#even if it is hard to watch as a fan because augh he did something so foolish!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 10 thoughts

(muffled crying) (sniffing) (conspicuous wiping of eyes) hey guys, welcome back to my liveblog

little did i know! little did past me know what i was getting into when i typed my opening lines below. but presumably YOU, the reader of this post, knew what i was signing up for, so i shall spare my words and just share that i thought it was a VERY VERY good episode, even if it was darker than my usual preference. i tend to like some bantering, but i don't see how bantering could have fit into this one. so let us begin.

i haven’t seen an episode in a few days, which probably explains why this week has been awful. i would wax poetic about how i have missed our agents, but i honestly cannot wait any longer and Need to watch this episode right now. which i think is an emotional one???

(author's note: yeah <3)

i need to TEAR into this, bro. like a bear in a trash can or something.

reading the episode description and this sounds evilllll!!! i still assume everything about samantha is a lie!! it saves time!!

mulder is sleeping… on a BED?? a proper bed?? i can’t tell. it’s so dark. if it is a bed, this is IMMENSE character development.

he sees a red light in the sky :0 and on his walls!! it says “follow” WHAT!!! what does that mean!??

it’s leading him to a car?? wait, he’s at a park? was he camping and that’s why he had a bed? why was he camping? who lured him out here with a laser like a cat… what does “mad hat” mean in this context?

and he is full on chasing this light. i love that for him. the music is super whimsical.

WHAT IS LESS WHIMSICAL is the body of a child sitting in this forest. what the HELL????

okay, tone change, i see you!

but the child sinks into the leaves??

oh girl. they really got me with the whole “it was all a dream" thing, and I FELL FOR THAT!!!

he is actually just sleeping on his COUCH, which i knew had to be the case, because he would NOT use a bed in his apartment. beds are a luxury you only get to experience in motels if your name is fox mulder.

damn, maybe that's why he likes to travel so much... cozy hotel bed... really makes you think

nooo he had a nightmare :( this is sad. he never seems to actually sleep.

he’s gonna find that park he dreamed of and drive there even if it is the middle of the night. in his leather jacket. yes. he means business!!

and he is going to the spot where he saw a body of a child… where now he sees…. dirt 

so the next morning, he’s directing people who are digging stuff up. they look like police

ENTER SCULLY!!!! YAYYYYY :D i cheered!!! she wants to know what’s going on 

“you called for forensic excavation at 5 am on a sunday, what are you looking for?” (he grabs her arm, looking delirious) <- ohhhh i knew after seeing this moment that this episode was gonna wreck me

he asks her to give him a minute, and when she’s all “you’re out here because of something you saw in a dream?” he gives her this look of “it’s not that simple and you KNOW that”. funny how you can say that with just a look.

but someone calls him over!!! NO! there is the skull of a child in there!!!

omfggggg

wait, we literally haven’t even gotten past the intro yet, and i’m already sat at the edge of my seat…………

we are sooooo back, baby!!!

hey, that intro was different from the standard too, i think. but whatever.

scully is deeply confused, asking to hear about his dream. the forensic investigators are digging, but he is implying they aren’t going fast enough… so he’s digging with HIS HANDS!!!! 

oh, he is gonna mess some evidence up this way…

but he insists he knows what happened. 

he describes the murder in great detail, and scully asks, you learned all of this from your dream? and he says no, i have this murderer’s MO memorized; it’s a guy named john lee roche.

so it is the power of careful study AND prophetic dreams at work that make mulder such a good investigator

it seems deeply wrong to see mulder in their office with only a t shirt on and not his fancy suits, but it is the weekend, and desperate times. this serial killer- roche- was very hard to catch back in the day. at the FBI, he was nicknamed “paper hearts” because of the heart trophies he took from the victims… oh… i see where this is going. the title is making sense now.

mulder was brought onto the case because he was thought to be able to get into the victim’s head……. omg… his reputation…. and he concluded the killer had to be someone ordinary who traveled a lot, like a salesman. and he was!!! roche was a vacuum salesman!! 

(do we still even have those?)

scully points out that it was his profile that caught the bastard, and he just shrugs his shoulders. i would expect him to normally be more “yeah, i did that!!”, but it seems this one is very personal to him. not much to celebrate if you only caught the guy after the horrific murders happened.

he says they never found the hearts cut from the cloth, and he always wanted to count them and see if they really added up to 13. after this, he realizes that there were more than 13. this is really sad.

scully says maybe she can explain his dream!!! and maybe he solved it in his sleep when his subconscious took over! oh, she is a good friend

“you said it yourself once… you said a dream is an answer to a question we haven’t learned how to ask” <- YES he said that in 2x12, right? i always thought it was so poetic, and the fact that it was never mentioned again bothered me a little- BUT SHE REMEMBERED!!!

she’s telling him that he did good work, and they can identify the girl and put her to rest, and what if i cry about the way she leaned in to reassure him?? hey. what if i cry?

it’s time to look at some bones. scully seems to have found an identity pretty quick; her name was addie, and she went missing in 1975. 

but mulder pushes back, saying that if that were true, it would mean roche started way before they thought he did. scully points out that the clothes and height match.

oh my god…. the way he’s looking at the bones, and she asks if he’s gonna be okay if they verify it… he shakes his head yes, but it seems hollow. she is trying to be so careful around him. it's making me emotional.

so, they go off to pennsylvania to try and make an ID with addie's relatives. scully does the talking, presumably because mulder is going through a Lot Of Feelings, and the minute they say they’re with the FBI, the dude who answered the door asked “you found addie?” ohhhhh :( 

he immediately identifies the fabric pouch they found with the bones as made for addie... he used to slip quarters in it from the tooth fairy

bro, this episode is sad as hell.

“i used to think that missing was worse than dead because you never knew what happened” (cut to mulder) (cut to him looking at the portrait of addie on the wall) i’m gonna scream re: the implications about samantha

addie’s father asks if there were other victims they didn’t know about, and mulder looks very very very sad. i can sense him feeling that he needs to solve this, and that he’s gonna think he failed for not finding the others before. yes, i know where this is going 

all of a sudden, he remembers from his dream that the killer drove a white el camino, and he probably kept the hearts in there. the car was sold in 1992. that was a while ago. i am feeling some doubts in terms of them still being in there.

“don’t you think the car might have been searched at least once already?” “not by me” <- DAMN!!! oh my god. his sense of duty. that ancient and primal Guilt in him. yeah yeah, i’m eating this up 

they go to visit the car, where a young gentleman has been putting flames on the side. he seems giddy to hear a serial killer once owned his car. which i feel is valuable commentary on the commodification of the true crime industry and how it dehumanizes the suffering of the victims through sensationalism. but mulder is not gonna listen to him blabber, he is gonna get to WORK.

(man, i wonder how these two feel about the rise of true crime as an entertainment industry... i want to hear their thoughts)

they are sleuthing together. mulder takes a knife and cuts right into the seat!!!! he says something is wrong…. and remembers the “mad hat” clue…. he thinks this means it’s in the camper shell??? i fail to see the connection but that is okay, it wasn't my dream

mulder’s acting like a madman, ripping into the fabric of the camper shell, where he finds a copy of alice in wonderland…. WITH A HEART IN IT.

they are leaned in together, counting the hearts, and it would be an incredibly touching moment if it weren’t in such a sad context.

they find 16 hearts :( and he sadly says that means he had two more victims they didn't know about :(

they’re going to go visit roche. or not? someone is playing basketball. 

OH. they’re letting this serial killer, who casually addresses him with a "hey mulder", play basketball?? by himself? that can’t even be fun…

they ask roche why he only claimed there were 13 victims. he said 13 sounded more magical. why is this dude at once so Normal seeming and viscerally scary?

oh… “i understand you take this very personally, mulder” oh no. oh no oh no oh no.

“sink one from there and i’ll tell you” (very high pressure basketball shot that mulder makes on the first try) well okay!!! an athlete!

roche says that if he brings the hearts back, he’ll tell him everything, which was not part of the deal. i am of the opinion that he should not get to see the hearts again, and that if he does, it will be very inappropriate.

oh my god. mulder’s at his desk with the hearts, all organized by name, falling asleep with his glasses on as he holds the last two. he can't even stay awake, he's working so hard to figure this out.

another red light moment!! it is guiding him places…. a dream??

NO!!! NO. it’s leading him to the news of watergate. oh no. i know where this is going.

he sees samantha, and he’s quoting what he said back then when The Incident went down, line for line, because he must have rewatched it a thousand times

we relive the scene, including the flashes of lights. he grabs the gun. this time, and opens the door…. and it’s… roche…?

(well, if it is really him behind the crime, how did he do the whole shaking everything and making stuff float bit? really makes you wonder. because i recall samantha's body floating horizontally for a bit)

but back to real world, where mulder wakes up screaming “samantha!” and again. i WILL cry. oh my god…. there’s a terrible realization in his face as he holds the hearts up.

no, no, no, stop making him suffer.

back to the prison. mulder is without scully this time, but with roche, who asks if he has the hearts. 

mulder is questioning him about the weird comments yesterday, the whole "it's personal to you thing", then jumps right into “where were you in 1973?” and holy FUCK it’s tense.

“what, the whole year?” “november. the 27th of november. do you know what i’m getting at?” oh my god….

roche claims to have sold a vacuum cleaner in martha’s vineyard to mr. mulder at that time…. 

he’s going on and on about his father choosing the vacuum. and mulder’s face is so steely. but when he asks “what do you know about my sister?”, his voice is wavering.

again, roche insists that he brings him the hearts before he learns anything. which causes mulder to punch the shit out of him.

when the guards come in and roche snitches on mulder for punching him, the guard is like “i didn’t see it” which is deserved. more than deserved, actually.

but scully saw it go down!!! i thought he went on his own… guess she was outside watching

she is trying to talk sense into him post-prisoner punching, which has happened a few times now and makes me worry about mulder's employability if anyone knew he had a tendency to get physical with these villains, but i digress.

scully is explaining that roche can use the computer to look up anything he likes and find out where mulder’s from (it’s true! be careful what you post, guys!) and she thinks that he is using emotional blackmail. she thinks roche saw mulder’s heart on his sleeve and took advantage of that.

it would make sense that if he knows that he will spend the rest of his life in prison, he would torture mulder for funsies...

“scully, do you believe that my sister samantha was abducted by aliens?” oh my god we’re going there. i never thought we would go there.

“have you ever believed that?” she doesn’t answer, but she hangs her head… because what do you even say to that?

“no. so what do you think happened to her?” 

he doesn’t know what he believes, but he has to find out… and that shot of scully’s face…… please kill me, it would be easier for all involved :(

in connecticut, mulder is at… his mom’s house? looking in the basement. did he just show up?

he apologizes twice for waking her up and asks how she is doing :( awww :( he was so worried :( oh this grown man… he is a baby to me….

so he pulls out the fabric hearts and asks if she recognizes them. and when she gets confused and tries to explain her memory isn’t as good after the stroke, he smiles, and hugs her, pats her back, says it’s alright.

OHHHHHH THE WAY HE HUGGED HER AND SMILED................. I WILL YELL. I AM YELLING NOW. AHHHH.

anyway. he falls back on a different line of thinking to try and get answers out of his mother: did dad ever buy you a vacuum cleaner? the answer: yes, he did, a long time ago, and it’s down here. he’s tearing through old decorations to find it, and it is the brand that roche claimed it was. he slams his fist down.

now hold on. i’m willing to bet he just named the most popular vacuum of the early 1970’s. because they’ve put too much work into this whole “samantha was taken by aliens or the government” storyline to debunk it entirely. what about her files in the west virginia archive? what about his father choosing which child he liked better? what about the whole “they took her as insurance so mr. mulder wouldn’t snitch on the cataloguing of humans and planning for alien colonization” thing? too much has been invested in this…. i think it can’t be true, but rather we’re exploring mulder’s emotional state with this sick and twisted excuse 

skinner has summoned mulder!!! he is no longer allowed to work on the roche case because he punched tf out of him!!! mulder turns to scully with suspicion and skinner clarifies that she wasn’t the one who reported it (although she should have) but rather the whole thing was videotaped!!!

if i've said it once i've said it a million times: she's real as hell

skinner says that he should have mulder’s ass in a sling (okay, elaborate on that), but he tries to explain that roche might have information on his sister. scully says that it looks possible- he spent most of 1973 in boston, took a trip to martha’s vineyard in october… and it’s adding up.

she loves to do her research. i know she was an academic weapon in college.

skinner says this is even MORE of a reason to get someone else on this case, but scully says that no one knows roche better than mulder, it’s still his case, and we have to find the victims!!!

(angry skinner voice) (forcefully pointed finger at groveling mulder) "you tread very lightly" (forcefully pointed finger at scully) "you see that he does"

he basically said “watch your man, scully, or ELSE”

back to roche. they present to him the hearts, and he has a sick smile. i do not like this

“name them” “well, i think you know one of them already” oh that is evil

(said with the most fury that has ever been concentrated into scully’s voice per word) “prove it” <- she is not gonna let him do this alone, nor will she let him be manipulated!!! she is the best friend out there!!

roche is smiling, talking about watergate, how mulder and his sister were playing a board game that night. he says he was watching from the window. why does he know all of this?

he has this weird fixation on playing games, and says to pick out a piece of fabric, and he’ll give the location of the body it came from. fifty-fifty chance it’s samantha, and either way he gets a victim’s location.

what is up with this dude? why is he so casual about all of this? he does seem so… normal, despite the things he is saying.

at the location roche gives them, they find the words “mad hatter” carved into the rock. uh oh. that is showing up again. he starts digging with his hands.

scully is trying to talk sense into him, saying they need to get an excavation team, but his voice is strained as he tells her to “just help me, scully”. so she joins in, and they find something. he looks like a wild animal.

in the autopsy room, he’s approaching the bones, taking a deep breath as he goes over the case information, trying to prepare himself to see his sister.

there are visible tears in his eyes as he runs his hands over the fabric, then announces (in form of a question) that “it’s not her, is it scully?” there is a sense of relief involved, but still, pain from lack of answers.

samantha broke her collarbone when she was 6 on a rope swing in their backyard, and as he realizes this little girl's collarbone is intact, he’s crying and he’s sighing with relief.

“it’s not her”, she says; “it’s somebody though” is his reply. ohhhh my god. ohhhhhh my god. oh my goooooooood. it's somebody's grief that they have carried with them for decades just as he has. it isn't that much of a relief to know it isn't her if someone else has felt like he has since the 70's.

back to roche. he gives the name of the girl who they did find, with incredible detail on where she lived. scully’s voice is forced as she asks what year this happened, and he’s going on and on about the vacuum he almost sold the victim’s mother.

so mulder presents roche with the last heart, saying that is belonged to his sister. he’s making a big game of this, saying “you need me to lead you through”, to bring him to the place where his sister is buried. to which i think, no tf you don't.

he said he can’t wait to see mulder’s face, and you can hear scully exhale and say “oh god”, and that is how you know things are going to go DOWN.

she says he will see the inside of his cell instead; “you’re going to rot there” (holds the door for mulder) (all things considered, she showed excellent restraint)

she looks incredibly furious at these shenanigans, but softens up to ask if mulder is okay. she says that if they give roche what he wants, he could string them along forever. and it makes sense. there has to be another way to figure out if he is telling the truth.

back at home on his couch, mulder is pondering. he has a few fish in his tank. you need a bigger tank, i think, but idk if people cared about that in the 90's.

NO! he picks up the phone and calls for A REMOVAL ORDER OF A FEDERAL PRISONER!!!!!!!!

he gets on the plane with a handcuffed roche.

what the fuck, i thought we were NOT going to go down this route? what is he thinking?

roche asks to use the bathroom on the plane, but instead starts talking to a little girl, and mulder has to get there NOW, but there’s a stewardess in the way. oh no, what has he done...

scully is forced to tell skinner that mulder did, in fact, let the serial killer out. OH!!! skinner says “you let me down” to her…… oh my god……. that really hurts

she says that she had left mulder to his own devices for one day to get some sleep… do we believe her? honestly, yeah i do. especially because of how furious she became when roche brought up the idea that he could be let out.

she’s trying to advocate for mulder in his absence, talking about the “uniqueness” of the situation with a level voice, and skinner says yeah i know, i said that this situation was really unique the last time we talked, now let’s go and clean up this mess.

oooo skinner is MAD and i don't really blame his anger at mulder, but it's rude af to blame scully for the things mulder did... skinner confirmed anti-feminist, blaming a woman for a man's actions

(i jest. mostly. skinner and i still have beef and we probably always will. every time i think we're past it, he does something else that pisses me off, so we are constantly on uncertain ground. which is very father coded, all things considered)

cut to mulder cam, who is bringing roche to his old house?? roche is unsettlingly tall. he says he sat on the couch when his dad bought the vacuum… and then walks through what he claims happened the night of the murder. mulder’s thoroughly quizzing him, and he’s answering them correctly, even where his parents went once they left. or is he guessing at it all??

he claims to have cut the power, that the door was unlocked, and he walked in…. 

and mulder tried to get the gun, but he claims he froze… 

OH! GAG!!!!!! MULDER BROUGHT HIM TO THE WRONG HOUSE!!!!!!!!!

he says his father bought this house AFTER the divorce… dude, how many properties did this guy own??????

but still. the point is made clear. roche is a fake.

so how did he know these things? perhaps, mulder proposes, that when he got into his head investigating the case, maybe that link goes both ways. that's a terrifying prospect

“and you’re in the wrong house, you stupid son of a bitch” <- this is a powerful line, but you can really hear the massachusetts come out when he says it. i think that’s really cool. i mean, is DD actually from there? i think he is, right? because he went to school with jfk jr. famous boston blood there.

if it’s not a purposeful detail or a inadvertent thing that slips into an actor’s performance when a scene is Emotional, then maybe i need verification: did y’all hear the massachusetts when he said that, too….

roche is scrambling to cover his tracks, saying it was just geography that he messed up, not the actual details, but he has now been exposed as a FAKE and a FRAUD

mulder doesn’t buy it, despite his claims he’s telling the god’s honest truth. hmm. perhaps leave the lord out of this.

then he’s sitting and holding that cloth heart. we hear his sister’s voice in the car, which is pulling away. and he grabs her, holds her close. 

BUT HE WAKES UP AND ROCHE IS GONE AND HE IS HANDCUFFED!!! scully and skinner are at the door!!! roche must have manipulated him in his sleep?

omg…….. 

skinner is letting him have it, saying there’s a predator loose because of him, and how can he explain himself, and. while i agree. if i were in his shoes and there were any chance of getting an answer to the one question that has kept me up at night almost my whole life, i’m not sure if i wouldn't have fallen for roche’s lies as well. it is hard to imagine. i'd like to think i wouldn't, but how can you ever know?

it is a dark and ugly thing that mulder did, letting him out.

but we at least seem to get confirmation that the dream connection theory is accurate?

he asks for skinner’s phone, saying there was a child on the plane, and roche is probably going after her

NO! someone called ten minutes ago with the same name requesting the same information from the airline!!!! 

it seems that the girl’s babysitter believed roche’s lies that her mother was in an accident and he needed to pick her up, and she blames herself for letting her go with roche. but mulder says it isn’t her fault, and it’s his fault instead. 

oh my god…. he tells scully she was right, and when she asks if he no longer thinks roche took samantha, he says it doesn’t matter anymore………. because that grief that has ruled him forever has now been put onto someone else............. how terrible he must feel...

he thinks that roche will be somewhere nearby, and scully is pulling up his old address. he lived on alice road, and mulder says that has to be it, because he got the idea from alice in wonderland!

(i have never read the actual alice in wonderland book. did the mad hatter kill people and take hearts from their clothing? i thought he just. made tea and said weird stuff???)

skinner is in disbelief, but acquiesces to mulder’s knowledge, rounding up his men.

at the apartment, they can’t find anything. mulder is running in a field, climbing into a huge lot of busses??? old run down busses??? i'm confused at why this exists, but following along in terms of plot

he pulls out a tiny gun hidden in his sock (slay) and sprints towards the sound of a girl screaming, but with so many identical busses, where is she???

he hears some movement in one of them…. and finds roche and her in there together. 

and roche is saying that he does think they share that nexus like he claimed. everything is very very tense. 

mulder announces that he is going to take this girl home, and when roche points out that he has a gun, he asks the child to do a favor: count to twenty out loud, quietly and slowly. he has a way of talking to kids like they’re equals and i’ve always found it endearing, but now i’m wondering where tf he is going with this.

roche has the gun pointed at the girl… and we know he is capable of pulling it

roche is trying to say anything he can to get mulder to not kill him, asking how sure he is it isn’t samantha who was the last victim. but i don't think that is gonna work anymore.

and when the kid hits twenty, mulder pulls the trigger

JEEZ, we really saw some blood action go on there!

so the poor girl runs away screaming to scully, who is saying that it is okay, and that she has her (and i am emotional when ever they work with kids okay? especially after that convo in home where they talk about wanting families. whatever.)

and i’m left paused at roche’s dead head, which i feel in real life would have a lot more blood and gore, but for the sake of this being TV, it still is kinda shocking!

mulder’s holding the gun out, staring at roche’s body.

wait. we’re back at his office now. i am going to use this time to analyze the articles on his wall.

“strange activity down under” “are UFOs flying in colorado?” “ranchers shaking their heads over mysterious cow deaths” “US reports visits of UFOs to bases” (picture of crop circles, creepy creatures, a list of planets i think? and the famous poster)

pan to a very very sad mulder. scully knocks and comes in. she is staring at him. they are not saying anything for a few seconds that feel very very long.

oh my god. she comes in with the fabric analysis of the heart. all they can say is that it was made between 1969 and 1974.

she assures him it’s not samantha, and that they’ll find who the little girl really is. 

“how?” “i don’t know. but i do know you.” (he looks up at her while fighting back tears) <- i am going to bite something. her unwavering belief in him will be the death of me.

“why don’t you go on home and get some sleep?” she asks, so gently (at this, he breaks into laughter, which gets a smile out of her)

and he wraps his hand around her waist, leaning his head into her, while she strokes his hair

then he puts the last heart in his desk drawer.

oh my gosh………

where to even begin....?

first thought: he must be laughing at her saying that because she knows damn well that he will not be able to rest, but also because it is comforting to hear how she believes in him. that, or “go on home and get some rest” is their code for “i’m letting you do what you want and not asking questions”, but i doubt that, because she claims to have said that to him earlier, and i feel scully would never EVER have let him release roche if she had known he was even sort of thinking about it.

second: yowch. this one hurted!

it took me an hour and 51 minutes to get through the 45-ish minute episode because i was SO glued to noting every moment. 

i tend to prefer the episodes that are more lighthearted, so i did feel that absence here. that being said, i don’t think it would be possible to explore this side of mulder with there being humor in the plot or script, especially after we have seen how he uses it as a defense mechanism. when he can’t joke about something is when you know he’s hurting terribly. 

it was dark. very dark. but i still enjoyed it for the character analysis. i love a character analysis episode, i love diving into what makes someone who they are. there was this sick relationship between roche and mulder where you knew he was going to do anything to get the answers, no matter what the risks were or who was placed in danger. and i think that shows the scary and dark side of mulder that can get overlooked; how his bloodhound-like need to sniff out an answer can and will endanger himself and others. but he is aware of this fact, and seems regretful, especially when he says it doesn’t matter anymore if he finds samantha, because he inadvertently put another child in danger to do so. and he is aware that the suffering he has felt is now going to be passed onto someone else if he does not fix it Right Away. which he does.

getting to see the good parts of a character driven to such an extreme where they become terrible traits is a rare treat. still, it can be hard to see your blorbo do bad things.

i do often wonder about his slapping of criminals and why he hasn’t gotten fired for some of these many rule-breaking sessions, but. shrugs. it’s not real, so we can’t entirely place real world logic on this stuff, i guess.

honestly, we also saw a lot of scully and learned about her character here, too. how she tries to draw the line between her own beliefs and the very real pain that mulder is suffering, and how his pain breaks her heart; how defensive she is of him, in front of roche and skinner or even the whole world, i’d imagine. her courage to look her boss in the eye and ask for mercy on his behalf as he goes out and breaks every rule known to mankind because he wants to bend the earth to his will. that bone-deep righteous conviction she carries with her that i love so much.

and more on how she’s always touching him- they skirt around the emotional issues at hand, asking if he’s okay to make an ID or to see the autopsy and not really touching the sore spot with words unless they absolutely have to. but while they only brush it verbally, she is physically reaching out to him, leaning in, stroking his head, touching his arm… god, the way they communicate kills me. it's like they find it far easier to let their bodies express emotion, which probably comes from the constant need to Be Strong both of them feel in their line of work, but it is really compelling. it's fascinating. as someone who is always going to tell you how i feel at all times, i find it very intriguing. are they afraid to say what they mean? or do they have this connection that words aren't needed for? please let me know what you think. am i alone in this? do you think they are good at talking about their feelings? or am i voicing a popular sentiment that they are mostly pretty Bad at it. because i'm thinking of other times where they are Honest and Truthful, and they tend to keep it very succinct. maybe that's what makes it more impactful.

how he laughed at her after she said she believed in him, and how she smiled back, how he leaned into her????? can i bottle that and drink it when i feel like suffering?

god, i’ve felt that when i read dialogue prompts, they don’t seem to work for writing msr as easily as you would think, because so much of what they say isn’t even said. it’s in glances and touches and leans, and the words tend to be sparse but truthful when they matter and witty and prolonged when it’s nothing of importance. what a strange balance they have. shoutout to people who write msr, because it seems very hard to do when you want to write a genuine tale of them getting up to emotional activities.

overall, i liked this episode, but it was still a bummer. s4 is full of bummers, so far. i have not giggled in a while. i would like to giggle at some point in the future. perhaps that is something we can work toward. i once again request a fic where they go to an apple orchard. perhaps i shall end all of my posts with that, at least until we get some levity back to the game. that being SAID, it was still excellent.

let me know what you think- does everyone agree that this is a good episode? did you feel sad? did you think it was Too Dark? any criticism? any high praise? and the big one that is nagging at me now: how tf do you understand the way they communicate? can it be conceptualized?? please share with me all of your thoughts in as much detail as you can spare.

[pokemenlovingmen]

Random selection of Pokeguys with this old classic:

Character: “I wasn’t that drunk last night!”

“You were flirting with S/O.”

Character: “So? He’s my boyfriend.”

“You asked him if he was single.”

“And then cried when he said he wasn’t.”

… you guys know the one I’m talking about right? A big fandom meme but I can’t find the og, if there even was a non fandom-affiliated og. This is probably really convoluted for a shitpost lmao I’m sorry, this is just silly goofiness to me while I wait for requests and the guys here were just kinda picked by who I thought would be the most fun to write.

Content warnings: alcohol consumption and drunkenness

Adaman

💎 — Emotionally devastated but trying so hard not to show it

💎 — Considering he was sloppy-ass drunk enough to ask you, HIS BOYFRIEND, if you were single that’s not really something he’s doing great at

💎 — “Oh nooo that’s so… I’m sorry… oh noooo you’re just so pretty :(“

💎 — He stares vacantly off into the distance, holding back tears while you stare at him and wonder how long it’s gonna take for him to realize.

💎 — It’s kinda pathetic so you give up the joke and tell him the truth, to which he ACTUALLY bursts into tears.

💎 — “Hweuuuhhh Mighty Dialga is truly gracious and kind to have blessed me with your love I’m so luckyyyyyyyyy”

💎 — Just leans against you and sobs for a while, while you pet his hair and try to console him and insist this is real life, and that you’re sorry about the trick. Mai and Irida, who are watching the whole thing, are NOT sorry you pulled this one because it’s fucking hysterical

Melli

💙 — WAILS

💙 — Cue incoherent sobbing into your shoulder about why Mighty Dialga hates him so much that it would torment him with the ethereal beauty that you are that he’s forbidden to have

💙 — If only they existed in Hisui, you might want to grab a velvet chaise for him to lay on and sob dramatically in a very theatrical pose

💙 — When you finally give up the joke and tell him that the person you’re dating is, in fact, him, it’s like you just clicked the off switch. I mean, the tears are definitely still flowing but he shuts up instantly and stares at you like you’ve grown a second head.

💙 — Then starts fanning his face, still clearly crying while trying to look all smug and confident.

💙 — “HMMMMMPH of course I knew that, only I would be worthy of your company anyway” (still visibly crying a river)

💙 — Clings to your side the entire night and also looks like a pathetic wet rat while he does it

Red

🔥 — :(

🔥 — visible despair

🔥 — sad shinji meme

🔥 — he just kind of. sulks. pouting very dramatically.

🔥 — I mean good for you and whoever you’re seeing but he’s very drunk and to him you’re like the hottest man on earth right now??

🔥 — Eventually you put your arm around him and hit him with the “Red honey, I was talking about you. You’re the other person I’m seeing.”

🔥 — …

🔥 — :,D

🔥 — prommy????

Ingo

⚫️ — INSTANT ugly crying but not for the reason you think actually.

⚫️ — “WAUUGH PLEASE FORGIVE MY RUDENESS I DIDN’T MEAN TO IMPOSE I AM SO IGNORANT PLEASE TELL YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER I’M SORRYYYYYY”

⚫️ — I mean yeah, he’s also upset you’re apparently not single but all he can think about is how much he must have offended you and AUGH you’re so handsome and sweet and he was so clueless please don’t take it personally he doesn’t really know what’s gotten into him!!!

⚫️ — Probably the one you have to drop the joke the fastest with because you were NOT expecting this reaction at all and between all the sobbing and shouting you’re starting to worry about when the last time he actually took a breath was.

⚫️ — You end up needing to rub his back and scream your own apologies to him because you were only joking, the person you were dating is HIM!

⚫️ — At this he’s now just crying for a different reason, because he’s so lucky and you’re so handsome and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

⚫️ — He calms down pretty fast after that, but never mention that incident to him again

⚫️ — He already doesn’t drink much and remembering how dramatic and off kilter he was being that night just has him actually wanting to curl up in a hole and just. Live there.

Emmet

⚪️ — “Oh! Okay then!”

⚪️ — You’re a bit surprised by his unfazed reaction for being absolutely piss drunk, but after delivering that line he immediately pivots on his heel and speedwalks the hell away.

⚪️ — You call his name at first, and when he doesn’t respond and also looks DEAD SET on leaving whatever event you guys are at, you have to run after him calling his name all the while.

⚪️ — Drunk Emmet thought process: Dear lord, I’ve made a horrible mistake. I am extremely embarrassed. I’m going to immediately vacate the area and probably never come back.

⚪️ — You practically corner him because he is so, so fixated on leaving out of sheer embarrassment when you explain you were just messing with him and the person you’re already dating? That’s him.

⚪️ — By the look on his face, he practically needs one of those little buffering wheels above his head, because he is thinking HARD about this. His entire worldview has shattered. The earth has stopped turning. His wig is gone.

⚪️ — Eventually he just… climbs into your arms and lets you take him back to where you guys were. Both extremely embarrassed for a totally different reason now while simultaneously being in complete and total awe that sober him scored someone like you. Woah.

[thetobiroppofan]

one piece rant #4 (i think): the tobiroppo and why i love tjem

one day im going to be famous and whether it be for murder or a simple delusion in my mind it WILL happen one day trust me on this those who read this post. anyways i talk like my business is everyone elses deal cause it IS i mean im posting this to STRANGERS!!! ON THE INTERNET!!! i dont CARE if im judged its the INTERNET. i am THE internet gremlin. ohmygod shoot me for that i change my mind.

anyways this isnt what this post is about (pro tip: if you think youre funny write a script and go animate something i estimate soon we'll be needing the next batch of funny animated youtubers soon like jaiden animations and does anyone remember that one guy with the demon horns?? i think his name was adam smth i used to watch his videos religiously)

I love the tobiroppo if you couldnt tell by my cool awesome username. the tobiroppo are AWESOME. BEST villain group in one piece i dont CARE what anyone says. NO!! I AM NOT INCLUDING KAIDO OR HIS ALL STARS IN THIS. JUST THE TOBIROPPO.

LOOK AT THEM!!! THEYRE AWESOME!!! I LOVE THE TOBIROPPO. I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY IF I HAD THE CHANCE TO MEET THE TOBIROPPO AND THE ONLY WAY TO DO IT WAS THROUGH DYING I WOULD DIE!!!!!!!! LITERALY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ID DEFINITELY BREAKDOWN UPON SEEING THEM SINCE THEYRE SCARY ASF AND ALSO THEYRE SO COOL!!!!!! BUT ITS SOO WORTH IT!!!!!! HEAVEN HELL BE DAMNED I LOVE THE TOBIROPPO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

one day im gonna travel to japan and find eiichiro oda and stalk him until he breaks down and i force him to tell me EVERYTHING about the tobiroppo from all their dynamics with the other members to their least favorite food!! (ALL JOKES!!! I AM NOT GOING TO STALK ODA!!!)

anyways if i had to rank my favorite members to least favorite itd go in an order like this: 1. ULTI MY GOAT!!!!!!!!!!!!

2. BLACK MARIA MY QUEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!

3. PAGE ONE MY MOODY NERDY TEENAGE BOYMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!

4. SASAKI!!!!!!!!!! THE HOT ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

5. The racist.

6. X-Drake. (i like him but not as a tobiroppo member he knows his place.)

who's who would be higher than 5 but i am a die hard jinbe fan (i say with the only piece of merch i have of him being a funko figure that holds my house keys) and that fishman racism was NOT!!!!!!!!!! cute.

sasaki shouldve gotten more screentime he was sooo fine i love you sasaki mwa

page one is LITERALLY!!!!!!!! me core (not really but let me be insane oh my GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) also i LOVE that one hc i saw one time where he has a special interest for dinosaurs like thats so real ily page one

black maria is THE cuntiest member of the tobiroppo. like have you SEEN her in the anime AUGH!!!!! THE THINGS ID DO FOR HER!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE IS THE GIRLBOSS!!! MOTHER IS MOTHERING!!!!!! CURNTY!!! SINJIN DROWNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ULTI IS MY ALL-TIME FAVORITE THOUGH!!!!!! SHE IS THE TOBIROPPO MEMBER.

THIS SCREENSHOT OF HER IS SO CUTE I LOVE HOW TOEI DREW HER HAIR. ULTIS DESIGN IS ULTIMATELY ONE OF MY FAVORITES FROM THE SERIES ENTIRELY. I LOVE HOW COLORFUL HER HAIR IS AND HOW SHE LOOKS SO CUTE IN HER OUTFIT!!!!!!!! I LOVE HER HAIR TEXTURE AND HOW SHE HAS A CUTE LITTLE AHOGE AnD I LOVE HER LITTLE FLOWER MASK.

ODA!!!!!!!!!

DROP MORE ULTI CONTENT AND MY LIFE IS YOURS.

phew!! sorry gangalang (i say as a 15 year old white boy) i got carried away there. anyways when ulti dies so will i its me and her for LIFE.

i know the tobiroppo members either died or got arrested but in my head theyre living the same reality as the baroque works agents did because im insane over the tobiroppo.

I actually dont even know when this obsession started??? it mightve been when i started one piece which was like a year ago during july '23 (which oh my god?? a year's passed already since last year?? what the FUCK????)

but when i saw the tobiroppo (More specifically, sasaki, he started my obsession) a neuron activated in my brain and ive been OBSESSED with the tobiroppo (and one piece 'by extension' i argue despite having two large one piece posters, like 4 figures, and a stupid ugly law plushie right where i lay my head to sleep. sigh. he terrifies me, the buttsnatcher.)

i think originally my favorite member was sasaki, since i found that greenhaired fishman IRRESTISITIBLE (idk how to spell that word im a bit stupid) and then like idk the rest i dont actually rank my favorites tbh which i really should do in retrospect but its stressful when i have mixed opinions

anyways

i love the height differences between the members its so stupid and funny teehees

Also i need to be honest to you people of the internet but i cant be the only one who thinks page one's mask and hair and hat is like 2020 core

it isnt BAD i think he pulls it off its just when i saw him for the first time i thought "girl 2020 called they want their get up back"

he looks cute though i think he works it yasssssssssssss queen erm give them that nonbinary 2020 dsmp core!!

(I support all lifestyles and I am trans myself, please do not cancel me.)

on another topic i think page one autism hcs are real since like one thing and one thing only: his sit

I love him dont get me wrong, but it is hard to believe that hes any form of neurotypical with this sit. ankles crossed n everything. like my guy has GOT to get that autism diagnosis oh my god.

on another note there is a fly at the foot of my bed and i am going to have a mini heart attack i hate flies so much oh my god tumblr pleease send guns and cannons

i think id die to know the dynamics between ANY of the tobiroppo members outside of page one and ulti because i wonder if any of them were close friends. like

i wonder if they were like some form of friends??? also does EVERY tobiroppo member have some form of tattoo on their torso??

also while writing that i thought "wait a minute"

wake up babe new hc dropped: page one got inspired by who's who to have a chest tattoo of his name when he first joined.

ok thats it honestly i dont have anything else to say this was just a divulgence in my own taste tonight through yapping about nothing specific and just the tobiroppo in general. i really love the tobiroppo genuinely and after this i might make a list of my top 10 favorite one piece characters in general since itd be fun. ok bye gangalang

this is THE tobiroppo fan getting off and remember: i am the tobiroppo's fan trust me on this i love the tobiroppo so much if you see someone claiming to be a bigger fan than me tell me ill follow them back to their house and violently mutilate them (joking! i love you my fellow tobiroppo fans!)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

youngsheldonfan9992

[possum-quesadilla]

Chapter six of Time’s Arrow, “I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow, I hope it bleeds all day long // You are my sweetest downfall” is here, just in time for my wisdom tooth surgery! Hope y’all are hungry! Especially you, Beetlands fans.

Please read the warnings carefully and proceed with caution. This chapter is pretty rough.

As always, extras!

- The lyrics for this chapter’s title are from “No Children” by The Mountain Goats and “Samson” by Regina Spektor, for the very different vibes happening throughout it! The first bit reflects how Beetlejuice was relying on pain to distract him from his Feelings, the second is him admitting that the Maitlands are his “downfall”. Also both songs slap so hard.

- “Charles insisted on moving his chair to sit close by, “in case you fall”. (Why would he care if Beetlejuice fell?)” - Get absolutely fathered, idiot.

- “They’d pointed out their own star not too long after they’d all settled down, and found they couldn’t take their eyes off of it. Was it really tied to them? Would it go out if they did? Would they go out if it did? They didn’t really have answers. They weren’t educated on all the ins and outs of demon-.. hood. Their mother didn’t quite care to find the time to teach them, and they didn’t care to learn.” - Wow. Interesting stuff to think about!

- “Mhm. Blood ritual. Carve a bunch of markings in the ground, sacrifice an innocent. Sign your name in… the Big Book. Then spill your own blood.” - Yep! There’s one big, all important “Big Book” that has the name of every demon in it. Juno (that’s not her original name in this fic) killed one of her living children as a sacrifice, and then slit her own throat. Fun!

- “.. there is. You get an invite, and you give something up.” - Very interesting. Also brought back up later in the chapter!

- “… “flying dragon” orange sapling pots.” - “Flying dragon” oranges are the most cold-hardy orange trees, according to google!

- “ “I would also like to apologize for what happened to your mother,” Charles says firmly, glancing meaningfully at Lydia. (Beetlejuice follows his gaze to find her and the Maitlands all lightly shaking their heads at the man.)” - THEY TRIED TO WARN HIM

- “Charles is kneeling beside him, face scrunched up with that same look he’s given him so many times before. He knows it’s concern, from seeing it on the other humans, but why would Charles be making it at him?” - PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE BEING FATHERED.

- “Your favorite movie is “Pride and Prejudice”. The 2005 version only, you think the 1995 adaptation didn’t do it justice. You went to Cornell University to study business, and met Lydia’s mom there. Your favorite flowers are red carnations.” - Emily showed him that movie, since she was an English major, and he cried the first time he saw it. He hasn’t watched it since her death. Red carnations mean “my heart aches for you”!

- “Your bisexual awakening was Ms. Honey from “Matilda”. You love ‘true crime’, but you can’t stomach most bloody movies. Except for “Alien” and “Aliens”, ‘cause you like watching Sigourney Weaver kick ass. Adam’s lived with you since you were both 16, but you two didn’t start dating until you were 19.” - Surprise, Barb is bisexual! Who wouldn’t fall for Ms. Honey, honestly? I like to think she admired her extreme kindness and somewhat tried to follow her example. Also Sigorney Weaver is literally my wife, if you care.

- “You’ve seen “The Terminator” 137 times. Your favorite of those weird little monsters is the big blue one called ‘Lapras’. You had a dog when you were real little named ‘Sawyer’, and it’s in your top 5 for baby names because you loved that dog. You couldn’t get another after he passed away because your mom’s boyfriend was allergic to dogs.” - Beej may not know what is being said, but he loves to listen! Also I wonder if readers should store the name ‘Sawyer’ in their memory for later.

- Adam’s talk with Beej - AUGH. Where do I even start? Someone finally explains to our little demon what love is actually about. And the first hint at… gasp! Self love?! Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

- “They feel.. the same way I feel about them. Why? How? … They’ll be here for me until I get better. If… if I ever get better. … I.. need to get better? … Something’s wrong with me. They all know it. (They’ve always known. Everyone can see it.) But what? Will it ever get better? Will they still be waiting for me if I do?” - ARRRRGH… the realization that something is Wrong with you, but you don’t know how to fix it or if it can be fixed, and that those who love you can see it my beloathed… not entirely true, but true in Beej’s mind!

- “The demon clacks his teeth repeatedly, stomping a hoof on the ground firmly once. “This is bullshit.” ” - He stomps his hooves when he’s mad sometimes, like a rabbit. Or a ram preparing to charge.

- “Beetlejuice used one napkin to soak up some of the egg yolk from his plate, quickly shoving it in his mouth before either of the humans have time to notice and protest.” - just wanted to highlight this particularly feral moment.

- “ “Yeah. Sorry, Babs. My bad. My memory is… worse than a goldfish.” “Goldfish’s memory isn’t even that bad. You’re just uniquely forgetful.” ” - goldfish don’t have bad memories!! Stop spreading the falsehood pretty please

- “The demon bared his teeth at her, a gesture which she immediately returned. He was still huffing…” - he also huffs when he’s mad, like a cat does!

- “ “Just… try to be mindful of when important things happen with the business and you, alright? Keep us in the know.” The demon slowly nodded, shifting in his seat. “.. I promise I’ll try.” ” - I think most neurodivergent people have experienced this. The best we can do is try!

- Barbara talking about seeing the doctor - a continuation of the Neurodivergent Experience, and also a reference to a similar scene in Stephen King’s “Laurie”. Because that story fuckin’ rocks.

- “Ash’s hair has been properly bleached and cut into a choppy bob.” - Chloe Price-esque cut, since she’s one of the characters who inspired Ash!

- “Beetlejuice’s has been trimmed back to the length it was after the loop, no longer shaggy and falling into his eyes. The grey is missing completely, the brown pronounced and obviously artificial, if one stares at it too long.” - Yep, his hair has been growing out at an exponential rate since they escaped the loop! So has his fur. I wonder if that will be an issue later.

- “ “Thank you. What have you done to my brother?” “Just gussied him up a little for tonight. And showed him the first three and a half “Saw” movies.” The demon was purring loudly, repeatedly shifting his feet. “Someone’s currently getting scalped.” ” - “SAW” MY BELOVED!!! I got Sawtism. So does Ash. She is doing her best to pass it on to Beetlejuice. He doesn’t really get the storyline, but he likes the blood.

- “ “And… wow. You cut, like… a whole foot off. That’s.. crazy.” Lydia went to fidget with their own hair, ignoring Beetlejuice’s interjection of “so did Larry!”. ” - This likely won’t be relevant, but Beej was present when Polaris cut their hair to the length it is now. A little hint to their past together!

- “ Beetlejuice let out a little groan then. “Oh. Okay. I get it now.” “.. get what?” He patted his sister’s arm sympathetically. “You’ll figure it out soon.” ” - he gets it. He sees it from the other side.

- “ “Oh, Ash, c’mon, you didn’t have to get me anything!” Lydia called after the other teen as she bolted to the back room. “Yeah, but I wanted to!” ” - My own response whenever people say “you didn’t have to”. Yeah, I didn’t, but I wanted to!

- “Beetlejuice waits patiently as Ash presents Lydia with some sort of strange, old camera. Something with the word “Polaroid��.” - Ash used the absurd amount of money Beej has been paying them to get Lydia a nice camera! Beej doesn’t know what it is, and I don’t have the energy to research the proper name for it.

- “ “Hello!” Barbara chirped, repeatedly patting her husband’s arm out of excitement. Beetlejuice let out a weary sort of sigh in the silence that followed. Guess we’ll do it the hard way. … The demon was very careful as they gripped the teen’s arm and bit down on their wrist. Ash yelped as their teeth broke skin, yanking their arm away and holding it close to their chest.” - The bite gave them the ability to see the paranormal! They weren’t gifted like Lydia, so they had to be given that gift. Also, WAS THAT THE BITE O-

- “Ash gripped at her wrist, letting out a little growl of frustration. “What the fuck, man?! Why does it sting so bad?” ” - because they’re venomous!

- “ “… Hope ya got your rabies vaccine, Ash!” Ash blanched, hesitantly allowing Barbara to inspect her wrist. “What?” “Kidding! I don’t have rabies anymore.” ” - Not anymore!

- “… he sees his shaky hands playing rounds of “Mario Party” with all of the humans.” - Beetlejuice sucks at “Mario Party”. They main Bowser, like they do in “Mario Kart”. Lydia mains Shy Guy.

- Isopropyl alcohol - partially based on a scene from “Moral Orel”. Do not watch that show. ALSO, DON’T DRINK ISOPROPYL ALCOHOL!!

- “His voice comes out slow and difficult when he thanks Delia for wiping the frosting off his face.” - GET PROPERLY MOTHERED

- “Lydia opens her presents. Beetlejuice struggles to keep track of them. Some sort of framed… butterfly? No, moth. A framed moth from Delia. … A “forest exploration kit” from Barbara. An old book Beetlejuice had kept in his hammer space, which he recently was told was an original print of “Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque”. ” - The moth is a framed, taxidermied Death Head moth! The “exploration kit” is basically just survival/camping stuff. Yeah Beetlejuice had a $100K book in his hammer space.

- “Why is Adam so far from him? He feels some sort of strange, dour sorrow when the ghost sits on the ground rather than next to him, like he and Barbara usually do. His wife sits next to him.” - I wonder if this has anything to do with alcohol related trauma?

- “They watch Lydia’s favorite movie, “Coraline”. Beetlejuice’s head is spinning. “You know that I love you.” He feels sick. “You.. have a really funny way of showing it.” His ears are ringing. It’s deafening.” - He’s watching it for Lydia, but this movie is unfortunately still very triggering for Beetlejuice.

- “ “Yeah. Last month.” He allows the minuscule illusion to slip. “What did you-” Lydia lets out a little gasp, leaning forward closer to the demon. “What happened to your ear?!” Beetlejuice tilts his head so she can better see his right ear. “Had to give up a piece of myself to make up this one. Hurt like a bitch, but it was worth it.” His hands shook horribly as he slowly sliced through the rest of his ear from the notch. Sobs wracked through his body, and he swore he could smell tobacco and brandy. He swore he could hear his mother screaming. But it was worth it for Lydia.” - YEAH CUTTING OFF PART OF THEIR EAR CAUSED A BAD PTSD EPISODE.

- “Beetlejuice carefully thumbed through the Book, past all of the names already written in it. To the page reserved for his coven. For Lydia.” - Hmmm! I wonder what that’s about?

- “He holds it close to his chest, careful not to let it drip onto his… when did he put on pajamas? When the fuck did he get Hello Kitty pajamas? He squinted at Lydia. They were matching? He vaguely recognized the gothic little creature on her pajama pants.” - Ash bought them matching Hello Kitty and Kuromi pajamas, because it’s funny.

- “The room is dim, except for the faint glow of Lydia’s TV. She and Ash had fallen asleep mid-way through some sort of ghost hunting show marathon, bundled up in blankets. They were sat up close together, only held up by each other.” - they fell asleep watching “Buzzfeed Unsolved”.

- “ “I.. I’ll wait for you in the hall. Give you some privacy.” Beetlejuice opened his mouth to ask what she meant, briefly, but shut it again after a few moments in favor of softly thanking her.” - Beetlejuice has no idea why someone would bother to give them privacy.

- “ “Hey, Larry! Long time no see!” They chirped cheerfully. “… Betelgeuse.” They growled, voice low and flat. “You continue to exist.” ” - Based on a scene in “Ready or Not”, one of the funniest horror movies ever.

- “They had not changed in the centuries since they’d seen each other, it seemed. White, fuzzy bear-like ears poked out of their pale, neatly slicked-back hair. A pair of short, plain black horns adorned with a multitude of variously colored rings. Clinical red eyes glaring down at him through a pair of rounded silver glasses, pale brows furrowed and their lip curled in a constant look of neutral displeasure. Their white fur coat, draped over their hulking stature.” - Say hello to Polaris! They are 6’5”. They have albinism, and the features of a polar bear, because their star is from Ursa Minor! Also they have mountain goat horns.

- “Polaris crossed their arms just below sight from the mirror. “I see. Give me a moment.” Beetlejuice shifted his hooves nervously as their aloof crimson gaze scanned his form. “Hmm. Still a clumsy oaf, I see.” They reached up to adjust their glasses.” - Polaris is extremely skilled in healing and such. Yes, they were able to assess what was wrong with Beetlejuice just by looking at them.

- “ “… Pieces of bone lodged in both lungs-” “That happened while I was stuck in a time loop, shouldn’t that have healed?” Polaris let out a growl, much deeper and intimidating than Beetlejuice’s own. “Don’t interrupt me. And no, it doesn’t work like that. Any damage your body sustains in a time loop carries over. Obviously.” “… damn. Like “Happy Death Day”. That explains why my throat still burns sometimes.” ” - YEAH SURPRISE. The damage from the holy water all those times carries over! So did everything else!

- “ “Many little bruises and cuts from… Sirius, it seems. Really now, Betelgeuse, did you not learn your lesson before?” They spoke again before he could hiss at them not to say his name.” - Cyrus’ real name reveal! Not that it was too much of a secret, hehe.

- “ “… That would take me all day, little prince.” Beetlejuice let out an involuntary snarl, stomping a hoof down on the tile floor once. They caught a hint of bright red in their dim reflection. “Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” ” - I wonder what this is about?

- “Polaris flashed him that flat, irritating false smile. They had never properly learned to smile, like Beetlejuice himself, but theirs always seemed more like a grimace. (They were a pair, once. Just briefly. The little demons with big teeth, odd smiles, and poor grasps on any and all social cues, breather or demon. But that was so long ago.)” - They are both extremely autistic, and neither knows how to “smile properly”. They were friends when they were very small, but they had a falling out.

- “I didn’t call you to lecture me, you fuckin’.. Judge Holden lookin’-ass bitch!” - Judge Holden is the main antagonist of “Blood Meridian”, a book I have read quite a few times! He has albinism, like Polaris. DO NOT LOOK HIM UP. PLEASE.

- “ “There. Quite the weight off your chest, no?” Polaris frowned, tapping a finger on their chin. “No, that won’t do at all. I already made that joke after your top surgery, didn’t I?” ” - Polaris did Beetlejuice’s top surgery!

- “ “Th-… thank you, Polaris. That.. I feel much better.” They blinked at him, slightly tilting their head. “Yes, I imagine that’s why you called upon me. To feel better.” They then narrowed their eyes. “Don’t think I’ll do anything else for free just because you thanked me, Betelgeuse. I’m not as soft as you. I just cleared your lungs for free because you amused me.” ” - they do not understand the concept of genuine gratitude.

- “Beetlejuice was.. already feeling better than they had in so long. “.. what will it cost me for you to fix the rest?” But they already knew the answer. “Oh, you know that already, little prince. It’s the same as it has always been.” Polaris grins at him again, curling back their black lips in an offputting manic sort of half-smile, half-grimace. “The cost to remove the Seal that binds you and cure all your ailments is, of course, your most valuable skill: your ability to lie.” Beetlejuice crossed his arms over his chest, gripping at his left forearm. “.. you know I won’t agree to that.” “Of course not. What is the serpent without his silver tongue?” Shame and anger bubbles up in Beetlejuice’s gut. He grits his teeth and sighs. They’re right. You’re nothing but a lying snake. ” - HMMM. I wonder if readers should save this information away for later!!

- “ “If we have no further business, then I will take my leave.” They lifted one gloved hand, presumably to sever the connection, but paused. “.. perhaps consider getting a mobility aid for that leg, Beetlejuice.” Their voice took on an odd sort of wistful twinge. “A cane would suffice, for when it starts to give out on you.” Beetlejuice nodded, giving a half-hearted little smile. “.. thanks, Larry.” ” - Just a little hint at the friendship they used to have many, MANY years ago. A part of Polaris is still strangely fond of Beej.

- “ “About as hard to watch as “Exorcist II: The Heretic”, man.” “… fuck. That bad?” “Maybe even worse.” ” - That movie is one of the worst movies ever. I am not kidding. Watch it if you want to be aware of time passing and death marching closer.

- “ “Aren’t you already dating that… ‘Cyrus’ guy?” “Yeah. ‘M polyamorous, though.” “Oh. Slay.” The demon lifted his head to squint at the teen. ‘Slay’? Before he could ask what the fuck that meant, they spoke again. ” - Beetlejuice has never heard most ridiculous teenage lingo.

- “… god. For a complete doofus, you can be super.. sappy and poetic sometimes. It’s offputting.” - based on something said to me!

- “Lydia caught sight of enormous grey paws under their long skirts, hearing the clicking of their claws on the wooden floor with each step. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, their mind whispered. But that was silly, wasn’t it? Beetlejuice trusted this demon.” - Lydia sees right through Cyrus’ thematic bullshit.

- “His cheeks were still a bright red, the place where Cyrus had placed his lips even having a light tinge of blue to it.” - He got a little bit of frostbite from that kiss.

- “Ash was there as well, sitting on the counter, showing the demon something on her phone that caused them to laugh.” - it was this video.

- “Her green eyes caught the afternoon sun in a beautiful way, reflecting back a golden- fuck, now is not the time for that.” - Lydia’s got her priorities straight! (Well, not straight.) Brothers first, beautiful women second.

- “ “You can’t stand turtlenecks. They’re a sensory hell for you. Why’re you wearing one now?” He’d shook like a chihuahua when Barbara had insisted he try one on in the past. There was no way in hell he’d wear one of his own free will out of the blue. ” - based on my own personal experience with turtlenecks. Why are they literally the worst thing ever?

- “Nearly all of the skin of their neck was bruised a dark purple and blue, from their collarbone nearly to their chin. Just below their Adam’s apple was a line of crudely done stitches holding together what seemed to be a complete decapitation wound.” “Lightly decapitated! My head didn’t come all the way off!” - Yeouch. Just wanted to put all these details together for posterity.

- “ Lydia growled, going to dig through her backpack for her notebook. “No one lays their fuckin’ hands on my brother and gets away with it.” Ash hopped down from the counter and followed her, nodding in agreement. “I’ll get my bat.” ” - Lydia is ready to exorcize a bitch. Ash is ready to bash his fuckin’ kneecaps in.

- “ “I don’t need attack dogs right now, alright? I just…” he hesitated, suddenly looking ashamed. He slumped down into the stool set up behind him. “I want.. someone to be.. here for me.” ” - Sometimes, you don’t need people piling hate on someone who hurt you. You just need them to comfort you.

- “Lydia gently patted his back, speaking to him in as soft a voice as she could muster. “It’ll be alright”, “I’m here”, “You’ll be okay”. She felt the collar of her dress become damp with tears, but she didn’t mind.” - IS THIS FAMILIAR? DOES THIS PARALLEL A SCENE IN TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE?

- “Lydia feels a soft little smile tugging at her lips as Ash goes on, making plans for what snacks to bring and what creeks to look for rocks in. Beetlejuice chimes in, voice still a little hoarse, suggesting his favorite fallen oak tree for bug hunting. She’s struck with how kind she is, in her own way. How she treats her strange monster of a brother with prickly compassion. She feels a strange little fluttering in her chest.” - 👀

- “.. he and Ash had a stick duel that devolved into an impromptu friendly knife fight,” - Based on a scene in “Night in the Woods”!

- “As Beetlejuice gloated and stuck his tongue out at Ash from a branch a good ten feet above hers, his tail securely holding him up, he felt on top of the world.” - PREHENSILE TAIL USAGE!!

- “He didn’t hit his head that bad, he just needed a moment for the color to return to his vision. Had Ash always had four pairs of eyes?” - Sometimes if you hit your head in just the right place, you temporarily (or permanently, if you’re unlucky) lose the ability to see color. Yes I know this from experience.

- “ He shrugged his shoulders when his daughter asked if the other teen could stay the night. “… I suppose, if her parents are alright with that.” Ash waved their hand and scoffed. “They don’t care. They’re in Massachusetts.” The man frowned, exchanging a brief glance with Lydia. “.. I see. Stay as long as you like, Ms. Swallows.” ” - Charles decided right here that Ash was also his child now too. Father of three!

- “While Lydia and Ash went up to play some sort of… dragon killing game, Beetlejuice decided to retire early to his room.” - Poor guy has no idea what “Skyrim” is.

- “Inside were two little drop earrings with a singular gemstone in each, one a soft, sunshine yellow, the other a gentle, opaque jade.” … “Demons exchange jewelry when they’re courting each other, right?” … “We borrowed some books from Lydia. Read up on demon culture. You weren’t getting the signals the human way, so we decided to try the demon way.” - I JUST. I KNOW I WROTE THIS BUT IT GETS ME, OKAY? THEY PUT IN A LOT OF EFFORT FOR HIM

- “ “… oh!” Finally, a connection. “Oh, yeah, totally, I’m down. You can use me for whatever, don’t even gotta ask permission.” They smirked, feeling a few teeth poking out between their lips. “Bondage, choking, couple bonding over my degradation, knife play, I am down for whatever to spice up your-” Barbara and Adam’s faces both became dark shades of red. Ah. I didn’t connect shit. ” - Both a reference to a “Buzzfeed Unsolved” meme and also highlighting the sad way that Beej sees himself as something to be used by others.

- “They finally forced themself to look down at her, a few rouge tears slipping down their cheeks. Her cobalt eyes were filled to the brim with… love. Care. That same Feeling. Beetlejuice quickly turned their head to find that Adam was the same, his beautiful brown eyes staring up at them the same as Barbara’s.” - WE GOT IT!! IT FINALLY CLICKED EVERYONE!!!!

- “ “… may we kiss you?” Barbara asked in a low, soft voice. Yes. Yes. Yes. Holy fuck, YES. “… Beetlejuice?” “Huh? D-did I say yes?” “You didn’t say anything, sweetheart.” “Oh. I meant yes, b-but my mouth didn’t… speak.” ” - YOU ARE NEVER SAFE FROM AN “Asteroid City” REFERENCE.

- “They didn’t get to finish their sentence. Barbara was cupping their face and pressing her lips against theirs before they knew it. It was electrifying. It was divine. She was warm and soft and perfect and- It was over before they knew it, before they could reciprocate. And before they could stammer out any more foolish false starts to a sentence, Adam was holding their face and kissing them gently.” - WE DID IT BOYS. 88,494 WORDS AND THEY FINALLY KISSED.

[dreadofthegrave]

augh. whinging about life events

this is something that would be in a circle in twitter dot corn but i don't have circles here so i will simply put it under a readmore and assume that anyone who doesnt care will simply scroll by as i gen hope they will <3

anyways. last week was vacation and coming back from vacation i got thrown in the metaphorical frying pan. person who was supposed to be watching the house fucked off w/o telling us thursday afternoon (we came back sat night) leaving our cats and her cats (inc. a 5 month old kitten in a separate room) alone. which the other cats would have been fine alone for a few days but the litterboxes were full which makes me suspect she did not clean up before she left. kitten was left with no water and no food (she gave him food but he scarfed it down immediately. because he's A Kitten) and she had the audacity to try to lie to us!! about when she left when we straight up had proof from the security system logs that she was gone for longer than she said she was <3333

did i mention this girl is supposed to be living with us for a few more weeks lol lmao

we spent an hour and a half cleaning the house from the misc toilet and vomit stains around after having already driven a collective 7 hours home from our vacation spot.

we grilled her pretty hard after she came back sunday nite at like 9:30 pm and she kinda gave a half hearted apology and i emphasized that. i agreed to the kitten staying over (which she had thrown on me like. night before we leave) (she adopted the kitten the weekend we left for vacation) with the agreement that she would be taking 100% care of him which she was Not.

and then she fucked off again for all of monday. i think she stayed monday night but she was gone the next morning. she also sprang on me monday nite that "oh do you mind if i stay at my friends house the days i have work because it's closer to my workplace" (by a magnitude of like. hours) and i said yeah because it was LATE and i was WORKING the next day so i didnt have the energy to have a long conversation. i shouldn't have said yes.

she was gone all tues and wed. she didn't have work today so she should have come back to my house but she didn't because she was with her mom. didn't tell us that btw.

now it is thurs night she's probably going to arrive back way too late for me to have a conversation with her because i go to bed early. because i wake up early for work. my sister called her and had a long convo and i sent her a text message saying the kitten has to be gone by the end of this weekend because my sister and i have been taking care of HER KITTEN this entire week basically. when i already gave her a warning for being negligent with the kitten.

tired of hearing the kitten yowling the whole day because my sister and i are both busy and we can't play with him. me because i have my desk job my sister because she's prepping for her job starting next week. regardless ITS THIS GIRLS KITTEN NOT OURS THAT WE DIDN'T AGREE TO TAKE CARE OF

i haven't even broached the topic of payment because i expected to charge her rent for the couple of weeks she was living with us but since she's only been here like. a grand total of 8 hours (when she wasn't watching the house the week we were gone) should i just charge her for using our house as a boarding house for her cats. lol. lmao. im getting some payment out of this even if i have to bug her for it

all that aside. getting grilled at work for things partially my fault and partially not my fault and feeling indignant about it. got told i wasn't communicating well enough when i have been responding to every single silly little email that was sent to me so idk. maybe check your inbox then? anyways i have to finish a report tomorrow i've been putting off for. a disgustingly long time so this is a situation i put myself in but im still mad and stressed about it

good thing i talk to my therapist tmmrw because im just gonna be like hi :) the shit hit the fan my dude

oh as an aside my brain has been bad enough this week that i decided to take a break from twitter since i figured spending my limited free time endlessly scrolling through a collapsing social media site wasn't helping my brain trying to self-cannibalize. tumblr is. Okay. for now. debating filling my queue and leaving for x amount of time but for now i need some outlet

what else. had an onslaught of flies in the house this week. killed about 20 or 30 tuesday and wednesday. thankfully there seemed to be a lot less today so i'm hoping it was just a freak accident and not a serious problem. clothes dryer has been broken (still turns, but no heat) for three weeks now. repairman has stopped by three times with a fourth time coming. i'm about ready to pull the plug after the next time he comes and just buy a new dryer even if that's going to be $$$$ because... it's an old dryer. maybe its time is just up

didn't mean for this post to be so long LMAO if you made it this far you get a picture of harley (my mom's cat). i just gotta make it through this week [pained smile]

NINJA EDIT BECAUSE AS I WAS TYPING THIS UP THERE WAS A NEW KITTEN DEVELOPMENT. after i texted her she got upset enough to decide to drive to our house and pick up the kitten and leave which i mean. lol. lmao. i gave you a warning and you decided to still fuck off so that's not my fault at this point. she's still an hour away so i will probably be going to bed when she comes home. don't have it in me to have another 10pm serious conversation lol lmao lol

[lady-of-the-lotus]

The Undershirt

The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty - Suitang - 2k - G - first kiss fluff - AO3!

..............

“Hand it over,” orders Sui Zhou.

Tang Fan pouts, a pout somewhere in between his “I’m hungry, feed me” face and “Dinner was an hour late, I almost died” face.

“I ran out of clean ones,” he says when Sui Zhou holds out his hand, “and I had to pack in a hurry—”

“I had only three rules. Rule one: Don’t mess up my house again—”

“Alright, alright,” Tang Fan says before Sui Zhou can lecture him. Leave it to Sui Zhou to take an inventory of his clothes as soon as he got home, all because Tang Fan had left his things just the tiniest bit mussed! “Take your stupid undershirt back; it’s too big on me anyway.”

Sui Zhou turns back to his cooking as Tang Fan slips halfway out of his robe, making a face as he removes the undershirt. Missing Sui Zhou, Tang Fan had pilfered the distinctive draped-neck garment from his things after he’d left on his ill-fated “business trip.” “Happy now, Sui-baihu?”

Sui Zhou glances up briefly from the soup, eyes flickering over Tang Fan. Sui Zhou’s handsome features are soft in the warm yellow candlelight and the orange glow of the stove. “Better.”

Tang Fan stands there with his robes draped around his waist, chest exposed, shyly holding the undershirt in front of him, watching Sui Zhou’s strong, sure hands as they slice vegetables and meat and then, once dinner is cooking, assemble the dessert, grinding the sesame seeds and working the delicate mixture.

A swell of fondness fills Tang Fan’s chest as Sui Zhou puts the finishing touches on the little sesame cakes, decorating each with a pink circle of honeyed flower petals.

"Aren't you going to put the undershirt back on?” Tang Fan asks as Sui Zhou puts the last petal in place. Most of the shyness has worn off as Sui Zhou tells him about how he developed the recipe, his deep voice low and soothing as it fills the cozy little kitchen.

"Later." Sui Zhou glances up, eyes flickering once again over Tang Fan's bare chest before returning to his work. Perhaps it's the warm glow of the candle, but Tang Fan imagines there's a hint of color in Sui Zhou's cheeks.

Too late it occurs to him that he should have at least put his robes back up over his arms and chest. Jiejie had driven it through his head that to wear robes without an undershirt was uncouth and a sure way to get the robes dirty, but…

"Do you still have your prison clothes? That was a good look." The question escapes Tang Fan before he can censor himself. "I mean—your uniform is good too—I mean, your normal undershirt is better than that prison one.” He dangles the undershirt from his fingertips, as if this question was just an extension of him returning Sui Zhou's undershirt. “I mean...”

Sui Zhou cranes his neck away slightly, as if trying to avoid looking at Tang Fan but probably only checking to make sure Dong'er isn't nearby to see Tang Fan in this state of undress. "Be careful with that. You're going to set the kitchen on fire again."

Grinning, and more at ease now that the conversation is back in familiar teasing territory, Tang Fan sidles closer to Sui Zhou, waving his shirt near where the mutton soup is bubbling on the fire. "Oh, that was on purpose. You know, to get you to free Dong'er—"

Sui Zhou gives him that look of his, the one that appears completely expressionless but in fact contains a half dozen emotions from all corners of the spectrum. "You set fire to my house on purpose?"

"Well—"

"What about the time you fell asleep with the candle beside your bed, and the time you tripped and fell holding the lamp—"

"Fine, it wasn't on purpose. But the bad food was! I can cook, if I wanted to—”

"You can't cook."

Tang Fan inches closer. He's not quite sure why. "You could teach me."

Sui Zhou frowns slightly. "You step foot in my kitchen without me here, and you sleep outside with the sheep."

Tang Fan wrinkles his nose. "The sheep has a name ."

"Li Qing?"

Tang Fan almost drops the undershirt on the stove. "How did you—”

Sui Zhou turns away again as if to hide a grin. Li Qing is the main character of Tang Fan's magnum opus, My Sexy Lady .

"You didn't read it!" Tang Fan leans forward in consternation. He's not sure why he's so thrown. It's a brilliantly-written work, like all of his books, but somehow to have Sui Zhou privy to—to all that — "Wang Zhi told you or something—wait till I get my hands on him!"

Sui Zhou is definitely holding back a grin. "I liked the part where the ‘sexy lady’ sets fire to Shi Yang's house after she thinks he stole her necklace."

"That never happened! She never did anything half so crazy!”

Sui Zhou is no longer holding back his smile. "Maybe in the sequel, My Sexy Wife."

Tang Fan laughs out loud. People who don't know Sui Zhou think he's stiff and cold and completely humorless, but Tang Fan knows better. It's subtle, but Sui Zhou's sense of humor and appreciation of the outlandish is definitely there. If it weren't, Tang Fan doesn't think he would get along with him as well as he does.

Which, when he stops to think of it, is rather odd. His getting along with him so well, not the sense of humor. Despite having lived in the capital for years, and having many acquaintances, Tang Fan has few close friends. As he knows he’s a delight to be around, never complaining and generously standing people meals, he can only assume it’s a failing in other people.

A failing that Sui Zhou evidently doesn’t have, to appreciate Tang Fan’s virtues, both hidden and overt.

It’s not that Tang Fan annoys people. That can’t possibly be it, no matter what Jiejie says. But he can’t deny that not everyone appreciates him, and that hurts, sometimes.

A sudden thought, and Tang Fan abruptly stops laughing. Why did Sui Zhou pick that example? Surely it was just a joke after what they'd been talking about—he knows it is—but of all characters to pick—

Tang Fan had based a lot of Li Qing on himself. Like him, she's a beautiful genius often put-upon by those who fail to appreciate her properly, driven to do the right thing at whatever costs, someone who appreciates fine food and faces the world with a smile no matter how she's feeling.

No. Sui Zhou is just teasing him, as usual. That's it. He probably hadn't even finished the book...

He wants to ask Sui Zhou if he liked the book, but despite it being his best-selling work, he’s hesitant to ask. Sui Zhou is nothing if not honest, and what if he didn’t truly like it?

Tang Fan resolves to start work on a sequel that night. Perhaps Shi Yang could enter the imperial guards and, together with Li Qing, solve a series of increasingly exciting mysteries that pit them against the world. Back to back, they’ll chase justice and stand strong against the winds of—

“Here.” Sui Zhou slides the plate of sesame cakes towards him. “For coming to get me.”

Tang Fan grins. “You mean rescuing you.”

Sui Zhou turns back to the soup. "Just eat them."

Tang Fan inches even closer, more to annoy Sui Zhou than anything else, he thinks. "Go on, say it. I rescued you."

"Keep this up, and you're getting kicked out of my kitchen."

" Your kitchen? Why is it—oh, right. It's your house." Tang Fan looks down at the sesame cakes. It's almost a shame to eat them, they’re so beautifully decorated. "Am I allowed to eat them before dinner, or are you going to get all sulky?"

Sui Zhou gives Tang Fan a look as if to say, I'm not the childish one here, and reaches for a sesame cake just as Tang Fan does. Their fingers brush, and tingling current runs up Tang Fan's arm. Startled, he jerks away, dropping Sui Zhou's undershirt on the stove.

Spattered in mutton grease, it erupts in a column of flame.

"Augh!" Panicking, Tang Fan drops the shirt in the soup. “Put it out! Put it out!”

Sui Zhou snatches the shirt out of the soup and drops it in a pot of water. "What did I just tell you about setting my house on fire?"

Smiling weakly, Tang Fan begins sidling in the opposite direction as Sui Zhou comes closer. "You startled me! You grabbed at me just as I was trying to eat, I haven't eaten all day, I was hungry, you forced me to take a cake—"

He bumps up against the wall. Sui Zou leans over him, one arm framing him, his face a mix of exasperation and—and fondness, Tang Fan wants to believe, though it’s hard to when there's a charred, soup-soaked undershirt not five feet away.

"It wasn't my fault I burned your shirt!" Tang Fan continues bravely. Whining has always worked on Old Pei and Jiejie, though he still hasn’t quite learned the exact point Jiejie’s indulgence tips over into slapping-him-across-the-face territory, hence all the slapping. "Tired after weeks of traveling, traveling across half the empire to rescue you, if you recall, weeks of seasickness and danger and unpadded saddles and not being able to finish my rice noodles in the one good restaurant between here and I thought you were dead at one point, and that was almost as bad as the noo—"

Sui Zhou bends forward and kisses him.

Tang Fan goes rigid.

Did—did Sui Zhou just—

Sui Zhou kisses him again, as if to clear up any doubts.

"Well, that's one way to stop you from talking," he says.

Tang Fan's heart is beating like a war drum, but strangely enough it's not from nerves. There's a smile on Sui Zhou's lips (rather full lips, he notices. Until now he's been too distracted by his arms and shoulders and—well—all the rest of him, most likely), and there's definite fondness in his eyes.

"I once talked through an acupuncture session for a sore tooth," Tang Fan says boastingly, more to calm his nerves than anything else.

He’s never been kissed before. Or rather, being a man, perhaps it was more appropriate to say he’d never kissed anyone before.

He’d always changed the subject when Old Pei brought it up. The local girls had never interested him, and he’d never though there were other— options—

"You can ask him at dinner,” he blusters on, pulse fluttering. “I was probably able to give him some good tips and pointers, I once read a book on acupuncture that—"

Sui Zhou shuts him up again, cupping his face in his hand. It smells of honey and spice, the callused palm somehow soft against Tang Fan's cheek, his long fingers curling around the back of his neck as he kisses him.

Tang Fan is suddenly very aware that he's half-naked, but it's somehow nice being around Sui Zhou like that, not uncomfortable as he's sometimes felt in the past around others. Natural, despite his first-time nerves.

He suddenly realizes that Sui Zhou is looking down at him as if waiting for him to say or do something.

"Am I allowed to speak again?" Tang Fan asks.

Sui Zhou half-smiles. "Nothing could stop you from talking for very long."

"I want another one of your undershirts, but a black one this time. I saw one tucked away in the chest, but Dong'er said it wouldn’t match my robes, though what does she know? I want the black undershirt, and—"

"Black to hide any future char?"

"This was an accident! You startled me!"

"The one you were wearing today is mostly black now, after you set it on fi—"

Tang Fan kisses him.

"You're right," he says, grinning at Sui Zhou, who seems to have forgotten how to speak. "That does work."

*

AO3

[testingtwns]

I finished the really really long original stuck sneeze story at last

HEY LOOK I DID IT !

Sorry this took so long. I made two posts before this to say it was coming soon, which was in order to garner interest and hopefully drum up my own interest in the process. Well, it totally backfired, and I intimidated myself into not writing at all. So, thank you for your patience with me!

Considering that this is a 13k-word stuck sneeze story, it’s like 98% build-up, so instead of being posted in parts, it’s all here. Not gonna leave anyone hangin’ without the part where sneezing actually happens. Since that’s why we’re all here I mean duh

Well... enjoy I guess ! 

It started at noon on a calm summer day. The royal family ate in the solarium, as they always did at mealtime, with the head of the table taken by Queen Cveta, heir apparent Arkady to her left, and the rest of the princes and princesses continuing in birth order down the line, all except for Vjera. Each window of the glass room was so perfectly clear as to be nearly invisible, giving a great view of the flourishing garden and all the curious creatures that it attracted. Hummingbirds and dragonflies and honeybees and swallowtails dipped and dove among the fauna, making for a very theatrical view, as it so often did. In the fall, there were deer; in the winter, ptarmigans and cardinals; and in the spring the deer came back, bringing with them their knobby fawns. Zlata and Pedja were hoping to see a set of those soft brown ears peering above the heather today, but the eldest siblings ate rather quietly, somewhat subdued. They knew they were supposed to be happy, but it was hard to say goodbye to one of their own.

Svetlana scooted boiled cabbage around her plate with her fork, and Dmitar leaned one elbow on the table and slouched a bit, totally forgetting his manners. As the eldest sibling, Arkady could not allow his sadness to be so easily observed, especially in front of the kitchen attendants bringing sweetbreads to and from the table. It would not do well for the next-in-line to seem disappointed about his sister's betrothal to the prince of a neighboring kingdom. But soon that was no longer the thought at the forefront of Arkady’s mind.

He had just filled his mouth with a sip of cold honey tea when a desire to sneeze hit him with startling urgency. Arkady's eyes widened before clamping shut, and he hastened to swallow before the squirming tickle at the roof of his mouth could win out. He had been groomed to have the best of manners, to keep from sneezing during meals, but this tickle was unusually urgent, and it wasn’t going to let him have a say. Arkady acted fast. One hand sloppily placed the glass back down, the other ushered his napkin to his face as he turned away from the table. He inhaled loudly once, twice, three times, and held the cloth tightly to his nose, sure whatever was coming would be impressive…

“Hhhtt-!”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

For a moment, his whole body seemed to stall. Then, just as quickly as it came on, the sneeze disappeared, leaving nothing but the burning embers of an itch that hadn’t been soothed. Arkady sniffed, hoping to either fan the little flame or blow it out, but it wouldn’t be tempted in either direction. He could only blink in puzzlement, and at the tears that had started in the corners of his eyes, formed by unrealized desire.

When he lowered his hands, his whole family was staring at him from their individual places at the table, spoons or forks halfway to their mouths.

“Uh,” Arkady began, mildly sheepish as he returned the unused napkin to his lap, “I thought I was going to sneeze.”

“We all did,” said Zlata. “Why didn’t you?”

“It would have been good luck,” Pedja piped up.

“I was trying to,” Arkady insisted, almost defensively. “I would have liked to.” He kneaded the side of his nose hard with one knuckle. “It still feels as if I might.” Indeed, as those words left him, his mouth began to quiver open when the faint sensation twitched back to life. Both hands secured the napkin around his nose, and his eyelids squeezed together, and his insides felt like they were buzzing with anticipation, and—no. It still wasn’t to be. Arkady came down from the sneeze with a long sigh and blew his nose, which didn’t help much. His eyelashes were already damp from the tickle alone.

His brothers and sisters were staring at him again, strangely but clearly also fascinated for the conclusion to this little breakfast drama. It was Svetlana who glanced fervidly around the table in search of a solution. “Maybe there’s something spicy around here you can eat. Or something strong you can smell.”

“Hold on, now. Don’t provoke it.” It was their mother, Queen Cveta, who spoke now. “This could be Ilari’s doing.”

Arkady’s eyebrows slouched. “Or maybe I just have to sneeze, and I can’t d… do ihht…” The tickle struck a third time in as many minutes, and Arkady couldn’t pay attention to anything else. Cloth napkin around his face again, his family became colorful blurs before his eyes. They were all watching unabashedly… Embarrassed, he ducked into the cloth to hide. Gasp… gasp… Huff. No.

He raised his head blearily and narrowed his gaze. “Could you all at least have the courtesy not to stare at me?”

“Why?” said Pedja innocently. Staring was among his favorite hobbies.

“Because it’s impolite,” Arkady said. When Pedja only continued to gaze at him, he added flatly, “And if you stare for too long, your eyes will dry up and fall out of your head, and birds will come and eat them.”

“Wow,” said Pedja.

“That’s enough of that. This may be serious,” Queen Cveta continued calmly. “Sneezing is a sign of good health and good fortune, and protection from the gods. It is usual to be able to sneeze—the opposite is not. This could be a message.” There was only slight worry in her steady look, but she was adamant when she told him, “Go to Jaga, and ask her what it might mean. She will be able to tell you.”

Arkady looked at his plate of rolls and boiled potato salad and pork aspic, which was only halfway finished. “I’d sort of rather try my luck with some spicy food,” he said.

“Go to Jaga,” Queen Cveta repeated.

It was a lost cause. Even if he was next in line for the throne, she was the Queen, and the Queen’s word was second only to the gods’. Sighing, Arkady stood to leave, but his sigh turned into a sharp snaggle of breath, and another, and another, and another, and as Arkady gripped the top of his chair desperately for support, the whole morning seemed to go silent waiting for his sneeze... but still it eluded him. Arkady’s brothers and sisters made a collective sound of discouragement on his behalf.

“If you think it’s annoying for you,” he said, touchy and a little flushed, “just think of how annoying it is for me!”

He exited directly into the garden, following the stepping stones towards the footbridges that connected each of the Peaks, like their own mountainous islands. Each individual peak hosted its own type of building: guesthouses, greenhouses, the royal family’s grounds, and the outbuildings, such as the one where Jaga lived. Each member of the royal entourage lived within the sanctuary walls; they were like family to Arkady, and they loved him as much as he loved them. He loved that they too could be protected by the same archers and guardsmen that kept his family from harm. But Arkady had heard it was different outside of his kingdom of Gornoye. In Dolina and Vodopad, the palace attendants were considered servants and could not look the king and queen in the eyes without punishment. They had to bow their heads and say “I beg your pardon” every time they entered a room. Would it be so in Derevo too?

Like a sense of dread, Arkady's sneeze came creeping back to tug his thoughts away from the matter of his sister's betrothal and towards this impossible itch. Oh, how it itched. Arkady stumbled to the wood railing of the bridge with clouding eyes, hoping that if the gods really had anything to do with this, they'd let him sn– “Huh-hhhh...” sneeze already– “Ehhthehheh... Hah! Utchtt-!” His breath stuttered: it was right there, right in the place that should have his voice bursting out of him like an announcement, and yet...

It didn't.

But it did keep his eyes shut tight, holding him in a place of such utter discomfort that he had to shake his head hard against it. If it wasn't going to happen, would it at least leave him alone? When he had enough control back to rub his nose, he did so, hoping to squash the inner tickle from the outside. It was barely a solution. Eventually he was able to open his eyes, but even then his vision was skewed by more stinging tears than he knew what to do with. One even went down his cheek.

"Brother! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Arkady turned muzzily to his left. He had immediately recognized the voice as Vjera's, which was good, because the tears obscured her face to the point where she looked scarcely recognizable. He pulled the heels of his hands over his sleeves to dry the water in his eyes.

"I must look as if I'm crying," he said, sniffling hard, sure his nose was some shade of red. He laughed a bit to show he wasn't sad, though the situation hardly felt funny at all. "I almost wish I was. It would be better than what's really happening."

Vjera was wearing a simple black pinafore dress, and her soft, dark hair hung down without any sort of style. She was likely holding off as long as she could from preparing for Prince Ivar's arrival. She and her siblings often dressed formally for company, so any break from the layers of high-collared shirts and embroidered coats was a welcome one. She reached out and touched the sleeve of his loose, soft tunic now. "What's really happening? Are you going to throw up?"

"Uh, no," Arkady said, with a slight chuckle at her bluntness. "No... Augh." He scrubbed hard at the fire in his snout. He turned away slightly as he did so; it was embarrassing to make those silly, hesitant faces in front of anyone. “It's my nose. I've got to sneeze, but I can't. I just keep gasping and then nothing happens. Mother thinks Ilari has something to do with it. She thinks it might be a sign of some sort. I don't know what it is, but I hope Jaga has a solution, because I can hardly stand it another second."

Vjera flashed a keen little grin. "What a pain. I would scare it out of you if I could."

"You always were a bit too good at curing my hiccups," Arkady said, remembering in their youth how, after complaining of the ailment, she would wait until he had been hiccuping for a good five minutes, then reach out from underneath his bed or under his study table and grab his ankles as tightly as she could. It had never failed to make him yelp.

Even such a simple memory inspired nostalgia. His eyes saddened. "You're really leaving tomorrow."

"I really am," Vjera sighed. She became gentle, lightly touching the railing and gazing into the Sheerwater River below. "I told you I was ready, and I thought I meant it. But today I feel less sure. I am going to miss watching the girls and little Pedja grow into adults, and I'll miss Dmitar's singing, his jokes. But it’s you I’m going to miss most of all. What am I going to do without my best friend?”

Arkady gazed into the gorge too. "I wish I knew the answer. I've been asking myself the same question." And I’ve been asking the gods, too, he thought, but decided not to admit it. Such trivialities were not exactly meant for gods’ ears.

The siblings smiled at each other, bittersweet, and embraced for what was sure not to be the last time that day. They understood each other like no one else could. They had endured many of the same lessons in etiquette and politics while they grew up, as Vjera would be second in line for the throne until Arkady himself had children. Because of those lessons, they both had understood all their lives that they would not marry for love so much as for political reasoning. It was part of why they had turned to each other so desperately for friendship, each acting as an anchor in a life full of acquaintances and kowtowers and even those who meant well but could never fathom the burdens of the crown.

The running water below filled the silence—at least until Arkady began, again, gathering unsteady breaths. He pulled away from his sister's shoulder, held a hand in front of his face, praying it would soon be catching the results of a truly satisfying sneeze. Twenty-five years of etiquette lessons had been engrained in him, and usually the idea of sneezing without a cloth ready seemed preposterous. But this tickle was even more preposterous, so etiquette was long forgotten. All that mattered was the sneeze.

He tried his damnedest to make it happen. His tongue cupped itself and pressed to the bottom of his mouth. "Hhhuuhhhth... Shehh..." he begged. Then he found himself doing something he had seen others do when they were about to sneeze, which was use a hand to fan in front of his face. Arkady had no idea how such an action would serve him, but they said necessity was the mother of invention. And it seemed... to be... helping... a l-little...!

"Ehh...! Ehsh-!... … hyew..."

A weird, finite little noise escaped him then. Arkady blinked largely in surprise. He had not sneezed, but he had spoken a sneeze-like sound nonetheless, and he hadn't even meant to. It was as if he had wanted it so badly, even feigning the act was better than nothing.

But oh, how much nothing it had done.

Vjera seemed just as confused by this. "Was that... a sneeze?"

"No!" Arkady growled. He coughed and rubbed at his face. "No... Sorry for snapping. I'm not angry at you. I'm angry with my nose. I'd rip it off and throw it into the gorge if I could. Anything to escape this torture."

When there was no response to that, Arkady glanced up from tending to his nose to look at his sister. Her mouth was a hard line, and her eyes sparkled at him.

Arkady frowned. “It’s not funny!”

Vjera held her pointer finger and thumb apart. “It’s a little funny.”

“If this were happening to you, you wouldn’t be so amused,” Arkady said.

“But it isn’t happening to me,” Vjera said.

“So that means it’s funny?”

“It does,” Vjera nodded.

At her brother’s frustrated expression and further badgering of his nose, Vjera finally took pity on him and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure Jaga will take good care of you. I was just there myself, anyway, and I’m feeling a bit better.”

Arkady was alert at once. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing to fret about. I just feel nauseous,” Vjera admitted. “I wanted to eat with you all this morning, and just now, but even the idea of food is too much. I think my stomach is more upset about this betrothal than I am.” She paused. “I-I mean… no, not upset. I just meant…”

He knew what she meant: If anyone sees me looking miserable on the day I’m going to meet my future husband, it’s won’t send the right message to our people.

A herd of low mountain clouds had been passing through them for a while. “No one can see us right now, Ra. Will you be honest with me at least?”

Vjera chewed her lip. Her nickname seemed to undo something in her heart for a moment, but she hid it fast, as future queens did. “I’m not being dishonest. I’ve made my peace with it. And even though I’m nervous, I’m also excited, really. It’s just a lot of newness at once. It’s overwhelming.”

Arkady wanted to coax more of the truth out of her, but something was overwhelming him too. “Gods, not again… Suh-Sorry…” he breathed, his hands going up to his face guiltily, but he couldn’t think or speak when he was like this. The tickle was like a teething puppy, nipping and nuzzling in the back of his nose. He pinched it hard, asking it to stop. Two, three, four gasps later, the urge delivered a final, aching burn, and he was back to feeling unrelieved and unable to sneeze.

Arkady blinked hard and smudged at his eyes. “Ugh… I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Vjera shook her head, “and go to Jaga now. Keeping you here any longer would be cruel.”

“You aren’t keeping me,” Arkady said. He couldn’t stop touching at his nose though.

“I am, and I won’t anymore,” she insisted. She gently nudged him in the direction she’d come from. “Please go have something done about your poor nose.”

"I sure hope something is done," Arkady sighed. "I'd love to have this over with at last. I promise I'll make for better conversation after I finally sneeze."

"Good luck," Vjera wished him before he continued his short journey to the herbalist’s abode.

The steeply-sloped, pentagonal building Jaga conducted her work in was just over the bridge that connected the main plateau to one of the many surrounding peaks. Jaga spent most of her time preparing medicines and tending to her plants, plants that she named and talked to as if they were children. Though half of the building was designed like a greenhouse, her workspace had but one window, so she lived like a cave-dweller when she wasn’t out culling flora, and wore a wild mane to match her wild lifestyle. Due to her many eccentricities, it was easy to forget that she was a genius of an herbalist.

Jaga had just two years ago taken over the late Rosa's position. Where Rosa had been a gentle presence with a sagely bedside manner, Jaga was overzealous when it came to healing. A person with an ailment was certainly more interesting to her than a person without one. Because of that, Arkady felt a little reluctant to let her know what was going on with him. But if she could cure this itch, it was well worth any fuss.

And the moment Arkady walked into her keep, that accursed itch returned with a vengeance. “Um, good day, J-Jagahh...” he trailed off almost immediately, bringing a hand to his mouth, eyes closing just before he noticed the tousled witch looking up from her mortar and pestle. “I'm... um... hh...” I’m unable to talk just yet because I’m trying to sneeze. He sensed her at his side, even as he struggled and pleaded for the sensation to free itself. He turned a bit, not exactly enthusiastic for her to see his face in this state, yet unable to care too terribly much at this point. “Hhhh... HhHH-!”

He waited. Jaga waited. They both waited.

Aaand nothing. Again.

Arkady gulped at the air and fervidly blinked away the stars in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hhh... Sorry… I’m-”

"You can't sneeze," Jaga said simply. Though at least a decade older than the prince, she was eight inches shorter, and yet somehow she seemed to be right in his face, staring up the length of her own nose at his unmanageable one. She appeared very interested in him.

"Um," Arkady felt himself flushing again, "yes." He sniffled, rubbed at his upper lip. "I just want to do away with whatever’s causing this," he admitted, "but Queen Cveta is worried it might mean something.”

"And she should be," Jaga said. "Ilari is trying to send you a message."

Arkady slumped his shoulders. "You think so too?"

"How do you feel right now?" Jaga ignored his question to field her own. "Does your nose still tickle? Do you feel that you could sneeze any moment? Or is it more of an itch you can't scratch?"

"I-I don't know," Arkady panted, "but the more you tuh... talk about it, the more I want... tuhhhh... Hh, h, heh, nh-!" His mounting breaths hit an octave that seemed to promise results, but all too soon he was sighing out the air he'd swallowed, unfulfilled. Arkady cupped a hand over his poor abused nose. "Ugh... the more I want to sneeze."

Jaga's eyes were glittering like camel jasper. "How interesting," she said. "You really need it, don't you? But you still can't manage to do it?"

Throwing the truth back in his face kind of stung. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact," he huffed.

Jaga put her hands on her hips, staring off into space thoughtfully. She did this for long enough that Arkady felt the tickle in him stirring again, a demanding little niggle, yet it would not be satisfied. He went to touch his nose, to relieve it even just a tiny bit, and was surprised to feel a hand upon his wrist stopping him.

"H-Hey. Don't." It was a lame argument, but the current pulse of the distant sneeze had left him in a trance-like state where all he could think about was relief.

“I know it's bothering you," Jaga said with a smirk, "and I don't blame you for wanting to scratch. But listen. If I learned anything from Rosa, it's that the ailments of the royal family are never to be ignored. And even you know well enough that sneezing is considered a direct message from the gods.”

"But I'm not sneezing." Arkady hoped the slight whine in his voice would inspire sympathy. "Isn't that the opposite of a sign?"

Jaga shook her head. "Without a doubt, it’s a sign," she said. She went back to her table and returned with a nearly-empty clay mug. "The leaves told me all I needed to know. Something important is going to happen today. And your sneezing—or not-sneezing, rather—might just be connected to it."

"We already know what the important thing is," Arkady grumbled. "Prince Ivar and his entourage are coming."

"Perhaps that is the important thing," Jaga said as she circled the rim of the mug with her finger, "perhaps it isn't. But in order for the gods' sign to arrive when it needs to arrive, you must leave your nose alone. If you try to make the sneeze come too soon or late, you may never receive the message they are sending you. The fact that you can't sneeze, that you try and fail? This is all part of their plan. Be patient, and trust their judgment."

Arkady's fingers grasped uselessly at the air before his face. "At this point, I'd... rather s... s-sneez- ha-haH…!"

Jaga waited with him in the pregnant silence that followed. She tsked any time his fingers went too close to his nostrils, desperate to rub or aid in any way possible. The self-consciousness over the faces he was pulling was disappearing fast: every time his breathing snagged, all he could hope was that the sneeze was coming at last and that he'd be free of this strange torment. And it held him just above his breaking point for so long, when the sneeze did finally disappear, Arkady snarled at the ceiling, "There’d better be a good reason for this, damn it!"

Old Rosa might have gasped at that, but Jaga was made of different stuff. "Don't brush the gods off so quickly," she said with a light laugh. "You've done nothing to anger them—well, aside from the aforementioned damning. Right?”

Arkady paused. “I can’t think of anything.”

Jaga nodded. “You have the blood of Ilari, whose sneeze saved us from the floods. It's possible that your sneeze could even save you. So let it come in its own good time."

“There is nothing good about the time it’s taking.” Arkady sniffed hard. All these tears were turning his sinuses to liquid. “Do you have anything I can use for a handkerchief?”

For a moment, Arkady was afraid she wouldn’t let him blow his nose, but she found him a cloth, and he accepted it gratefully. Using it helped him feel a bit more clear-headed, but now the tickle was merely a dry one instead of wet, which was just as bad. He snuffled around in the kerchief until Jaga commanded, “That’s enough. Leave it be. Leave it!” She swatted at his wrist. “Am I going to have to follow you all day to make sure you don’t scratch?”

The prince reluctantly removed his hands, scowling. “No.”

“Good,” Jaga said. “And you promise me, as soon as you sneeze, you tell me about where you were, what was happening, what you were thinking—everything. Come back if it hasn’t happened in a few more hours.”

“A few more hours?” Arkady stared at her, jaw dropping. “You think it might last that long?!”

“It could,” was the unfortunate response. “If it does last that long than the message is likely to be an important one.”

Arkady was silent, staring down at the kerchief as he folded it into a neat triangle.

Jaga had returned to her pestle and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I know a look of doubt when I see one,” she said with a slyness. “I’ll follow you all day if I have to, Prince. Don’t you meddle with that sneeze. If Ilari hadn’t sneezed at the time and place he did, Gornoye wouldn’t exist, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, would we? So you let it alone.”

“All right, all right, I won’t bother it,” Arkady lied. He put the kerchief in his pocket and folded his arms. “Well, then… If the best herbalist in Gornoye has no cure for me, than I suppose I had better go get ready for the Derevo entourage.”

He was being grouchy, he knew, and it only seemed to delight Jaga even more. “Farewell, Prince Arkady. And remember to have patience.”

“Have patience,” he muttered under his breath once he was outside. He knuckled his nose. Who in the world could exercise patience when they felt like he did? Sneezes stopped and started three times in just the short walk from Jaga’s workspace back to the main palace and solarium. It was insanity.

Arkady snorted after the third bout of hitching breaths. Yes, of course he knew about the significance of Ilari’s sneeze; he’d been rocked to sleep with the story many a night, just like every child of the Ossian faith. It went that the great god Ossia, disgusted that the world of his making had been burnt and torn and destroyed by centuries of war, decided to flood the land with a rainstorm. And all the people of the world would have drowned, if the great dragon Ilari had not spontaneously sneezed a hole in the storm clouds, sparing one single mountainside of humanity. Those people had Ilari's blessing. Those people also, allegedly, were Arkady's ancestors.

In earnest, Arkady figured the chances of that were slim. His was not the only mountain town that believed they were the one saved by Ilari’s sneeze. The ancient texts told the story but never specified the location of the spared mountain. For him to be the true prince whose veins flowed with Ilari’s divinity was what he’d been told all his life, and something he’d doubted for just as long.

Though he debated the legitimacy of his birthright, Arkady did believe that the gods played some role in his fate. He also, however, hoped that the gods would have more efficient means of sending him a message than... this. "Hh! Hh-shhuh... hh..." The sneeze only stirred faintly this time before backing down. Arkady scrubbed and scrubbed his nose. Sometimes the tickle was an icicle point, a sharp stimulus, while at most times a puddle, a tingly sensation spread out over his entire nose but overall not near enough of a disturbance to make his breath catch. He wasn't sure which was worse. When the urge crested, the end seemed so tantalizingly close, and to have it taken away was crushing. When it was no more than a faint humming, it made him feel prickly and unsettled. It was ridiculous to go on doing nothing at all. Thus, Arkady had no intention of following Jaga’s advice. He was going to rid himself of this sneeze.

The method to do so was in itself a problem that needed solving. Arkady knew that some sneezed from the fur of animals or certain flowers or a musty room, but those things had never much bothered him. He tried to think of a time he had sneezed from something other than a spontaneous tickle or seasonal cold, and couldn't conjure a memory. And despite Svetlana's suggestion that he try spicy food, Arkady had never been so adversely affected by it. What options did that leave him?

Arkady thought back to the legend of Ilari. In some tellings of the story, it was said that the dragon god had sneezed when a bird had flown too close to their nose or even into their nose. Maybe, Arkady reasoned, he needed some external stimulus in order to get things moving too. He certainly wasn’t interested in waiting for the tickle to sort itself out.

A bird was small for a dragon, but for him a feather would work all the same. As he made his way to his family’s living quarters, Arkady tried to remember if there was a quill in his room. When had he last written a letter? “Hh…” It might have been the congratulations to Prince Feofan on the birth of his firstborn… “Hhehf…” Or the prayers to burn for the Vernal Equinox… “Huuffh!” He had to stop walking when the building sneeze temporarily blinded him, making his eyes clamp tight and squeeze out water. Gods, how he wanted it… If a feather couldn’t bring on this—“Huhh…”—stubborn thing, what could?

Arkady massaged the end of his nose to soothe the sharper stings the marauding itch left in its warpath. When he looked up, he realized the two guards that manned the entrance to the plateau’s inner wall were watching him. He stiffened, self-conscious. Did everyone feel the need to stare at a sneezing person?

As Arkady continued through the entrance, one managed, shakily, “A-Are you all right, Prince?”

“No,” Arkady grumbled, slouching past them. He had given up on looking put-together.

“Uh… is Ilari with you?” the second guard asked. She had at least recognized it was a sneeze that had stalled him. What she wasn’t sure of was if it had come out or not, for if she were certain it had, her words wouldn’t have been a question.

“Would that he could be,” was the monotone reply thrown over his shoulder. He heard a confused, “What do you mean, Prince?” follow behind him that he chose not to heed.

Arkady proceeded up the stairs of the verandah to the sleeping chambers. Beneath the porch’s long overhang was a series of doors leading to the individual bedrooms. Each royal child had their own bedroom, complete with bath and antechamber, and as he passed by, he could hear muffled conversation between his siblings and an attendant beyond the walls as they spruced up for their most important guests. Arkady knew he should be calling on Wolfert to help him with his wardrobe as soon as possible, but… all in good time. Getting rid of this sneeze was his top priority right now.

When Arkady opened the door to his own quarters, he was surprised to see his mother in the antechamber, seated on one of four hand-painted benches overflowing with decorative pillows. His heart sunk immediately; he’d have to talk with her before he could try his hand at tempting this sneeze, and he could barely put up with it for another second.

“Oh, hello,” he said, in a tone that he hoped did not sound any bit annoyed.

The Queen sat up taller at his arrival, even though she had been sitting with near-perfect posture. “Ah, there you are. That took a while. Did Jaga say you’re all right?”

Arkady blinked and recognized an opportunity. “I met Vjera along the way. We talked for a bit. That’s why I took so long,” he began. He coughed. “Uh, in any case, Jaga says she doesn’t think anything is wrong.”

Queen Cveta looked uncertain. “She doesn’t?”

“She doesn’t.” Arkady sniffed. “In fact, I sneezed while I was there.” That was the hardest lie to tell, for how much he wished it were the truth. “She doesn’t think the gods have anything to do with it. Sh-She thinks I must just be having a reaction to something in the garden.” He sniffed again.

Queen Cveta shook her head at once. “That can’t be right. We have tea with honey from our bees every day. You’d have surely built up a tolerance to anything growing there. Jaga of all people should know that.”

Uh-oh. “She thinks something different might be growing there,” he corrected quickly. “Some new, foreign thing… It was the only explanation she could thiiiink ah… of.” It’s the only explanation I can think of, anyway. “I-It’s still k-k-ki-hind of bothering me,” he was forced to say next, because the sneeze was starting up again and there was no way he could pretend it wasn’t. He pulled out the handkerchief Jaga gave him and rubbed his nose with it.

Queen Cveta observed him a moment longer. “All right,” she said at last, standing to her slippered feet. “If that’s what Jaga says… I suppose we had better find out what that plant could be, when we have the time. Will you be fine getting ready for our guests?”

“Hhhhhh… Hh!... heh… fyew. I, uh, sh-should be,” Arkady stuttered, lowering the handkerchief pathetically when the sneeze backed off. It was getting harder and harder to recover from the dizziness of the tickle. “They—snf!—should be arriving in around two hours, correct?”

The Queen nodded. “Yes, I think so. I’ve got to make sure all the preparations are in order, so I should leave now. Goodbye.”

“Oh. Goodbye,” he repeated, surprised but not disappointed by her suddenly taking leave. No sooner had she shut the door behind her that Arkady was moving out of the antechamber into his own bedroom, more than ready to find that quill.

His room was finely decorated in jeweled chests and embossed dressers and a beautifully-carved set of drawers with a shrine on top for water offerings, all wonderful gifts from visitors and royal families from far and wide. He didn’t treat them with the respect they deserved as he pawed through their contents, with his mind on one thing only. “Where is it… Where is it…” he started mumbling under his breath after his desk had been thoroughly searched, his bedside table emptied of all its candles and books. “It has to be here…” There were sure to be quills in the study, but that was in the main palace, and he didn’t want to risk his mother or Jaga sighting him. Plus, he wanted relief now.

The room had been turned upside-down. There was no quill in sight. The search had taken twenty minutes, a good portion of that time dedicated to waiting for his non-sneeze to dissipate enough that he could get back to said fruitless searching. Arkady's frustration mixed with the tickle had brought him near to tears. He flopped onto the bed, clawing his hair with both hands and chewing his lip. If he didn't do something about this now, he was going to lose it.

And that was when he remembered it. His pillows were feather pillows. There were thousands of them there the whole time, and now they were right under his head! But the only way to get to them was to rip through the hemstitched tussah silk.

Was he that desperate? He was.

But not so desperate that he was going to tear the innocent pillow apart like a barbarian. Arkady used his hip dagger to cut a delicate slit in the material, something that could hopefully be mended quite easily, but he shed any remaining trepidation when the pillow’s bounty was spilled. Innocent down, ashen gray and white, immediately bled from the wound, sticking up in tufts. The littlest bits of feathers floated into the air around his face, which had his eyes rolling back into his skull immediately.

“Heh-hh! Hh! H! H! H!” His gasps were so quick and light, they were almost silent. The tendrils he was sure he’d inhaled were having a horrible effect on him. This tickle was different, not a puppy’s nip but the playful grapple of a dog’s maw, so much more powerful but still not something to be taken seriously. Hitching and huffing against the minuscule plumes, he was eventually driven so mad that he had to pinch his nose with his entire hand; he couldn’t for the life of him wait another second for that sensation to mature into a sneeze, even if, by some miracle, that was the solution. When the worst of the sting faded, he loosened his grip and snorted hard to launch any feathery debris out. He wanted to sneeze, after all, not torture himself.

The feathers inside the pillow were much smaller than he had anticipated them being. The longest ones were scarcely more than an inch, and he had to dig around for quite a while to find one that he could actually hold the stem of without also holding the entire feather. His decided tool was still rather disheartening. A writing quill would have been far more dangerous, with its tapered point and great length. He hoped that the fluffiness of the down would make up for that.

The introduction of the feather’s rounded tip to the inside of his nostril initially seemed promising. The gentle barbs coaxed at the sneeze when they twitched against fragile pink skin, and Arkady’s heart soared at the thought that the end was nigh. But after half a minute of tickling, the sneeze only seemed further away. Eyebrows lowering, Arkady dug the feather deeper. Again, the sneeze receded, and he chased it like a hound after a burrowing rabbit. But soon he encountered the same problem that many dogs did: the prey was farther back in its hole than fangs could reach. The barbs of the feather were not long enough to graze the back of his nose.

Arkady pushed so that the beds of his fingernails were right against the opening of his nostril, the feather stretched to its limits. It still wasn’t enough; the sneeze danced merrily out of reach, arching its back and teasing him horribly but not allowing him the relief he longed for like anything. How ridiculous could this get? He had never known of anyone trying this hard to sneeze with such little success. Sure, he’d had a sneeze disappear on him before, but normally that only meant a moment of disappointment, a little throb that fast went away. His sneezes were usually utterly unremarkable. They came and went, in ones, twos, and rarely threes, if he were sick or if the urge had been especially strong, and after a brief shake of his head and a sniffle, Arkady would go on with his day. This sneeze was a bully. This sneeze felt alive. And as the hound could think of nothing but the death of its prey when it was so close, so too was Arkady determined.

He pushed that feather as far as it would reach. And somehow, some way, he felt its single longest follicle graze the back of his nose.

Arkady’s chest stuttered. Success. He swelled with pride. He couldn’t stop now. He scratched and swiped the feather against the sensitive skin, against the sneeze which had nowhere left to run. He starting inhaling fittishly and didn’t stop.

“Hhh, hh, hh, hh, hh! Hh! Hh-!”

His lungs felt enormous. His nose burned. The sneeze seemed real, close, about to break out of him. “Huh! Huhhhh! Hhhhhhhh…!” Arkady could take in air no more. All he needed was one more swipe of the feather… One more touch and then, surely… Surely…

It was at this crucial moment that Arkady found his hand unable to move. Possessed by the sheer power of this urge, he could devote himself to no other function. But that would be his undoing.

“H? Hh?? H-hhh???”

The possibility was fading fast, and Arkady briefly panicked, swirling the small feather wherever it could easily reach. But he was losing the breaths he’d gathered, and he knew it was over even before he felt an arm pulling his hand away from his face and an ever-jocular voice admonishing, “Now, Prince, I told you not to meddle with it, didn’t I?”

It took a while for his eyes to open, and even longer for his breathing to even out, so then for some time he could only stare at Jaga and Queen Cveta looking down at him, the witch smiling in amusement and his mother looking none-too-pleased.

“I hoped it wasn’t true, but I had a feeling I was being lied to,” Queen Cveta began. “Jaga has confirmed it. Why did you not tell me the truth?”

Arkady took a few more deep breaths. His diaphragm had been through a lot today. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Queen, when he was at last able to speak, “but I can’t tell you how badly I want to sneeze.” Then to Jaga, he said, “‘Meddling’ doesn’t do me any good, it still won’t happen. This isn’t a normal sneeze. The gods are punishing me, and I don’t know what for, but I have to find out and make it up to them as soon as possible.”

To his surprise and Queen Cveta’s, Jaga began to laugh. “Prince, Prince, Prince,” she shook her head, “what reason would the gods have to punish you?”

Arkady shook his head back. “As I said, I don’t know why. Of all days too; today should be about Vjera.”

Vjera… At her name, something dawned on him. “I know why,” he sighed, looking at his lap. “I’ve asked the gods every day for the past month if they could find Prince Ivar a different queen. But it was a selfish wish, and this is how they’re letting me know.”

“Arkady! Why would you pray for such a thing?” Queen Cveta stood tall. “This marriage will allow your sister to rule in a way she could not if she were to stay here. It isn’t right for you to use your influence over the gods in such a manner. This is a shameful thing for my successor to do.”

“I know,” Arkady answered evenly. “I see that now.” He looked up. “I could apologize for my actions, but then I will have lied to you twice in one day.”

The Queen temporarily maintained her ferocity, but her face soon softened into one of a mother. “I understand your sadness,” she said. She closed her eyes and became a queen again. “But that is the way of our world. Whatever kindnesses we offer ourselves often means we are taking something away from our people. And instead of praying for Gornoye’s continued protection and peace, you chose to ask for this. I almost find the gods’ punishment too light… but they know better than I do what is deserved.”

Arkady wanted to tell the Queen that this ‘punishment’ was, in fact, not something he would wish even on an enemy, but he was too busy dealing with said punishment to say so. The tickle was bubbling to the surface with as many empty promises as ever. “Feh,” he gasped anyway, weakly pleading with the sneeze for mercy, despite everything it had put him through today. It bothered and wheedled away, digging deeper than a feather or a breath could pry it out of, no matter how much he called to it. “Hh, heh! Heh, sheh! Ht-tz-! … … …shyew…”

It wasn’t a sneeze. Just like earlier with Vjera on the bridge, he’d made some kind of approximate noise in place of the sneeze, as if that would do him any good. Arkady tearily knuckled at his nose while Jaga and Queen Cveta exchanged glances.

“Was that… a sneeze?” the Queen finally asked.

Arkady gave a big snuffle. “No.”

“Hmmmmm,” hummed Jaga, rubbing her chin and looking as suspiciously amused as ever. After a thoughtful moment, she grinned. “Well, Prince Arkady, I suppose you’ll just have to wait it out. If the gods don’t want you to sneeze yet, it certainly isn’t going to happen.”

“Ugh.” Arkady massaged where his nose, eyes, and forehead met. “I’m not going to make for much of a host when I’m like this,” he grumbled, “but there’s not a lot of time left before Prince Ivar’s arrival. I just have to put up with it then?”

“Afraid so,” Jaga shrugged with her arms out to the sides. She then raised one hand up, swiveling her wrist to gesture somewhat lazily at the ceiling. “The gods will do as they will. But, sneezing or not, you have a job to do. It’s time we got back to readying for the entourage.”

“Right, right… Only two and a half hours to go.” Arkady stood up, going to ring the bell that would signal the attendant who helped him prepare and dress. Before he did, he called again to the Queen’s retreating back, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

She stopped and did not look at him, but said back with soft reservation, “Arkady… I thought by now you understood the way of things.”

“I thought I did too,” Arkady said. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

The Queen did not respond to that or look at him, but she did not seem angry either. Only Jaga responded, with a sparkly-eyed look that the prince wasn’t quite sure how to decipher, before she too left the room.

__________________________________________________

Arkady did not advise trying to sneeze while someone was washing your hair. It was, unfortunately, now advice he could give based on personal experience. Wolfert was still apologizing as he brushed the deep brown strands, as sorry about his mistake as Arkady should have been for abusing his influence over the gods.

“I’m so, so sorry. I should have noticed,” Wolfert fretted for the sixth or seventh time.

“Ih-hih-hhhit’s fine-hUH! … This is g-going tooooh… k-k-keep happening, so, huh…” Arkady pinched his nose tight, massaging it in his fist. “Ugh… I may as well get used to… w-warning people about it.”

Arkady was trying to be reassuring, but now his nose itched and his sinuses felt singed. He’d had to sneeze in the middle of the bath, a possession which had hit him a hundredfold, almost as badly as when he’d had the feather in his nose. He’d had no time to warn Wolfert of the gathering urge before it had him yawning wide, nose scrunched back. And then, splash. A bucketful of water had cascaded over his soapy head, entering his lungs and making him choke and snort like a bull.

Since then, the tickle had escalated, no longer just a phantom urge. It felt like something was actually physically inside his nose, like a piece of dust or a hair, but no amount of snorting or nose blowing would resolve it. Arkady never imagined that water could cause such a response. All he knew was that it had made everything worse. Now there were no breaks from the huffing and fluttery talk. It was a feeling that constantly waxed and waned and brought him to the edge of the shore, only to drag him back out like a wicked undertow.

Everyone seemed to know about his predicament now too. No doubt his siblings had been gossiping with their attendants. Zlata, Pedja, and Svetlana each came into his bedchamber at one point, fully outfitted, to find out if he’d sneezed yet. They all lingered a bit after learning he hadn’t, too, as if wanting to be present when the dam finally burst. To them, his frantic breathing must sound as if he was very close to success, but by now Arkady knew better.

Wolfert was pinning up his hair (not the easiest task with a constantly fidgeting subject) when Vjera took her own turn in his room. “Dmitar told me you still haven’t sneezed! You poor thing!” she fretted, wringing her hands in front of her. “Are you going to be all right at dinner?”

Arkady struggled to smile, to reassure her. He could feel how very lopsided it was. “Prah… Probably not,” he managed. He rubbed his nose, which did almost nothing to help him speak. “I stih-stih-still-! Intend to b-be there-! No matter, hhhh…! Whuh-What.” He gave a hard sniffle, which caused his head to jerk, the comb to tug too hard, and the tickle to respond with absolute panic. Instantly, he was a mess of fits and starts, barely able to hear Wolfert’s “Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” in the background. How was he going to make it through dinner without causing a scene? The answer was, he wasn’t. Usually Arkady would have taken absence from a formal meal under circumstances such as these, but Vjera was leaving tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice any of the short time he had left with her.

It took a lot of pawing and nudging against a very upset nose, but Arkady finally managed to compose himself enough that he could somewhat speak again. “I-I’m going to try… not to be too obvious.” It was hard enough to say that with only a hint of a struggle. “I may not make f-f-fah, for a… a g-great host, but snf! I’ll at l-heast be… present.” At his sister’s pitying look, he hung his head and sighed, “Th-This is honestly the b… best I can do.”

“I know it is. That’s why I feel so sorry for you,” Vjera said. “It doesn’t bother me, I just feel awful is all. I don’t know why the gods would do this to you now of all times.”

Arkady wanted to explain, but it wouldn’t be right to say so in front of Wolfert. “I’m sure th… they have their-!” With a sudden, sharp inhale, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It took a whole ten seconds for him to regain control. When he was able to see again, both Wolfert and Vjera were gazing down at him sadly. The suspense seemed to be killing everybody. Arkady could only finish lamely, “… Their reasons.”

When the Queen and all six of her progeny had been made to look their best, they began their procession to the outer courtyard with a small pack of guards in tow. It wasn’t long before Queen Cveta decided that Arkady wasn’t in the best of minds to navigate the stone steps leading down the mountain, and instructed him to meet them in the solarium for dinner instead. It was evening now, and their guests would surely want to sup as soon as they made it to the Plateau. Arkady had wanted to talk with Vjera on the way down, but he had to admit it just couldn’t be. Jaga looped her arm through his to help guide him back up the short distance he’d descended.

“How are you feeling, Prince?” she began by asking, a smile very present in her voice.

“Hehhh!” was all Arkady could manage at that particular moment.

Jaga cackled but tightened her grip on her swaying charge. “I’m glad I got a chance to chat with you privately. This may be very unorthodox of me to say, but I thought you ought to know: I don’t think Queen Cveta is correct. I stand by my original point. I think the gods are trying to protect you from something.”

Arkady brought his handkerchief up to his face. He couldn’t open his eyes or keep pace so well. “Ahhah… O-Oh-kah-kay…!”

“Are you going to sneeze?” Jaga sounded as curious as a she-cat.

Arkady shook his head rapidly, sure he looked to all the world like a person about to absolutely collapse sneezing. He had stopped hoping that the sneeze was about to come, because that only lead to discouragement. “D-Do me a favor,” he gasped after coming down from the tickle’s latest crest. “Don’t ask me if I’m about to sneeze. I’m not.”

“Very well,” Jaga said, almost soothingly, or at least it was coming from her. “It does seem to be worse than earlier, though, doesn’t it? Perhaps the moment is soon to arrive.”

“Don’t try to lift my hopes,” Arkady sighed as they approached the doors of the main palace and went inside. “And I have no idea what a sneeze could protect me from. It really f-feels… It f-fuh… It… It feels lihihi…” Arkady shut one eye tight, the other half-open, trying to talk past the tickle since it kept insisting on interrupting him. “Feels mah-more… like a… p… HA!” His enormous gasp filled the vaulted ceiling and echoed down around them. It was so spontaneously loud and poignant that for one bright moment, Arkady thought, Oh gods it really is here this time, and swung his head back to accept it. But he should have known better. It was just another fluke, set up seemingly to break his spirit.

“This is agony,” he groaned. “This whole day. It shouldn’t have been about this—” His hand gestured a circle in the air before his nose “—it should have been about saying goodbye to Vjera. I have no idea when I’ll see her again. And she needed my support, but I was too busy to offer it properly.” Arkady paused. “She doesn’t want to go, Jaga. You know that. When she came to you with the stomachache this morning, you knew that, too.” Jaga’s eyes were somewhat downcast. “And she wouldn’t open up to you either, would she? It’s all because of the way things are. The way they have to be for kings and queens and princes and princesses. You learn to keep everything inside, so that your people never have to see it, but then when do you let it go? When does Vjera let it go? It can’t keep building up forever, it can’t stay inside forever. But has it ever for her? If she won’t even tell me how she feels, who will she tell? Eventually, the truth has to come out. Doesn’t it? And maybe I could have convinced Vjera to tell me it, if I only I didn’t have this stupid…” Arkady trailed off.

The whole hall went quiet. Jaga reached out to him. “Prince–”

Arkady placed his hand on her shoulder unsteadily, breath chuffing. “Jaga, I’m going to sneeze…”

“Oh? Are you?” The witch rooted herself in place to better support him. “Isn’t that curious...”

Like a tidal wave, his sneeze seemed at last to be gathering itself for something momentous. Arkady felt blind and helpless beneath it; he was blind and helpless beneath it. His eyes were closed so tightly that a thousand tiny suns seemed to be exploding against his lids, but he couldn’t pay them any mind due to the reason his eyes were closed in the first place. Oh gods, the tickle. It was surely divine. It felt larger than him, larger than anything his body could have concocted or handled on its own, and he was at its mercy. It occurred to him, with sudden dread, that it was too much for him to handle, that, though it seemed to lick every sensitive part of his sinuses at once with fiery tongues, a sneeze could not possibly be born from such overpowering stimulation. His lungs pushed his chest out to its farthest as they took in every bit of air they could hold. He couldn’t move. He was absolutely frozen with the desire to sneeze.

Seconds ticked by, ten aching, unreal seconds of miserable itching. And at the end of it, still Arkady didn’t sneeze.

He wasn’t going to sneeze. Not yet. It was as if the gods were saying, Trust us. We know what we’re doing.

Arkady gasped as his lungs seemed to remember how to work. His eyes popped open wide, his senses returning to him. He turned slowly to look down at Jaga; her eyes were wide too. He realized then how much he must have been relying on her to keep on his feet. He swallowed, wrinkled his nose, and then wrinkled it even more when he realized just how badly his nostrils wanted a good rub for all their trouble.

Jaga didn’t chuckle at this display. “This is serious,” she said quietly. He had never heard her so sobered.

Arkady smudged the heel of his hand under his nose vigorously. “I think you’re right, but I also can’t imagine how or why it could be serious.”

“Allow me to join you at dinner tonight,” Jaga went on as if she didn’t hear him. “The moment you sneeze is going to be meaningful, I can tell. I should be with you when it happens, so I can assess what caused it.”

“Gods, I hope it happens at dinner,” Arkady had just finished saying when the doors to the main hall opened, and in poured the Derevo entourage.

The man that Vjera was arm-in-arm with must have been Prince Ivar. He was tall and handsome and brown-haired and his eyes were large, inviting. He was laughing and smiling down at Arkady’s sister warmly. He wore a green coat covered in black and gold embroidery, and there was a sash around his waist that held a sheathed knife to his middle. Vjera smiled at her betrothed too. They were still twenty feet away, so Arkady couldn’t be sure, but he hoped the grin on her face was a genuine one.

Jaga released Arkady so that he could bow and kneel before their guest. “Prince Ivar, w-welcome. I hope your travels went well. I am sorry that I was unable to, hh… meet you at the entrance.”

“Stand, please! I’m not used to these formalities from other royals, and I understand you are feeling under the weather.” Prince Ivar’s voice was like a newly-minted coin. “Where I come from, it is the servants and guardsmen who bow when royalty passes them by.”

Upon hearing that, Jaga, a bit confused but wanting to show a good impression, sunk down on one knee.

Arkady stood then, deciding too it was best not to say anything, but secretly wondering If he is my family’s guest, why would Jaga bow to him?

He shook the other prince’s hand, but immediately after felt his face begin to quirk in the same way it had all day. Vjera swiftly took the attention off her brother. “You and your entourage must be hungry after your travels. Why don’t we have your belongings delivered to your lodgings while we have dinner?”

Prince Ivar responded with approval, but Arkady could scarcely pay attention to his words, because his nose was going absolutely wild, and Jaga was once again tasked to keep him from toppling over.

“Hh-! Hh-ha! Jahh, Jagahh… HEH! Do yah, you h-h-have… Hhhh… A k-kerchief I could… Hhhh…” His nose was running in some far-back place, and it was hindering far more than it was helping.

“Easy, easy,” she said, as his breathing returned to some approximation of control, and handed him the cloth. Arkady blew into it. It helped a bit, but not at all to the degree he would have liked. “Prince, do I have your permission to join you in the solarium? I won’t take a place at the table. I merely want to observe.”

Arkady nodded with his eyes closed. His voice would not be reliable until he got the sneeze out—whenever that would be. As he continued to touch at his nose, Jaga guided him forward.

The dining table was long enough to host thirty people at once, which was useful considering the size of Prince Ivar’s party. Ivar sat directly opposite Queen Cveta, at the other end of the table, with Vjera to his left to keep him company. Arkady was torn, wanting to sit to Prince Ivar’s right in order to get to know him better, but also not wanting to spend formalities dithering with this sneeze. Seeing as he was already dithering with a sneeze, though, Jaga was in charge of directing him and decided he should sit with his mother and two youngest siblings at their end. He supposed it was for the best that Prince Ivar didn’t have to hear him wheezing. It worked out well for Zlata and Pedja, anyway, who were significantly more interested in witnessing their brother’s sneeze than making heads or tails of adult small talk.

“You still didn’t sneeze, right? I didn’t miss it?” Zlata asked in an excited whisper as her eldest brother sat next to her.

“Your deepest and most sincere condolences are more appreciated than you will ever know,” Arkady said.

Zlata looked away quickly and looked back. “Wellll… you didn’t, right?”

As another exhale stuttered out of him, Arkady gave her watery look that hopefully said, Gee, do you think?

Jaga was standing against the wall behind him, arms folded politely behind her back. He could feel her eyes on him too. How badly everyone wanted to be there for the eventual arrival of this sneeze. How badly they must think that, with each poignant, biting gasp, he was about to succumb to this almighty irritation. Arkady no longer let himself believe the torment was about to end. If he did, he would break his own spirit a hundred times over. He did, however, begin to accept its presence. Whether there to help or hinder, it was the doing of the gods that he feel this way. He would just have to trust their judgment.

It wasn’t until the fish dumpling soup was brought out that Arkady recognized just how hungry he was. He realized, too, how tricky the task of eating becomes when needing to sneeze as badly as he did. Even if he didn’t believe the sneeze was really coming yet, it felt dangerous to have a hot mouthful of broth when his body so vehemently wanted him to be working out this tickle. He shook his head against it and grimaced long enough that some of the guests were starting to notice one of their hosts was pulling the strangest faces imaginable, duck his chin though he might.

“Are you all right, Prince Arkady?” called the voice of a stranger.

Arkady could only wave in the direction of the speaker. He put his napkin around his face to hide his latest grimace. This was embarrassing…

“He’s all right, he just can’t sneeze,” Arkady heard Zlata explain in his stead. He looked at her weakly out of his peripherals. He didn’t feel all right: he felt like he wanted to fall asleep and wake up completely sneezeless.

“Hmm. That sounds like Ilari’s doing,” came another response from the Derevo entourage.

“Huh-!” Arkady couldn’t help gasping audibly, earning some chuckles from around the room.

“I’m sorry for you, friend,” Prince Ivar called next. “I want to say ‘Ilari is with you’ but it seems more likely that he’s somewhere else entirely.”

More laughter. Arkady tried to laugh too, which wasn’t the most difficult when his breathing already sounded a bit like that. A smile was hard to hold though, and he found himself tucking back into his napkin for whatever privacy he could salvage.

The voice that came next was sterner. “Prince Ivar is right. Ilari is not with this young man anymore. He must have done something to deserve punishment.”

That comment seemed to make the air a bit cold. Prince Ivar was the one to restore the happy atmosphere. “Says the old bat who skipped prayer this morning to catch a few extra winks! Cheer up, Sacha, have more wine. Which reminds me—I brought plenty of wine from our vineyards, too. They say there’s no other like it in all Vyshtopa, after all. Sacha, why don’t you go fetch it? I’m sure one of the guards would be happy to direct you to where they’re keeping our carts.”

Sacha was quiet for a moment. Then he stood carefully to his feet. “… Certainly. Apologies for my outburst, Queen Cveta.”

Arkady wasn’t sure how his mother handled the situation, because he was then overcome by a tickle of such proportions that none in the solarium could ignore his desperate, “Hh-huhhuh, htz, hdT-! HEHT-! … … … shiew…”

At that noise, all dialogue paused, until Prince Ivar had to ask, “Was that… a sneeze?”

“No,” Arkady choked out, and the air was full of collective groans of sympathy or mild laughter. Arkady mopped at his eyes with his napkin. He didn’t really like being the center of attention over anything, let alone this, and tried to focus on why he was even forcing himself to be at dinner in the first place. He glanced over at Vjera to see her conversing with her future husband. She caught his eye a moment later, looked at him with mild worry. Arkady wanted to smile, to assuage her, but a newly budding sneeze was already turning his mouth into a deep, harsh frown. He blew his nose and tried not to think about how much he wanted to leave. Building up to a sneeze this much was starting to tire him out…

“There we are! Thank you, Sacha.” Next thing he knew, the wine had been delivered, Prince Ivar himself pouring the dark liquid. “The first glass should go to Prince Arkady, I do believe. It’s strong stuff. It might just knock that wicked sneeze out of you!”

That was a nice idea. Arkady had his doubts it would be the case. Still, he gratefully accepted the beverage when it was delivered to him, wanting very much to show his guests that he was made for more than entertainment.

The wine was like liquid velvet. Its color was akin to the darkest blood. Asking his nose to quiet down and behave for just a moment, Arkady brought his lips to the rim of the glass…

Immediately, like a live thing, the tickle fought him.

It was like a hornet’s nest crashing to the earth and the entire swarm billowing up at once. That was the only way to describe the way in which the sneeze was now treating him. His head jerked away from the glass instinctively, snatching a huge breath through his nose. There was nothing coy about this feeling. It wasn’t the dipping, darting butterfly of a sneeze that had been flitting about his sinuses all day, but a dagger, poised to strike. A dagger hovering right over his heart. But a dagger was harmless until it pierced flesh…

Arkady opened his eyes, his vision swirling with tears. The wine could have been blood. Could it be a dagger?

Again he brought his lips to the glass. His nose touched the opposite rim.

And that’s when he knew he was going to sneeze.

The lessons of a prince were deeply ingrained. On any normal day, Arkady would have stopped this sneeze by rubbing his tongue against his front teeth until its tang lessened. Even if it were strong, he would have fought it off with all his might, because that was what you did when you were royalty. But that didn’t matter anymore. There was no way Arkady was going to let it get away from him now. All day, he had been putting up with this. All day, he had begged and pleaded for something to happen. If his body was really allowing this long-awaited event to happen, no force in the world could hold him back. This sneeze might as well be the strongest force in the world.

And suddenly, in Arkady’s mind, there was no world. There was only the sneeze.

“Hhh!”

It was right there.

“Hah-!”

It was right there.

“HhhHA-AH!”

It was right there, right on the edge, bristling like a mad thing-

“KUH-HUHHT! HAAAHH-AA! … … … AAAATTSSCCCHHHIIIUUU!!”

And then, it was out. At last, it was out.

Oh, sweet relief.

One would not be enough. As soon as the first was free, its entourage came right after, bringing with them just as much relief as their prince. “AHHHht’SHAO! K’SHOO! Huh-SHKSH! K’SH-! SHOO! H’ehshESH! K’kehsh! H’ehsh…! … SHOO!”

Ten would not be enough. Each sneeze was like a balm to the raw insides his nose had become. Never had he known such a persistent itch, and finally it was being scratched, scratched, scratched, from the back to the front with sneezes like raking fingers. “AhppSHOO! Hh-huSHOO! -shIEW! Ekk-shoo!ksh’ksh’ksh-SHOO! EPSH! H’hek’SHH! Ah’KSH! Hh! Hut-TCHOO! Hyet-! … tsCHOO! A’chshoo! Snf! Huh! H’kt’tschoo! K’TSCHOO! K-K’SCH! K-k-Keh!HETCH! Ah..! AHPSH! H’psh! Kuh-huh! H’ktshoo-h-hh’tsh!TSH!TSH!”

Thirty would not be enough. Arkady was more than happy to let his senses take over and, sneeze after sneeze, loosen the shackles of his misery. At some point, he had remembered his napkin (or maybe someone had pressed it into his hands—he was completely oblivious to the rest of the world now) and sneezing into that felt even better. He buried his nose into the folds, and it ached wonderfully. “Hehh… Hehhh… Phew…” This time the sneezes weren’t sticking so much as they were giving him a chance to breathe. His nose wouldn’t keep him from reprieve for longer than it needed to. “Heh’et-SHAhh! Het’sha! Het-t-t-SHOO! Kuh’hehSHOO! HehSHOO! H’shoo! H’sh, h’sh, h’sh, h’sh, huh-! hhhH! HUT-SHHHKKSH! SH’KSH! Hef’SHAH! Nnnn’SHEH! Neh’sheh! NnnnSHEH! Hehchh! HehhCHhuh! H-hHeh! Shhhehtch-tch-tch-tch-tch!TCHOO!”

Fifty would not be enough. His nose would not be satisfied until it had thoroughly banished this itch forever. They kept coming, one after another after another after another, feeling so necessary yet indulgent all at once. He gave into them completely, even as he started losing steam. “Shoo! K’shoo! Heh… hehh… hehtnnNn-!…SHOO! Huh-shoo! Huhsh-shoo…! Huhhsh…. Shhoo… Shoo, sh-sh-shoo… Snf! K’shh’nghshh… Huh… Snf… Heh! Snf, snf! Shhuhhuh… Shhuhhehuh…! Hehhhuhhhuhhhh…!”

There was one more floaty bit of something ever-so-carefully teasing him at the very back of his nose. Arkady snuffled against it, trying to spark a reaction. It was only a little one… Surely he could muster one more little one… Then he could be done with this itch for good. Sleepily pleading with his nose to grant him a final sneeze, just one small snortish huff to bluster out that last bit of tickling, that floaty feeling seemed to fluff up and fill the whole of his head with an absolutely merciless itch.

Without meaning to, without feeling any sort of control over himself, Arkady rocked on his chair’s hind legs, threw back his head, and crowed out a very finalizing, “AhhHHHH! Ha-AH!…HET’HAHT-KSHAHHH!”

And then dizzily, drowsily, Arkady’s shoulders drooped, and he sighed a long sigh. His nose was finally, finally at peace. Tired, running a bit, and even a little sore, but at peace.

He must have sneezed for about ten minutes. During the entire hypnotic event, Arkady had heard nothing but his own voice, and now that it was absent, it donned on him just how… oddly the voices around him were pitched. It sounded like arguing. How peculiar… now that his brain was coming back to him, Arkady realized that laughter or silence was a more explicable response. Just what was going on?

He opened his eyes. Desperate tears immediately spilled out, and he had to wipe them on the unused part of his napkin for quite a bit. Once that was finished, Arkady got his first good look of the dining room…

… A majority of which was obscured by a bevy of royal guards, swords drawn and poised in a semicircle around his chair.

Arkady turned side to side rapidly. Queen Cveta was gone from her place at the the table, and so was Pedja, who had been sitting across from him. To his left began the guards, and directly behind him was Jaga, a hand on his chair, smiling wanly down at him.

“Well, well. Seems Ilari is with you after all. Feeling better, Prince Arkady?” she asked, in a taut voice barely hinted with her patented humor.

Arkady still had the napkin around his nose. “Um,” he said from behind it, “what’s going on?”

Jaga gave a single bitter laugh. “The tea never lies,” she said. “Something important did happen today, Prince, and it wasn’t your sister’s betrothal. There was an attempt on your life.”

That was the last thing he had expected. Arkady’s eyes widened. “Wait… Then Mother… Pedja—”

“Are fine,” Jaga filled in quickly. “And so are you, thanks to the gods.” She held up a wine glass, which Arkady realized had been his own. “This,” she said, “is poisoned. I took it from you as soon as you started sneezing. You’re only alive because you couldn’t drink it.” She studied the red liquid. “You’re only alive,” she said distantly, “because the gods willed it so.”

__________________________________________________

An entire week passed before Vjera saw her brother again. Queen Cveta had ordered that he spend that entire time praying: three days fasting, the following four without, but no visitors to interrupt. Vjera and the rest of her family were required to pray too, but not as intensely. Arkady was, according to their mother, currently in the gods’ highest favor, and therefore it was especially necessary that he thank them profusely for his life and ask that Gornoye find a way to reach peace with Derevo.

Queen Cveta left the prayers to her children; she had always been more engaged in the political side of her job, though technically the guard was meant to be in charge of such decisions. Vjera spent her days trying to find out what she could about Prince Ivar: if he had orchestrated the attack on her brother, or if only that angry fellow Sacha had been behind it. Either way, the betrothal was off. Vjera couldn’t say that part exactly disappointed her.

The poison in the wine Arkady had almost drank was slow-acting and difficult to detect. Jaga would not have suspected poison at all, if the sneezing hadn’t alerted her to trouble. It was only after Jaga voiced her suspicions that Queen Cveta asked Sacha to drink; and when he refused, everything had seemed to erupt. Jaga had been working most of the week to even determine what Sacha had used as a toxin. Vjera wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the ways in which the poison would have hurt Arkady. The thought of how close her brother had been to death made her heart pound enough as it was.

At the end of his week of prayers, Vjera was there to greet Arkady outside his bedroom. It was early, and the sky was pink. When he saw her, he looked relieved; for both of them, it seemed seeing was believing, and it was nice to finally have proof the other was all right. They embraced, and then immediately began talking as they walked down the verandah steps.

“You weren’t hurt, were you? You were so close to Ivar. He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“Me? Nothing happened to me; it’s you who was threatened.”

“I don’t really feel like I was,” Arkady admitted. His face looked thinner from the three-day fast. “I suppose that still hasn’t really sunk in. I thanked the gods over and over, but I’m not sure how sincere I sounded. I don’t even know what would have happened if they hadn’t intervened.”

“You would have died,” Vjera said. “And maybe we would have never known why.”

“Then you would have been the heir apparent, and Prince Ivar would have had a good reason to merge the kingdoms,” Arkady said, as if he were reciting it. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot these days.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too much these days,” Vjera sighed. “We may go to war with Derevo over this. For a moment, I want to stop worrying and just be grateful you’re alive…” Her voice broke off at the end.

Arkady paused, put a hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t gone anywhere, Vjera. And neither have you. We have our family. We’re going to be all right.”

She leaned into his hug again, but it was cut short when she felt him try to pull away only seconds later. There was something curiously familiar about the action… and sure enough, when Arkady was far enough away to see his face clearly, his expression was a snarled mask not unlike the one he’d modeled only seven days ago.

“Hhuhhh… hhehhthh…”

He wavered there, his head bobbing once, twice, before snapping down with a modest, “Hef’SHOO!”

Once it was out, his shoulders drooped considerably, and he rubbed a hand across his face. “Oh, thank goodness… For a second, I was worried all that was about to start up again…”

Vjera couldn’t help laughing a bit. “Even after it saved your life?”

“Hey,” Arkady defended with a smirk, “if you knew what it felt like, you wouldn’t want it to happen again either.”

Vjera shook her head. They kept walking. “How did it feel to finally sneeze after all that time, anyway?” she asked, needing a little levity.

Arkady winced, frowning. It was as if he were reliving the ordeal. “It felt like I had been tied in a knot all day and I’d finally been loosened. Or like there had been something unbalanced inside of me and it was balancing again. It wasn’t exactly a good feeling… but it also felt absolutely amazing… Am I making any sense?”

Vjera raised an eyebrow. ���Are you saying it was worth the wait?”

Arkady snorted a laugh. “It had to be worth the wait,” he said, “because if it hadn’t been, I would have just gone and downed that whole glass of wine.”

[detectivedreameater]

Margarita Monday || Camille and Marley

TIMING: Mid October PARTIES: @carrionxcamille and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Camille comes over to Marley’s for margaritas but ends up sharing a little more than drinks. CONTENT: Alcohol

Relaxing just...wasn’t something Marley really did. Ever. Sure, she took time off and had nights off, but just doing something to do it for, well, fun? Was strange. Having another woman over and not having intentions to sleep with her was also very strange for Marley. But, here she was, setting out ingredients to teach someone how to make margaritas the right way, just to...do it. No ulterior motive, no reason other than to just be normal. Readjusting herself, Marley set out the ingredients-- Dragones tequila, triple sec, cognac, lime juice, and a little bit of simple syrup. Oh, and ice. Marley had had to go to the store and actually buy a bag of ice, considering the only fridge she had was a small drink fridge, and it didn’t make ice. Was that weird or suspicious? Did she care? If this Camille was anything other than what she said she was, Marley could easily get away or fear  gaze her. She was in no trouble here. Still, she jumped a little when there was a knock on the door. She looked over, straightened herself out, then went over. “Welcome to Casa Del Marley,” she said in a cheesy tone, even if she did know proper Spanish. “It’s Margarita Monday today, so please come in and make yourself at home.” 

Right, this was good. Meeting people, getting out of the house, making connections. Camille was making progress, and it sure was better than spending another tuesday night parked in front of the tv barely focusing on trashy reality shows. She needed more friends, and margaritas certainly seemed like a good way to curb any first meeting awkwardness, even if it was a little college to get drunk on a weekday. Whatever, it’s not like running the park was hard. This would be good for her. This wasn’t her threadbare allyship with Regan, and she couldn’t rely solely on Cece for company either. The greeting at the door made her laugh a little as she stepped in, toeing her boots off by the door, “thanks for having me, I needed an excuse to get out the house.” And an excuse to have a drink a little stronger than a glass of wine, honestly. “You earn points already for the alliteration.” She grins, “teach me your ways, margarita master.” 

Marley moved around to the kitchen quickly once Camille was inside, trying not to let the strange feeling in her stomach take too much hold on her. “Yeah, sure,” she said, setting out two glasses and the mixer. “Anything to have an excuse to make margaritas, honestly.” She gave an awkward smile. “Not that I need one, but, you know.” She cleared her throat, gesturing to the ingredients she’d laid out. “Well, first of all, you need the right ingredients. None of that cheap shit, okay?” she pointed at the tequila. “This is the best kind, hands down. People might try and tell you Cuervo or Patron is good enough, but they’re wrong,” she tapped on it, “plus, my girlfriend would gut me if I said anything otherwise.” 

It was a long time since Camille had tried to make friends, honestly. With Jace the way he had been she didn’t want people around at the house and eventually being lonely was just easier than trying to make yet another excuse for why the girls couldn’t meet her husband or see her home. But Marley had offered to have her over, she wanted the company too. Of course, Camille couldn’t really afford high shelf tequila right now, but they’d- unsurprisingly- had a well stocked liquor cabinet at home, and she did one day plan to have a set up like it again. “Right.” She nods sagely, laughing a little, “honestly I can’t drink Cuervo anymore anyway, it just tastes too much like terrible college decisions.” She grins, “does your girlfriend work for the company or is she just a big believer in high shelf tequila?”

“As it should,” Marley said, scrunching her nose. “Cuervo is for college frat kids who want to get drunk fast. You need a nice fine tequila to truly appreciate the art of the margarita.” She cleared her throat, trying to move past the awkward feeling in her throat, even if she’d said the word first. “She’s a lady of fine taste, what can I say?” grinned before sweeping her hand to the next ingredient. “Now, some people might also try and tell you that you can use sweet and sour mix. It’s cheap, it’s faster-- blah, blah. But they’re wrong. You gotta do it yourself if you want the best flavor. I use lime juice, salt and simple syrup. 2 parts lime juice, half part syrup. Pinch of salt,” she explained, finding talking about alcohol was much easier than talking about Anita being her girlfriend and what she liked. “Lastly, my special secret ingredients,” she moved down the line again, “triple sec and cognac. Add to taste, of course, but I usually do a shot of each. Really brings out the other flavors. You can add a little orange juice as a spritz sometimes, too, if you’re feeling citrusy. But, yeah--” she nodded to herself as if to congratulate herself on a job well done. “That’s all there is to it. So, shall we try and make some?”

College frat kids who want to get drunk fast? Camille almost winces. That had sure been Jace. Perhaps this whole thing really was her own fault, in a roundabout way. How had she not seen the signs of it when they were younger? Sure everyone liked to get messed up at parties when they were kids, but Jace was always looking for another party to get messed up at. She’d thought- stupidly- it was the social aspect. Jace was a jovial guy, he loved to be around people, that was why he loved parties. Maybe even back then he’d loved drinking more. Uh oh, yeah, she was not going to admit it to Marley but Cam had definitely made a few sweet and sour mix margaritas in her time. It was easier. But then she hadn’t been sure how easy the real method was too-- and honestly it didn’t sound like rocket science. She liked listening to people talk about a passion of theirs, and Marley clearly had this down to a T, so seeing her in her comfort zone made Camille a little more relaxed too, and they weren’t even drinking yet. “So you go pretty sour then? That’s good. I make cosmos sometimes and I always add more lime juice than recipes say too, I just like them sour.” She nods, “doesn’t sound like I’d be able to fuck it up too badly,” Cam grins and picks up one of the glasses, “assuming you start with tequila?”

“Oh yeah,” Marley said, nodding, “the more sour, the better. What can I say? I’m a sour woman.” She stacked two glasses on the counter in front of them and motioned to the ingredients. “It really is hard to fuck up a margarita, it’s more about getting the right proportions so that you can enjoy all the flavors at once. And, of course, making sure you have good tequila,” tapped the bottle again, “yeah, sure. Start with that, I’ll uh-- supervise,” she said stepping back and letting Camille approach. This was still...strange and knew for her, but she was learning that it was nothing to be awkward about. Maybe this was just how normal people interacted. Maybe if she kept trying, she’d actually get used to it one day. She gave a smirk. “Go on, then,” she motioned, “don’t fuck it up.”

Camille laughed a little- actually, she’d been called a sourpuss once, by an older guy at a club trying to grind on her. The memory amused her to this day. Maybe they were both a little sour, but she didn’t think that was a bad thing. “I’m the same with wine, I never like it overly sweet.” She says, stepping up to the counter to start by pouring some tequila in one of the glasses- hey, she was still young enough at heart to know roughly how to pour out a shot. “I’ve known people to use triple sec before, but I’ve never come across cognac. Hey, I’ll trust the master though.” Cam shrugs, adding in plenty of lime juice and salt before pouring some syrup into a measure and adding that too. “I will admit to hating it when people put stuff on the rim of a glass though, salt or sugar or whatever. I’ve never gotten that.” She was sure that too was something about flavor, but the grains just irritated her mouth. Camille knew she liked triple sec, so after a full shot of that she measured out a little less cognac- she’d never been a huge fan- and added that too. “Looks like I managed to avoid total disaster… Or I didn’t make a mess at least.” Obsessively watching bartenders in college to make sure they didn’t mess with her drink had paid off, it seemed. She raised the glass, “cheers.” And took a sip. “Wow. Okay, you’re right. I’m adding cognac to every margarita I make from now on. Damn, that’s good. I don’t even like brandy.” 

Marley watched Camille fill up her drink, talking herself through the process. “Cognac just gives it a little extra bite, you know?” she shrugged, “I’m not a big fan of the alcohol on its own, but the slightest touch really does spruce up the most basic cocktail.” Mostly, she didn’t like it because it wasn’t an alcohol she could consume copious amounts of in a small amount of time in order to get drunker quicker. But she didn’t need to say that outloud. “Ah, see! You’re amazing at it already,” she said, leaning back against the counter. From around the corner of the kitchen table came JD, sniffing the air and the new scent in the house. Marley observed him for a moment, before realizing that his horns really weren't anything that normal people would expect on a hare. Or, really even, expect a hare. She went forward to shoo him away, but he scampered under the table and around into the kitchen, right up to Camille. “Uhh, he’s got-- a mutation,” she said, staring wide eyed.

It was all going well and everything was very normal, which Camille was pretty pleased about because since waking up in town she kept getting hit across the face with weirdness. Killer mimes and vampire neighbors and an eyeball where the goddamn sun should be. It was nice to kick back with a new friend and have a drink, and talk about normal things like cognac. She’d been into cocktail making for a while when she was younger, but then Jace’s problem had gotten worse and keeping high percentage alcohol in the house just… Didn’t seem smart. She took another sip and tried not to think about that. “Well it helps to have a good teacher.” Camille laughed, only the slightest of a bitter edge to the sound, “I would know, I used to be a- ah!” 

Camille startled when the creature scurried up to her, pressing her body back into the kitchen counter. “Holy hell.” It was, in essence, a big weird looking rabbit. Which would probably not have garnered much of a reaction if it were not for the horns. Horns! Every day something new and totally out of left field. Is it the weirdest thing she’s seen? Well… There were eyeballs coming out of her taps at one point, that was probably weirder. But this-- Camille didn’t quite see how a mutation could give a rabbit horns. Which meant this was the supernatural kind of weird, which meant Marley knew about the supernatural kind of weird. “...Right.” She takes another sip of her drink and sighs, weighing the pros and cons. Camille could pretend to believe her, but there would be an awkward air over the rest of the night. She had enough secrets already. “Y’know, you don’t have to… I- look, here’s the thing, I’m not an expert. Like, I don’t know a lot about it all but I do know that there’s stuff in this town that is…” She waves a hand vaguely in the air, trying to find a good word for it. “Let me put it this way, when I lived in the motel my neighbors were vampires. So, don’t bullshit me. That’s not a normal rabbit.” 

Marley watched Camille closely, as she started down at JD. She could see the cogs turning in her head. Most people who wanted to remain ignorant would wave this away and be happy to accept the “mutation” explanation-- but when Camille didn’t, Marley felt herself slowly warming up to the idea that maybe she wasn’t half bad. She came over around the counter and picked up the large hare, hoisting him onto one arm and holding him so his legs dangled below her arm. He sniffed the air, wriggled once, then settled in. “You’re neighbors were vampires? Gross,” she muttered, scrunching her nose, “vampires are so broody and angsty. Oh, my life is so tragic,’ she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead, “I’m doomed to eternal life and I must feed on the blood of innocents! Or...whatever.” She remembered the last vampire she’d known, and how much his disposition to drink blood tortured him. Vampires, for all their monstrosity, could be so human sometimes. “Glad you got out of there, then,” she replied, feeling the awkwardness hang in the air a bit. She cleared her throat. “He uh--” glanced down at JD, “--he’s a Jackalope. Supernatural hare, basically. But I swear he’s nice! Usually.” 

Camille wasn’t going to wander around the whole town with her eyes closed. She was in White Crest because she’d died. If she wanted answers about what the hell had happened to her and didn’t want those answers to totally freak her out it would probably be a good idea to embrace everything else weird and wacky going on in town. It was just so… Exhausting. Nothing was normal. She couldn’t even make a new friend and drink margaritas without some not rabbit thing becoming part of the evening. Maybe she just had to get used to it.

It was almost comical the way Marley handled the thing, and how quickly it settled into her arms like it’d been there a dozen times before. It probably had, she seemed to be keeping it like a domestic pet. That was almost… Sweet. And her vampire impression did make Cam laugh. “They were broody!” She agreed, “those walls were thin, I could hear them complaining. Didn’t stop the parade of pretty young girls always going in and out of their room though, so they can’t have felt too put out.” Once she’d found out what they were Cam had started watching for those girls- some of them went back again and again, but what mattered to her was making sure they walked back out. She nods, “yeah. Cece really did me a favor.” Oh how much she had come to rely on the kindness of strangers as of late, it was new. “He doesn’t seem not nice. He just startled me. I’m still getting used to all this stuff, and I don’t really feel like getting into why I’m here in the first place but it.. Yeah, it’s part of my life now, so.” Camille shrugs, staring at the jackalope… She’d heard of them, but it hadn’t occurred to her that they might really exist in this new world. “He’s almost cute. Does he have a name?”

“All vampires are,” Marley said with a little roll of her eyes. “They’re pretty dramatic.“ At least, all the vampire she’d met were like that-- she felt like it almost came with the territory, just like how most mara liked the strange and horrific. Most of them even shared Marley’s love for insects, because unlike most mammals, they didn’t run away scared. “Oh, you know Cece? Like Cece Bishop, Cece? I work with her sometimes.” And somehow knowing Camille knew Cece made Marley all the more relieved. At least she didn’t have to skirt around things anymore. “He’s very nice, usually. Just spooks easy, which is funny, considering--” she paused, frowned, “he’s pretty scary looking.” Marley rustled her arms, cinching her brows. “Almost cute? He’s extremely cute, actually. I mean, lookit his face!” she exclaimed, holding him up. JD responded by thumping his legs against her and leaping out of her arms and over to the couch. “Well...I think he’s cute,” she muttered, looking back over at Camille. “His name’s JD. Short for Jack Daniels.” A pause. “I swear I’m not an alcoholic, though.”

Sometimes Camille worried she was taking all of this too well. But then she remembered her first few months here, the icy cold that had settled over her the second she realized she was supposed to be dead, sitting in that motel room and staring at the wall for god knew how many days without being able to move. Trying to accept it all had practically rendered her catatonic, and she was still struggling, but Camille was no idiot. Even with all the additions the world was still the world and she was still a living thing that needed to make money and survive and carry on.

“I haven’t actually met any vampires, so I couldn’t speak for all of them.” Cam shrugs, and then her eyes widen, “at least… I don’t think I have. I suppose that’s rather the point.” Wow, maybe she had met vampires. Marley could be one for all she knew. It was probably rude to ask. “Yeah, it’s her I live with. We met out at Dell’s Tavern one night and when she found out I was staying at that creepy motel she insisted I stay with her.” She nods, “right, it makes sense that you’d know her too.” The morgue and the police department probably worked closely. They’d probably done that in Boston, when she’d died. Camille chuckled a little at the contradictions, how Marley thought something could look scary and cute at the same time. Though she managed not to flinch when it- JD- was brought closer to her face. He had regular rabbit eyes, all big and innocent and shiny. She did jump when the beast moved suddenly though, clutching one hand to her heart and laughing despite herself. “He can leap like a rabbit, huh? Is he- do you just keep him, like, as a pet?” Cam smiled, “I like JD. When I was in college my roommate had a hamster and we called it Khalua.” 

“Count yourself lucky, then,” Marley said with a small chuckle. “Oh, trust me-- you’d know.” It was a strange thing, to find someone so...okay with all this weirdness. Even Erin had been a little freaked out by everything at first, but maybe Camille had just skipped past it all already. Or she just hadn’t seen the freak out and was getting the after effects. She shrugged. “Yeah, Cece’s like that.” She didn’t know Cece all that well, but from what she could gather, the woman liked to feel useful and help others. And was a bit nosey. “He’s a hare, actually. Common mistake. Hares are bigger than rabbits.” She scratched her chin. “I mean, yes? He’s pretty harmless. He mostly just follows me around and chews on things. Animals don’t normally like me, so it’s kinda nice to have one around that, you know, does.” A chuckle. “Khalua, ha. That’s a good name. I’m gonna steal that if I ever get another pet. I was considering getting another tarantula, they’re pretty low maintenance.” She gave a short pause, before prodding her next question. “So...how do you know about all this stuff?”

“Oh, would I? Well that’s… Reassuring, I suppose.” The only thing that’d tipped Camille off about her neighbors at the motel was how loudly they talked about it. Perhaps they’d been trying to scare her. Honestly at the time they’d been the least of her worries, and she’d even briefly wondered if any attempts to kill her would actually work. Jury was still kind of out on that one, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t going to ask anyone to try it and find out. 

Camille nodded, “right, a hare.” The difference wasn’t enough to bother her, but she’d try and remember it. “Ah, I hear most animals are a little bit destructive like that.” She chuckled, it was one of the things that had stopped her from getting a dog with Jace, being too precious about her house. “He was a real hit whenever we had dorm parties, that’s for sure. Even the dean thought he was too cute to tell us off.” The idea of a spider as a pet was… Really not Camille’s cup of tea, but if Marley already had a weird supernatural hare it probably wouldn’t seem so odd to her.

Right. How did she know about all this? Marley was a cop, it probably wasn’t smart to tell her too much about how she didn’t have a legal identity and there was a man in prison for her murder. But… Well, Marley was a cop with a jackalope, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to have as many useful people helping her figure this out as possible? If Marley had a strong enough link to the supernatural stuff, maybe she’d have some information no one else did yet. “Well…” Camille sipped her drink, tapping her fingers against the side of the glass. “How do you know about this stuff?”

.Marley ruffled her nose. “Hey, I asked you first,” she pointed out, frowning. It was strange to not feel affronted by the question, however, and she had to take a minute to pause and decide if that really was one she wanted to answer. A few months ago it would have been a solid and definite no, but now that things had changed in Marley’s life, she wasn’t sure anymore. She waffled on it for a moment, confused by her own indecision. “I’m a cop in White Crest,” she finally answered with a shrug, “how could I not know about this stuff? I know most of the precinct will like to make you believe everyone around there has their head in the sand, but you can’t judge us all because of that.” Even if Marley did. She knew most of the other cops didn’t believe in any of this shit. “I also sort of grew up with this kinda stuff.”

She leaned back against the counter again. “Okay, so now that I played my cards, are you gonna tell me yours?” she asked, nodding at her. “You seem pretty normal, so what could’ve happened to you to clue you in to all this shit?”

Camille lounged back against the counter, tapping her nails against the almost empty glass in her hand and waiting. Whatever Marley had to say she was willing to bet the other woman had been around this kind of stuff a lot longer than she had. The reasoning of being a cop was sound enough, she was willing to bet they all saw some weird stuff. But Regan worked in the morgue and had wings and still managed to be disbelieving of the whole thing. Growing up around it, though, that made Camille relax just a little. 

She set the glass down to pull back the sleeve of her shirt and show the sigil on the back of her hand. “I died a while ago.” Camille said, trying to sound more nonchalant about the whole thing then she felt. “Woke up in White Crest earlier this year. With this thing-” She tapped a finger against the mark- “which I did not have in my first life. A lady told me it means I was resurrected and the mark keeps my soul in my body, or something.” Camille tugged her sleeve back down. “So I am pretty normal. Or I was, but it’s kind of hard to deny all this stuff when you know there’s an autopsy report with your name on it.” She shrugged, twisting her hands together, “I figure for now this town is the best place for me, while I’m still trying to get it together.” 

Had Marley been drinking something, she would have spit out her drink. Instead, it came up as a cough that felt as if it stuttered and stuck in her throat, and she turned to look at Camille with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say you died? And then-- came back?” That wasn’t really all that uncommon, but Marley had been sure Camille wasn’t a zombie or a vampire-- her tastebuds were too on par. But then she showed Marley the marking on her hand and it clicked-- someone had brought her back to life using necromancy. Marley didn’t know much about it, only that only very powerful spellcasters could do it, and that it was some sort of taboo-- Peter had informed her of this, and reminded her that they were not vessels of death while doing so-- and that Bea had likely also been resurrected. She’d told Marley she’d died after Marley had pestered her about not calling back. 

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s fair,” she answered, scratching the back of her neck. “Normal is-- relative, I guess. Even though you’re, well, you know…” she motioned towards her, “you can still live a normal life.”

Marley’s reaction was… Almost comical. Especially in comparison to others. Nell had been matter of fact, Regan in denial. Marley was much closer to what Camille had expected of people. The tequila probably helped, but she actually didn’t feel all that exhausted by talking about it for once, which was a nice change. Perhaps because she hadn’t gotten into the details of her ex husband and the whole ordeal that had brought about her death. She didn’t want too, it wasn’t like she owed Marley anything. Part of normal was moving on. “It’s kind of a lot to process.” She said, nodding. “So I’m trying to take it easy. Just… Getting out into the world again, y’know? Steady job, making new friends.” Camille shrugged, “not perfect but better than nothing.” 

She smiled,“actually, it makes me feel much safer knowing we actually have cops who understand exactly what is going on in this town, even if you can’t convince the entire squad.” She laughed softly, moving to set her glass down by the sink and pick up her bag. “It’s getting late. I shouldn’t keep you up all night. But we should hang out again, now that I know I don’t have to watch what I say with you.” 

For a dead woman, Camille was pretty casual. Marley didn’t know what that experience was like, but she could understand wanting to make a normal life for yourself. “You really should quit the Cryptid Corner,” she said after a moment, but it was with a sly grin and not a judging one. “I heard that place is haunted.” Marley gave a sheepish shrug. “Well, glad I can help out, then. I’ll certainly do my best to keep this place clean, but White Crest is certainly a...dangerous place. Don’t um-- do anything to get yourself killed again, alright?” She started heading over towards the door with Camille. She wanted to quip about how the night was her time, but she kept her mouth shut for now. She’d already given away too much, and even if Camille had been more forthcoming with all this than she’d originally thought, she still felt exposed in some way. Even though Camille had spilled her entire story, Marley kept hers much closer to her chest. “Uh-- yeah,” she said, confused for a moment. People didn’t often ask to hang out with her again, let alone as just friends. Was this really how the world worked? She furrowed her brow. “Yeah, let’s do this again. Maybe with snacks next time, too.” That’s what people offered, right? She brushed the thought away. “And uh-- thanks for trusting me enough to tell me. You don’t have to worry, either. Your secret’s safe with me.” And if Camille turned on her somehow, it would make for some good blackmail. Not that she wanted that to happen. But old habits die hard.

Camille snorted out a laugh and shook her head, “the closest thing that place has ever gotten to haunted was the one time we had a possessed toilet. A nightmare to deal with but we’ve had nothing since. It’s too lame to haunt.” She nods, “yeah… Yeah I know this place can be a bit wild. Hell, when I woke up here people were being attacked by mimes, so.” It was almost scary how quickly she’d gotten used to it all, but maybe waking up dead could numb you to experiences like that a bit. “Trust me, I don’t have any plans to put myself in harm's way.”

It was true, she certainly wasn’t going to go looking for trouble. She’d even stopped walking around the forest at night, so things were looking up. Another friend who knew her secret, someone else to trust. Camille was sick of being lonely, see, she’d decided this life was going to have friends. “Right. I appreciate it. Enjoy the rest of your night, I’ll see ya.” She gave a cheery little wave before heading out the door, to return to her own home feeling a little more optimistic than the day before.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

my thoughts on: I, Tonya

So ya girl finally got the chance to watch I, Tonya and ooooh damn, I’ve got some things to say about it. Spoilers and general ramblings under the cut. 

So first and foremost, I’m gonna be straight with y’all and say that my opinions on I, Tonya are probably biased, because Seb is in it. Bear this in mind, as it’s a point I’ll return to later on. Also, I’m not the most knowledgeable person when it comes to acting technique and etc, so like…I don’t really know what I’m talking about here.

I’m gonna say this first, because it doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the ramble: the music had me living y’all. It wasn’t really my usual ‘taste’, but it was well-suited to the film, in my opinion. Also, I liked the structure of the film, the way they shot it as if it were multiple interviews. I’ve never seen that done before and to me, it was novel and well executed.

Every single member of this cast was OUTSTANDING. Yes, I’m probably biased, as I’ve been rooting for this film ever since TIFF, but nonetheless, I had high expectations for this movie and they were EXCEEDED™. Before I talk about the main cast, let me kick things off with a short spiel about—

McKenna. She made me tear up. She has a rather minor part in all this, but the few minutes she has on screen are BRILLIANT. Truly, honestly, impactful. The part when she cried as her dad was leaving? Lord help me, I wanted to give that little girl a hug. I feel that this is a significant moment in the movie, because…I get the sense that Tonya’s been abandoned. She’s alone. And no child should ever have to feel that way.

Jeff Gillooly (Sebastian Stan)

Now. Sebastian. Y’all know that he’s 80% of the reason why I wanted to see this movie so bad. Warning: this part basically consists of me gushing over him. No, not in that way. If you’re not interested in reading about that, skip ahead, y’all.

Seb was funny and cute and an asshole, all at the same time. I kinda loved the moustache (le gasp). Also: HIS VOICE. It was…fucking hell, the accent and the way he speaks (when he’s not shouting) was so cute, I think my heart stopped a couple of times. And you know how Seb’s really good at being kinda bashful and dorky in interviews? Well, that comes across here, too. He pulls off that side of his character really well.

He was also really good at being a controlling, selfish maniac. Seb’s rage reminded me of a lion. Also, he says ‘fuck’ a lot, and for whatever reason, I have a thing for hearing him swear, so that part of me was satisfied.

Seb looked good. I, like most people, wasn’t a fan of the ‘stache when I first saw pics of it. But…it grew on me, over the course of the movie. Seb makes it work. There’s something about it that I kinda like. I was also impressed by the extent to which he transformed himself physically for this role. Like, there was no Beef™ in sight.

I will admit, my first thought when I saw Seb playing young Jeff was: damn he’s cute.

I think this is important, because I, as an audience member, could empathise with Tonya - like I can see how she could have fallen for Jeff. As the viewer, you (or at least, I) experience the same emotions that she does. But then again, that’s just my personal experience and could be due to the fact that I already have a deep-rooted love for Seb in general.

Now, I’m not gonna deny it - his character was a fucked-up asshole. But, if we separate Seb and Jeff for a moment, I think that Seb portrayed Jeff in a conscientious manner. Obviously, I don’t know Jeff personally, but you’d have to be blind to not notice the little mannerisms that Seb throws in. He’s so damn good at conveying emotions through body language and through nothing but his expression alone. I know that Seb will forever be known for his role as Bucky, but I think this film (and some of his other works, I’m sure), truly capture his capabilities as an actor.

Also - did we get a flash of the booty? For like, 0.3 seconds? I mean, I ain’t complaining about it, if we did — but the situation in which we got the booty flash wasn’t the nicest, I agree.

Having gushed about Seb - let’s now move onto the star of the show.

Tonya Harding (Margot Robbie)

Margot was PHENOMENAL™

‘nuff said.

Seriously. How did she not get any nominations from this? She was robbed. Cheated, I tell you — just like the character she was playing, funnily enough.

She made me cry, which is saying a lot because I don’t usually cry when watching movies. Now, I will admit: Tonya isn’t the most likeable person. Like, she isn’t the kind of person that I would necessarily want as a friend — but that’s kinda the point of the film, I think. To show you that she never quite fit in, that she was always kinda going on her own, isolated from people her age. It was hard on her.

That being said, there are qualities about Tonya that I loved. Her stubbornness, her fierceness of character, her ‘I take no bullshit’ attitude. Was she rough around the edges, untactful and crass at times? Yes. I do think that’s a product of her upbringing, however.

Margot played her beautifully. You see her grow up in the film, really see it. Tonya is a complicated character to play — she’s vulnerable and strong, weak and empowered, and the fact that Margot was able to tread the balance between the two amazes me.

At the end, when Tonya was told that she could no longer skate? My cheeks were wet, man. Margot should have been nominated on the basis of that alone.

Her character’s entire life revolved around skating. All the sacrifices she had to make to live her dream! When she said that not being able to skate would be “like a life sentence”? Augh, my heart broke. I wholeheartedly agree with her. Whether she was responsible, or had part in, the assault or not, I do believe that that was a harsh verdict.

LaVona (Allison Janney)

Imma quickly talk about Allison, before I delve back into Seb and Margot.

I hated LaVona. Like, I disliked Jeff and Tonya at times, but I truly Hated™ LaVona. I think that’s the point, though. She was, to me, the true villain in all this (no matter what she says about making ‘sacrifices’ for her daughter). Do I think that she was a villain born out of a particular context? Definitely. She’s unstable, but that instability and questionable parenting method is, I believe, a symptom of some underlying issue.

Is she a monster?

Meh. I honestly can’t tell you.

Allison was fabulous. She won an award and she deserved it. She deserves a million awards. Like I said, I hated LaVona, but I would not feel this strongly opinionated about this particular character if Allison hadn’t played her so well.

A short spiel on the Jeff/Tonya chemistry

So: Seb and Margot, Jeff and Tonya.

I can’t even imagine the amount of trust that was involved in filming those domestic violence scenes. Like, they were intense. There was no fucking around with the fighting, man — like, the hits and punches looked authentic. Though they were portraying a dysfunctional couple, I think that as a pair, Seb and Margot really worked well together.

That scene where Tonya was making her costume and Jeff was telling her his Wizard of Oz story? I loved that scene. The little neck kisses melted my heart. I loved that scene because it was them being playful and happy — and it really serves a purpose. Because both of them fell in love with a version of the other person. But the thing with love is that — you have to take it all. You want the good? You gotta take some of the bad. Sometimes, it gets to a point where you wonder if the good really is worth all this bad.

You wonder why she came back to him. Tonya, I mean. She came back to him after the divorce because her career meant that much to her. She was willing to risk her life so that she could skate. She came back for love — not her love for Jeff, obviously, but for her career. The sacrifices she made were unreal. I don’t necessarily agree with her decision, but I am impressed by the fact that she had the balls to go through with it.

My point is: their relationship was not simple. There is no good guy, there is no bad guy. Partly, I think this is because each person has their version of the truth. But also, I think this is a relationship where both individuals fluctuate between good and bad, on a ‘continuum’ of sorts. I…felt for them. I truly wanted them to be happy.

fuck, I’m rambling. Let’s wrap it up with a few more bits and bobs.

Some profound thoughts:

The story is still unsolved, at the end of it (or maybe…I was just too spaced out to truly understand it???). You’re still not exactly sure who was behind the incident. You don’t know who knew what info, because the facts keep changing. Everyone’s tryna sell someone else out and pin the blame on another person and I’m just like ??? But, I will say that I didn’t know anything about the Harding/Kerrigan incident, but having watched this movie — I am very intrigued.

I also find it interesting that they didn’t include Nancy’s views on her supposed friendship with Tonya. There could’ve been any number of reasons why this wasn’t done, but I think that that would’ve added another element to the story.

As I left the cinema, my thoughts turned to a lecture I had recently. My lecturer (I love him, btw, great guy), said something that I thought was pretty funny, at the time. Now, in hindsight, and especially after watching this movie, I do believe that his statement is SO FUCKING TRUE.

He said: Objectivity is in the eye of the beholder.

And that’s basically what this movie is trying to get at. “There’s no such thing as truth.”

Everyone has their own version of the events that happened, and everyone is influenced by their own unconscious bias. Out histories, our social context, our economic situations — so many things influence how we perceive the world. That doesn’t mean that our perception or interpretation is wrong, however. Each one of us is probably right, to some degree, but the important thing is that “true facts” should never be taken at face value.

I think that that’s a message that is really central to the entire film.

Remember what I said at the start? My opinions on this film are heavily influenced by the fact that I love Seb, and I’ve been hyped up by the positive reviews I’ve seen floating around the internet. You’ll notice that there’s barely any negativity in this piece, which in itself says something. Don’t take my “facts” at face value. Sprinkle on a pinch of salt.

So should you watch it?

Like I said, this film extensively features (kinda graphic) scenes of domestic violence. I, as someone who has been fortunate enough to never experience any of that sort of thin, found the movie uncomfortable, but watchable. I also don’t have any triggers or mental health issues, so that’s something to bear in mind.

If the domestic violence has been something that’s been putting you off, I say…it’s worth your time. I wouldn’t say I enjoyed myself, as I feel that’s inappropriate, given the context of the film, but I think that it was a couple of hours well spent. I don’t think you will be disappointed.

[hellsangelsheavensrejects]

The Purgatory Files: All Roads Lead to Purgatory, Chapter 1

This was originally a roleplay, and I edited and spliced the existing part of it to more resemble a fic for the site I’m putting together to house these stories in a more polished form. So I’m just going to post that here.

Harry woke to an insistent nudging at his rib cage, and slapped drowsily at the offending disruption of his pleasant and blissfully deep sleep.

“Msgwymmmhslpng,” he said, and rolled over, sliding a hand under his cheek.

His bed sure did feel hard. Like lying on a rough concrete floor. Had it always been that hard? He thought about buying a new mattress, which he probably couldn’t afford anyway, then promptly fell back asleep.

Another, firmer nudge pushed past the haze of the sweet, sweet sleep that he never seemed to get enough of these days. “Mouse!” he grumbled. “Go away. I’ll feed you la–”

His sleep-crusted eyes creaked open in mid-sentence as he pushed at what he believed to be his dog, but his hand hit smooth, dusty leather instead of Mouse’s shaggy mop of fur. He stuttered into silence, and squinted at the boot that rested on the ground before his still-blurry vision. Slowly, he slid his eyes upward, up a pair of shapely, jean-clad legs, a fringed, black leather bomber jacket fitted around a wiry frame, and an angular face displaying an expression of simultaneous perplexity and amusement. Dark hair fell in a wavy curtain around the woman’s shoulders, and she stood with one hand propped on her hip as she peered down at him.

She wore a gun on that hip, a big old-fashioned revolver that looked like it belonged in a museum, thrust through a black leather holster hung on a conspicuous ammo belt. Harry could feel a heady pulse of magic swirling around and through the gun. Yeah, that was no prop or museum piece.

As the world continued to fade into view around him, he realized that he was lying in the middle of a road. To either side, stretching for what looked like eons, arid grassland waved and rustled in the growing breeze, enclosed behind barbed wire fencing.

And he had no idea whatsoever how he had gotten there.

Hell’s frickin’ bells. What did he get himself into this time?

“Uh,” he said, because he was eloquent like that. Slowly, he rolled to his knees, then grimaced as a sudden headache bore down on him. The world swam before his eyes briefly, and he drew in a breath, then sneezed explosively as he got dust up his nose. It did not improve the stabby-stabbiness of the headache. He rubbed his fingers at his temples and blinked dust out of his eyes. “Augh. Urk. Ow. Nice gun. Where the hell am I?”

“Bless you,” the woman said. Well, then. A polite gun-toting dame.

She crouched down beside Harry and peered at him, a spiraling lock of hair falling over her shoulder. He noted, because he was a detective and all, that her hand stayed close to that gun. His face scrunched up as he looked at her, and he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. A flicker of dimples puckered the sides of her mouth as she smiled at him. She had cute dimples.

She… had cute everything, actually.

Down, boy. Focus. She had a gun. She had a magic gun. She had a magic gun and was probably Trouble with a capital T, because that just seemed like a girl-with-a-magic-gun sort of thing to be.

“Aw, thanks,” the woman said. She was still smiling but her eyes were watchful. “It’s real. And I hate to tell you, but you’re in Purgatory. How much were you drinking that you don’t know where you are? Or that you fall asleep in the road?”

Harry realized he was grinning like a great, big dope. She did have cute dimples. And he did like her gun. It was a nice gun. “Real,” he echoed, and giggled with a little snort. Don’t look at me like that, he thought deliriously. That was a manly giggle. A giggle of manliness. Manly amusement. The little chuckle she gave in response was simply an appreciation of the manliness of that giggle. “Yeah. I kinda gathered that,” he said. He giggled again, then grimaced and resisted the sudden, uncouth urge to spit. He didn’t resist it for very long. The inside of his mouth tasted like sweaty gym socks well overdue for a laundering.

Then a particular one of her words swam into his awareness, and he sat blinking as his still-sluggish brain tried to process the word purgatory. He stopped giggling. Thank God.

“Uh,” he said again, then wagged his head side to side to see if it would rattle. It didn’t. Wonders never ceased. “That… uh. Wouldn’t be literal purgatory, would it? Because I seem to be having that kind of day.” He shook his head again and wiped a hand over his face. Several days’ worth of stubble on his jaw prickled against his palm, and he lowered his hand to stare dumbly at it for a few seconds.

The woman began to laugh outright, and he glowered up at her. “Hey, it’s a legitimate question. You have no idea how legitimate in my line of work.”

“Literal purgatory?” The woman shook her head, still snickering under her breath. “It’s small and just about everyone here has the personality of rancid milk but…I wouldn’t go that far.”

He nodded sagely and the world swam. He resisted the urge to lie back down and take a very long nap. “Y’know,” he slurred. “’M startin’ to think I got roofied…”

She stopped laughing at that and stared at him, her expression suddenly serious. “Oh.” She regarded him a moment more, and he could almost see the wheels start to spin in her mind. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Uh…” Damn, he was just a regular master of words today. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand, its gruesome scarring still hidden beneath a black leather glove, and tried to remember where he was before he woke up here in Dustville, USA. He half expected a tumbleweed to saunter past while he tried to drag up the memory.

Remembering was a lot harder than he thought it probably should be, but he finally had a flicker of image: standing at his worktable in his basement, wrapped up warmly in his flannel bathrobe and consulting Bob about a local cryptid. “I was talking to a skull,” he told the woman. “I do that sometimes.”

“A skull?” She looked down at the him for a moment longer, nodding ever so slightly as she did so. The wind caught her hair and blew a few strands across her face; she brushed them back and tucked them behind one ear. “Sure. Why not? You and Hamlet. Talking to your skulls.”

Har har,” Harry said flatly. “Ha. Ha. Hamlet. Oh, my sides.”

Somehow, he managed to wrangle his long legs in such a way that he maneuvered them under himself, and stood, swaying precariously. He began brushing off his clothes, and in doing so, looked down at himself. He was wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans under his leather duster, his feet nested comfortably in his well-worn cowboy boots. No bathrobe in sight. He could feel the weight of his revolver in his coat pocket. “Apparently I changed clothes after.”

He caught sight of his staff and his battered old backpack lying on the ground nearby and bent down to collect them, nearly faceplanting again but managing, miraculously, to steady himself at the last minute. He was nothing if not graceful. Straightening up to his full height until he towered a good foot over the woman, he turned back to her and looked her over, his eyes coming to rest on that gun. She seemed relaxed, even a bit amused as she watched his every move, but she had been keeping her hand near the butt of that revolver the whole time, and he had a feeling she had a hell of a fast draw. He just hoped she didn’t randomly decide he looked like good target practice. People sometimes did that to him. It has an unfortunate side effect of ruining his day.

“So,” Harry said, finally leveling his eyes back to her face– not quite to her eyes, though. Something told him that a soulgaze with this gun-toting dame could make his headache turn into Armageddon in his skull. “Almost afraid to ask. But… what day is it?”

“Not to add to that fear, but it’s September twenty-second. First day of fall. Terrifying, I know.”

“Wait, what?” He boggled at her for a few seconds, jaw agape. “September? Fucking September?” He could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. He probably looked even kookier than usual right then. “Fucking hell! Hell’s fucking bells!” He paused a beat. “Uh. Pardon my Francois.” He probably butchered the accent.

Her lips pulled up into a smirk. “Not the worst thing I’ve heard. Not even the worst thing that I’ve said.”

He barely heard her. It had been June. He was absolutely certain of it. He had lost three months. Three. Friggin’. Months.

Taking a half-step back, arms folded across her chest, she watched him from beneath a raised eyebrow as he attempted to make sense of his predicament. “Not a fan of September?” she deadpanned.

“Not when summer was heating things up in Chicago last I remember,” he said. “It was June. Jesus. Missing time. Can’t say I’m a fan. How the hell did I get out here?”

“June.” She gave him an inscrutable look, her tone deadpan. One slender shoulder lifted in a brief shrug. “Beats me. You were lying in the middle of the road.” She half-turned while extending one arm to point to the blue-and-white striped pickup truck that was apparently hers. “I’d thought you were dead, actually.“

“Well, unfortunately for some, I ain’t dead yet. Hell, I think my ghost’d probably be making trouble even after I’m in the ground.”

She something that sounded like, “Please don’t,” and he couldn’t help but smile a little, despite his bewilderment. He could commiserate.

It also made him wonder what sorts of things this woman with a magic gun had dealt with in order to make that kind of remark.

Sighing, he looked around himself, grumbling under his breath while trying again unsuccessfully to get his bearings. Then his eyes, of their own accord, traveled back and did another gratuitous sweep of the woman’s figure, and he definitely didn’t notice how svelte and shapely that figure was. It was purely professional observation. Of a highly appreciative nature.

Trouble, Harry. Capital T.

He frowned deeply for a minute, thoughts finally picking up speed to whirl around dizzily inside his head. Missing time. Memory tampering. Dumped in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, equipped with staff and spell-shielded coat, and– yep, there was his blasting rod, hanging from its loop on the inside of his coat, and there was the smooth, cool metal of his revolver in the coat’s voluminous right pocket, tucked in with a box of ammunition.

All like he had been preparing for battle.

Something nagged at his brain. The M.O. sounded familiar. Way too familiar.

He stewed on that for a minute, leaning slightly on his staff, then shrugged. Hell, for all he knew, Trouble over here was responsible. She did just happen to be hovering over him when he woke from my blissful stupor, after all. Complete with magical gun.

He didn’t believe in coincidence. Especially not one as big as that.

He gave a little pause, then said, “Thanks, er…?” He trailed off, hoping she would supply him with something to call her in his head other than the smoking, gun-toting dame, also known as Trouble.

“Wynonna. Wynonna Earp.”

“Earp?” he echoed. “As in…”

His words elicited a heavy sigh from her, and she rolled her eyes. “As in Wyatt Earp Earp. That’d be the one.”

One corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as Wynonna Earp– what a name– heaved a sigh. She probably heard no end of it, name like that. He offered her a hand, stealthily extending his senses as he did so.

“Harry,” he replied, careful to keep the cadence and resonance of the name neutral. Names are hard currency in the magical world. Wrong being gets hold of your Name, the full and true version of it, and they can wield all sorts of power over you. You don’t give it out willy-nilly to anything smelling of magic, especially in circumstances like this, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Harry,” she echoed again, looking at him under raised eyebrows. He nodded. He guessed she was expecting him to give his full name, but that wasn’t going to happen until he could figure out what the hell was going on here and who this random woman who just happened to find him at the right time and the right place really was.

“So, uh, Wynonna,” he ventured as he held his hand extended. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest pay phone would be, would you?” He needed to call some people. They were probably scouring Lake Michigan or something for his body by now. Murphy was going to freaking kill him.

Finally, she accepted the offered hand and shook it, and as he closed his fingers around hers, a faint tingle rushed through his palm, shivering up through his wrist and into his arm. Magic. Faint, but indisputably present. Probably not even enough to fuzz up electronics. Lucky girl.

“Not too many of those still working here,” she said. “But there’s one at the cop shop.” Her hand slipped from his, and that wry smile quirked at her lips again.

Harry was glad she hadn’t offered him a cell phone when he had mentioned needing to make a call. He would have hated to accidentally fry it, her being so nice and all.

“Cop shop,” he said, and nodded. “Gotcha. You’re so helpful with your words.” He looked around, gesturing at the endlessly rolling fields and the empty stretch of road currently dominated only by Earp’s big blue and white pickup, Earp herself, and a lost, perplexed, and increasingly annoyed wizard. Overhead, clouds were starting to gather, shadows sweeping across the ground like an incoming tide. A big raindrop plopped on his nose, and he was pretty sure he went cross-eyed for a second as he reflexively tried to look at it. Great. “And the cop shop would be…? Where, exactly?”

Wynonna tilted her head, a momentary look of disbelief on her features. For a minute, she looked ready to bite his head off, literally. “Cop shop,” she repeated, her tone acidic. “The sheriff’s office. Which is in town. Where most people have their law enforcement offices. ”

Anything more that she could have said was cut short when fat rain drops started to hit the ground. More rain fell, picking up the pace a little bit and threatening an incoming deluge, and Wynonna turned her back on him, tossing a few last words over her shoulder as she stalked towards her truck. “Would you like a ride or would you prefer to walk, Hamlet?”

He felt a little pang of guilt twist in his chest as he watched her spin on her heel and march back to her truck, obviously affronted by his oh-so-charming demeanor. Damn it, Harry, he thought. It’s not her fault you got in over your head again and wound up stranded on the side of the road somewhere with your head screwed around with and three months blanked out.

It probably wasn’t, anyway. Jury was still out on that. But he could at least act like a civil human being until he was in a place to pass that particular judgement. Give at least that much benefit of the doubt.

He paced to the truck, managing by now to walk in something resembling a straight line, tossed his staff in the cargo bed, then opened the door to the passenger side of the cab and climbed inside. Silence stretched for a beat or two before he said, “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just a bit… discombobulated right now.” He managed a little smile, glancing up at her. “Hey, thanks for the ride. And, you know, for stopping in the first place. I owe you one.”

She glanced back as his staff clattered into the bed of the truck and turned just a little to watch him come into the cab. About three seconds after that a peal of thunder crashed overhead and the heavens let loose. Wynonna sat for a moment, one hand poised on the steering wheel and her attention on him.  Finally, she laughed, shaking her head.

“That wasn’t even close to what I would consider head biting.”

Well,  that sounded suspiciously like an innuendo. Harry’s eyebrows climbed again. He had a feeling they’d be doing that a lot around her. “Sounds like you’re a bit of an expert,” he quipped. Let the innuendos flow.

Her lips twitched up into a small smile. She sat up a little straighter and kept her eyes on the road when the rainfall became more intense. He glanced up as its patter rose in volume, rattling against the roof of the cab. Guess they got in the truck just in time.

“I know what I’m good at,” she said. “And the stopping just made sense. I didn’t feel like cleaning guts off my truck.”

Harry quirked his mouth into a sardonic grin. He concurred. He didn’t feel like her cleaning his guts off her truck either.

“Can’t argue with that.” The truck rumbled as she revved its engine, and the rain fell in sheets around them, starting to pool on the pavement and in the grass. He hoped they got where we were going before it started flooding or something.

He unzipped his  pack and sorted through its contents, unsurprised to find once again he had come armed for bear. Magical bear. The pack contained all your basic thaumaturgical and ritual supplies– candles, matches, his old army-surplus knife, a compass– and a number of seemingly innocuous items that he had found to be very useful for distance magic in the past.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Sighing, he craned his neck to look at the bed of the truck, where his staff was resting in a rapidly rising pool of water. “Damn,” he said to Wynonna. “My staff is getting soaked.”

“Staff?” She looked at him like she was trying to decide if he thought he was Gandalf or something. “I thought that was a ridiculously ornate walking stick.”

Wynonna had missed a golden innuendo opportunity with his carefully worded staff quip. I mean, come on. I left myself wide open. He smirked at her and shrugged. “It is a ridiculously ornate walking stick. Slash traditional Ozark folk art, slash… uh, security blanket.” He stretched his long legs as much as he could in the limited space. It wasn’t that her truck was small, it was that he was built like an NBA player. “Never leave home without it.” At least not when he thought he was going to come up against something big, bad, and potentially interested in turning him inside out for funsies.

“Security blanket. Right. Makes sense.” Her voice once again dripped with sarcasm, but he saw her brush her fingers lightly against the grip of the revolver. Her voice softened a fraction. “It’s pretty.”

He eyed her, and then found himself smiling at her, an actual, genuine smile without the slightest trace of irony, for the first time since waking up in the middle of the road that day. “Thanks.”

Harry settled back in his seat and looked out the window. He was feeling a bit less hazy now, but still every bit as confused. He watched the fields drift past, obscured by a nearly opaque veil of falling rain. Something kept nagging at him. He felt like he should know exactly why he was here. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could not call up the memory.

Missing time. Mind tampering. Elaborate games. Layers of manipulation. Players arranged like pieces on a chessboard (was Wynonna a chess piece too? Instinct told him she was, but at whose behest?). What creatures on his own personal rogues gallery had all of these things on their villain bingo cards? Vampires definitely had their fingers in the mind tampering, manipulation, and game playing pots. All the Courts. But he didn’t feel any lingering effects of Red Court venom, he was too mentally present to have been tampered with by the Black Court, and he didn’t feel any particular need to mindlessly worship anyone in the White Court and do their bidding.

There were some warlocks who could also pull off that kind of mental mojo, locking memories away, twisting perception, building subtle and not-so-subtle compulsions. But that sort of magic leaves a mark, a scar on the psyche that he was sure he would be able to feel. Whatever had been done to him was subtle, expert, surgical.

Something one of the Sidhe might have been able to do. In fact, if he went down the list of his circumstances and what they hinted at, it sure as hell seemed like faerie M.O. to him.

“Hell’s bells,” he growled under his breath. “God-damned fucking faeries.” The question was, which faerie?

He really needed to learn how to keep his thoughts inside his head.

Wynonna’s eyes snapped to him and stared. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

He cast a desperate look up at the ceiling of the cab and hoped he could explain his way out of this one without getting unceremoniously dumped off on the side of the road as a lunatic in the middle of a freaking deluge.

“Uh–” he started, but then there was a resonating bang that had him reaching for his blasting rod, and they were swerving wildly and hydroplaning and probably going to die horribly, because how else would his luck go today?

“Shit!” The curse slipped from Wynonna’s lips as she worked to regain control of the truck. It continued to fishtail for what felt like an eternity before she was finally able to guide it to the shoulder of the road. For a long moment she simply sat still.

Harry realized he was both holding his breath and clenching the dashboard in a death grip with his good hand. Slowly, he pried his fingers loose.

After belatedly realizing the truck was still running, Wynonna snatched the key out of the ignition and turned to him. “You okay?”

He withdrew the blasting rod from his coat and hefted it in his right hand, because every instinct he had was screaming “Danger, Will Robinson!” inside his head. He cast a glance towards Wynonna at her question and flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring grin. It probably looked more like a grimace. “Peachy. You?”

“I’d be better with some whisky and a dry shirt, but other than that I’m great!”

Rain continued to pour buckets on them, sluicing in opaque waves down the windows, and he felt his hair standing on end as a rising sense of the two of them being a couple of ducks sitting around waiting for their date with destiny seemed to permeate the air inside the truck. That sense spiked into an all-out crescendo when there was another reverberating crack, and the back window exploded.

“Shit!” He ducked– hey look, a pun— and at the same time reached over to drag Wynonna down beside him, shielding her with his body as best he could in the limited space. Twisting so he could maneuver his arms, he slid his right hand into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a wizard’s best friend: his Smith & Wesson Model 29. Setting aside the blasting rod for a minute, he checked to see if the revolver was loaded with the .44 Magnum rounds he always used. It was.

He’d called it, all right. Prepared for battle.

“Starting to think this wasn’t a tire blow-out,” Wynonna muttered. “Dicks.” He felt her twist around beneath him, and a moment later, she held her own revolver in her hand. She looked at Harry and did a double-take at the gun he was holding.

What? He couldn’t carry around an unlicensed firearm?

”Are they shooting at you or me?” she snapped.

“How the hell should I know?” he growled back. “I just woke up, goddammit!”

Another bullet slammed into the truck, and his lips curled into a snarl as he tried to keep both Wynonna and himself out of the range of fire.

This just kept getting better and better.

[cimness]

Dipping an oar in familiar fandom waters...

Last weekend we watched, or I should say, got around to watching, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, a BBC America show from last year which we were reluctant to check out at first under the mistaken impression that it would be another US copy of a UK property in the vein of Coupling, Skins, Being Human, etc. But after it came out we saw from other people's reactions that actually everyone seemed to love it, and when we finally did watch it we loved it too, so I've been poking around for things to reblog on and off for a week now.

It feels funny in several ways to be fannish about a show with Elijah Wood in it again...

Nostalgic. Fellowship of the Ring came out in 2001! @waxjism and I MET because of Elijah Wood, really, when she sought me out because of a Frodo/Sam and then a Sean/Elijah fic. The whole time we were long-distance dating, she was talking about The Faculty and something about Elijah Wood being chained in Chester Bennington's basement, for some reason (I'm not sure I ever really understood that one, though, to be fair). And it's been a long time! Neither of us has been actually interested in either of those fandoms since before 2005, a few rereads and recs and the like notwithstanding.

SURREAL. The inescapable association of Elijah Wood + fandom... the tangential connection to the dangerous con artist and noted fandom cult leader formerly known as Victoria Bitter, who, as chronicled in the well-known fandom memoir When a Fan Hits the Shit, later briefly posed online as Elijah Wood for... some unknown reason... (I think for a brief time before he told people that he was channeling the 'soul' of the real Elijah Wood even though Elijah Wood was still alive and therefore physically growing a cock?)... and for some reason @waxjism and I, old acquaintances who were close to one of his primary online friend/dupes, were chosen to be guinea pigs for this pose and for like... a week?? we thought he possibly actually was Elijah Wood with a side dose of what the hell is going on, and during this time he... for some reason... sent me a care package of cough drops because I had a cold, I guess to prove realness?? He also like ordered pizzas delivered to the residences of some of the other people he was long-distance trying to Be Elijah Wood on, if I'm remembering right? Anyway... wow... that was an insane time! Like, our dangerous??? but also laughably minor??? brush with fandom history.

Embarrassed: because of having believed him, or maybe like 80% believed him for a while there. But as @waxjism  succinctly put it, "Then again, he is a con artist. But AUGH." Also embarrassed because if I think about my previous fannish engagement hard enough, I'll remember how I wrote when I was 19 years old, which is also kind of embarrassing from the perspective of my current taste (though, like, I stand by it as perfectly ok for 19-year-old me). Like, for example, when my dad asked my permission to give his best friend, who is gay, the link to my LOTR fanfic, and I said sure, and then his best friend attempted to delicately and tactfully make sure that I knew that "that's not really how gay sex works" after reading one of my Legolas/Gimli fics, and I had to be like "YES YES LUBE WE KNOW NO TMI PLEASE".

Damn, I feel old. Because a lot of time has passed and people like Elijah Wood that are the age of me are now firmly grown ups. Just like I am.

Anyway, back to Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency... I highly recommend the show, which is delightful and probably a bit more Adamsishly madcap than the previous British series that starred Stephen Mangan (which I also loved however). The plotting particularly is A+, not because the other aspects of the show like dialogue and casting are not as outstanding - they are, actually; the main cast is half female and there's an okay distribution of racial and gender diversity, the dialogue is fun and clever, the special effects are not to be sneezed at, there are cute animals etc - but because the plotting is the aspect of a derivative work based on Douglas Adams that would be the most challenging to manage (just as it is for Terry Pratchett or PG Wodehouse fanfic, where that is the most common tough point, evidently, for would-be fanfic writers), and yet they manage it beautifully. It's not at all derivative or unnecessarily repetitive of canon Douglas works, while dazzlingly recreating the feel and scope and all that good stuff.

They've already filmed the second series, too, and they just released a trailer for it a little while ago, so it's probably going to air soonish. Which makes this a good time to try it out.

this post on dreamwidth

[garden-ghoul]

Aubrey is married to every single member of the Six, and also Samot. Let’s boogie.

Notes: This is some kind of used-the-right-fucking-knife AU I guess? Doesn’t matter, the point is Samothes is still alive but Aubrey also lives with Samot.

“Aubrey!” Samot’s voice comes floating in from somewhere in the main house. “You should come inside, we have to get ready.”

Aubrey is halfway up the side of her enormous printing press, which is presently gutted, trying to reach a bolt she’s tightening while maintaining her footing. “Just a second!” she calls. “I’ve got to—augh!” She catches herself on one of the bars that’s almost too far to reach and stands there, leaning precariously sideways. She tries to prevent her tail from switching in frustration, because it’s going to unbalance her, but it’s difficult to concentrate on how to get out of this while she’s working so hard to keep still.

She hears footsteps coming into the workshop, and sags in relief. Unfortunately, this means she falls. She hits her elbow on a jutting corner and braces for impact, but it’s Samot’s arms she lands in. When she cracks an eye open he’s straightening up—she can tell because the floor is much further away than normal—saying, “You really should be more careful. And honestly, what is that thing? I know you’re no mechanic…”

“It’s a surprise,” says Aubrey. “You’ll like it.” She hopes he’ll like it, the amount of time she’s spent nursing bruises and scrubbing machine oil off her scales.

“I like almost everything you make. I just think that maybe you could use a stepladder.” He still hasn’t put her down, and is instead carrying her into the house. Held against his chest, she can’t help but think of Sige.

 --

 (She never had to worry about getting Sige greasy, or what it meant when he held her. Well, maybe that last one wasn’t quite true. She used to think all he felt for her was protectiveness. She remembers the day when she figured it out. She was curled into his chest around the notes they’d stolen, securely held by a hand as big as her torso. She could feel it when Sige turned suddenly and swung; she could feel through his bones the wet crunch when his fist connected; she could smell blood.

On top of singed flesh. Sige had already taken a few nasty wounds from the Fontmen’s canes, and she could tell he was slowing down. She peeked just in time to see all the hair burned off the arm that was holding her. Sige growled in pain and fell back. Aubrey was beginning to think they were going to lose, which was honestly unacceptable. She spent a tense thirty seconds fumbling with her vials, trying to find the right one, and wasn’t quick enough to stop the Fontman from putting a hole in Sige’s side. But she was quick enough to save him from death, that was something.

They ran while the Fontman lay choking on the ground, because Sige didn’t want to risk kicking him. Ten minutes later found Sige slumped against the wall in one of the safehouses no-one knew about, panting. His breath hitched every so often in pain, and he still hadn’t let go of her. At the time she thought he had forgotten, and carefully extricated herself, trying not to step on any of his wounds. His hand seemed to cling to her until it fell back onto his chest. “The notes didn’t get damaged,” she said, quavering. She cleared her throat as she checked the labels of her vials, and tried for a steadier voice. “You’re hurt.”

“But you’re not,” he muttered. His eyes were still closed, and she could tell he was keeping his breathing even only through force of will.

“You’re right, I’m not, so stop worrying about me! That’s what almost got you killed in the first place. Oh, look at this, this is awful.” She started applying ointment to the wound in his side, a burn that was already blistering.

He was silent for a while except for small noises of pain, and then suddenly he said, “I’ll never be sorry I protected you.”

Aubrey’s face flushed, and she glanced up at him from under her brows. He looked kind of sleepy, and his face was still tight with pain, but he was smiling softly at her. He lifted a hand to cradle her head, folding her ears forward a little. One of them flicked automatically as he disturbed the hairs inside, and her face burned even hotter. That was when she realized.)

 --

 “What are you working on?” she asks Samot, thinking that maybe being carried will be a little less awkward if she makes conversation. “I’ve hardly seen you these past few weeks.”

He lets out a little breath of a laugh. “That’s as much your fault as mine. Whenever I go looking for you you’re inside that thing’s guts, or in the stillery.”

“It’ll be ready soon,” she says. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Deep magic,” he says. “I hardly have time for anything else these days. I’m worried…” he sighs, and she knows that it’s the Heat and the Dark on his mind again.

To distract him, she says, “I can walk on my own, you know.” It’s a peculiar mixture of pleasant and humiliating to be carried. She knew where she stood with Sige, at least. On his shoulders, normally. Well, Samot stops and sets her down with probably unnecessary gentleness, and she has to walk a little too fast to keep up with him. “Remind me why I need to go to this party with you?”

“You don’t need to. I gave you the opportunity to say no. But it would be rude to change your mind now, since you’re already on the guest list.” He glances down at her, and there’s something particular in his smile. “It won’t be so terrible, will it?”

His smile reminds her of someone, too.

 --

 (It’s the smile Ethan used to give her sometimes. That’s one of the ways she could tell him from his brother: Ethan gave her that smile, but when she smiled at Edmund he just blushed. He never seemed to figure out that he was so easy to read, but nobody else seemed to notice either. Then again, the rest of the Six probably thought Captain Hitchcock was just kind of an inconsistent person.

Today Aubrey was copying her notes (though it pained her to write neatly, literally, her wrist was killing her), leaning against Frank’s warm side. In the next room Sige was probably having tea, and the atmosphere was so nice it was easy to forget they were three stories underground. Hitchcock came in, sheened with sweat, and she computed the probabilities: tonight was a dueling class, so it was Ethan, unless Edmund had been running away from something. To test her theory she gave him a wide-eyed smile, and he grinned back. “What are you up to, Aubrey?” he said, and came to peer over her shoulder. “Nice to see a friendly face after class. Today’s youth are hell.” Frank gave a soft snort and looked toward the other room, disinterested, and three data points made a convincing argument.

“It’s nice to see you too, Ethan,” she said, though she couldn’t at the moment. He was kneeling behind her too look at her notebook, so she held it up for him. “It’s probably not very interesting to you, though.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” said Ethan. She could hear he was still smiling. “But I’m glad you do.” He leaned closer to look at her notes, so his shoulder brushed hers, and pretended to try to decipher the formulas she’d written out for far longer than he needed to.

Compare to his brother:

The day before, Aubrey had found him practicing dueling forms in the studio as she went out, and nearly called him Ethan. But when she waved at him as she passed he stumbled over his feet trying to bow. She put a hand over her mouth to conceal the fact that she was almost laughing, and said, “Your form is so good I thought you were Ethan.”

Edmund turned faintly pink and smiled back. “Well, well, thank you, I suppose that’s quite a compliment. We did both serve in the military, though.”

“I sort of assumed you had an arrangement where Ethan did all the swordwork,” said Aubrey, climbing up onto a stool.

Edmund began to look more affronted than flustered, which had been the goal. “We did not. I’ll have you know I’m the one who defeated Thackeray. Almost certainly.”

“Almost certainly?”

“You know how it is,” Edmund mumbled. “Sometimes when you hear a story enough times you start to think you were there.”

“Well, do you mind if I watch you practice?” Aubrey asked. “I’ll be quiet.”

Edmund brought his blade up in front of his face and bowed to her, and then started practicing again. He didn’t do so well this time, since he kept glancing over at her.)

 --

 “I’ve left your clothes on your bed. We’re supposed to be leaving in half an hour, but it shouldn’t take you that long.” He raises a hand and walks toward his own room, leaving Aubrey to go inside and look at what he left. It’s at least simple, although only after she puts it on does she identify the moss-green item as a tailcoat. It actually, she thinks, looking in the mirror, makes her look almost dashing. She twirls a little, and the tails fan out behind her. Now she just needs to figure out whether to wear the pale yellow skirt with it, or the dark trousers. She does the skirt first, on the grounds that it’s the easiest to take off, and twirls a little more. She does like to twirl, and she certainly likes the look of skirts. But when she tries on the trousers she can’t bring herself to take them off. She looks a bit like some intimidating secret agent, she thinks, like a Fontman.

When she emerges Samot is sitting in the hall, pinning his hair back with the aid of a system of mirrors she rigged up for him a while ago. He looks up and gives her that smile again, says, “You look good.” He leans forward as she comes closer to fix her collar. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but he likes things to be just so. That would be why he looks so good, sharp and soft and perfect, as beautiful as only a god can be. She stands still under his hands, looking embarrassedly in the mirrors at the gold ornaments on back of his head. It feels familiar.

 --

 (Castille did just the same thing once. That day Aubrey was sitting in her apartment, watching her try on clothes for the new season. Castille was so stylish, and really just, very very pretty, and Aubrey loved to look at her. Castille spun around, making her blue dress flare out around her. She looked toward Aubrey, laughing, and it was all Aubrey good do to keep her voice steady—to say nothing of keeping the starstruck expression off her face. “It’s really good,” she said faintly.

“You say that about all of them!”

“You look good in everything! When you, you know, when you put on something that doesn’t look good I promise I’ll let you know.”

“You’re too sweet.” Castille smiled warmly at her, and her heart thudded twice. “For now I think I’ll go with winter colors. Maybe a dark hat this season…”

Aubrey watched her swish around the room for the hats she’d left lying everywhere, listened to her bare feet clacking on the tiles. She was almost too glamorous to be a criminal, but then, probably no-one wanted a pala-din at their society balls.

Castille bent down in front of Aubrey to peer at her face. “I can see you don’t have an opinion on the hat either. That’s all right. Buuut… I think you should dress up too!”

“I, I doubt you have anything in my size,” Aubrey stammered.

“As it happens, I do.” Castille whooshed over to open her wardrobe and emerged with a pile of folded clothing, which Aubrey saw on closer inspection was cobbin-sized. “I stole all of these from the Office of Lost Materials. Try them on! I promise, I only picked cute ones.”

Obligingly Castille turned around and started looking at some small detail of a patterned jacket, so Aubrey retreated behind a screen and put on the easiest thing she could find, a yellow sundress of some light, floaty material. Thinking of Castille, she put on the broad-brimmed hat with ear holes, and came out. She’d never worn a skirt before that day, and her ears were pushed back in embarrassment, but Castille took one look at her and clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, you look just as cute as I thought you would! Twirl for me?” Feeling  a little silly, Aubrey did, but her reward was Castille’s beaming smile, so it was all right. “What do you think of the skirt?”

“Um… it’s a little… breezy?”

“Oh, right, not really your style. I also got a really smart waistcoat. Oh! And I think I got a cravat too. You should do those! I probably put in a pair of black slacks. Don’t know why a cobbin had those made, to be honest. Go on, go on!”

Aubrey felt a lot better wearing trousers again, and when she came back out she felt practically confident. Castille’s face lit up. “Oh, I think that’s even more you. One of your lapels is stuck though, let me fix it.” She gently tugged some part of the shirt out of some part of the vest, and smoothed it down. Smiled at Aubrey for a moment, and then continued fussing with it. Her fingers lingered on Aubrey’s shoulders; the knuckle of her thumb skimmed Aubrey’s cheek, brushed her whiskers.

The clothes had made Aubrey feel rather dashing, and bold indeed. She put her hand on Castille’s, keeping it on her face. Something seemed to light up in Castille’s blank white eyes, and she smiled, leaning forward. Neither of them really knew the mechanics of kissing, but they had a go at it anyway. Castille’s lips were hard but not cold, with the sun streaming into her apartment, and she went so gently that they almost seemed soft. Dazed, Aubrey sat down hard on the floor.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” she said.

Castille, backlit, was radiant. “We can try again, if you want. We might get better at it.”)

 --

 “Aubrey, are you all right?”

Aubrey’s eyes briefly land on his face before she looks hurriedly away again. She’s not sure, really, how to ask if he’s flirting. It seems awfully presumptuous to think a god has any interest in her, and although she’s never seen him like this with anyone else maybe that’s just what it looks like when he’s friends with someone!

“Fine,” she says, after way too long. She’s blushing, and irritated with herself for it. “I just maybe… sort of wondered… why you’d want to take me to a party like this.” He doesn’t answer for a moment, so she panics and tries to fill the silence. “Since, you know, you could get absolutely anyone to go with you! Everyone likes you! Not to say that no-one likes me, but, you know, I’m not exactly the god of knowledge and wine and being beautiful.”

When she glances at his face again it’s a strange mixture of confused, bemused, and reassuring. “As if none of those is your domain?” he asks, totally failing to address any of what she said. Irresponsible. “Do you think I asked you because I pity you?” She shakes her head, hesitant. “Do you think I wouldn’t want to show off the most brilliant friend I have? Looking dashing in tails?” He grins for a moment, and then gets his face under control again. “At a party where my husband will be, almost certainly taking his aunt as a date?”

A little incredulous laugh escapes Aubrey, and she claps her hands over her mouth. She gaps her fingers slightly to mumble, “Are you saying you wanted me to make Samothes jealous?”

For the first time he looks away. He’s frowning slightly. “It was terribly rude of me not to ask,” he says at last. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have… perhaps galas aren’t what you would choose.”

“If we’re going on a date I’d much prefer something simple,” says Aubrey. A moment later she realizes what she said and tightens her fingers again over her mouth, trying to get around Samot to burrow into the wall.

“Next time we will do something simple,” he says, catching her gently by the shoulders. “You can choose.”

She can’t look at him, but she manages to headbutt him in the chest, which is her compromise. “Me and my big mouth,” she says into his coat.

“Don’t be too hard on your mouth,” he says. “It got you a second date with the god of wine and books and being beautiful. And the first one hasn’t even started.”

 --

 (In the end it isn’t clear if Samothes is jealous or not, but Aubrey is so nervous she drinks three glasses of wine and kisses Samot, which, no matter how mortifying, makes the evening not a total loss.)

[cutegirlmayra]

Soulmate au is when the 2 characters are meant to be in a more magical way? like, maybe they were born with a mark that helps them find their other half or destiny wants them together, you know what I mean? is like... like the red string of fate! their souls are bonded together. I am not the same anon that ask about the soulmate au, just want to let you know what it was :P

Thank you my friend!

I did some research and found out more about Soulmate Aus! :D

I’ve decided to combined ‘Hearing your name from the Soulmate’ and ‘Having trouble being away from soulmate and having to come back because of longing struggles’. I hope that works xD

(x)

Prompt:

Amy heard the crowd cheer out his name.

Her eyes flicked, something about it felt right, but she wasn’t sure why.

Looking around the crowd, she peeked her head out to see a bunch of rescued flickies being released from a contraption of sorts… a blue boy bouncing on a yellow button to free them.

He posed, hands on his hips with the back of his wrists. His head held high, cocky and confident.

He folded his arms as he smirked for the photos.

She couldn’t help but stare…

She wondered if this was love at first sight.

—

Later, after some tarot card reading, she took off for Palm Tree Panic. Before this, this was a quiet girl, expected to marry and just be a stay-at-home kinda wife. You know, with that dainty kinda life.

But the second she drew forth his name in her throat, the second the syllables formed, she knew.

“Sonic!”

She felt her heart race and something rise from her feet, forcing her to skid with her heels to stop herself.

It was like a truck flew upward and sped out of the ground and up through her body; bringing the sensation with it as it hit hard and swiftly. Completely knocking her clueless as a bubbly sensation of fizzing wonder floated up her stomach and stopped her breath.

What on earth was this?

The boy turned around, his face frozen.

Had he felt it too?

She walked a little closer, though the name rang through her mind and her body was lit up with a warmth again, a pure and underlying longing came to her to be closer and say his name again.

“…Sonic?”

This time, she watched him jitter from his knees up to his nose, having the vibration carry as slapped his two hands to his nose, and blinked, in shock.

His quills bristled, much like her own, and she thought for a second…

Her soulmate?

“Son-”

“Stop!!!”

She plugged her mouth with both hands, about to step forward but became to afraid too.

She desperately wanted to finish speaking his wonderful name, to hear that glorious ring and feel that amazing rush!

But the boy looked afraid…

“I’m sorry…” she softly spoke, but didn’t let this awkwardness continue.

She bounced up and happily did a small sway of her body, having her arms follow the gesture before her hands covered her face in shy fists again.

She blushed, and pulled them down again.

“I’m Amy.” she stated. “Amy Rose.”

She repeated this, just to be certain…

If him saying her name caused the same sensation then.

“…A…EM.” he cut himself off, looking down.

He was clearly uncomfortable, as he slowly moved a leg back, shaking as his whole body wanted to try and say her name too.

He tried to get away, walking like an uncomfortable march, as if something was between his legs, giving him a wedgie. This uncomfortable walk was because his legs had almost gone completely limp, and his heart was pounding while some strange sensation of fire and water boiled within him uncontrollably.

It was confusing and scary.

“Wait!” Amy called, holding a hand out and looping an arm around his arm, nuzzling up to it as she once again swayed herself closer, making him lean his head back.

He sweated as she batted her eyes.

“Uhhh…”

“Did you feel that too?” she inquired, before giggling and looking like a smarty-pants, but trying to be alluring.

She tilted her head down and continued her flirtation, or what she could pass off as flirting…

“If you felt that by me saying your name… then you must feel the same when you say mine!” she cheerfully stated, squeeing a moment as she released his arm and shook back and forth, her face covered again, acting coy.

“Eee! How embarrassing!”

“U-…Um…” Sonic kept sweating profusely, feeling suddenly too hot and faint, he kept trying to inch away… moving backwards as he did so, trying to not startle the strange girl that sent an odd feeling through him. “E-embarrassing?” He spoke through gritted teeth in a fake smile, his eyes slightly showing how crazy he thought this all was.

“Well, yes!” Amy kicked a leg up and swung it behind her, placing her two hands clutched tightly together and up by her side as she closed her eyes.

Her head looked up to the sky, as she sighed- “Because if it is so, then we’re soulmates! And you’ll never want to be apart from me-!”

A sudden gust of wind, and she blinked her eyes open, looking ahead.

“AH!” she gasped, offended as her arms swished down through the air and shook by her sides, seeing him take off without her…

“Ohhh…! The nerve! I’ll have to teach you some manners! Come back here!” she stomped her foot down, the wind kicking up, as she suddenly took a deep breath.

“SOOONNNIIICCC!!!!”

This time, the sensation changed.

She giggled, suddenly feeling like she was being tickled, and then, a massage that completely relaxed her… her eyes looking to enjoy the feeling, her feet digging into the ground as if someone had scratched behind her ears. She blushed before an electrical circuit of sorts traveled up her spine and exited through each individual quill, making her let out a cry of delight before shaking her quills back in place from being elated upwards.

“It HAS to be my soulmate!” she chimed, overjoyed! “My hero~” she swooned, instantly in love with the idea!

She suddenly dropped her arms and looked shocked again, “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed.

“Now we’ll have to get married!” she threw her arms up, jumping in her glee, “Yeee~ I’m gonna be Sonic’s wife!” the same tingling, but on a lighter level now, still noticeable though.

“You are not!”

She suddenly blinked her eyes open from her dreamy state, and looked over across the way.

The boy was trembling, his eye twitching, as he was clearly feeling the effects from her call.

She had no idea if the sensation was doubled because it was his name or not, but she enjoyed the feeling it gave her.

She smiled, happily, before putting an innocent finger to her mouth and ducking her head down.

—

Playing innocent, eh?

Sonic growled in his mind’s thoughts, ticked off he was triggered so easily.

What was this!? A soulmate!?

PAH!

Like he, Sonic The freakin’ Hedgehog, would have any need of any woman-partner!

Bleh.

He felt the sensations finally leave.

Good.

Though they died down slowly…

Ugh.

The feeling lingered a bit but he ignored it, or at least tried to as he folded his arms and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid mythologies!”

“Myth… Mythologies!? Ah!” she looked deeply offended, and her open mouth expression made him snicker.

Oh good.

He could have fun messing with this one…~

He thought that with deliberate glee, motioning his fingers in a wave on his arm, smirking down at her, a devil’s look of wicked pleasure in his eye.

A soulmate?

More like a nuisance! He couldn’t have ‘soulmate’ on an adventure! Please! She’ll break a claw.

He teased and mocked her, leaning up from his first expression to lower his eyelids, sizing her up and unfolding his arms to place them judgingly on his hips.

She’s not even all that.

He dropped his smile.

If she WAS his soulmate, wouldn’t she be more than pretty?

His face suddenly dropped, looking up and off into the distance.

Did he just think that?

Pretty?

He shook his head.

Nah, man! It’s gotta be the sensations! Ah-! N-not like he believed that stuff was real though, anyways!!! And even if it was-

He spat at the ground, lifting a leg up exaggeratedly to do so.

He would fight it till the day he died! Just in spite of it all!

“Do yourself a favor, Pinky.” he didn’t dare call her by her name. “Eggman’s afoot, and I wouldn’t want ya gettin’ hurt. Just run along home and forget about me, alright? Thanks for being a fan though, see ya!” he leaned forward, using the hand motion to ‘shoo’ her away as he flapped it back and forth a moment, looking like he didn’t care as he saluted a ‘cool-dudes’ goodbye and was about to take off.

His leg was positioned right.

His hands were curled and ready to reel forward.

He could almost feel the awkward moment dissipating behind him before-

“But..! Ohh.. I don’t have a home.” She ducked her head down, her sudden soft eyes revealing a helplessness Sonic’s eyes couldn’t ignore.

His eyes had shifted back, just by hearing the shift in tone.

He glared forward, sweating..

‘Don’t let her get to you, Sonic…’

He frowned, though his kind heart was starting to show…

He tried to bury it deep, telling himself it wasn’t safe for her anyway, but then again…

Why did he care?

“Augh.” he threw his arms up, relaxing and leaning forward in a hunch, before turning back to her.

She wasn’t trying to be annoying… she was just looking for her hero.

He pouted, looking up again and away from her.

“You really don’t have anyone? Not one single person who gives a care about you at all?”

The harshness wasn’t meant to be so… well… apparent.

But the poor girl seemed to shrink away, her fingers starting to roll over each other in nerves, and a look of pity suddenly came over her.

“I… I guess not.” She felt rejected, and by her soulmate?

Harsh…

Wait, what!?

Sonic shook his head.

Don’t start that again!

“Ahh, come on! I can’t stand to see you sulk all of a sudden from being sunshine and rays a moment beforehand. Dang, I’m getting soft.” he scratched the top of his head, turning away as if to dismiss his sudden kindness, but she raced at lightspeeds up to him, shocking him at her agility, before tacking him down the tall hill he was on.

“Woah-hey-waaiiitt!”

as they tumbled, he felt a sudden pull to make sure he took any damage instead of her.

This was normal though, as he was used to defending others, but…

His hand wrapped around her waist, and he seriously focused on getting upright, jumping up and holding her bridal style, looking on.

He was suddenly aware of his strange maneuvering of having her in his arms, and blinked, looking down as if that was pure instinct…

She smelled… good… AH!

He shook his head and flailed his arms about, letting her go on the ground as she stared at him, wide-eyed in admiring love for him.

Or so he thought.

He clutched his hand to what felt like a about to burst out heart, as if willing it to stay in there.

“Look, just leave me alone, okay? You’re better off on your own.” he started walking ahead, dusting his arms off of her… ugh, scent and the feeling of her soft fur and- Grr.. he’s got strange thoughts now!

He took off, darting forward and moving through the stage.

When he felt he was far enough away, he relaxed, sighing in relief and started stretching.

“Let’s never have to go through that again…” He muttered to himself, before a strange feeling of guilt came over him.

Amy…

“Amy Rose!”

She had said that.

A strange allure of longing… followed by deep, profound impulses and urges to hold her again, took over and created a quake in his hands, as he held them out in front of himself, watching as they tensed and shook by just the thought of her name, the memory of her in their possession…

“W-wo-wo-woah… what’s happening to me?” Sonic, feeling the odd thoughts start to swarm, rapidly started having his body shake, and he slowly pulled his hands up to his withdrawn head.

His eyes widened as he twitched slightly, his feet wanting to go back, his body feeling queasy…

Suddenly…

“I found you!”

“WAH!”

He flinched away but she caught onto him.

Instantly, a volcanic eruption sent a signal boost throughout him, and a wave of relief followed by a gentle pressure release gave him the sensation of a pleasant nap. At least, he wasn’t sure how to describe it either than that.

To his inexperience, he thought he had a heart-attack followed by heat stroke and a sudden condition of anxiety induced cerebral palsy.

His body wasn’t coordinating and he was helpless to fight her off.

He just looked up, his nose twitching so he rubbed it to try and excuse himself from this mess.

Should he… really let her tag along?

How’d she catch up to him so fast anyway?

Was she able to really be his..?

“Please don’t leave again! You scared me!” Amy stated, shaking her head. She started leaning up and whining slightly, the tone of her pitch right in his ear sent a goofy smile on his face, and suddenly his foot started thomping the ground like some kinda thumping in glee.

He must have lost his mind.

“If you leave, I’ll be drawn back to you! So that’s mean to make me long for you like that!” she shook him up, but his face just showed complete surrender to the ecstasy.

He’d never felt this dumb before.

“Um.. miss, could you not… haha…” he was meaning for her to do this to him, but she just let him go, thinking he meant the shaking.

“Opps! My bad. hehe.” she giggled, having a hand up by her mouth, “I forget my own strength sometimes..”

“Your strength is… strong.” he was still wobbly, still goofy face, before he shook himself out of it and looked really upset.

“Ble-blr-blr-blr-GRUFF. Hey! What’s the big idea?!” He was starting to lose his temper…

Amy ‘eep’d, covering her face slightly, but peering over gloved hands, leaning away.

“Look, I don’t have time to play with little girls.” he leaned his face forward,.. but was that really just the pull?

His fist came up to make a point… or was it his hand wanting to be closer to reaching for her again?

“Like I said before. Eggman’s hunting more flickies, and I don’t have time to waste around and mess with you! Scram, kid! I’m a loner! And always will be!” he flung his hand out and stated his point bluntly, before taking off.

“Oh, wait!” Amy desperately cried out, “Son-!”

“Oh, and another thing.” Sonic came speeding back, placing a finger on her mouth, and turning his head with an eye squinted and the other having it’s eyebrow up, as if he was pointing out another thing…

“Don’t call me back! It’s weird! And you’re better off with some prince charming. Trust me!” he removed the finger, but the touch was suddenly something he couldn’t ignore…

“You.. you alright with that?”

She had ducked her head down, covered in shadows.

“…H-hey… you aren’t crying are ya… Miss?” He bent his head down, refusing to speak her name.

—

Anger swarmed through her.

Her true love, her soulmate.

Rejecting her so cruelly.

Didn’t he know this was a once in a lifetime opportunity?

Soulmates couldn’t be apart without desperately longing for the other, and saying each other’s name was suppose to give a forever strength to their bond, a never-ending love that only grew and grew as the name was spoken by them.

She found him… and he was telling her to buzz off.

Like she couldn’t follow him.

She could play hero too!

She rose her head up, determined.

“I CAN PROVE IT!” She hollered in his face, making him move back and blink in utter disbelief.

“P-prove?” He gawked, “Prove,… what? Exactly?” he leaned forward with his hands on his hips again, feet together, looking curious but confused at her words.

“I can prove soulmates are real!”

He must have admired her gusto, Amy thought.

Cause he stood up straight, turning slightly to the side with his body angled, and folded his arms, giving her a formidable look…

“Oh, you can, can you.”

“Yes! I can! I’ll prove it right now!” she stepped boldly up towards him, toe to toe, as he looked down at the foot positioned out to her, the other on the side, and then back up with just his eyes.

“You for real, girl?”

“Say my name!”

His head shot up and his hands unfolded, horror and shock coming over his face, before tensing it up and having a snarl replace his frown, a look of contempt in his eyes.

“Come again?”

“I’m sick of you denying it! You know if you said my name, you’d feel it too! You couldn’t run or.. or hide from it anymore!” she shouted out, letting her voice fill the zone as he twitched his fist, tsking…

“Pfft. As if.” He leaned back up, trying to not take this seriously.

“I’m on a very important mission. I don’t have time for your silly games, lady!”

“AMY!”

He froze a second, twitching an eyelid down as if he was bracing himself, lifting an arm as if he had expected that to do something to him.

“See! You moved!” Amy pointed out, “Say it and you’ll know!”

“I… I don’t believe you! Or in your magic jargon of silly love stories!” He defended, but he was sweating again, nervous…

“Do it!” She wasn’t backing down, her face right at his, making him stagger back.

“Uhh…” he slowly started retreating, realizing this girl’s will was equal to his own.

At least, Amy hoped that’s what was coming off.

She advanced forward, taking one step at a time as he repeatedly stepped away one foot at a time.

“Amy. Amy… Rose.”

“Quit it, girly! Ah..” Sonic was cut off by a loose rock, seeing it fall from his foot’s weight and retrieving his foot back. Looking down at the drop, he looked a bit panicked for a moment.

“Now!” She lunged forward, as his arms spread out and he tried to arch his back away from her.

“Alright, alright! But it’s not gonna change anything! You’ve gotta go!” Sonic demanded back, shouting so she understood him.

—

Geez, I never knew a girl with so much -tude.

He snarked to himself, before watching her back away, her eyes still daggers as if threatening him to keep his bargain.

“If you feel the same… I stay with you!” she folded her aggressive little arms and pouted like most little girls do.

Sheesh.

How’d he end up in this mess?

“Fine…” he scratched the back of his head, “You win…” he buffed up his chest, sucking in some air.

He was about to release it, when she was suddenly swooped away.

He blinked, before turning to look up.

“What… just happened?”

“SOOONNICC!!”

“Eeee! Hey!” he gripped his quills, having the sensation return but differently this time, having the quills stick up and shake straight, but his impulses feel like they had a million-bolt batteries in each part of his movable body!

“Metal me!” Sonic looked ahead to see Metal carrying her off. “Darn, we must still be in sync!” he realized, and darted his head down, glaring.

If he thinks he can take her away, I’ll-!

He sped off, not giving the thought a second look.

“Hang on!” he called from below, before seeing her let out a cry of help, her eyes spraying tears as suddenly Metal flew off into the sky.

Sonic reached up, his boyhood voice suddenly echoing out a sensation he hadn’t known before.

It was as if he was meant to say this sound, born into it, destined to speak it and let it rest on his tongue forever.

“AMMMYYY!!!!”

(Awww, so cute! XD I love classic Sonamy!!!)

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[scribe381224]

Reverse Cupid

Archery was a skill Hanzo learned since he could walk, one of many, and before things went wrong with Genji, he employed that skill as a way to relax, to focus and relieve himself of stress. Since joining Overwatch, he's found himself utilizing his bow and arrows once again as a relaxation technique, though for the past few weeks, he's finding even this method stressful; he kept missing targets he would usually be able to hit in his sleep.

"Everything all right, brother?" a voice asked. Hanzo kept focused on his targeting and ignored Genji, for the most part. "You appear to be lost in your thoughts."

"Shut up, baka." Hanzo said as he loosed another arrow. That one sailed past the target, and Genji rolled his eyes.

"Very mature, Hanzo. You choose to hide yourself on the practice range instead of addressing what's bothering you and I am the idiot. Talk to her, brother. The worst she can do is turn you down."

"Absolutely not! Mei-Miss Zhou clearly has more important things to worry about than some-some ridiculous crush that a man has on her, let alone one as unworthy as I."

"And I suppose McCree is a viable alternative as a match to Miss Zhou." There went another arrow, this time followed by a crunch of metal.

"I said nothing of the kind! A lady such as Miss Zhou keeping company with that-that cowboy?!"

"Then do something about it! I can't stand to see you pining away for her because you have a sense of guilt and buyer's remorse. Besides, Torbjörn has been complaining about your arrows hitting his turrets. Yes, he can fix them no problem but he shouldn't have to."

"I will apologize to him." He fired another arrow, missed, again and as he drew another and was about to fire, something whirred at his side, then something blue was within his perphrial vision. It was Snowball, Mei's droid and it wasn't long after that Mei herself came running to find him.

"There you are Snowball!" She said, grabbing it. Hanzo glanced to the side to see her face-wait, since when did her face reach eye level? The last he checked, Mei was a good deal shorter than him, her head just about reaching his neck and that was with her hair in its bun. He turned to face her and saw she was dressed for a formal occasion, and what a dress! A sparkling blue one that hugged her generous features, a long slit up to the thigh on one side and in heels, that explained the new height. She looked dazzling and Hanzo forgot about the arrow he was about to fire; Genji wondered where said arrow went.

"Miss Zhou." Hanzo said, bowing after staring for minutes. "Ahh, this...this is new. You look lovely."

"Xièxiè. Thank you."

"What brings about something so...so...formal?"

"I am attending a charity ball later tonight, it supports conservation of wildlife in Iceland. I was invited to share my research on the climate there, and in the Himilayas."

"That is most impressive."

"It is, and I must ask, have you seen Winston? He offered to take me, but I can't find him."

"Iie, I have not seen him, Genji did you?"

"No." Genji replied. They both heard a scream ring out in the training area. Not long after, they saw Bastion wheeling about, going after a cursing Torbjörn who was storming towards them while slapping away at Bastion, who was trying to reach out to him for some reason.

"Keep your hands off me, you tin can!" Torbjörn snapped, then saw Hanzo, his glare pining him in place. "You!"

"I take it I hit another of your turrets again, Torbjörn-san?" Hanzo asked.

"Not quite. AUGH! Fan du plåtburk, jag sa till dig att lämna det vara!" (Damn you tin can, I told you to leave it be!) They soon saw the problem when Torbjörn turned to yell at Bastion.

"I am not an expert in medical situations, Torbjörn-san." Genji said. "But there appears to be an arrow in your posterior."

"Kuso." Hanzo muttered. He must have let loose his arrow while staring at Mei, and it hit Torbjörn himself this time, right in the buttocks. The arrow stood in the left side, like a misplaced tail, and Bastion was trying to remove it, but failing. "My apologies, Torbjörn-san, I allowed my attention to wander."

"That is obvious." Torbjörn answered, looking at Mei. "Dr. Zhou, is this for that charity ball you're attending later tonight?"

"Shì, it is." Mei said.

"Bra. Good, then Hanzo can take you."

"Oh, but-but Winston said he-"

"Ja, he told me he was taking you and was planning to, until someone shot an arrow through the wall of the training area, which hit some systems. He'll be all night with the repairs, he says, and extends his regrets. Now, I suggest you see to your face or whatever it is women do for these parties, he'll be ready in an hour."

"But-"

"Miss Zhou." Hanzo said. "I would be happy to escort you if you wish, and I should apologize to Winston-san for my misfire."

"Thank you! Oh, I'll meet you at the cargo bay! Tell Winston not to work too hard." Mei then rushed off; Torbjörn watched her go then turned to Hanzo, glaring.

"You, get yourself a tuxedo, take her to the ball, and deal with this once and for all." he said.

"Pardon?" Hanzo asked.

"You've been staring at her like a lovesick puppy for weeks and taking it out on my turrets, the walls of the training area, and now me some of our systems! So now you are going to be with her, in a social event, just the two of you, and you're going to decide once and for all what to do about your feelings for her before you end up killing somebody!" Hanzo had to flinch, but he had to admit the engineer had a point-if he didn't settle this now, and the thought of it sent shivers up his spine, it would only be a matter of time before he hit someone with his inattentive aiming, somewhere worse than the buttocks.

"Very well...just one question."

"What is it?"

"What is a tuxedo?"

Torbjörn blinked, then gaped. "Du måste skämta med mig." (You have got to be kidding me.)

"Western dress!" Genji cried. "He means Western dress, brother, most formal." Genji then dragged Hanzo off. "Come, we will see if McCree has something fitting."

"If you think I am going to wear anything the cowboy has-" Hanzo said.

"He is the closest to your size and we have no time to find what is required online or in stores. Besides, odds are what he has is new, not even worn once." Torbjörn just watched them leave, sighing in exasperation. Damn man-more of a boy in some ways-completely unsure how to approach the girl so he turns to physcial exertions to work out his frustrations. Not very healthy for his turrets, or his buttocks or even the computer systems Winston's trying to restore right now, but if Hanzo could use that ball to work up the courage to try and court Mei, then maybe things can get back to normal.

"Jämfört med detta bör puberteten vara en promenad i parken." (Compared to this, puberty should be a walk in the park) he muttered, thinking of his own children. Bastion saw this opportunity to finally yank out the arrow, which had Torbjörn yelling more Swedish at it.

[mullercells]

I have never been a big fan of television or movies.  The thought of encountering new ones, in particular, filled me with palpable dread. And I avoided people’s TV or movie recommendations at all costs – the time from the first recommendation of Firefly to me to the time I actually watched it was twelve years.

(Recommendation: Don’t wait twelve years to watch Firefly.)

For most of my life, I passed this off as a pretentious sort of hipster disdain.  In fact, the mere mention of new TV or movie media filled me with a real and unnameable dread.  I couldn’t understand how other people consumed screen media so casually.  How did they even know what was going on most of the time?

I was in my thirties before I discovered that the reason it’s so hard for me to follow television and movie plots is that I’m faceblind.

Specifically, I have associative prosopagnosia, an inability to recognize familiar faces out of the context in which I usually see them, and only a limited ability to recognize them in-context.  In practice, this means that I don’t recognize my own students outside our classroom – even in the corridors.  I have failed to recognize members of my own extended family when I encountered them in the grocery store.  When my husband trims his beard too short, I have several days of “augh! stranger danger!” in my own house until it grows back out a bit.  And when I look at old family photos, I look for clothing I remember owning as a kid, not for my own face.  That’s right: I cannot recognize my own face in family photos.

I didn’t know this, as a kid.  Nobody ever asked me if I could identify faces; they just made fun of me or punished me for the “behaviors” that resulted in my failing to recognize them (like not saying hello to people I was supposed to know, or not opening the door for the “stranger” who was actually my aunt).  Like so many other things in my undiagnosed and undiscussed childhood, I assumed everyone had this problem and that I was the only one who was hopelessly inept at coping with it.

Not-knowing, unsurprisingly, led to a lot of anxiety while out in public and the eventual development of several workarounds, including paying attention to voice and body language.  I even came to love live theatre, because voice and body language are actually accentuated over faces: I may not be able to see the faces from my seat, but I can still tell characters apart.  I hated, feared, and dreaded new television and movies for the opposite reason: uniform sound mixing, camera angles and cuts, and the ever-increasing homogenization of actors’ “looks” made it nearly impossible to tell people apart.

Here’s what it’s like to watch a new television show or a movie while faceblind:

1.  I have no idea who is supposed to be whom.  It takes me about 15-20 minutes to figure out which characters are which – longer if they change their clothes at any time in that first fifteen to twenty minutes.  By the time I figure this out, I often can’t remember who did what in the first ten minutes of the plot.   (On the other hand, the moment any actor speaks, I can tell you who the actor is and every time I have heard them speak before.)

I gave up on Arrow after an episode and a half because at that point I still didn’t know who was who or who had done what.  Not only did everyone look the same, they all had nearly identical wardrobes, voices, and movement libraries.  Agents of SHIELD, by contrast, has my undying loyalty because from the start, their core cast had recognizably different faces, heights, and styles of movement and dress.  AoS also introduced its core cast person by person, making it much easier to keep track of who was on the bus for what reason.

2.  Plots that rely on disguises, or on “not knowing who the killer is,” don’t make much sense to me.  Plots involving disguises make no sense to me at all, actually.  If the person in disguise speaks, I know who they are.  The voice is as blatantly obvious to me as I assume the removal of the disguise would be to a non-faceblind person.

I can’t stand a single entry in the entire Superman franchise because I end up yelling at the screen, “Oh please, how do you not recognize his voice?!”  I had to watch the X-Files episode “The Walk” (S3E7) three times before I realized that the general doesn’t know who the killer is because he does not recognize the killer’s voice, something that was obvious to me in the first ten minutes.  (On the other hand, I had my back to the screen when Netflix pulled up the following episode, “Oubliette” – but I said “hey, that’s Jewel Staite!” without even turning around.)

One of the reasons I love Netflix’s version of A Series of Unfortunate Events is that it turns this problem on its head: the kids can see through Count Olaf’s disguises, and the disguises themselves are well-done enough to mess with the non-faceblind temporarily, but the adults in the show don’t see it at all.  That must be what it feels like not to be able to hear the killer.

3.  Plots with “identical” characters make no sense.

A plot that relies on two or more characters looking identical? Forget it.  Even if they’re all played by the same person, I won’t see it.

The X-Files episode “Colony” was a leap of faith for me.  The plot revolves around the murders of multiple doctors, all of whom are identical to one another.  Or at least, that’s what the script told me. What I saw were six photos of balding white men taken at different angles, wearing different clothing, and some of whom were wearing glasses and some of whom were not.  I took it on faith that the men did in fact have identical faces.

As a kid, I hated The Parent Trap for the same reason, even though both twins were played by Hayley Mills, whom I recognized.  They just never did look identical to me, even though they had identical voices and movement patterns.

“Are they supposed to look alike?” is a phrase I have never actually uttered, but I’ve thought it.  A lot.

4.  Plots with police sketches?  Okay, if you say so.

I also never see the resemblance between police sketches and the actual person.  I don’t even understand why police sketches exist, except in the superficial academic “well, other people actually recognize faces and so find them useful” sense.  Let’s hope I’m never asked to describe a suspect to a police artist, because I won’t know what to describe and I will have no idea if the resulting sketch looks anything like the person.

5.  On the other hand, animated series are great.

On the other hand, I have never once had any of the above problems watching animated series, which is probably why I was so engaged in my college anime club at exactly the same time I was dodging recommendations to watch Firefly.  Animated characters are, after all, just pictures – and pictures are far easier for me to tell apart from one another than human faces.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Homestuck Liveblog #153

UPDATE 153: All the Pieces are Here

Last time Gamzee had completely fooled Terezi, and by extension, me. Yeah, he’s right now beating her with no remorse at all, and it’s awful to see. Yikes. Also, Jane is now asleep but her body, still under control of the tiara, has latched on Aranea like a tick. So let’s continue from there!

Writing this paragraph before starting. I’m predicting there’ll be a minimum of dialogue, the next fifty pages should have lots and lots of images. It’s bound to pass through real fast, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll go for 100 pages.

All these glitches make everything more ominous, in my opinion. It’s as if the world is going to shatter into pieces in any moment. Chances are that won’t happen, but who knows, maybe the end of Homestuck is the glitches making the universe explode. Thanks for nothing, Lord English, destroyer of paradox space.

Because Jake’s death wasn’t heroic or just, he revives, this time without hope powers. He is also right beside Terezi and Gamzee, just...watching. Gamzee continues hitting as hard as he can, dang. I’m kind of glad the glitches are obscuring the situation a bit. Rose, horrified, shouts for Gamzee to stop.

ROSE: Or, wait.  ROSE: Is this some sort of blackrom thing?  ROSE: I certainly hope not.

What the—Rose! This isn’t the time to be wondering if this is an obscure and weird alien romantic ritual! Stop standing there, go help Terezi! Even if it were a black romance thing, I think no one wouldn’t blame Rose for intervening. Terezi is getting her face smashed against the pavement. Anyone would intervene.

ROSE: I am the actual worst auspistice who ever lived.  ROSE: THE ACTUAL WORST!!!

Damn right you are; you’re just standing there! And Jake isn’t really doing much better, he’s just standing there and watching Terezi being suplexed. I know in real life a lot of people stand around and do nothing when they see someone being attacked or anything, so it isn’t something that came out of left field, but this is still rather frustrating to see. Gamzee slams Terezi so hard against the concrete it breaks, and she’s now hanging over the lava. Augh.

Kanaya and Karkaroni arrive right in that moment, finding Terezi in danger. There’s a rather cool sequence of lava seeping into the Skaia in Jane’s fork, and Jake and Rose finally intervene. Jake does it meekly, just asking Gamzee to kindly stop killing Terezi -- ...fine, Jake, you do that – and Rose takes a more hands-on approach, getting her wand ready. About time, Rose! Tge blast misses and impacts near Jake, making him fly away. Karkaroni had enough, he brandishes the sickle and swears to make a fight. Up on the building, Aranea struggles to pick up Brain Dirk’s katana with her psychic powers – no idea how that didn’t vanish away as well -- and then she arrives.

The Condesce is pissed. Oh, gee, who’d have thought that derailing the session like this would make her angry? Haha! Do you have a plan to counter the Condesce, Aranea? Did you expect her to arrive so soon? Everyone who is in the session seems to have converged in one place, this is getting good!

Aaaaaand because Hussie is like that, right when it gets good, it’s time for the so-called main act of Act 6 Act 6.

Oh, jolly. Well to his credit I’m happy it was now and not in middle of the intense events that are likely to happen. Now that’d have been annoying. Better get this Caliborn thing out of the way before things happen here in Jade’s planet! Besides, I admit I’m a bit curious how much Caliborn has progressed now.

Looks like he’s confident enough to mess with the manga book. Why do I have this strange sense of foreboding...again? I have it all the time when it’s about Caliborn, haha...okay, let’s get done with this. What artistic work do you have to show now, bud? As usual, here’s the warning: there’s a chance I won’t have much to comment about Caliborn’s antics. By now, dear readers, you may be aware I’m not a diehard fan of him. By now I tolerate him, but I’m not exactly reading his sections with excitement. Once again, I’m sorry for that.

Looks like Homosuck is getting into its equivalent of Act 5. There are the trolls. Krabkrab, Honk Friend – ‘friend’?! Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Caliborn? – Cape Douche, Smelly Horse Man, Other Guy, and Bull Horn Wimp. Oh, and all the female trolls, too, with no pejorative name other than ‘tha bitches’. Hah! Saw it coming.

The Beforus trolls are just everyone flipped and with a negative color scheme. Yeah, that’ll do...for the five seconds the trolls mattered. All these pictures go to the trash, because Caliborn has something better to show.

Hah! Okay, you got my attention, Hussie. Man Gaka Extraordinare! I’m amused, this may be worth a read, after all!

IT'S GOD'S GIFT. TO "THE YAOIS". MY RESEARCH TELLS ME.

Do you know that feeling of morbid curiosity one feels when one hears about something awful having happened in a video, and one wants to see how bad is it? Yeah, that’s what I’m feeling. I really like the giant watermark, though. That’s a good one, Hussie.

Well, to Caliborn’s credit, he has improved a lot from his first drawings, and he followed all the instructions about how to draw manga. Never let it be said Caliborn doesn’t motivate himself to improve himself!

This is truly “the yaois”. Manga Dave and Manga Karkat are here. What they do, hm, well, let’s say they’d both be upset to know how they’re depicted here.

IF YOU'RE CONFUSED, BASICALLY THE IDEA IS. YOU PRETEND THEM TO LOOK MORE LIKE GIRLS. TO MAKE IT LESS WEIRD FOR EVERYBODY WHEN THEY DECIDE TO TOUCH EACH OTHER. 

So that’s the key to draw manga. Haha! I know a handful of people from my school that’d have taken serious offense by that! Always with the finger on the pulse, Caliborn, eh?

Oh god, it’s American Comic Book Superheroine anatomy! We’re doomed. But yeah, other than the improved drawings, it doesn’t seem like this section of Caliborn’s intermission won’t differ much from the rest. Same old, same old, in terms of theme. The gals are dying in bloody ways. Yeah.

“Registered by the government as my legal artistic possession” Caliborn, you liar, there’s not even a government anymore.

SHE ACTUALLY THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING TO BE RELEVANT. KEEP DREAMING BITCH!

Right. So Caliborn may still have access to the radio tower? He knows what happened in the ghost bubbles. Well, not that it matters that much right now.

Oh my god, Caliborn has an OC.

...that is not what I expected. Dear reader, imagine that this here is what’s destroying paradox space. Imagine the big bad, Lord English, looks like that. Good thing he doesn’t, eh? Yeah, the skull, the hulking figure, and the billiard eyes does wonders when it’s about making someone threatening.

John arrives in middle of Caliborn’s games with his OC, and isn’t happy at all to see Caliborn. Thought so, what after seeing the kind of playing Caliborn does with those bad drawings of his friends.

HEY ASSHOLE, I'M TALKING TO YOU!

Oh, wow, he’s furious! I admit I underestimated how angry John would be. But yeah, another intense staredown. I’ll just...skip to the end of that sequence of images, thank you.

you're the one who vriska and her pirate pals are all trying to stop! it was you who put all this into motion in some way i don't really understand! which means you're responsible for like a trillion people dying, and universes blowing up, and all my friends getting scattered around and acting like idiots, and my dad being dead!

...huh. Well, that’s certainly...a bold accusation, John, and without anything to back it up, too. If what John said partly influences Caliborn to start doing everything he did once he was Lord English, hah, I wonder how John would react to that. It isn’t too farfetched to have that possibility in mind, I’d say, but if that were true, it’s possible there’ll be a second John to tackle the first one soon.

Turns out Caliborn is saying his monologue loud enough for anyone around to listen! I thought the narration was just text, not that Caliborn was actually saying it. Hah! It’d be kinda endearing if it didn’t come from Caliborn.

And then comes ‘game over. A flash file in Caliborn’s intermission. Um, well, that sounds a tad promising! Flash files are almost always great, I don’t see why this would be any different, Caliborn or not.

I’ll stop for now.

Next update: five updates