#cultures in which REFUSING THE HOSPITALITY IS PART OF THE CULTURE!!!! where youre meant to say no many times as a show of respect and as th

[kn11ves]

i entirely agree that humans should depend on each other more and that we should try to approach people with open minds and not believe that they are out to get us, on that note, shaming and chastising people for not feeling comfortable to depend on other people and telling them that they need to fix it or they're actually MORE of a bother and a burden is probably not the best way to go about it

[ollierachnid]

10, 18, and 30 for those writer/artist asks :3

10) OC you most struggled to make?

Maybe not 'make' so much, but I definitely had to do the most research when developing Udham. I had to look into colonised India, mid 1800s fashion both in Punjab and England, names, religious customs and clothing, etc. It's a culture I wasn't taught about ever and so had to look into it myself, I've found a lot of good resources though luckily and it's been very interesting. A lot of developing the visuals for that universe involved a lot of dredging through fashion mags from the 1850s

18) Describe the setting of one or more of your wips

I have 3 "main" story wips I'm working on, none have names as of right now because I'm horrific at naming things lol, I really ought to have come up with smth but alas:

One (which is where the character above originates) is set during the mid 1850s, with the majority of the story occurring within the home of a layabout Victorian socialite, during and following a party he hosted. During this weekend-long gathering the guests witness the collision of a small meteorite, which unbeknownst to them contains extraterrestrial protist-like lifeforms, which possess a 'mind melding' aetiology and the event devolves into a miniscule epidemic as the residents and guests have to contend with the bizarre symptoms in a pre-germ theory era.

The 2nd of the main ones is set in the 1970s, rural Quebec, and follows two siblings (21 y/o Lou and 16 y/o Anne), after they leave home and attempt to find a stable place outside of their family. However, Lou manages to find both work and shelter in the form of a sleazy, perennially vacant motel, run by a shady, heavily disliked local family, things appear to look up for the both of them. However, Lou's job requirements slowly spiral into the immoral and macabre, and it starts falling apart at the seams. It's set kind of in the middle of nowhere, bitter, old industry western Quebecious town where only a few steadfast residents remain. It's meant to seem isolated but also too crowded and family, can't escape the few people around them.

The 3rd is a little bit more down to earth, but also a little bit more.. soap-opera, low-stakes. It's set in East London in the mid 2000s, primarily in council housing estates and understaffed hospitals. The protagonist, Spencer, is an addict into his most recent bout of sobriety when he finds out his ex partner passed, leaving him with an infant she had refused to let him see prior, due to her own paranoia. It's relatively gritty, if you walk through any low income part of the UK you'll see what I mean.

30) How are you doing? <3

I'm alright thanks! Just sort of cruising along

[ylkcheeeks]

No, that isn’t factual and is based on a really pessimistic reading of the rest of humanity. Look, I know things are bad in the world and everyone is a bit jaded after the past few years.

And I understand how, for someone who is already disgusted by something like abortion or gender nonconformity or being trans or gay or whatever else is Them in their Us versus Them culture war- people for whom those are not things which impact people they know, but something alien so they picture the Chick Tract version of why would a person xyz- it makes a sort of sense to figure “well anyone who would otherwise perform abortion care would let a pregnant person bleed out to make a political point” because liberals are already conveniently demonized by the talking heads on TV (or, lets be honest, YT). Like, I know a lot of folks who have a conservative political compass but consider themselves compassionate people can see how barring a two-spirit author from giving a talk or denying care to someone with an ectopic pregnancy which could never be viable will think (have thought) "surely there will be an exception or consideration in those cases! surely that isn't what they meant- they are just trying to protect kids!"

I’m sorry to put this so bluntly but the politicians and commentators alike have lied to you. These were foreseeable consequences to the language of the respective bills as written.

If the plain text of a piece of legislation says “no drag shows where there are kids” but doesn’t define “drag” then people who don’t want to be pulled into the middle of crossfire, who are moderate mild-mannered folk who read the Terms of Service before they click okay, will understand that, as written, it could mean a burlesque show with numbers that could headline in Vegas or it could mean a fashionable author who happens to not conform to cis expectations having a little book signing. It is so broadly written and there are so many people who are eager to get test cases to push the most extreme reading- the folks who really do think that the solution to Us versus Them is to hone society to exclude Them- that folks will self-censor and self-police.

There doesn’t need to be a cop helping you into the stirrups for your GYN to listen to the hospital’s legal department that says, due to the way the law is written, that they can’t do anything until your life is in danger. The legislation wasn’t written by doctors, it was written by politicians who went to law school in the 60s or 70s, and, to be blunt, the people behind these bills don’t actually care about the cruelty inflicted on the cases you have empathy for. It is, at best, acceptable collateral damage. Some of them are on the very conservative end of things where they will either dog whistle or straight out say they are fine with the cruelties hitting people well beyond who they spread fear about to get support and donations on the basis of that bill or the platform it’s part of.

They are already happy enough to hide behind “think of the children!” when they mean “think of my super PAC funds!” or, for the talking heads, “think of my advertising revenue!”, why would the foreseeable consequences for other people bother them? Especially if it’s just liberals, just gender freaks, just loose women, you know… Them. Not Us.

Individuals obeying these deliberately vague and far-sweeping laws aren’t the ones to side-eye if you have an issue with treating fellow travelers like trash to make a political point. Just this week the Supreme Court ruling about the wedding website “vendor” who wanted to be free to refuse service to couples whose marriages she thinks shouldn’t happen? Based on a hypothetical- hasn’t made any wedding websites and nobody asked for one either. It was a case brought specifically to establish precedent, not in response to a specific incident where her freedom of speech and someone else’s freedom from discrimination actually came into conflict. So folks who read a law with broad language and err on the side of caution aren’t all going to be mustache twirling Them (whether you infer they are a degenerate liberal willing to let someone suffer to make a point or a callous conservative willing to let someone suffer to make a point); most of them are just folks who just want to do their job and go home to dinner, so whether they think the law is bad or fine or doesn’t go far enough, they’re obeying it for the same reason people obey stop signs or say “unalive” on tiktok.

Anyhow! Have a 4th!

I know y'all should all know by now, but here is a current example of how drag bans actually ban trans people from existing in public spaces

This was the email that was sent to Adria Jawort, a two spirit author scheduled to speak at a Montana library, on the first day of pride month.

[honestgrins]

Can you write a Klaroline drabble where Caroline shows up in NOLA and shocks everyone but maybe Kol or Katherine when she says she's Klaus's wife? Cannon Caroline not original.

I Heard a Rumor

The club was filled with people and the chaos of a Friday night. Klaus preferred to avoid the rush of tourists, but Marcel kept the VIP lounge to a more tolerable set even during peak hours - usually.

“Don’t you just love this place?” Janet was hanging over the balcony to watch the crowds below, none too subtly pushing her ass back toward him. As one of the humans on staff to provide a live blood source, she was perfectly amiable to Klaus. He’d even become something of a regular customer for her given his penchant for the tinge of bourbon in her taste. However, it seemed she took the friendly flirtation of their transactions to heart, and she was testing his patience for more. 

Unfortunately for her, his patience was wearing thin. With a barely polite grimace, he downed the rest of his drink and made to stand. “It’s a bit rowdier than I like, love, so—”

She gave a rapturous giggle, only to fall into his lap and sprawl across him. “I like that you call me ‘love,’” she murmured, her mouth clumsy against his ear. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll show you how much I like it.”

Rolling his eyes, Klaus was ready to speed out of there without bothering to set her back on her feet. The only thing that kept him in his crowded seat was the biting and all too familiar voice coming from behind him.

“Sorry, love, he won’t be available to accept whatever appreciation you have in mind.”

Both surprised — though for very different reasons — they turned to see Caroline Forbes facing them with a pageant-ready smile and murder in her eyes. She was stunning. Klaus couldn’t help a grin despite his earlier annoyance, and his brow arched in challenge. “Hello, sweetheart. Fancy meeting you here.”

Her jaw shifted almost imperceptibly to the left, but his companion didn’t seem to sense the rising tension as a threat. “Who the hell are you?”

Just like that, Caroline’s smile turned sharp with her fangs on full display. “I’m his wife, and you’re in my seat.”

The club was home to any number of vampires who heard her perfectly over the music, and more than a few froze at the sudden silence coming from him. The Klaus Mikaelson they knew would have reacted instantly, either with murder or some other violence, and they all seemed to wait for the ensuing mayhem. Even Janet finally grasped the discomfort of the moment, and she extricated herself from his lap with all the delicacy a human could manage. “I’ll just— Yeah, bye.”

Whatever show the club was waiting for, Klaus had more pressing concerns. “Shall we continue this interesting discussion at home?” he asked, though they both knew it wasn’t a question. Gently gripping Caroline’s arm, he flashed them back to the manor. He heard Kol and Rebekah meandering somewhere, and Elijah was likely on the premises as well. With that in mind, he brought her to the privacy of his studio and its soundproofing spell. Wisely, she waited until the door was shut to yank her arm free with a disgruntled huff. He merely smiled as he went to pour them some blooded wine. “That was quite the display you gave, sweetheart,” he said lightly, handing her a glass. “I have to admit: I didn’t see it coming.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped, setting aside the drink without indulging. His lips pursed; it was an excellent vintage, yet he was more perturbed at her outright refusal of his hospitality. Perhaps this wasn’t their usual spat to be easily resolved. Proving just that, she seemed truly distraught. “You promised to leave Mystic Falls, that my life was my own.”

“It is. I haven’t stepped foot in Virginia since that day.” Brow furrowed, Klaus felt an urgent need to reassure her. “I understand you need time to accept what I’m offering, and I am prepared to wait however long it takes. What on earth made you believe I’m encroaching on that promise?”

Last he heard, she wasn’t even in the States. They did chat by phone every so often, and when she’d mentioned a tour abroad, he had offered a list of his various estates that would be available to her should she wish. It was the caretaker of his dacha outside of Moscow who alerted him to her softening boundaries. He certainly had no intention of making her regret the change, let alone whatever caused this latest upset.

Watching him with suspicion, Caroline apparently wasn’t sure of his intentions at all. “Seriously? It wasn’t bad enough I ran into the stalkers you have ‘looking out for me’ in every city, but the one time I take you up on borrowing a place, you have the staff literally bowing to me. I wrote it off as a cultural thing at first, then I heard the whispers.”

“Though I refute your accusations of stalking, I will admit to warning some friends and enemies you are not to be trifled with in your travels. As for Dmitri, I merely asked him to welcome you as an honored guest, which you are.” 

She scoffed and crossed her arms in defiance. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t welcoming me as an honored guest. I overheard him chatting with his wife about meeting ‘the new mistress of the house.’”

Klaus shrugged, unconcerned. Satisfied the situation wasn’t more dire, he allowed himself to relax on his sofa, daring to pat the spot next to him. Caroline remained unmoved, and he rolled his eyes. “Perhaps the nature of your significance was lost in translation. You’re the one who came to my town and introduced yourself as my wife.”

“Because half of Russia thinks I am your wife!” With an indignant stamp of her foot, she seemed ready to tear her hair out — but she frowned more sedately at the blankness on his face. “You didn’t know?” 

Shaking his head, he honestly had no idea. “What happened, Caroline?”

Finally taking her drink, she dropped to the couch beside him with an embarrassed groan. “I stepped into exactly one vampire club, and people practically threw themselves out of my path. I assumed it was more of the same from you, until the guy I was flirting with was suddenly yanked away by a friend. He went white when he was told my husband would tear out his intestines and shove them down his throat.”

“A bit uncreative, that.”

“Klaus!”

“I don’t know,” he insisted, his frustration growing to match hers. Rubbing a hand across his mouth, he genuinely had no idea why anyone would think him married. Though he had many hopes and plans involving Caroline in his future, matrimony was a human tradition he’d never once considered. “Truly, this didn’t come from me.”

Sighing, she leaned back into the couch and nursed her wine, defeated. “Oh. Then, sorry for cockblocking, I guess.”

Klaus smirked at that, and he turned to face her more fully. “Are you really?” The lightest blush stained her cheeks, and he knew she was biting her tongue at the faint scent of her blood. Unable to resist, he reached his hand to rest on the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing into her hair. “New Orleans is a small town at heart, love, and you effectively announced yourself as my wife in the middle of town square.”

“To be fair, I thought you had told the whole world, and I wasn’t going to be the only one not getting laid because of it.”

“Ah.” He was torn between a wince and a laugh, so he settled for another sip of his drink instead. His other hand continued to massage her scalp, and he felt the tension slowly loosening within her. “I never meant to restrict your choices,” he promised. “Tempt you into choosing me, absolutely, but not like this.”

Finally, she relaxed into him, slouching until he could tuck her against his side. Some doubt lingered, though, he could tell. Perhaps it was a sign of growth on both their parts that he didn’t take offense and that she trusted him enough be honest. “But who else would want to spread a rumor like that about us? It’s not like anyone benefits if we really did do the Vegas wedding thing.”

His mouth twitched, and he flashed to the door, barely sparing a brief kiss to the top of her head. He tore it open, only for her to slam it shut again. Pressing her back to the wood, she kept a heavy glare on him. “Put those away, we both know you’re not going to bite me.”

With a reluctant growl, he forced his fangs to recede. “It’s not your blood I want at the moment, and it’s certainly not pleasure I seek.”

“Yeah, ‘cause revenge isn’t a pleasure for you,” she answered snidely. “Tell me what’s going on before you kill the blabbermouth.”

“This is something I have to do myself, sweetheart.”

“Hi, I might want to help! They screwed with both of us here, not just you.”

A half-smile formed without permission, the fondness he felt for her softer than he was comfortable acknowledging at the moment — especially when someone had proven all too willing to use their connection against him. “Few in New Orleans know about you, let alone your...effect on me. Only two would maliciously speak out of turn about that. And just one of those would dare to bind you to me forever, lest I be challenged to follow through.”

Her face was an open book to him, and he hoped she never lost that human nature to share every feeling she had as it happened. Confusion, calculation, consternation, they all boiled down to an annoyed scrunch of her nose. “Your family knows I exist, at least, I think so. I never actually met Elijah, but you two seem to have gotten over whatever grudge match was going on at home.” He gave a brief nod, fascinated at the determined way she thought it through. “I also doubt you told him about your fling with a baby vampire. Kol and Rebekah, on the other hand, probably didn’t need to be told.”

“Bekah still likes to complain that we defiled the entire wood within earshot,” he muttered, not that he could be particularly aggrieved at the memory of a sunny afternoon. “And you are no mere fling, Caroline.”

That lovely blush rose again, and she looked anywhere but at him as he crowded her against the door. Gently brushing the curtain of her hair back from her face, Klaus waited for her to gather herself. After a deep breath, she finally met him with a half-hearted glare. “Which Rebekah loathes, so she’s definitely not daring you to marry me by telling everyone else you already have.”

Silently agreeing, he hadn’t lowered his hand from where it settled on her cheek, and a thrill came when she leaned into it. “Kol, however, enjoys sowing chaos wherever he goes.”

“Yeah,” she groaned. “That sounds on brand, and I played right into it with this stupid payback stunt.”

“We always did share a flair for the dramatic.”

The laugh built in her throat before it burst out, filling the air between them until they were both smiling like fools. Her hands had curled into his shirt, one at his hip and the other over his heart. The slight tug of fabric was tempting, but he still kept his tentative distance. “I promised you time, and I meant it.”

Biting her lip, Caroline nodded. She didn’t let go of his shirt, either. “Does it have be all or nothing right now?” It was half a whisper, the barest hint of whine in her voice endearing. “Because you smell really good and it’s been a long time thanks to your stupid brother, and I might have missed you more than I realized, so can you just kiss me alrea—”

There would be consequences from the rumors of their marriage, and more than just those Kol would face. Caroline would be a target, either for those seeking Klaus’s favor or those out to destroy him. Her presence or absence from his daily life would be a noted occurrence, and more rumors would arise should they be seen with others instead. New pressures would exert force on the evolution of their relationship, something he had measured in decades and centuries without such attention. But they could deal with those consequences in time, together.

Later.

[samanthadalton]

Star crossed lovers (au)

pairings: poppy x mc (bea) 

warnings: throughout this fic (there will be a bunch of parts to it) there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide 

reader discretion is advised

(this chapter is more about setting up the basis of the story so is more context than anything else, part 2 will be more interesting I swear 😭, also it’s like 4am so if there’s any gramatical mistakes I’ll fix it later) 

taglist: @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @cloud9in @simpforpoppy @ognenniyvolk (I’m pretty sure this is my tag list if you wanna be added or taken off for future chapters just ask 😊) 

word count: 3.6k 

Part 1: The introduction

As the sun began to set, the houses along the street began to bask in its warm glow. The neighbourhood is quiet, like always, excluding the occasional car engine rumbling through the roads until they disappear into the distance and once again the silence is deafening. This neighbourhood was your typical suburban type, their structures stood tall and bold. Looking from an aerial point of view, one could argue that it’s almost like the houses have been copied and pasted along the street, they almost look perfect. One theory is that they were purposely made to look like they're perfect because they don’t want anyone to find out their secrets. It’s harder to catch a true glimpse when everything looks flawless.

If you compare the northside and the southside of Greensburg, it makes it seem like they’re living in two different worlds and maybe they are. The polarisation between the rich and the poor only becomes bigger, demonstrated by the high socio-economic backgrounds of those who lived in the north who go to the best schools, have the best jobs and sometimes own more than one house. Compared to those in a low socio economic background in the south, who usually have to work two jobs just to feel some sort of financial stability in their lives or have no choice but to indulge in illegal jobs just so they can feel some sort of power and superiority and have money of course. Only a few in the south are able to lead a straight and narrow life and successfully do it without having to engage in the culture of illegal activities. 

Bea Hughes, a girl who lives in Greensburg is someone who managed to immerse herself in both worlds. She used to be part of the upper class lifestyle but after life fucked her and her family over at the tender age of 8 years old, she was pulled into another world, one that she quickly had to acquaint herself with, because in the south, survival matters. The luxuries she once knew as a kid had disappeared and she constantly lived in a fight or flight situation. Now as her senior year of high school looms ahead, she finds herself still living in a similar situation, but instead of dealing with gangs or her addict of a mother, she had to deal with stuck up rich kids in Greensburg’s most prestigious school, Belvoire, which may have been her toughest obstacle of all. Against all odds, Bea managed to earn a scholarship at this private school when she was 15, and in order to keep her place, she has to maintain a 4.0 GPA, join at least one extra curricular activity and immerse herself into the culture of the school (whatever that meant). 

Even though life managed to be shitty most of the time, there was one constant, one thing that made life worth living, one thing that made her the happiest…

“Crap”, the brunette clung onto the branch of the tree trying to regain her footing after narrowly avoiding her death (or more likely a trip to the hospital). After recovering from her mild slip, she rapped on the window beside her and a few seconds later the window slides open and as she enters the room she trips up on her own feet landing face down on the floor. 

“Real smooth”

Bea chuckles at the snark comment as she looks up and as the sunlight shines through the window, it highlights all the features of the other girl. She was shorter than Bea (although not in this moment since Bea was practically laying on the floor), her facial features were sharp and her strawberry blonde hair fell perfectly around her shoulders. Her plush pink lips were curled up in a small smile as she offered a hand to the girl to help her up. 

“I totally meant to do that” Bea takes her hand and lifts herself off the floor, and after she quickly dusts herself off and grabs the blonde’s wrist pulling her towards her while her other hand settles on her waist. “So how much time do we have?”

The petite girl wounds her arms around the taller girl’s neck and slightly tip toes to whisper, “my dad has dinner with a bunch of investors so he’s not going to be back until midnight”. A huge smile appears on her face as she leans back slightly taking in the appraising look of the brunette. 

“Perfect”. 

Bea moves in to kiss the blonde, passion already igniting as their tongues tangle in a fight for dominance until Bea suddenly pulls away, foreheads touching, eyes blazing with desire as she whispers against the other girl’s lips, “I missed you Pops”. 

The other girl rolls her eyes and unwinds her arms from Bea’s neck, slightly pushing her back and while maintaining eye contact she walks backwards towards the bed and sits on the edge, “shuttup, you literally saw me yesterday” her tone attempting to come across as catty but instead comes out in a more playful manner. 

Bea raises an eyebrow as she saunters to where the girl is sitting and places two fingers under the girl’s chin lifting her face until their eyes meet, “so? I’m suddenly not allowed to miss my girlfriend?” She leans in, her lips ghosts around the blonde’s lips. 

“You talk too much, come on we’re wasting daylight” the blonde grabs Bea’s shirt and pulls her down onto the bed with her as they tussle in the sheets, lips crashing against one another reigniting the same passion from the kiss before. 

“Poppy..” Bea all but moans when Poppy places wet kisses along her jawline and begins biting at her neck. Not wanting her to have all the fun, Bea suddenly flips Poppy over pressing her deeper into the mattress as she ravenously kisses her, as if Poppy is the only one who can satiate her desire, and honestly speaking? She probably is. 

“No more foreplay, I want you now” Poppy breathlessly says, breaking the heated kiss. Bea sits up to straddle Poppy, intertwining both hands with hers and places it above the blonde’s head and grinds on her hips earning a low groan from Poppy. 

“Ask and you shall receive my queen”

In response, Poppy rolls her eyes and her tongue darts out of her mouth, teasingly moving against her own soft lips and as Bea leans in for another kiss her slender fingers move lightly above Poppy’s inner thigh, touching everywhere except where Poppy wanted her the most. After a few pleads from the blonde, Bea finally indulges her desires and they moved in perfect syncopation. 

….. 

After a while, Bea and Poppy collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied recovering from their physically demanding rendezvous. Bea lays on her back with one arm behind her head and one arm wrapped around the petite girl who fit perfectly in her larger frame. Poppy relaxes her head on Bea’s chest, feeling lulled by her heartbeat which brings her a sense of calm and security. Bea softly kisses her forehead and looks down at the girl, entranced by her beauty, enrapturing the way her breaths are slightly longer and deeper than usual, the way her hair falls around her face and how her fingers subconsciously ghost around Bea’s stomach drawing lazy shapes. 

Poppy Min Sinclair, a 5’2 blonde beauty who is Bea’s entire world. Everything about her screams perfection in Bea’s eyes. She’s a straight A student, captain of the cheerleading team, and likes to spend time volunteering at her local animal shelter and is secretly an amazing artist. Though her family was one of the richest families in Greensburg, Poppy wasn’t your average highschool rich girl. Though she would often go on regular shopping sprees and refuse to wear anything that wasn’t designer (unless it was Bea’s clothes), she never treated Bea any differently than how others would. She was a bright girl, who was loving, friendly, fierce when she needed to be and extremely loyal. When it was just her and Bea she could show her true self, not pretend to be someone she’s not or play a certain role, she could just simply be Poppy instead of Poppy Min Sinclair. Poppy often felt the gravity that came with her name, especially since that’s all her father pressured her to be, a Min Sinclair. 

Hayden Min Sinclair, Poppy’s father, owned an entire empire of companies, differentiating from technology based businesses to architecture and finance. To say he was a businessman was putting it lightly, he was almost like a god or at least someone who was highly worshipped by business moguls. He built up his family’s name and within a decade he was a force to be reckoned with. Hayden Min Sinclair worked his ass off to lift his companies off the ground because as a person of colour he knew he would have to work 10x harder to get what he wanted. All he ever wants is life for his daughter to be easy, the irony is, that he’s one of the main reasons why it’s so hard. 

He’s a man of honour and pride and has never expected anything less from his daughter, hoping she would keep the dignity attached to the Min Sinclair name and bring it to new heights. So his traditionalist and conservative views means that he’s expecting Poppy to marry a man, who’s also an aristocrat, in which Bea is 0 for 2 for Poppy’s father’s expectations. Hence, Bea and Poppy have to keep their relationship a secret, a way to protect both Poppy and her future but also Bea from Mr Min Sinclair’s wrath. Reputation means everything to the Min Sinclairs and to Mr Min Sinclair specifically, especially after Poppy’s mother passed away when Poppy was 10 after an unfortunate incident of a drunken hit and run which left Poppy permanently broken from the loss of her mother but had all the socialites gossiping about the tragedy for months. To this day Poppy and her father still mourn her loss and Poppy often turns to Bea for comfort, for her companionship could provide the means of making her forget the empty presence of her mother that was left behind. 

They’d known each other since they were 7, when Bea used to live in the very same neighbourhood after the Min Sinclair’s moved into the neighbourhood, and they spent almost every waking hour together, attached by the hip. They were the best of friends and almost nothing could get in their way. Emphasis on the ‘almost’. 

When Bea’s father left Bea’s mother, Isabella when Bea was 8 and her sister Aria was 2, after finding out that Aria wasn’t his child as a result of a one night stand Isabella had, Bea’s family struggled to afford to live in the neighborhood especially since Bea’s father was the breadwinner of the house and their main source of income. After a series of bad decisions resulting in Bea’s mother losing her job as a banker, the 3 girls were forced to move to the south of Greensburg since it was the only thing they could afford. 

Bea and Poppy were still inseparable at this point, either Bea would take 2 buses to go to Poppy’s house or Poppy would call the family’s driver so she could go over the Bea’s. The breaking point for their friendship was the day when Bea’s mother once took the girls to the park when they were 11 and after she had gotten so intoxicated to the point she threw up in front of all the children, and Poppy’s father prohibited Poppy from seeing Bea again. 

“That girl and her family will bring shame to our family’s name, imagine what your mother would say” Poppy can still hear her father’s words ringing in her head from time to time, but everytime she looks at Bea, all her expectations would disappear and she would just simply be happy.

They began dating when they were 14, after Poppy had managed to scrounge up all her courage to kiss Bea on valentine’s day, after the two girls had snuck away to a diner to hang out like they would usually do. Poppy looked as if she was going to pass out from embarrassment when Bea didn’t reciprocate the kiss at first, however in Bea’s defence she was more startled than anything else. When Poppy was about to apologise Bea moved in and gave Poppy a sweet and chaste kiss on the lips and from then they decided they would be together. Bea couldn’t believe her luck when she was able to call Poppy hers, she felt like she didn’t have much to offer Poppy as she had yet to have earned the scholarship to Belvoire, the same school that Poppy had been attending. As well as coming from a troubled family life she didn’t want to implicate Poppy in any way but staying away from her had proven to be too difficult. 

The consequences of their forbidden love was much harder on her than it was on Poppy, still nevertheless she would do anything for Poppy, which was proven time and time again when they have to act like strangers at school. In spite of that, the stolen glances, the stolen moments, the stolen kisses, it made it all worth it. 

“Are you ready for school tomorrow” Poppy’s soft voice vibrated against Bea’s chest. 

Bea lets out a soft chuckle, “What do you think Pops? I’m the school’s lonely girl”

Bea’s reputation at Belvoire could not be worse, in a school filled with entitled brats, it was difficult for her to make any friends considering her economic background. She also couldn’t rely on Poppy and her popularity since she couldn’t be within any vicinity of the girl she loves. Bea and Poppy’s friends had a history of not getting along, and since Poppy couldn’t allow the true nature of her relationship with Bea to come to light, Bea had to deal with all sorts of harassment and bullying from them. Bea often had to remind herself that she was only a target because with money comes a lot of entitlement, especially from snobby teenagers. Moreover, the consequences of her mother’s actions also didn’t help Bea as the stories followed her everywhere, causing all sorts of rumours to spread like wildfire. 

Poppy lifted her head slightly to look into Bea’s eyes, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant it’s the last year of highschool, that means one last chance for us to win nationals and for you to come on top for volleyball.”

As mentioned beforehand, the extra curricular Bea chose to partake in was volleyball, not only did being part of a winning sports team look good on a college application, it also helped Bea with releasing her pent up anger and dominating her competition. Her favourite thing in particular was the smaller group of cheerleaders, including Poppy, who were at every game after Poppy made a compelling argument to the principle about the importance of raising school spirit in all sport related inquiries. Bea would often steal a glimpse at Poppy, who always came up with extra dance moves and cheers, sending secret messages that she was rooting for her girlfriend. 

“One more year of highschool, do you know what that means Pops?” Bea smiled devilishly at Poppy who returned the smile and leaned her face in, lips ghosting around Bea’s. 

“Why don’t you remind me?”

Bea grabbed the blonde’s waist and stole a quick kiss, “One more year means that next year we’ll both be in New York, and we can finally be together for real”. 

“I can’t wait to live off campus with you, we should start looking at places now so we can get ahead and find a good place sin-” Bea cuts her off with a kiss while Poppy smiles, “I hate when you interrupt me with kisses”

“No you don’t”

“You’re right I don’t, but you better not slack this year Bea Hughes otherwise I’ll beat your ass if you don’t get into Columbia”

“I would never, I’m literally a better student than you babe. I would say you shouldn’t slack either but we all know daddy’s going to help you get into NYU.”

Poppy playfully slaps Bea on the arm who just laughs, “hey, no way in hell am I going to use the Min Sinclair name like that, when” (she made sure to put extra emphasis as she spoke) “I get into NYU it will be because of how amazing and talented I am” 

“Not to mention damn right gorgeous and smart and incredibly flexible”

Poppy moves to straddle Bea, hands on either side of her head and she leans in, “hmm, you think the admission office will be looking at those particular things?” her tone teasing and inviting. 

Bea attempts to move her head up only for Poppy to quickly place her perfectly manicured hand around her neck and push her down, Bea’s eyes flash as her voice pulsates with desire, “well I’ll definitely be looking, for educational reasons of course”

Poppy breaks out into a wide grin as the girls share a passionate kiss, tongues tangled together as they fight for dominance, Bea tries to envelop Poppy’s entire mouth with her kiss but Poppy’s unrelenting perseverance pushes through as she tightens the grip around Bea’s neck, pushing her deeper into the mattress. Bea succumbs to Poppy’s kisses and allows the blonde’s tongue to explore the inside of her mouth, getting lost in the wave of pleasure that emanates from Poppy’s lips. 

After a few more kisses, Bea looks at the digital clock sitting on top of Poppy’s dresser, “damn it’s getting late I should go”

“Wha- it’s barely 10 o’clock”, Poppy pouts as her eyebrows furrow slightly. 

“I know” Bea places a hand on Poppy’s face gently brushing against her cheekbone, “but you need your 8 hours of sleep and I gotta make sure everything is ready for Aria tomorrow”. 

Poppy sighs defeatedly as she knows how important Bea’s half sister is to her, she’s practically an older sister to Aria and is also incredibly protective of her too. “Well tell Aria I said hi”

Bea moves to stand and Poppy grabs her hand, “wait, you didn’t tell me, how’s your mom?”

Bea nonchalantly shrugged and gazed at the floor, “same old, same old, she drinks herself into oblivion not giving a shit about the rest of us” 

Poppy rubbed comforting circles on Bea’s hand, “don’t worry Bea one day it will get better” 

Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “I’ve been saying that for almost 10 years”

She stalks over to the window and lets half of her body hang out ready to reach out to the tree, Poppy moves over and gives Bea one last lingering kiss, “You know you can use the front door, my dad’s not here”

“Yeah I know but it’s always so awkward when I run into Rita at this time because she knows that I’m screwing you”, Bea smiles while Poppy raises an eyebrow

“Screwing me?”

“Sorry I meant making love to you” she gives Poppy a quick kiss 

“Much better, and anyways Rita doesn’t care, she’s been rooting for us this entire time”

“It’s okay, don’t worry P, I’ve been climbing in and out of these windows and over that gate for years, how else do you think I got these muscles”, she flexes her toned arms while Poppy runs a hand over them, “I love you”

“I love you too”, Poppy watches as Bea moves out of the window, gripping the tree and making her descent, “wait” she shouts down, “where did you leave your bike?”

Bea smiles up at her, “I parked it a couple of blocks away from here it’s fine, I’ll text you when I get home” she blows a kiss to Poppy and begins making her way over the gate and into the street which shone bright from the lampposts. Poppy sighs and closes her window and begins getting ready for bed until a knock at her door catches her attention. Rita, her nanny and keeper enters the room and looks at Poppy with a knowing glance, ‘Bea didn’t want to stay for dinner?’ 

Poppy laughs slightly and shakes her head, “no she had to get home to make sure her sister is okay”

Rita leaves a plate with a few cucumber and cheese sandwiches on the dresser, “don’t stay up too late Miss Min Sinclair,” and with that she gives a little wave and leaves the room closing the door behind her. After eating half of her sandwich and going through her extensive nighttime routine, she receives a text from Bea

💖 B

Just got home now 

Love you and goodnight my love

Poppy smiles at her phone and then sets her phone on her dresser, not before putting it on charge, and drifts off to sleep. 

Bea on the other hand was wide awake. When she safely parked her motorbike near her house and texted Poppy as she entered the house. She looked up from her phone into the dark room to see the tv quietly playing while her mother was passed out on the couch with a half drunk bottle of vodka on the table. She moved towards the couch covering her mom with a blanket and then went into her bedroom to check on her sister who was soundly sleeping in her bed. Bea headed into the kitchen took some cold pizza from the fridge and did some last minutes checks to make sure both her and her sister were equipped and ready for school tomorrow. She settled in her bed, her mind racing with thoughts about school and how challenging the first day back will be. 

read part 2: 

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are Weird: Humans choose who leads them, whoever they may be.

The shuttle slowly descended from the clouds and settled on the landing pad, steam and exhaust coming off it in thick clouds.  Representative Klic of the Kodani Federation, Sansavah of the Mortachi Empire, and Yvondri of the Union of Planets all waited to the side of the platform as the clouds blew away.  “What do you know of this new human ambassador?” Sansavah asked out loud while staring at the shuttle crews no rushing over. “Not much if anything.” Klic remarked. Sansavah looked at Yvondri who shrugged. “Aside from his name not much. This one was chosen so swiftly that my people did not have enough time to dig up any vital information on them.” Klic’s mandibles twitched as he let out a chuckle. “You mean anything worth blackmailing them over don’t you?” It was Yvondri’s turn to shrug. “I have no idea what you are implying but I would suggest you terminate that line of inquiry before you take this conversation somewhere less cordial.” “Enough you two.” Sansavah said, “They’re opening the shuttle doors now. Let us greet this new ambassador.”  The three of them along with their hangers-on stepped out on to the shuttle pad. As they drew closer to the shuttle the hatch finally reached the ground revealing a staircase on the inside of the hatch. Two humans dressed in all black were the first to step out from the shuttle. They gazed around the surrounding area before descending the staircase and took up positions, ready to intercept any threat to their ambassador. Sansavah never understood why human’s needed such security even in the most secure places such as the capital city, but given what he had read about their history their leaders had a dreadful tendency to be murdered.  After the guards had taken their positions another human stepped into view. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing what human’s would consider to be the finest garments available to them. He gazed down at the assembled group and smiled before stepping down the steps, his black bag stretched across his shoulder.   Sansavah assumed that this was the new human ambassador they had been told of and outstretched his hand. “On behalf of the galactic congress of planets we welcome you, Ms. Hannah Isaac.” The human appeared suddenly uncomfortable and did not return the gesture. The other dignitaries began feeling uncomfortable as well thinking they had somehow offended the human. Human customs were so odd that there were several dozen ways of greeting a human ranging from a physical embrace to punching them in the jaw. The delegates had decided that the widely accepted shaking of appendages would work best. Now they were thinking they should have gone with the punch to the face.  “I am honored by your introduction and friendliness but I feel there has been some mistake.” the human said while smiling. He pulled out a strange device from his bag and began taking several steps away from the staircase. “My name is Morgan Murphy, I’m a reporter for the International Herald. I’ve been assigned to this to cover the arrival of ambassador Issac.” Sansavah was about to ask additional questions when the reporter Murphy trained his strange device back up to the plane. He turned and saw a new figure emerging from the plane. The figure resembled a humanoid shape, one even would say that it would be considered desirable to many of the opposite gender. One might even find themselves mistaking the figure entirely for being human were it not for the additional limbs sprouting from their back. Aside from the normal arms and legs of a human, this new person had four segmented quill like limbs extending from her back trailing along the ground as if they were some sort of exotic cape. But what really gave it away was the spider like face they wore. A dozen eyes glittering in the light and several mandibles protruding outward from where a human mouth would be.  The new figure slowly stepped down the staircase while Sansavah could hear the reporters strange device making clicking sounds as they moved around into different positions.  Upon reaching the bottom of the steps the new figure extended a slender hand with three talon fingers causing some of the other delegates to take a step back.  “It is a pleasure,” the figure announced, “to be greeted with such hospitality.” Sansavah grasped the extended hand and shook it as he had watched other humans do in videos. He couldn’t help but notice the fingers were slightly slimy and cooler making him wipe his hands on his clothes.  “May I inquire as to who you might be?” Sansavah asked. “Are you another delegate that joined ambassador Issac on her travels here? The insect figures mandibles twitched in a similar way as Klics had as if to chuckle. “I AM ambassador Issac.” Hannah Issac said to the surrounding party.  For what felt like an eternity no one said a word. Hannah cocked her head to the side and just continued to stare at the delegates while the reporter continued taking pictures.  “But you are not...” Yvondri started but couldn’t finish. The delegates shuffled from side to side in unease until Klic pressed to the front of the group. “This is a human joke yes? Human humor is still so unknown to us.” Klic stepped passed Hannah and gazed upward at the shuttle door. “Is the real ambassador going to come out soon or are they unwell?” As Klic stepped passed Hannah his foot stepped on several of the segmented spines behind her causing her to jolt suddenly.  Without a word the security stepped forwards and grabbed Klic. “What!?!??” Klick stammered as they picked him off Hannah’s quills and pulled him away. “What is the meaning of this?!??”  Yvondri stepped forward from the group. “This is not how you treat a galactic ambassador! Or do humans do things differently on your world?!!” The guards pulled back Klic and pushed him back towards the delegates. “If you hurt our ambassador again, “ one of the guards spoke looking directly at Klic “ then we will consider it aggression, which we are authorized to use lethal force to prevent further danger to our ambassador.” As the guard finished his sentence Sansavah noticed one of their hands brushing aside their black coats to reveal a holstered weapon.  Klic and Yvondri were about to continue with their argument when Sansavah stepped in front of them. “My apologies, we meant no disrespect.” “Hmph!” Hannah said as the quills suddenly became alive and coiled in front of her as she massaged them. “So is it part of your culture that when an ambassador arrives your first act is to insult them and then step on their limbs? I see I was too early when I said I was pleased by your hospitality.”  As Sansavah continued talking trying to iron things out Klic and Yvondri pulled the journalist aside. “Is that truly your ambassador?” They asked him. He seemed confused at the notion. “Yes, that is humanities ambassador.” “And you realize that they are not human?” Murphy snorted. “Well that’s pretty obvious isn’t it? Or did you think all humans have four quills that can rip flesh apart like paper?” Klic realized in horror that had the guards not stepped in he may have been killed there and then. He also realized that he had seriously damaged relations right off the bat.  Klic and Yvondri withdrew and talked quietly. Could it be the humans are under this species control? Are they her slaves? Was it some sort of species invasion plan? They needed more information and quietly motioned to their nearby staff to begin gathering it as quickly as possible.  “That does not excuse his actions!”  Klic and Yvondri were drawn back to the conversation between Hannah and Sansavah just as Hannah let go of her quills and they slammed into the ground. “Your fellow ambassador stepped on me right after refusing to recognize me nor my position right after I told him who I was to his face. You can not imagine how insulted I am at this treatment!” Sansavah was desperate now to try and rebuild any form of positive relationship. Klic’s ignorance and disrespect was now looking like it had cost them a potential ally and would spread even further and damage their reputations as a whole.  “Again ambassador Issac you have my humblest apo-” Hannah raised her hand to silence him. “Your apologies mean nothing to me since it was not you who wronged me and the guilty party has yet to give apologies of their own.” Hannah turned and began walking back towards the shuttle. “Ambassador where are you going?”  Sansavah asked. “This meeting is over as of now and I am going back to my ship. I gave you my time because of the high regards the former ambassador gave you but I see that things have changed since then. Other ambassadors and representatives have asked for my time and I am sure they cannot disappoint me as much as you lot have.”  Sansavah turned sharply to Klic and glared at him with such intensity Klic felt like he was about to be murdered. “WAIT!” Klic flung himself on to his hands and knees just as security stepped in between him and Hannah. “I begged your forgiveness over my insulting and rude actions.I know it is no excuse but we had been led to believe that the new ambassador would be a human and I misunderstood the situation entirely. I humbly once again beg your forgiveness!” Hannahs eyes stared at Klic for several seconds in silence before she waved aside her guards. “ I do not forgive your rudeness,” she began causing  Sansavah to begin panicking all over again, “but I can understand your reasoning.”  She stepped forward and motioned for Klic to rise. “To ensure there are no further misunderstandings between us allow me to lay things out as clear and simple so any further insults will not be misunderstandings but intentional. Which will give me plenty of reasons to cancel all further talks between our peoples.”  She was throwing them a lifeline that they’d only get once and they all knew it. “As you say, I am not human.” Hannah began. “My species is known are the Aracnomolis, or Aracno for short. A space fairing people that sailed the stars for countless years after escaping our dying world on hive ships. Our fleet went system to system in a seemingly endless quest to find a new world to live on.” “Eventually we entered a system known as “Sol” which was the home system for humanity. Initially they thought us hostile, and aggressive species come to invade their worlds. It took many days of trial and error before we could properly communicate with them and tell them we were what they called “refugees”. Upon learning that they invited us to their homeworld to land.” Hannah snapped her fingers. “Just like that. There were some concerns about diseases we had or if there was enough room but after another few weeks we had settled in a barren area on the continent of “Australia”. The warm air and constant sunlight did wonders for us after being contained on our ships for so long.”  “This was all several generations ago but to fast forward to the interesting bit I was eventually born while my parents were on the planet. Thanks to a rule the humans enforced on their planet for some reason, if you were born on their planet you became a citizen with full rights and protections that were offered to other humans. I spent my youth studying alongside humans, learning both their culture and mine over the years until I was fluent with both.”  “But how does that explain how you now hold your current position as ambassador?” Klic asked. Hannah glared at him for interrupting her story but let out several breaths to calm down.  “The laws state that only a citizen of earth can obtain hold this position. I am a citizen so I can hold the position, why is that so hard to understand?” “I think my colleagues have been dancing around the main question,”  Yvondri cut in, “but I think their main confusion stems from the fact that you represent humanity on the galactic scale, but are not yourself human.”  The questioned seemed to upset the human security as Sansavah noticed them frowning. “There was a long time when many humans did not accept us because of that very reason.” Hannah admitted. “We were different, unknown, foreign to their norm and that upset them. Some openly spoke out against us saying we were inferior, while others attacked us and killed our people.” “But,” Hannah fully turned to face the delegates, “there were also those that listened to us and knew that while we appeared different we shared many of the same goals. A better tomorrow, success for our offspring, stability and security for our lives. Just as there were those that spoke out against us there were those that spoke in our defense.” She spread her arms before her, her quills softly twitching side to side. “You find it odd that I am not human and yet speak on humanities behalf, but humans elect ideals to represent them, not just people. I stand for freedom and understanding, reason and acceptance, loyalty and steadfastness.These traits are so ingrained into what represents humanity they see me as someone worthy to speak for them.” Hannah began walking and the group of delegates parted before her. “You may see me as something different, but to humanity I am just another human in different skin.”  Hannah continued walking away as her security followed her and the journalist followed soon after continuing to take pictures.  Klic stepped close to Sansavah and spoke softly. “Humans are even stranger than I had ever imagined, and that concerns me.” Sansavah chuckled. “That they are, but I would say you have bigger concerns right now.” Klic looked at him as he pointed to the journalist. “That human has a photo of you stepping on the human ambassadors quills after you insulted her.” The color drained from Klic’s face. “Do you think your federation will be pleased with such a deplorable show of disrespect?” “If I were you,” Yvondri spoke,” I would offer him a small moon as payment for them, and I would offer it soon before ambassador decides to use them herself.” Klic began looking back and forth between his fellow ambassadors before quickly running off after the journalist.    

[lithalwrites]

Sometimes Life is a Romcom

Chapter 10

“Tea shop number ten,” Wei Ying observed as he and Lan Zhan entered the shop. It was a small, cute shop tucked away in a corner in a strip mall. Wei Ying had never heard of it, and if he was reading Lan Zhan’s reactions right, he had never been here before either. Lan Zhan must really have been stumped by Wei Ying’s resistance to becoming cultured, if he had resorted to bringing him to places he hadn’t been to before.

Lan Zhan took care of ordering and paying for the tea, as always, and Wei Ying idly wondered how much Lan Zhan had spent on buying him tea. He should probably get it one of these days, but the guilt hadn’t struck yet, and Lan Zhan was rich, so he was going to enjoy the free tea.

Then he wondered when he had started thinking of tea as enjoyable.

“It’s a wonderful day for tea,” the barista commented with a smile.

“And you made it even more wonderful with your smile,” Wei Ying said, smiling back at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lan Zhan shake his head almost imperceptibly. He disapproved.

“Thank you,” the barista said. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

They sat at a corner table and waited for the tea. Wei Ying was hoping they would be served by the barista from earlier, but he was still taking orders, so that seemed unlikely. They were served, instead, by a guy whose smile made him look like a villain from a mid-budget soap opera.

He served Lan Zhan first, and then all but slammed down Wei Ying’s tea on the table in front of him. It sloshed dangerously against the edges of the glass but didn’t spill. “Don’t flirt with my boyfriend, you little shit.”

Wei Ying raised his eyebrows. “Your boyfriend can take care of himself, Psycho Smile.”

The guy just smiled at him, silently promising that he could and would poison his drink if he returned to the tea shop. Wei Ying looked at Lan Zhan. “Will you save me from the evil server, Lan Zhan?”

The server’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t defend my boyfriend, but you want yours to save you from me?” he said.

Wei Ying laughed at how offended Lan Zhan looked at the suggestion, ignoring the little twinge in his chest. “Lan Zhan is not my boyfriend. Do you see the face he’s making right now? That’s his ‘I’d rather die’ face.”

The server looked at Lan Zhan, and then back at Wei Ying. “Sure. Think about what you said a little more,” he said. “And stay away from my boyfriend.”

Wei Ying wanted to ask him what he meant, but the server had evidently lost all interest in continuing the conversation. Wei Ying looked at Lan Zhan, and picked up the tea. He sipped it. This tea was floral, and kind of bitter. “Not bad.”

Lan Zhan sipped his once and then put it down. He ran his finger along the rim of the cup, making no move to pick it up again.

“You don’t like it,” Wei Ying said.

Lan Zhan frowned at him. Wei Ying shrugged. “I’ll drink it if you don’t want to.”

“No need,” Lan Zhan said. And so, he had taken at most two more sips of the tea by the time Wei Ying was done. Wei Ying looked at the tea and then at Lan Zhan.

“You don’t have to drink it, you know,” he said.

Lan Zhan picked up his cup and drained the tea in one go. He couldn’t help making a face as he set the empty cup back down. Wei Ying couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so stubborn, Lan Zhan. One of your most endearing traits. Now let’s go and record the music. I can’t believe you’ve put it off for so long. The project is almost due.”

“It’s because your performance has been subpar,” Lan Zhan said.

“Ouch,” Wei Ying said. “You wound me. Let’s go. I want to see your brother again.”

Lan Zhan let out a resigned sigh but did not try to dissuade Wei Ying, so they headed out. Wei Ying waved at the nice barista and watched in delight as the server shot daggers at him.

Sadly, Lan Xichen wasn’t at home when they arrived at Lan Zhan’s place, so Wei Ying had to file away his flirtatious remarks for later use. Lan Zhan, ever the polite host, offered him some tea, even though they had just had some. Wei Ying refused, and they headed straight to the music room.

They played once just as a warm-up, and then it was finally time to record the piece. The cameras had already been set up, probably by the meticulous Lan Zhan himself, Wei Ying thought warmly. A good thing, he supposed, since he had no idea about how to set up cameras and recording equipment.

“The cameras are rolling. We will play until we are satisfied,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Ying nodded, and they began. The first attempt was passable, but Wei Ying messed up a few times, so they had to start over. The second attempt was perfect, or so he thought, but Lan Zhan’s expression told him he was not satisfied.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “It sounded good to me.”

Lan Zhan shook his head. “Again,” he said.

Wei Ying shrugged, and they started from the top again. Every time they finished, Lan Zhan looked unsatisfied and they had to start over. For the life of him, Wei Ying couldn’t tell what the problem was, and Lan Zhan wasn’t inclined to tell him. Getting tired of playing, Wei Ying just sighed and started again whenever Lan Zhan said so. After the seventh attempt, Wei Ying was ready to give up. This attempt had also sounded good to him, like the previous five, but he looked at Lan Zhan for confirmation anyway. Lan Zhan didn’t look like he was constipated, which was a great sign. “Good?” Wei Ying asked.

“Satisfactory,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying took that to mean that it had been perfect.

“Great!” Wei Ying said, stretching and unceremoniously lying down on the floor. He closed his eyes, finally able to relax. They were done with the most difficult part of the project. Their report was already done and edited, since Lan Zhan had taken it upon himself to correct it thoroughly, apparently not trusting Wei Ying to have good command over grammar. The video was the last thing they needed before they would be done with the project for good.

“I will do the editing,” Lan Zhan informed him.

“Great,” Wei Ying said. He wasn’t going to offer to take on more work than he had to. Lan Zhan could have fun toiling away at video editing. Wei Ying had no patience for things like that.

“We don’t have to meet outside of class again,” Lan Zhan said.

The words shocked Wei Ying out of his relaxation. He sat up and stared at Lan Zhan in confusion. “What? Why?”

Lan Zhan looked at him like he was stupid. “We’re done the project,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Wei Ying, dragging out the syllable. “But we can still hang out. You haven’t made me appreciate tea yet. It would be a shame if you gave up after all your hard work now. We’ve been to so many tea shops already. There can’t be many more left. And if you don’t hang out with me, who else will you hang out with? Do you even have any other friends?”

Wei Ying regretted saying the last part as soon as the words left his mouth. Lan Zhan’s eyes had widened a little at the implication, and Wei Ying saw him press his lips, angrier than Wei Ying had ever managed to make him. But this time, it had not been intentional, and so it wasn’t funny.

“I don’t need your pity,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “Please show yourself out.”

It would have been better if Lan Zhan had yelled. Wei Ying watched, speechless for once in his life, as Lan Zhan walked out of the room, leaving him alone. Wei Ying quickly weighted his options in his head. The best course of action looked like one where he took a step back for now and made amends for what he had said later.

On his way out, he ran into Lan Xichen, who smiled at him, making him feel even more guilty. “Headed out?” Lan Xichen asked. ���Did Wangji not offer to drive you home?” he added with a concerned frown when Wei Ying nodded.

“Ah,” Wei Ying said. “He has another assignment due, so I said I’d go home myself.”

“I can drive you, if you like,” Lan Xichen said.

“No, it’s fine,” Wei Ying insisted, but Lan Xichen was not to be deterred.

“I insist,” Lan Xichen said, picking up a set of car keys.

“Thank you,” Wei Ying said reluctantly. Damn the Lan hospitality that apparently ran in the family. He followed Lan Xichen to his car and gave him the address. They drove in silence for a few minutes, before Lan Xichen spoke.

“Wangji has always had a hard time making friends. I’m glad that he finally seems to be getting close to people,” he said.

His words could not have come at a worse moment. Wei Ying laughed and said the right things, all the while wondering which one of his actions karma was biting him in the ass for with this.  

Read on AO3

[onepdumpsterfire]

Servant

Reader . Dragon!Zoro

I travel around from city to city, searching for tales of creatures that are said to be extinct or mythical, and sometimes I even get to find one of them. It’s my passion to document these creatures lost to time. I want their stories, habits, and personalities to be remembered for the centuries to come. I want people to be able to open a book and be able to find any information they want about any creature. Chasing a new is what brought me to the Amthenia, a continent east of where I was originally from. I heard that there was a mountain spirit who wandered down to guard the city of Medd’wl Én; so I headed south from where I landed towards the Kingdom of E’tüm. A small but beautiful nation surrounded by forestry. In fact, the kingdom is so small that it has two big cities, the rest are just small villages spotting the forest surrounding it.

You may think that because it’s such a small kingdom it would’ve been invaded by an enemy by now, but no. What E’tüm lacks in size it makes up with strength and its research. It is the birthplace of all earth-based magic and weaponry. E’tüm stands its own against all other kingdoms, even rivaling Am’thi (the second biggest kingdom in this continent). 

As impressive as their research is, it doesn’t compare to the hospitality the people of E’tüm hold. They’re welcoming to any that manage to go through the dense and vast forest surrounding the kingdom. Truly a feat not many can do. Anyone who decides to go through the forest usually ends up getting lost and die along the way. Though there is a path through the mountains, just a bit past Démal, a village just off of Medd’wl Én. which works out great for me, Medd’wl is exactly where I need to go. 

It was long, but not a lonely walk through the mountains. I met a band of gypsies who were looking for a new life in E’tüm. We all told stories, danced, and made merry all through the path. They told me of a griffin they passed by on their journey to E’tüm. It nested west of Am’thi, and it’ll be my next destination after Medd’wl. 

Once we reached Démal we had to part ways. They were going west from Démal to Mā. (Another village, known for their strong culture and good music.) Alone, I traveled the short distance between Démal and Medd’wl. About a day’s walk if I won’t take any detours along the way, or at least it should have been. When I reached the outskirts of Medd’wl I saw the oddest thing. A shirtless man, strong build, with a scar running down his left shoulder to his right hip and another blinding his left eye. That wasn’t what was strange about the man; it was the green hair. I couldn’t help but approach the man. He seemed to be observing the city from the safety of the trees. Could he be the Mountain spirit I heard about?

Tentatively, I called out to him, “Hello, I mean no harm. I just want some directions.” The man didn’t seem surprised by my presence, almost like he’d known I was here before I even saw him. “My name is Y/n. Could you help me get a bit more acquainted with the area?” the man stood rigid as he examined me. Was he trying to see if I really meant no harm as I said? “Can’t help you,” he said curtly as he turned to walk away from me. “‘W-wait,” I followed behind him, “you must know about the city. I mean, you do live here, right?” He only grunted in response. Were mountain spirits always this rude?

“Please, I’ll make it worth your while,” I reached into my tote for my bag of coin. “I don’t need your money.” He deadpanned, still refusing to even consider helping me. “There must be something you want.” I didn’t mean to say the words, it was mainly my exasperation to his uncooperativeness mixed in with my tiredness from my journey. I didn’t quite regret phrasing it as I did until much later, but it did get him to turn and listen to me. “You’re quite desperate, to be offering anything like that.”

Blood rushed to my face, “I-i didn’t mean it like that!” The man smirked, continuing to walk the way he was heading. “Okay, I’ll help you. But you’ll have to do one thing for me.” He made it sound so ominous that I wasn’t sure I wanted to take him up on the offer. 

I guess help from a mountain spirit doesn’t come free…. I wonder if he charges the city for their protection too. “A-alright, name your price.” He threw a glance over his shoulder before nodding towards the city. “I’ll take you to a pub where you can find any information you may be looking for. Be it a person, a place to stay, or just where to get a bite to eat,” the man stopped in his place, “in return, when you are done with your… errand or settled into a place, you come back out here to the forest.”

“Why?” There had to be a reason why he wanted me to come back. If he was the mountain spirit, he wouldn’t want to do any harm to me; and if he wasn’t I doubt he planned to ambush me. He said he didn’t want money AND even if he wanted to, he could do it right now without much of a struggle from me. He was, obviously, much stronger than me.

“Don’t worry about it. When you get here, I’ll find you. Until then, just wait.” That’s not calming my nerves. On one hand, I could go and find the pub he was talking about on my own. On the other, if he was the mountain spirit, I would have set up a meetup and ask him more about himself in person then document it. It’s a risky dice roll, but hey, times can’t move forward without a little risk. “Deal.”

He wasn’t comfortable drawing attention to himself, I could tell by how he took out a bandana to conceal his unnatural hair before we began our journey to the pub. Him being a man of little words was only helping the image of a recluse. I tried coaxing any words out of him, but all I could drag out was his name. Zoro, not a common name but it is ancient and full of E’tüm history. 

“Y/n, do me a favor and shut up.” Zoro was condemning me to silence because he wasn’t social. I pouted at him as he started to speed up his pace. I bet he can’t wait to get rid of me. Zoro practically bounded down the streets, I even almost lost him among the throng of people bustling around. With a bit of shoving and cursing from me or the people I pushed aside, I managed to stay behind him. Though, all of my efforts to keep him in sight were in vain because Immediately after we reached the pub he disappeared. I’d turned away for just a second and he was gone. It almost made me think that maybe I had made all of this up, but it’s not time to dwell on it. I’ll have a chance to find out if Zoro was real or not later. For now, I’ll go into the pub and ask around to see if anyone knows of the mountain spirit.

It was a small joint. A handful of friendly tables scattered around and an impressive bar lined with just about every alcohol you could get in Amthenia. The people heartily talked with each other, clashing their tankards together and spilling the ale onto every surface they were close to. 

Just who I was looking for. A barmaid bustled around cleaning tables and serving the unruly customers. I followed her over to where she was busing tables. “Rowdy bunch, aren’t they.” She looked up from the plates she was sticking and gave me a smile. “You get used to it. This is a fast-paced city, everyone is always restless.” She handed me a pile of plates, nudging towards the bar. “Help me take these over there and I’ll help you get settled.” She winked at me, taking up her own pile of plates and walking it over.

She hands it over to a silver-haired man sitting at the bar. “Can you take these to the back, ray?” The man agreed, taking your pile with him as well. “That’s Rayleigh, my husband,” she serves me a tankard of ale, “here, first one’s on the house.” 

“Thanks….uh…”

“You can call me Shakky,” she fills in for me. “Right, Shakky. I was wondering if I could get some information on the mountain spirit.” Her eyes widened in surprise, “I guess you could call him that. He’s more of a dragon, though.” A dragon? Like the big lizard that flies? “Hahaha don’t look so shocked,” Shakky fills a glass with rum, handing it to Rayleigh as he comes back. “Thanks, Shakky. You always know what I want.” The man gives me a once over, “you aren’t from around here, are you?” I look down at myself, trying to see what gave it away. “It’s not your clothes,” Ray takes a swig of his rum, “Not many people outside of E’tüm know that the ‘mountain spirit’ is actually a dragon.”

Of course they wouldn’t! Dragons are elusive and…. extinct, have been for six centuries. I am practically jumping off my seat with excitement. “A dragon! How awesome!” Both of them laugh at my enthusiasm, but I can’t help it. I am going to find the dragon and study him.

“Whoa there, before you go off on your own. You should know that the dragon doesn’t like to be bothered,” Ray said, with Shakky adding that not many people have seen it, save from when he comes out to rescue the city from malicious predators. I assure them that nothing will stop me from finding him. I need to document him, no matter the cost.

The rest of my stay here they told me about Medd’wl. It’s people, resources, urban legends, even the best spots to visit as a tourist. Rayleigh and Shakky were great hosts to me, but when the night came crawling its way out, I had to bid them well. They told me a nice inn where I could take residence. Giving me directions, we shared a last farewell, then I was off.

The night was cold, a thick fog laid around the buildings of Medd’wl.  I could barely see in front of me, it was a miracle I even made it to the inn. A spike of paranoia weaved its tendrils around my gut. I feel like I’m being watched. No, it’s more than that, it feels predatory. I speed up as I try to convince myself it was just my imagination. 

The city is safe. The dragon is keeping it safe. Nothing would dare go into its territory… right?

Now, thinking back to it, if a dragon was keeping the city safe then who was I talking to in the forest? More so, what is Zoro? With all my excitement over the dragon, I forgot to ask Shakky and Rayleigh about him. I’m feeling a bit more skittish about my meetup with Zoro tomorrow. Even so, there is something that hasn’t changed. Zoro isn’t human and I will find out what he is.

-

E’tüm’s hospitality shoved himself once again in the morning. The aroma of breakfast wafted through the lodge, rousing everyone from their sound slumber. I arose to my room to find the other guest flocked over a table full of food. “They serve breakfast here?” My question wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, but it was answered nonetheless. “Yes, sweetheart. Only breakfast though. You should grab yourself a plate before it’s all gone, there won’t be a second batch.” The owner of the inn informed me. She was a kind and gentle woman who took me in late last night. She didn’t have to let me check-in. I’d found the inn way past closing, but she is a gracious woman. “Thank you, ma’am. I won’t pass up your generosity.” I wandered over to the table that held the food. They ranged from simple bacon and eggs to more ethnic foods like E’tüm’s famous ettercap dishes. 

Ettercap is a forest-dwelling monster that is native to this side of the world. They are big lumbering beast who ca grow up to six feet tall and usually weighed 200 pounds. They resemble a hunched, muddy-purple like humanoid with spider-like faces; they also have two sharp claws instead of fingers and toes. They’re very cowardly creatures who much more prefer to set traps than to hunt, but that is as far as their intelligence usually goes. It’s a primal instinct that drives them. Ettercaps do have one attack, though. They can inject paralytic venom with a bit into their prey. Their venom is only strong enough to deter their food long enough for them to use their claws to kill them.

However, the people of E’tüm found a way to remove its weak toxins to be able to safely eat the beast’s meat. (They even found a way to use the ettecap’s feeble venom as a spice!) I’ve been dying to try one of these dishes; especially the spanakopita, it’s a delicacy that isn’t made anywhere else other than E’tüm. Spanakopita is served more as a dessert, but with how fast it seems to be going I should hurry up and grab a piece. 

After getting my own slice, I move over to a table far off from the crowd. Everyone here seems to be excited about the madam’s breakfast cooking; no wonder she only makes breakfast. If it was like this every mealtime the place would always be trashed. 

Everyone in E’tüm seems to be very lively at all hours of the day. There never seems to be a slow day in this town, and I’ve just arrived! Their fast-paced lifestyle gives me the energy to go out and accomplish everything that I set out to do today. Who knows, maybe I’ll finish my journey faster than I thought and can head out to look for the griffin next!

I take a big bite out of my spanakopita, ready to head out as soon as I finish. Wow! It tastes better than I could have imagined! The saltiness of the aged feta cheese mixed in with the creaminess of the spinach, only adds on and contrasts the sweet honey wheat bread. Oh god, and the tender meat of the ettercap that leaves a small sting of venom on your tongue. If this was the last thing I ate before dying, I’d be okay with that. It didn’t even come as a surprise when there was none left when I went to get seconds. The savory pastry was the most popular food item on the table! 

I don’t really want to have anything else this morning, the pastry has ruined me. I huff in satisfied displacement as I made my to my room so I could change. Today seems like it’s gonna be nice out, I note as I look out my window. I kinda wish I’d pack more clothes other than the clothes on my back and some extra pants. I’ll go shopping for shorts some other time, it’s time I keep my end of the deal and go meet Zoro in the forset as we agreed. 

I stood on the outskirts of the forest wondering how he’d find me. Zoro said he would, but there was no way he could. I don’t even remember where we came out from when he led me out of the forest yesterday. If I go look for him, I’m sure it’ll be faster than just waiting… right?

I went into the forest, straying from any path that I saw. If I remember correctly, when I first saw him, he wasn’t near any path. Just a bit fairways from the town. I don’t need to go too far. Just a bit……... aaaand I’m lost.

I don’t know in which direction I came from! You got to be kidding me! I didn’t make that many turns! Okay. okay. Calm down. Caaalm down. There’s no reason t- … 

Did I just step in…. Crap

.  .  .

“YOU SONOFABISH!” And here I thought today was gonna be a nice day….

I walked over to a tree to try and rub most of the feces off my shoe when a sudden wind nearly knocked me over, luckily I grabbed onto the tree before I could. “What the fuuu” I trailed off as I looked around to see what could be causing the unrelenting gusts.

I could hear a flapping noise with a sharp scraping of metal coming from all around me. It sounded like a chainmail catching wind over and over- shit. Today really isn’t my day. I look above me to see a giant dragon with scales shifted from dusty emerald green to a reflective silvery grey. The dragon’s chest plate covered it like a shield, long feather-like blades lapped over each other to make its wings. Horns protruded from its head, spiking out to crown his head, in what could have been mistaken for short hair if it wasn’t for the fact that it looked like they could end my life with one headbutt.

As carefully as I could, I backed up, hoping that it wouldn’t notice me. But, as today’s luck would have it, the dragon dropped himself directly in front of me. I hid behind a tree, but it was too late. Its eyes were already trained on me. He reached out with one of its clawed hands and ripped the tree right from the ground.

I am completely exposed to it now. No amount of running or hiding could save me now. I know I said I wanted to find it, but not like this. 

I close my eyes as I start making my last testament in my head. No one will hear this, but If I do become a restless spirit and end up haunting this forest, at the very least, I can try and remember what I wanted from life.

A hand pushes at my crouched form. “Get up.”

I look up to find none other than the green-haired man I was looking for. “W-what? The drag-” I looked behind him to find nothing there. “It was there I swear!” I spring up, looking for an answer on the spot where the bast had last stood. It couldn’t have taken off. It made too-

“I don’t have time for this,” Zoro interrupted my thoughts, “you’re coming with me.” I turn to face him, “going whe-” I’m left speechless as he morphed into the beast I cowered from before. W- how?! “Your the- AH!” Zoro swiped me up with his claw.

My body dangled from his lose hold on me. “Put me down! I don’t want to fall!” I yelled at him, but the wind ate up all noise before it could even make it past my lips. The cold air whizzed past me, chilling me to my bones. I’m gonna get frostbite from this if he doesn’t just drop me. My nails try to dig into his scales, but they all are deflected and left bloody. There’s no way I can hold on to him. Oh god. I’m gonna die. I screw my eyes shut as I prepare for the worst possible case scenario.

Eventually, Zoro starts to descend. Tossing me ahead from him onto the porch of a quaint chalet. My hip snaps and my arm breaks as I scrape my way to a full stop. I howl In agonizing pain, intensifying as I notice the white bone poking out from my skin, blood oozing in rivers out of me. 

“Don’t worry, I can fix that,” Zoro says, walking over to pick me up.

“You prick,” I push myself away from him, only to have him pull me back and practically crush my already broken hip. “You remember when you said you’d do anything,” He carried me inside. “You’ll be staying with me from now on.”

“I hope you’ve finished your errand.”

[thedeviltohisangel]

He’s A God, He’s A Man: 4

She was learning about the new Thomas Shelby.

masterlist is my url/writing

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“Is Tommy here?” Lydia was breathless by the time she made it to Watery Lane. She had practically ran. The faster she got away from Campbell then the faster she would be with Tommy. Where she should have been all these years.

“He’s working.” It was Polly who answered the door. The frantic knocks had scared her. Made her think it was a Shelby child who was at the door, injured and in need of help. Instead she had found Lydia. Someone who was once meant to become a Shelby. “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea? You seem frazzled.” Polly gave her no choice, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her into the kitchen. 

“It’s been quite the culture shock to be here, I suppose” Lydia shrugged off her cut and hung it on a hook by the door. The Shelby matriarach assessed Lydia with the same glances Campbell had just moments before yet there was a different intent behind her eyes. It wasn’t predatory. It was more like cataloging. “Yesterday, you knew who I was.” Polly nodded slowly as she slid a teacup in front of the girl.

“I did.” Lydia had been hoping for slightly more elaboration that it seemed she was going to get. “What’s your business with my nephew?” She made it sound much more clinical that it was. As if there was no emotion involved between Tommy and Lydia anymore. Maybe there wasn’t.

“I don’t know actually. I felt uneasy and my feet lead me here.” She ran her finger around the rim of her cup, lost in thought.

“Tommy isn’t the man you met in France.”

“That much I do know,” Lydia said with a smile, “but having him, any version, seems to be better than not.”

“Even when you’re working with the man trying to ruin him?” Polly was angry at Tommy for getting their family caught up in this nonsense with the guns. Lydia represented one of the biggest threats they had ever faced.

“Polly? Did you hear the news on Monaghan Boy?” Tommy came bursting into the kitchen and recognized the look on his aunt’s face instantly. And when he looked at Lydia, she was refusing to look at him. “What’s happed?”

“Nothing!” Lydia chirped. She plastered a smile on her face and stood, gathering her things. “I was on my way to The Garrison and your aunt saw me and invited me in for some tea. Thank you  again, Polly. Congratulations on your horse, Thomas.” He looked to his aunt with a confused expression before he quickly followed after Lydia.

“Lydia! Wait!” The people of Small Heath were startled to see Tommy Shelby out in the streets without his cap or coat and no cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Tommy, I’m already running late,” she said after he caught up to her.

“Doesn’t matter. Harry’s capable.” He circled around her so she had to stop walking away from him. Now that he was closer he could see the dainty tear rolling down her cheek. “What did Polly say? Did she make you upset?” He’d have words with her. Tell her that Lydia was here to stay. In what capacity, he hadn’t decided yet but no one in his family was allowed to go running her out of town.

“No. I’m making myself upset,” she reasoned. Roughly, she wiped away the tear and tore her gaze from Tommy’s. “I should’ve just let you and your family be. Shouldn’t have let Campbell talk me into coming. My heads cramped enough without adding his voice to it.”

“You know if he does or says anything to you, I’ll-”

“I’ll come to you. I promise.” Tommy was glad she didn’t let him finish. It was best to not expose the dark depths of his character to her quite yet. Lydia didn’t want to let on that she had shown up to his home for that exact reason then been guilted out of it. Polly had reminded her she was an outsider. That she didn’t belong.

Tommy allowed himself a moment of indulgence and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. The way he had been doing to her picture all these years. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would get to touch you again.” He figured he already looked like a mad man being all disheveled in the streets. Standing close to a woman that just showed up the other day. That was working with the man who had nearly beat his brother to death. Might as well lean into it.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to enjoy being with you,” she whispered as leaned into his touch.

“Because things can’t just go back to where they were, Lydia. My life is...my life isn’t…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Tommy. We have all the time in the world to figure it out, yeah?” The hidden message was that she didn’t plan on leaving. Ever again. She had experienced life without Tommy Shelby and found it wasn’t quite living. “Have a drink with me before I start my shift?” The tea hadn’t been nearly strong enough for the day she had had.

“Have you gotten any better at holding your whiskey since France?” Tommy asked as he held the door to The Garrison open for her.

“Now that is something you will have to wait and find out on your own.”

----

“Miss Lydia! Miss Lydia!” She had been walking home after a particularly long night at The Garrison, a night empty of any Shelby’s which made it even longer, when she heard the singing voices of some of the local children. Lydia had figured shuffling between The Garrison and her apartment was no way to live and be happy so she had taken up teaching reading and writing at a local orphanage. The purity of the children made her own soul feel at ease on the dark and lonely Birmingham nights.

“What is it, Abby?” Lydia bent at the knee so she could be at the same height as the little girl.

“Mr. Shelby is waiting for you by the fire! Come on!” Abby took her hand and began running off into the night, Lydia doing her best to keep up amongst the crowd that seemed to be heading in the same direction as them. She wanted to ask for an explanation on what exactly they were running towards but the cheers of their destination were making it hard to even think.

At first she thought the orange light of the fire was coming from one of the factories that lined the street. But as they neared closer, she realized it was more of a bonfire. And was entirely man made and fueled by pictures of the King. As an American woman, Lydia didn’t quite understand the reverence to the King but she understood it basically enough to know this was an act of provocation. And she was certain which man would be standing in front of the crowd and which man he was provoking. “Mr. Shelby I’ve found her.”

“Thank you, Abigail.” Tommy pulled two pounds from his pocket and pressed them into the chubby hand of the girl.

“You’re using orphans to run errands now?” It was incredibly warm by the fire and with the crowd of people that had amassed around it but she moved closer to Tommy regardless.

“Only when an errand involves you. I know you ignore every voice that calls to you on the street save for that of a child.” It was true. Lydia had gotten quite good at ignoring anything and everything that she heard and saw on the streets of Birmingham. 

“Did you wish for me to be here so I can report back to my minder?”

“No that is what the reporter was here for.” Lydia scoffed.

“I thought you chose to conduct your business in silence?”

“I hide in plain sight.” They had moved ever closer over the course of their banter until their chests were touching and Lydia was practically inhaling the cigarette smoke that fell from his lips. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you recently.” Their drink together a The Garrison had felt good. Had been normal. Tommy had made her laugh and she had made him smile. He told Polly when he got home afterwards that she wasn’t to try and scare anything out of Lydia ever again. Tommy would handle any discrepancies relating to her allegiance and he alone. Polly had her doubts he could do that with clear eyes but she let the subject drop.

“It’s alright. Arthur is there enough for the both of you.” There wasn’t a time of day that Lydia hadn’t shared a whiskey with the older Shelby. She found his company quite amusing. And he found her ability to finish a bottle with him and still carry on to be biblical.

“He can’t shut up about you, I think he’s fallen in love.” 

“If only he had shown up in the field hospital that day then maybe he would stand a chance.” She looked to Tommy with a smile but saw that he was now looking at his shoes. They hadn’t spoken about France. About what they used to have. About what they used to be. “Sorry.” Lydia was dying to talk to him about it. For so long she had been left to her own thoughts on the subject matter. Had been left to decipher every memory on her own. Now that her partner was back, she wanted his help.

“I’m sorry too.” He was sorry he couldn’t bring himself to open up to her like he once had. Like she deserved. Like he would need to for there to be any future between the two of them.

“I should get going. Thank you for the fire.” She had been around the new Tommy long enough to know when he had shut down. There was no point to her standing around. Once he was in that headspace, it was near impossible he came out of it quickly.

“Would you like to come by for tea in the morning?” Tommy hadn’t been in the practice of courting women since before the war. He wasn’t quite sure how men did it anymore. He was even less sure how American did it or how Lydia expected him to do it. He used to be a traditional man. Knew exactly what to do in the presence of a respectable lady like her. Now he was completely lost. Hopefully, Lydia would be able to meet him in the middle on this journey to figure things out between them.

“I don’t really like tea, Thomas.”

“Then we don’t have to drink tea, we can-”

“Is breakfast too early for a whiskey?” There was an incredibly mischievous glint to her eyes that made Tommy smile.

“Perhaps not,” he replied gently.

“You’ll send a car for me?” She began to walk backwards from the fire but kept her eyes locked onto him. He was quite amused by how at ease she was with him. Refreshing. Normally the seas parted when he walked down the streets but she was content on placing more obstacles in his way. Tommy supposes nothing worth having was easy.

“Anything for you, Miss Wilson.” A princess who might one day be Queen.

----

Lydia was scared to knock on the door to Watery Lane since her last experience ended with her in tears but she was delighted to see Ada open the door as opposed to her Aunt.

“Morning, Ada. I’ve stopped by to see your brother.” Ada smiled devilishly.

“He’s smiling more since you’ve been around. I’d be delighted to have you in this house more often.” She found Tommy to be much more tolerable when he was being overprotective with a smile. At least she felt some sort of love emanating from him. “I was just about to have some toast and jam. Would you like any?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Lydia hung her coat by the door before following Ada into the kitchen.

“Tommy went to run an errand this morning but I am sure he’ll be back soon.” She thanked Ada as she placed a plate of toast in front of her, spreading jam on her own slice before handing it to Lydia. “Tell me a bit about you Lydia.” All Ada had ever known about the woman was that Tommy had met her overseas and carried home her picture accompanied with a broken heart.

“I’m from New York. Worked as a nurse during the war, a secretary since then. Now I’m here.” Ada was sure there were plenty of interesting details that were missing from that retelling but kept her assumption to herself.

“And how was it that someone as beautiful as you came to be seduced by my demonic brother?” Lydia chuckled around the piece of toast she was eating.

“Well, Ada, we’d have to go back to the beginning to try and figure that one out.”

@aveiangdon @odetostep

[detroitswindle-blog]

Detroit Swindle: Move Out The Way. I need Coffee In The Morning

Lars Dales and Maarten Smeets are Detroit Swindle and have had quite a run the last decade. From making music for the hell of it, to making tens of thousands of fans all over the world happy with their releases, mixes and performances, they have seen their star rise in a seemingly unstoppable manner. With a string of releases on renowned labels like Dirt Crew, Freerange, Tsuba and their own Heist Recordings, they've cemented their place in the House Music scene by keeping true to their roots and keeping diversity and authenticity at the centre of their story. 

Notorious for their energetic DJ sets at clubs like Panorama bar, Fabric or Social Club and praised for their productions with that signature shuffle and those carefully designed drops, they put as much energy into their music as they have always done and they are treasured for it. They have their own label Heist Recordings and one thing is clear, they refuse to be tied to any given genre, celebrating the broad fabric of House Music in all its forms. 

Despite being in isolation (this interview took place in the last week of May 2020), the duo is still really busy. They are releasing two tracks on the 5th June; ‘Coffee in The Morning and ‘Move Out The Way’ with vocalist Jitwam which speaks to the soul of their creativity and they should be roundly applauded for releasing material in what are very challenging times.

We are therefore extremely grateful that Maarten Smeets talked to us on the phone for over an hour to tell us the Swindle story.

So Maarten welcome to the Switched On family. How have you been handling the pandemic and has it given you a different perspective on life?

Well, the entertainment industry was the first one to suffer. We saw our events getting cancelled very early on. I think the gig that got cancelled first was actually our tour in the US. We woke up, I think it was like a Friday morning, two weeks before the tour in March, with an email from our agent saying, ‘Hey you guys, Trump has closed down the country. So it’s going to be hard for you guys to tour here if all the borders are closed’. That was the first thing that we noticed and we soon realised it was really happening. I think within a week, we saw that pretty much everything was getting cancelled. All the countries were tightening the rules on social distancing. 

That was a bit of a heavy changeover for us because we went from touring full on every week to not touring at all. It's weird because your whole life was touring. It means getting up Friday morning, taking a plane, playing and arriving back home on Sunday night and trying to do as much as you can during the week and spend some time with the family. Now suddenly all that travel was done with, which was a relief, but gigging was gone as well. It’s a shame as we really like DJing. We like playing music and we like visiting different countries; seeing what kind of music works in different cultures. So that was a big change. The upside of not having to travel anymore, because it can be tedious and tiring and heavy on the mind and body, was outweighed by the fact that what we lost three quarters of what we do. 

But there is a plus. We work as a duo. We're not actually allowed to be in one room together because we're not family and don’t live in the same household. We therefore decided to split the work up a bit. I get to work in the studio because I have three kids at home. 

We've taken on a few more remix projects than we would usually do, which is great because we've managed to secure a couple of really fun projects. So that was actually a great change for us because we both really enjoy the production side of our work. 

It hasn't been like that since we started touring in 2012. We have never taken as much time off of touring as we have done now. Even though it's not our choice, it feels really nice and it feels like it gives us room for new creativity and allows us to look at things from a different perspective; like how we run our label and how we've run our business so far. 

We've had the opportunity to vary our activities a bit which is also nice. Obviously, we have to deal with less income. So that's always a bit of shame but there's loads of people out there that have it way harder than us. So I'm not gonna cry about it. For me personally, it's been a bit more complex because my wife works in one of the big hospitals in Amsterdam with people that have leukaemia. So the security measures that they have in place are intense. What that meant for us is that we had to be super strict with our lockdown as well. So that was a bit heavy for me and the kids. It's a new world right now.

So I think the next six months will see some incredible music come out?

I'm super interested to see what happens. Obviously, there's a bit of a delay between production and music actually. People are either starting new projects or maybe dusting off old projects that they always wanted to finish. So that's going to be exciting. That's going to be interesting. 

I really hope that the market will stay intact. For our label, we still see sales going well and obviously streaming is important. From a creative perspective, I think a lot of nice projects will come out. The challenge of course for everyone, is how to make music together if you're not allowed to be in a room together. For bands doing session recordings, it's going to be a bit more working with Zoom session recordings. Might not be as fun as a personal session but it saves a lot of flying.

So you grew up in Amsterdam?

We both lived in Amsterdam for a long time; Lars is still there. I actually live 20 minutes outside of the city in a lakeside area. Me and my wife both felt it was time to get a little bit more space. Spend time with nature a bit more. Amsterdam is where our studio is and where we meet and where most of our life has taken place. 

Born in the early part of the 80s. House Music was an already established genre by then; what appealed to you as you headed into your teenage years about House Music?

Actually, to be honest, House Music was not a thing where I grew up. People were into bands and rock music and I played drums with some high school friends and we did punk. We liked surf punk and that was our big thing. So House Music was, I think, more of a big city thing. It only really reached me when I moved to Amsterdam in the late 90s, early 2000s. I know for Lars on the other hand that he was a club kid and he had a fake ID and went to all the raves. 

The feeling I get is that for a lot of DJs there needs to be an accumulation of musical genres to be able to develop a sound as they go into music production.

Yeah, I think I think that you could be very right with that. For me, I'm very easily bored with repetition which is a weird contrast because House Music is all about repetition; I need to find different new genres and different types of music to cater for different types of mixing and applying different types of effects to really get inspired. That can come from anything. 

I still like the raw feel of that punk. I really liked that a lot and how they had dub influences as well as being able to deliver a harder sound. I think musical diversity is a blessing and it's something to embrace. Lars loves hip hop as well and is a huge De La Soul fan. We go through everything. 

I was just compiling a Spotify all night long playlist to go along with our new release. It was doing my head in over how to approach that because obviously you can't compile a list of 1000 songs. Because I like so many genres, it's hard. Where do you begin? Where do you end? All these different types of inspirations that have shaped my view on music. They have also shaped the sound that we put out with our own productions and our DJ sets. It's super varied.

I've noticed that you've also started getting into that Afro sound lately. What is it about that genre that some appealing to you?

There are so many things. I think as DJs we've been playing Afro related or Afro inspired music for a while now. If you look at our productions, it's been there. I think one of our releases on Freerange, five or six years ago, was an afro house record. And then on our latest album, in 2018, we did an Afro song with a Dutch brass band. So it's been there but the recent remixes we did for Pat Thomas and The Mauskovic Dance Band, they are full-on Afro.

The nice thing about Afro is that everything is lively. There's so much energy in it even with percussion that's over six or seven minutes long and that's just slightly offbeat or changing. It's so vivid and everything is connected. Even sometimes when the drummer is kind of losing the rhythm, when they get back into the groove you have that uplifting energy. Bubblegum music is also inspiring because of the fact that its music made with very limited means. You hear and feel the energy of the singers and the artists playing it. It's a really honest and true genre. That's what I really like about it; the unpolished raw feel gives it so much authenticity. 

The fact that we get to work with all these original artists and work on the stems of some great recordings is very rewarding. It's great to put your own personal touch on it. Obviously, we have a more electronic approach so it'll sound different. But for us, the chance to work on these tracks and give it our own perspective, the club perspective, is amazing. 

So Detroit Swindle was really an homage to Detroit and the Motown experience. Motown has those big sweeping arrangements of musicality with your music of being more of that deep house stripping much of that production away. How do you align those different concepts?

The reason we chose the name; it's the common ground we have. We both grew up with Motown and we really like Marvin Gaye and artists like that; acts that we've heard over and over again during our childhood. That’s why the name is really appropriate for us. In terms of musicality; House has a different approach. I already mentioned the fact that it's mostly based on repetition. So the many changeovers that there are in most soul songs are just too much. You need to strip it back to the essentials and find a tight groove that gets people in; like a little bit of a hypnotic seal. We use the catchiest part of a song or the catchiest part of a certain chord progression and we build around that. They all have these thermal changeovers or different chord progressions and we can build so many elements around that little piece of groove we find. That could be a two-bar sample. There are so many things you can build around that. 

Simplicity is our main challenge. To go back and take older records to their simplest form and to strip them of all the excess waste and all the stuff that is actually unnecessary to portray the message of the song. It's not about getting 10 or 15 different elements or extra elements in; it's about the opposite. 

And is that the driving element behind why you have resisted the temptation to go for commercial?

No, I think the driving element behind that is actually most of what we really like is just not commercial. We've had many opportunities to do really commercial remixes and work with artists that really want to make it in the mainstream area. It's just not what makes us tick. I can listen to some music, pop music or jazz, that's super popular and really appreciate that. But the stuff I like most is very uncommercial. It's very low key. I mentioned Spotify playlists earlier. I was going through my Discogs page of all the records that I've been buying the last few years just to see where to start. Most of the stuff I buy, I can’t even find on streaming sites. So, my take and I think our combined take on it is, that luckily, what we produce is popular enough for us to be popular.

I was gonna say it all stems back to when you originally met where Lars had to sack you for playing too much underground. So you have stayed true to yourself, right?

Well we both were making money with something else. When we started, we said, ‘all right, this just has to be for the love of it’, because of the type of music we really love to play and produce. Our endgame wasn't to make a living out of this. That kind of just happened. So when it did happen, we decided to embrace it and honour it by staying true to what we started. So everything we remix, or every track we make, needs to be something that we make out of love and belief in the music. Being commercially viable is not part of the decision-making process because we feel that when you start to do that, it's a very slippery slope towards making music for money. 

When you start making music purely for money it becomes less and less from the heart. Suddenly, you end up not getting booked for the kind of parties where you get to play the music you love. People will only remember you for the commercial stuff you've done and then you've wasted all that energy on building a profile. Suddenly that's lost. So, for us as producers and as DJs, I think there's no other way. I'd rather make less money and have more fun than the other way around.

That brings us to the fun that you have in the live performance space. Because you tend to put on shows with the inclusion of a keyboardist like Lorenz Rhode it becomes an event rather than a DJ experience. How important is that to you?

We both feel that the experience of dancing should build up towards something. When we are in full control of a line-up we can build something exactly the way we want. When you don’t have that control its way harder to connect. With full control, you can take the audience on a path that you've decided on; whether it's three, six or 12 hours. It all adds up to something. The more you're in control, the more you get to introduce people to the music that you that you really want to play. You can kind of ease people into listening to something that they weren't planning on listening to or that they’ve never listened to before. 

When you only have an hour to play there's loads of stuff happening around you. There's not much of a story to tell. So, with an added keyboard player at a live show, we get more flexibility and we get more of the live energy that we really like in our music. We also get to take people along with old genres that we like. If we do an all-nighter, we start at 90 BPM with downtempo Disco or hip hop even and slowly move towards some faster tracks. We build up the tempo and we change from genre to genre; like 110 BPM, Bubblegum or South African dubs. Then towards House and then Electro and Techno and up-tempo disco. 

The awesome Highlife came out in 2018. Looking back on it now what does that album means you?

Wow. It was a really special process because for the first time we really took time off touring to write music whereas normally we just wrote music in-between gigs. This was recorded in a unique way for us. If I look back at it, I don't think we could write it again. It could have only been written then. Lorenz was a big part helping with it; writing the key parts for pretty much half of the album. We rearranged our whole studio and put some synths in. We also had this chance meeting with Tom Misch who came to Amsterdam afterwards for recording sessions. 

The whole album was unplanned, sound wise, and unplanned in terms of what we wanted to achieve. We just wanted to explore our sound. I think when I listen to it now it gives a really good perspective of all of our interests. So yeah, I'm still super happy that we got to write that.

So, we know you started out in a completely digital environment, but you gradually incorporated more analogue processes into your production techniques. Is that because you like to challenge yourself because it's infinitely harder in the analogue space? 

Yeah, definitely harder and more time consuming. Machines don't necessarily respond the way they should. Especially old machines which sometimes do completely different things (from what you intended). Then you need to find out if something's broken or shut down. You need to turn them off and on and some synths don’t have midi so there's no sequencing. You have to do everything live and edit it. But it's just the feeling of sitting behind the keyboards or the drum computer, making use of that device rather than using your mouse and clicking on some stuff or automating everything. The likelihood of doing something that you didn't really plan but actually found really interesting is high. Purely because the filter resonance was a bit too high or something or just because the reverb in the patches you've made is different from what you thought it would be. It gives you a few more surprises and it feels more real. 

Even though VSTs can sound great, just the feel of playing a synth and touching the knobs with your hands, making your own patches while you're playing, rather than having a sequence running from a MIDI clip; that for me feels infinitely more interesting. That's just personal. I really enjoyed the way we worked before as well. But to be honest, producing with two people behind the one laptop is not that exciting.

I'm gonna ask you a DJ question now because you've been on this journey. What weapons does a good DJ need?

I think the most important weapon is originality and timing. You need to find your own sound. If you don't have your own sound, you can be anyone and anyone could be you. You need to find something that fits with you and that hopefully will connect to a big enough crowd to get enough people moving in the club. But to be a really good DJ, you need to know when to take risks, when to go safe or when to build up a bit longer and then go for your delivery. 

If you go to a festival and a DJ just plays hit after hit after hit after hit for an hour and people go there because they just want to be able to say I've seen this DJ at this festival; well yay for them. But for me, that's not that's not the art of DJing... Anyone can plan a show and if you have enough hits behind your name, you can play live off those hits. 

But the interesting part for me as a DJ is when you actually get the crowd moving to music that they never expected to hear and never expected to dance to. You unleash all these new emotions. And for me that's also why the combination of Lars and me works so well together because Lars is really good at finding the moment of delivery and when you need to throw in a bomb; I'm really good at extending the track and throwing in the odd-balls. 

People know what kind of vibe they'll get when they come to see us play but they never know what they're going to hear. We have a certain energy in our sound and our music but whether we play one Detroit song or zero Detroit songs, our DJ sets are always different and full of surprises. So I think a combination of those factors makes for a good DJ. 

Even when you're touring as much as we do, there's nights where you can really feel the connection with the crowd but sometimes it's just not there. But the most memorable nights are the ones where you feel like you're part of the crowd. You're not standing on a stage far away but you're connected and get the opportunity to play anything you like. You just know that whatever you play, people will be into it. And those occasions are amazing. And that's why I love being a DJ. 

Let’s talk some Amsterdam industry stuff. The ADE festival used to be a very community-based affair. Now it's grown to this really big occasion. Do you think that's detracting from what it was originally set out to achieve?

That's a hard one because I understand their path. I mean, I've been going for such a long time and I've been organizing events so I know the struggle in general. For ADE, the popularity grew and the organization also needed to find a way to actually make it economically viable. So obviously they connected with bigger artists or bigger labels to get the mainstream people to actually buy tickets. I get that. 

What I don't like about ADE is that it's very, very hard to have a normal party. People arrive at your party and they help build your vibe but there is this mentality of party hopping. They visit maybe four or five events on the night so you lose half of your crowd every hour and a half. That's really hard to build a connection with an audience because the story is always changing. The new arrivals don't have a clue about the idea of the night. That's a bit of a shame; they can still have fun and they can still listen to my records, but they won't get the full package. 

On the other hand, we've done three or four hostings at the same venue and we've always had a super steady following with our label and for Detroit Swindle. We've always really enjoyed our nights and we don't have that many industry people networking on the nights themselves. We tend to meet everyone during the week, during the day or outside of the clubs and make sure that the events are still about that love of music

I know some people from Amsterdam leave the city because it becomes touristy x 10. Normally Amsterdam is already full of tourists but at ADE time its super hectic. On the other hand, an event like that in our city is an amazing opportunity for us to catch up with people that we haven't seen in a while and who we only get to see when we're in South America or Australia or wherever. Suddenly everyone's in Amsterdam and you can show them your favourite coffee spot and catch up on releases, hand out records rather than posting them. So there's so many advantages.

Okay so that leads me to who's your favourite DJ behind the decks. 

I really enjoy guys like Hunee and Antal and a guy from London called John Gomez. He has an amazing taste in music and a large collection of Brazilian and South American music. We play together with him and every time he surprises me with something that I'd never heard before but which feels like I should have it in my collection. So, yeah, I'm a big fan of his music 

Who do you need to thank for where you are in your life right now?

I need to thank Lars because without him we wouldn't be where we are and I think he would thank me because it's really obvious.

My wife, for sure. She made so many sacrifices for me to be able to do this. The moment we started touring full time was the moment when our first kid was born (my daughter). She decided to cut back on work for me to be able to do more and then at some point we decided together that she would take time off full time to be able to run the family. Without her this would never have been possible.

Quickfire Round

DAW? Ableton 

Favourite keyboard? The Korg Monopoly. 

Preferred Decks? SL 1200s 

Favourite Mixer? Carmen Rotary. We take it on tour.

Favourite Sound? Waves crashing on the beach.

Love is…? Compassion.

Favourite club? In Australia … Revolvers

So besides playing back to back with Lars, who would be     the one person that you'd love to play back to back with?     Soundstream 

What are you most proud of? I am at this point really     proud of how, me and my family are dealing with the challenges in life.     We're very open minded and I'm proud of being open minded. 

So finally, this is a fun question is not meant to be anything sinister in this. So your family gets a phone call to say you're in a bit of trouble. What friend are you with?

My friend Pete.

He's always up to no good. Whenever we're on a night out you just know it's gonna be trouble lol 

 Stream Detroit Swindle

https://store.detroitswindle.com/ 

 Jay B is a published author, music journalist and international DJ who has deep roots in the global House Music community having played the music he loves for over 30 years. From London, New York, Paris, Tokyo and Sydney, he has travelled the globe and interviewed some of the biggest names in the business as head honcho of Switched On Music! 

[oh-theres-a-woman]

Peaky Blinder OC: Dorothy Helen Townley

Pronunciation: 

“Dor-o-thy Hel-en Town-ley”

Nickname(s) or Known As:

Dorothy - Her legal and birth name. 

Dot - Affectionate nickname fleshed from Dorothy’s family and friends. Though, the young woman was known to get rather annoyed at strangers addressing her by the nick-name. 

Apricot - A pet name for her back in York when she made bombs and explosive devices out of her favourite Apricot jam tins and jars. The local papers always recorded her at the Apricot Bandit in some articles. 

Apricot Bandit - See above for such information as to why…  

Helen - Want to start problems with Dorothy call her Helen, it was her grandmother’s name and she despised the woman. Her grandmother was a nasty abusive alcoholic that enjoyed to pick on Dorothy in spite of everything right she tried to do. The nick-name originally came about around the time Dot reached the age of puberty and began to resemble her grandmother, it wasn’t meant to be a insult because her grandmother was rather beautiful in her early days. It just hit something raw with Dorothy like rubbing salt into old wounds. 

Cut Throat Princess - Being the only female of the York Cut Throats, and the younger sister to the founding brothers. It was originally a nickname that was made to mock Dorothy, though when she rose quickly within the ranks of her brother’s ranks and showed the men was she could do it became something in a form of respect. Very rare for Dorothy to hear about that nickname anymore since that’s a part of her old life. 

Miss Townley - A formal way that people in Birmingham address her. Mainly people that don’t truly know her very well speak to her in this manner, but it doesn’t bother her much. It just has come done to a cultural thing since in York, she learnt that she was only addressed in that manner when in trouble with her parents or police. 

Date of Birth:

25th April,1895 (24 years old)

Birthplace: East Fremantle, Western Australia.

Nationality/Ethnicity:  Australian, Anglo-Saxon Descent. 

Quotes:

“Don’t fucking call me Helen, Gene. Or I’ll give you that dental work you’re in need of. Brush your teeth with a brick, mate.” 

“So… You’re stupid enough to make me think I believe you?” 

“Freddie and Gene are alive?”

“The war changed something in me, I no longer enjoyed the thought of returning home. Because half of my family were already dead, and the whole town of York wouldn’t have given a shit.”

“It was sad you know, pitiful watching so many men die… Some of the nurses took pity in them and just happened to give them too much morphine.” 

“A kiss with a fist is better than none…”

Occupation: Currently - Barmaid at the Garrison, Birmingham. Ex-co-owner of the Garrison, recently transferred the property into the name and ownership of Thomas Shelby.

Formerly - Specialist Nurse dealing with; amputations, shell-shock victims, surgeries and general procedures.   Loyal gang member to the Cut Throats of York,ranking was as a gunner after showing effective aiming skills and knowledge of operations of hunting rifles, and pistols. Farm hunter, often going out shooting kangaroos to make sure they don’t destroy the family crops. 

Reliable Skills:

High level of education - mastering reading, writing and mathematics.

Capable of making bombs and weapons for junk. Much like different types of bombs from the cheapest and crappiest of materials. Example is her famous apricot jam jar/tin bombs.

Established skills in bookkeeping, and insurance paperwork.

Weapons of Choice:

Luger (Parabellum) - Semi-automatic pistol → Stolen from a German officer that came through one of the field hospitals she was working on in France. Rather easy for her to shoot people at close and medium distance of range, only grows harder with the distance between her and the target.

Lee-Enfield - Bolt-action rifle → Was her go to weapon back in York or hunting kangaroos on the family property. Used one once to shoot and kill an officer that assaulted her, shot was successful.

Piano Wire - Choice instrument to strangle someone by garrote, easy enough for her to conceal. Was a formal way of execution for the Cut Throats.

---

Social Status: Wanted felon; by Western Australian Police - Under charges of; 

Murder → One police officer and a few others notable members of the community, other victims unknown.

Arson → set fire to the police station, town hall and post office. During conflicts with the town’s council at the time.

Assault → While involved with one of the many gang related riots in York, young Dorothy Townley was charged with assault in two counts against police officers trying to remove her from the scene.

Automobile Theft → In the company of one of her brothers, Miss Townley identified which of her seven brothers the calprate was… At age fourteen, Dot and her brother Frederick hotwired some bigwig’s chair taking it for a joy ride. After all it wasn’t everyday they were able to score such a nice car to drive around in.

Larceny → Stole food as a child because there was never enough to eat in the house growing up.

Receipt of Stolen Goods → During the days of working with the Cut Throats in York, she often took and kept the books on what was stolen and brought to them for transporting. It normally was the normal booze, cigarettes and illegal drugs at the time.  

Forgery → Making up fake official documents regretting the private matters of the Cut Throats. Printing money, materializing documents (altering them to her needs), intended to deceive other gangs trying to take over her turf.

Marital Status: Single - Never really had any notable serious relationships other than an engagement to a man named Ralph Edward, whom died during the war.

Issue: Nil. Miscarried; one.

---

Townley Family History: Born on a respectably nice Autumn day in East Fremantle to a rather unknown couple from the rural town of York a couple of hours outside of Perth. Very shortly after the complicated birth of their youngest child, and only daughter whom they named; Dorothy Helen Townley. Raised to be a considerably normal child, between a faithful wife and an alcoholic husband that struggled with his liquor and debts. The family lived in the small shire of York, some hours travel from the city. Youngest of eight children meant Dorothy had a lot of proving of herself for her father that worked hard most days, and drunk heavily at night. 

Though Dot’s father loved her, he had a funny way of showing it. Possibly because of his short temper and the rumours floating around that Dorothy was actually the illegitimate daughter of the police sergeant in the area. That had something against Ramsay Townley, and her mother sweet Alexi Townley. A child conceived by the sergeant when Alexi Townley was trying to bail her husband out of jail after a drunken brawl. After all, getting her husband out called for a price.

Alexi has tried to keep Dorothy’s father a secret and was truly lucky that her husband never questioned it. Truthfully, he already knew the pain his wife went to get him released from prison. Yet, he accepted Dot as his little girl and a Townley so she wouldn’t have any connection to the monster that harmed her mother. Though, Ramsay’s mother was another person despised Dorothy’s very existence. Dorothy’s grandmother was rather abusive to the only Townley girl, the bastard of the town’s police sergeant. Lucky the girl survived to see her homeland Australia officially become a country when she was the ripe age of six, as the elderly woman had made many attempts on her granddaughter’s life in the years before. 

Spending more time with her brothers and father on the field. Dorothy formed a rather strong bond with Frederick (the eldest) and Eugene (third born) who knew of their half-sister’s parentage. The three eldest brothers knew too well about what had happened to their mother that night and vowed the day their sister was born they’d protect her. That started with bringing her into the loop of their gang at a rather young age, so they could protect her fully, as well as their comrades. Before long she was hunting on her farm, and sitting in on important meetings regarding expansions and riots against the police. Her youngest known age for being arrested was then at eleven years of age after the police busted her brothers at a meeting and noticed her sitting in. Reports on her criminal file first detailed the girl as a shy and timid girl, holding the sleeve of her eldest brother Frederick, refusing to speak on interview. This was the start of more troublesome behaviour with the girl. 

Blossoming into a rose protected by harsh thorns (her brothers) Dorothy learnt many of many useful talents she had. Such as creating jam tin/jar bombs for raids, and attacks on places the Cut Throats planned. Servicing as a device to harm and lower numbers of rivals and police who were in the area at the time. 

By the time seventeen rolled around Dot was a respected member of the “York Cut Throats”, taking a claim over bookkeeping, as well as, the job of being their sharpshooter. Her skills with a bolt-action rifle from a long distance couldn’t be trumped by anyone else, so she became their primary for assassinations. Her rate of crime had run aground when she had been found for first-degree murder in a serial number of offences, the charging officer that brought her in was her biological father. Said officer of the law proceeded to interview Miss Townley in a fashion till his measures became violent and he attacked the young woman. Reported gunshots were heard from the station, and when other officers investigated they found the man dead. The young woman in a state of distress and worse for wear. 

To silence the Townley's’ and remove Dorothy from hanging other officers that felt pity for the young woman enlisted her to stay as a home for troublesome women. Where she was educated and taught the workings of a high profile nurse. Something the young adult woman had no idea would come to use so soon after completion. At the first light of war, Dot was sent off to the Gallipoli on the Ottoman Peninsula. Where she nursed broken men and saw her seventh and sixth brother slaughtered. Once more she went to making bombs out of tins, in hopes that she’d kill the Turk bastard that murdered her brothers.

After the withdrawal of Gallipoli, Miss Townley was moved to the Western Front. Believably broken by what she had seen in the bosom of the Turk’s lands. But then, she meets a kind soul a young soldier that held her heart and taught her to smile even in the shitty situations the war gave. Quick in their engagement, they longed for the war to end so they would be married. Yet, fate didn’t wish for them to be together in such away. Young Ralph Edward was killed in action. By the end of the war Dot’s family connection was broken, and her lover was gone so she decided to move to London in hopes of a new life. IN hopes to learn more about her dearly departed Mr Edward through his family, and the environment he used to live in.

---

Brief Personality Traits:

Australian Mateship - A quality that became well-known by most soldiers that worked alongside Australians in the First World War. Dot holds the cultural idiom rather highly as it holds many values of importance to her, such as; equality, loyalty and friendship. As it's a new era, Dorothy hopes that the world would adopt more of the following values as it will hopefully give most an era of peace with that. 

Larrikin - Dorothy Townley is noted to be a rather mischievous young woman. Often considered uncultivated by members of higher society, she’s seemingly rowdy when comfortable around the right people, but always has a good heart. But she is also referred to as the other common meaning, which is a hoodlum or rough gangster, due to her rather decorative history and mysterious current. 

Endurance/Courage - The war tested many, and for the case of Dorothy, it tested her level of courage and endurance because in most people’s eyes she was still a child. Though she has a very well build for tolerance when she was forcibly removed from her home in York, and thrown into a house for troubled young women so she could learn some skills that were of better use. During the time she was trained to be a nurse, it was the last thing the young woman wanted to do and she tried to desert her detainment a few times, only to be caught and punished later on down the track. 

Her courage has come into play when times have been trying for her safety. This would include the time she was attacked by a drunk police officer in York, and she shot him dead after being dragged to the local hotel. Dorothy faced hanging until the true nature of the police officer was released and she was sent away to a home for troubled young women. Her brothers helped instil courage within her each time they were granted a chance to visit her. 

((OOC--Model is Unknown, if anyone has her name please let me know so I can source it))

[chimcharstar]

Questions 1, 2, skip a few, 99 100! ANSWER THEM ALL!!!!!!

LETS DO THIS

99 gay-ish asks

how tall are you?5 SOMETHING

what is your body type?SLENDERMAN

what is your favorite part about your body?THE T

is your current hair color your natural hair color?YES

are you more outgoing or more shy?SHY

are you more femme or butch?ITS COMPLICATED, BUT, BUTCH

are you tol or smol?APPARENTLY IM TWINK. NOT SURE WHERE THAT IS ON THIS SCALE

wine mom or vodka aunt?NO

weird habit?I EAT BREAKFAST FOOD AT ANY HOUR

favorite meme?VIBE CHECK, IM SMUG ABOUT MY URL

do you sing in the shower?NO BUT I USED TO. JUST SHY ABOUT ROOMMATES. I DO IN MY CAR

ever used a bow and arrow?NO, BUT MY BROTHER DESIGNED AND BUILT ONE, GOT IN TROUBLE FOR MAKING A WEAPON

are/were you a theatre kid?IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE WHERE IM ALLOWED TO HAVE AN EGO, YES

have you ever seen a broadway musical?NO

do you think musicals are cheesy?NO I THINK THEYRE JUST A MEDIUM OF ART

have you ever been a part of a protest or a march?NO WEIRDLY

favorite Cards Against Humanity Card?IDK THEM

last movie you watched?PROBABLY MEGEAMIND

behind the camera or in front of it?BEHIND. BUT BOTH IS GOOD

favorite tv show?AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER

meaning behind your urlTHE ACTUAL REASON IS IT REMINDS ME I CAN TRUST MY INTUITION

reason you joined tumblrA CRUSH WROTE IN MY YEARBOOK I SHOULD GET IT. DONT WRITE THAT IN PEOPLES YEARBOOKS

who’s your closest tumblr friend?THE PERSON ASKING ME 99 QUESTIONS

what’s something most people love that you hate?TACOS AT WORK. THEYRE POPULAR OF COURSE. I MAY NOT KNOW MY TACOS, BUT PLAIN RAW CABBAGE ON THEM MAKES ME DOUBT

have you ever taken narcotics?NO

have you had sex?NO

have you ever gotten caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?I DONT GET CAUGHT!!!! IM SO SNEAKY… AND TRAUMATIZED. I ONLY GOT CAUGHT WHEN PEOPLE WERE LIKE, HUNTING ME. NOT FAIR. ALSO HOW DO YOU “GET CAUGHT” FOR DOING NORMAL THINGS LIKE READING AND HAVING CLOTHES

worst/funniest lie you’ve ever told?PROBABLY THE REASSURING CHRISTIAN VALUES THINGS I TOLD MY PARENTS TO GET MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE. IT WAS THE FUNNIEST BECAUSE FOR SOMEONE INCONVENIENTLY TRUTHFUL, THAT WAS SOME PRETTY HARDCORE LYING IN A RIDICULOUS SITUATION, AND THE WORST BECAUSE WHAT A HORRIBLE THING TO HAVE TO DO. IT WAS HORRIBLE BECAUSE I WAS SO CONVINCING BECAUSE I MIXED IT WITH THE TRUTH I COULD SINCERELY EXPRESS

describe your passion without mentioning it.HEY GUYS IM WRITING CHAPTER 1 AGAIN I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT THIS TIME

describe your best friend.WARM STRONG RESILIENT UNCONDITIONALLY LOVING KINDLY HONEST CREATIVE TALENTED BRAVE HARDWORKING BEAUTIFUL ORIGINAL NURTURING SELF CONFIDENT

give us one thing about you that no one knows.NO ONE KNOWS THE GRITTY DETAILS OF SOME SAD MOMENTS IN MY PAST. DID YOU KNOW I HATE THE SMELL OF HOSPITAL FOOD FROM WHEN I VISITED A FAMILY MEMBER IN A PSYCH WARD

how do you feel right now?GOOD, I SHOULD PROBABLY GO TO BED THOUGH

what is your biggest fear?BREAKING SELF HARM STREAK

what’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?SING A SONG EARTH WIND AND FIRE

what is the best decision you’ve made in your life so far?LEAVING MY PARENTS. ITS TAKEN ME AGES TO UNLEARN SO MUCH SELF-DEFEATING STUFF

have you ever tried your hardest and then been disappointed in the end?MOSTLY EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE BUT IM CHILL

something you fantasize about.ACTUALLY DANCING TO MUSIC I LIKE. I NEVER LEARNED HOW TO DANCE BUT I WANT TO SFM

last time you cried and whyTHAT PREACHER GUY IN LUCIFER. IT SUCKED BUT IM SO BLOWN AWAY BY LUCIFERS ANGRY YELLING AT THE SKY. WHAT A GIANT MOOD

what was the last thing that made you laugh?MY SISTER ASKING ME WHAT DILF MEANT

do you really, truly miss someone right now?NO. IF I MISS SOMEONE, ITS A SIGN THEY WERE A BAG OF DICKS TO ME AND MESSED UP MY INNER CLARITY

who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?YOU

the last time you felt broken?WHEN MY TWO FRIENDS AT THE TIME GANGED UP ON ME AND ABANDONED ME AT A NOT PRETTY TIME IN MY LIFE. I COULDNT EAT WHICH AND I STILL STRUGGLE WITH EATING, I NEVER USED TO

are you starting to realize anything?THAT IF I RELY ON MY LIFE EXPERIENCE, ILL EXPECT TO FAIL AND SABOTAGE MYSELF, AND INSTEAD I NEED TO TAKE RISKS AND PUT FAITH IN MY FUTURE.

are you more dominant or more submissive?THERES EVIDENCE FOR BOTH, BUT I THINK THE LATTER IS JUST FROM ABUSE AND GIRL RULES

i’ll only date you if _____. (fill in the blank)WASH YOUR HANDS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

do you prefer to date people the same age as you, younger, or older?AROUND MY AGE THERE IS SOME UNDERSTANDING

describe the person you’re in love with/have a crush on in great detail.IM NOT IN LOVE I DONT EVEN HAVE A CRUSH. I MAY HAVE A SQUISH

do you have any kinks?MAYBE SO

first thing you notice in a person?HOW THEY HANDLE STRESS AND PROBLEMS, IF THEY BLAME/GET ANGRY, OR IF THEY ARE COMPASSIONATE AND PATIENT. LOOKING FOR RED FLAGS

how can someone win your heart?FOOD. CHEESECAKE WAS A POWER MOVE. BONDING… OVER FOOD. I HAVE HAPPY MEMORIES ATTACHED TO BEVERAGES.

been rejected by a crush?YES

have you ever had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back?YES

would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?NO

is trust a big issue for you?YES

did you hang out with the person you like recently?NO

is confidence cute?YES, SELF LOVE LOOKS GOOD ON PEOPLE

what would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?GOOD FOR THEM. I DONT LIKE ANYONE RIGHT NOW

would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?NO. GIGGLING LIKE A LUNATIC IS AN IMPORTANT PART OF MY LIFE AND YOU NEED TO KEEP UP

does the person you have feelings for right now know you do?IF THEYRE FEELINGS, PROBABLY, BECAUSE IM TRANSPARENT

ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?IVE HAD MY EMBARRASSMENT GLANDS REMOVED FOR MY FTM TRANSITION

do you want to get marriedYEAH WHEN IM FIFTY THEN ILL GET A BUNCH OF DOGS AND CATS AND CHICKENS

worst thing you’ve ever done?APPARENTLY IVE BORROWED BOOKS AND NEVER RETURNED THEM

three things that turn you on.IM GOING THRU PUBERTY 2, TEENAGE BOY EDITION, IT DOESNT TAKE MUCH

who do you hate?I DONT LIKE SUCH SIMPLE CATEGORIES, BUT I START TO FEEL HATRED WITH REPEATED CRUELTY/WHEN SOMEONE REFUSES TO HEAR ME

favorite term of endearment?MY FRIEND

who was your celebrity/fictional gay awakening?I DIDNT REALLY HAVE TVS/POP CULTURE GROWING UP LIKE MOST PEOPLE, PROBABLY FOUND IT IN CREATIVE WRITING

intimidating girls or kind girls?KIND

what do you look for in a possible partner?EQUALITY

do you tend to like more masculine, feminine, or androgynous girls?YES

are you good at flirting?PERHAPS. WHEN IM NOT THINKING ABOUT IT

who was the first person you came out to?I DONT ACTUALLY REMEMBER. A HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND. IT WAS A STRESSFUL COMPLICATED TIME, MY WORLD WAS UPSIDE DOWN, IT WAS GRADUAL

do you have any friends who are wlw?PROBABLY

is your crush wlw?IDK

last person to make you reconsider your sexuality?A DOUCHE CANOE UNFORTUNATELY

write a short love poem to your crush/self?DEAR PERSON,THANK YOU FOR THE CHEESECAKEIT WAS SO GOODBUT ONLY BECAUSE IT WAS FROM YOU

do you fall in love easily?NO. I WISH I DID. I COULD USE THE HIGH TO GET STUFF DONE

is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about?I HATE TALKING ABOUT THINGS THAT MAKE ME FEEL HUMILIATED AND ASHAMED, SO I JUST DONT. I ALSO HATE TALKING ABOUT SELF HARM BECAUSE I NEVER KNOW HOW. AM I GOING TO TRIGGER PEOPLE? AND IT IS SHROUDED IN SHAME AND FEAR.

are you good at hiding your feelings?YES, WHEN I CONSCIOUSLY MAKE AN EFFORT TO

are you a forgiving person?NO. I USED TO BE ALL ABOUT FORGIVENESS, AND GREW UP FORGIVING ABUSIVE CYCLES, IT WAS SO UNHEALTHY. NOW I FEEL LIKE A CROW HOLDING GRUDGES FOR CENTURIES, AND I DONT WANT TO BE BITTER EITHER – I OFTEN FEEL BAD FOR NOT FORGIVING, EVEN IF ITS JUST FORGIVENESS FOR MY OWN SAKE. BUT ITS A NEW DEVELOPMENT THAT IM ALLOWING MYSELF TO FEEL ANGRY, BE TRUTHFUL ABOUT BEING WRONGED, WANT JUSTICE FOR MYSELF. AND MAYBE SOME THINGS SHOULDNT BE FORGIVEN.

what is your “type?”I DONT KNOW. I RECENTLY STARTED GROWING SOME SELF WORTH, AND I DONT THINK THE PEOPLE IVE SOUGHT OUT TO RELIVE MY PAIN COUNTS

fall asleep in her arms or rub her back until she falls asleep in yours?LAST ONE

tall girls or short girls?BOTH IS GOOD

hugs or kisses?HUGS

twirl her around or get twirled?I WANNA TWIRL PEOPLE

tummy kisses or thigh kisses?BOTH

hairline kisses or neck kisses?NECK

play with her hair or stroke her tummy?PLAYING WITH HAIR

making out or soft kisses?MAKING OUT

hugs around the neck or hugs around the waist?WAIST

how confident are you in your sexuality?I THINK PEOPLE WOULD ASSUME IM NOT. IM SHY, AND MY NERDY CHRISTIAN VIBE ISNT GOING ANYWHERE. IM ALSO JUST BEGINNING TO LIVE AS MYSELF AND IM RELEARNING EVERYTHING. BUT WHEN IT COMES TO REALLY KNOWING MYSELF IM CONFIDENT

when you like someone do you blush or get butterflies in your stomach?NO. I WILL START CRANKING OUT ART AND FOCUS LESS THAN USUAL

have you ever liked a friend as more than a friend? did you tell them?YES

how old were you when you realized you were into girls?20ISH BUT THE SIGNS WERE THERE LONG BEFORE

most embarrassing thing you’ve done in front of a cute girl?I GOT MY EMBARRASSMENT GLANDS REMOVED REMEMBER

do you have a favorite lesbian ship? is it canon?I DONT KNOW MANY BUT IM HAPPY FOR THE CANON MARCELINE AND BUBBLEGUM

what is the most aggravating thing someone has said to you about your sexuality?MY SISTER PROJECTING ABOUT HER LIFE. WE HAVE CONSERVATIVE MISOGYNIST PARENTS BUT WE ARE VERY DIFFERENT PEOPLE AND IT DID NOT AFFECT US IN THE SAME WAY

when was the last time a girl made your heart flutter?I FEEL LIKE IM FORGETTING SOMETHING NICE A STRANGER SAID ONCE

what is love to you?NOT SOMETHING YOU DISPENSE AT YOUR CONVENIENCE. ITS A WAY OF LIVING – IF YOU LOVE YOURSELF, YOU LOVE OTHER PEOPLE, AND YOU LOVE THE WORLD AROUND YOU AND TAKE CARE OF IT. ITS NEITHER FAWNING NOR CONTROL – ITS ACCEPTANCE

ask me anything.YOU DIDNT ASK ME ANYTHING SO IM JUST GOING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING. IVE BEEN EATING POPCORN CHICKEN WITH HONEY

[lifeinahole27]

Fic Bits 2018: Part 3

SO. One happy morning, I went to post this from my drafts and my dumb fat finger hit “delete” instead of “queue” and then I got sucked into work forever and ever and ever and never got around to posting part 3 of these. Incredibly delayed but here are the ones that fit into canon or headcanon or canon-adjacent. 

Included in this pack: 

“Winter Bliss Firsts” - a little look at how Emma and Killian celebrate their first holiday season after the dust from the Black Fairy all settles. Fluff - G.

“In His Own Eyes” - I got a request for whump, which is not something I write. Ever. So this is a bit of reflection. Killian-centric, slight angst? - PG-13.

“A Definite Improvement” - Some Captain Cobra and the evolution of their relationship after life has settled down. Fluff - PG? Sure.

“Winter Bliss Firsts”

With the Black Fairy vanquished and their lives back on track, Emma and Killian soon find a rhythm as they settle into their new partnerships – both as husband and wife, and sheriff and deputy.

Emma’s favorite is when winter finally hits in full force, the Maine weather forecasts getting bleaker by the day, to most.

To Emma, it means that less people will be out trying to cause trouble in their magical little town, which means they aren’t really needed for patrol a majority of the time.

If the Bug won’t even move from the curb, then who else is going to really try to start something out there in the blizzard?

Day after day, they sink into their little haven; they light the fireplace and curl up on the couch, enjoying the peace and solitude when it’s just them, and welcoming Henry into their space when he’s not spending time with Regina.

The greatest thing about all of this is that they never had to figure out custody or a schedule – Henry just drifts between the households, spending time with his mothers and his step-father as if it was the most natural set-up of all.

They’re never grasping for their alone time, and they’re never feeling neglected at their happy Victorian household.

When it’s Christmas time, Emma makes Killian go out to find a live tree for the first time in his life. He and David end up with the job of cutting down and hauling the trees.  

Emma and Snow “help” from the sidelines. Henry documents everything with both camera and pen, adding the tale to their storybooks.

Despite the fact that he knows almost nothing of the holiday, Killian easily goes along with the decorating, the baking, the traditions.

He is especially fond of the small cluster of mistletoe she posts above the door, kissing her every chance they get.

Emma enjoys watching him acclimate even further into modern living, still fascinated by the glimpses of Enchanted Forest and pirate that she sees peek out at random times.

But as the winter goes, so does his confusion to a lot of pop culture references.

The Christmas tunes easily get hummed and sung when she’s least expecting him to join in.

But he still throws down doubloons at Granny’s as a form of payment.

(Actually, she’s pretty sure that’s strictly for the reaction he gets from Granny, but he never says one way or the other.)

What she does know is that no matter how cold it gets outside, she always has Killian by her side to keep her warm.

Every once in a while, Emma thinks of the way he told her there’d be no getting rid of him after their wedding day.

And really? She couldn’t be more thankful that he was telling the truth about that.

“In His Own Eyes”

Despite his nature of being a bit of a scoundrel, Captain Hook is getting tired of all the times he’s been tied or chained to items since meeting Emma Swan.

There’s the knife to his throat, shortly followed by being tied to a tree and offered as food to an ogre. It reminds him of being trapped against the mast of his ship when Rumplestiltskin took his hand and his love, and he doesn’t like it one single bit.

She chains him up at the giant’s lair, refusing to believe he could be helping her – to be fair, he’s been waffling at best on whose side he’s on – but still, the nerve.

Then there’s Cora trapping him against the wall of that cave, his own Hook pulling at the fabric on his chest. His insides heave at the thought of this woman, but if she’s his only way to skin a crocodile, then he has to stay on course.

The darkness of his heart and soul consumes him so often that he genuinely doesn’t care if it’s bodily harm or a verbal lashing from any of these supposed heroes. All he knows is that he will have his revenge, even if he has to get hit by a bloody motor vehicle directly after.

Which is a good thing, since that’s exactly what seems to have happened.

When Killian awakes in the hospital, it’s to a chain around his wrist – again – and Emma Swan telling him that his foe is still alive. With magic. And angry.

“If I were to pick dead guy of the year, I’d pick you.”

He supposes, of course, that it wouldn’t be all that terrible to finally be free of this world and to join up with his Milah in the great beyond.

A trip to New York City to kill the Crocodile, and another journey being tied up, followed by another failure.

Time, and time, and time again, he fails and fails and fails. If he could just get his damn revenge and be on with life, it wouldn’t be so bad.

But somewhere in there he begins to believe in living again.

It might have something to do with the unstoppable force that is Emma Swan and her band of happy heroes.

It could be that kiss in Neverland.

It could be that, for the first time since he was under his brother’s command, he wants to do the good thing – the right thing.

And then it all gets taken away from him again, thanks to Pan’s bloody curse, and he’s never going to see her again.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” he tells her, just before they depart.

“Good.”

He thought having Milah die in front of him was bad enough, but having his second chance at love ripped away – to know that he has to live his life without her while she lives her life without him – hurts as much as if he’d watched her die, too.

Regardless of what happened in their missing year, all Killian knows is that he did not expect his reunion with Emma to result in injury to his person.

But he supposes even that hurts less than finding out she’s found someone new.

He seems to be destined for heartache and heartbreak, no matter how he tries.

“A Definite Improvement”

There’s a large pit of disappointment in Killian’s stomach when he walks outside with the video game controller and finds that it was all a ruse.

He’s been struggling lately to connect with Henry, and figured it was about time they started bonding. Of course, it all goes much deeper than that.

It’s not until much later that it all gets a little easier with the lad – after the world has quieted down and they aren’t in constant fear for Emma’s life.

Operation Best Man was a success, and after everything that went awry has settled, the ease with which they find harmony is astonishing.

It’s a rainy day several months after he and Emma have been married that Henry comes into the living room and turns on his video game system, and Killian tilts his head a little.

“I did tell you I’d teach you,” Henry says, handing over one of the controllers.

Killian does his best not to look too excited. Emma is out of the house visiting her parents so this is something purely for the benefit of bonding, no secondary alternatives.

After a few attempts at one of the games, however, it’s obvious it’s not going to work.

Killian was correct all that time ago when he said that the games weren’t meant for people like him. He understands what to do, and the storyline, and how he’s supposed to play, but with one less hand, he just can’t push all the buttons he’s supposed to, even if he braces it on his leg and uses his thumb on one side and the rest of his fingers on the other. It’s just no use.

“Why don’t you keep playing, and I’ll just watch?”

The next day, the system disappears from the living room, and Killian looks at the vacant spot sadly, knowing that while he and Henry have plenty to bond over, this is something that just wasn’t meant to be.

Two weeks later, Henry comes barreling down the stairs, flying out the door and down the walkway to meet one of the delivery people. He has no idea how mail gets transferred into a town that isn’t on the map but he knows better than to question such things at this point.

When Henry comes back in, he immediately goes to the kitchen and to the drawer where they hide all their miscellaneous items. He can hear the box cutter being used, and the shuffling of something being removed from a box, but he focuses on the book he’s reading, thinking that Henry has just ordered an item for himself.

He’s not entirely wrong; Henry has purchased what he calls a Wii.

“I used all my allowance and got mom to advance me some for the next month so I could order this,” he explains as he plugs in various items and finds batteries and puts a strange bar beneath their television.

Killian can feel how hard his eyebrows are drawn down in confusion, but Henry looks so excited.

“I’ll explain as we go,” he says, holding out a strange item for Killian to take hold of. “You slide that loop around your wrist and hold the controller like this.”

Killian follows the instructions, waiting as Henry fiddles with something else.

“Okay, we’re gonna make your Mii.”

“My what now?”

“Just look at the screen and press the buttons I tell you to.”

“Henry, this small thing looks nothing like me.”

“It’s not supposed to be a ringer, Killian.”

“There’s no option for facial hair.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to live without the constant three day stubble.”

“Says the young man who has three day stubble at present and it’s just a clean face.”

“I can walk away, you know.”

“Fine, fine. Get on with it… Those aren’t my eyes.”

“No, but those are your eyebrows.”

Killian’s eyebrow jumps up at the comment.

“See! There it is!”

“Why do my eyes look like that now?”

“Those are what your eyes look like when you look at my mom.”

“I would bloody hope so, she’s my wife.”

“You just like saying that.”

“Damn right I do. What do I do with this mini-me?”

“It’s just a Mii. And we’re going to play games with him now.”

“We tried this, lad.”

“We tried old school. Now we’re going with motion technology. There’s another part we could use, but we’ll skip the games that use that so you don’t have to be left out.”

He almost cries.

That’s a lie; he does cry. But he wipes it away quickly as Henry is explaining how they’re going to play something called “tennis” and he is awful at it at first but soon he’s catching on.

“Wait wait, pause the game,” he tells Henry after no more than twenty minutes of game play.

He shuffles the strap off his wrist and sprints upstairs, flinging off vest and button-up shirt as he goes, finding one of the t-shirts he normally reserves for sleeping in during cold nights.

When Emma arrives home from work, he and Henry have both soaked through their shirts and have exhausted their games list.

“Should… should I even ask?”

Both of them shake their heads, too tired to even try speaking as they lie on the pieces of furniture closes to them.

She comes back after she sets down her keys and hangs up her jacket, handing them each a tall glass of water and grabbing one of the remotes off the coffee table.

“I’ll take on whoever recovers first. Loser makes dinner tonight,” she states matter-of-factly. Her shoes are off, she’s back in leggings and a t-shirt, and her hair is tied up. Killian idly wonders when she managed to change when he swears she was only home for seconds before she brought them water.

Then he looks across at Henry, and Henry looks back at him, and they’re both scrambling from their prone positions trying to grab for the remote because that’s a challenge they’re willing to take on.

(They both end up making dinner, because they both lose to Emma despite their very best efforts and hours of practice.)

(“Beginner’s luck,” Emma says, her smile saying otherwise as she sits on the counter and watches them work side-by-side.)

(Killian wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[trivialqueen]

Here’s the next section of that original story. 

As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British.  I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men. 

St. Sebastian’s was a world class hospital with some of the worst aesthetics he’d ever seen. The exterior was in an uninspired brutalist style. The interior had been remolded several times since the early 1960s, but only ever with an eye toward function and technology, never design or comfort. The cardiothoracic ward, known as Harvey, was as bland as the rest of the hospital, but with the extra unattractive feature of ghastly aqua accents throughout. As if that was a substitute for style. Felix leaned against the nurses’ station, feigning interest in a chart. It had been over a week since his introduction as Director of Surgery. In the subsequent ten days his true role in the hospital had spread like, well, gossip in a hospital. He’s the Dread Pirate Roberts here for your jjjoooobbb!! The rumors were absolutely true, but he didn’t want to let that on. To make an accurate assessment of viability and redundancies he needed to see the hospital in action, not performance. Changes were only as good as their usefulness and longevity. So whenever possible he preferred to observe as inconspicuously as a man of his height could. This tended to involve a lot of pretending to read and “sneaking”.

Even if he wasn’t half secretly overseeing a major shakeup in the hospital, being the Director of Surgery meant he bounced from ward to ward far more than his colleagues did. Which was how he found himself on Harvey that afternoon. He appreciated the challenges that this brought, it tested and stretched diagnostic muscles he’d not used since deciding a specialty, but it also ate into his time as a surgeon. He’d accepted a more administrative position as it was the next logical career move, but in his heart, he was a doctor first and foremost, a bureaucrat a distant second. His pantomime reading of one of Paul Elliot’s old transplant cases was interrupted by a sandy haired teen with a strong Belfast accent.

“It’s ma Dad, he needs help.” A quick survey of the room told him two things: one, no one was collapsed on the floor, meaning the Dad in question was already a patient in a bed, and two, none of the CT consultants, or even a registrar, were in the immediate vicinity. The boy was talking to him.

“Who’s his consultant?”

“Ms. Hale.” The boy fairly spat.

“Then I suggest you wait for her.” She was likely doing something maverick and self-righteous, but he had no doubts she’d be back.

“She doesn’t know a damn thing what she’s doing! She’s done like fifteen tests on ma Dad and all she says is ‘wait and see’. Now you tell me to wait! I’m sick of waiting. He’s in pain, real pain.”

“Alright.” He could at least do something about the pain, if nothing else.

Sofia Grace Hale had a scrivener’s hand, surprising for a doctor. It was large, round, looping, and very legible, unlike his own tight, scratchy scrawl. ‘Abdominal pain’ jumped out from the meticulous notes. Most of Mr. Patrick Baxter’s ailments were CT related and not necessarily caused by his MS– the dilated aorta first among them. Ms. Hale was undoubtable chasing all of their causes and symptoms, but the abdominal pain… well he could check on that. It would also make the teen happy, hopefully, if he could even answer one question.

“Mr. Baxter, my name is Felix Magnusson, and I’d like to do a few tests regarding your abdominal pain, I’ll be arranging for your transfer to our general surgery ward, St. Irene’s.”

Ms. Hale’s red tassel earrings matched her lipstick and made her double take particularly dramatic as she passed Mr. Baxter, his son Kevin, and the porter taking them to the third floor.

“Where are you taking Mr. Baxter?”

“Down to Irene.” Her coffee colored eyes widened and that fire he’d seen during their first meeting began to smolder. She had eyes that could lead a man to hell. Perhaps one day she might look at him without an indignant flame in her gaze. But until then he would warm himself by the fire in her eyes.

“What?”

“He needs an ultrasound.”

“Why isn’t he having one here?” She crossed her arms under her breast as she glared up at him. Even in her high heels her head only came to about his shoulders. To keep eye contact she was forced to crane her neck slightly. Which she did, pale throat exposed, creating a lovely long line down her neck to her décolletage, where he resolutely refused to look, no matter how tempting.

“There seems little point in taking up a CT bed when his problem is clearly GS related.”

“Clearly GS related? The worst pain is in his chest, and the echo shows a dilated aorta.”

“I’ve read your notes. He also has severe abdominal pain. So, what’s your diagnosis?”

She wanted to scream. That arrogant bastard. That absolute arschloch. ‘What’s your diagnosis?’ like she was a bloody F1. God, his tone. ‘Was ist deine diagnose?’ It was that same clipped, ‘I don’t think you have this in you’ tone her clinical skills lead at Tübingen had taken with her. Except he was speaking English. And she wasn’t a F1 anymore. She was a consultant, goddamnit.

(The worst part was, of course, the fact she didn’t have a diagnosis. Not yet anyway, and that uncertainty made her feel even more like a bloody first year all over again. ‘Was ist deine diagnose?’ ‘Keine Ahnung.’)

“I’ve ruled out ischemic heart disease but I’m still waiting on his blood pressure.”

“That is not a diagnosis.” Her eyes flamed beautifully. Her temper was quick and exquisite.

“I’m well aware! As I said, I’m waiting on his test results.”

“The patient was admitted thirty-six hours ago, and you don’t have a diagnosis yet. Surly a change of tact can only assist in figuring this out.” He cocked a brow, his supreme confidence in his own ability shining in his eyes, the quirk of his lips. He took a step closer to her, forcing her head back further, as if he wanted to force her to look away. She wouldn’t. She’d hold her ground and his gaze, even if meant he put her in Anuvittasana to do it. She could catch a whiff of his aftershave, something with sandalwood in it. He smelled of it, hospital, fresh laundry, and perhaps faintly, of old books.

“Is it common elsewhere to steal other consultants’ patients? Or is this because you think you know everything?” He stared at her a moment, tongue moistening his thin lips before he spoke.

“We are both consultants, are we not?” He could see her hands flexing at her side, as if she was thinking about strangling him, and he could taste her anger, capsaicin hot.

“Yes.” She spat out from between cayenne colored lips.

“then surly Mr. Baxter can be our patient. Now let me see what I can learn about the GS part of our current problem, hm?” And with that patronizing hum in his throat he left. Left her in the hallway struggling to keep from screaming, her breath coming in choppy, short burst.

She really did not like that man.

He heard her before he saw her, the determined click of spike heels on linoleum making the announcement: Gird your loins. The moment Mr. Baxter was back from his ultrasound she was at his bedside, chart in hand.

“Your blood pressure is constantly going from high to normal-”

“Of course, it is Love, you keep bothering me. Now, I don’t wanna be rude…” His tone suggested otherwise as his gaze raked down her body, coming to rest on her legs with appreciation. “I’ve lived with this condition for fifteen years; you’re not going to tell me anything I don’t already know.” She did have stunning legs, but that did not give the man the right to stare like that. Felix could feel his jaw tighten as he watched patient and consultant converse.

“Right, Jeyne, I’d like to do a blood culture and another echo, please.”

“Love, you’re not listening to me. You’re wasting your time running these bloody tests.” Ms. Hale was very clearly listening to the man, her back was visibly tense from across the room, spine straight and hard as steel. She gave him a curt nod and walked away, his eyes following her with a lascivious grin spreading across his face. He caught her eye as she brushed past him down the hall, for once that burning anger wasn’t directed at him. Once the click-click of her heels was out of earshot he released the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding. The glower he knew he wore, however, remained.

The ward was mostly dark as he made his final rounds for the evening. Meetings had taken up most of his afternoon, bowel resection aside, and had pushed any patient follow ups or paperwork into late in the evening. Most of the residents on the ward were asleep, with a few readings or playing on their devices, providing patches of light throughout the otherwise dim floor. Mr. Baxter was asleep, looking almost peaceful. He snagged the man’s file and retreated to the better lighting of the nurses’ station.

“She said I could sit here.” The voice almost startled him, if he was the sort to be startled. Kevin Baxter sat at the nursing station, text book and papers spread about him in messy piles. Felix felt his fingers twitch, itch to straighten them up, keep them from jumbling together or with anything important still on the desk.

“Who did?”

“Sister Jacobs. Gotta do my homework somewhere.” He held up a battered German language primer.

“Ah! Sprichst du Deutsch?”

“Ich verstehe nur Bahnhof.” He could only smile at his response. There was always something deliciously ironic about complaining that one did not speak the language in idioms of the language.

He’d learned Latin at his father’s knee, and learned it perfectly, for his father would not have settled for anything less. It was both his personality and his profession, as a professor of classics and philologist. English had come quickly in school and become his primary language when at ten he’d been sent to boarding school. He’d learned French first, having tested out of the Latin classes, followed shortly by German. At the time French had been the easier language to pick up, but after quickly realizing that speaking it frequently would require interacting with the French, he’d not pursued it beyond conversational. His mastery of German had been improved tremendously the year he spent in Heidelberg but since his return to the UK it had fallen by the wayside, reading skills aside. He still enjoyed keeping up with his former colleagues’ research. He now also had a stack of publications by S.G. Hale sitting on his desk to peruse.

“Deutsche Sprache, Schwere Sprache.”

“Ja, und ich mag es nicht. Es ist eine mean, hateful Sprache.”

“If you need help, Ms. Hale is a fluent German speaker, she went to school there.” The boy pulled a face. “Do you always work at night?” He was not interested in hearing the boy complain about one of the hospital’s more talented surgeons because his father had a particularly difficult case to diagnose; sifting out preexisting MS symptoms from the new ones, causes still unknown.

“It’s the only time we get any peace, when he’s asleep. Then it’s like everything’s… dunno, normal, I guess, whatever that means.”  He sounded so old for one so young. Felix followed the boy’s eyes as they rested on his father, who was still resting as peacefully as one could in a hospital bed. I could not be easy for either of them, as far as he could tell there was no one else in the Baxter household at the moment except Patrick and Kevin. Being primary caretaker and a teenager was no easy task. “It’s become secondary progressive, hasn’t it?” His jaw clenched.

“What makes you say that?”

“Cuz it’s obvious,” The boy said in that way that only teenagers could. “The migraines, the flashing before his eyes, the coughing like he’s got consumption, the going crazy mad for no reasons.” Felix felt his body tense. This was new information. Important and new. Given how consistently condescending and rude he’d been to Ms. Hale while simultaneously ogling her admittedly very fine legs and even better backside, he’d assumed the man had always had a bad temper. That it was a personality trait, not a symptom.

“He’s not always had a temper?” His mind buzzed with new connections.

“Just lately. Why?”

“Do your homework.” The Baxters might complain about excessive tests but he was fairly confident the next two would provide all the answers they needed.

She was too old for this shit. Sofia Grace did her best to stifle a yawn before going to speak to Mr. Baxter. She’d been up entirely too late trying to figure out his diagnosis, but she’d finally made one. It was a pity that as her vice of choice, she’d developed a tolerance to caffeine so high that the amount necessary to actually keep her awake would also, quite possibly, kill her. But given how Mr. Baxter rankled her with his distain and condescension she knew that her blood would undoubtedly be pumping in now time. Straightening her blouse, she approached his bed, Kevin had already left for school it seemed.

“Good morning, Mr. Baxter. My sincerest apologies for it taking so long, but I think I’ve come up with an explanation for your symptoms.”

“No need, Love, really.” It was a dismissal but not nearly as rude as his usual attitude.

“Sorry?” In fact, he looked rather resigned.

“Catecholamine.” A baritone voice in her ear supplied. Sofia Grace felt herself jump out of her skin. She wheeled around. There, standing in her personal space was Felix Magnusson. Tall as ever, as immovable as a brick wall, and radiating a warmth from his chest that made the rest of the room feel chilly. She’d had no idea he was on the ward, let alone able to stand directly behind her.

“What?”

“I’ve explained it all to Mr. Baxter already,” He continued on, as efficient as ever, pulling out a CT scan from its large brown envelope with flourish. “It accounts for all the symptoms and really, it’s blindingly obvious when you really think about it. I feel a little ashamed for not realizing sooner.” He held the scan out in front of her, he was so close to her back and his arms were so long that she only needed to lean back slightly into his chest to see what he was looking at. “Textbook Pheochromocytoma.” There was indeed a tumor on the adrenal gland and up into the chest cavity, partially around the diaphragm. The pain, headaches, palpitations, elevated heartrate and blood pressure… all the signs and symptoms. The dilated aorta was a problem, but not related to the other symptoms. It really was a general surgery problem, Hurensohn! He lowered his arm but didn’t step back from her.

“So, what do we do now?” It was the first time the man in the bed had looked up at her with anything other than contempt.

“Well,” his MS did complicate things, he wasn’t wrong when he’d asserted that. They’d have to determine if he was fit for surgery, speak with the neuro and physio specialists, get a theatre slot if he was determined fit or wait longer if he wasn’t.

“There’s a procedure. We have a slot in theatre this morning.” She did step away from him then. They needed to have a discussion, now. And it couldn’t be in front of Patrick Baxter. Her fingers itched to grab him by the tie (burgundy silk against a pale blue shirt and navy suit) and tow him away from the bed.

“Mr. Magnusson, could I have a word?” Keeping her tone light and professional was a challenge. They’d only worked together for two weeks and Sofia Grace wasn’t entirely certain she hadn’t developed a twitch in that time.

“Just a moment, Ms. Hale.” He didn’t quite hand wave her away, but it was close. God grant me the strength to deal with condescending men. “There’s a theatre slot this morning; would you like us to call your son?” Magnusson was hard to read, but this look was particularly inscrutable.

“No, not till after. If that’s possible. He’s got a maths test today and doesn’t need more worry than he’s already got.” Ever so slightly the lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed as he studied the man in the bed.

“Mr. Magnusson, if you don’t mind?” It took some effort to steer him away, mostly with herself to keep from grabbing him by the tie to do it. Instead a firm hand on his elbow did the trick, only making her feel slightly like a tiny tugboat, although instead of bringing a Nordic cruise ship out to sea, she was dragging a Swedish surgeon over to the light box.

           “You’re just assuming he’s fit for surgery!” She hissed.

           “The Neuro and Physio specialists seem to agree with me.” He hung the scan on the viewer, turned it on, and then reached into his breast pocket for his glasses. Resolutely not looking at her.

“So, let me get this straight,” Sabrina had suggested that he wasn't awful, but she’d just let him get under her skin. And then he did shit like this. “You talked to Stewart and Noah before you talked to me about our patient?” He ignored her. Outright.

“If you’re still concerned, let’s get a second opinion.” He turned and spotted Griffin Richards walking across the ward, cup of coffee in one hand, a stack of files in the other. Sofia liked Griffin; he was an excellent GS surgeon with a flair for the upper GI. He was committed to helping people and passionate about the NHS. Patients came first and she’d only ever seen him play politics to that end. He was a good colleague, even if his personal life was a bit of a shambles. Discreetly she peeked at his hands, no wedding band this morning. So, he was on the outs with his wife this week.

“Ah, Mr. Richards, would you be so kind as to act as arbitrator?” He waved Griffin over politely.

“For what?” He asked, giving Magnusson a wary look but gifting her with a warm smile. He was a handsome and charming man; it was easy to see how he got his wife. It was only a shame that it didn’t seem like he was able to keep her.

“Pheochromocytoma on the adrenal gland that has attached itself to the diaphragm.” Magnusson used the ear piece of his glasses to point to the tumor.

“Mr. Magnusson seems keen to slice and dice, despite the fact the patient has MS.”

“And you would do what exactly, Ms. Hale? Key hole through the chest?” It was a valid option, but he said it as if he might have said, “Try crystal healing?” Griffin put on his own glasses and studied the scan quietly for a moment, sipping his coffee.

“Well if it were my patient, given the position of the tumor, I would suggest you and I operate together.” Another smile, this one less charming as he’d just sold her out. Magnusson was smiling as well, thin lipped and smug as hell.

“And there’s our answer,” he tapped the scan with his glasses, “a CT/GS collaboration, as I was saying. Thank you, Mr. Richards. I’ll see you on the ice, Ms. Hale.” And with that he walked off. Just like that. Sofia knew she was gawping, but she couldn’t help it, the arrogance of the man left her speechless.

Dieser Arschgesicht!

Well, perhaps not entirely…

Ms. Hale was already at the sink when he arrived for surgery. She was in pale blue scrubs today, unlike the wine-colored ones he’d first met her in, her dark curls covered by her floral cap. She didn’t look up at him as she scrubbed her hands but gave him a slight nod as he took the faucet next to her to begin his own cleansing ritual.

“I have reasons for wanting to do a keyhole procedure on Mr. Baxter, it’s not just a ‘CT’ thing or whatever you seem to think. If we do keyhole-”

“We’re doing this open procedure, Ms. Hale.”

“But there’s a risk of-”

“The theatre is set up.” Her cayenne lips pursed into a stubborn line. Her face was already so expressive, but with her mouth painted bright red it was impossible not to look at her lips. They were full, with a cupid’s bow, and clearly holding back several things she’d like to say. Her eyes said them for her, sparking as she gave him a last look before heading off to get her gown and gloves on. If she was half as dynamic of a surgeon as she was as a woman this was going to be quite the operation.

Perhaps it was because she had a scalpel in her hands, but Magnusson was at least inclined to follow her instructions while they were in theatre. He retracted when asked, clamped where she needed him to clamp and generally stayed out of her way as she dealt with Mr. Baxter’s diaphragm. She also didn’t need to look up from her work to know that he was watching her every move with a critical eye.

“Enjoying your foray into Cardiothoracics?” He’d declined the suggestion of background music, leaving nothing to fill the silence except for either one’s thoughts or small talk. And Sofia Grace never much liked being alone with her own thoughts.

“Believe it or not, I was not considering my life lacking in any way for not spending time playing with people’s hearts. What is it about CT surgeons thinking the heart is the only organ in the body?” She’d meant it as small talk, a reference to the fact he was currently assisting her. But nope, he was gunna be an ass about this too. Jesus H. Christ and a windmill full of corpses what is his problem?!

“To be fair, it is kinda important.” He didn’t look up and neither did she as she finished off the last stitch she needed, and they could transition from the more CT oriented to GS oriented surgery.

“It likes to think that, certainly.” He said, picking up a scalpel. “Whereas the kidneys just get on with their job, filtering toxins out and letting the body function. Efficient, beautiful, and secure enough in themselves that they don’t need to shout about it.” Normally she would argue that picking a favorite or most important body part was a stupid endeavor. Most of the organs in the body were necessary and linked together in ways that pulling one out of the system without compensating for it would lead to problems in a variety of other areas. There was no one organ that was better than any other body part, there was only what needed to be dealt with immediately or later to ensure quality of life.

This being said, if he was just going to talk shit because he had some weird hang-up about CT surgeons, she’d double down for the heart. (It was her favorite organ, even if picking favorites was stupid).

“So indispensable you can lose one and still survive.”

“Hack a piece of kidney off and it’ll just grow back,” He picked up a scalpel, “the minute the heart breaks it becomes a useless piece of tissue. And then of course there’s the fact we can now replace a faulty heart with a machine the size of a cigarette packet.” He shot her a look over the top of his glasses before he started cutting, she could almost see the smug smirk behind his surgical mask.

“And in some cases, Mr. Magnusson, it seems as if people can survive without any heart at all.” She met his eye steadily, arching one brow defiantly. He stared at her for a moment. Somewhere behind her, someone sounding a lot like Dan Flannery whispered, “Ooo burn.”

“We need to keep moving.” He muttered awkwardly, getting back to the task at hand.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

They worked in silence after that, only the beeps and pings of the machines and occasional request breaking up the quiet.

“BP is plummeting.” Magnusson reported calmly. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to do open surgery in the first place.

“If we had gone with the keyhole procedure-”

Which we did not so I fail to see the usefulness of that comment.” He snapped, voice cold and quick and sharp.  Brooking no retort.

“We did not go with the keyhole procedure because you decided that we shouldn’t, not because we mutually agreed this method. You decided what was best for this procedure, without listening to my reasons, I might add.”

“I am trying to concentrate, Ms. Hale, if you don’t mind?” Out of respect for Mr. Baxter she bit back the rest of what she wanted to say. At least for the moment.

“It’s funny that of all the words to get lost in translation, partners, seems to mean nothing to you.” Mr. Baxter was now Pheochromocytoma free and on his way back to bed for his recovery.

“What?” Magnusson looked at her sideways as she began washing her hands beside him at the sink. Thoroughly washing her hands gave her something to focus on while she tried to find the right words. There were so many things she wanted to say. Most of them rude. But as therapeutic she’d find it to smash his face in and curse him out, it wouldn’t change what she needed to have changed. Word on the street was he would be staying at Saint Seb’s for the foreseeable future, she needed to play the long game, not for immediate gratification.

“In addition to unilaterally deciding on the method of today’s surgery without consulting me, your CT specialist for this surgery and Co-consultant. You also figured out some significant information about our shared patient and did not tell me.” He stopped washing his hands to stare at her, hands raised slightly, allowing the soap and water to drip down his long forearms to the floor. “No, instead, you went straight to the patient himself and explained everything, leaving me in the dark, and then looking like a complete ass with my dick in the wind trying to discuss his condition without the full picture. To compound this, you swoop in and make me look even more stupid in front of our patient. A patient who already had limited regard for my expertise and position as a Doctor.” She turned the faucet off with her elbow and flicked the excess water from her hands into the sink with a flourish before turning to face him. He was staring at her intently, square jaw working but his mouth wisely closed.

“You complain that I make arrogant, rash decisions and that surgeons who make decisions for their own ends are a menace. Next time you work with me, you either keep me in the loop and treat me as an equal or find someone else to handle your heart.” She didn’t wait for his response, instead she grabbed a towel from beside him and brushed past, leaving him alone in the scrub room.

[ask-ger-pan-ita]

It’s the little things

It was always the little things that made Feliciano smile. From the odd compliment to a smile on the street from a stranger, the little things are what mattered most to him. He rarely needed extravagant or expensive gifts. This also meant that it was the little things that hurt him most. When a stranger would glare at him for no apparent reason when he witnessed someone yelling at others. The little things were what both made and broke the Italian.

That's why, when he met his soulmate through a small smile, his heart soared.

Feliciano had been visiting his brother, Romeo, in the hospital. Romeo wasn't his biological brother, unlike Romano. Feliciano had adopted Romeo once he had turned 23. Romeo being 15 at the time, Feliciano felt it would be a bit weird to have him as his child, so he raised him as a younger brother. That's why it broke his heart when he had gotten the call from the hospital, stating that 'We are calling to inform you, as Romeo Vargas' emergency contact, that Mr Vargas has been in a severe car accident, he was transported via air ambulance to Queen Elizabeth's hospital' That was the moment that his heart had stopped for the first time.

Feliciano did anything a good older brother would do and packed a bag of Romeo's belongings, a bag of his own and rushed out of the door, running for the train station. He made it to the hospital 2 hours after receiving the call. He rushed in through the front doors a panicked expression on his face. Feliciano told the person at the desk who he was, who he was there for and his relation to him. The receptionist just nodded her head sadly and told Feliciano 'Romeo Vargas is in room 21, it's up against the stairs to your right and then the fifth door on the left side'. Feliciano ran off up the stairs, barely remembering to yell a thank you over his shoulder.

It was only once he had reached Romeo's room that the reality of what might await him had set in. 'My brother could be in a coma, he could be dying, he might not even remember me.' Feliciano had thought before pushing the door open. What had been waiting for him was both better and worse than he could have hoped for in this situation.

Romeo was laying on the slightly raised bed, attached to a heart monitor that was bleeping evenly. His face had a rather large gauze, which supposedly hid stitches, but other than that he was fine. Until Feliciano got closer. As he got close enough to see the right side of his body, he realised something was missing. His younger brother, whom he had been raising for the past two years, had lost his right, dominant arm. Taking a deep breath, he dumped the bags at the other end of the room and pulled the plastic chair near the white hospital bed, being careful not to disturb any wires. Feliciano sat there staring at the major injury, taking in every detail, while the body was still asleep. The arm had been amputated just under the shoulder, leaving a little stub. The red bandaging had no traces of blood, which led Feliciano to assume he had already been through surgery. Having had enough of staring at his broken brother, the Italian looked down at his hands, seeing the two different red strings that had twisted together five years ago, telling him that his two soulmates had met.

Feliciano loved having two soulmates, though he was constantly shunned for it. It was the reason his parents had given him and his twin up. Not that Romano had two red strings, but Lovino had refused to let Feliciano leave without him. They were given up to the same orphanage that he had adopted Romeo from. That is how Feliciano and Romano had received their names, they had been changed from 'Mark' (in Feliciano's case) and 'Peter'(In Romano's case)to Feliciano and Romano. They had not been born to Italian parents but were both only two when they were adopted by Romulus Vargas, leaving them to pick up both the English and Italian languages and cultures. It also meant that both had an Italian accent. Being Italian was a big part of both of the boys' identities that most day they didn't even recognise that they weren't born in Italy. Romulus was already getting into his late forties and already had two children who had passes away 5 years prior to adopting the twins, so he opted for them to call him Grandpa, he eventually ended up being called grandpa Rome, considering he had come from Rome, and loved the nickname. That's also where Romeo got his name from, Feliciano wanted to honour his saviour, who was sick at the time. so he asked Grandpa Rome his opinion of the name Romeo, a mix between his Grandpa's name and his brothers. Both of the men liked it and when the idea of changing his name was presented to Sammy(Romeo) he loved it, a new name and a new start.

"Sir?" Feliciano was broken from his stroll down memory lane by a quiet voice and a tugging of his string. He snapped his head up and looked at one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen in his life. The man was donned in white animal printed nurse's scrubs, he had deep, seemingly neverending brown eyes, short, choppy black hair. The two men stared at each other, shocked.

"Umm H-hello I'm Umm Feliciano Vargas," The red-haired Italian stated, still shocked from meeting one of his soulmates. The other man smiled sweetly, shifting his smile from the sad, respectful smile that was normally plastered on.

"Hello, I'm Kiku Honda," The nurse stated, almost shy sounding. The two continued to stare at each other for a while, Kiku didn't fail to notice the tear tracks on his soulmates face or the messiness of his hair.

"Well Feliciano, I've been your...son's? nurse for the past few hours of him being here," Feliciano giggled when Kiku said 'son'.

"He's my little brother...Kind of. I guess?" Feliciano giggled when he paused, understanding the Japanese man's confusion."It probably says that I'm his legal guardian or something like that, I get your confusion"The Italian continued.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, but you are correct in your assumption," Kiku said, laughing a bit when he saw Feliciano laugh as well. "I thought that I should inform you of your brother's condition."Kiku looked to the only other person who was awake in the room." as you probably know he was in a severe car crash, his arm was completely crushed, the shattered bone had crushed his nerves beyond repair, the only thing that could be done was to amputate the arm." Kiku looked up from the clipboard he was holding, he saw the tears forming in his newfound soulmate's eyes.

"Feliciano, it's okay, he's going to be fine, you don't need to worry," Kiku said, his voice slightly louder, but more comforting, his more dominant side taking over. This was something that shocked him, in the relationship with his other soulmate he was always the more submissive part of the relationship, so to find himself being dominant if only slightly, was something completely new to him.

Feliciano's head looked back up at him, grateful for the words of comfort. He gave a nod, suggesting to Kiku that he was ready to hear the rest.

"We had a chance to give him a brain scan to check for any damage, to everyone's relief there wasn't any, we are also concerned that he may have lost some of his memory, but he's shown no physical signs associated with amnesia, he obviously has a few cuts which required stitching, but there were no further severe injuries other than the arm," Kiku finished, grateful that there were no further injuries to the 15-year-old, for both the child's sake and his soulmate's.

"Thank you for looking after him, Kiku, I'm glad it was you," Feliciano said, genuinely smiling.

For the first time since meeting Kiku, he thought to look at his strings, only to see that the one attached to Kiku had come loose from its tight twist with the other string, he smiled a bright smile and looked up at Kiku, who had been looking at the Italian and taking in supposedly all the details about him.

"Kiku look, the string's gone!" Feliciano said, excitement filling his voice, his golden-brown eyes.

"hai, it is"Kiku confirmed, smiling.

Both of the men turned when they heard shifting in the bed behind them.

"Fratello?"Romeo asked, his voice scratchy.

"Ciao, Fratello, sono qui*" Feliciano said, automatically switching to Italian, knowing that it comforted Romeo, who had spoken Italian for about 3 years before being adopted by Feliciano. On top of this, they tended to speak more Italian than English at home.

"Cos'è success? Perché mi fa male il braccio?**"The smaller Italian asked, green eyes wide with fear. Feliciano's heart broke at what the younger boy said.

"Umm Kiku, he wants to know why his arm hurts, what do I say?"Feliciano asked his black-haired soulmate, whose heart also shattered at the question that the smaller Italian had posed.

"does he speak English?"Kiku asked, figuring it would be easier if he were to explain what had happened to the smaller boy.

"Yeah, I think he's just speaking Italian out of shock at the moment," The older Italian explained."Pensi di poter parlare inglese in questo momento?***"He continued this time looking at his younger brother.

"Oh, non-parlavo Inglese?****"He asked a small, confused smile on his face. Feliciano laughed.

"No, Fratello, you weren't, "The older boy said.

"Oh, I'm speaking English now, right?"Romeo asked, a small laugh in his voice.

"Si, Fratello, this is Kiku, he's your nurse and he's one of my soulmates," Feliciano said, a large smile on his face as he looked at his younger brother.

"No way, are you being serious?!"Romeo asked, his eyes lighting up.

Kiku smiled at the scene, he loved seeing the way his soulmate was with his younger brother.

Feliciano's face took on a more serious expression, his eyes sadder and darker.

"What's the last thing you remember, before you woke up?"Feliciano asked, his voice serious but sad as he looked at his, broken, younger brother. Romeos face scrunched up, in an attempt to remember what had happened.

"I remember getting into Peter Kirkland's car, he is one of the safest drivers that I know, a car came into my side of the car, I remember the car going into the wall nearest where we were. I remember Peter yelling but after that, I'm not sure," Romeo stated his voice sad.

"Is Peter okay?" he asked concerned for his friend. Kiku smiled.

"Peter is okay, once we've finished speaking you can go and see him if you want?"Kiku stated, his voice calm."I'm going to explain what happened once you arrived at the hospital, if at any point you don't understand what I'm saying, please don't refrain from letting me know," Kiku said his face slightly sadder than it was previously,"We'll start with the easy things to explain, you have a few cuts that needed to be stitched, the worst being in the left of your face, that one at least will leave a scar, you have a concussion, but we are pleased to say there are no signs of brain damage. Now this is probably going to be quite a bit harder for you to hear, when you crashed you didn't go into a wall, the car hit your side of the car, we aren't entirely sure how it happened but the bones in your arm were completely shattered, they then crushed the nerve completely. The only thing that doctors could do was amputate the arm," Kiku finished sadly, feeling the sadness rolling off of his soulmate.

"Hey, Fratello, it's okay, I'm okay, it's kinda cool, when I'm old i can make up some weird story to tell my kids, I can say that a shark bit my arm on the bus or something" Romeo said, tears rolling down his face as he tried to comfort his brother.

"Romeo, the reason your arm was hurting was that of something called phantom pain, it should stop doing that after a few months, it's just a side effect of your body reacting to the loss of the limb, "Kiku said, hoping to comfort the teen at least a little.

"O-oh okay" Romeo replied, his face lighting up only seconds later," Can I go and see Peter now?" he asked.

"Yeah, he should still be awake, he's just next door on the left," Kiku said, knowing how much the boy wanted to see his friend.

"Do you want me to-" Feliciano was cut off by his younger brother.

"No, Fratello, it's fine, stay here and talk to your boyfriend~," Romeo said as he made it through the door, Feliciano blushed tomato red. Kiku laughed at the younger boy's antics and his soulmate's bright red face.

"would you like to meet our other soulmate?"Kiku asked, hoping to cheer the panicked Italian up.

"Mio Dio!Mio Dio! Si!Si!"Feliciano said, his face brightened with a large smile. As he ran up to Kiku and held him into a tight hug. He felt Kiku stiffen under his grasp, thinking it was just shocking from the unexpected hug Feliciano kept a tight grip on his soulmate.

Feeling finished with his hug, he released the Japanese man.

"Lets, go!"Felicano half yelled, excitement taking over.

Kiku smiled a small smile at his patient's older brother.

"Okay then, I believe Ludwig is your brother's friend's nurse, so he should be right next door, "Kiku said explaining to his newfound soulmate where they should be meeting their soulmate.

Feliciano beamed, excitement taking over, he never thought this day would come, it was simultaneously the best and worst day of his life.

"Ahhh. Ve~ I'm so excited!"The red-haired Italian said as he grabbed his dark-haired partner's hand and practically ran to the door next door.

They reached the room after about 10 steps from Romeo's room, Feliciano took an excited, shaky breath as he slowly opened the door.

Kiku walked in front of him and opened the door further.

The room was empty of anyone except for a tall, light-haired, pale man.

"Ludwig, I-"Kiku started, causing the man to turn around. He immediately saw the redhead clutching onto his boyfriend's hand. At first, he was confused, but then it hit him.

"Is that him?"Ludwig asked, making his German accent clear as he looked at the two men in front of him.

"Hai, it is, " Kiku said, a large smile spreading across his face as he saw Ludwig's string tug and disappear.

Feliciano looked down at his hand when he felt the tugging and looked up at Ludwig.

"Ciao I'm Feliciano Vargas, "The Italian said, one of the biggest smiles Ludwig had ever seen stretched across his face.

"Hallo Feliciano, I'm Ludwig beilschmidt, It's a pleasure to meet you, "The German said, taking in his newfound soulmate's appearance. In Ludwig's eyes, the young man was perfect, from his honey-gold-brown eyes to his bouncy red curl, that stuck out from the side of his head.

"Wow, you're beautiful," Ludwig said, seeing his soulmate blush.

"thank you," Feliciano said, "Did the boys go to get something to eat?" He asked when he realised that both of the boys should have been there. Ludwig smiled, making the connection that he was the 'older brother' his young patient seemed concerned about making mad.

"Peter seemed quite scared that you would be mad at him, "Ludwig stated, a smile playing on his lips as he tried and failed to imagine the small Italian angry.

"No," Feliciano laughed, "That was probably my twin, Romano, he's quite hot headed and can be quite scary, "The Italian explained.

"The boys will probably both be brought back up soon, visiting hours are nearly finished and mine and Kiku's shift finishes just after, if you want to come back to ours for a bit, so we can get to know you,"Ludwig said, his cheeks a faint pink as he offered Feliciano nearly the exact same offer he had offered Kiku 5 years prior.

"Si, Si!"The Italian exclaimed, making the German and Japnese man smile.

"We should probably go and get the boys back into bed, they are with...Arthur? I believe, he's Peter's older brother," Ludwig said, stalling when he realised he wasn't sure what the blond boy's brother's name was.

"yes, it is Arthur, "A new voice said, making the Italian jump.

"ve~Hello Arther, are the boys with you?"He asked, a smile on his face.

"Yes they are, I just came to bring them back up, because visiting hours are over soon," Arthur explained, his blond hair uncharacteristically flat. "Alfred's going to pick me up, you don' need a lift do you?"The Englishman asked, smiling when he mentioned his fiance and soulmate Alfred.

"Ve~ Thank you but no, I found my soulmates, I'm spending some time with them today, "The Italian explained, seeing the smile on Arthur's face when he explained that he found his soulmates.

The two had only become friends recently because, Feliciano wanted to help Arthur with his frankly awful cooking skills, the two's friendship had blossomed since.

"Well I'm really happy for you, Alfred should be here in a second, he said he's quickly come and see both of the boys, "Arthur explained as Alfred walked into the room.

Alfred was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a kind, mischievous face and glasses.

"Hey dudes, Hey Feli!How's it going?"The American asked, a small smiling playing on his looks, but the look in his eyes a mix of pity a sympathy as he remembers what had happened to Romeo.

The two teens walked into the room. Peter had a few tear tracks, but other than that both were as they had left the rooms.

"We should be getting you to bed, Romeo, "Kiku said as he saw the teen yawn.

"Okay, goodnight Peter, see you tomorrow, Goodnight Arthur, Alfred, "The small Italian boy said, a polite smile on his face.

"You too, Rom," Peter said

"Yeah, goodnight little dude" Alfred replied, smiling a sad smile.

"Thank you, goodnight to you as well Romeo, sleep well," Arthur said, a sad, pitying smile on his face as he looked between Romeo and his brother. Feliciano gave a weak smile in return as he walked back to the doorway where Kiku and Ludwig were waiting. "Hey, Fratello?"Romeo asked, a shyness in his voice. "Yes, 'Meo?"Feliciano quickly replied, looking over at the younger Italian. "Did you- didyouhaveachancetobringmytigre?" He asked, spitting the last few words out so fast that not even Feliciano could understand him.

"Meo, you need to slow down," he said, even though he had an idea of what his brother asked, he couldn't resist tormenting him slightly. "Ugh, I asked, did you have a chance to bring my tigre ?" A small smile playing on his lips, even though he was embarrassed. "Si, Fratello. Of course, I did, I know you can't sleep without it" Feliciano said as they entered the room. "I brought a bag of all your things, including pyjamas, but I don't know if you'll be allowed to wear them"He trailed off as he looked to Kiku for an answer. "Hai, He should be allowed to wear them, just, if they have long sleeves, make sure that it's tied up in his arm, so he doesn't suffocate, "Kiku explained, allowing a sigh of relief to was over both Feliciano and Romeo. After a few minutes of helping Romeo into the most comfortable pair of pyjamas he owns, the boy was ready for bed. "Okay, I'll be back in the morning, ready for when visiting hours start okay?"Feliciano said, feeling guilty for being excited to leave the hospital. "Okay Fratello, Will Roma be there?" He said, hope lacing the young Italian's voice. "Si, I'm going to tell him tomorrow, he will be here like the mother hen he is."Feliciano lent down to kiss the small boy on his forehead, "Ciao, Fratello," "Ciao Feli," The other boy replied, hugging his stuffed tiger as tight to his chest as possible with one arm. Feliciano looked behind him once and walked back to the doorway where he saw his soulmates looking at him. "Did you finish your shift yet?"The tired Italian asked. "We cleared it with our boss, we're leaving early under special circumstances," Ludwig said, smiling a rare smile. "Aww, Ve~ You didn't have to do this, I could have easily waited for you," Feliciano stated, a cheerful smile spreading across his face. From now on his life was going to be made out of the smallest happy moments, these moments would be what brings tears of joy to him. He was completely happy with life and that's all that he could ever ask for.  

Words: 3503

* Hi, Brother, I'm here

** What's happened? Why does my arm hurt?  

*** Do you think you can speak english right now?

**** oh, did I not speak English?

A/N Hi guys. I apologise if the Italian is wrong, blame it on google translate. I might do a part 2 to this but, that would be down to if you want it. I am taking requests, I'll do any ship and any topic(maybe even smut, if I feel comfortable with it) I will also do x readers of any kind. So either Message me or comment and ask.

For Tumblr people, you can request through asks, messages or comments.

[feynites]

Scum Villain AU

Welp, fell down a rabbit hole of translations for novels written by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu, and my brain would not let go of the idea for a Scum Villain sharkbait AU. I blame @pyrrhy also for being a fantastic enabler.

So, this is a thing now! But first, on Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, the general synopsis is that a book reviewer dies suddenly with his last thoughts being of how unsatisfied he was with the harem/stallion novel he just finished reading. He finds himself subsequently transported into the body of a minor ‘scum’ villain from said book, with the task of fixing/improving the story. Of course, the character he’s currently been cast as was, in the original novel, dismembered and killed by the protagonist.

In the interests of not having that happen, our intrepid hero immediately starts trying to suck up to the protagonist. He does a good job. In fact he does such a good job that the protagonist ends up falling in love with him, and therein lies the core of the story’s shenanigans.

If you wanna read the translations, it’s ongoing here at bc novels. For other works by the same author, there’s Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi, which also has an animated series) over here at Exiled Rebels Scanlations, and Heaven’s Official Blessing is being translated here at Sakhyulations. Translating is hard work so if you read and enjoy any of ‘em, it’s nice to consider donating to the sites, too!

Some of the above stories definitely fall into problematic pitfalls of the slash genre, though. While I am a big fan of the pacing and storytelling Mo Xiang Tong Xiu pulls off and love her characters, I’ve been forewarned on some issues too. As I’m still reading my way through I can’t give my personal assessment on a lot of that stuff or offer more in-depth warnings for everything. But it should probably be mentioned.

Warnings For This Fic in Particular: At the outset of our story, Uthvir is underage. No romance is gonna take place while they are, but when they meet Thenvunin is an 18 year-old posing as their teacher, and Uthvir is 15. This is a slow burn. I also follow the original plot points of the story pretty closely but change up the order/direction of some things, too.

Additional Notes: In the original novel, the story that the lead character gets sucked into is a fantasy/cultivation novel hybrid with elements from a whole thwack of other genres, too. I’m leaning more heavily into the fantasy stuff because I don’t have much experience with cultivation novels, just for reference, but it should be noted that a lot of the story elements draw expressly from Chinese culture and I can take no credit for them - just in case anyone who’s totally new to these genres reads along. Also, I took some liberty with the names of things, because just throwing in Chinese words seemed unfitting and I’m not following the entire script on world-building elements. (Plus, in the novel, the story’s author is notoriously bad at naming things anyway.)

Alright, my apologies for the huge stack of notes/explanations! Please enjoy reading. The characters Calain and Jhe’andal (not seen in this chapter but bound to appear later) belong to @pyrrhy, who’s graciously loaned them to me so I can mess around.

“Stupid author, stupid novel!”

  Thenvunin was not entirely surprised that those ended up being the last words he uttered in life. Though he is rather regretful about it. But at the time, processing the sudden failure of his ongoing health treatments had been harder than just fixating on the fact that, probably, the last book he was ever going to read in his life had been that terrible trainwreck of a harem fantasy novel.

  That popular disaster of a book, ‘Immortal Demon Way’. With records broken on copies sold, but most critics more or less agreeing that it was mindless dreck. Except, the problem was, it wasn’t really ‘mindless’ dreck. There had been parts that were really promising. That was the real tragedy of the entire mess. The story had plenty of interesting side-characters and concepts, some intriguing world-building, even the promise of genuinely engaging content. But all of it had been tethered to a truly terrible main plotline. A black hole of a plot that managed to be boring and offensive by turns, even if the protagonist did manage to come across as somewhat compelling once in a blue moon.

  Because ‘Immortal Demon Way’ was pure self-indulgent trash. The leading character, Uthvir, was one of those characters whose tragic life led them onto a dark path of retribution and conquest. Despite being pure-hearted in their youth, the constant mistreatment from people around them eventually blackened their heart, until they were the sort of person who wear a friendly smile while torturing a man to death. And naturally, over the course of the story, they managed to accumulate a truly massive harem, all filled with beautiful women. Even though the author - writing under an anonymous pen name of ‘Half-Demon Prince’, had come out and said that the character wasn’t exclusively attracted to women - that claim never manifested in the actual text. Which made the whole gesture feel quite performative.

  Honestly, Thenvunin probably would have never picked up the book if he didn’t need to review it for the site he worked for. He’d never been fond of harem works, where the hero collects love interests like they’re filling up a basket of flowers. It had less to do with the numbers involved, and more to do with the sheer fact that more love interests usually meant less development on any particular relationship. Plus, inevitably, there would be scheming plotlines within the harem, and Thenvunin had never liked reading about women causing one another to miscarry or murdering each other’s babies to try and keep ahead in ranking. Luckily, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ hadn’t included a lot of such content, and what was there had been easy to skip. Enough so that Thenvunin had found himself speed-reading most of the ‘romantic’ parts. A sure sign of failure, given that romance was his actual preferred genre.

  But yes, all in all, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ was one of those stories he would have been happy not to think about ever again. And instead, it had ended up being his last thought in life.

  Well…

  In his old life, at any rate.

  But somehow, after he had died, he had found himself hearing an odd robot voice in his mind. Sort of like one of those automatic screen-readers.

  <Request processed… final request accepted… Welcome, Participant, to the ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project! Your dying wish has granted you access to this system. Starting points are tabulated at 100. Story goals - to improve the overall quality, reduce plotholes, and revitalize interesting conceptual material that was overshadowed by [Garbage Main Plotline.] This system is now receptive to inquiries.>

  W. ..what…?

   “...What’s going on?” Thenvunin had asked.

  The obvious question, really. He had felt panicked, or rather, like he should be panicked, but also like everything he could feel was very far away. Shock? He’d gone into shock before. It was a similar sensation, but not exact. But then again, there could be a lot of variables with that sort of thing. Everywhere around him just looked blurry, and pale. As if he was standing in a very modern office and wearing smudged glasses. He wondered if he’d survived after all, and if this latest disaster in his health had damaged his eyes so badly.

  It was a chilling thought. Or, it should have been.

  <Participant has been accepted for the currently-operating ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project. Activation words ‘stupid author, stupid novel’. Combined with a death wish, the pathways have been opened up for Participant’s consciousness to be transferred to the world of ‘Immortal Demon Way’.>

  World? What world?

  “I don’t understand,” Thenvunin said. “Am I in the hospital? Where’s my mother?”

  That last question was perhaps more embarrassing than he would have liked, but it didn’t seem as if he was feeling embarrassment too keenly, either. And his mother always came whenever he was hospitalized. Thenvunin was only eighteen, and had been sick all of his life. Naturally, his mother worried a great deal about him, and the hospital staff knew to inform her whenever he had a serious incident.

  <Participant has been accepted for the currently-operating ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project. Participant is currently being housed in a waiting room. Acceptance of admittance will trigger consciousness-transfer to feasible candidate for accomplishing compatible story goals. Refusal will result in immediate transference back to the participant’s native world. WARNING: Refusal not recommended. Participant’s corporeal status in native world has been determined: Deceased. Probable outcome of refusal is fatality.>

  Deceased…?

  Thenvunin reeled, and even with his current level of detachment, struggled to process it all. He tried asking the “system” more questions, but none of them seemed to garner satisfactory answers. Asking who had created it didn’t get him anywhere. Nor did asking how it knew anything about him. Asking what this whole ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project was just prompt a repeat of the ‘story goals’ - it sounded like he was being moved into a story in order to fix it? Like a sort of virtual reality?

  He had a great deal of trouble processing the whole concept.

  But then, there didn’t seem to be anything for him to do but accept it in the end, either. It could all be a trick, but, Thenvunin did remember dying. Or something that felt close enough to it that he couldn’t bring himself to take that risk. He was afraid of dying; afraid enough that he could feel it, even as he drifted in that strange ‘waiting room’.

  It was a feeling that followed him as he woke up in another strange room. But this time it was one he could see. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt like he had a terrible headache. The room around him definitely wasn’t a hospital, however. As he sat up, he could see sunlight streaming through several beautiful, open windows. The air smelled fresh, like the mountains he had visited once, before his father left. He sits up to find himself laid out in a comfortable bed, with a clothe on his brow, and a very light but comfortable robe on his body. The pale green fabric is the same colour as his eyes, but he only stares at it for a moment before his attention is arrested by something else.

  His body.

  Which is… definitely not his body.

  There’s a curtain of long, wavy hair falling down past his shoulders. His chest is broad and… chiseled? How could he possibly have a chiseled chest? And his arms are muscular, and long, and utterly devoid of the scars he had gotten from his car crash eight months ago, when he had tried to drive himself to the hospital and veered into a lamppost instead. Thenvunin is almost too shocked to move, but after a moment, he finds himself hurriedly pushing back the blankets and looking at the rest.

  His legs - !

  His legs look… they look good! Moreover, as he moves, he’s startled to realize that he doesn’t feel any pain. None at all, apart from his headache. Under other circumstances he would assume he was on some heavy painkillers, but obviously, this might not even be the case? He moves his legs and marvels at the ease of it, swivels his hips and feels nothing, and after a minute he cannot help but leap out of bed and begin jumping around, amazed and entranced…

  …And more than a little disconcerted. This body is totally, completely different from his own. He looks down at it and intellectually knows that he’s inside of it, but it scarcely feels that way. After a few minutes of either celebrating or panicking, or possibly both, Thenvunin finally locates a full-body mirror next to a dressing station in one corner of the room.

  He stares uncomprehendingly at himself.

  His eyes are the same, and his hair is the same - if somewhat longer, he thinks - and there’s a certain congruity between his facial features. But the man staring back at him is undeniably, completely different. He looks both strong and elegant, somehow. More muscular than Thenvunin would have ever idealized himself as, but the strength in those muscles is making him feel slightly giddy as he moves. And he’s tall. He’s not stooping over in the least, not struggling to keep his shoulders straight, feeling no pain from his surprisingly trim waistline…

  It can’t be him!

  He’s still trying to reconcile the idea when he realizes he has no clue who this character is, either. From the system, he gathered that he was going to be transported into an existing character’s body. But there are a few who might match the description of this one, and even more who were mostly undescribed. The only thing he knows for certain is that he is not Uthvir; they would not be so tall.

  Right?

  System, who am I supposed to be?

  <Congratulations on beginning your Death Wish Journey! Participant’s assigned designation is: Thenvunin Thenerassan. Status is: Project Virgin. Would you like some Beginner Tips?>

  He freezes in place, at the sound of the response which he can somehow tell is purely in his own mind.

  Did the system just call him a virgin…?

  How would it know?!

  Although it seemed to know everything. Thenvunin paused in embarrassment, before the rest of the message finally registered. His character is Thenevunin Thenerassan…?

  Wait, ‘Thenerassan’? That villain? The corrupt instructor who was always taking time to abuse and harass Uthvir, when they were still young and full of hope for the future? He’d never even realized the character had a first name! Though admittedly, he hadn’t read all of the author’s shared notes and ‘tidbits’ on social media. For a moment he is thoroughly offended. How dare this horrible character share his name!

  And then he remembers.

  Thenerassan…

  Thenerassan dies in this story!

  And not peacefully, oh no. After years of abusing Uthvir and then finally betraying them utterly at the grand tournament, the hero comes back seeking vengeance, with their heart blackened and ruthless. They utterly decimate Thenerassan’s reputation, until there is no one on earth who would pity him, and eventually end up taking him prisoner. Then they cut off his limbs, one by one, and blind him, and use their demonic blood to torture him until he can finally take no more and expires.

  And Thenvunin himself had once visited the story’s forums to express disappointment that this character wasn’t castrated, too. Considering everything he had done.

  He feels faint, going white as a sheet while he stares in the mirror. So consumed with terror that he doesn’t even hear the door to the room opening.

  “Brother?” an unfamiliar voice calls.

  Thenvunin whips his head around, and freezes in place. A new kind of fear gripping him, as he looks at this unfamiliar person. Presumably a character in the story. For half a heartbeat, he’s almost afraid that it’s Uthvir, come to drag him off for torture and death. But then his mind catches up with him. No, this is… that wouldn’t be right. This place, based on the descriptions, must be Thenerassan’s chambers on Quiet Peak temple. The author of ‘Immortal Demon Way’ had only very loosely followed the structure of a ‘cultivation’ novel, taking grand liberties with the various stages and processes of most established works. The Peaks, as he recalled, were little more than supernatural stomping grounds; like elite clubs for people who had attained immortality through cultivating their internal energies, and becoming incredible fighters.

  If he is at Quiet Peak, then he mustn’t be at a point in the story where this character has been ruined, yet. But that’s only one relief; he still finds himself looking at a concerned face he doesn’t recognize.

  “...Yes?” he finally ventures.

  The stranger comes into the room. He is a man. Handsome. Long dark hair, pretty brown eyes, middle-dark complexion. He could be any number of a dozen characters, really, but Thenvunin supposes he could narrow it down to the ones populating Quiet Peak. It was an early part of the story, so one he remembers fairly well.

  Before he can latch onto a guess, though, the stranger pauses and gives him an assessing look.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks. “Your disciples said you collapsed out of nowhere on the practice fields. Compassion took a look at you but couldn’t see any problem, either with your health or internal mystic energies. She advised that we let you rest…”

  “Ah,” Thenvunin says. “Um. Well. Yes, I… fainted.”

  The stranger raises an eyebrow.

  “You fainted? Have you been neglecting yourself in some way, brother?” he asks. He seems cordial enough, which further limits the possibilities for who he could be. Dark hair, brown eyes, friendly enough to check in on the unlikable Thenerassan’s health…

  “...Venavismi?” he ventures.

  The man blinks.

  “Yes?” he asks.

  Oh thank goodness.

  “I. Um. I seem to be… not feeling well…” he says. It feels like an odd thing to say, since technically speaking, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so well before in his life. He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears a soft ‘bing’ inside his head, though.

  <Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert. Current Participant has OOC Restriction Locks still in place. OOC Restriction Locks can be removed once Achievement: Character Development has been obtained.>

  Thenvunin freezes in place again.

  What?

  <Please specify query.>

  What are OOC Restriction Locks?!

  <OOC Restriction Locks are a branch of Participant Autonomy Limitations. Violating locks will result in points penalties relative to the degree of violation.>

  Meaning… if he behaves out of character, he’ll be penalized?

  But Thenerassan is a monster! Thenvunin can’t act like that. It would be beyond the pale! And besides, how can he possibly change anything in this story if he has to act like an amoral reprobate the entire time? No, wait. There was more, wasn’t there?

  What’s ‘Achievement: Character Development’?

  <Certain limitations will be removed by the system once achievements have been obtained. To obtain Achievement: Character Development, Participant must earn points by completing actions that fall within the parameters of Participant’s behaviour as well as Character: Thenerassan’s.>

  What?! How am I supposed to do that, I’m nothing like that wretch!

  Thenvunin is still in the process of thinking furiously in his mind when Venavismi seems to decide that he must be rattled. He’s accustomed enough to being handled by nurses that being steered back towards his bed barely registers in his mind, until he finds himself being settled onto the mattress again.

  “...more rest, brother,” Venavismi is saying, genially. He seems to be about as nice as the impression his character gave off, in the story. Thenvunin always felt rather badly about his death. Which… he suddenly recalls, was Thenerassan’s fault. Retaliating in a fury after the accusations against him had landed, he had killed the first people who attempted to apprehend him, only for Uthvir to swoop in and put a stop to him. One of them had been Venavismi. Decapitated, as he recalls…

  He feels an inexplicable rush of shame. Not that he’s responsible for Thenerassan’s actions, but, well…

  “Thank you,” he says. “You are a very upright person, Venavismi, even if you can make terrible jokes sometimes.”

  <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -15.>

  What? Just for saying ‘thank you’?!

  <Character: Thenerassan would not thank Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would not compliment Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would also not display weakness in front of a potential rival. -5 Deduction. Deductions reduced by 50% due to mitigating factor: Plausible Disorientation.>

  Internally, Thenvunin fumes. Plausible?! He is most certainly disoriented, of course he is!

  But Venavismi does look very surprised.

  “Um. Thank you, brother…?” he ventures. “I think I had better get another healer to attend to you. Do you remember hitting your head on anything when you collapsed?”

  “Of course not, I don’t even remember collapsing!” Thenvunin snaps, flustered and unhappy with having lost points. Even though he doesn’t know what the points mean. He lets Venavismi bow his way out of the room, the atmosphere awkward and disconcerting, and then finally just drops his head into his hands.

  What do all these points even mean, System?

  <Would you like to see Beginner’s Tips?>

  …Yes. Yes, I would, if that will explain this whole confusing mess!

  <Beginner’s Tips have been activated! Additional Mode: Character File Recognition has also been activated. New characters will now appear with their names provided by the system, in the event that Character: Thenerassan would be able to recognize them. For a cost of an additional 100 points, Easy Mode may be activated. Warning: current point levels insufficient to make payment. Regarding point system: actions furthering project goals generate points. Lock violations or insufficient story progress will incur penalties. Negative point status will result in Participant’s ejection from the project.>

  Ejection from the project…?

  In other words, then, if his points go into the negatives, he’ll be sent back home.

  Where he’s… dead.

  And what happens if I die during the course of this project? He wonders, thinking of the chilling prospect of Thenerassan’s canonical fate.

  Death of the Participant will result in ejection from the project.

  So… death, again.

  Thenvunin lets out a shaky breath.

  He would… yes, he would definitely rather avoid that, all things considered. But by the time a healer - whose name Thenerassan apparently would not have bothered to know - comes to his chambers, he doesn’t feel much closer to regaining his equilibrium.

   ~

   Thenvunin takes an entire day to rest from his ‘mysterious illness’. In the evening, one of his disciples comes with something more substantial for him to eat. Desire, or ‘Squish’, as the narrative had nicknamed her. She is a pleasant girl, and a teenager, though how old she exactly is would depend on when he’s arrived on this scene. Assuming it’s prior to Uthvir’s descent into hell, she could be anywhere between fourteen and nineteen. Thenerassan - the original - had lusted after this girl, behaving inappropriately the entire time. Seeing the girl come into his rooms, Thenvunin is appalled twice-over by that particular story element. Here Thenerassan was supposed to be her mentor, but he had scarcely seemed to teach her anything except that authority figures weren’t to be trusted! And then she had joined Uthvir’s harem, all full of scandals and intrigue, and… admittedly, Thenvunin had rather lost track of her character after that.

  He didn’t recall her has terribly complex. Mostly just sweet, and devoted, a simple ‘childhood friend’ style love-interest. Though he’s surprised when she comes in, and he notices that she lacks the typical ‘dainty’ appearance of such a girl. Instead she is heavy-set and… well, fat. With a round face and broad nose, and a tumble of curly dark hair. She is still quite beautiful, and obviously more than strong enough to handle the training at the peak, but Thenvunin doesn’t recall imagining her this way at all from her description.

  Then again, Half-Demon Prince, the author, hadn’t been as typically prone to describing the female characters’ measurements and ‘charms’ as most writers in the genre. There had been a lot of fanart… perhaps the standard interpretation of this character was based more on a popular fanartist’s work, than on all the possibilities contained in her description?

  But then, why should the ‘project’ choose an atypical interpretation, rather than the most common one?

  He supposes that all has to do with how the system even works, and on that front, it has remained entirely silent.

  “Teacher, will this meal do?” Squish asks him. Respectful, but a little distant.

  It suddenly strikes Thenvunin - Squish was Uthvir’s only childhood friend. The protagonist. If he is to survive this ordeal, it seems absolutely paramount that Uthvir not want to kill him.

  “This meal is fine,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He focuses intently on Squish’s face. “Tell me, how old are you this year?”

  For a moment, he’s almost afraid that the system will tell him that was out-of-character. But it remains silent, and Squish’s expression turns somewhat reluctant.

  “Sixteen,” she tells him.

  Sixteen… which makes Uthvir fifteen. Three years. Thenvunin has three years to undo Uthvir’s hatred of him. But this also means that Uthvir has already spent two years around the Original Thenerassan. Being bullied, being starved, being beaten, being left out in the cold… Thenvunin pales at the thought of all the rampant child abuse. His only, minor consolation is that Thenerassan hadn’t liked to dirty his own hands. He had preferred to simply encourage the other disciples’ bullying, or to dole out punishments that simply resulted in Uthvir’s misfortune, by doing things like handing out complicated assignments too close to curfew. The other Thenerassan had been concerned with appearances, at least, and the reputation of his sect. It was probably the only reason why he hadn’t just immediately tossed his poor disciple off the mountain.

  “My parents have said that they will outright refuse all petitions for my hand until I am twenty,” Squish says, jarring Thenvunin out of his thoughts.

  He blinks at her.

  “Sensible of them,” he replies.

  <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -5.>

  Oh, for-!

  He doesn’t bother to ask what that is about, realizing in a rush of nausea that this interaction must seem like he is digging into his student’s personal business to figure out if he can browbeat her family into handing her over to him. What a sick man the original truly was! He has to fight the urge to clarify things, knowing it will only cost him at the moment.

  How many points do I have left? He wonders.

  He isn’t entirely addressing the system, but it answers for him anyway.

  <Current point total: 80>

  Since he got here, he’s only managed to lose points…

  Squish stares mildly back at him. He lets out a breath.

  “Do you know where Disciple Uthvir is?” he asks, attempting to sound as neutral as possible. Neutral cannot really be out of character, right? If Thenerassan was always spitting furious every time he mentioned Uthvir’s name, surely the other mentors at the peak would have had to notice?

  Thankfully, that assessment seems correct, as there is no warning or ‘ding’.

  Squish’s expression turns wary.

  “They’re still doing the tasks you assigned them this morning,” she replies. “They’ve been working as hard as they can.”

  Thenvunin purses his lips. Scowling, but not at his student; he’s just trying to figure out how he can start to repair things, when one of the most concrete aspects of Thenerassan’s character was his ardent hatred of all things Uthvir.

  “Send them here,” he decides.

  <Warning->

  How can it be OOC? This is entirely self-serving! He argues. If I don’t get on Uthvir’s good side, I’ll die horribly. If the original Thenerassan knew that, don’t you think he’d start being nicer, too?

  <Beginner Tip: motives attributed solely to the Participant will not be considered in assessments of OOC Lock violations. Participant must also be advised of total points devaluation in the event of Character Identity Compromise. Revealing Participant’s nature as a transplanted outsider to non-Participant individuals within the project will result in Total Project Reset and ejection of all current participants.>

  Thenvunin swallows.

  The food on the lovely tray in front of him makes him slightly nauseous. Squish looks suspicious, but after a moment, she can only nod obediently and leave to go get Uthvir. She looks as though she might say something to him, for a moment. But after a moment passes, she only shakes her head, and then leaves.

  So now he needs to think of something that the original Thenerassan would do, that will put a stop to all these abuses - or at least, begin to - without losing him any further points. He has no idea how difficult it will be to regain points, since he hasn’t gained any so far. And that ‘Easy Mode’ that the system mentioned before seems like the sort of thing he might like to unlock, but he’s definitely not going to do so when it will bring his point total remotely close to 'zero'.

  By the time Uthvir shows up, the food has gone cold, but Thenvunin thinks he might have happened on a solution. He has moved from his rest bed to his desk, unable to sit still. But he finds himself somewhat frozen again when he finally sees them.

  Uthvir.

  The terrible demonic tyrant who will eventually slaughter hundreds. Who will build a massive harem of beautiful lovers, all vying for their affections. The sharp, dangerous, deadly protagonist of ‘Immortal Demon Way’.

  …But, they’re just a child.

  Or a teenager, but Thenvunin’s a legal adult and feels very adult compared to the tiny figure who walks into his chambers. They’ve cut their hair, he notes. He forgets what age they did that at in the story, but thinking on it, it probably wasn’t long after they arrived on the peak. Their uniform is ill-fitting but clean, pulled from standard storage. They have large, red eyes, and soft features. Really, they look younger than fifteen.

  But what catches most of his attention is the large blemish on the top of their cheek, and the ugly cut at the corner of their jaw.

  Thenvunin stares at them while they shift in place. Waiting to see what kind of torment he has in store for them, no doubt.

  I can’t do this. How can I be cruel to a child?

  <Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert.>

  After a moment, Thenvunin clears his throat, and reminds himself of his plan. He makes certain his features retain a cold look, with great effort, as he reaches into a pocket of his robes, and retrieves a little jar of healing salve that the healer left with him. Uthvir’s wary expression does not abate as he tosses it to them; but with their reflexes, of course they catch it.

  “It is disgraceful for one of my disciples to go around looking like that,” he declares, lifting his chin and pursing his lips to keep from saying anything else. Poor thing, poor thing, oh you poor little thing… “From now on, there will be no more transgressions to call my good character and teaching into question.”

  Uthvir seems to pale at his assertions.

  “Teacher,” they say, hurriedly. “Please don’t turn me out. I swear, I will not - I will not provoke them anymore. I know I have been slow at learning how not to, but I think I have made progress... I will redouble my efforts! Please, I have nowhere else to go...”

  Thenvunin frowns at their fright, before realizing that Uthvir does not recognize what the healing salve is; they probably think he’s conjuring up an excuse to kick them out of the sect. But even Thenerassan couldn’t really do that - despite his best efforts, Uthvir’s acceptance onto the mountain was the doing of Mana’Din, the Peak Leader.

  “Don’t be foolish,” he snaps, and they fall immediately silent. “Do you not even know what a healing salve looks like?”

  The OOC Warning remains mercifully silent, but Thenvunin feels like he is dying on the inside.

  Uthvir stares uncomprehendingly down at the little jar he gave them.

  “This… is healing salve?”

  They don’t even know what it looks like! I can smell it from here, but they’re clueless?! They’ve never seen it before?!

  Come to that, Thenvunin hadn’t seen it before, either. But apparently he still has some sense memories from the Original… which would also explain why his coordination isn’t completely shot, even if he still feels like a ghost sitting in someone else’s body.

  Uthvir doesn’t have the excuse of transporting themselves between worlds, though. They should know what a salve smells like even better than he does. Or they would, if Half-Demon Prince hadn’t given them such a reprehensibly deprived childhood. The realization makes his heart crack in half.

  “I expect you to use it,” he says.

  He braces himself…

  At the ominous ‘ding’ in his mind he nearly dies inside; but to his surprise, the system’s tone isn’t its usual ‘points deducted’ one. It takes him a moment to really register what it’s saying.

  <Congratulations! Points toward Achievement: Character Development earned, +10.>

  ...How many points do I need to get the achievement?

  <Beginner’s Tip: Achievements are unlocked at 100 points gained, determined from the moment achievement challenge is set..>

  That’s… that’s not so bad, actually. Thenvunin would almost feel good about it, if he hadn’t just been unreasonably cold and cruel to an injured teenager.

   ...He's going to have to do this at least ten more times. He takes it back, this is terrible.

  But Uthvir looks uncomprehendingly at the salve for a moment longer. Before they seem to remember that they’re in the same room as their villainous instructor, and then quickly drop into a bow.

  “Thank you, Teacher,” they say.

  “Hmph,” Thenvunin replies. “You can go.”

  Uthvir doesn’t waste any time in getting away, probably grateful to escape without having something unpleasant happen to them. Once they’re gone, Thenvunin drops back onto his bed, and puts his face into his hands. His shoulders shake, as tears begin to form in his eyes, and spill through the cracks of his fingers.

  It’s just a story, he tells himself. Even if it’s different to experience it firsthand, all these people are just characters in a book. It’s not really real.

  Is it?

~

Thenvunin manages to knock his point totals down to 65 before he finally begins to feel confident in manipulating the OOC Locks. Though he still hasn’t managed to earn any new points, he’s figured out some things about the system, and how they seem to be lost.

 For one thing, witnesses are required. Thenvunin can do any number of out-of-character things in private, but the system will only notify him of a ‘ding’ if there’s someone present to see it. Which is a good thing, because Thenvunin finds himself breaking down in private quite a bit. The system will also generally warn him if there’s someone liable to witness his out-of-character moments - and whatever else might be said, he does appreciate that. Particularly when he’s been weeping in his rooms, and one of his disciples or another immortal from the peak is on their way to find him.

 It’s not that he’s thoroughly miserable, though. It’s just a lot to take in.

 Quiet Peak is a really beautiful place. Thenvunin doesn’t think he’s ever been anywhere so lovely before in his life. The peak is situated in a long chain of mystical mountains, and is one of several sacred peaks where spiritualists who have achieved immortality live and congregate. It’s a place replete with nature. Thenvunin’s home is one of several small buildings - almost a village unto itself - situated around a large main temple. It’s summer when he arrives, so the air is clear and warm, with the occasional cool breeze whirling its way around the mountain paths. Lots of small animals fill up the natural spaces of the area. Birds and rodents, foxes and stranger, more fantastical creatures from Half-Demon Prince’s imagination, like Phantom Lemurs and wolves made of branches and vines, held together by ambient nature energy.

 To a normal person, some of the animals would probably be quite dangerous. But Thenvunin’s body, as he ascertains, is more than just fit and healthy. He seems to have all the supernatural powers of the immortals in the story. Along with a mystical sword that the original Thenerassed would have pulled from the peak, a blade that was manifested from his own innate energies.

 Thenerassan - or rather, Half-Demon Prince - had called the blade ‘Swan’s Grace’. It’s one decision of the old Thenerassan’s that Thenvunin doesn’t mind. The name seems to suit the sword, which rests easily in his grasp, even though he’s never held a sword before in his life. It’s a beautiful thing. Pale and elegant, with a white handle, and a purple tassel tied with enchanted beads that help bolster spiritual energy.

 It’s one thing for Thenvunin to know that his body seems to remember how to do some things, though, and another for him to really feel comfortable doing them. The more Thenvunin thinks about upcoming events, the more he finds himself sweating under his collar. There are battles to be fought. Actual battles. Situations where making even the tiniest slip-up could result in death. Thenvunin doesn’t think it’s enough to simply rely on his reflexes, reflexes can’t provide strategies or help him think his way through more complicated situations, or really decide how to apply the skills that he - apparently - now has.

 So, when the Peak Leader, Mana’Din, comes to investigate his ‘recovery’ from his mysterious illness, Thenvunin doesn’t waste much time before requesting access to some of the secluded mountain caves that are used for those attempting higher levels of cultivation. Or attempting to regain spiritual equilibrium. He remembers the caves from the books; they were frequently mentioned, and Uthvir even retreated to them on occasion, when a difficult battle had depleted their strength.

 Mana’Din is, like Squish, quite different from what Thenvunin had expected, but still well within the bounds of her character description. The Peak Leader is a petite woman, dark-skinned and placid in her countenance. She wears a white half-mask, and an elegant white robe, and regards Thenvunin with what seems to be genuine concern. Almost immediately, he likes her. Though sensing the amount of energy contained within her aura is somewhat disconcerting; Peak Leaders are very strong, of course. Mana’Din is no exception.

 In the original story, she was yet another character who died at Uthvir’s hands. Though, more tragically than the original Thenerassan. Uthvir had challenged her for control of the peak. Mana’Din had fought gallantly, but in the end, after all that had led to that moment, the peak’s forces were so weakened that she was no match for a full-powered and determined Uthvir. She as one of the few female characters in the story who actually died, rather than simply falling into Uthvir’s harem after being defeated. Some readers had been quite unhappy about that.

 As he invites her to take his morning tea with him, Thenvunin feels another pang of inexplicable guilt. The original Thenerassan’s machinations were a huge component to the weakening of the peak - and to Mana’Din’s inevitable downfall.

 “Venavismi told me about your collapse. I came to check on you while you were still unconscious. Forgive me, I would have come to check as soon as you woke, but preparations in the valley took longer than expected.”

 Preparations in the…?

 Oh! Thenvunin’s pleased to realize that he actually knows what Mana’Din is referring to. The tournament, still scheduled a few years from now, will take place in the valley south of Quiet Peak. Because of the potential dangers of the event, the Peak Lords themselves oversee all the preparations, creating shields and checking the security, and making certain that all possible precautions can be taken. It’s a long endeavour, which is why tournaments are not held more frequently. As an expert in placing barriers, Mana’Din’s skills in particular would be required.

 The thought of how badly the tournament still goes puts another twinge of guilt in Thenvunin. He has to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning that extra security will most definitely be needed.

 “Are things going well?” he asks, instead.

Mana’Din waves dismissively.

 “Of course,” she says. “I’m more concerned over you. I don’t know whether it’s good news or bad news that the healers seem baffled by what’s happened. Do you think it was some sort of attack?”

 Thenvunin clears his throat, and shakes his head.

 “It did not seem that way to me, though it was… disconcerting,” he replies. Lifting his tea cup, he takes a slow sip. The warm liquid helps to settle his nerves a little, as he prepares his rehearsed lines. “My concern is for the equilibrium of my internal energies. Healers may not notice everything on such a front. If my leader is willing, I would like to retreat to the Secluded Caves, to better attune myself to what may be going on within my body.”

 He braces himself. But fortunately, Thenerassan had generally worn a mask of courtesy around his leader; there is no ‘ding’.

 Mana’Din makes a contemplative sound, and then inclines her head.

 “If you think that would help, then certainly,” she says. “I will gladly open the caves to you. But do you think there is a chance you could unbalance your energies? You should not be left to go alone, in that case.”

 Mana’Din is blunt. Thenerassan would have taken offense at the implication that he could unbalance his own energies via meditation, but Thenvunin can only see genuine concern in her expression. Spiritual unbalancing is very dangerous. It can lead to explosive and self-destructive behaviour, as well as lashing out. Left unchecked, it can, as he recalls, cause madness, permanently damage an immortal’s abilities, or even lead to death. And while the original Thenerassan may have been an immortal of indeterminate age, who was very accustomed to cultivating his internal energies, Thenvunin himself is… not.

 However, his inexperience could be glaringly obvious to any witnesses who see him try to practice. And if people start to become suspicious, then it could lead to his discovery as an intruder, and then the dreaded ‘project reset’.

 Thenvunin’s not sure what the bigger risk is. He hesitates.

 Mana’Din seems to read his silence as offense. She lifts a hand.

 “Please don’t mistake my concern for doubt. This is a mysterious situation, so, taking some exceptional precautions may be wise,” she tells him. When Thenvunin hesitates again, she purses her lips, and taps the side of her teacup. “Perhaps a compromise? There are certain segments of the cave system that are more open than others. Many of Battle Peak’s disciples are currently using them in early preparation for the tournament. In the event of some calamity, being in that system would probably make it easier to find help, rather than simply using the more traditional caves allotted to our peak…”

 The original Thenerassan would have found such a suggestion offensive, Thenvunin thinks again. But would he have protested to his leader? Complaining might seem uglier than just capitulating, or even taking advantage of the situation. Something niggles at the back of his memory. Something about Thenerassan and the caves and Battle Peak… but he doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it, as Mana’Din looks at him expectantly.

 He puts on a tight smile.

 “I suppose, under the circumstances, that would be reasonable,” he concedes.

 Mana’Din relaxes a little, and offers him a more genuine smile in return.

 “That’s a relief. I’ll worry a little less, now,” she approves. Nothing dings. Thenvunin lets out a silent breath, and sips more of his tea.

 Really, Thenvunin can’t help but think. How did it escape your notice that the original Thenerassan wouldn’t have been worth worrying about to begin with?

 He doesn’t ask that out loud, though, of course. Despite his repugnant nature, the original Thenerassan currently retains a spotless reputation, marred only by occasion rumours of his ‘harsh’ teaching methods. And that reputation is currently very useful to Thenvunin, who is not looking to ruin it by being an actual child-abusing monster. Even if the system is making that challenging for him.

 Mana’Din tells him he can set out for the caves in a few days’ time, after she has established things with Battle Peak. That’s a good development, he thinks, but it still leaves the matter of Uthvir up in the air.

 While Thenvunin has been doing what he can to try and mitigate the bullying going on, it’s an uphill battle with the OOC Locks tying his hands. The original Thenerassan had a lot of disciples, though, as Thenvunin recalls, most of them will die as cannon fodder during the tournament. The thought makes him sick to his stomach. Even if they’re mostly a gang of bullies, barring Squish and Uthvir, they’re still children. Well, teenagers. And they’re following the lead set for them by their teacher. Thenvunin is a bit lost at sea on what to do about it all. However, he knows for certain that if he leaves things just as they are, with the senior disciples in charge, it won’t go well for Uthvir.

 The trouble is figuring out how he can mitigate that without breaking character.

 He’s still turning the matter over in his thoughts later the same day, when he finally decides that, caves or no, he needs to get some practice in.

 Despite his lingering troubles with adjusting to having a totally new body, the fact that he actually has energy and a shocking absence of pain keeps making him antsy. All the beautiful nature around him, the strength in his limbs, the air in his lungs, it makes him want to do things. His fingers itch to see what the sword at his belt can do. His heart speeds up at the thought of actually being a warrior, a guardian, someone who can fight and protect people and be gallant and strong. The giddiness he feels over it is even enough to push back his worries about dying, and he finds he doesn’t feel any guilt at all in basically stealing all of these things from the original Thenerassan.

 With all that in mind, Thenvunin sets out before evening to find a more secluded spot on the mountain. He has to travel for a while to do it, heading down and into the woods, with Swan’s Grace on his person. The sword feels light, and he finds he often notices its absence more than its presence. He wears green robes that blend in with the pale leaves of the willowy trees that grown in the region, and passes over a woodland stream, before finally finding a good spot.

 After triple-checking to make certain that he’s alone, Thenvunin draws his sword, and takes a deep breath.

 He swings it.

 It slices elegantly through the air.

 Another swing. His body remembers motions that Thenvunin has never made before, and after a few more attempts, he finds himself falling into patterns that feel natural. Sword-fighting forms. He pays attention to the way his body moves, or tries to. But it’s exhilarating enough that he soon finds himself distracted by the sheer joy of it all. Swan’s Grace sings, metal through wind, and as his spirits rise Thenvunin finds flurries of air whip up around him. The original Thenerassan was strongly attuned to the wind element. It seems Thenvunin is, too, as the gusts of wind follow his movements, and make the fallen leaves around him dance.

 He is so enraptured, he never even notices the tiny figure who stumbles upon him. Arms burdened with firewood, eyes wide as they see their teacher practicing his forms.

  ~

  Uthvir freezes in place and stares dumbfounded for a moment.

 They have seen Master Thenerassan demonstrate techniques before, of course, but such demonstrations have tended to be very simple and mechanical so far. Put your feet here, hold your practice sword like this, sit this way, don’t move like that, and so on and so forth. They have yet to actually see their instructor fight - and of course, they still haven’t. But as they watch, they feel a sudden insight as to what that might look like, and it seems somehow wholly unexpected.

 If they ever had to guess, Uthvir would never suppose that Master Thenerassan’s techniques were so… so…

 Lovely?

 They feel almost like a voyeur, somehow. As if they have stumbled upon the man bathing rather than practicing. The most shocking thing is probably the look on his face, though. From their angle Uthvir can only see part of it, but it seems as if Master Thenerassan is smiling. Smiling as he dances with the wind and strikes out with his sword, moving through forms so complex that Uthvir can only even recognize half of them.

 Something in their chest aches with longing.

 They want to be that graceful, and powerful. They want to be a master who can rely on their own strength.

 They watch, fascinated, until it starts to occur to them that if Master Thenerassan is out practicing in the wilderness by himself, he probably doesn’t want to be seen. Maybe there are some secret techniques that he’s doing? Uthvir’s fear of getting in trouble gradually starts to overcome their interest, and they pull back, retreating the same way they came by and being careful to walk in the footprints they already made, to avoid stepping on twigs or crunching leaves. Every once in a while they glance back, unable to help themselves until Thenerassan is finally out of sight. Then they resolutely keep going, as their heart hammers excitedly in their chest.

 They feel as though they have just gotten away with some kind of mischief. Even though, taken at face value, they don’t even know what they mischief would qualify as.

 Master Thenerassan could probably enlighten them if he actually caught them, though. And probably assign them even more chores as punishment. Sneering at them from behind his fan.

 Although… he seems to be more patient with Uthvir than usual, these days. Maybe Uthvir is actually making fewer mistakes? They’ve found the thought very heartening, even if the other disciples still seem to hate them as much as ever. Except for Squish, of course. Master Thenerassan gave her a new training manual the other day, and she promised to let Uthvir look at it, too. They were going to go this evening, but then Elandaris cornered them and told them to go find firewood.

 A lot of the older students shirk their chores onto Uthvir. At first, they’d hoped doing things would be a good way to make friends, but it seems they’re always doing them wrong. Uthvir’s not entirely clueless, although sometimes it feels as though they are. They like to think that it’s the amnesia at fault. The first thing they can recall in life is running, confused, out into the road in one of the southern cities, and nearly falling straight into Lady Mana’Din. They don’t even know how they came by their amnesia; they were first brought to Quiet Peak as a mystery to solve, rather than a disciple to train. The only belonging of any real value that they can claim is the necklace they were wearing at the time Lady Mana’Din found them.

 Uthvir never takes it off. They’re deathly afraid of having it stolen. The simple leather cord it’s on is nothing special, but the amber-gold stone, rough and uncut, always feels a little warm against their skin. Lady Mana’Din thinks it might be a Spirit Shard. The only other person they’ve ever shown it to is Squish, and she likes it a lot, too. Uthvir knows she’d be thrilled if they gave it to her, but they can’t bring themselves to part with it. Even if they don’t know why, it’s… theirs.

 As if drawn to the current of their thoughts, the necklace in question slides out from under their over-sized collar. Uthvir pauses, shifting the firewood in their arms so that they can reach up and tuck it away again.

 “Hey!”

 They look up, startled, at the sound of an unwelcome voice.

 Elandaris!

 Hastily, Uthvir finishes shoving their treasure away again, and takes a wary step backwards. They nearly lose their balance, burdened with the firewood in their arms. Elandaris seems to be alone; they don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 “I’ve nearly finished,” they say.

 “Took you long enough,” Elandaris replies, marching determinedly towards them. He points at their chest. “What’s that?”

 “What’s what?” Uthvir asks, playing dumb. “The branches…?”

 Before they can react, Elandaris reaches out, whip-fast, and yanks the piece of cord around their neck. Uthvir fumbles and their treasure pops back out of their collar, as their heart speeds up.

 Oh no!

 The older boy’s expression twists in a mix of anger and triumph as he reaches for the spirit shard. Uthvir manages to whirl away in earnest then, though, dropping the firewood they’re carrying. To their horror, the branches and logs fall directly onto Elandaris’ feet.

 A disciple of Elandaris’ level isn’t going to be as fragile as most mortals, so Elandaris is at little risk of having his foot bones broken. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still a painful thing to have an armload of wood dropped right onto his shoes.

 “I’m sorry!” Uthvir immediately exclaims. Elandaris reels back, cursing, before his face twists in anger and he lashes out and punches Uthvir clean across the face.

 The force behind the blow is more than enough to send them staggering.

 “You clumsy oaf!” Elandaris exclaims. “How dare you! You could have injured my feet. That would set my training back. Are you trying to sabotage me?!”

 “No!” Uthvir assures him, spreading out their hands. “No, of course not! I would never! It was an accident, you grabbed me and-”

 “Clumsy piece of shit!” Elandaris accuses again. “Either you did that on purpose, or you are a waste of training! Come back here!”

 Uthvir’s attempts to move further away are thwarted by Elandaris grabbing them. They try and counter his grip, but the older student is faster, and pulls at their treasure instead.

 “And where did you get this?” he demands.

 “It’s mine!” Uthvir insists, reflexively.

 “Yours? Where would you get a spirit shard?” Elandaris demands. “Even a cheap-looking one like this should be beyond the means of a beggar’s child like you. And don’t tell me someone gave it to you! I know no one would. You have no coin and you have no friends, so the only answer is that you stole it.”

 “I didn’t steal it!”

 Elandaris hits them in punishment. Uthvir knows they shouldn’t argue, but this is their treasure. If Elandaris thinks they stole it then he’ll take it away.

 “I didn’t steal it!” they insist, through the pain. “It’s always been mine, it was found with me, Lady Mana’Din knows!”

 “Liar!” Elandaris accuses. He tugs at the cord, and Uthvir struggles back. A few well-placed kicks send them falling backwards, though. Despite their efforts to train their skills, the extra chores that are always being given to them take up most of the time they would spend practicing. They are behind; they know it. And they don’t have much recourse, though their heart lurches in pure alarm as they feel the ties on their leather cord finally give out.

 Elandaris seizes their treasure.

 Uthvir falls down, and trips over the dropped firewood.

 “No!” they protest, scrambling to get back up. “It’s mine, it’s not-”

 “Shut up, you little liar!” Elandaris snaps back, and lands a kick against their stomach. Uthvir grabs his leg, too desperate to back down. They scramble to try and reclaim their necklace. The defiance makes Elandaris even more furious, however, and after a moment they are both rolling through the undergrowth. Uthvir loses track of where their treasure even is, if it’s been dropped or if the older student still has it, as Elandaris gets them pinned and begins pummeling them.

 “How dare you!” he snarls. “You sneaky little thief!”

 Uthvir tries to cover their face, finally going purely on the defensive. They brace themselves for the beating.

 But Elandaris only lands a few uncoordinated hits before he suddenly stops; crying out in pain.

 Bewildered, Uthvir risk looking again.

 Elandaris is holding his hands up. But there is a large, crimson gash on the back of one of his wrists.

 “How did you do that?” he demands, shocked at the sight of his own blood. “Did you stab me?!”

 Uthvir swiftly shakes their head.

 “How could I?” they ask.

 It must be the wrong thing to say, though, because Elandaris just looks angrier. Like he thinks they must be tricking him. Uthvir only feels confused as he lefts his fists again. They brace themselves, but this time they keep watching. So they see quite clearly as his hands come down, and…

 A leaf.

 A simple leaf, being carried on a swift wind, whips by and slashes Elandaris’ hands again, before he can bring them down to hit. He lets out another cry of pain, and finally scrabbles back off of Uthvir. Bleeding from both hands.

 “What are you doing?!” he wails. “You’ve cut me! You wretch! How did you cut me?”

 “It’s not me doing it,” Uthvir tries to explain, raising placating hands. “It’s…”

 The leaves?

 They glance down to the ground, and the two unbroken, perfectly-shaped, but blood-edged leaves lying not too far away. There are techniques that can make even flower petals as sharp as darts, especially in the hands of wind practitioners, Uthvir knows. They’ve read as much as they can, when they’re able to. But in that case…

 There’s only one person who could do this sort of thing.

 If Master Thenerassan wanted to stop Elandaris, though, he could simply come and tell him to stop?

 This must be a lesson, then. Or a test. Uthvir curses their own stupidity, as they wonder what the correct response is. They never seem to know the right answer with these things. But if Master Thenerassan doesn’t want his presence to be known, then… it’s probably better not to tell Elandaris?

 Maybe Elandaris is supposed to figure things out for himself? He is also a student, after all.

 Uthvir remains silent, and the two of them fall into a wary stand-off. After a moment, they push themselves back to their feet.

 “Give me back my treasure,” they demand, helpless to let the matter go.

 Elandaris’ expression twists. He looks down, but then, to Uthvir’s growing dismay, seems to realize that he doesn’t still have it.

 “I dropped it,” he tells them. Then he lifts his chin. “Which is just lucky for you, because if I hadn’t I’d be taking it to Master Thenerassan right now, and you’d be getting kicked off the mountain for thieving.”

 Uthvir balls their fists, but doesn’t dare make a move. The corners of their eyes itch.

 “I’m not a thief!”

 For a moment, they think Elandaris is going to try and beat them some more. But there’s blood still pouring from his cuts, and the sight of it seems to make him hesitate instead. After a tense second, he turns on his heel.

 “You just wait,” he says. “I’m telling Master Thenerassan all about this anyway, about how you tried to break my feet and bloodied my poor hands. And then that’ll finally be the end of you!”

 On that note, Elandaris races off. Uthvir thinks they would be terrified of his claims, except…

 Except, Master Thenerassan must alright know. Mustn’t he?

 And he… he stopped Elandaris.

 They just feel confused, as they pause and look around. No matter how they search, though, they can’t seem to see their teacher anywhere. They give up looking for him after a minute - if he doesn’t want to be found, they don’t suppose they stand much of a chance - and instead start searching for the necklace. Their ribs and stomach and face all hurt from Elandaris’ blows, but they can’t just leave it behind. They try and retrace things, but even though they search high and low, pulling aside plants and checking around stumps, and even looking in spots that seem unlikely places, they can’t find it before the sun begins to set.

 Their treasure…

 Uthvir is so disconsolate, they finally slump on the ground, and let a few tears escape.

 “I lost it,” they whisper. “I’m so sorry…”

 They aren’t even sure who they’re apologizing to. The words just seem to fly out on their own. They take a minute to cry, holding themselves upright on shaky limbs. Before they finally sigh, and resign themselves to the truth. They still have to bring the firewood back. And now that they’ve lost so much time, they’ll probably have to spend all of tomorrow making up the difference on their chores. The ones they can’t do in the dark, anyway. They sniffle, and brush off their cheeks. Trying to dry their eyes as they finally pick up the dropped firewood, and then stagger back towards the mountain path.

 Into their pockets, they tuck a pair of blood-stained leaves.

  ~

  Thenvunin feels like he must be the worst person in the world.

 He had been surprised when his practice had been interrupted by voices. Raised in argument, by the sounds of it. For half a second he was irrationally afraid that he had been caught, and that something about his practice had been so inherently wrong that he was on the verge of being discovered. But then he’d realized the voices were further off than that. And then he’d recognized them, too.

 Uthvir and… Elandaris.

 Oh no.

 As he hurried over, Thenvunin found himself recollecting the scene he was encountering. If it was the one he suspected, anyway. The one where Elandaris stole Uthvir’s precious necklace, the only remnant of their forgotten, tragic past. The one item that could still bring warmth to their cold heart, even when they were at the height of their dark ways.

 In the original story, Uthvir had eventually regained the necklace when Elandaris died in the tournament.

 Thenvunin watches as the two students struggle through the undergrowth, though, and sees the necklace in question stuck in the middle of a nearby fern. From his angle it’s quite clearly visible. The golden shard is a bright bit of light in the dark green foliage. Most of his attention is soon caught by the fight, however, and his first impulse merits several insistent warnings from the system.

 Thenvunin’s fists clench and unclench. Thenerassan wouldn’t have stopped Uthvir’s mistreatment.

 System, how many points will I lose for just marching out there and stopping it anyway?

 <Assessing factors… likely point deduction is 40.>

 What?! 40 points? He only has sixty-five as it is! That would… that would put him so close to complete failure…

 His mouth goes dry. Is he really just going to stand here and watch this happen?

 No. No, there has to be a way to interfere. Even if he can’t stop it directly, there must be something he can do. He thinks. There’s a technique, he remembers. It was one of the cooler things about the original Thenerassan, in with all his depravity and scumbag qualities. Precision was something he was actually good at. He could whip around tiny things with enough speed and subtlety to make even the most innocuous strips of paper or blades of grass into weapons.

 Of course, the original had mostly used this to inflict secret torments on Uthvir. Thenvunin can only hope it will work in reverse, as he plucks a leaf from a nearby tree. Keeping out of sight, he lifts the leaf to mouth, and blows. The first attempt goes wide of the mark, though. Drawing in a determined breath, Thenvunin grabs another one, and tries again. As Elandaris raises his fists, Thenvunin focuses precisely on where he wants the wind to carry the leaf. He feels the energy in his body, and the energy in the world around himself. And just like that, it feels as if he is remembering how to do something, rather than learning it for the first time.

 The leaf slashes Elandaris.

 Thenvunin is a little shocked at how much blood it draws. His bullying disciple pales, shocked in turn at the sudden blow.

 Even so, Thenvunin doesn’t hesitate to send the second leaf. Uthvir looks as though they’ve been through the wringer. Elandaris finally backs off at that, but Thenvunin frowns deeply at his tirade. Already wondering how to manage that upcoming situation. He thinks he can handle it, though, so long as he focuses on Elandaris’ own misconduct. After all, the original Thenerassan would have known that Uthvir had some possessions, and that accusing them of stealing such things wouldn’t hold any water. He probably just would have been annoyed that Elandaris was wasting his time with information that he couldn’t use.

 But then he hears an ominous ding.

 <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -20.>

 What?! But - but, how? It was only a couple of leaves! Neither Uthvir nor Elandaris could possibly know who sent them!

 System, I object! There’s no way that should have counted towards a deduction!

 <Assessment accuracy is at 100%.>

 But no one even knows it was me!

 <Assessment accuract is at 100%.>

 Thenvunin feels sick. 45. He’s down to 45 points now, and all he’s earned so far is 10. This is a nightmare! He keeps still, fretting over having less than half his starting points, as Uthvir begins to search around for their lost treasure. It takes him a few minutes to even register what they’re doing. And when he does, he feels another lurch in his gut.

 There, he thinks at them. Keeping his hiding place, yet trying, at the same time, to mentally project some knowledge of the necklace’s location towards them. It’s right there! Look over there, Uthvir, come on, you can find it!

 He could just pick it up and give it to them. But he absolutely can’t, he knows. The thought of losing any more points right now just makes him feel sick to his stomach. So instead he stays locked in place, while he watches Uthvir search and search, their bruises purpling from where Elandaris hit them. Do they still have healing salve left? He tries to think of ways he could get them more, at least, to keep from cracking and doing something impossibly foolish. But he feels as if he is on the verge of it anyway, when Uthvir drops to the ground and begins to cry.

 Oh, no! Thenvunin thinks, swallowing hard as his own vision goes a little blurry. Oh, no, Uthvir, it’s alright, it will be alright…

 He doesn’t know how he manages to withstand it, until Uthvir finally gathers up the firewood, and limps off alone.

 It’s only when they’re gone that he moves himself. Walking quietly over to the fern, and plucking the spirit shard necklace up from where it had been dropped.

 <Congratulations! A pivotal scene has been completed. Important Item: Uthvir’s Treasure has been obtained. +100 points awarded. Achievement: Character Development has been obtained! OOC Restriction Lock has been removed.>

 Thenvunin is so struck by relief at the sudden, unexpected points gain, that he almost doesn’t notice the necklace vanishing from his hands. But an object just vanishing is actually strange enough that it almost immediately distracts him from the bizarre rush of success.

 Wait, system! He protests. Where did it go?

 He has to get that back to Uthvir, somehow!

 <Beginner’s Tip: Important Items may be stored within the system until Participant decides to use them.>

 Thenvunin blinks.

 So… you have the necklace?

 There’s no answer, but that seems to be the correct assumption.

 System, could you please give it back?

 He’s thinking he might just be able to sneak it back into Uthvir’s possession, somehow, before he gets a response.

 <Using an Important Item at this juncture will cost 100 points. Would you like to use Item: Uthvir’s Treasure?>

 What?! Thenvunin draws in a ragged breath, and then lets out it again. He lifts up a hand to rub at his face. What sort of system even is this? He only just earned those points! And without them he’ll be down to less than half again. And will it undo his achievement? He… he can’t…

 He swallows.

 …No, he finally answers the system. He can work this out. He’ll get Uthvir their treasure back, it’ll just… take a bit longer than expected. All he has to do is earn enough points to feel comfortable, and then he can spare the 100 points needed to return it. And in the meanwhile, he can focus on making things better for them, now that he can actually act with some freedom. He’ll make it up to them later, he vows.

 …Somehow.

 The situation still seems bittersweet somehow, as he finally dusts himself off, and makes his own way back.

~

It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that the loss of their treasure leaves Uthvir disconsolate.

 When they get back, they can’t even bring themselves to tell Squish. She just thinks Elandaris was picking on them again, and it takes a lot of effort for Uthvir to convince her not to go try and break his knees. But they’re already in enough trouble as it stands, and Elandaris has a lot more influence with Master Thenerassan than either Squish or Uthvir. Though…

 In light of what happened with the leaves, Uthvir’s not sure what to make of the situation anymore.

 Master Thenerassan doesn’t like them. They’ve known that since their first week of training, when he more or less told them so. Most of the disciples at the peak come from good families. Quiet Peak is very well-respected, and the potential to ascend to immortality and prominence is enough to catch a lot of people’s interest. Of course, not everyone has the aptitude or discipline for it. Even a prince wouldn’t be able to join the sect if he lacked the potential for training. But while Quiet Peak looks after its residents, serving the region also doesn’t exactly pay well. So all things considered, most of the applicants who get accepted come from families who have enough affluence to spare them, enough connections to actually get them there, and who also have the potential needed to be considered for training to begin with.

 Sometimes, though, masters who are out on trips will cross paths with individuals who seem to have very noteworthy potential. These people can be of all sorts of backgrounds; what matters is just that they have the makings of a good disciple. According to the tenets of Quiet Peak’s sect, there shouldn’t be any discrimination of people based on where they came from originally. Once someone sets themselves to the path of ascension, then, one’s place along that path is more pivotal to rank and influence than their birthrights or privileges.

 That’s not really how it works, though. Uthvir is one of only a few disciples with a poor background, and the only one serving Master Thenerassan. When Mana’Din had decided to offer them a place on the peak as a student, Master Thenerassan had warned Uthvir not to expect that the idealism of the tenets would shield them from reality - that someone like them, regardless of their spiritual potential, was a pity case. A servant more than a disciple, not somebody who could actually learn and achieve full mastery someday.

 Uthvir wants to, though. Even if it’s unrealistic, even if it’s impossible, they want to be strong. They can’t help but think of what they saw in the trees, before they ran into Elandaris. Master Thenerassan, moving with the wind.

 A knock on their door startles them out of their thoughts. Their arrival at the temple was unexpected, so, when they were first set up they were given an old wood shed for a room. Lady Mana’Din told them it was temporary, but they’ve been there ever since. Uthvir actually likes it, though. The thought of sleeping in the barracks, with the other disciples, makes them feel cold dread down their spine. Even if it was the same barracks as Squish, they’d probably never sleep soundly again.

 When they call out to the knock, it’s Squish who opens the door. Uthvir relaxes a little, seeing their friend coming in with some clean bandages over one arm, and a lantern in one hand.

 “It’s late,” they say.

 Squish hangs the lantern up on the hook by the door, and shakes her head.

 “I only brought a few things,” she says. “I won’t get in trouble, it’s Venavismi who’s on the evening watch tonight and he’s a soft touch.”

 Uthvir swallows, but can’t really find the energy to argue. They cause a lot of trouble for Squish. She doesn’t say so, but the others have told them often enough. Even Master Thenerassan has said so.

 “Here,” Squish says, handing them the bandages. “Do you still have that jar of salve?”

 Uthvir reaches under their blanket, and grabs the little jar to confirm it.

 Another strange thing, they think. Master Thenerassan is often scolding them for not meeting standards, but he doesn’t usually give them the means to do so, either. The salve is really good, too. Uthvir has to fight the temptation to use it all up, rationing themselves and making sure to cover up any injuries that would be visible, first. But it feels warm and smells spicy, and makes the aches fade away. Squish takes the jar from them, which has them frowning.

 “Don’t use it all,” they warn.

 “I’ll use just enough,” Squish assures them, and then sets about helping them tend their wounds.

 It’s always been like this. When Uthvir first came to the peak, Squish looked at them like she’d seen a ghost. But then afterwards, she was always helping them. Even when other people were very clear that everything Uthvir did was wrong, Squish never turned away or stuck up her nose. They could only conclude that she was the kindest person in the world.

 That made them think on the strangeness of Master Thenerassan’s behaviour again, though. So far as Uthvir could tell, no one had really changed their attitude towards them since they had arrived at the peak. Lady Mana’Din was kind, like Squish, but she also very busy. She said hello to Uthvir whenever she saw them - which wasn’t often. The other disciples were either indifferent to Uthvir, or else actively disliked them. Master Thenerassan despaired of them ever showing any talent, and was just waiting for them to make the final, crucial error that would finally let him get rid of them.

 So why had he given them the salve? Maybe he really was just sick of looking at Uthvir’s bruises and thinking they were an embarrassment. What was going on with the leaves, though? And come to think of it… there have been other things, too. The past while he hasn’t given Uthvir any chores to do. The other disciples have, but not Master Thenerassan. He hasn’t snapped or snarled at them for a while, either, or boxed their ears for speaking out of turn.

 It’s nothing really big - but it’s why Uthvir has been hopeful that they’ve been doing better.

 So… have they?

 Are things different because they’re finally getting some stuff right for a change?

 The only trouble Uthvir can find with that thought, is that they don’t think they’ve been doing anything differently. It makes them anxious not to know what they might have done right, because if they can’t figure it out, then how can they keep doing it?

 “Squish,” they ask, as she carefully applies a thin layer of salve to their bruised cheek. The tip of her tongue is pressing out, just a little bit, as she concentrates.

 “Hmm?”

 “Have you noticed anything… different, about Master Thenerassan lately?”

 Squish pauses for a moment, frowning a little. She doesn’t like their chief instructor. Uthvir knows that, although she won’t tell them why. They’re almost expecting her to just tell them that she doesn’t want to talk about ‘that man’, like usual.

 After a moment, though, her brow furrows a little bit.

 “I have, actually. He seems less…” she trails off, and makes a face like she’s trying to think of a term suitable for a student referring to their teacher.

 This is a frequent problem whenever Squish talks about Master Thenerassan.

 “Shit?” Uthvir suggests.

 Mostly to make her laugh. They’re just in the wood shed, after all.

 And it works! Squish snorts, and grins a little. Then she seems to think about it, as she goes back to applying the salve, and shakes her head.

 “Don’t say that where the others can hear. Disparaging our ‘illustrious’ teacher will just get us into trouble,” she warns.

 “I know,” Uthvir says, quietly. “I was just joking. It’s a great honour to serve someone like Master Thenerassan.”

 Squish snorts again.

 “Don’t say that, either. It makes me want to point out all of his failings instead.” Switching to their other side, she starts rubbing some salve onto the bruises there. Uthvir holds still, and fights back a wince whenever her fingers brush over and especially sensitive spot.

 “Lazy,” she mutters. “Insincere. Vain. He barely teaches, I don’t think he can take credit for the success of any of his students, even partially. He just treats us like servants, unless someone else is watching. I wish he’d fall off the peak so someone else would have to take us on instead.”

 “Squish!” Uthvir protests. “That’s ungrateful!”

 She gives them a flat look.

 “I’m incredibly ungrateful for him,” she confirms. Uthvir wants to laugh, although they know they shouldn’t. It’s mostly her tone. Well, that, and the little voice inside their head that whispers that they’ve never liked Master Thenerassan very much either.

 They used to. When they first arrived they thought he was magnificent. Regal and handsome, like a portrait of everything a master of Quiet Peak should be. That impression lasted for about five minutes.

 Then he opened his mouth.

 “But,” Squish says, tugging their shirt open to get at the bruises on their chest and stomach. Uthvir tries to stop her - they’ll waste salve - but she just bats their hands away and starts applying it anyhow. “You’re right. He does seem different, this past little while.”

 Hmm.

 So if Squish has noticed it, too, then maybe it’s not that Uthvir has actually gotten better at things?

 “Do you think he had a revelation?” they wonder.

 Their friend shrugs.

 “I don’t know. I heard he fell down and hit his head. Maybe it’s a miraculous head bump situation, like in some stories? Something knocked a negative block out of his skull that’s gone unnoticed for decades, and now he’s finally able to channel ‘niceness’ again,” she jokes.

 Uthvir gives that prospect some serious consideration, though. It might not be as silly as she’s making it sound. Oh, it wouldn’t be exactly that, obviously. But what studying Uthvir has done has taught them that spiritual energy can behave in really unpredictable ways. If it didn’t, then it would be a lot simpler for people to train and deliberately control it, cultivating it at a steady and consistent rate throughout all individuals. It would be like working with uniformly sized blocks, always knowing the measurements and therefore knowing how many you need in order to build what you want. But instead, it’s like growing a forest full of trees. You can know what kind of seeds you’re putting down, can try and get the trees to grow in certain ways, but in the end, no two forests will ever grow exactly the same.

 And Uthvir has overheard a lot of stories, from everywhere around the peak, really. Things can get very quiet, so gossip is inevitable. One of the favourite topics of all the disciples tends to be stories about bizarre things that have happened to people during training, cultivation, meditation, or combat.

 There are a lot of stories about people whose erratic behaviour, odd quirks, or particular training struggles turned out to be the cause of some kind of spiritual block that was literally ‘knocked loose’ by something hitting them, or by them falling over, or getting struck by accident. Probably the most popular story is the tale of one ancient master who fell down the temple stairs and nearly doubled his spiritual potency.

 Uthvir thinks that one might be a dirty joke in disguise, though. There are a lot of references to ‘bouncing all the way day’ in a pointed fashion that tends to provoke giggles. They think it’s a pretty tame dirty joke, in that case - but that’s beside the point. Many of the stories sound like they’re supposed to be true, even if some of them are just rumours or have all the facts jumbled up.

 “...Do you think that really could have happened, though?” they ask Squish.

 She pauses. At first she looks like she’s going to just say ‘no, of course not’, and laugh. But then her face scrunches up, as the same thought process seems to occur to her.

 “Stranger things have been known to occur,” she finally concludes.

 The whole idea makes Uthvir feel strangely hopeful, and also a little bad. Has Master Thenerassan been having difficulties this whole time, then? And no one noticed? That’s sad. Now that Uthvir thinks about it, though, it doesn’t seem like very many people are close to Master Thenerassan.

 Squish finishes up, and puts some bandages over the salve to keep it from wiping off while they sleep. Uthvir offers to walk her back to her barracks but she waves them off, and only takes the lantern with her as she finally has to go. Uthvir lets out a long breath, finally feeling the aches from their beating subside; but also keenly feeling the absence of their treasure, and its usual, subtle warmth.

 Their blanket feels cold as they settle down. They stare at the moonlight through the cracks in the wood shed door, and think it might just be easier to puzzle over the ineffable ways of their teacher, rather than dwelling on the bitter sense of loss.

  ~

  The next day proves to be a very strange one for Uthvir.

 They wake up late. Which alarms them; they must have overslept, and they have so many chores still to do, they’re bewildered and at a loss that no one kicked open their door and dragged them out to get them. The possible reasons for why that might not have happened aren’t heartening; is Master Thenerassan going to declare that they’ve been neglecting their duties, and finally kick them out?

 Is that why no one woke them? Because there’d be no point?

 Or are they going to get punished for being lazy and sleeping half the day away?

 They hurry out, hastily securing their outer tunic, before they make themselves stop and tie their belt correctly. They can’t afford any more mistakes today! They think quickly, checking the time to find that it’s past noon, and then pelt towards the kitchens. Calling apologies, only to find themselves turned hastily away from their usual scrubbing jobs - jobs they’d neglected yesterday, in all the chaos and confusion.

 “It’s alright, Uthvir,” one of the older disciples tell them. Not one of their fellows. Uthvir comes up short, full of dread rather than reassurance, even as she pats their shoulder. “We’ve got it under control. Master Thenerassan sent word not to expect you today.”

 Uthvir’s heart sinks into their stomach.

 Oh no.

 Oh no.

 What if yesterday was a test? And they failed?

 In a flurry of anxieties, they head for the stables next. But again they find themselves turned away; cordially informed not to worry, that they aren’t expected. They think they even see Elandaris inside, mucking things out with a black expression on his face. Only for a moment. Then they’re shoo’d away. As they head for the temple steps instead, they’re getting ready to plead for their life - or, well, their life at the peak at least - when someone calls out to them.

 Uthvir stops, and then drops into a polite-but-rigid bow as they see Young Master Venavismi jogging towards them.

 Venavismi is the youngest of the currently ascended masters at the peak. His duties include guarding the grounds, and…

 …And escorting unwelcome persons out of the temple.

 Uthvir feels like their doom is cheerfully jogging towards them. Some part of them just wants to run, thinking that this must be it. They’re getting kicked out. They don’t even know where they’ll go, or what they’ll do. They’ll end up on the streets, and the other disciples have been very fond of telling them exactly what sorts of things that would entail. They’re as stiff as a statue by the time Venavismi catches up with them.

 “Hey, Uthvir!” he says, jovially. “Your master wants to see you. He’s at his studies, but he asked me to keep an eye out for when you got up.”

 Uthvir swallows, and takes a minute to register what’s actually being said. In specific, they have to blink, and realize that Venavismi isn’t talking about escorting them off the mountain.

 “What?” the ask. They’d been so convinced that disaster was on the way, now that it hasn’t come, they aren’t sure how to respond.

 “Master Thenerassan wants to see you,” the older disciple repeats. His expression turns towards worry. “Are you alright, little sibling?”

 “Of course,” they say, and manage another hasty bow. They’re still probably in trouble, but maybe… maybe if they’re being talked to, first, then there’s still a chance to salvage things. “Of course, I’ll go straight away. Thank you, Elder Brother.”

 “No problem,” Venavismi assures them. He still looks concerned. “Here, let me walk you. I’m heading that way anyhow.”

 Uthvir can’t exactly dissuade him without being rude. They go with him towards Master Thenerassan’s home. At a few points they pass some of Uthvir’s fellow disciples - the dark looks they’re giving Uthvir seem amplified, and it actually makes them grateful that the guardian is with them. Even if Venavismi likes to make a lot of inane small-talk.

 “So how are your studies going?” he asks.

 “I am progressing slowly,” Uthvir admits.

 “Oh. Well, everyone usually has to go at their own pace. When I was your age, Lady Mana’Din told me that it was better to measure one’s spiritual progress against their past self, rather than their peers. Look to where you have come from where you started, rather than concerning yourself with how you stack up to the other students.”

 “That sounds very wise, thank you for the advice,” Uthvir recites politely. Their thoughts are flying all over the place, though, and in truth, they barely hear most of what Venavismi says as he chats at them. All the way past the mountain garden and over the little bridge to the familiar grounds of Master Thenerassan’s home, and then even inside, as Venavismi is the one who knocks and loudly calls out.

 “Brother! I brought your little student!” he says. “Are you still reading?”

 There’s a rustling sound from the study.

 “Yes, I’m in here. Send them in, please. Thank you,” Master Thenerassan calls back.

 Venavismi gives Uthvir a pat on the shoulder.

 “There. Go on,” he encourages.

 They steel themselves, already rehearsing apologies as they make their way into the office.

 The windows are open, Uthvir notes. And the desk has been moved. They can hear some pleasant birdsong, although everything sounds rather ominous to them under the circumstances. Swan’s Grace, Master Thenerassan’s sacred sword, is in its wall stand. Their teacher himself is sitting so that he can face the window; closing some manuals that Uthvir doesn’t recognize. A small tray of snacks is resting on the desk. Though most immortals of Master Thenerassan’s calibre don’t require food for sustenance anymore, many still eat for the pleasure of it.

 Uthvir’s empty stomach rumbles a little, and they nearly recoil from themselves in horror.

 “Sorry!” they blurt.

 Master Thenerassan raises an eyebrow.

 However, to their shock and confusion, he then slides the plate of snacks towards them. Until it’s at the edge of the desk nearest to them.

 “Have you not eaten yet, Uthvir? I didn’t think Venavismi would bring you in such a rush. Have some of this, and take a seat,” he instructs.

 Uthvir hesitates.

 Not to be disobedient, but only because they feel like this must be some kind of trap or trick. They wait too long, and they see Master Thenerassan’s smooth expression shift towards something like irritation. Or what they think must be irritation, anyway. Hastily, they do as told, before they can get scolded. They fold themselves down across from his desk, and scoop up one of the sweet powdered rolls from the plate. In such a hurry to obey that they bite into it before they think about manners, and send a scattering of crumbs down their front.

 “Sorry,” they say again, through a mouthful.

 Their cheeks burn as they realize their second slip-up.

 But Master Thenerassan just leans forward, and pointedly sets the plate of snacks directly into Uthvir’s lap.

 “There,” he says. “No need to get crumbs anywhere, I had my fill of those anyway.”

 Uthvir swallows. Their mouth feels dry with terror and confusion, but asking for a glass of water at this point would be beyond idiocy. They feel like they should refuse the offer, to be obligingly polite and deferential, but Master Thenerassan hasn’t really give them room to. He regards them strangely for a moment. Unsure of how to react, they take a more careful bite of the powdered roll, with care to make sure all the crumbs on their shirt land on the plate.

 Master Thenerassan pulls a fan from his sleeve, and opens it. He lets out a long breath, and leans back. It looks as if he might be deciding something. Uthvir can’t escape the thought that he is, in fact, deciding their future.

 Their fate.

 “Uthvir,” he finally says, after what seems like a small eternity. The sweet roll tastes like ash in their mouth. “I owe you an apology. I have been a negligent instructor.”

 To Uthvir, Thenerassan’s words sound incredibly ominous. Like the beginning of a speech that starts with ‘I have failed you as a teacher’ and ends with ‘you are no longer going to be my student’. They swallow, and fight back a cough, and put aside the plate in their lap to drop into the lowest bow they can manage.

 “Master Thenerassan, please, you are the greatest instructor I could ever ask for!” they say. “I’m sorry I slept in. I didn’t mean to. I won’t make excuses, but I would never let it happen again, it wasn’t my intention-”

 “Uthvir, stop, stop,” Master Thenerassan gently interrupts. They look up to find him motioning at them.

 Warily, Uthvir straightens back up again.

 The smile he gives them makes them feel even more lost at sea.

 “I am not angry with you, Uthvir,” he says, firmly. “You are not in any trouble. On the contrary, if anyone should be punished, it should be the Master Thenerassan who has taught you these past few years. He has done disgracefully. And so, some things around here are now going to change.”

 Uthvir blinks.

 They are utterly lost. What is going on? What is this leading to? Is it a test? A trap?

 Master Thenerassan looks at them strangely again. Then he sighs, and puts his fan up to hide some of his expression once more.

 “The other students have been mistreating you,” their teacher asserts.

 Uthvir automatically shakes their head in denial.

 “Yes, they have been,” Master Thenerassan says, firmly. Angrily, they think. They swallow and duck their head. What’s going on? What are the right answers? For the past few years they haven’t ever been a favoured pupil, but they thought that they had at least figured out how to manage certain interactions. There were patterns that they could predict; that made it easier, even if it always seemed to end in something unpleasant for them anyway.

 But now all those patterns are gone.

 “I will not permit it to continue,” Master Thenerassan says.

 Uthvir bites the inside of their cheek, and keep their gaze averted. So are they being sent away, then? To stop it from continuing?

 Another long sigh reaches them.

 “...In a few days, Uthvir, I will be making a personal journey to attend to my health. While I am away, I do not think it would be very wise to leave you disciples under Elandaris’ charge. I know he is the senior among you, and that is ordinarily what I would do, but… I, ah. Have been burdening him with too much responsibility.”

 Uthvir blinks. The memory of blood-stained leaves beats through the panic in their mind.

 Tentatively, they look up at their teacher. But Master Thenerassan is holding his fan, still.

 Health? They wonder. Immortals don’t really get sick, but there are things that can injure, poison, or otherwise impeded them in ways similar to illnesses. And spiritual ailments can happen too, of course.

 Does this have something to do with his odd behaviour? And his fall? Is… were they and Squish actually right?

 But then, Uthvir thinks, maybe he’s going to reverse the process? Maybe he didn’t accidentally remove a block. Maybe he just addled his skull a little. They feel guilty for thinking that sort of thing could make an improvement on the man.

 Although… maybe Elandaris just did something to make him really angry? Maybe this isn’t about Uthvir doing better, but Elandaris doing worse?

 Master Thenerassan carries on, heedless of their thoughts and speculation.

 “Obviously, I cannot simply leave the training of my disciples to the wolves for several weeks. But it would be too much to burden any one Sibling of the peak with handling all of you. So I have made arrangements for you all to attend different teachers, while I am gone. They have generously loaned some of their time for this cause. I will tell everyone, of course, but for now you can know that you and Desire will be answering to Master Venavismi while I’m away.”

 Uthvir blinks.

 Venavismi?

 That’s… not bad? And they’re serving with Squish? Master Thenerassan put them together on purpose?

 “Oh,” is all they can manage at first, in their surprise. Then they remember their manners, and duck their head. “Thank you very much, Teacher.”

 “Hm. You should thank Master Venavismi for his time, but don’t worry about thanking me,” Master Thenerassan says. “All you need to do is make sure you go to him and tell him if anyone is bothering you. It is not good for the other disciples to shirk their duties onto you. Chores are distributed throughout the peak as part of training. Every disciple must learn how to balance the necessities of daily life with the pursuit of loftier goals. But right now, things are unbalanced. Uthvir does all of the chores, and barely has time to focus on their spiritual cultivation and practice. The others do none of the chores, and do not build up their characters. So don’t think you’re doing them any favours by keeping quiet about their mistreatment towards you.”

 Uthvir’s eyes are wide.

 Again, they flounder. Not knowing what to say. But the habit of thinking that if there’s a problem, then they must be to blame for it, is an old standby. They immediately start offering apologies again; and rendered uncertain, again, when Master Thenerassan makes them stop that.

 “You are not in trouble,” their teacher reiterates.

 “But I… hurt their training?” they venture. Isn’t that what they’re getting at?

 Master Thenerassan looks vexed.

 “No, Uthvir. I am saying that they have hurt your training, as well as their own. And that I have failed you by letting this go on so long,” he declares.

 Uthvir feels like someone just opened up the floor underneath them. They stare blankly ahead, and then blink a few times.

 They… he… what?

 “...Really?” they venture at last.

 Master Thenerassan’s expression vanishes behind a wave of his fan again.

 “Really,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “But it falls to me, now, to try and fix this. That will take us some time, I fear. And some things cannot be endured; you can no longer sleep in that filthy wood shed, for starters.”

 “I don’t mind it!” Uthvir insists, hastily. Please, no, not the barracks…

 “The barracks are also unacceptable, in your case,” Master Thenerassan tells them. As if he could read their mind. They wobble in place a little, still missing the floor. Except, bit by bit, they’re starting to wonder if they’re floating rather than sinking. If this is a good feeling, rather than a bad one.

 “Fortunately, there is a room by my garden that I do not use,” their teacher continues. “It has its own door to the outside, so there is no need for us to disturb one another. I’ll expect you to have your things moved over there by the end of today. Otherwise, you should focus on your studies until I leave. There will be no more chores until Master Venavismi assigns you some, after I have gone, to try and make up for some of the imbalanced time.”

 Uthvir stares.

 …What?

 As Master Thenerassan looks back at them expectantly, they remember themselves yet again. Dropping into another hasty bow.

 “That is too kind!” they insist.

 “I think I have explained why it is not,” Master Thenerassan retorts, quietly. Almost more to himself than to him, they think. Before they can think of how to respond, he motions at them to sit up again, using his fan to gesture. “Stop bowing. And finish that plate of food, you are much too malnourished. I have some training manuals for you and Desire, I expect you to give hers to her before I go. Master Venavismi will give you guidance if you need it, but I should still point you in the right direction, so I expect you both to read these manuals while I am gone…”

 Uthvir listens. They really do, even though it also still feels like they’re floating away in shock and confusion. They sit in Master Thenerassan’s office, and eat sweets, and listen to birds, and are given two crisp new manuals to tuck under their arm, and a key to a room that leads onto Master Thenerassan’s own garden. They try the shed, first, thinking that makes more sense, but no. The key doesn’t fit there. Instead it opens a door to a quiet little space that looks like it was originally meant to be a meditation room. Uthvir doesn’t know why Master Thenerassan would dislike it enough to not use it; there is a lot of pleasant light and fresh scents from the garden. But someone has put a new bedroll into the corner, along with a chest for keeping clothes in.

 Uthvir leaves in a daze to go and get their things. It doesn’t take long, they don’t have very much. The little room still seems sparse and empty as they set down their blanket and put away their spare uniform, and use the extra drawers to hold all their training material and their little tin of healing salve.

 Moving their belongings reminds them of what’s missing from the count of items.

 It’s a sad thing in with several confusing-but-ostensibly-good things. So Uthvir’s not sure how it works out that they end up sitting on their blanket in a corner of the strange room, with their knees up their chest, crying as quietly as they can.

 And when they’ve finished, they feel tired all over again. Even though they overslept already. Their bones feel hollowed out, and the lack of comforting weight at their neck still seems wrong, but… but, as they settle their damp cheeks against their knees, a wave of relief washes over them. It feels the same way that the air does after a storm has broken. And so, with instinctive desire, and a strange sense of balance, they fold themselves into a meditative pose and settle more deliberately into their corner. Closing their eyes as they focus on their breathing, and then on the flow of their spiritual energy.

 Their teacher instructed them to practice.

 Even if nothing else makes sense, Uthvir supposes that this, at least, probably should.

  ~

  Thenvunin can’t help but fretting, when the day actually arrives for him to leave and head for the caves.

 It still seems like a good plan. Or maybe just the best he can come up with. But there seem to be endless complications to everything. He had assumed things would get simpler once he wasn’t getting ‘dinged’ by the OOC Lock anymore - and in a sense, that really is a benefit. What he’d failed to consider, though, was that there might still be consequences for acting ‘strangely’.

 Case in point - the first morning after the lock had worn off, no less than three of the original Thenerassan’s colleagues had asked if he was ‘feeling alright’. Master Tasallir had looked at him as if he might be having some kind of manic episode, one of the peak’s healers had just ‘swung by’ to check on the currents of his spiritual energy, and then Uthvir had seemed positively terrified during a simple interview where all he tried to do was fix their bullying issue and move them to a better place to sleep at night.

 He had scared them witless and he didn’t even know how.

 They still seem uncertain around him. Thenvunin has been giving them space - and that hasn’t been hard, at the end of the day. He has plenty to deal with in trying to wrangle the other disciples at the moment, who are even more confused that their ‘teacher’ has started behaving differently. At least that makes some sense, though, because Thenvunin isn’t particularly trying to be nice to them.

 Oh, he’s not being cruel. But being ‘too nice’ to Squish reads in a way that makes his skin crawl, considering the Original Thenerassan’s ‘niceness’ towards her. And as for his bully students, well, obviously there’s a need to backtrack on some of the damage that’s been done to their values and discipline. Which means actually punishing them for being vicious little beasts.

 Thenvunin’s never been a teacher. He went to school, once, for about four years when his health was good. Otherwise it was all homeschooling. So he even finds himself pouring through the Original Thenerassan’s notes, not because he thinks it would be a good thing to emulate the man on a lot of things, but because it… at least gives him an idea of what he’s working with? And what the general structure of things should maybe look like. Unfortunately, most of the Original’s notes just read like the diary entries of some kind of madcap social climber. Who has good connections, who has money, who has relatives who’ve ascended, and things like that.

 Otherwise, he didn’t seem to bother with a lot of necessary work.

 Thenvunin ends up going to Master Tasallir, who is an ascended scribe and the person in charge of the peak’s records and archives, and mustering up an excuse of losing some of his teaching materials in order to access back-up records in the archives. Tasallir still seems to think he might be deranged, but less than he had before, when Thenvunin had attempted to offer him an actual friendly greeting.

 The man does make him nervous, though. He can’t even remember reading about him from the original book, and yet for some reason he is… unreasonably good-looking? Like someone cast him out of precious metals and ivory and then brought him to life via wishes. He is quite possibly the most meticulously groomed person Thenvunin has seen on the entire peak, which is saying something, and every time her speaks to Thenvunin he looks like someone has jammed half a lemon in his mouth.

 Thenvunin cannot take it personally. He thinks he would look the same way at the Original Thenerassan, and has no idea what sorts of transgressions his alter-ego might have committed before Thenvunin pulled a body snatch on him.

 But the long and short of it is that he spends several days running around in a mad panic, earning no points and feeling as if he is somehow just making everything worse, as he tries to actually teach his students and beseeches the other mentors at the peak for assistance and is perpetually asked if his ‘spiritual equilibrium’ is alright.

 So on balance, despite his nervousness over leaving - and what could go wrong in his absence, if that little villain Elandaris gets his hands on Uthvir again - he thinks the trip will be good.

 He can study, He can practice his abilities. He can make plans. He can come back, and hope that any major shifts in his ‘general temperament’ might be attributed to a successful trip; like the way some people seem to come back from vacations with entirely new outlooks on life. Or maybe, if he gives them a few days, people will start to forget what the Original was really like. Even just a little bit.

 …That’s a long shot, but he can hope.

 One silver lining to the whole scenario that he hadn’t even anticipated is that, since he is going to a section of the sacred caves that is not typically used by Quiet Peak, Lady Mana’Din gives him a map of the cave system with his path outlined for him. She also gives him a special pass key, which is little more than a strip of paper with a password written on it. But when Thenvunin presents it to the waterfall opening of the cave system, the water parts, and the entrance is revealed to him; and every other path along the way is also opened by his innocuous-seeming strip of paper.

 Thenvunin begins to feel some unease about the situation as he makes his way to the cavern system of Battle Peak.

 He’s never been in a cave before. Only really seen them on television and in movies, which doesn’t really do the darkness of them justice. Not that there’s no light; openings up towards the surface let in bright shafts of daylight, but any time a cloud rolls past them, they darken. And there are some lanterns, but still, they don’t illuminate everything. Many passageways seem shrouded in a deep darkness, and the darkness feels strange to him.

 Old, somehow.

 It reminds him of the practice that some peaks have of binding cursed spirits and demons beneath mountains. Like the dungeons below a castle. Thenvunin does not see anything, or hear anything, or even feel anything more than the odd sense of the ‘energy’ in the place. There are pools of calm, and waterfalls of light, and there are small bodies of still water - clear, somehow - and there is darkness.

 Only the darkness bothers him, until he thinks about how much time he is going to be spending here.

 Then he is very glad that he brought along so many books.

 Every so often he passes a cave that he suspects is occupied, but he doesn’t see any occupants until he gets to the segment of the map that marks the Battle Peak system. He doesn’t get lost or turned around too many times, thankfully. The caves are supposed to be a ‘natural’ place, but they do still have markers for the pilgrims that come.

 When Thenvunin is the Battle Peak system, he passes by a small chamber. Filled, unexpectedly, with daylight. An unfamiliar figure mediates in the middle of the room. They do not seem to take note of Thenvunin’s passage, and after a while, he decides it would be best just to leave them to their self-reflection.

 Other than that, he doesn’t see anyone until he’s actually made it to the cavern allotted to him.

 The space is something of a relief. Though it’s still obviously a cave, it has light. Not as much as the one he saw the meditating disciple in, but enough to give him a glimpse of the sky through the high opening. Water trickles down one side of the cavern wall, and some moss is growing around the opening. Thenvunin can feel the air move a little.

 It startles him, how much of a relief that is. Like a friendly touch that he had missed without knowing, ever since he came inside the caves. He moves to the middle of the chamber, and takes a deep breath. Spreading his arms out and feeling the air across his face.

 I can do this.

 Though after a moment, it occurs to him that he isn���t entirely sure how to start.

 The meditation he witnessed earlier rises in his memory, and after a moment, he supposes that’s as good a place to begin as any. He sets the bag he brought into a corner of the cave - Master Venavismi had blinked at the sight of it before he left, asking if it wasn’t traditional to take nothing at all; but Thenvunin managed to say it was only for the trip - and then he settles in a good spot to feel the breeze, and begins.

 Once he starts in on things, he finds that, like with the leaves he had thrown at Elandaris, many things are more like waking up a memory than trying to attempt something new. Even though Thenvunin is sure he’s never done any of them before. He manages to pass several hours without feeling like he’s been in a hard stone cave for that long; not noticing the memory of hunger, or feeling pain from the cold stone floor. He alternates between mediation and cultivation, practice and pondering. He takes breaks to read some of the manuals he brought and makes notes, and notices the light changing from day to night, before the habit of sleeping catches up with him.

 But that just leaves him feeling antsy and uncertain. And in too much darkness to read anymore.

 Sounds from one of the other chambers draws his attention. Thenvunin considers that it might be wise to watch some of the other disciples here, to see what they’re doing. To figure out what he should be doing. He gets up, and dusts himself off, and heads back out of the chamber. A little wandering leads him to a side passage, that descends right down next to the cavern he was in. That’s where the sounds seem to be coming from, along with the steady trickle of running water. He makes his way down, hesitating when the distant lantern light fades, and he has to proceed in darkness. But it only lasts for a short while, before he sees a light at the end of the passage.

 The sounds become clearer. It sounds like someone… groaning? Sparring, perhaps? Thenvunin almost thinks for half a second that he’s about to walk in on something inappropriate instead, with the heavy nature of the panting that he hears, but… serious disciples of Battle Peak wouldn’t use the sacred caves for trysts, would they?

 That would be too scandalous!

 Thenvunin’s face feels hot at the thought, and he’s definitely hoping he doesn’t see anything untoward at all as he reaches the bottom, and takes a look around.

 The first thing he notes is that there is only one person in the chamber. It’s a wide space, bigger than the one he had been in, but with more dark patches. A lone disciple is standing just off to one side, with his back towards the passage. His shoulders are hunched; and he is the source of the heavy breaths.

 Thenvunin hesitates. Something niggles at the back of his mind, a sense of something he should know, but also a rush of reflexive worry. Thoughts of being in hospitals, of seeing other sick and injured and struggling people.

 This man is unwell?

 And then the system provides him with a name, hovering in text just below the stranger’s shoulder. Like a caption in a film.

 <Battle Peak Champion: Master Calain>

 Thenvunin freezes.

 All the colour drains out of his face as sudden recognition dawns.

 Oh no. Oh no. No, he remembers this now! From when the original Thenerassan was discredited in the story! Battle Peak’s champion was Thenerassan’s rival while they were students, serving under the same teacher. They had bitterly despised one another, and Thenerassan had nursed a grudge ever since the fallout of their constant fighting had seen their teacher hand his tutelage over to Mana’Din at Quiet Peak, in order to separate them. Bitterness at being the one chosen to leave rather than stay, Thenvunin had assumed.

 A spark of hatred that had bloomed into an opportunistic murder, when Thenerassan had gone to the sacred caves for self-reflection, and found Calain lost to the haze of spiritual imbalance. A training method gone badly awry. At the time, the murder was considered self-defense; Calain had lashed out and in defending himself, Thenerassan had killed him by mistake. But as the black marks on his reputation grew, it became clear that the murder was deliberate. Calain’s state only provided a plausible excuse.

 And Master Calain’s sister was a member of Uthvir’s harem. One of their favourite wives, even. So of course, Uthvir had taken great care to avenge the death of her brother, along with every other payment they drew from Thenerassan’s blood.

 I can’t be here, Thenvunin thinks, all at once. He turns to leave but in his hurry, and the dark, a loose pebble flies away from his shoe.

 Calain turns. Ragged and wild, like an animal. Thenvunin feels a rush of shock as he sees his skin mottled with darkness, as if covered in dozens of bruises. He can scarcely take in anything else about the man, as fear overwhelms him, and he moves to keep running.

 Calain makes a sharp motion. There’s a flash of warning. Reflexes alone save Thenvunin as he leaps back, and barely avoids the sword that cuts across his path.

 <Dawn’s Radiance>, the system helpfully tags it.

 I don’t care about the names of swords right now! What am I supposed to do?! Thenvunin wonders back. He doesn’t get an answer, isn’t even really expecting anything that helpful, before Calain roars at him and charges. His sword whipping through the air and flying to his hand, as his eyes gleam with wild, erratic energy.

 Thenvunin flees in the opposite direction.

 “Calain!” he tries, as the two of them begin to race in circles around the chamber. “Calain, it’s me, Thenvunin!”

 “I’LL KILL YOU!” Calain roars.

 Right, yes, no, the Original Thenerassan may have known him but they weren’t on good terms. Familiarity isn’t going to help. Thenvunin keeps running, and dodging the occasional onslaughts of Calain’s sword, as he tries desperately to think. I need to get help!

 He attempts to turn back up the passageway, but the sword blocks his path. And then it cuts towards him, and in a sudden, vivid moment of clarity, Thenvunin knows that if he doesn’t do exactly the right thing right this second, he is going to be speared on that blade.

 Before he can really think about it, about what he knows or what he can or can’t do, he turns, and in a smooth motion, draws Swan’s Grace.

 The blocking move comes effortlessly. Calain’s sword strikes against his own with enough force to push him backwards, but even though there’s a ton of energy behind it, it’s erratic and unfocused. Thenvunin narrows his eyes, and in a sharp, deliberate gesture, knocks the weapon out of the grasp of Calain’s distorted spiritual energy, and sends it clattering across the chamber.

 Right in time for the weapon’s owner to charge him like a zombie from a horror film.

 Thenvunin’s ready, though. He feels impossibly calm - like he’s floating out of this body again, like he’s just a director telling it what they need to accomplish - as he turns the flat of his blade to deflect part of Calain’s charge, and then smashes a palm up the underside of his jaw. The energy around them ripples, and Thenvunin’s own bats his attacker away with a rush of wind that howls through the chamber.

 Calain smacks against the cavern wall; Thenvunin immobilizes him quickly, enabled mostly, he thinks, but the pure chaos of the other man’s aura, and the incoherence of his intentions. He sits on his back to hold him down, while Calain bucks, and keeps Swan’s Grace ready to deflect in case he should manage to summon his sword again.

 But then, reality sinks back in, and Thenvunin is once again at a loss.

 What… what he should do?

 He can’t hold Calain down forever. But he can’t kill him, either. Even if it weren’t for the situation with Uthvir later on, Thenvunin’s never killed a person before. Trying to tell himself that Calain’s only a fictional character doesn’t seem to work very well. Not when he’s spasming and struggling like a very real, ill man, caught in some kind of terrible seizure.

 “Help!” he tries calling. “We need assistance! Is anyone there?”

 He thinks he hears something, or maybe a few things. But minutes pass and Calain is getting harder to restrain, and the bruising on his skin is looking worse by the minute, unless that’s just Thenvunin’s imagination. But it seems almost like… like he’s changing. Like the imbalance is…

 Oh.

 Oh, no. He remembers now. Imbalance one’s energies bad enough, and death can result. Calain body is being destroyed by the energies inside of it. Like a cancer.

 But as Thenvunin remembers that, he also finds himself remembering something else. One of Uthvir’s wives went through something similar, didn’t she? Sabotaged in her training by a rival. But Uthvir saved her. In the sort of novel that Immortal Demon Way was, not saving their own wife wouldn’t have fit the power fantasy bill. So Uthvir had used their own spiritual equilibrium to restore hers. Thenvunin even remembers the description of the technique, although he also recalls it being described as very dangerous and liable to damage both parties if it backfires…

 It’s seeing Calain spit up a mouthful of blood that finally makes up his mind.

 “For the record, I’ve never done this before. So if it doesn’t work, I am sincerely trying,” he says.

 Then he summons up his focus, and presses his fingers to specific points on Calain’s back. Digging in, and mustering up the energy he needs, and feeling out what the over-abundance of energy in the other man is. Then he starts channeling in a counter-balance from his own stores.

 It feels strange. Like bleeding, almost, but not quite. Thenvunin’s arms tingle and his focus blurs a little. But he takes calm, steady breaths. If there’s one thing he does know, it’s how it feels when something’s going wrong in his body. And this feels tiring, and risky, but not like he’s committed a disaster yet. A soft glow emanates from his touch. He’s so focused, that he doesn’t notice when Calain stops struggling.

 He does notice when the mottling on his skin begins to fade, though.

 Thenvunin keeps up the process until he feels like he’s starting to lose his own balance. And then he finally pulls his hand away, and stops.

 There’s a long moment of utter silence.

 Then the system chimes in.

 <Congratulations! You have successfully completed a character quest. +50.>

 Fifty points? Just fifty, for all that? Thenvunin doesn’t know if he’s more surprised that he got anything at all, or offended that this was somehow worth fewer points than just stealing poor Uthvir’s treasured necklace.

 Calain turns, and looks at him with eyes that seem bloodshot, but otherwise normal.

 “What?” he says. “Thenvunin?”

 He sounds simultaneously offended and bewildered. Thenvunin figures he can let the other man go, now, and does. Only starting to release him before Calain is shoving him off in return, and moving warily away from him.

 Thenvunin folds his arms, unable to fight back his annoyance. It might be understandable that almost everyone hates him, here, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t getting sick of it, too.

 “What’s that look for?” he demands. “I just saved your life! That was a risky move, you know. I’ve never done anything like that before. And you were trying to kill me the entire time, too!”

 Calain’s brow furrows. He looks confused.

 Thenvunin curses his luck.

 “Oh please don’t tell me you have short-term memory loss?” he snaps. That would be his luck, wouldn’t it?

 The comment seems to smooth out some of Calain’s features, though. The other man extends one arm outward, and Dawn’s Radiance flies back into it. Thenvunin stiffens; but after a second, Calain only sheaths the blade back at his hip.

 “I remember,” he says, clipped and obviously still wary.

 The two of them stare one another down.

 “...Why?” Calain finally asks, breaking the silence.

 Thenvunin straightens out his clothes, which had been sent somewhat askew by the fight, and hesitates on how to reply.

 “Why what?” he asks, in the end.

 It just seems to make Calain more annoyed, though.

 The effect is somewhat undermined by the fact that the man is bizarrely pretty, though. Thenvunin is beginning to wonder what’s going on with that. When he read the book, he had sort of imagined Master Calain as being a rugged, muscles-upon-muscles, thick-and-hairy warrior type. Barrel-chested and stocky and square-jawed, the sort of man who fought bears under waterfalls. But on reflection, he supposed that the man’s reputation had been described more than his looks. And his sister, Calantha, was a remarkable beauty; dainty and fair, and actually described in an atypical amount of physical detail.

 On that reflection, Thenvunin realizes that Calain looks essentially like a male version of her. He’s still obviously fit and broad-shouldered, taller than Thenvunin himself. But he’s delicate-looking too, with a princely sort of countenance. A pretty face, long eyelashes, soft mouth…

 The contrast between expectation and reality is a little unnerving.

 Still. Calain is glaring, and he does at least have the eyebrows to pull that off.

 “Why would you do that?” he asks, looking Thenvunin up and down. As if he’s half expecting some vipers to suddenly come soaring out of his pockets or something.

 Thenvunin sighs, internally, and reminds himself that there’s no point in getting annoyed. People are just going to be suspicious. The only person to blame for it isn’t here, because Thenvunin has taken his place.

 “I’ve been… thinking about a lot of things,” he says. “Things I regret. About the past. About who I’ve been. I don’t want to be that person anymore, Calain. I’m trying to bury the Thenvunin Thenerassan you knew, and do a better job with the future than he ever would have. I would like to turn over a new leaf.”

 Calain looks suspicious, still.

 After a few more minutes of staring contests, Thenvunin gives up. He feels bad, now. Tired. Here he was supposed to be building up his spiritual energy, and now he’s set himself back instead. Not that he regrets it. After a moment he finds himself looking Calain over again, and while the other man may still be expecting some kind of trick…

 Thenvunin just saved his life.

 Maybe he can be proud of that, even if no one else is?

 “I’m in the cave at the top of the passage,” he mentions, gesturing. “If you run into difficulties again, come and find me.”

 Calain’s expression wavers, while Thenvunin starts to head up. It’s only then that he finally hears the sound of voices calling. Battle Peak disciples approaching from the opposite end of Calain’s chamber, by the sounds of it. After a moment of considering, Thenvunin just decides to keep going. Let them look after Calain, now. They’re his colleagues and he’s probably more comfortable with that anyway.

 After a while he hears Calain finally turn and answer the calls, and then the voices move further than Thenvunin can properly hear. He finishes making his way back up the passage, and heads into his own cavern again. Settling down, reviewing the last manual he read, and focusing on figuring out just what all he did to himself, and how he should probably reverse it.

 It’s good practice, he tells himself.

 Come morning, he has changed his mind entirely. Exerting that much energy in such a strange way was absolutely not worth it. He should have just killed Calain. Maybe this sadistic system would have given him more points. Probably, he thinks. And then he wouldn’t be feeling like someone filled his head with bees and tied all of his muscles into knots.

 The second day he gives up on progressing a few times in favour of just quietly weeping in the corner of his cavern.

 Eventually, though, Thenvunin finds himself getting back on track. The buzzing in his skull abates, and he manages to smooth out all the aches in his own body, with a deliberateness that makes him envious even while he’s doing it. If only he could have done this while he was alive! Just - fix himself! Heal himself, oh, that would have been a dream come true. The number of nights he had spent awake wishing he could just will his bones better…

 It makes him a little emotionally unbalanced. He has to start some things over again, and switches to sword practice for a while instead.

 A few times, he thinks about going to check on Calain. But he hears no more strange noises, and after a while, he decides against it. He doesn’t want to jinx it, he managed to get away without killing the man this time, but what if testing his luck just means he ends up doing the whole thing over again?

 Sometimes he can tell, without really seeing, that there are other disciples moving around the caves. But mostly, things just stay quiet, and never sees anyone. Hears things, feels things, but doesn’t see things. He forces himself to put his attention to what he needs to do, what he came for. After a while he loses track of time entirely, but, he still has a strong sense that he should stay put for now.

 Until, one evening, he abruptly finds that he doesn’t anymore.

 Time to go.

 Without sparing much thought to question it, Thenvunin gathers up his things. He hesitates, warring with himself over it; but then he turns towards the passageway leading down to the big chamber. It’s still daylight outside the caves, and that makes him feel bolder, even though it doesn’t change the light levels in the passage any.

 When he makes his way down, he sees Calain sitting on a flattened stone in the chamber. Eyes closed.

 “Brother,” he calls. “I’m leaving. Just so you know. Good luck with the rest of your endeavours.”

 It would have been irresponsible, Thenvunin thinks, to just leave without letting the man know that a potential source of help had gone.

 Calain doesn’t give any acknowledgement of having heard him or not.

 After a minute, Thenvunin can’t help but sniff in annoyance. Muttering a little to himself about rude people and ingrates before turning on his heel and making his way all the way back up that damn passage again, before consulting his map to find the quickest route out.

 Once he’s out, getting back to Quiet Peak will be simpler than leaving it. He can just use his energy to fly his way there on his sword. A genre trope that always seemed a little odd to him, but when he tested it out during one of his attempts to master a few basic abilities, he suddenly discovered the appeal.

 Of flying, at least.

 The map leads him to an opening that heads straight up and out of a wide side passage. Thenvunin takes it, and lets out an audible sigh of relief as he finally comes clear of the cavern rock and breaks out into the trees and open air again. A slightly frigid wind blowing past him, carrying just the faintest hints of snow, while the trees sway. He lets his energy carry him up above the tops of them, as he stretches his arms out again.

 That was a success, he thinks. He does feel somewhat better about himself and his abilities now. Even if that whole debacle with Calain still feels vaguely traumatic.

 He turns towards Quiet Peak…

 …And halts, going cold all over again.

 Flames lick upwards from the direction of the temple. While the sky towards the opposite horizon is grey, closer to the peak, the air shimmers with an eerie red light. The next gust of wind that blows his way carries ash instead of snow, and right as he sees it, he hears the first distant chime of the temple’s alarm bells.

 He forgot.

 How could he forget?!

 The attack! The attack on the temple, when Uthvir was fifteen. One of the most formative moments in Uthvir’s pre-Hell development, one of the first ‘big’ fights, a pivotal moment before the tournament that actually seemed to make the story really kick off the ground.

 The attack!

 Demons have come to Quiet Peak.