without you?”

Lexi nods frantically.

Lena feels Kara kneel beside her, knows without asking what their decision is - knows even before her wife speaks, one hand on Lena’s back, the other extending to Lexi.

“Well, come on, Little One. Let’s go home.“

               Important side note - there are TONS of kids out there who need a home, just like Lexi. Especially neurodivergent kids! So next time you’re family planning, give adoption a thought!