#coming from my mother who has once said 'why should we care about outliers' when trying to talk about abortion

[foxgirlmoth]

Transmisogyny is going into detail about how much you've researched and written about trans issues (The specific example here was regret rates of bottom surgery for trans women) and your mom just goes "But I read a single tweet about this one (woman's) pain after surgery though"

[jaxsteamblog]

Clueless

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

After leaving the shop, Katara went home to change and talk to her father. Apparently, Thuy’s debut was going to be a very large ordeal. As she was born in the swamp, she symbolized a partnership between the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe. Historically, such a relationship had been impossible as many of the closest Earth Kingdom city-states feared any growing power among the ice bound tribes.

The idea of inviting the Avatar’s descendants came out of the Fire Nation. The only times when they got together were for various Avatar related holidays, and those visits were strained during the war. The records only went as far back as Yangchen and Kuruk never had children, but there were hundreds of years between Kyoshi’s daughter Koko and family trees blurred quickly. But with this strong connection between Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe, the Fire Nation was keen on reestablishing these familial bonds.

Bonds Katara had no idea about. It’s not like she was related to the Avatar.

Sitting on her couch, Katara pulled up the mini series on the Avatars on Webflicks. Starting the episode on Avatar Roku, she fast forwarded to the end.

His only living descendants were Zuko and Azula.

That surprised Katara but, as Tenzin narrated the episode, she found that their connection to Avatar Roku was through their mother. She was an only child, born of the only child Roku had. And she had disappeared halfway through the war.

Flipping to the next episode, Katara watched a bit about Avatar Aang. Tenzin, with more emotion in his voice as he spoke about his late father than the previous Avatars, explained how Roku’s death is what allowed for the conflict between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom to begin.

Roku, having been close to Fire Lord Sozin all of his life, had defused a lot. While attempting to stop a volcanic eruption, both the Avatar and the Fire Lord perished. Aang was raised during a time of turmoil as Fire Lord Azulon sought to fill his father’s throne, but was isolated in part due to being an Air Nomad.

The back and forth between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom went on for the Avatar’s lifetime. It was only because of his intervention that it didn’t escalate.

Ultimately, Avatar Aang had a family. His eldest son Bumi left the monastic order and founded the secular Urban Dust, his daughter Yangzom became the youngest spiritual sage of her time, and his youngest son Tenzin became a revered historian. All of them Airbenders, they scattered across the world and, in a moment of unintentional hilarity, not even Tenzin could figure out who had children and where. His older siblings having passed on, only his children were the official descendants of Avatar Aang.

Katara chuckled as she saw a shot of Rohan in their Airbender robes and with a shaved head. They looked happy standing with their family. Her smile fading, Katara clicked back an episode to see the shot of Zuko with his. He didn’t look nearly as happy. Or really, he didn’t look happy at all.

With a sigh, Katara switched off her TV and got up. She would probably have to sit and watch the whole series, if for nothing else than to give her even the slightest bit of knowledge about the current global climate. It might help to know more about Thuy as well, if they were going to be working together when Katara became queen.

Katara shuddered and headed for the door.

Rohan met her in a park and Katara looked around as she got there. It was still early in the evening and, with the summer solstice behind them, the sunset made the world rosy. Rohan sat on a low cement wall, overlooking an outdoor amphitheater with their glider folded up next to them.

“So, do any air deliveries today?” Katara asked, eyeing the glider. Rohan laughed and rubbed the back of their head.

“Nah. Unfortunately, I was on time for everything today.” They replied.

“You know, I’m curious, why is it that the Avatar’s grandchild is a delivery person?” Katara questioned.

“Well, since an Avatar is born every generation, it’d get pretty expensive to keep their kids living in the lap of luxury.” Rohan said and Katara shrugged. “And grandpa certainly blew through any niceties when he had three times as many kids as the last three Avatars combined.”

“And then your dad having four!” Katara added as she sat down next to them. “The audacity!”

Rohan chuckled and they both looked down the overgrown slope. Children jumped from one spot of exposed rock to another and shrieked with delight. It was a gentle scene as the day was ending and the air was finally cooling.

“It’s nice having a big family. It’ll be nicer once Jinora has her kid.” Rohan tilted their head and looked over at Katara. “Do you and Sokka get along?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?” Katara leaned back, putting her hands on the warmed stone.

“You look sad.” Rohan said bluntly. Katara felt the blush and she turned her face.

“It’s just Sokka and I. And our dad.” She added hurriedly.

“I think we were lucky, all of the Air Nomads. Our temples are so hard to reach, we were really protected.” Rohan said. “Except for Uncle Bumi, but Pop said that he got to play Sky Pirates and fight the Fire Nation, which the monks wouldn’t’ve let him do.”

“It’s funny how there will always be pirates. Waterbenders were the pirate kings but got wiped out during the war.” Katara said and then sighed. “A lot of Waterbenders got wiped out in the war.”

“But you’re still here.” Rohan said, putting their hand on hers. “And the Avatar has been found with a whole stash of lost Waterbenders!”

Katara laughed and sat up, sliding her hand from under Rohan’s. “You’re right.”

Standing up, she held onto the strap of her purse with both hands. “Ready to go?”

“Yup!” Rohan said, jumping up. They took their glider up and spun it, stamping it down on the ground as they stood to their full height.

“How do you feel about pizza?” They asked.

The pizza place they ended up in was small, but lively. Rohan left Katara and their glider at an outdoor table, and she watched them through the large plate glass window. People were pressed shoulder to shoulder as they stood eating the largest slices of pizza Katara had ever seen. Rohan was quickly enveloped as they got closer to the counter and Katara pulled her phone out of her purse. Opening her Clicktalk app, she snapped a picture with the hanging restaurant sign behind her. Typing in a caption, Katara glanced up to see if she could spot Rohan. They were tall, but had somehow been completely swallowed by the crowd.

As she posted her picture, she saw two arms rise up over the bobbing heads and smiled at the sight of the blue arrows. Holding up two plates, the arms pushed through the crowd till Rohan freed themself, heading for the door.

Setting down the plates, Katara watched as they then reached into their pants pockets, pulling out two soda bottles with a flourish.

“Now watch this.” They said as they sat down. Using their airbending, Rohan flicked the bottle caps off and sent them spinning. They caught them in the air and made the caps dance around each other before letting them drop.

“That is a cool trick.” Katara said with a laugh. Looking down at the pizza, she pulled a plate over to her side of the table. The slices were as big as her face and the pepperoni slices were twice the size she had seen on other pizza.

“I thought Airbenders were vegetarians.” Katara remarked, picking up her slice and folding it in half.

“Common misconception. Avatar Aang was a vegetarian but he was an outlier and should not be counted.” Rohan replied before shoving pizza into their mouth.

“So do you and like, the other Avatar descendants hang out?” Katara asked before taking a bite.

“You mean with Zuko and Azula?” Rohan questioned with their mouth still mostly full. They paused to swallow. “Sometimes, but it’s usually just at formal functions. Apparently my uncle Bumi saved Iroh’s butt a bunch during the early part of the war and so the current Fire Lord doesn’t really like us.”

“Then you know Iroh?”

“Sure! I get tea there all the time and hangout. Pop says Iroh’s the little brother he never had.”

“Well, you should know Zuko at least.”

Rohan took a moment to eat before responding, looking off into the street.

“Zuko is Zuko.” They said softly, then turned and smiled. “Actually, my sister Jinora was better friends with him. And Meelo is absolutely obsessed with Azula.”

“I can’t imagine anyone being obsessed with Azula.” Katara said dryly and Rohan laughed.

“The very reason you can’t is exactly the reason why he is.” They said and shook their head. “Anything he wasn’t supposed to do or was considered dangerous was always the first thing at the top of his to-do list.”

Katara and Rohan laughed, and Katara picked up her bottle of cherry cola. She liked this, liked getting pizza and being out. Everything was more open and sticky; the sweetness of the soda spilling into the rest of the evening and making her feel happy. It was somehow more expansive than being at the beach.

Everything had been picked out and packed up before she had even gotten to the beach house. Now, in retrospect, she knew that someone had come in to make their meals and take care of everything for the royals. Here, she had her choice of toppings and soda, and she sat outside listening to people pass by.

What would Zuko have picked if he had gone off the tracks for once?

“So, do you happen to know anything about the new Avatar?” Katara asked.

“Only that Pop can’t wait to train her. He was so happy he almost cried.” Rohan replied.

“I guess that makes sense, that she would train with Aang’s family.” Katara said and drank more of her soda. “I wonder if she’ll train with Zuko.”

“Maybe, it’d certainly be good for them if she did.” Rohan said idly. “Think she’ll do any training in the North Pole?”

“I don’t see why.” Katara shrugged. “She’s already a Waterbender.”

“Yeah, but like, for her spiritual training.”

“I thought that was an Airbender thing.” She said, picking up her pizza.

“Don’t you guys live with two actual spirits?”

The flash of black that glowed swept over her mind and Katara choked on her mouthful of pizza. Rohan reached out, alarmed, but Katara held up a hand and grabbed her soda. Take a drink, she felt the lump painfully move down her throat and she could breathe.

“Okay, well yeah.” She said and Rohan sat back, chuckling in relief.

Pushing her plate away, Katara leaned back in her seat. “I think I’m done.”

“Sure. Would you like to go on a walk?” Rohan asked. Katara smiled and nodded.

“That would be nice.” She said.

As Rohan took their plates and walked over to the trash, Katara pulled out her phone. A few people had viewed her Click but she had a message from-

“Zuko?” She murmured. Opening the reply, all it said was

I love that place! Try it with white sauce!

Frowning, Katara put her phone away.

“Shall we?” Rohan asked.

Katara stood and they started down the street. Rohan used their glider as a walking stick and people kept out of their way. Eyeing them out of the corner of her eye, Katara smirked.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” She asked. Rohan smiled slyly.

“Whatever are you talking about?” They shot back.

“Why did you ask me out?” Katara questioned suddenly. That seemed to surprise them and they thought for a moment.

“Every once in a while, my family gets on my back about dating. I’m aromantic and they don’t get it, so I take someone out from time to time to get them to stop asking questions.” They answered honestly.

“So you don’t, like me?” Katara asked.

“Do you like me?”

“Well.” Katara fidgeted and Rohan laughed.

“We literally just met today. It’s not about liking someone, it’s about getting to know them.” They said. Looking at Katara’s pained expression, they shook their head.

“From what I understand, people click and then they go out and the whole thing is riddled with hormonal traps.” Rohan gestured with a hand and Katara watched them. “But honestly, romance is just like any other relationship to me. You have to know the person right?”

“Sure, but…” Katara started and Rohan held out their hand. Unsure, Katara still took it.

“Your heart is pounding isn’t it?” They asked. Katara’s face burned and she yanked her hand back.

“S-shut up!” She stammered and Rohan laughed.

“It just happens, and I’m not even the one you want right?”

“Not the one…?”

“Oh come on, I saw how Zuko was looking at you.” Rohan said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Katara sputtered and Rohan continued to laugh.

“It means that maybe I also asked you out because the last time I saw Zuko, his sister was being really mean and he didn’t do anything.”

“That still doesn’t make any sense.” Katara said in a huff.

“You are totally clueless.” Rohan said, wiping their eyes. “Let’s just have a good night, and I promise you it’ll make things more fun for you.”

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

[ckret2]

The Unofficial Symbiote Fan Club

Written for @symbruary Day 21: "team". Before this event started I was like, one day, one day, I need to write a team up between a bunch of hosts who actually love their Venom symbiotes.

So here it is. A pack of symbiote-loving Venoms: Eddie, Alea, Ngozi, and Gwen. Plus a token Peter Parker who has never met a Venom, just to make things awkward.

Because this is what big crossover events should be used for: loving symby.

###

Venom stumbled out of a portal.

Four humans, three of whom were clearly wearing symbiotes, looked at them.

"What—?"

One of the symbiote-human combos started at the sight of them. "Eddie?!" She stepped forward, reached out, stopped, drew back slightly. "You died years ago! How...?"

Eddie reached back toward her; their symbiotes bridged the distance between their hands, connecting in the middle. Their symbiote, rather. The same symbiote, separated by decades. A single symbiote and two hosts, Eddie and—

"Alea," said Venom—which Venom? their minds were briefly tangled together—2020 Venom. "You're taking care of my other now?"

"You're the famous Eddie Brock I've heard so much about." Alea's face and legs were revealed as the majority of her symbiote oozed off her and over to Eddie, stirring through its past self like colors roiling in an oil slick and nuzzling over its past host.

"So, what is this," Eddie asked, "a time travel thing?"

"Or a parallel universe thing," said another one of the symbiote-bearers, a woman wearing her symbiote like a hooded jacket. "I've got some experience with these cross universe duplicate things. I was just catching everyone else up to speed on how this works, I can give you the abridged version."

"We're good, we've done some universe hopping too," Eddie said. "How do you know we're all from separate universes, though? Are all of us...?"

"Venom." Jacket-symbiote raised her hand. "Briefly. Going by Ghost-Spider now."

"Black Panther," said the one with wings. Her dreads were stretching out toward Eddie, as if trying to reach him the way Alea's other had; she calmly brushed them back behind her shoulders. "But my other was once Venom before coming to me. Ngozi."

Ghost-Spider shrugged. "No secret identities today, huh? Fine—I'm Gwen."

"I'm not Venom," grumbled the final member of the party, a black trench coat-wearing man lurking near Gwen.

"Yeah, outlier. He's my plus one, I think," Gwen said. "I've run into him in a couple of these universe-hopping gigs, guess that's how he got sucked in. Some kinda quantum entangled nonsense or something. This is Spider-Man, I call him Noir to tell him apart from the others."

The other three Venoms immediately tensed. "Spider-Man of the Peter variety?" Eddie asked cooly.

He nodded.

"Oh," Alea said.

"Great," Ngozi said.

Gwen winced. "Ooh, is there a history?"

The other three vaguely muttered about their others' bad breakups.

Gwen glanced at Peter questioningly.

He shrugged. "Never met a Venom. No bad blood here."

"Right," Gwen said. "Well. Sorry, looks like you're all stuck with him. We can all be mature and professional in front of an ex, right?"

Ngozi nodded, but with some effort that made it obvious she was fighting her symbiote to do it. Alea hesitated, but nodded more willingly. Eddie just crossed his arms and grumbled.

"Cool," Gwen said.

Eager to move on from the subject of Spider-Man, Eddie said, "We should probably figure out what we're all doing here. Any of you aware of any inter-dimensional experiments or reality-blurring mystical rituals that might've caused something like this?"

The others all shook their heads. Gwen said, "Maybe if we look at our similarities. There's usually some parallels between the people that are pulled in these things."

"Obviously, we're all some variety of Venom," Ngozi said. "Except Gwen's friend." She only gave Peter a sideways glance, clearly trying to remain neutral despite her other's antipathy. Eddie glared at Peter on her behalf.

Peter shrugged.

Alea said, "But there should be billions of Venoms across the multiverse, right? Why are we the ones that are here? What's the common thread?"

"You and I are both close to our others," Eddie said. "I felt that when we touched. You care for it in itself, not just for what it can do for you. That's rare enough it might mean something—maybe we've been hauled in on some kind of symbiote rescue mission." He looked at the other two Venoms. "What about you? Would you fight to protect symbiotes?"

"Absolutely!" Gwen said. "If they're anything like mine? Mine's basically a big gooey baby made out of gummy spiders. If I'm not looking out for it, who knows what could happen to it?" (Eddie and his other briefly pondered over the "gummy spider" description.)

"I've never had to protect mine before," Ngozi said. "But when I met it, it was a captive. If I met another in a position like that, I'd fight to save it. How could I not?"

Eddie felt his other's mood bubble up in the face of not one, not two, but three alternate hosts that considered it and its kind worthy of protection simply for its own sake. "So we're all pro-symbiote. Looks like we have a solid starting point for a theory."

Peter raised a hand. "Question. Why is being pro-symbiote noteworthy?" he asked. "Isn't it like being pro-stomach?"

All four Venoms looked at him in bafflement. Ngozi was the one to ask first, "How do you mean?"

"Everyone's got one inside 'em and you'd be pretty screwed without it. Like a stomach," Peter said, as if this was a perfectly obvious thing to say.

There was a pause, and then the Venoms exploded into questions. Alea's voice managed to carry above the others, "What do you mean, 'everyone's got one'?!"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Egeryone's got one!" Peter declared. "You're born with one! It splits off your mother's in the womb! What, are you saying not everyone keeps 'em on your worlds? Is it some kinda cross-universe circumcision? Did your twenty-first century rock concerts scare them all off?" He addressed the latter question directly to Gwen.

She crossed her arms. "Hey, mine loves rock. And, no, none of us are born with symbiotes!"

"Then when do you get them?"

"Mine came to me from heaven," Eddie said, and at his other's prompting, clarified, "Space."

Ngozi said, "A jar."

Gwen said, "A lab."

Alea said, "Space by way of jars in a lab."

Aghast, Eddie asked, "Were all your symbiotes jarred when you met?" Poor things.

Gwen asked, "You guys have aliens?"

"Wait," Peter said. "The rest of you—is your Earth not covered in symbiotes?"

"No! It's just my other and its offspring," Eddie said.

Ngozi nodded, and Alea added, "A few more have come and gone, but that's it."

"Only one's been made in my universe," Gwen said.

Ngozi asked, "Made? Yours was invented? On Earth?"

"By Dr. Elsa Brock."

Eddie warred over what questions to start with —whether this Elsa was his sister or his genderbent alternate was high on the list—but settled on, "So when you called it a gooey baby, you meant that literally?" She nodded. "Once we've resolved whatever crisis brought us here, want to trade symbiote parenting tips?"

Gwen laced her hands together in faux prayer. "Please."

"And you!" Eddie pointed at Peter. "Are you saying your Earth is covered in symbiotes?"

Peter pointed back. "Is this why you've got colors and we don't?"

"Hold on, hold on, everyone hold on." Gwen turned to Peter. "You have a symbiote."

He nodded.

"With you?"

He gestured at himself, indicating his clothes, as if it should have been self-evident that his black trench coat had been a symbiote all along. "Man's best friend. Wouldn't leave home without it." He paused. "What do people in your universes wear?"

Gwen went on excitedly, "What do you call it? Do you call it anything, does it have a name?"

Peter hesitated. "I've always called it Vinny."

"Vinny! You're a Venom too!" Gwen laughed in delight.

Eddie's, Ngozi's, and Alea's symbiotes stretched longingly toward the mythical symbiote-sympathetic Spider-Man.

###

Until and unless canon specifically says otherwise, we don't know Spider-Man Noir doesn't have a symbiote.

Fic crossposted to AO3, link in my description. If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment or reblog!

[thenovelartist]

A Bride for the Prince, chapter 3

AO3  ~  <Previous  ~  Next>

It was probably the most embarrassing day she had had thus far. She had failed on several accounts. At this rate, she’d be found out in days, then thrown in jail awaiting a sentence that would probably end in her dying and her parents would be heartbroken about losing their only daughter and Mylene—

The sudden bang of her door opening startled her from her thoughts. Heart racing, Marinette spun around to see who had entered, only to see Alya shutting the door.

Marinette forced a smile, hoping it wouldn’t give away just how fast her heart was pounding at the moment. “Alya—”

But Alya lifted her hand in a stop motion, and Marinette’s jaw shut with a click. “You’re not nobility, are you?”

Her tone of voice was perfectly clear: that was not a question.

Here was the beginning of Marinette’s cruel end. Her stomach twisted in worry as she bowed her head. “No. I’m not.”

Alya was silent as she stared at Marinette with her arms crossed and a quirked brow. “That’s a story I want to hear.”

That’s when it all came tumbling out. Everything regarding Mylene and how she was the real Lady Bug but ran off to marry her sweetheart and sent Marinette to pretend to be a lady in her place.

“And it was supposed to be a joke, I swear!” Marinette finished. “I didn’t actually think she was going to send me to the castle, but next thing I know, she’s agreeing, thinking it’s a great idea and teaching me how to act the part.”

Alya was smiling at this point. Actually, it was far more like an amused smirk. “So you’re here, masquerading as Lady Bug so the actual Lady Bug could be with her now husband.”

With her head hung in shame, Marinette nodded. “Please,” she begged, hoping the tears wouldn’t fall. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. I’ll run off. I’ll do something. I can’t get caught. I know it’s a crime, but please—”

“Whoa, hey,” Alya interrupted, the smirk gone as she rushed up to Marinette. She grabbed Marinette’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “No. I won’t expose you. I swear. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

Marinette looked up through her lashes as Alya sweetly smiled. “I promise,” Alya assured once again. “Your secret is safe with me. No one is going to catch you. You’re not going to get in trouble. You’ll be safe until you can return to your lady’s side. I swear.”

With a blink, Marinette felt the tears she was trying to hold back run down her cheeks. She was quick to pat them away with her sleeves before realizing that wasn’t what proper ladies did. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I know I’ve failed a few times over, but… I just can’t get caught, and I’m terrified I’m going to wind up in even more trouble. I also can’t help but think if someone other than you has figured it out already.”

Alya’s lips pursed. “Well,” she said. “A certain guard may have an idea…”

With a groan, Marinette immediately covered her face with her hands. “No, no, no,” she grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Alya assured, pulling Marinette close like a mother protecting a child. “He won’t say a thing. He’s a cocky idiot, but he’ll keep your secret.”

Marinette wasn’t sure she believed Alya, but she wanted to. “As long as I don’t end up in trouble, that’s all I care about.”

“You won’t,” Alya promised, squeezing Marinette tighter for a moment before putting her at arm’s length. “We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

Biting her lip to keep it from warbling, Marinette looked up at Alya. “And how do you suggest we do that?”

“Lessons, of course,” Alya said with a wink. “I’ll teach you more thoroughly since—and I mean no offence to your lady—you clearly weren’t sent here prepared enough.”

Marinette sighed. Mylene was her friend, and the last thing she wanted to do was slander her, but at the same point, Marinette clearly hadn’t been prepared well enough. “It’s so much to remember. And even when I do remember, it’s hard to break my old habits.”

“I know. I have a feeling I’d do the same in your position.” Alya patted Marinette’s shoulders. “But don’t worry; we’ll go over all the lessons again and hope that none of the other ladies here notice if you make a little misstep or two. I have a feeling they’re all too obsessed with competing for Prince Adrien’s attention to care if you make a misstep, but you can never be too careful.”

Marinette felt herself relax. ��I think you’re right about that. As long as I don’t get too close to the prince, I should be good, don’t you think?”

With a grin, Alya nodded. “I’m pretty certain. But the one person you do have to watch out for is Prince Adrien’s father. He’s particular.”

Marinette felt the blood rush from her face. The king. Oh, heaven have mercy, how did she miss that she was likely going to be meeting the king of the land?

“Hey, hey now,” Alya said, quickly returning to reassuring Marinette. “Don’t worry about it. It will be all right. Just as long as you act enough of a lady, there’s nothing to worry about. The worst he might do is tell his son to avoid you if he saw you make too many tiny blunders, but that’s what you want, right?”

Marinette nodded.

“So no worries!” Alya assured. “He’s not going to accuse you of a crime because he’s never going to suspect a thing. He may just think you were a poorly trained lady. After all, isn’t your lady on the outskirts of the kingdom? He always complained about the outliers not having as refined manners as the nobility well inside the boundaries of the kingdom. Nevertheless, I’m sure you’ll get by without trouble, and soon the whole thing will be behind you. Trust me.”

Marinette swallowed nervously, and even though the butterflies were still fluttering in her stomach, she forced a smile. “Well, right now, I don’t have many other options.”

Alya chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s start the first lesson.”

“Now?”

“No time like the present,” Alya said, guiding Marinette to sit down on a lounger. “Now, lesson number one.” That’s when a cheeky smile crossed Alya’s face. “Guards are below you, and you are to treat them with the same detached manner as you would a servant. You do not talk casually with them and most certainly do not allow them to flirt with you.”

Marinette’s cheeks flared with heat before she could hide them behind her hands. She groaned at her incompetence while Alya laughed in the background. At least Alya swore that Chat Noir wouldn’t tell because after her allowing him to lead her around the castle and bow over her hands, there was no way he didn’t know she wasn’t a lady.

…

“This is pointless,” Marinette bemoaned, standing stick straight with a book balanced on her head while Alya quizzed her about all sorts of random facts.

Alya frowned. “How so? You haven’t questioned my training methods before.”

True. It had been a few days since Alya started drilling these lessons into her. Marinette almost felt overwhelmed by the amount of information, both new and old, that she was bombarded with constantly. But she knew Alya was only trying to help her.

The book on the head, however, was new. And very irritating. “Why do I need to balance a book?”

“Because I need amusement.”

Alya spoke it so flatly that Marinette had to process her words for a solid four seconds before realizing what Alya had said. “Hey!” she cried, causing Alya to break into laughter. Marinette took the book off her head and tossed it toward Alya, who barely managed to avoid the flying object. “I can’t believe you! I trust you to help me and you pull a stunt like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Alya cackled, “but it was just too easy to get you to do it.”

Marinette pretended to be angry, but she couldn’t be. Alya may be full of spunk and sass, but she was truly kind and caring at heart. Marinette knew Alya only had her best intentions in mind. “I severely dislike you. I should have you fired for mocking me.”

Alya snickered. “Now you sound like Lady Bourgeois.”

Marinette immediately cringed. “Oh, please don’t compare me to Chloe.” Lady Bourgeois was the most obnoxious, irritating, loud, brash, entitled woman in the entire castle and Marinette’s second least favorite person ever.

Alya snorted in amusement. “Better than Lady Lila.”

Marinette groaned. “Anyone is better than Lady Lila. She’s a horrible human being and such a liar. How anyone could believe her is beyond me.”

“At least you know,” Alya said. “I mean, it was quite obvious.”

“Which lie? Her saying she was part of some secret fox clan with supernatural powers or the part where the prince of a foreign land loved her policies so much, he grew determined to implement them immediately?”

Alya sniggered. “Any of them. All of them. That any of the other ladies are as captivated as they are proves how dull they are.”

Marinette bit back a chuckle. “Back to the lesson,” she said, changing the subject before she accidently started speaking ill of any of the other girls. “What else can you teach me? Sans book on my head.”

“I think we’ll call it good for tonight,” Alya said.

Happily, Marinette collapsed on her lounger. “Thank goodness. I can barely keep facts straight anymore.”

“And in the meantime,” Alya said. “I can tell you all about the festival coming up.”

“Festival?” Marinette asked, her brow furrowing in thoughts. “Oh! Do you mean the summer solstice festival?”

Alya nodded before she gasped, her expression brightening. “We should go together. My sweetheart said he would take me but then he was informed he had to guard the ladies—he’s a royal guard; I’ll introduce you to him sometime—and since it’s no fun going alone, we should go together.”

Marinette immediately frowned. “But Mistress Nathalie is certain to notice if I disappeared.” Mistress Nathalie was, to say the least, an utterly terrifying woman. She may not have been born into royalty, but she held herself like a queen. She ruled the servants of the castle with a firm hand, hence her title as Head Mistress of the Castle. However, she also was trusted by the king himself to take on certain tasks, such as monitor the ladies at the castle to ensure they were good enough to marry the prince.

“I don’t think so,” Alya said, shaking her head. “She’s tasked with observing you all when you’re together, but if you retire early to your room, I’m sure I can sneak you out. And then we can explore the shops and vendors and the food—oh, the food. It’s amazing. And then there’s the fireworks at the end of the night and it’s just spectacular; you have to come with me.”

Her fingers nervously toyed with the fabric of her skirt while she chewed her lip in thought. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble?”

Alya nodded. “For certain.”

Though she wanted to pretend she could argue, Marinette just didn’t have the energy to. Not when she would much prefer that celebration over anything she could do in the castle. What was a festival in the capital city like? The town Lord Bug ruled over was small, yet the celebrations took up the whole town. With the capitol being as large as it was, surely there would be no shortage of things to do.

With a relenting sigh, she grinned. “As though I could say no.”

Alya squeaked excitedly. “Perfect! It’s tomorrow night so I’ll come get you and get you out of whatever awful dress you wear and get you into something more comfortable. You don’t have anything like that, do you?” Alya realized.

Marinette shook her head. “It wasn’t as though I’d have use for it. I’m supposed to masquerade as a lady, not a servant.”

Alya hummed. “True. We’ll make something work. There are a few other girls I know who might be your size so we don’t have to hem anything for the day. But even if nothing fits, I’ll make quick work of that. You aren’t the only one who knows her way around a needle. Not when I have two younger sisters that rip everything.”

Marinette chuckled at the reminder of little Ella who came up with a ripped shirt for her sister to fix. “I suppose that would make you proficient pretty quickly.”

With a roll of her eyes, Alya nodded her agreement. “So don’t worry about the clothes or anything else. I’ll come get you, we’ll sneak out, and we’ll have a fantastic time.”

For the first time, Marinette felt genuinely excited about having come to the castle in the first place. “Okay.”

…

It was most certainly an odd thing. A very odd thing, indeed.

It had not missed Nathalie’s attention, the way Lady Bug was, to put it nicely, less trained than the other ladies that had arrived for Prince Adrien’s choosing. Furthermore, the way Nathalie had caught Lady Bug talking with her lady’s maid, one that the castle had assigned to her, brought up a whole new set of questions. They seemed far too familiar, and while Nathalie knew Alya was a chatty woman, she also knew Alya knew her place.

Which begged the question of why Alya was acting familiar with Lady Bug.

So many questions; so few answers.

“Is something bothering you, Nathalie?”

Nathalie paused, knowing that King Gabriel knew her well enough to call her out should she answer ‘no’. “It’s one of the ladies, Sire,” she answered.

Gabriel paused his work to look up at her. “What of it?”

“It is merely speculation at this point.”

“It is rare for your speculation to be wrong.”

“But it is too early to tell anything for certain.”

Gabriel frowned before laying down his pen and leaning back in his chair. “Nathalie,” he directed. “You are far too sharp and preceptive for me to believe that you picked up something that is actually nothing. Therefore, what concerns you?”

 Nathalie frowned. Gabriel was equally sharp and preceptive. As such, she couldn’t be anything but completely blunt with him. “Lady Bug is poorly trained for a lady.”

Gabriel hummed. “What of it? If I’m correct, Lady Bug is the daughter of an earl on the rim. And if I’m not mistaken, there was a rumor about his daughter sneaking down into a ballroom and making a scene of herself before she could be properly presented. I can’t say her lack of training surprises me.”

“Yes,” Nathalie agreed. “But I’m made more curious by the way Alya—the maid we assigned to Lady Bug—is acting towards her.”

Gabriel’s frown deepened. “Then I suggest you keep an eye on this maid of ours, Nathalie,” he directed. “And keep me informed on your findings.”

Nathalie bowed. “Of course, Sire.”

…

“Stand still.”

“I am. Stop poking me.”

Alya grunted as she passed the needle through the fabric of the skirt for Marinette. It was a little large of her, meaning it that to be hemmed and taken in at the waist. Ideally, this should have been done this morning, but apparently, Alya had to search for just the right skirt, hence why it was being done mere moments before they were heading out to the summer solstice festival.

Marinette did have to give Alya credit, though; she was quick with a needle.

“And done.”

Marinette sighed in relief. “Finally.”

“What do you mean ‘finally’?”

“I mean you can finally stop poking me with a needle.”

“Only twice,” Alya argued.

“Three times.”

Alya grunted. “Don’t make me make it four.”

With a chuckle, Marinette finished dressing in the rest of her clothes before putting her hair up with two ribbons.

“Cute,” Alya commented.

Marinette grinned. “Not befitting of a lady, though.”

“Yes, but that’s why no one is going to look twice at you when we walk out of here.”

“Just as long as—”

“We won’t get caught,” Alya assured with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Calm down.”

Marinette huffed. “Forgive me for being a little worried.”

“Trust me. Nathalie won’t know. At this very moment, she’s either looking after the other ladies or talking with King Gabriel. We will be fine.”

“What about the guards?”

“What about them?”

“Won’t they catch us? Rather, me?”

Alya smirked. “Nino is high ranking. All I have to do is throw his name out, and they’ll conveniently forget ever seeing us. Now, quit worrying and let’s go.”

Before Marinette could protest, Alya grabbed her hand and dragged her out the door. Alya made sure to peak around every corner before pulling Marinette down each hallway. Then they reached the servant’s door and Alya was quick to tug her through it.

Marinette’s heart was racing with fear. No matter what Alya said, Marinette was terrified of getting caught.

“Uh-oh.”

Which was apparently was what was about to happen.

“Oh no,” Marinette grumbled. But she bit back the ramble that wanted to spill out. Not only for the sake of being quiet, but Alya was taking up a nasty habit of thumping her head when she did.

Alya squeezed her hand. “Stay.” Silently, she slipped out of the stairwell. “Hello, Sabrina.”

Marinette inwardly groaned. Of all the people… Marinette had met Sabrina once before as a servant, though it was years ago. Keeping out of Sabrina’s sight was difficult thus far considering Lady Bourgeois demanded Sabrina follow her around everywhere. If Sabrina caught Marinette now, she would out her immediately.

Blood roared in her ears as her heart pounded, making it difficult to hear the conversation, but it was over quickly enough and Alya was back and grabbing Marinette’s hand soon enough.

“Run.”

“Run?”

Marinette barely had time to gather the still slightly too long skirt and run after Alya. They wove through more corridors and ducked through the hallways until they reached a door Alya was quick to shove open. In seconds, Marinette was yanked outside and Alya slammed the door shut.

“See?” Alya said, panting lightly as she flashed Marinette a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Marinette sarcastically grumbled while mentally begging her poor heart to calm down before it killed her. “Absolutely nothing.”

Alya sniggered. “You’ll live. Now, come on. We have a festival to go to!”

Before Marinette could respond, Alya grabbed her hand and began scampering off. Again, Marinette had to snatch hold of her skirt to keep from tripping over it, but she also couldn’t hold back her grin. “Alya, slow down!”

“Speed up! The festival is calling us.”

Laughing all the while, she yanked her hand away from Alya. “I’m going to trip over this skirt, and I’m trying not to ruin it.”

Alya frowned, but at least she slowed her pace. “Maybe we should have hemmed it a little more. But too late for that now. I’m sure you can walk in that thing backwards if you’re careful enough.”

Marinette scoffed. “The last time I tried walking backwards in a skirt, I tripped over it and ripped it.”

A smug grin soon took over Alya’s face. In a second, she flipped around and started walking backwards. “I don’t know. Seems easy to me.”

It was a hard task to scowl when all she wanted to do was grin. “How dare you mock me. I thought we could be friends.”

“We still are. I just have a talent you don’t.”

Marinette’s smile grew bigger.

“I bet I could run backwards and not trip.”

“And I hope you do so I can laugh at you.”

With a wild grin, Alya did, looking over her shoulder as she shuffled quickly backwards.

“You’re going to trip!” Marinette called.

“You’re such a worry wa—AHHH!”

Marinette gasped as Alya fell, only to be snatched by a figure in black hidden behind a tree. Her heart began pounding and her first instinct sent her tripping over her skirt again, barely spinning in time to land…

On a very firm, leather-clad chest.

This was it. She was caught and she was going to be found out and be thrown in the dungeon and—

Froze completely at the sudden deep chuckle that emanated from the chest. “Are you falling for me again, my Lady?”

[gaiatheorist]

“50% Feminine.”

I’m going mad again, I’m listing probable reasons, but going mad isn’t reasonable, it’s something that just happens to me from time to time. This is one of the slow, creepy-uppy episodes, not one of the sudden, explosive ones, possibly less dangerous, but incredibly draining. It’ll pass, it always does, it had better do, it’s bloody horrible.

Standard disclaimer, I am at increased risk of harm, but I have no intent or ideation of deliberately harming myself, apart from drinking too much cheap-and-nasty wine, which is my standard maladaptive coping mechanism.

I woke up at 1.30am, and, after a brief discussion with my wonky brain, acknowledged that I was Awake-awake, and there was no chance of going back to sleep. This will have a knock-on effect for a few days, there’s a fair chance I’ll fall asleep in my dinner, but it’s mostly containable. (The madness, as well as the dinner.) Scrolling through Twitter, to see if I’d ‘missed anything’, I found a link to ‘My Gender Coordinates’, and decided to take the quiz, no better or worse use of my time than a Fakebook quiz to tell me what sort of sandwich, or shoe I am.

There are 35 questions, I can’t remember exactly how they’re worded, but it’s along the lines of “I am...” or “I consider myself...” about various character traits, or behaviours, you ‘answer’ on a sliding scale from double-thumbs-up to double-thumbs-down. There’s a ‘middle’ option, which, when I’m going mad, is always a bit tempting, I’m indifferent, I don’t care much about much when I’m in this state.(Until I do, and get all emotionally peaky, HATING an empty shampoo bottle on the bathroom floor, but refusing to move it, because it’s not mine, or finding myself close to tears because I think I’ve offended someone, and not quite knowing how to check.) 

The ‘results’ come out on a quadrant-graph thingy, Masculine/Androgynous/Undifferentiated/Feminine, I deliberately didn’t look at that first, because I would have skewed my answers, aiming for ‘undifferentiated’, I’m awkward like that. My results were that I ‘fall between quadrants’, no big surprise there, my dot was bang on the line between ‘masculine’ and ‘androgynous’, all in the top half of the square, ‘68.3% Masculine, 50% Feminine’, I don’t know how that works, it’s numbers, and maths and stuff, and my brain doesn’t work like that. (Haha, because I’m a girl, and girls are better at biology than physics. Bullshit.) 

What does it mean? In all likelihood, nothing, it does look kind-of scientific, which is why I answered all of the questions, instead of giving up at the first hint of a cartoon dinosaur, or a ‘pick which colour-scheme appeals to you’. (Cartoon dinosaurs are my new pet hate, I’ve recently had to wade back through the clip-art infested worksheets from the last mental health course, and I’m fairly certain I’ve imagined a cartoon dinosaur, but that’s a tangent I’ll try to avoid.) I have strong opinions on the concept of gender, for however-many years I’ve been writing on here, I’ve identified as ‘meat no-one eats’, my biological sex is female, and my uterus is certainly reminding me of that fact this week. My gender? Human. Probably. 

“Identified as”, how very modern, it’s not ‘really’ a new thing, to me, or the world, what I’m trying to do here is type out a safe-release, to vent, I suppose it all boils down to my resentment of being ‘told’. There are vague childhood memories of being told “Ladies do/don’t do...”, and I have a ridiculous rage-bubble of “Yes, and sloths poo once a week, what’s your point?”, too late one thinks of what one might have said. I’m no more a lady than I am a sloth, I’m probably leaning more towards sloth at the moment, I’m overdue a bath.

Working through the statement-ratings, I noticed I was pulling a face at some of them. All of them, to be honest, which surprised me, because, with a diagnosis of autism, there’s the preconception that my response would be binary-linear, black-or-white, always/never. It wasn’t, my response was invariably “That’s a stupid question.”, and they weren’t questions, for every single statement, I decided “Unable to answer without context.”, and had to imagine a scenario to contextualise “I am generous” or “I am decisive”, or whatever. ( I *am* decisive, given sufficient context.) I need to watch that I don’t fall into a psychopath/sociopath rabbit-hole here, my sometimes-linear approach could be viewed as psychopathic, and my bending/masking could fit a sociopathic profile. Too many personality quizzes in my teen-girl magazines, and an on-going desire to name and categorize things.

I was pulling a face at the statements that are usually associated with the concept of femininity, there really isn’t a male-brain/female-brain. (All brains smell horrible, I have smelled my own brain, wasn’t pleasant.) There are some biological differences, most notably the reproductive bits, but not really a great deal else, the ex used to say that humans were evolving to be more androgynous, but I see now that he was trying to justify the societally-imposed feelings of inadequacy that I was as tall as him, with more body-hair. He ascribed to the concept of androgyny when it suited him, lauding Bowie in public, and insisting I was ‘better’ at housework in private. A product of his upbringing, but deeply coercive-toxic. He enjoyed my androgynous-atypical nature up to a point, I was a trophy in more ways than just my long legs and pretty mouth, I confused the hell out of his ‘traditional’ family, though. 

The statements that made me screw up my face could have been coloured pink, they were the ones that ‘ladies do’, some, I consciously, deliberately-don’t, and some are just a natural hard-no, nature vs nurture in evidence. I have learned behaviours, and innate, natural tendencies, there was a bit of a domestic issue the other day when I noted my son being manipulative, and destroyed-devastated myself wondering if he’d learned-observed that from me.  I don’t think so, my avoidance-behaviours are quite different. I was pulling faces at the stereotypical ‘female’ traits, initially an “Ew, no, I don’t do that!” response, but, as I realised I was doing it, I wondered WHY I was repulsed. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with being kind/sensitive/compassionate, they’re human responses, not ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’, but even the quiz itself refers to them as  “Traits commonly found in people of the ... gender.” (Androgynous is referred to as high in male- and female-typical traits, undifferentiated as low in both.) Commonly, not exclusively.

Part of the issue is that I associate femininity with vulnerability and weakness. I choose not to ‘present as’ female most of the time, my sex usually isn’t obvious until people get close, and I don’t let many people get that close. (Even before the virus-distancing.) There are ‘historical and complicating factors’ behind some of that, but there’s also the gender-conditioning I grew up with, girls-should, and boys-should, I didn’t have particularly positive experiences or role-models, but, even aside from that, the general concensus was that male was stronger, better, more important, female was secondary and subservient. To do something ‘like a girl’ was an insult, but, by the same token, I was often criticised for not being ‘girly’, ever the outlier. I’m wondering how much of the non-femininity is reactive-protective, how much could be part of the autism, and how much is just ‘how I am’? 

Girly-females irritate me, vacuous conversations, hair-and-make-up, dependence on others, incessant diets and fads, I don’t ‘get’ any of it, and I don’t buy into it, I don’t see why I should, just because my genitals are in the more difficult-to-kick arrangement. (True to form, my son has more make-up and hair-stuff than I do, I can’t remember how he referred to my presentation a few weeks ago, but it might have involved goblins, and a bin.) Occasionally, people tell me I could be attractive if I made an effort, my go-to response is “What for?”, I do generally look as if I live in a tree, it doesn’t bother me. That’s not wholly a girl-thing or a boy-thing, I do know some very well-presented people of both flavours, but I’ve genuinely never overheard a group of men discussing razor-blades or underpants the way I’ve heard gaggles of women banging on about make-up and such. 

Women who talk in baby-voices, women who giggle and simper around men, women who don’t even try to pick things up themselves, I think what I’m saying is that I don’t like women who ‘act as’ women, and it is an act, my mother’s phone-laugh used to make me want to scream. 

Before I became annoyed at myself for placing more value on the traits more commonly associated with masculinity than femininity, I’d had a mini-argument with myself that it was impossible to rate any of the statements objectively. Am I kind? It depends on the situation, last week I helped a little old lady sort out a mis-delivered parcel, but the week before that, I’d sped up my walking pace, so I could get into the corner shop before the person behind me, it might have been the same little old lady, I wasn’t paying attention. I’d viewed the thumbs-rating as a never-always continuum, so, technically, all of the responses ‘should’ have been middle-option, for ‘sometimes’. (There might have been an explanation in the site somewhere, it was daft o’clock in the morning.) For each behaviour, I was thinking of a situation, which was wrong, I think I should have been rating least-likely to most-likely. The situation has an influence on the behaviour, if I had friends, I’d behave differently with them to the way I’d behave with a doctor, or a manager, or my son, and even that behaviour would depend on multiple external factors, it wouldn’t be static-consistent, it would be dynamic. We all do it, we’re socially conditioned to behave according to audience and environment.

I didn’t go to finishing school, I didn’t even go to university, there were no elocution or deportment classes at my rough-as-arseholes comprehensive school, and most of my childhood meals at home were eaten from a plate on my knee, on the sofa, in front of the TV. There were still expectations, though. Standing up if a teacher came into the classroom, not interrupting an adult speaking, letting elderly or otherwise infirm people on the bus first. I don’t remember my brother being given as many instructions as I was, though, and I think that was more to do with me being a girl than being two and a half years older, he did pretty much as he pleased, and was a ‘rascal’, or a ‘scamp’, whereas I was told to sit down (nicely), be quiet, smile, be helpful etc long before the wear a bra, brush your hair, show a bit of leg nonsense started. 

I’m fairly certain that the gender-specific conditioning is part of the reason my autism wasn’t diagnosed until I was 42. I’d had expectations drummed, and sometimes beaten into me all my life, everything was already an act, a performance, so I just assumed everyone else was ‘faking it’ all the time, over-riding gut-instinct on everything, and acting according to these confusing social scripts. The “What for?” streak in me is problematic for other people, I’m viewed as difficult, challenging, sometimes plain rude, and overly bold ‘for a woman’. I don’t speak much, but, when I do, I make it count, I’m tenacious and determined, and, most of the time, completely exhausted trying to remember and correctly apply rules and boundaries, scripts I don’t understand the reasoning behind, and constantly-consistently assess environments and audiences, to avoid ‘getting it wrong’. 

I am blunt at times. I can be articulate and eloquent, but sometimes a situation demands just-enough information to convey the salient point. I don’t tend to ‘waste words’, and am frustrated when people fanny about with “Does that make sense?” and “This might sound silly, but...” Anecdotally, I hear that from women more than men, we’re discouraged from being too much to-the-point, to go the long way around things, instead of straight at them, and to check for reassurance. I speak ‘like a man’, it’s more efficient. (”Does everyone understand what they are to do?” was my preferred meeting-closing-statement, I’m brutal.) 

I sometimes see the reverse-of-me in my son, he isn’t the least bit blunt or brutal most of the time. (He did shout “Stop it!” at me quite forcefully one day last week when I was having a meltdown after getting bin-juice on my face. He saves his command-voice for emergencies.) He ties himself in knots about communicating with people, and avoids most conversation, although he’ll babble incessantly to himself to process thoughts and ideas. (I have sores inside my ears that won’t heal, because I keep putting my earphones in to drown out his waffling about D&D plots and such.) He’s nervous-anxious where I’m bold, he’s scared of a million things that I’m not in the least bit concerned by, but then, I am an idiot. Biological sex is not gender, but neither of us are really binary-gendered. (I’m not going to suggest he does the quiz, he’s so incredibly indecisive it would melt his brain.) I never conditioned him ‘male’, he’s always just been another human to me, but he has had conflicting messages from his Dad’s side of the family, boys-don’t-cry, come-and-kick-this-ball, look-at-the-tits-on-that, and the girly-girl aunts and cousins. Confusing times, but he has referred to himself as a pan-sexual trans-humanist, and I don’t really know what that is. (He hasn’t asked me to use different pronouns, or a different name, so he’s still ‘him’.) 

I’m rambling. I’ve been pecking away at this for hours, but I do feel a little more settled for doing it. I didn’t go off on as many ranty tangents as I thought I might, which is reassuring, this episode of going mad has been mostly-irritable, and I don’t like it. Catch-22, there, as a female, I’m ‘supposed to’ be all pink and fluffy, and nice, but the lazy stereotype of a woman can also be a nagging old harridan, I’m straddling that line as well as the line between quadrants on the quiz. I bet you 10p that if I did the quiz again, I’d be able to skew the answers to place the dot dead-centre in the grid, but I might blow up the internet if I did that, and imagine the mess that would make.          

[touchmycoat]

book reflections: Confessions by Minato Kanae

Confessions

The heart of this book deals with revenge. It's a familiar theme: when a heinous crime has been committed, are criminal justice procedures ever enough? To what degree is revenge, personally exacted, justified?

Confessions complicates this question by throwing the spikes of tension between children and adults.

Children are such a fascinating subject of study—not to go too far into it, but “childhood” is very much a socially constructed phenomenon (my formative understanding of this is Kathryn Bond Stockton's The Queer Child, which narrates a history of adults-depicting-children, and the values and anxieties that reveals). Confessions asks the question, “what happens when children commit heinous crimes?”

The book begins with a monologue by middle school teacher Moriguchi on the last day of the semester. What first seems like philosophical rambling lays out a multi-layered social phenomenon.

Layer one: social inclination to believe that children are always the victim, never the perpetrator. This is outlined in the story about the teacher who was called out by a female middle school student seemingly in need of help one night, then accused of sexual assault. The student later confessed it was because she wanted revenge—the teacher had scolded her for chatting during class. The teacher was forced to reveal, under these circumstances, that she's trans, and that she had no designs on the student in question (which is certainly a narrative choice to think further about—the quickness of the anecdote and the inherent logic it's meant to convey, that simply by proving herself a woman, the teacher convinced her coworkers that she's exonerated of all suspicion. At least trans identity isn't being inherently linked with deviance?). The teacher was still fired, and the school instituted a new policy that should students ever call teachers for help after school, only male teachers can go to male students, female teachers to female students, etc.

(The narrative, in its determination to gesture to the incapability of institutions to fulfill human needs, uses this as the ignition point for Naoki's unhappiness with Moriguchi.)

Layer two: children receive public anonymity in the court of law, meaning punishment is dealt in secret, and presumably, they can return to society afterwards carrying none of their criminal history. This is outlined in the “Lunacy” case, where a young girl kills her own family with cyanide, after conducting a series of experiments on what poison was most effective. The case got plenty of sensationalist press coverage, but where is the girl now, Moriguchi asks. Has she gotten her punishment? Was justice ever exacted?

Layer three: sensationalist press coverages without embedded moral value only teach children the outliers. At worst, it teaches children that this is the way to get attention (which is precisely what Shuya and Mizuki took from the Lunacy case). Moral outrage loses ground to morbid fascination, becoming worse than an empty gesture; like the teacher who replaces Moriguchi, posturing as some beacon of moral justice is merely for self-satisfaction.

Maybe, more accurately, the book wants to know, “how do you punish a child?” Some, like Moriguchi's not-husband, like Moriguchi insinuates the juvenile criminal justice system to be, answer, “you don't.” Children are products of their environment, so the ones who should be punished are the teachers (as posited by the “Lunacy” case and the chemistry teacher who got all the public blame for giving the child access to cyanide). Alternatively, children are still learning and growing. Moriguchi's not-husband was quite the problem child himself, but he turned things around and became the most truly moral figure of this entire book. He believes in the capacity for change in children.

But Moriguchi doesn't care much about that. Shuya and Naoki plotted to and killed her four-year-old daughter. She wants revenge.

What makes her fascinating as the central figure of this book is her clarity of mind. She isn't someone who's lost herself to vengeance; she systematically identifies the flaws (or what she thinks of as flaws) in the juvenile criminal justice system and then chooses her own revenge. On one hand we have the empathetic response to a mother losing her child, and the willingness to let a fictional character play out, for emotional catharsis, something we might not necessarily endorse in real life. On the other hand we have the unease of her turning this calculatedness toward children: Boy A and Boy B, middle school students.

(Cue comparative cinema studies of the 2010 Confessions film and 2007's Boy A. Oh, apparently Boy A is based off of a novel as well?)

Oh, and then she does take her revenge. She says she's laced Boy A and Boy B's milk cartons with HIV-infected blood.

And now, in what is the true brilliance of the book, Confessions starts to give us other perspectives. We get Mizuki the perfect student, who is first victimized by the hoard of angry classmates (and it's such a consistent literary and real life theme I guess, the cruelty of a mass of children). We get a peak into her questionability in a somewhat tender moment though: why does she just have a poison-testing kit lying around? In this section, we also get a protagonistic portrayal of Shuya; it's not that we doubt Moriguchi's version of the psychopathic-child-inventor Shuya, but now he's the martyr (as per the title of the section). He quietly suffers the bullying of the class, tells Mizuki his negative blood test, and becomes “genuinely” happy at Mizuki's compliments, saying all he's ever wanted was that acknowledgement.

Mizuki also bares her teeth against the new teacher, accusing him of being the cause of Naoki's mother's murder. At this point, it was almost narratively heroic, after we've suffered the annoyance (through her perspective) of the self-important teacher. But afterwards, in Shuya's section, we hear her confess to wanting to poison that teacher for “ruining Naoki's life.” She's killed by Shuya before we hear more, but might that have played out? How much do we fear the mental criminality of children?

We also get Naoki's sister and mother's perspective. We get a doting mother insistent on the innocence of her child, making excuse after excuse for Naoki, even when Naoki's fully confessed to throwing Moriguchi's daughter into the pool. How much responsibility does a parent have toward her child? Does she hold ultimate faith in him, stand staunchly at his side in support of him? Does she do right by the society (and in theory by her kid) by turning in her own child? We were meant to be annoyed by her cruel insistence to blame everyone but her son, but we see in Naoki's section right after that his sanity relied so much on this idea that his mother unconditionally loves him. He believes that, once he's gone to jail for his crimes, he can do his time, reform and return to society as long as his mother is there to love and support him.

Of course, that's when his mother decides to kill both him and herself—a murder-suicide for her failure as a mother.

(It really does haunt me, thinking about Naoki and his stymied possibilities. He killed Moriguchi's daughter in a moment of callous spite, motivated by a desire for revenge against Shuya's dismissal of his overtures of friendship. He lived in such a tortured state for a long time, a child grappling with the terror of impending death by himself, terrified of infecting those who love him. His instincts, when he emerged into the real world again, was to weaponize his “infected” blood. Yet he ended up on such a hopeful incline—mother's love with save me. All this happens as his mother spirals downwards, coming to terms with her own child's monstrosity. The book seeds Naoki's redemption, but takes the sprout away before we can see whether or not it carries infection.)

Finally, we get Shuya's story. I fully bought into it, as I was expected to. The book gestures multiple times at his ability to pen a convincing narrative of innocence. Or at least, a narrative of the anti-hero. He walks us through his absolute love for his mother, the engineering genius. She gave up her career for him, but then turned that dissatisfaction into abuse. Abuse turned back to gestures of love when she was found out, divorced, and forced to move away, and Shuya held deeply on to his faith that he will be reunited with her again. The desire of a child for his mother's love motivated the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, the planting of a bomb at the school festival. It ended up killing Mizuki as well.

Moriguchi bookends this tale, tying up loose threads. Yes she absolutely put the blood in their milk, but it was her not-husband that swapped out the infected cartons. Yes, she wanted to destroy Shuya and Naoki's lives; it won't bring her joy and it won't bring her daughter back, but nonetheless she wants her vengeance on the two boys. The possibility that she was only scaring Naoki and Shuya, that she threatened to but never did anything actually immoral, is completely swept away. She tells Shuya she visited his mother and told her all of his crimes. Baiting Shuya with what his mother said, she instead tells him that the bomb he planted had been deconstructed at the school and reconstructed in his mother's lab instead. Making the bomb and detonating it had both been Shuya's choice.

Shuya had killed her daughter. Now she's killed his mother.

(But did she? I have no doubt she did, but this book doesn't deal in absolutes.)

So—what are we left with? A psychopathic child inventor-slash-murderer motivated by a desire for maternal love? A girl who admired another murderous young murderess and wanted a turn of her own with poisons, murdered before she could prove herself either way? A cruel and reactionary accomplice who came to the conclusion that he had done something wrong but that he could repent? A mother who refused her son's criminality until the very last moment, and believed they were both beyond salvation?   Another mother who took justice into her own hands by ruining the lives of two young boys who killed her daughter in cold blood?

...Is there such a thing as cold blood in this novel? Every “cold” act was done with passionate motive: Shuya wanted to prove himself to his mother, Naoki wanted to prove himself better than Shuya, Moriguchi wanted to give her daughter proper vengeance. HIV is the symbol here of criminality, first given, then saved from, then weaponized by both boys. There's so much, with the blood! Naoki coming to terms with the infection he didn't have made it possible for him to confess the truth, to start himself on the path toward salvation (even if it only lasted a few pages). Shuya embracing the infection right away because if he were dying his mother would surely come back; losing that possibility of death led to him befriending, then of course in the end murdering Mizuki.

Shuya plotted the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, but wasn't actually responsible for the cause of death. Naoki was the accomplice, but at the last moment, made the choice to actually extinguish her daughter's life. This murky twist of motion and motive (Kathryn Bond Stockton!) would prevent them from getting the full punishment of homicide in a juvenile criminal justice court, as Moriguchi explained. Now, because of the blood, they've both committed an inarguable murder with their own hands. Naoki loses his mother and his entire world order that revolved around her unconditional love for him. Shuya's murderous inventions are never allowed to succeed, and he never gets to “prove” his genius, until it was used to kill his own mother, the one person he wanted acknowledge from and to live with. The punishments are incredibly cruel—but are they justified?

[huesofthemorning]

JunTaba’s Sailor Moon Theory

Characters: Junna, Futaba, Kaoruko

Words: 1500

Summary: Junna and Futaba sit down to discuss the most important thing in the world: A Sailor Moon AU for their friends.

“If we’re going to do this,” Junna said, slamming her notebook on the table, “we’re going to do this right!”

“Can you do it not in this room?” Kaoruko asked.

“No,” Junna and Futaba answered. Kaoruko groaned and put a pillow over her head, sending silent prayers to the giraffe god that she could fall asleep and miss this discussion.

“So, how we doing this, class prez?” Futaba asked, balancing a pencil on her finger. “Going in order, or going by easiest?”

“Easiest,” Junna said, “I’m calling Mercury.”

“Hah! Course you would!” The pencil clattered to the table. Junna snatched it up and penciled Mercury next to her name. She drew the little mercury symbol next to it.

“I like her computer,” she said.

“We have smartphones now, Junna. That computer is obsolete.”

“Don’t ruin my childhood.”

“Well,” Kaoruko drawled, “since you asked so nicely.”

“I thought you weren’t listening.”

“You’re just impossible to ignore, Junna-han. And I mean in that in the least nice way possible.”

“Oh, I’m aware. Anyway, Isurugi-”

“Dibs on Uranus. And Kaoruko’s Neptune. Because we’re gay.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t hmm me! We were made for those roles!”

“Hmm,” Junna hmm’d again. “Aren’t you a little bit short for that role?”

“Bite me.”

Kaoruko sat up in bed. “Oh?”

“Not you.” Futaba grabbed the pencil back from Junna and wrote Uranus next to her name. “Come on! I’m the butchest here! I own a motorcycle! Who else would you put as Uranus?”

“Tendo-san and Saijo-san would fit Uranus and Neptune pretty well.”

“What? No way! I’m way butcher than Tendo.”

Junna rolled her eyes. “There’s more to character analysis than butchness, Isurugi.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“See,” Junna started, in her I’m About To Give You A Dissertation voice, “Uranus and Neptune are supposed to be the outliers. They’re stronger than the inner senshi. More experienced. Everyone looks up to them and wants to be them. Then when you finally get close to them, you discover they’re actually a pair of idiots.”

“Okay, that’s good and all, but I’m going to say it again: I have a motorcycle.”

“Fair enough.”

Futaba nodded decisively and added Neptune next to Kaoruko’s name.  Really, it was a perfect match. Kaoruko and Neptune had the same hair, the same quiet presence, the same sly smile, the same ability to cut a person to shreds with words alone. Not that Junna would say any of that out loud, of course. Kaoruko didn’t need a confidence boost.

“Who next?” Junna asked.

“Uhhhhh… Who’s dumb enough to be Sailor Moon?”

Junna and Futaba looked each other in the eyes. “Karen,” they said together.

Futaba wrote it down, smirking as a thought came to her. “You know, Junna, if we go by the timeline, the first senshi that joins Moon is Mercury.”

Horror filled Junna. “Oh no.”

“I think you mean oh yes. You get to deal with Karen all by yourself for several weeks! We all know that’s your favorite thing in the world.”

“I would probably kill her.”

“No you wouldn’t. You like her too much.”

“Who’s Mars?” Junna asked, changing the subject, much to Futaba’s amusement. “Who’s going to save me?”

“Huh. That’s a good question.” Futaba stared at the ceiling, mentally running through their list of friends. It was hard to keep track of everyone sometimes.

“Let’s approach this the smart way,” Junna said, adjusting her glasses. “Mars is a masculine planet. Symbolizes war. Has to do with fire, and in the Sailor Moon world, birds as well.”

“Tendo. If it’s fire and birds, it’s got to be Tendo.”

Junna frowned, lips tight. She didn’t say anything. Futaba laughed.

“What, not the senshi in shining armor you were hoping for?”

“Trying to wrangle Karen and Tendo-san into a functional team does not sound easy,” Junna sighed. “At least we’d be well balanced. Tendo-san can do the melee and I can do the ranged attacks.”

“And Karen?”

“Karen can stay out of our way.”

“Man, I remember the good old days when Mercury was the nice quiet one. What happened to you?”

“Giraffes,” Junna said simply.

They held a moment of silence. Kaoruko was tempted to talk just so she wasn’t silent in solidarity with them, but she also didn’t want to interact with them in any way.

“Mahiru for Jupiter?” Futaba asked.

“I was going to say Nana.”

“Why? Because people ship Mercury and Jupiter together? You can’t just assign people roles because you’re gay, Junna.”

Junna’s mouth dropped open. “You- your entire reason for you and Hanayagi being Uranus and Neptune was because you two are gay!”

Futaba shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“You absolutely did!”

“Nah.”

Junna was scowling. Futaba smirked. “Anyways,” she continued, “what’d you think about making Banana Jupiter?”

“I hate you.”

“I think Junna-han should be Jupiter,” Kaoruko chimed in. “She has the most ~talent~ after all.”

Futaba laughed. Junna groaned. Kaoruko decided that breaking her silence had been worth it for the boob joke.

“Okay, seriously, back to business.” Junna tapped the notebook with the pencil. “Nana or Tsuyuzaki for Jupiter? They’re both very mom-like, as Jupiter should be.”

“Banana’s a mom, but Mahiru is Karen’s mom, and Jupiter constantly takes care of Moon. So I vote Mahiru.”

“That’s a sound argument, for once,” Junna said. “I suppose… Nana could be Pluto, then?”

“Why Pluto?”

“Time shenanigans.”

“Time shenanigans?”

“Time shenanigans.”

“Okay, sure, time shenanigans.” Futaba shrugged.

Nana fit Pluto very well, once Junna thought about it a little more. Existing outside of time, watching over everyone, only to be reborn and allowed to become part of the group and move on. Perhaps a little more tragic than Junna would have liked, but a surprisingly good fit for a silly anime au.

“If Nana is going to be Pluto, I reassert that Tendo-san and Saijo-san should be Uranus and Neptune. Then we’d have the top 3 of the class be the three strongest senshi.”

“And what does that mean, huh? Kaoruko and I aren’t good enough for Banana?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“How rude, Junna-han. We’re going to steal your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, we’re going to steal her so she can become the third mom to our child of destruction.”

“Second mom,” Junna corrected. “I can’t imagine Hanayagi doing any sort of mother work.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Kaoruko said.

“Who is our child, anyway?” Futaba asked.

“Well, we only have Saijo-san and Kagura left.”

“Gotta be Hikari then,” Futaba said, writing it down. “Quiet, willing to sacrifice herself, and probably filled with barely restrained chaos? Sounds like Saturn to me.”

“I’m not sure about that last point.”

“Come on. Didn’t you hear about the time she tied Karen up and locked her in a shed?”

“As class president, I do my very best not to hear that story.”

“Sucks to be you. That story’s great.”

Junna sighed. Futaba patted her on the shoulder. Though rarely admitted, the group all appreciated Junna’s service as class president. Mostly because they were all well aware that the dorm wouldn’t be standing if Junna wasn’t.

“That leaves Kuroko for Venus then, huh?”

“That fits well enough. She started earlier than the rest of us, and in another country too.”

“She’s going to be pissed that Venus lived in London and not France though.”

“And then we’ll tell her that Venus is as beauty obsessed as she is, and she’ll be fine.”

“True, true. Alright!” Futaba raised the notebook in the air, as if showing their masterpiece to the giraffe god watching from above. “The final rundown: Karen becomes Sailor Moon. A few weeks later you join her as Mercury and probably strangle her like 2 days in. Then a bit later you say - what’s the line - ‘There’s a pretty girl who rides this bus every day’ and Karen, like the lesbian she is, jumps onto the bus so she can stare at Tendo. Tendo reluctantly becomes Mars.”

“A while later,” Junna continued, “Tsuyuzaki transfers to our school and becomes Jupiter, thus saving me from having to deal with Karen. A few weeks after that, Saijo-san shows up and says that she’s Sailor Venus and also better than all of us. And then… a mini Karen shows up from the future?”

“That’s too many Karen’s. Let’s skip that.”

“Agreed. We can meet Nana through some other time shenanigans.”

“And then Kaoruko and I come zooming in on my motorcycle!” Futaba jumped to her feet, fists at the ready. “And obviously we’re awesome and mysterious and gay!”

“And completely devoid of morals and human compassion?”

“You don’t need morals if you’re gay.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Though that would explain a lot about Hanayagi.”

Kaoruko just waved a hand in the air, too lazy to respond.

“So then what?” Futaba asked, dropping back into a sitting position. “Mini Karen - I guess just Karen then? - befriends Hikari, who ends up being Sailor Saturn. Then she tries to blow up the world, and Karen stops her, and then Kaoruko, Nana, and I become her cool lesbian moms.”

“I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thanks.” Futaba let out a big breath of air, as if exhausted by the excitement. “So what now?”

“Now,” Junna said, flipping to a new page in the notebook, “now we start the script.”

[bran-writes]

Flashback: An Outlier Lunch

The Outliers have been together since before middle school, but these are the years they solidified as a group and stuck together for the rest of their lives.

May 12th 2025

“Yo, seriously. What do you guys think?”

Kwin McCall sat across from Zig-Zag at lunch but looked around at his friends to see who would answer first. Gabi sat to his right and was already halfway done with her food. She’d left her library class early to snag their favorite picnic table outside, while Harlo, Zig, Kwin and Jonah walked from the annex to get their food. 

“Zig with a vlog channel?” Harlo asked, opening his bag of chips and dumping them on his tray. 

“No, about starting a porn channel… Yes, the vlog.”

“Fuck it,” Kwin shrugged, twisting the cap from his water bottle. “You’re more interesting than half the people who have a lot of followers.”

Zig stared across at him down the rim of his glasses, gaging whether Kwin was being serious. When Zig realized he meant it, he nodded, “Thanks Kwin.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Jonah chuckled. 

Kwin’s mother always packed him a water bottle for lunch, whether he had a meal to go with it or ate from the cafeteria. Three days a week he trained at Knox’s Dojo after school- the water bottles she loaded him up with every day were a measure to ensure he stayed hydrated. In the past few weeks, she’d started packing extra for Jonah. Kwin handed the boy to his left a water, which his friend accepted graciously. Harlo nudged Zig in his side and smiled with a mouth full of pizza. 

“You can get the new celebrity here to guest star, probably pump your views up.”

“In the porn or the vlogs?” Zig smirked.

“I don’t see why you can’t do both,” Jonah suggested. 

“Oh, look at that, Zig,” Kwin nodded to Harlo with a slight smile, “You don’t even need followers, you’ve got your own biggest fan right here.”

“Oh, we’re sorry, are you not used to being all big and famous yet?” Gabi feigned ignorance.

Last month, Kwin’s grandfather brought the boy out to a red carpet premiere and to do interviews with him in support of a new movie, The Package Boy- a  horror film Sam McCall wrote and produced. The main character of that movie, Joseph, was heavily inspired by Kwin himself, so Sam invited his grandson along for some publicity and a few minutes in the spotlight. Thinking back on it, he had the sneaking suspicion that Sam pulled him out of school that week for the press run as some kind of gesture. A “Hey, sorry I’m not around much and never really talk to you, how’d you like to be on TV?” sort of gesture. Kwin didn’t care for it in hindsight. Especially since his friends wouldn’t let him forget it. 

“Oh, come on, Kwin,” Harlo grinned. “You were a natural out there. You’ve got a future, I can see it!”

“Three Pines Middle School’s first celebrity alumni,” Zig-Zag bucked his eyebrows.

Gabi pulled out her phone. “I’ve been meaning to check back on that, by the way.”

“Check on what?” Jonah leaned forward and craned his neck to get a better look. Kwin rolled his eyes when he realized Jonah was goading him. 

“To see how much attention our Kwinjamin here is really getting.”

Kwin hated that nickname, but couldn’t get mad at Gabi. Being friends since primary school got her a lot of mileage. “You don’t have to check on that.”

“Sure I do. Let’s see, I don’t wanna check the official video’s comments. The only people commenting about you on that vid are middle aged housewives talking about how much more well-mannered you are than their kids. Oh and pushy movie nerds talking about how the horror genre is dead.”

“That’s not the kind of pumping up our boy needs,” Zig agreed, staring at Kwin with an appraising look. “Yeah, go where the teenagers hang out on the Internet, see what all the hype about our boy here is about.”

“Got it,” Gabi snapped her fingers. “Kenny Mischief covered the news.”

“Wow, he did?” Kwin leaned over to inspect the phone. Zig snorted. 

“Talk about worthless vloggers.”

“I’ll have you know, Zig-Zag, that Mister Mischief has quite the teen following,” Gabi tutted. 

“Don’t remind me.”

Gabi cleared her throat and loosened her shoulders before sitting up straight. “Lisa Lee says: ‘That dude’s grandkid looks like that? Social media stalking intensifies’. Charlotte Hermes commented: ‘I wish boys at my school were that cuuuute’. She added the weary emoji face too,” Gabi pointed down at the phone and stared up at Kwin with an appraising stare. 

“I really hope these comments are from, y’know, people our age. Cause this could get weird,” Zig chuckled. 

“You made your point, yeah?” Kwin laughed. Jonah glanced up at him, able to read his embarrassment in a heartbeat. 

���Mm, I have, but now I’m just having fun. Lucky Babe commented: Does he come with the tickets? Tracey Two-Step Smith says: ‘Oh he’s cute for a white boy… And a Ginger’. A heated race debate ensued in the replies over that one,” Gabi chuckled. She set the phone down on the table. “Okay, now I’m done.”

“Told you you’re a ginger,” Harlo laughed.

“I’m not… Douchebag,” Kwin threw a chip at Harlo, who caught against his chest and popped it into his mouth. “Gross.”

“When are you going to accept your people, Kwin?” Zig asked, eager to continue this long-running debate.

“My hair’s blonde.”

“Eh, reddish blonde,” Jonah shrugged.

“Hey, you’re drinking my water, you’re supposed to back me up.”

“Just accept it so you can move on, Kwin. We need to settle it,” Harlo shrugged. “Closure once and for all.”

“You want me to prove it?” They stared at him questioningly until he stood up and unhooked his belt with a daring smile. “I swear, I will. I’ll give you some closure you’ll never forget.”

“Oh, God, please don’t,” Gabi smacked Kwin’s leg.

“Please do! Wait, I need to get the camera out first,” Zig rooted in his bag for his new DSLR. “We can get this vlog started off right now.”

“Kwin, what are you doing?” Jonah laughed.

“Whaddaya say, Harlo? Should we settle it? Get three coffins ready,” Kwin dramatically shifted his gaze to Gabi and unzipped his fly for full effect. “My mistake. Four Coffins.” 

“Jonah, you said you were gonna stop letting him watch that movie,” Zig sighed. 

“I did. Harlo, back down please. You know he’ll do it.”

Kwin knew Harlo well enough to know he always buckled first in any game of chicken. Especially games like this. Some of the other middle schoolers in the courtyard glanced in their direction, but Kwin was undeterred. In fact, it sort of thrilled him. He locked eyes with Harlo.

“Okay, okay,” Harlo held his hands over his eyes.

“Say I’m not a ginger,” Kwin smirked. 

“You’re not a ginger, geez. You are crazy, though.”

“Crazy’s okay. I can handle crazy,” Kwin zipped and buckled back up, feeling triumphant. 

“You’re the worst,” Jonah shook his head yet was couldn’t hide his smile. Knowing how to best get to Jonah, Kwin wrapped an arm around him, laying his head on his friend’s shoulder with a contented sigh.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t be the worst without my best,” Kwin patted Jonah’s shoulder even as Zig-Zag snapped a photo. 

“You guys are just so cute,” Zig lilted. 

“So wait a second,” Harlo pointed a fork at Zig. “Your mom paid you to help her out at the camp, right? The all girls camp?”

“Cool your jets, I worked in the main office.”

“Right, and the first thing you buy with your money is a fancy camera? That wasn’t a red flag for her?”

“Ha, very funny, Harlo. She helped me pick it out. I told her vlogging was gonna be my new hobby. And Gabi helped me buy it, too.”

“Yeah, so be careful what you do with, or we’ll both go down for the crime.”

“What’d your mom say about your vlogging idea?” Kwin asked around a mouthful of chips. Zig shrugged.

“She said it’s better than getting to high school and selling weed. For some reason she thinks that was my fate.”

“Still a red flag,” Harlo smiled.

“Oh! Speaking of,” Gabi pointed an accusing finger at Zig-Zag, whose eyes grew wide.

“What’s with people pointing at me today?” 

“Outlier Court is in session,” Gabi narrowed her eyes.

“Yo, can she just call a trial in session by herself?”

“I thought she was the judge,” Kwin shrugged and took a bite of pizza.

Outlier Court held a very special purpose in their friend group: It was their way of calling each other out on transgressions. “Hit us,” Jonah said, dramatically pushing his food to the side and steeping his fingers. 

“We’re Outliers, right?” Everyone agreed. “So we’re all of the understanding that we don’t do basic shit.” Gabi dramatically enunciated her words, which meant this case was already closed. Kwin looked from Zig to Gabi in anticipation, his mouth full food. Gabi set her arms on the table, lips pressed in a thin line. 

“What’d I do?” Zig shrugged.

“Oh, I think I know what this is,” Harlo laughed around food, using a hand to cover his mouth. His eyes squinted with joy. “Sorry, bud. I was gonna ignore it.”

“But that’s not how we correct the behavior is it, Harlo?” Gabi continued. Kwin was confused. Jonah voiced that confusion.

“Somebody explain it for Kwin, he’s lost.”

“If we are, in fact, Outliers, and we’re already past basic, annoying phone etiquette… Explain to me, Zig-Zag Sutter, why I’ve been woken up the past two mornings with mirror selfies from you. In the group chat of all places,” Gabi admonished. 

“That’s right!” Kwin slapped the table. Some of the other kids in the courtyard glanced back their way. 

“I was wondering what that was about,” Jonah nodded. 

“Yo, everybody relax. There’s a perfectly good explanation for it.”

“The court would like to hear it,” Gabi crossed a leg over her knee and folded her hands, the picture of professionalism. 

“You guys know I’ve lost a lot of weight-,”

“All of it,” Harlo corrected. 

“And I like to show it off - shut up- but I can’t do it just anywhere cause I’ll get clowned. Nobody cares so I gotta vent where people do care,” Zig-Zag shrugged.

“Well we don’t care either,” Jonah shrugged. 

“Sure as hell not six in the damn morning.” Gabi added. 

“There’s also, like two more reasons. One, it’s everybody’s wake-up text.”

“I’d rather have a regular text, though,” Kwin smiled. 

“Also, I kinda like showing off how much better I look by the time I get to school compared to when I just wake up,” Zig flashed a rare grin.

“You look trash when you wake up,” Kwin chuckled. 

“Yo, will you relax?”

“You look trash now, too,” Jonah added. The group’s laughter unfortunately spread to Harlo, who was in the process of drinking milk. He instantly coughed it back up and sent the liquid spraying in all directions, thought most of it ended up on his face. The group roared louder as Harlo wiped his face with his shirt, still shaking with laughter. 

[lord-covfefe]

White Noise - Chapter 1

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12779217

Different people have different ways of expelling frustration. My Father, as he demonstrated today, cools feeling through verbal abuse. I once witnessed Alton, the head cook of the castle, throw an entire fruitcake onto the floor because one of his workers fumbled the icing work.

When Mother lost the twins she had been carrying, a boy and a girl, she had allowed herself one time to weep before returning to the composure demanded of her as Queen.

Even though I was four years old, and supposed to know nothing of the matter, I had crouched outside her chamber and listened to the horrific moaning. After that clear but bitterly cold winter day, she spoke less.

I suspect that not all of her pain was carried off with her tears.

Perhaps my younger sister was the true descendant of the goddess. Perhaps with her death, we lost not only a child but also Hyrule’s only chance at survival. If that is the case, why would the goddesses allow for her passing? Why would they allow me to remain, pathetic as I am?

My appointed knight, Link, vents frustration in training with the sword. To anyone else, he would appear to be simply in daily drills. As I am accustomed to reading the subtleties written in the crook of his eye or bend of his mouth, I can sense when it is anger and not dedication behind his swings.

This afternoon, after my father finished scolding me and walked away, Link stood from where he had been kneeling and dropped over the battlements to the courtyard below.

I remained on the walkway between my bedroom and my study, waffling between shock and anger. I had only one idea as to how I might deal with this agitation. Less of a how, and more of a who.

I knew I would find him in his measured but desperate drills. Though I ruffled at the thought of walking about the castle after such a public embarrassment, my desire to find my knight was greater than my dread of wagging tongues. Heir to a throne of nothing...

I charged across the courtyard with as much speed as my heavy skirt would allow, shaking off those words and gathering my features into a thoughtful moue. Although I can not remember my mother well, I do try to imitate her grace.

The heady smell of a coming storm hung on the evening. I noted the gathering dew with satisfaction, pleased that the cheerful sky would soon be blotted out to match my temper.

I found Link on a veranda close to the castle docks. His expression was so severe by his standards, it just might have been readable to the unpracticed eye. To my eye, it was utter devastation.

When he saw my approach, he stood at attention with the point of the Master Sword against the stone, his hands worrying the pommel. Looking down, a pained expression flashed across his face for an instant before he looked up, again a husk of himself.

“Princess, I think you should rest for the remainder of the day.”

“I have been spoken to like a child enough for one day. Do not presume to give me orders,” I shot back, perhaps betraying my own method of releasing frustration.

I immediately regretted my tone when I saw a hint of confusion in his eyes--the same confusion they held when I yelled at him in front of a shrine, questioned his proficiency next to a lake, was disgusted with his presence on Vah Naboris.

I have not been kind to my appointed knight. I suppose I, like my father, have a streak for cruelty when under pressure.

Before Link and I made our peace, his presence vexed me like nothing ever has. How I detested him! I could not bear to be near to him. His voice, his smell, his face all revolted me--yet when night came, I had the most peculiar dreams about the two of us.

How my subconscious mind could conceive of acts I had never performed I do not know.

I still detest him for his features. To look in his oceanic eyes or on his muscled back as he trains fills me with a rage quite unbecoming of a princess. How I hate the utter helplessness I feel, looking on him and realizing I have never seen a face that could rival his. What in his lineage makes him so genetically superior to the other men I have known? Has every hero in his line been so infuriatingly attractive?

And if I am truly descended from the goddess, why is my being so far from divine?

The most puzzling thing in all of this, and the very source of my ill temper, is my inability to reconcile my holy heritage with the plainness of my reality. The others who came before me were more elegant and I am the awkward, gangling exception. I am the outlier in our data pool.

Anomalies in my own research incense me to no end--a mouse that will not respond to my behavior conditioning, a plant in the castle hothouse that refuses to leaf on the same schedule as its peers, or an errant guardian whose orange lights seem to take on a rosier hue. I cannot make sense of them, and their stubborn uniquity taints the otherwise orderly pool of my samples.

To be an anomaly myself is an unspeakable horror. Princess Zelda of the Twili invasion was said to be a heavenly creature, beautifully serene in both stature and temper. One in my line disguised herself as a Sheikah warrior in war time, demonstrating bravery and tenacity of spirit.

I am simply a Zelda who was publicly chided by her father as her knight looked on in embarrassment. More than the shame of my impotence, the disorderliness of my placement in this line frustrates me.

What a relief it would be to discover that my Father had been unfaithful and I was not, in fact, born of Hylia’s line. There is no doubt I was sired by that tumultuous loaf of a man, but it just seems so ludicrous that my maternal line was a holy one.

I am a trueborn princess who longs to be bastardized! How lovely it would be. An untidy heritage would make a tidy explanation.

Of course, if it is true that I am not the sacred princess, then I suppose my sacred hero would no longer be beholden to me. Would he still care for me, if it came to light that I did not in fact carry the soul of the goddess he has known for many lifetimes?

Which brings to mind another conundrum--Link is the one person in Hyrule who knows the soul of the goddess best. He has fought alongside her (me?) countless times. Would he then, not, be capable of declaring me an impostor the second he met me, if that is the case? So far, he has not.

This is the one piece of evidence that resigns me to the conclusion that, ridiculous as it seems, I am the chosen vessel of Hylia for this lifetime.

I know I tend to get carried away in analyses. Now that that matter is settled, I shall continue to recount the events of yesterday, and most importantly, the events of last night.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Written on Your Heart - Chapter 2

Soulmates AU where Rose is 12 and James (Ten) is 15.

Fic masterlist

Here’s chapter 2.  @doctorroseprompts​ for soulmate au (and a Ten story)

Please welcome Sarah Jane!  (And Jackie)

That night, Rose excused herself early to lock herself in her room and stare at her arm.  By now, the earliest messages she and James had shared had been washed away, but most of it remained.  She gently traced her nail over his words, and bit her lip nervously.

He was fifteen.  To twelve year old Rose, that felt impossibly old, especially for someone she was meant to spend her life with.  She knew rationally that most couples had an age gap, and three years was almost nothing, but he was right – at this point in their lives, it might as well have been centuries.

She’d mostly managed to convince herself that this was some cruel trick of the universe when she saw new writing appear.

Hi, Rose.

Her heart leapt, and she only considered ignoring it for a second before diving for a handful of pens, determined to figure out which would be best for writing to her soulmate.

Hi, James.

It was a long few moments before he replied.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent most of the afternoon staring at my arm, smiling like an idiot.

She didn’t hesitate.  Me too. My mum thinks I’ve lost the plot.

Does she know?

No, haven’t told anyone.  Too new – not ready to share.  You?

No, though my aunt’s been giving me a strange look since she got home.

You live with your aunt?

Yeah.  Parents died a few years ago.  You?

Just me and Mum.  Dad died when I was a baby.  Sorry about your parents.

Thanks.  You, too.

Where are you?

At home.  You?

Same – I’m in London.

She held her breath, wondering where her soulmate lived.

Ealing.

Really?  She managed to restrain from using an exclamation point as well, but couldn’t contain the bubble of happiness.  She’d been prepared for something unreasonable, but Ealing wasn’t too far – technically, it was part of greater London.

Since my parents died.  Any siblings?

Just me.  You?

Half-sister.  20. Lives in Chiswick with her mum and grandfather.

Sorry.  Are you close?

Were; she lived with us most of the time, didn’t get on with her mum.  But Sarah’s my mum’s sister, so she went back to her mum and I went to Sarah.

Wish there was a better word than sorry.

It’s ok.  We talk a lot – she drives to get me sometimes.

Rose felt her heart squeeze; somehow, she could feel the loneliness and grief radiating off him.

I wish I could give you a hug.

Me too.

Before Rose could reply, her mother stuck her head into her room.

“Rose, what are you doing? Why do you have ink all over your arms? Doesn’t matter – time for a shower. Now, missy.”  Jackie gave her daughter a serious look when Rose didn’t immediately jump up.

“Ok, Mum.”  She dutifully replied, not moving.  Her mother didn’t leave, just stared at her, waiting.

“I’ll go in a minute – I have to finish something first.”  That seemed to do the trick, as Jackie only gave her a five minute warning before pulling the door shut behind her.

I have to go.

Was it something I said?

No – my mum needs me to do something.

Ok.  I was all that came through, and after a few seconds Rose gave up and started preparing to shower.  By the time she was ready to head to the bathroom, the message had been completed.

I really enjoyed talking to you.  Can we talk more tomorrow?  I want to hear about you – feels like you already know my whole life story.

Rose smiled down at her arm, debating what to write.  The decision was made when her mum shouted that her time was up.

Definitely more tomorrow.  I enjoyed too.  Good night!

Dropping the pen, she raced to the bathroom.  She saw his final message when she leaned over to turn the water on.

Good night, love.

That night, she dreamed she was a princess, and James was a handsome prince come to sweep her off her feet and love her forever.

-

James made it about three days before his aunt figured out what was going on.  The first Saturday since ‘meeting�� Rose, he shuffled down to the kitchen to find Sarah Jane seating at the table, reading the paper and drinking coffee.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” She greeted him brightly, carefully folding her paper and rising.  “Can I make you some breakfast?”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”  He sank into his usual seat at the table, watching suspiciously as she bustled around, fixing him breakfast, an altogether unusual sight.

“So, how was your week? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.” She started off.  He tone was casual, but James was well aware how good of an investigative reporter she was; if he wasn’t careful, she’d know everything without him even realizing.  He and Rose had not yet discussed whether they wanted people to know; until he knew her feelings, he figured better safe than sorry.

“Uh, been good. Busy.  Lots of tests, you know.”  He tried to relax, knowing Sarah had bloodhound-like instincts.  Feeling a message come in from Rose, his hand instinctively twitched for a pen, but he managed to stop himself.

“Did you see Donna at all?”

He groaned with genuine remorse.  “No. We texted a bit, but she started a new job for some bloke who said ‘secretary’ and meant ‘slave’.  She’s miserable, cause he’s got her running around London with his dry cleaning and personal errands.  The pay’s decent, though, so she’s hoping she may be able to move out within a couple of months.”

“You know she’s always welcome here.  I’d love to have her join us – why, this house is so big, she could bring Wilf if she wanted!”

“I do, and so does she, but you know Sylvia’d never go for it, even if she is 20.”  James reminded his aunt, who sneered at the mention.

There’d been a vicious battle when Sydney and Verity Noble had died.  For as long as James could remember, Donna’d spent most of her time with her father, stepmother, and James.  They’d died not long after Donna’s seventeenth birthday, and it had been presumed that the siblings would stay together.  Despite Donna not technically being her sister’s daughter, Sarah had welcomed both children with open arms.  However, Sylvia had put her foot down, and managed to win a long, drawn-out legal battle to bring Donna back to her.

Now, three years later, Sarah still despised any mention of her deceased brother-in-law’s ex-wife, and had Donna round for dinner at least once a week.

“Well, if I can help in any way…”

“I know, but you can remind her tonight if you want.  She promised she’d be here.”

“Excellent.”  Sarah said brusquely, setting James’ breakfast in front of him before returning to her seat.

“So,” she started once he’d taken his first bite, “what’s going on?”

He froze only momentarily, before continuing to eat and making a confused noise.

“Don’t make that noise at me, James David.  What happened?  Did you make contact with your soulmate?”  She guessed shrewdly, and he put his fork down with a sigh.  He’d tried, but he couldn’t very well lie to a direct question, could he? He rationalized to himself.

“I did. Wednesday.  How’d you know?”

Sarah smirked at him, victorious.  “Because that’s the only possible explanation for why your arm has been slowly covered in ink since you came down.  Perhaps you should let them know you’re all right and will talk to them in a bit?”

James looked down at his arm to see she was right – there were a dozen messages from Rose now, the latest in all caps with multiple question marks.  Grabbing a pen from the sideboard, he quickly scribbled I’m ok.  Aunt knows.  Talk ASAP.

An immediate ok followed by a small heart appeared, and he set down the pen with a relieved sigh.

“So, start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”  Sarah leaned forward, waiting.

He began.

-

Fifteen minutes later, he was finished with the story, as well as his breakfast, and he sat back to watch his aunt process.

“So, soulmated.  To a twelve year old girl who lives in London. And you haven’t met?”  She asked for the third time, and James rolled his eyes.

“No, we haven’t.  And we haven’t discussed it, either.”

“Do her parents know?”

“It’s just her and her mum – her dad died when she was a baby.  And as far as I know, no.  But, again, we haven’t talked about it.”

“So what exactly have you talked about?”  Sarah asked. He shrugged.

“School, likes and dislikes, that sort of thing mostly.  Some personal, and I’m certainly curious, I want to know everything about her, but – I know the age difference now is a lot more problematic than it will be in five years. I don’t want to do anything that could put her in harm’s way, or have her be judged or disparaged.  I know I have responsibilities being the older one, and the guy, and – I’m her soulmate, Aunt Sarah.  I’ll do anything to protect her.”

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair, making it look wild.  Surprisingly, when he looked up she was smiling at him.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re being reasonable and responsible.  You’re right – as she’s twelve, and you’re fifteen, the… optics could be bad.  I like that you’re already trying to take care of her.”  She hesitated then, before adding carefully, “You do understand that you can’t meet in person until she’s eighteen, don’t you?”

It was an unwritten social taboo that you could not go looking for your soulmate if you had contact but not met before you were eighteen.  This rule specifically applied to people with soulmarks like Rose’s and James’ – where you were in contact, able to share information about yourself, but had never met.  Because soulmates could have a sizeable age gap, it was specifically done to protect children who were matched with adults.  

Though the majority of soulmated couples felt as James did, with nothing but love and respect for their partner, there were always the few outliers who abused the power. Scientists were researching it, of course, but as it stood, no one knew what could make them snap.

Bearing all this in mind, James promised his aunt, “I do know, and I won’t try to.  I know Rose and I need to discuss this sort of stuff, and we will, but I’ll make sure she understands as well.  I’m sure she does though.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “I know this will be a long, difficult six years for you, James, trying to resist meeting her, and just know that I will always love and support you – and her, once she’s of age.  You can talk to me any time, and know your confidences are safe with me.  Just one last thing, then I’ll let you get back to talking to her.  Have you thought about what, if anything, you’ll tell your sister?”

[pernatius]

The Forbidden Blade: Ch 59

Ch 58

“Do you envy them?” Those familiar words make my eyes jerk open. Rather than witnessing the dark figure drag me into its mouth and its blood tongue, I am instead back at Beteka’s castle. Being so, I flick myself on my forehead in order to make sure my sight isn’t somehow deceiving me. To my relief, I am able to feel the pain and remain comfortably laying on the bed rather than on the cold dirt I had just been clinging onto. While this is, it does not last forever because when I turn my body I see another figure standing in front of the window. I jump and hit my head on the cold, hard floor. 

As loud as I was, it does not make the figure twitch. So, even with my anxiousness rising because of this unknown person, I raise my fists and put Beteka’s training to good use. Slowly do I inch myself closer to this dark figure. Once I’m right behind them, I do not hesitate to thrust my fist towards the back of their head. To my surprise, it only goes right through them. 

Yanking my arm back to my side, I take a step back. When I do, the figure turns towards me. My jaw drops because I am finally able to identify who he is. He is me. 

Turning towards what he and his fists are looking at, I can also identify the man behind that question asked out loud just mere moments ago. The events of the night I saw Jäger for the second time plays out the same, him offering me answers and I on the verge of letting my curiosity get the best of me. With my younger self now on the bed, I take a seat next to him. I watch him become unrestful throughout the night, and try to piece together what in the world could possibly be happening. 

A bright light consumes everything, hindering my sight. Once it’s hunger is fulfilled, the next day arrives. The next day also follows through as it did when I went through it, me going back and forth with myself on whether I should tell Beteka about Jäger and the guilt that came along not telling her. This trend continues over and over until I see her body lay motionless underneath a blanket. My reaction isn’t as bold as the first time I saw her like this, but that does not mean I don’t cry. While very little compared to my younger self, who whails across from me, I still become a crying mess just like before. Even when I knew what lay underneath the blanket and the fact I could not affect this world around me, I still led my hand to her in hopes to find that she had merely fallen asleep. With my hand just an inch above her head, thinking it is able to remove the blanket off of her, it shriveled up into a ball. A fist is what culminates, shaking and digging into itself. Before I could break through my own skin, I batted it away and swung it towards my chest. 

The fist is clenched above my chest, as I shut my eyes. “Arthus,” someone whispered. Faint, I still manage to be awakened by it. The sight before me is no longer the dreary atmosphere that was the Castle’s basement, but a serene one with two familiar figures staring into the sunset. 

“Reina,” I called towards the figure on the right side of my younger self. My call isn’t answered. They remain motionless, seemingly stuck frozen in time. I step towards her, but I soon reject my drive. Undoing my movement, I am left to watch these ghostly figures. That is until an obnoxiously strong wind blows me away from them.

I try to fight against the wind, as I try to get back up. Grunting and arms shaking, I call out for the wind to yield. My wish is granted with the cost of more questions. With the wind coming to a close, I am left to stare at myself. A figure exactly like the boy I am right now stands before me. Before I can make any attempt at asking, he nudges me to follow him. So, I do so.

We are sitting on a cliff and staring at the same lovely sunset Reina and my younger self were just doing. 

“Who-”

He interrupts my question, “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why do you continue to fight in a battle in which you do not believe in,” the confusion plastered onto my face causes him to repeat words I have said weeks ago in the same depressed tone I had used that night, “‘Why am I really doing this, all of this? Why am I putting myself through all this work for people who clearly don’t want anything to do with me? That was certainly clear back at Krala and most definitely throughout the years with Xyetius.’”

“I,” I pause and turn to him, “don’t know.”

Hearing my laugh come out of him makes me uneasy. “We both know you’re lying.”

Offended, I respond, “Like you know anything about me.”

“Disappointment. Worthlessness. Loneliness. These are the three words that influenced every action you have made up to now. Am I correct?”

He was right, so I shut my mouth. I let him continue without any interruption from me. 

Hmph. “Anyways, ever since the day you left its walls things have only gotten worse. In the weeks you have left you ultimately lead your only friend to her death and had begun a war between Shadowmen and both empires. So, I reiterate, why continue on this unforgiving path?”

“It is as you said. I’ve continued on this because of those three words.”

“Is that not selfish?”

“Selfish,” I mock, “Who cares? We all are selfish in our own ways and several of those ways are what lead everything to the way it is now—the war and all. So why must I have to be the different one this time? Why am I always placed to become the outlier,” I can feel my eyes water, “There hasn’t been anything good that came out of it, and there never will be.” 

It was my fault for everything that has happened up to now because I was different. If I wasn’t a disappointment to father by being the man he’s been wanting as a son, then his love for me and mother would still be here. If I wasn’t worthless by acting like the men in my family before me, then the Kralans wouldn’t treat me as they did. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so lonely. Maybe then Reina and Detr would still be here. Since I steered away from these paths, it led me to become the one chosen to wield Xyetius’s sword. Which is the ultimate cause for every pitfall I have witnessed since leaving its walls.

“To become like everyone else is to lose everything else,” his words yanked me out of my thoughts. Then, his head jerks back. Horrifyingly, his flesh melts off his skeleton. My scream escapes from his mouth, as he clutches himself and stumbles backwards. Once the gruesome scene is all over, I am  no longer reflected onto this figure. Now, before me, stands a faceless figure covered with fire. In reaction to this sight, I step back. After doing so, I shift to regret because it lunges towards me. 

Luckily, I was able to dodge it just in time. Though, it took a bit of my cheek. My hand covers the burning mark it left behind, but while I do so I don’t get a chance to digest what’s happening because it lunges at me for a second time.

I can’t lay a hit on this figure because, quite obviously, it just punishes me by burning my skin. So, all I can do is run away from this thing, as the world behind us catches on fire by its flames. Just like with Reina and that thing from the Mindscape my running comes to a halt when I trip and fall. My lower body is thrown into the river, and as for my upper it catches a mouthful of dirt. To which I spit out immediately. Unsurprisingly, when I look into the water, I see that it’s overhead. Before I can scurry out, it grabs and lifts me up. Quickly, I become submerged into its roaring fire. Even when my body cries out in pain all I can do is watch, watch my flesh melt off my skin, because I lay powerless against it. 

“Your eyes can deceive the soul, but the soul can not deceive the eyes.”

[ladykakata]

MORE GOT Leak Talk

The following are my incoherent, shouty thoughts about some GOT supposed leaks, and why I am so Goddamn angry about them if they are true. I accept I’ll look like a peanut if I’m wrong, but I gotta yell. PRO-TIP, I’m pro-Daenerys.

JESUS SALTY FUCK ON A CHRISTMAS CRACKER WHERE TO BEGIN.

The latest I’m hearing is that Daenerys is killed in the 5th episode. Now, I knew the talk of her being killed, and killed by Jon. Jon supposidly would kneel to Dany, then stab her. Drogon would go insane and burn down the Iron Throne. He does NOT, however, burn Jon; he looks at him, then takes Dany’s body and flies off.

Okay. So. I don’t know if you have noticed, but Drogon is DAny’s favourite son. He is the biggest, the most vicious, the most violent, AND THE MOST PROTECTIVE OF HIS MOTHER. If something were to happen to Dany, he would spring for her, and if she has the misfortune to die, he would go BALLISTIC. He is in tune with her emotions; he comforted her when she was crying about Jorah. He came to her rescue in the Fighting Pit. When she tried to climb on his back after that scene, he shrugged her off but did not lash out or hurt her in any way; hell, the last time he did that was as a teenager in a squabble over food. He has ridden on her shoulder since the day he hatched, and he has been her steed since.

This big scaly mummy’s boy would never, EVER just ‘look’ at the thing, person, rock or other item that caused his mother’s death. IF this was supposed to be a callback to the look Drogon gave him in S8Ep1, it’s fucking weak. That look, to me, was more along the lines of ‘fine, but remember, I’m fucking watching you’. I can bet dime a dozen some fuckers will say ‘but Jon’s a Targ, he’s fireproof and Drogon knows it!!!’ YOU THINK DROGON WON’T RIP HIM IN HALF?! YOU THINK HE WON’T STOP HIM WITH HIS BIGASS CLAWS? It’s horseshit, that’s what that is.

Drogon flying her away leads to the other rumour; that Jon will push Dragonglass into Dany, make her the new Night Queen, and have Drogon fly her North. I can’t even with that. Children of the Forest can do that; where the fuck would Jon come off just shoving dragonglass into people. By that logic, anyone that got a stray arrow in their arse would have been a new NK in the Battle of Winterfell.

If Dany ISN’T going to be the new Night Queen, then where is Drogon taking her? A sad part of me would love for him to take her to the spot where Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre was built back in the Dothraki Sea. Not only is that a funeral pyre spot, it’s where Drogon was hatched. Tell me it wouldn’t be fitting for Drogon to take his mother back there and light her up to join her Sun and Stars in the Nightlands.

Latest rumour on the block is that Dany’s army goes apeshit once inside KL and starts raping and pillaging.

OKAY. BACK THE FUCK UP. RAPING AND PILLAGING?!

First thing’s first; the Unsullied are caustrated and are supposed to have no sexual drive at all. True, Grey Worm does and has slept with Missandei, but he seems to be an outlier. Second, RAPING IS A BIG NO POINT FOR DAENERYS. IT’S WHAT GOT HER INTO TROUBLE WITH THE DOTHRAKI. She tried to claim a whole bunch of women as under her protection to save them from rape. She reacts extremely poorly to threats of rape, and let’s not forget she experianced rape herself on her own wedding night. Hell, she MADE ‘no more raping and pillaging’ part of her deal with Yara Greyjoy! And Yara ACCEPTED! I REFUSE to believe that Daenerys would allow this, and I refuse to allow the idea that Grey Worm would be okay with his troops doing that, no matter how angry he is.

Dany going ham on King’s Landing. This season has been drilling it in that Dany is going to go ‘Mad Queen’. To the point where it has become outright gaslighting; D&D (before they lost their fucking minds) have stated that Daenerys is not mad. Daenerys is sane and rational, she is just really fucking angry. And she has every right to be! She follows advice, gets told she’s wrong when she does, her advisors are now plotting against her for no fucking reason, she has lost 2 children, most of the Dothraki, at least half of the Unsullied and her closest friend. She has had her latest love reject her, she is being put down and gaslit at every turn, and now the very thing she was working towards is being snatched away. I’d go fucking ballistic with all that stress too!

This is not the Jon, Sansa, Tyrion or ANYONE I knew. Jaime sleeping with and then leaving Brienne was cruel and tragic, and it looks like he’s going to go right back to Cersei, undoing 7 seasons of character development. It’s fucking disgusting. Jaime has never been my favourite but COME ON, he DESERVES better than that. And the fact they ripped Brienne down after her emotional high at becoming a Knight is just utterly, utterly vile. And Tyrion; where the FUCK do you get off asking the private and noble Brienne if she’s a virgin? What the FUCK?!

Dany supposibly burns Varys alive. Good. Fucker deserves it. I used to like him but his heel turn is just annoying now.

BRAN ON THE IRON THRONE. WHO. THINKS. THIS. IS. A. GOOD. IDEA. He doesn’t want to be fucking Lord of Winterfell, he STATES he isn’t Bran Stark anymore, he is the Three-Eyed Raven, he will not have heirs. Why the fuck does the series think that’s better than the monarchy they have now?! WHERE WAS THE BREAKING OF THE WHEEL?? WHERE IS THE FUCKING BITTERSWEET ENDING!??!?!?!? Also, Jon supposedly takes the black and joins the Night’s Watch for the crime of murdering Dany. WHAT. NIGHT’S. WATCH. THE FUCK ARE THEY WATCHING FOR? NQ DANY?! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

Where’s the heavily foreshadowed Boatbaby? Was that just to give the Dragons extra weight as Dany’s only children? Will Jon murder her whilst pregnant?

Jon not patting Ghost is unforgivable. I’ve heard he plans to rejoin Ghost and be Beyond the Wall where he feels happier. Horseshit; he could at LEAST see his bro is okay. ADDRESS THE MISSING EAR. BE CONCERNED. Dany was concerned for her babies!! Hell, Drogon looked fucking proud at his brother being able to fly! THAT’S ALL IT TOOK!

Rhaegal’s death was senseless and malicious. D&D said Dany ‘forgot’ about the Iron Fleet. HORSESHIT. *YOU* FORGOT ABOUT IT, THEON TOLD DANY WHERE YARA WAS, THE IRON FLEET IS FRESH IN HER MIND.

(I’m abusing the fuck outta this Caps lock)

What does Cersei need to do for Tyrion to fucking write her off forever?!?!?!

I’m not predicting more dragons, I’m fucking predicting Qyburn will ressurect Rhaegal as an undead monster like the Mountain and that’s what Euron is shocked at.

Cleganebowl is WEAK AS FUCK. Mutual destruction with a weakened Mountain being mercy-killed by the Hound? FUCKING WEEEEEEAK.

SANSA. WHY ARE YOU ENDANGERING YOUR BROTHER. I can’t get over this; Sansa did all she could to protect Jon at the cost of maybe a little trust between them in the previous season, but she didn’t do shit like this! She outright tells Tyrion he’s not as smart as he thinks he is or was! SHE. SHOULD. KNOW. BETTER.

The fact I will never see the proper scene between Jon, Arya, Sansa and Bran about the R+L=J thing will forever make me angry. That was something I was really, REALLY looking forward to, and it would have meant so, so much to see that scene and have Jon told by all three of them that he is their brother. As Arya said; “You’re not my half-brother, or bastard brother, you’re my brother”. THAT was what I was looking for. Arya’s single line should have been what the whole scene was. But NOPE, we cut away before even fucking seeing Sansa’s reaction to it. SHE would be the most important person to have say to Jon ‘You are my brother, you are Jon Stark of Winterfell’. I HATE YOU SCREENWRITERS.

Everyone loses this fucking season. I don’t care who you like, everyone is stupid.

KL’s set looks shit and in a desert.

Don’t know who this new Dornish Prince is, don’t care.

I gave my idea of a good ending and I’m pissed this is what we’re getting. ARGH. LK OUT.

[crystallinerays]

Give me everything about Desh. EVERYTHING. ALL OF THE NUMBERS. And then give me a character to do as well.

Well, i just came home from target with microwave pizza and a bottle of wine and I can’t think of better circumstances to talk about my favorite dumpster baby so here we go!

1. What is one thing others might find intolerable about them?

Other than their ridiculous upbeat attitude and kleptomaniac tendencies?

Maybe the fact that they leave their stuff everywhere. Come home from a mission and there’s armor strewn about the living room and kitchen and the stairs. A left on the bathroom sink, quiver of holding dangling off a door knob. One boot is in the front hallway and another is just chilling kicked off in her doorway. There are personal notes everywhere in a stupid variety of languages just left on any surface.

Like at first moving in with Desh seems find. They seem all neat and organized, but that’s because they didn’t own anything yet. Now, they’re really messy to live with, okay. There’s a method in the madness hidden deep in it, but like way deep.

(Desh’s room is fucking meticulous btw, it’s just all the shared spaces that they keep leaving their shit in. They want to make it super obvious that they live there, this is their house, and they’re comfortably not going anywhere.)

2. Do they have any annoying quirks? If so, what are they?

Does fidgeting count? Desh cannot stay still to save their life. Drumming fingers, tapping feet, taking off jewelry and fiddling with it (Desh wears a shit ton of rings like i do for just this purpose), spinning arrows, fucking around with knives, pacing.

Please imagine a Silver Council meeting where everyone is sitting down around a table and Desh is stalking  the perimeter of the room very seriously twirling a knife. It’s unnerving as fuck, but considering the current high stress situation it’s the only thing that really helps them pay attention.

that’s a quirk, right?

3. Name one or more of their bad habits.

Knives

Okay, I think we all know this kid is like the living personification of bad ideas being the only ideas. But honestly? Being an impulsive mother fuck.

4. Any addictions? (Food, sex, drugs/alcohol, shopping, power/control, etc.)

Sorta??? They’re a former drug addict. (And not just because some ghosts gave Desh and Thul opium addictions waaaaaay back when.)

I like to think when Desh and their brother were sold into slavery getting them hooked on opium or something was a good way of keeping them compliant and less likely to try and run away. They were cured of this once they were liberated (remove disease), but Desh did relapse for a while after witnessing Pezzack burn. They were a scared fucking nineteen year old kid fell in with the wrong crowd, okay? They left that behind and have been clean for a few years but like that was a thing that happened.

(all those nat 20s i rolled to cure their phantom addiction? maybe her Cayden taking mercy on her and being like “you’ve been through this enough, kid”)

5. What is one thing they do that can negatively affect their relationship with friends?

Well, they are rash and impulsive  and emotional and honestly doesn’t give a shit about hurting people’s feeling if what they think what they’re doing is Right, BUT I’m gonna say a bad habit of withholding information on this one.

Desh doesn’t like lying and believes in honesty above all things (and she’s the group’s spymaster. it’s impractical and a bit hypocritical yes I know), but she’s 100% behind not telling the full truth and withholding information to those she doesn’t think need to know it.

Like she’s not going to forwardly talk about her history and her wants and needs or why exactly Yewon bothers her (they don’t actually hate him it’s just... complicated? we haven’t quite unpacked that box yet, but it mostly has to do with his skill at lying and ability to easily manipulate and control people). But these are things they need everyone to know and might cause problems later on because they’ll interpret it as no one caring about them beyond their usefulness which is Bad™

6. Their romantic relationships?

I thought this was supposed to be about character flaws? This isn’t a flaw. Desh honestly considers meeting Ellia to be the single best thing that has happened to them since arriving in this hell hole of a fucking city. (Do not say this too loud around Reprisal or the bow I’m still trying to come up with a cool name for or the HOLY TANKARK OF INFINITE ALCOHOL.)

Fuck man, there’s someone who actually cares about them and like set them down to help them write an actual legal will. That’s probably the only legal document that Desh has relating to themself that wasn’t forged tbh. Like fuck I’m kinda tearing up just thinking about how much that would mean to them. How much Ellia means to them.

Desh fully intended to burn the whole city down if they had to back when dealing with Jill’s fucked up family and Ellia went missing. Like they would have done literally anything to ensure her safety or to exact vengeance and I just

And the stupid fucking pirate joke was so silly and pure like that honestly caught us both off guard.

But like she’s the only one who has asked Desh more than one personal question about themself and I am almost 100% certain that Desh would be completely and honestly open about her past and her family and her insecurities and everything with her. Like Desh communication is super fucking important in any relationship, but even more so to Desh and the fact that there is someone who cares. There’s no walls, no matter how stupid that might be.

Desh loves her. Like honestly loves her.

7. What is the biggest mistake they’ve ever made?

Going to Kintargo in the first place

Taking point on what they were fully aware of being an ambush and getting themself surrounded and then killed.

8. What mistake(s) do they continue to make/have not learned from?

It would be easier to list mistakes they have learned from tbh. Here’s one: don’t shoot at the faces of your teammates no matter how dope it might look.

9. Name some of their major physical shortcomings.

They can’t whistle or snap their fingers.

That’s the story and I’m sticking to it.

10. Some of their emotional shortcomings?

[takes a looooooooong drink]

boy howdy

They’re 24 years old and have heavy abandonment issues, lack a self worth outside of a price sticker slapped on them at an auction block (”463 gold for the pair”), depression, anxiety, ptsd. They never learned how to properly cope with most things. They’re fucking scared and constantly overwhelmed and nothing makes sense anymore. They never really got to be a kid and they’re kind of a total mess as an adult because of it.

11. What are their intellectual shortcomings?

That’s a bit harder to nail down??? Because something they’ve devoted their life and freedom to has been collecting knowledge. They’re fluent in 14 languages and know a lot of stuff about various entities they they might encounter in a fight. And they can probably tell you every myth and folklore from Rahadoum and Chelliax about dragons.

But honestly? People skills. They can sometimes be a bit of an awkward duck around people they’re not familiar with or in situations where they’re caught off guard.

12. At least one thing that they tend to overreact to.

SPIDERS

DESH DOES NOT LIKE SPIDERS

13. In what ways might they be overly negative and/or pessimistic?

One of the first things that y’all still ride me for is checking a cooking pot in Luculla’s house for the remains of children.

They were adamant about Thrune using his gifts to track the group’s movements.

As funny as Desh can be, her serious moments are very real and present and fucked up.

14. Is there anything they are too optimistic about?

[laughs for a solid fifteen minutes] Not anymore!

Their relationship probably. The whole rebellion not blowing up in smoke. Ending slavery in the region once it’s been liberated with no significant blow back. Being able to settle down and become a well adjusted person some day.

15. How might they be ignorant or prejudiced?

They have a problem with the word “evil”. Like everyone who is Evil is Bad. But like Ellia is Lawful Evil (last time I checked) and she’s not bad. She’s a good girlfriend and it was really complicated for a while but I think she’s kinda learning that sometimes people are just the alignment of their country by default and not Bad.

Or maybe it’s just Ellia. Probably just Ellia. She’s a beautiful outlier who should not have been counted.

16. Do they have any behaviors and/or beliefs that cannot be adequately justified?

I try and justify everything they do... I would have said their fear of spiders but... well... you kind of had a spider creature bite her face off so...

17. When would they be too judgmental of someone or something?

That time they fucking destroyed the imp.

When their first thought upon finding out that both Ellia and Luculla were missing was “Luculla’s behind this and I’m going to fucking skin her alive. She didn’t deserve me saving her life.”

18. Are they ever a pushover about something? If so, how?

She can go with the group’s mindset about most things like she doesn’t entirely give a fuck what they’re going to do as long as they can set up a decent groundwork for a plan first and no one innocent is being harmed outright.

19. Is there anything they refuse to budge on? What are they stubborn about?

Their stance on lying, control/manipulation, and slavery. That stance will never change. Ever.

But in general, once they’ve made up their mind about something they’re going to be stubborn af about it.

20. What is a self-inflicted misery of theirs? (i.e. something they perpetuate themselves)

Ooooooooooooh boy

Just read through this again. I’ve probably mentioned several.

[smallstonehouse]

A Lesson on Evil & Inconvenience

It should have been a real bitch of a scorcher today,  but for some reason the rain decided to smile down upon our little piece of ravine. It had been a few weeks without a good honest-to-god rain, but thankfully it is always only a matter of time before the clouds finally collect enough condensation to fall back down to the land of mortals. I looked out the gentle window, past the frosty and rain-soaked glass, and out into the gardens. The plants there, previously withering and dying of thirst, were now bright and happy again. There was a certain air of relief that rang out through the ravine whenever the sky decided to shed its tears; the gentle mountain rain was the sole unifyer in the otherwise wild lands. 

“Everything needs water,” my mother used to tell me, “because without it we would all thirst. It’s important to thank the sky for her gifts, my little one.” 

I never really completely grasped what she meant until I took this life on myself. Growing up forces you to experience things with new perspectives, with history seeming to repeat itself at a whim. As a child, you can’t fully grasp what it is to starve, to thirst. Your parents stand over you and protect you from the atrocities of the real world. However, it seems, there is a time in everyone’s meager existence where they are deemed “old enough”. I never quite understood exactly what constituted this change of state, but nonetheless it was a present turning point in the lives of all living things.

As I sat and stared out the old cottage window, unto the fields that I toiled over year after year, one of the many mice that inhabit the walls came up to join me.

“Good morning, little mouse,” I spoke in a gentle, cooing tone.

“And to you, miss!” he squeaked back.

“How are things in your realm, Montague?”

“Oh, just fine. I’ve been tending to the fairy gardens, fighting off brownies, the standard day’s work.”

“And what important work you do, Montague Mouse.”

The curious little mouse stared out the window, over the now pouring rain. He was immediately overcome with a visible sense of peace, and I was happy for him; being the mouse knight of a cottage is hard work, I think, and he deserves a bit of a rest. I think, sometimes, we all need a bit of a rest. We all collectively, as people, have become quite obsessed with the hustle and bustle, with living fast and keeping busy. I, for one, loathe being busy. I cannot stand having to do things, let alone the same repetitive things day after day. That being said, I’m not talking of simple farm chores, but of office work and day jobs. The America I was raised in was always very fond of working hard and making lots of money, but the America I live in now is more concerned with being happy. 

An America with her prime focus being the happiness of her people is the best sort of America; as opposed to an obsession with turning a profit, her people return to the old ways of caring for one another, of living for oneself and not toiling aimlessly for a conglomerate of monopolies, buying things to impress people they aren’t even quite fond of. She is happier once again, it seems. In fact, it’s almost ironic that at one point returning her to her former glory was perverted to push towards an opposite reality. 

I shook myself from my catatonic state of thought, noticing that the rain had stopped falling, and the gentle mouse had returned to his duties. I took this as an opportunity to see how Hilda the Milk Cow was doing this fine day.

It was a short walk out to the cute little shed that she kept herself in, a wonderfully dainty wooden stable that was more than enough room for a few horses, let alone a single happy dairy cow.

“Good morning, Hilda!” I shouted kindly as I approached. She mooed back happily, clearly unaffected by the downpour she was forced to endure. I checked around her stable, no signs of critters or intrusion. This was a sign of relief; lots of wandering creatures of all backgrounds had a habit of calling Hilda’s shed home as well, and Hilda was not always very fond of these people. I remember once, a few years ago, she was so far spooked by a simple raccoon that she ran all the way to the house. Since then, I’ve taken very good care to ensure that I will always be Hilda’s sole visitor, and she seems to prefer it that way. I opened the rusty latch that kept her shut in, and within seconds she was happily roaming her field, chewing cud and fraternizing with the chickens. Hilda was always rather quite fond of the chickens, which was always fun to sit and watch. It was always a sort of awe-inspiring thing to see, as Hilda is this big lumbering beast and the chickens mere mortals in her presence. She was always so kind, so gentle with her friends. She had the kindest soul, and she didn’t even know it.

I saved Hilda from slaughter a few years ago, from a small farm not too far from my own. I had been walking through the woods behind our cottage, probably a couple miles deep, and came across the clearing where she lived. All alone, black and white breaking endless green plain. I could see her family out in the distance, but they were clearly herded together . She was the outlier, the one that did not fit in. 

“Oh, come here pretty cow!”  I called across the field to the magnificent beast, and she immediately turned her head and galloped to the fence that I was sitting upon. Hilda was like no cow I had ever met before; she was so kind and gentle, and had a glimmer of personality in her eyes. She was not some dumb animal. She was a beautiful and sophisticated soul merely trapped in the confines of a bovine prison. I had, in fact, fallen in love at the first sight of her. I returned to the pasture every single day for a whole week, always meeting Hilda in the same spot. Every day, I noticed the flock in the distance grow smaller and smaller.

“You’re set for the slaughter, aren’t you pretty girl?”

Yes, she seemed to speak to me, that is my fate.

“Can you take me to the farmer? I would like to make you my cow.”

Whether she truly understands my words still eludes me to this day, but nonetheless she seemed to understand what I was talking about. She led me across the field, a grand and magnificent one at that, to a quaint and tiny farmhouse tucked to the side of a pond. 

“What’re you doing here with my cow, trespasser?” said a gruff old man who emerged from the farmhouse, shotgun in tow.

“You are a cattle farmer, I would like to buy this cow.”

He scoffed at my simple request.

“You want to buy a slaughter cow, one that has already been bought by a meat plant?”

“Of course, sir. She is a beautiful cow.”

“Get off my farm alive before I remove you from it in a pine box,” he threatened, brandishing his gun even more.

“I mean no trouble, sir, I simply mean to save this poor animal from a youthful death.”

The old farmer narrowed his eyes and glared at me. His grip on the rifle turned his knuckles an unholy shade of white. I dropped the kind, helpless act and went straight to the point.

“You aren’t going to shoot me, or you would have already. I’m offering to make this cow worth your while, as opposed to just up and taking her like I’d prefer.”

The old man seemed staggered at this point, taken aback by how sharp my tongue could be.

“You know what, miss?” He started, “I respect the hell out of someone who can stand their ground.”

And so Hilda belonged to me, and soon came back to my farm. She was always so happy, like a big puppy that never got the hang of being a giant dog. I never heard from the farmer again, nor ever decided to venture through the woods like that again. I had no reason to; unlike my neighbors and friends, I was content with what I already had. Why ask for more when I had everything I already needed? What was the purpose of a new car, another bottle of expensive wine when my old and battered Lincoln still persisted to tick along happily, and the cheap supermarket wine tastes just as sweet? I never quite understood the consumerist culture in America, why people were so obsessed with always having “the next big thing”. Why was it always so impressive when a neighbor got a fancy new truck, or when someone decided to pay more than a hundred dollars on a pair of shoes? What about “stuff” has made us lust for money simply to waste it on material things that do not, in fact, benefit us? I’ve watched countless friends and family toil aimlessly, working long hours for weeks at a time with no rest, trying to impress everyone else. What about other people’s opinions drive us?

“What do you think, Hilda?” I said to the sweet creature before me.

“Mooooooooooooo,” Hilda called back. 

“Are you enjoying the fresh rain?”

“Moooooooooo!”

“Of course you are, sweet Hilda, you never have any worries.”

She mooed again, very thoughtfully, and returned to playing with her chickens. Yes, I had forgotten: the chickens. The chickens were all fantastic layers, all 9 of them. It had been a while since we’d had a rooster, so no chicks had been added to the flock in years. They were getting old, too, but that was a problem to address when the bridge was crossed. I hiked over to the coop that held the wonderful birds. Now was a perfect time to rummage through the straw and sawdust, as Hilda was beautifully distracting the chickens from their nests. I needed a basket, however. Where was the basket I kept right by the coop? I searched all around the little house, up and down, anywhere. It wasn’t in the house, I was sure of it. Maybe someone had a need for a basket and borrowed mine?

“Are you looking for something?” said a voice out of nowhere.

“Just my basket, little fairy,” I replied. At these words, the tiny winged creature revealed himself from the grass he was no doubt napping in below. He was taller for a fairy, but had the same clothes on as the others that dwelled around here.

“Ah, yes, the tan wicker one with the metal frame?”

“Yes, sir, that’s the one!”

“Well, I’m afraid to say it’s been taken.”

“Taken? By whom?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? There have been gangs of frogs terrorizing the fairies and other folk in this here valley.”

“Frogs? I have never known frogs to be aggressive. Are you sure that this isn’t the trickery of a group of Pixies?”

The fairy laughed, “If it were pixies, there would’ve been an easy fight. These are frogs of some kind. I wasn’t close, but they were big, and slimy, and hopped really funny”

This was rather strange; the frogs had never bothered me nor the fairies, and were in fact mostly harmless and primarily helpful. To my knowledge, frogkind was peaceful and all that concerned them was matters involving flies. The frogs lived in a pond not too far into the woods, so I elected to pay them a visit.

The forest was tall and as old as time itself, filled with stories of many Americas before this one, of many people who walked and lived and even died within its borders. The forest held magic, as all forests do, and this one was especially magical. It had taken some time, but the fairies all had houses, the bees had plenty of flowers to feast on, and the frogs had their pond. Every group that inhabited the forest had their own means to be self-sufficient, and had largely stopped fighting with each other because of the stability they have maintained since I moved here. Ergo, it was strange to hear a fairy accusing the frogs of wrongdoings in the community; it was very unlike the frogs to wander from the pond, let alone be unkind to the other denizens of the forest. I travelled the old beaten dirt paths I had spent countless hours milling into the earth and thought long and hard about what could have possible happened to cause the frogs to act like this, let alone to steal an entire basket. It didn’t make sense to me, but I had to find out nonetheless.

I came across the pond, and it twinkled in the sunlight that fought its way past the treetops. Nothing seemed out of place, but at the same time it was a pond; not much could be out of place in a place like this. 

“Hello? King of Frogs? I’d like to request council,” I yelled into the empty pond. Like clockwork, the council of Frogs emerged from the brush, taking their spots on a circle of lilypads in the middle of the pond. A larger frog, far bigger than the rest, made his way to an equally sized lilypad in the center of the group.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” said the frog king.

“And to you, kind sir.”

“What matters have you to discuss with us, kind one?”

“Well, you see, my basket has gone missing.”

“A theft? Are you trying to insult us? Frogs don’t steal, silly girl.”

“I’m aware, but a fairy told me that-”

“A fairy? One that seemed taller than any other fairy that you have met?”

I stood aghast, “Yes, actually.”

The frog king bellowed, filling his sac with air and making various frog sounds. He fell silent, as did the council around him. They sat for some time, talking amongst themselves in their frog language.

“Do you know who this fairy is, then?” I asked.

The frogs halted their chatter.

“Of course, miss. This fairy is no fairy, but a changeling. We have not seen one in some time, but they are always up to no good. I have never met a changeling that was not a cunning fox, and this one is no different. We have not seen your basket, but I would not be wrong to assume that you being sent here to cause a ruckus was part of his plot.”

“Uhm,” I began slowly, “What is a changeling?”

The frog council laughed at my question.

“Silly mortal,” the king began, “changelings are an ancient race. They first descended from fairies, but fell off the path to light. They learned even more ancient and dark magics than had ever been used, which is how the came to be able to change their form. That is why the fairy appeared to be taller than usual; he is not a fairy, but a changeling. That was not his true form.

“Well, then, do you know what they look like?”

The council shared laughter again. 

“Nobody knows the true form of a changeling because nobody has ever killed one. They are bigger than fairies, but smaller than cats. This is all we know, and we bid you good luck.”

I bowed to the council and headed back to the cottage. How strange, I thought, that not even the mighty council of frogs could figure out what was at play here. As I walked, I tried to imagine just why the changeling took my basket, and why he tried to pin it on the frogs. I had no leads, but surely I would find something.

 Soon enough, I had returned to the chicken coop, and lo & behold, the changeling was sitting atop the roof, eating some berries.

“Why did you lie to me, Mr. Fairy?” I spoke with fury.

“Well, miss, you just seemed so dumb and gullible I had to!” he replied, laughing in between his words.

“Why blame the frogs?”

“I’ve always hated frogs. They’re old and slimy and act as if they know everything.”

“Okay, but why take my basket in the first place, Mr. Changeling?”

The changeling smirked. Before my eyes, he began to morph and change. Soon enough, he had become a small goblin, still grinning the same evil smirk. He was definitely shorter than a cat, but if the cat were to stand upright, and far taller than a fairy. He had mottled grey skin, and a long brunet beard that was decorated with gold trinkets, and wore rags that matched the tattered boots on his feet. 

“I was wondering if the frogs had caught on by now. Surely they didn’t think that the fairies were stealing their tadpoles. They’re so delicious, especially before they grow any limbs.”

“Mr. Changeling,” I said, my exasperation growing by the second, “Why did you take my basket?”

The changeling sat for a second, stroking his beard, carefully planning whatever words were about to escape his maw.

“Because I wanted it. I don’t particulary have a use for it, but I liked it and decided that it is now mine.”

I was dumbfounded.

“You can’t simply take things from other people, you know.”

“Ah, yes, but if you are not there to stop me, is it really your basket?”

“Why, yes, it is, that’s how owning things works. I bought that basket years ago, ergo it belongs to me.”

“It may have at one time,” the creature cackled, “but it is no more.”

With one simple kick, I sent the changeling off the ground and into the side of the chicken coop. The changeling lay, slumped, with a purplish blood oozing from his lips. 

“You have one hell of a leg on you, girl,” he spit.

“If you really paid all that attention, you would know better than to test me.”

“You’re a fool if you think you are more powerful than I.”

“You’re a fool if you think I want anything other than my damn basket.”

Once again, the changeling sat in awe. Never before had he had someone stand up to him like that.

“I am more powerful than you can imagine, foolish mortal.”

“I believe it,” I began, “but you’re also the third smallest creature that roams these parts, and I have no qualms about kicking you again.”

The changeling snickered and morphed himself into a small wolf, roughly the size of a cat. The wolf snarled and bared its yellowed teeth, making itself seem as big as possible. I kicked the changeling once again, this time in his exposed throat. He reeled in pain, morphing back into his goblin form.

“Perhaps,” he coughed, “I have met my match. You are a worth opponent, but I will not go down so easily.”

I was seriously amazed by the resilience of this little creature, but I was not looking for a fight. 

“Just give me the basket and run along.”

“Where is the fun in that? All of my… friends… will miss me!”

I rolled my eyes at the little man, knowing that my basket was forever lost.

“ Have it your way, jackass.” 

I proceeded to stomp that tiny goblin into an even smaller puddle of changeling-related liquids, as if he were a spider that snuck up on me inside. When he was reduced to a bleeding heap, I tried once again.

“Now, where is my basket?”

The changeling looked up at me and smiled his devilish grin again.

“Still on about that basket? You’ve such a one-track mind, my dear.”

 Before my eyes, the changeling then disappeared into thin air. Of course, he was not truly invisible but merely masquerading as such. I could see his footsteps trailing away in the grass as he snuck away. I decided to just let him go; why bother with one troublemaker that caused me a single minor inconvenience? After all, it was nice to go out and visit the frogs; I hadn’t been out to see them in some time. In fact, it wasn’t much an inconvenience, as all that I lost was my basket. I shrugged my shoulders and went back to the cottage to fetch some other receptacle for carrying eggs. I’ve learned through years of living out here on this little chunk of land that worrying about things you cannot control bothers nobody but yourself. Clearly, as the frogs had told me, changelings feed off of the negativity they cause. By not letting him affect my emotions, he was unable to make use of me as a source of power. I think most people could learn from this, as it seems people are too affected by the actions or words of other people. By doing this, you are only hurting yourself; dwelling on negativity only breeds hatred and contempt for your fellow man. Will anyone actually take this advice? Probably not. Would it help? Definitely.

[littlehouseofkarlacade]

Another one of Karla’s discussions.

hello everyone. welcome back to your semi-frequent show: “karla talks way too much about things nobody cares about.”

today’s discussion: what it’s like living as an adult who was raised in an abusive blood family.

relevant tw: discussion of child abuse, discussion of suicidal ideation. mention of abortion.

it begins... under the cut!

i’m 27 years old. yep. 3 years away from 30. goddamn i’m old.

but.

there is a lot about being an adult that i know very little about. for instance, my credit score is not very good right now because i barely have any credit at all. i didn’t even know what credit was or how important it is until last year, when i learned from my girlfriend, so i’m working on building it up right now.

i don’t know how to drive. i don’t even have a learner’s permit. i was always forbidden from learning to drive, and once i hit 18, my severe lack of money/no one willing to teach me was the major factor in why i still don’t drive. my girlfriend does all the driving.

i’m working a soulless retail job, and i have worked in retail for the past five years. i have thoughts of a career, but i have no experience nor the relevant degrees people are looking for, so i have no way of getting into what i want to do.

why am i saying all of this?

it is because i never had the opportunity to learn about any of these things as a child, when my parents should have at least begun to educate me about these things before i was thrust into the world with no clue about what to do.

~~

Even before I came into this world (you can tell I’m serious now because proper capitalization) I was an unwanted child. My mother wanted an abortion, but because my father was heavily religious and very pro life, he was able to talk her out of it, therefore bringing me into the world. Now, I’m pro-choice myself; if someone wants/needs an abortion they should be fully able to get one, but we’re not talking pro-life vs pro-choice here. That’s a whole different discussion for another day.

My father has mental illnesses of his own. Later in life, I learned what at least some, if not all of them, are: paranoid schizophrenia, severe depression, and ADHD are the ones that I know about. There could be more, though I’m not sure. My mother has no diagnosed mental illnesses, though there may be some lurking within that nobody knows about, because she’s never seen a therapist that I’m aware of. I’m only mentioning this to highlight the differences between them, and why I don’t harbor as much resentment towards my father as I do my mother (though he has done things as well that should never be done to a child, and I don’t forgive him for any of it).

Now for some brief history:

They got divorced when I was 4 years old. He obtained full custody of both my younger sister and I, and my mother had to move somewhere else. Where, I have no idea, but we weren’t in contact with her after that. Over the years, he would go between taking his medication religiously and stopping taking it because he felt as if he didn’t need it anymore. Violence as a resort of paranoid schizophrenia is not really a thing; schizophrenics in general usually aren’t very violent, though of course there are always outliers. My father tended to be one of those outliers, especially during the times when he stopped taking his medication. My sister and I were both physically abused by him, though I took the brunt of it because she was the baby of the family, and therefore his favorite. However, his problem was more of child neglect: when he got too wrapped up in his paranoid delusions, he would forget things like doing the laundry, cleaning the house, making sure his children were fed, things like that. For a large majority of my childhood, we were both very underweight. He rarely took us to the doctor because he didn’t trust them; part of his delusions were that medical professionals were not to be trusted at all, for they could take us away and turn us in to the government for some reason that I never learned. He also did some sexual things that I won’t go into here, for the post isn’t about that.

When I was 7 years old, his worst fears came true by his own hand. He took both of us to the hospital, claiming there was something wrong with us, and wanting a diagnosis right then and there. A doctor examined us, and came back with that there was nothing wrong except us being incredibly underweight. My father didn’t like that answer, and kept badgering the workers there to give us a proper diagnosis, that he wouldn’t leave until we had one, etc. Then, he threatened that he had a bomb in his van, and he’d blow up the hospital with it if we didn’t receive a legitimate diagnosis.

That was clearly a mistake.

Everyone sprung into action. Police were called, he was taken into the psychiatric ward of the hospital, and my sister and I were separated from him. I still remember the last words he said before everything collapsed: “don’t eat anything they give you, it’s poisoned, they want to make you sick!”

Of course, I was 7 years old. My sister was 5. We were super hungry. When the police took us out of the hospital to the station, they got us Burger King, and of course we ate it. What kid is going to resist Burger King?

And, no, none of it was poisoned.

But basically, we went 5 months in foster care, I turned 8 in the meantime, we both managed to live in the same house during that time (the family was very kind and stated they wanted both of us to attempt to keep us together), and eventually a court case was started against my father. It turned into a 2-year-long custody battle between him and my mother, and I was basically being treated as an adult in order to answer some very adult questions. “Who do you want to live with more? Do you understand what’s happening? We need you to describe everything he did to you while you were in his custody. Was there a bomb in the van?”

Now, keep in mind: I was 8 years old. I didn’t understand most of the words these people used. I didn’t understand why this was such a big deal. I didn’t know who I wanted to live with. My father wasn’t the best, but I still loved him, and I hadn’t seen my mother in 4 years.

But in order to keep it short and really get to the point, we ended up in our mother’s custody, and our father was found guilty of child abuse and neglect, with also a charge of sexual abuse.

Our mother wasn’t much better.

Again, my younger sister was the favorite, so I got the brunt of the physical abuse. Physical I was used to, but what was new was the verbal abuse, and by extent emotional abuse. Listing off exactly what our mother did to me would make this post way too long, but I will say that it was bad. Very bad. Police were called on her a couple of times as well, but as she was friends with the sheriff, they never found anything, and I ended up paying for it.

I lived with her until I was 18.

At one point after I turned 18, I found myself in the hospital, for my heart was going crazy and nobody knew why. I never received a diagnosis or anything for that, because the doctors just attributed it to stress, and told me that as long as I didn’t put myself through too much stress I’d be fine. Well. Ha, ha, ha. With my mother, stress was a daily routine.

When I was released from the hospital, I came home, and she and her boyfriend soon after had a massive fight. Her boyfriend claimed that there wasn’t anything wrong with me, that I only went to the hospital for attention, that I was a drama queen, etc etc etc. Then, he yelled at her that one of us was leaving, either him or me, and she had to pick one. Both of us couldn’t stay in the same house.

So, my mother storms into our room (I still shared a room with my sister at this point) and starts screaming at me. I ruined her relationship, I ruin everything good in her life, why do I always have to make everything about me, he’s right and I am a drama queen, I’m the worst daughter ever, I treat her like shit, just all of this. She screamed at me that I had until the end of January to leave her house, and she never wanted me to come back. (For context, this was when about a week of January was left.)

Of course, I jumped on that chance. I contacted one of my friends at the time, and that began a whole 2-3 years of couch surfing. I couldn’t get a job because I couldn’t find anywhere that would hire me with no driver’s license or work experience, and I kept switching houses where I would stay because majority of my friends still lived with their parents, and they didn’t want me staying at their places too long without a job and no way to pay for anything. Which I suppose makes sense; nobody wants a moocher in their house.

Regardless, I now live in New York with my absolutely loving girlfriend who I’d never replace literally ever.

Now, what’s the point of the post?

Well, now I’m an adult. I’ve been an adult for several years. I’ve had several jobs over the years. I have one now, though I’m looking for another one.

Things could be worse. I could have followed in my mother’s footsteps and become an abuser on my own, because that’s really all I’ve ever known. I don’t want to be like her, though; the thought scares me way too much (and is also a major reason as to why I never want children of my own). All in all, I think I turned out pretty okay.

But I have my own mental illnesses and issues.

I was diagnosed with depression when I was 8. I have severe anxiety, especially medical anxiety. I have attachment issues. I can’t look people in the eye. I recoil from conflict, and do my best to hide when someone becomes angry. My response to my failures varies from sadness to anger to both. I’ve attempted suicide twice, and think about it much more than I should, even now. I feel that I have to be perfect at everything I do, otherwise I’m a worthless piece of shit who shouldn’t try to do anything. I’m constantly seeking approval for just being me.

I’m trying to go back to college, but I have no idea how to do that here. The thought of calling the college that I want to go to up though is terrifying; I hate using the phone, it activates my anxiety like nobody’s business.

When other children were happy and having friends and able to go out and hang out with those friends, I was busy trying to evade my mother, wondering if I would be beat up today, or if I’d even get anything to eat today.

While other teens would be excitedly talking about getting their driver’s permits and then their licenses, I would be too worried about whether I would even be allowed out of the house long enough to even think about driving. (Spoilers: I wasn’t, my mother refused to even attempt to teach me to drive because she was convinced I’d crash and total her car.)

I don’t feel like I’m accomplishing anything in life, but I also don’t feel like my goals are anything worth accomplishing. They’re nothing, or so my brain tells me. I can’t make money with them, or else I’d be doing so already, so they’re not worth doing.

My inferiority complex is massive.

Even though I’ve gone no contact with the majority of my blood family, I’m still terrified of my mother finding me somehow and pressuring me into having her in my life again.

I was discouraged from my dreams in music because of her. Now I don’t even have my instruments anymore. A little voice in my brain keeps telling me to stop writing, it’s a waste of time. But I push on and do that anyway because dammit, I like it.

I mean. I’ve got a perseverance like nothing else, but that’s about it.

And... yeah. Not much else to say here. But that’s a glimpse into what it’s like living as an adult from an abusive blood family. I have no one to turn to should things go bad in my life at some point, no one who I can get even a little touch of support from, no one to do what families are apparently supposed to do.

I’m alone in the world. I have been for years.

That’s all I really know now.

[canid-slashclaw]

The Outliers - A Guild Wars Love Story

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9,  Chapters 10 and 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16 , Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20,  Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23,  Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29 Chapter 30

Several months later...

"A little more to the right, darling. Oh wait. That just won't do. Nevermind!" Ariyana shouted as she directed several of her workers to re-hang some garlands.

Moments later, her mate Jestin arrived. "Cakes have arrived, dear. Where would you like them?"

She smiled at her husband then pointed towards two large banquet tables. "Put them right there."

"Wait. Isn't that where Ludrick's smorgasbord is supposed to be?"

Ariyana shook her head in frustration. "Gah! So many things to do and so little time to do them in. Use your imagination, my love. I'm sure you can work out something beautiful in that pretty little head of yours."

***

Daniel Grimwald and Ludrick Crushblow rode atop a wagon as the two of them headed towards the grassy meadow that was adjacent to the base of Thunder Falls. Brad, Cynthia, Navina and Krenesh were there to greet them as the wagon pulled into the pavilion area.

"The meat wagon has arrived," Daniel said as he reached over and pulled off the covers. "Thanks to Ludrick here, everything has been put on ice so it doesn't spoil."

"Crap! That thing must weigh a ton," Krenesh commented as he helped unload the contents.

"One and a half ton, to be exact," Ludrick stated while Navina and Cynthia helped him off the wagon.

Brad chuckled. "You gals got the easy part - helping two hansom males, while, Kren and I are stuck carrying a heap of slaughtered carcasses."

"Good and tasty carcasses at that!" Krenesh reminded him.

"Don't let your friend eat everything before you get to the banquet hall," Cynthia commented.

"Bah! With all the work we've been doing, I just might be tempted."

"She wasn't referring to you, numbskull!" Navina quipped.

"If I find Ama's blowtorch anywhere, I might just make an instameal outta this yummy good stuff."

"Do it and die, Brad!" Cynthia chided as she handed Ludrick his cane.

***

"Mom. This dress makes me look like a bloated quaggan," Rachel grumbled as her mother examined the outfit.

"It looks fine on you, sweetie. Now be a good girl and take those audiophones out of your ears."

"But my favorite band just released this single. I'm one of the first in Claypool to even hear these songs."

Her mother looked around for a styling comb. "Have you seen Katie anywhere?"

"Um. I think she's with your soon-to-be daughter-in-law."

***

"This blue flower looks so pretty in your hair," Katie said as she placed a blue violet in Amalthia's golden mane.

"Can you find me a mirror? I would love to see what it looks like."

The little Grimwald clamored off her lap then was off to find a shiny reflective object.

"Oooo. Shiney! I'm a skritt!"

Amalthia smiled at the precocious child as she coaxed her into holding up the mirror to her face. "Why that's lovely. You know that my people love to eat skritt and I'm going to do the same!"

She laughed then playfully nibbled on Katie's head with her large canine teeth. Kaleb's little sister adored the attention that his mate had showered upon her.

Moments later, Ariyana stepped in. "Darling! You look splendid!"

"Ari! So nice to see you!" Amalthia picked Katie up, carefully planted her on the floor then walked over and gave her friend a big hug.

"I see you have a little helper," the sylvari said, eyeing the little girl.

"Oh yes. I could not have done it without her."

Katie found the wedding veil and ran over to place it on Amalthia's head. Kneeling down, the bride-to-be accepted the gift.

"How's that!"

"Oh my. She is going to put me out of business if she keeps that up," Ariyana said with a laugh.

Shortly thereafter, Cynthia and Navina walked into the room each bearing gifts. After a round of group hugs, the presents were set aside and everyone began to get ready for the upcoming event.

"You really outdid yourself, Ariyana. If my man ever gets around to popping the question, you better believe I'll be paying you a visit," Cynthia smiled as she examined Amalthia's bridal gown.

"I still don't get these human rituals. but hey, if it makes the two of you happy then I'm all in," Navina said with a chuckle.

"Kal is gonna die from a serious boner after seeing you in this. Dang girl! Maybe I should find a wizard who can make me grow horns, fur and a tail. Cause you look drop-dead sexy in this getup." Cynthia jested.

"Oh. I'll be giving him plenty of those both on and after our wedding night," Amalthia said with a wink and a wicked grin.

"What's a boner?" Katie asked innocently.

Everyone was at a loss for words.

***

Kaleb wandered around carrying a half-empty stein of lager while eyeing the tent that his soon-to-be wife was residing in. He took another draught just seconds before Brad approached from behind then clapped him on the shoulder. "The man of the hour! How ya doin' bro?"

The slightly inebriated Kaleb shook his head. "Couldn't be better. It's too bad I can't steal a peak at the misses."

"Don't you know it's bad luck seeing the bride before the wedding?"

Moments later, Daniel, Ludrick and Krenesh made their way to greet the groom-to-be. The elder Grimwald looked at his son, shook his hand then took a carnation from his lapel and placed it though one of Kaleb's buttons.

"That suit fits you well, son. Think you'll be sober enough to say your vows?"

Kaleb nodded and smiled. "I'm just nervously tipsy, that's all. I'll be fine once the ceremony starts."

"You are looking well, Kaleb. I'm sure my cub will agree once she sees you," Ludrick said as he handed the young man a flask of herbal coffee. "This is a quick cure for any hangover. Trust me, I've used it plenty of times."

Krenesh stepped in and shook his head. "You and Ama have got to be the oddest couple on the face of Tyria. But even that is secondary to this even odder ceremony. Bah! This thing is so tight around me I can't even move properly."

Brad and Kaleb laughed.

"I can hunt down Ariyana. I'm sure she'll be able to modify the outfit a bit for ya," Kaleb said.

"Nah. I'll be fine. Besides, the sooner I get out of this thing the better."

Suddenly, Brad burst out laughing as he pointed towards a lone male charr who was dressed in what appeared to be a bridesmaid outfit.

Kaleb looked up and said. "Isn't that..."

"...Tovu." Krenesh buried his head in the palm of his hand and closed his eyes.

"A male charr in a woman's outfit. Now I've seen everything," came Daniel's response.

Ludrick clapped the elder Grimwald on the shoulder and said with a half-chuckle. "I think you and I are going to have to follow your son's lead and have a nice strong drink together."

Daniel nodded in agreement.

"Oh man! I'm never going to forget this day!" Brad said in between his uncontrollable bouts of laughter.

"I wish I could," grumbled Krenesh.

"I seriously wish I could."

***

"Tovu! Over here," Bogo shouted as he beckoned for his partner to come join him.

Being careful not to soil the gown, Tovu gingerly stepped over the tufts of grass trying not to trip in the process.

"You look ravishing in that outfit, Tovu."

His partner frowned. "You think so? Everyone looks at me funny. It's not like our females even wear these kinds of outfits anyway."

"Oh, pay them no mind, you silly furball. My suit is rather plain compared to yours," Bogo said somberly.

"Nonsense! That tie brings out the color of your eyes so well."

"You think so? I think it makes me look kinda drab."

Off in the distance, someone was shouting something about where the other bridesmaid was. Tovu's ears pricked out upon hearing the message.

"Sorry big boy. They're calling me. See you at the altar, you big snuggly beast!"

Bogo waved back and winked at his partner. "Give Ama my love!"

***

Amalthia busied herself putting on the finishing touches to her wedding gown. Everyone else had gone to their respective dressing rooms in order to prepare for the upcoming ceremony. As she was braiding the last lock of her long golden mane, she heard someone scratching at the other end of the tent door.

"Come in."

When she looked up, she saw the Grimwald middle child standing before her. She had a pair of audiophones plugged into her ears and appeared to be jamming out to some type of music.

"Oh. Hello, Rachel."

There was an awkward silence for a moment before the teenager responded.

"Hi."

Amalthia smiled then handed her a comb. "Mind helping me with this last strand? It's always a bitch to tame."

The teen was taken aback by the charr's crassness. "Uh, okay."

"I won't bite. I promise," Amalthia said with a noticeable display of her large teeth.

Rachel summoned her courage to speak.

"You don't have rabies, do you?"

"I got my shot yesterday. Doctor said the medicine should take effect within the next week."

"So you do have it."

"You assume much about me, don't you? I never said I did or did not have what you thought I had. Now are you going to help me with that braid or are you going to just stand there wishing you really could just tell your mother to screw off," Amalthia said with a smirk.

The girl was completely speechless.

"Oops. Did I let that slip? Oh well, it must be lagers in me," she pointed to an empty stein by her vanity.

"You really are a lush," Rachel said laconically as she slowly reached her hand towards the charr's golden mane.

"Eh. You can blame my mother for that. I sure do."

"So is your mom mean?"

Amalthia closed her eyes and grinned. "She is as sweet as cyanide in a wine glass and as pleasant as an acidic enema."

Rachel couldn't help but laugh.

"So your face is capable of cracking a smile," Amalthia said.

"Well, even though I don't like you, at least we have one thing in common. My mom pisses me off a lot," Rachel said angrily.

"So what is it about her that pisses you off?"

Rachel shrugged.

"She makes me attend church and tells me the music I'm listening to is made by a bunch of blasphemers."

Amalthia looked closer at the audio box that Rachel was listening to. She noticed the name of the band that was stamped on one of the removable cartridges.

"SynR J-TX. I know their music."

"You do? I'll bet you haven't heard their latest album. My friend knows a friend who knows a friend who works with the band. I was able to get a fresh cut of their latest release."

Rachel switched to another track and began jamming out on that. Amalthia reached over then clicked on the audio box, switching it to another track.

"Hey!"

"Just listen. You've heard the extended release, right?" Amalthia asked.

The teen shook her head.

"They did a remix just recently. So recent, in fact, it hasn't even been cut yet."

"And how do you possibly know this?"

Amalthia gave the girl a wide grin. "I do live in a tavern. It's amazing what I hear sometimes."

"I like their fifth track. It's got a really cool beat."

"It does. Can you dance?"

Rachel nodded. "Well, yeah. Can you??"

The bride-to-be stood up then offered her hand to Rachel, inviting her to dance.

"Watch me!"

Both girls were dancing in sync. Rachel showed one of her moves while Amalthia mimicked her at every step. Soon, they were dancing like a pair of professionals in harmony with the rhythm of the beat.

"How much do you hate your mother?" Rachel asked as they were choreographing their moves.

Amalthia stopped dancing then beckoned for Kaleb's sister to come over to the vanity. She, then' pulled out an old parchment that featured an array of images that she drew when she was still a cub.

"When I was in my fahrar, we were asked to draw what we would do to our enemies once we were old enough to go into battle. Everyone else drew either, Flame Legion, humans, ogres or some other hideous creature," Amalthia smiled deviously. "I, on the other hand, was a bit more creative."

She handed Rachel the parchment that depicted a child-like drawing of one charr cutting off another charr's head.

"That was me beheading my mother with a broadsword. I colored the blade brown in order to depict the blade as being rusty and dull."

Rachel looked at the images, stunned. Amalthia pointed to another one that appeared to show a charr getting blown to pieces by an explosion.

"Oh. I drew that one hoping my mother would, someday, step on a land mine and blow herself up. See the bones and entrails?"

"Um. Dare I ask what this one is?"

Amalthia looked at the image of a darkened charr and laughed. "That one was Mother getting charbroiled by a flamethrower. Get it? Charrbroiled?"

"You are one sick kitten!" Rachel said in her characteristic monotone voice.

"If I am then why haven't you run away?"

Rachel shrugged. "I dunno. I guess you are like a shipwreck. Horrible to watch but I can't take my eyes off it."

"I have the suspicion it's something else. My guess is you resent your mother but are too afraid to tell her so openly," Amalthia stated.

"How would you know? You no nothing about me!" Rachel retorted angrily.

"Oh. I know a mother-hater when I see one. Trust me on this."

"I don't hate my mom."

"But you do resent her for what she's done to you. Always being obligated to live up to those expectations, while your brother doesn't seem to give a damn?"

"Well, maybe. Mom always did get on Kals case about doing things his way. I hate him for being able to resist our mom's authority," Rachel said as tears began to well up in her eyes.

"It's okay, Rachel. Let it out. That's what I did when I was a cub. I let out all my rage and anger through my drawings. Looking back, it was very therapeutic for me," Amalthia said as she rolled up the illustrations then put them back into the drawer.

"Okay, okay. I really think you aren't so bad now. I thought your people were always evil. But in talking to you like this, you seem almost human."

Amalthia smiled and gently reached for Rachel's face in an attempt to wipe her tears away. "I've learned that all intelligent races share the same basic emotions. Even though we each express them in different ways, all of us still feel love, sadness, apprehension and loneliness."

Rachel broke down then cried as she buried her head in Amalthia's chest. The charr gave her a gentle hug as she switched tracks to a more melodious song and began a slow dance with her future sister-in-law.

***

Ulfgar thumbed through the sermon, doing some last-minute revisions as needed. Daniel walked up to the massive norn as his son helped Ludrick navigate across the uneven ground.

"Ah. Three of the finest gentlemen I know. Are you ready for the big one, boy?" The old norn said with a hearty tone.

"When is anyone ever ready? I can't wait to see what Ama's dress looks like. Any idea where my sister's at?" Kaleb asked as he anxiously looked around for the ring bearer.

"Amalthia is giving Rachel the rings now. I think you'll like her attire, Kaleb," Ludrick said with a satisfactory nod.

"Father. Where's mom?"

"She's paying your future wife a visit. It's one of those mother-daughter sort of things." Daniel looked at his son with an air of pride and smiled.

"Take a deep breath, lad. This is supposed to be a legendary occasion, not a funeral."

"Sorry about that, Ulf. It's not the wedding itself that has me uptight so much as seeing so many folks here all in one place. I know that things started off very rocky for everyone, and this whole thing still feels so unreal. Never in a million years did I think we would ever come this far."

Ulfgar patted Kaleb on the shoulder. "And come far, you did. You and Amalthia are the first marital union in Tyira between human and charr. That is no small feat in and of itself."

His father gave him a reassuring hug as well. "Ulfgar's right, son. Through everything, you've never wavered in your conviction. This is as proud a day for me as it is for you and your bride."

Ludrick gave his future-son-in-law a pat on the shoulder as well then saluted with his fist to his chest. "Kaleb. Two years ago, you walked through that door in my butcher shop and everything I had ever known changed forever. You brought light into my cub's heart and hope to this old warrior once more. Even though you may not have fur, large teeth or horns, I feel that deep down you are as much of a charr as I am. If there is anyone on the face of Tyria who is worthy of my cub, it is you Kaleb Grimwald."

Everyone heard a noticeable sniffle coming from the mighty norn. "Baw! You've done and gotten me all sentimental ya old warbeast."

Kaleb gave the charr a tight bear hug as tears dribbled from his eyes and onto his future father-in-law's dark orange fur.

***

The usher called into Amalthia's tent letting her know that the ceremony would begin within the hour. As she was finishing up some last minute details, the usher also stated that Shirley Grimwald wanted to see her privately.

"She may come in."

The tent door opened and in walked Kaleb's mother, who was dressed in a conservative plain long dress. She approached her soon-to-be daughter-in-law then quietly pulled up a chair as she sat directly in front of her.

"That sylvari did an impeccable job making that dress," Shirley said as she began straightening out the pleats along the front.

Amalthia helped her with the hem. "That she did. I really like what she did to the backside. It doesn't bunch up around my tail at all. Not that such a thing is an issue with your people."

Shirley paused for a moment before responding. "About that topic Miss Steelblade..."

"Grimwald-Steelblade, if you don't mind. And Mrs please. It's a title we will all have to get used to," Amalthia said without looking at Kaleb's mother.

Shirley struggled to make conversation. "Please understand, Amalthia. I know you and I do not see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. But I also know that my son thinks the world of you, even though I have yet to understand what he sees that I don't."

"And your point, Mrs. Grimwald?"

Shirley could no longer contain her emotions. "Dammit! I still don't understand why my son picked a woman who is as rude and crass as you. If I were a man, I would object to this whole affair before either of you could take your first vows. That's what I would do, Miss Steelblade."

Amalthia shook her head then said in an unemotional tone. "But you are not a man, thank Pyreshot. I would like to like you, Mrs. Grimwald, but what you've presented me so far hasn't given me reason for changing my perception of you."

"So just what is your perception of me, Amalthia?"

"I think you are a woman who is deathly fearful of change. Look. I did not choose to intentionally seek out a human lover. My love for Kaleb just happened. Not everything that we are taught is necessarily the right path. There are some among us, of all races in fact, who travel to the beat of a different drum. Kaleb and I are such people. The sooner you accept that fact, the sooner you will feel a greater sense of happiness."

"I am trying to accept this, I really am. It's just so hard knowing that he is giving up his chance of having children who are his own. You are giving up your chance as well. Who's to say if this whole thing wears off you won't go..."

"Stop right there, Mrs. Grimwald. In case you were never informed, I cannot even bear children of my own. A war wound saw to that. Here, I'll show you. I developed an infection in my uterus that all but ruined my reproductive ability." Amalthia promptly lifted up her dress then showed Shirley the small scar that crossed her lower abdomen.

Stunned, Mother Grimwald said nothing as she reached out to touch the scar tissue.

"I... I'm soo sorry. I didn't know... Please forgive me for making such a cruel statement," she began to cry once more.

"Ignorant, yes. Cruel? No." Amalthia lowered her gown then reached out and held her soon-to-be mother-in-law by the shoulders, as she looked her in the face. "I don't hate you Mrs. Grimwald. You raised a fine son and I'm very honored to be his wife. Once you get to know me, I think you may actually grow to like me just a little."

The usher stopped by once more indicating that the ceremony was close at hand. Both Shirley and Amalthia waved him off as the two ladies smiled at each other for the first time.

"Be a good wife to my son, Amalthia."

She looked at her future mother-in-law in the eyes and said in a resolute voice.

"I will."

***

Ulfgar stood at the podium all dressed in his finest regalia. Below him, stood Kaleb who was anxiously waiting for his bride to come down the aisle. To his right stood his best men - Brad, Krenesh, Jestin and Bogo. Their outfits were designed to match in spite of the physical size and proportion difference between human and charr. To Ulfgar's right stood the bridesmaids - Cynthia, Ariyana, Navina and the most unusual of all Tovu.

The aisle was lined with soldiers from both the legions and the Seraph. Each one instructed to hold their swords aloft in criss-cross fashion when the bride walked down the aisle.

Moments later, the final wedding theme began to play. Katie began dropping petals of jasmine and lilac flowers as she walked by followed closely by her older sister, Rachel (who was the ring bearer).

Once the two girls found their places. The ode to the wedding march began. Soldiers from both Seraph and legions drew their blades and meshed them together in staggered formation. Kaleb could see the swords withdrawing as his bride drew closer.

Amalthia strode lightly across the pedal-laden carpeted aisle as the last blade drew back from either side of her. She glanced up at Kaleb then gave him a wink. For his part, Kaleb was awestruck by her beauty. The gown she wore accentuated her best features, and reflected the amalgamation of two vastly different peoples. In spite of his old injuries, Ludrick summoned strength to walk his daughter down the aisle.

She helped hold him steady his gait the entire time until he found his seat at the front row. Once she had helped her father to his seat she stood next to Kaleb as the both of them turned to face Ulfgar.

The old norn smiled upon the bride and groom just as he was about to deliver his sermon.

"Today a legend is born. For today, for the first time in recorded Tyria's history, we are gathered here today to unite two souls from two very different peoples. On this special occasion, a human and a charr will be joined, not in bloody combat with each other, but in sacred matrimony."

Ulfgar turned to Kaleb. "The young man standing before me is one whom I have known since he was a pup. Never have I met a soul who is more good-natured, witty and willing to go the extra mile than this young man. I have seen his courage, his generous heart and his willingness to sacrifice himself for the sake of others. Kaleb Grimwald was a boy who did not know what his future would be. He was brash, independent and in many cases, foolish. But all that changed when he met the one soul who gave him a purpose."

The old norn then turned to Amalthia. "This young lady is like no charr I've ever met. In spite of her rather small size, she has the heart of a norn. She is bold and completely unafraid to say whatever's on her mind. Only she could tame the heart of the wayward boy whom I've known since he was pup."

Ulfgar gestured for Kaleb and Amalthia to face each other while holding hands. He took the rings from Rachel then handed the first one to Kaleb.

"There are no words, no ceremonies, no rituals that can adequately express what is about to transpire this day."

"Kaleb Grimwald - will you swear to give Amalthia your heart, your soul and keep her well in sickness and in health? Will you be there to comfort her when she is sad or downtrodden? Will you be there to bring joy and happiness into each other's lives? And will you promise to do these things for the rest of your days? What say you, lad?"

"I do," Kaleb said as he looked lovingly into Amalthia's eyes then slid the ring onto her finger.

"Amalthia Steelblade - will you swear to give Kaleb your heart, your soul and keep him well in sickness and in health? Will you be there to comfort him when he is sad or downtrodden? Will you be there to bring joy and happiness into each other's lives? And will you promise to do these things for the rest of your days? What say you, lass?"

"Of course!" She smiled as her ears twitched and she slid the band onto his finger.

"Then by the power vested in me and the Great Raven Spirit, I now pronounce you man and wife."

Ulfgar, then, smiled and said with a wink. "You two know the rest."

Kaleb and Amalthia embraced in a passionate kiss as cheers erupted from the crowd. The old norn waved for the newly married couple to face the audience then announced in his resonating voice.

"Behold, Kaleb and Amalthia Grimwald-Steelblade. May they both share many happy years together!"

Shortly thereafter, both were given plenty of hugs and well wishes by various friends and family. Kaleb, then, grabbed his wife by the hand and said. "You know what comes next, right?"

Amalthia and her new husband said in unison.

"Get toasted!"

(All chapters have been posted to AO3. Chapter 30 is posted here.)