#i was telling my advisor this the other week and she was very empathetic but man this chapter is just harder than i expected lol

[leonardcohenofficial]

writing the phil ochs chapter is proving to be the hardest part of my dissertation process so far; not because i don’t have lots to say but because the work itself is making me very sad lmao

[januaryembrs]

WORTH THE WAIT | Poe Dameron x Reader

Request: my sweet @happyhauntt says: and to counteract the fact that my last request was sad as fuck, here's a happy one!!! a wee fic based on the song 'i guess i'm in love' by clinton kane, and this one feels like it should be for poe or steven!! enjoy!!

Description: Poe tries to help reader overcome her fear of flying by giving her something good to remember

length: 2.1k

warnings: mention of puke (none just feeling of nausea) mention of fear of heights?

authors note: yes I did listen to Romantic Flight from HTTYD when I wrote this and yes this did heal the part of me that always wanted to be flown through the clouds like this. also sorry this is so late things have been HECTIC

Poe really hoped she liked his surprise. 

There were very few things that he knew he was good at besides flying; knowing exactly how to tell her just how deeply he felt for her even after all this time being one of them. He knew he stumbled over flirtatious lines, not at all like the bachelor he once was, that his chest still pounded at the thought of her just the same as it did when he was soaring through the stratosphere, his stomach flipping when they kissed as if he’d done four barrel rolls on an X-Wing. 

He knew he was in uncharted waters being so far in a committed relationship, that his usual rendezvous' had lasted little more than a few weeks at most, but that was entirely in the past. No one had even come close since the day he met her. 

She had been his mission once. Captured on a First Order ship, Leia had ordered him and his squadron to go rescue her, had said she was some lord’s daughter of a dying planet wanted by Ren for information about her father. He had heard the stories of how his resistance leader had come to be kidnapped from Alderaan when she was young, and figuring she was just screamingly empathetic for the girl, he had done exactly as he had been told. 

He’d had no clue that his mission would become his entire life within a few short months. 

“I feel like this is a little unfair,” She teased, his hands over her eyes as he led her out to the hangar, the lone sun on their planet lowering behind the horizon, “You make me wait all day for my present, and I can’t even see it,” 

“Have a little patience, Princess,” Poe said, his lips drawing into a small smile as he felt her huff beneath his palms, “I know you’re used to getting what you want in your palace, but you’re in my town now, baby,”

She chuckled, shaking her head as he directed her down the stairs. He wasn’t entirely lying. After she’d been rescued from Ren’s grasp, her planet had quickly declared its allegiance to the resistance and she had been appointed as one of Leia’s advisors. Whether it was her quick wit, or the love she seemed to drench every single person with, no matter who they were or where they had come from, Poe wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made her such a good leader, other than the fact she was so entirely herself it was hard not to favour her; a rare quality of politicians he'd often teased her. 

She gave a sniff through her nose, trying to give herself some kind of hint as to what her gift was. “Smells like… oil? Did BB-8 leak again?” 

“Just wait, one more step in front of you,” Poe replied, his eyes trained carefully on her high heeled steps over the concrete. His stomach somersaulted as he wondered for the last time if this was a good idea, but he couldn't very well lead her all the way back out of there empty handed. Reminding himself it was her, and she would never spit anything kind back in his face, he released her face gently, “tada!”

He watched her shoulders tense under the jacket he’d given her because he worried she’d be cold in the night air, and he could tell her mind was racing a million miles a second trying to make sense of what it was he was showing her. 

His T-70 starfighter. The only thing, he often joked, that could ever rival her for the title of his beloved.

“Poe…” Her voice trailed off, unsure but not wanting to seem rude, “Poe, I can’t-”

“Baby, hear me out,” He cut in, knowing she was never going to be jumping for joy before he could explain, “I promise you, nothing bad will happen while I’m there,”

“Poe,” She said hesitantly, as he came around the front of her to see her worried expression that made him cradle her face with his warm hands almost immediately.

“They don’t call me the best pilot in the galaxy for nothing,” He smiled at her cheekily, and he was relieved to see her crack a grin then, though the fright lingered in her eyes that rolled at him.

He’d known since the day he’d rescued her that she had a fear of flying; when he’d had to sit her on his lap in that very same cockpit so they could escape the base together, when she’d screamed bloody murder and held his hands so tight he worried he might lose circulation. 

Not the best of first introductions, and not quite how he’d imagined his two greatest loves meeting. Which was why he wanted to change her experience of the whole thing. 

She gave him a tentative glance, and he fretted for a moment that it had all been a mistake; that his kind act coming from a good place had been one giant heap of selfish bantha fodder that he felt stupid for even suggesting it. But then she took a deep breath, her hands coming up over his own on her cheeks and squeezing them gently. 

“Certainly don’t call you the most humble pilot in the galaxy, Dameron,” She said with a tease, moving past him to head for the jet, “Alright, help me up. My carriage awaits,”

He beamed so hard he thought his cheeks might explode, rushing past her to lift himself up onto the right arm the way he had done so many, many times before. 

“My lady,” He stretched out his hand, all but yanking her up most of the way to where he kneeled, and he was glad he’d told her to wear her cargos and not the pretty dress she’d showed him.

Pulling herself up to a sit, she looked unsurely at the metalwork beneath them, “You’re sure it can hold two?”

“It did before, didn't it?” He countered back, hoisting himself into the cockpit that felt like a second home to him, his body sliding into his seat like a hand into a glove. He parted his thighs, granting her a space of her own, and patted the leather chair, “Actually, don't think about that. Hop in,”

She paused, uncertainty written across her face that cracked when she saw the hopeful gleam in his eyes, brown hues that had always seemed to watch her with pure adoration. She had always struggled to say no to him, especially when he looked like that. 

Slipping between his legs, she hated to admit that she found herself rather comfy enveloped between his body and the dash. 

“You sure we’re safe?” She asked once more, and his arms slid around her to grab the wheel in his right hand, the left pulling her back against his warm body that made her relax just that little bit. He kissed the side of her head, resting his temple against hers for a second. 

“You know I would never put you in harms way, sweetheart,” He said, all trace of jovial teasing gone as he kissed next to her ear and pushed the button to lock the glass canopy over their heads. It slowly lowered down, hissing into a click as it shut, and he felt her shuffle in closer to his chest, “There’s something up there I really, really want to show you. Okay?” 

She looked up at him over her shoulder, his eyes twinkling with excitement at seeing her in his seat, his co-pilot for the evening. 

How could she ever resist?

“Okay,” She nodded, tugging his arms over her shoulders like a seat belt as if strapping herself in for the ride, “Okay, I’m ready,”  

He chuckled, praying to the maker one last time that this would work, and switching the ignition up to a low rumble. 

The jet rolled forward slowly, and he wheeled it around to a clearing in runway that made her think he’d told everyone to take the evening off just so they could have their solo flight.

“Okay, baby, I’m going to have to go fast at this bit, so you might want to hold on tight,” He warned her, and he felt her grab onto his thighs with tight fists, “That’s it, I got you, you’re safe,”

Not giving her much time to overthink what was coming, he floored the gas, flicking a few of the levers above their heads. She sucked in a breath, her knuckles almost turning white with grip, “Poe,” 

“I promise you’re safe, baby,” He reassured, forcing the throttle down and they jumped forward as the engines kicked in. He would have been in the air by now if it had just been him, would probably already be doing a loop-de-loop, but he didn’t want to terrify her before they had even really started. 

She squealed, a muffled version of what he knew she was probably holding back as they started lifting off the ground, and he sped up even more, the g-force throwing her back against him, and he flicked pressed the switch on the dash to start retracting the wheels into the underbelly. 

“Poe, I’m scared,”

“You got it, I got you,” He removed one of his hands off the wheel and looped it around her waist to keep her secure, “You’re doing so well, baby,” 

It was then she made the mistake of taking a peak outside, seeing their base quickly becoming little more than a speck beneath them as they sped off upwards into the atmosphere, “Oh my stars, we’re so high,” 

He chuckled, kissing her hairline tenderly, “That’s a good thing, means we’re not in danger of crashing into trees or mountains or-”

“Poe!” She slapped his thigh, scrunching her eyes shut, “I can’t look, I’m going to puke,”

His resolve wavered for a minute, and he made the impromptu decision to yank the steering wheel down, forcing them to take a quick turn up even higher into the air, to which she tucked her head towards his jaw so she didn’t have to watch. 

He wondered if he was going to regret such a bold move, he felt her whimper against his skin and Poe cursed the whole concept of ‘Go big or go home’ that he had been going for. 

Until-

They burst through the clouds, the dusk air that had been growing dark under the smog disappearing as they cut in a straight line up, further and further until the cottony slew of powder white clouds blanketed beneath them, the way they had for him so many times before. The sun was still out this far up in the aerospace, syrupy orange, and almost pink as it met the pillowed floor, like they had flown right into a meadow of blankets and warmth. 

“Poe, I tried to be brave, really I did, for you, but my nerves are shot-” 

“Baby, look,” He cut her off, engaging the auto-pilot and moving his warm hands down her arms softly to hold her fingers in his own. The X-Wing evened out, the force barely feeling like a pull at their bodies anymore and more like a lingering jitter in their skin that could so easily be passed off as the engine. 

“I can’t, I feel sick-” She protested, pushing her nose into his neck, and he felt her hands shaking with nerves that he gently stroked away. He chuckled, the sound reverberating over the apples of her cheeks.

“Just trust me, look,” Poe said, and she took a deep breath, as if holding back another complaint, peeling herself away from him just the smallest amount to glimpse outside the star-fighter. 

Her eyes widened, sitting upright almost immediately as she saw the technicolor that had been a dull beige before, the world she’d known for over two years entirely gone, buried beneath the silkened clouds. Her mouth hung open, eyes darting over the teracotta hues, down to the valley of puffy clouds beneath that didn’t seem nearly as threatening as she’d imagined. 

She was silent for a moment, and Poe had feeling that was atleast a good thing, but he was known to second guess himself when it came down to her. 

Watching her expression with a besotted gaze, the sun’s heat glowing her cheeks with a honey kiss, he ran his fingertips over her palms, “Do you like it?”

“Poe, it’s-” She swallowed, not once ripping her eyes away from the oil painting infront of her, “You get to see this every day?”

He laughed, dipping his nose in her neck and leaving a loving kiss there, “Pretty much, yeah. I told you, it’s a whole other world up here,”

“How do you ever come down, I mean it’s, it’s,” She stammered, shuffling on the edge of the seat to take it all in even more, “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” 

“I have my reasons that are pretty compelling actually,” He smiled, eyes washing over her face, trying to commit that expression to memory because there were very few times they were allowed to have something good in the middle of a war. But this was it. She was it. His little bit of goodness that had been so worth the wait, “Happy Anniversary, honey,” 

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Ten (Zuko x Reader)

Part Nine

Word Count: 2,750

Author’s Note: We’ve had enough sad. Like, in general. So I wrote some happy for this week’s update. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to save the rest of it for next week since it ended pretty nicely where it is.

I feel like now is a good time to mention that I haven’t read the comics (I didn’t even know there were comics until like two months ago) so if you’ve been wondering why this story diverges so much from them, that’s why. I see the canon and I think it’s great, but it’s just so much more fun to write my own interpretations of what happened to everybody after the war. Sorry not sorry. 

I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things. I felt pretty okay yesterday, and I’m starting to not immediately hate everything I produce and am remembering how to talk myself up again after forgetting that anxiety and depression don’t rule my thoughts when it comes to my creativity. Things are still gonna be weird for a while, but we’ll be fine eventually. That’s how the human condition is - we always swing back at some point. 

~ Muerta

“What do you know about Fire Nation prisons?” 

You expect Rina to falter at the question. She doesn't even flinch, continuing to dress you as if you asked her what she’d had for breakfast. 

“What do you want to know?” she wonders in return. 

You gaze off, allowing your mind to roam as you consider her question. 

Since your return to the Fire Nation, Zuko’s attentive attitude hasn't changed, and your fondness for him has grown in ways you never expected it would. During council meetings, it’s become a habit to hold his hand under the table where your advisors can't see (though Yong has caught you once or twice, smirking as if you were two school children passing love notes during class). You spend more time together in the evenings before bed, and some nights you invite Zuko to sleep beside you, missing his presence since returning to separate rooms - he’s always gone before sunrise to discourage any scandal (despite the fact that you're married), never leaving without a kiss to your forehead and a murmur of, “See you soon.” It’s also become routine to meet him by the turtle duck pond when you each have a moment to spare, the little creatures getting so used to your presence that many of them freely approach you, pecking at your palms in the chance you have a treat for them. 

“My mother and I used to do this,” Zuko confides during one of your breaks; it's the first cool afternoon since the beginning of summer, a few leaves from the overhanging maple tree floating on the pond’s placid surface. “I remember throwing a rock at one of the ducklings when I was a kid. Its mother bit me.” 

You giggle, opening your hand so a young male can nibble at the apple peel you hold out to him; you attempt to scratch his head while he eats, and he squawks at you. 

“Good for her,” you jeer. “Serves you right for being a dick.” 

Zuko chuckles, the curl of his lips framing a hazy sadness in his eyes. 

“Azula did stuff like that all the time,” he sighs. “I always felt… bad. Our mother knew what she was when she was really young. I was the one who got all her kindness. Sometimes… I think it's my fault Azula ended up the way she did.” 

“It isn't,” you assure him. You tuck your hand into his. “Your parents played favorites. It wasn't fair.”

Zuko hums absently, his gaze drawn out across the courtyard. After a moment, he’s pulled back to you, a playful grin tugging at his mouth.

“You remind me of a turtle duck,” he states. “You look harmless. You're cute. But you could really fuck someone up if they provoked you.” 

You laugh, slipping your hand from his to teasingly shove his shoulder; the turtle ducks around you scatter as he mirrors your reaction, doing little to defend himself against your loving attack. 

“Did you just call me ‘cute’?” you tease, reaching to pinch at his cheek - he grimaces, taking your hand away from his face by recapturing it in his. “Are you going soft on me, Hothead?” 

He chuckles, mirthfully flicking an apple peel into your hair. You notice the blush that colors his neck, unable to deny your own.

“Oh, Turtleduck,” he says with mock pity. “Is Sokka so bad at flirting that you never learned to pick up on it?” 

He's used his new pet name for you almost every day since he coined it; every time he does, your heart soars out of your throat and into the clouds. 

Through your bedroom window, you can see Zuko on the porch behind your chambers, leaned casually against the railing as he chats with Aang. 

Aang says something that makes the older man laugh; your innards seem to melt as the lines around the corners of Zuko’s eyes and lips wrinkle like folds in a bedsheet. Something in the scene riles you - you’ll slit a hundred men’s throats to protect that smile and the feeling it gives you. 

“This is about Azula,” Rina observes. 

One thing you've learned in your short time with her is that you can't keep secrets from her - chances are she already knows all of them. 

“I just want to know what her living situation is like,” you tell her, “how powerful she could actually be from inside a prison cell.” 

“You have a merciful husband,” Rina sighs, somewhat dreamily . “Azula doesn't live in a prison; he put her in a compound in the Si Wong desert. She's heavily guarded and follows strict schedules and rules, but he didn't want her to live the rest of her life in a cage.” 

“What about Ozai?” you ask. 

“He’s in a prison. I said your husband was merciful, not that he doesn't hold a grudge.” 

You smirk, momentarily eased from the worry that strains your mind. 

“Do either of them have access to the outside world?” you press. 

Rina shakes her head. 

“Azula has very little; the last she heard of anything outside the compound was your marriage announcement. Ozai has absolutely none. All the guards that keep both of them are from the unoccupied Earth Kingdom, so they have no allegiance to them, and only a select few guards are allowed to speak to Azula.” 

“So… there's no way they could be the masterminds of any of this?” 

Rina lifts her gaze from the sash she cinches at your waist, her dark, round eyes meeting yours; her expression is blank, but she speaks in a determined hush. 

“I can't say for certain. But Azula’s intelligence is violent and cunning; she sees things from a different perspective that isn't entirely human. She has insights that more empathetic people would never consider.” 

You nod slowly, understanding. 

“I'll talk to Aang.”

Katara arrives from the Southern Tribe a few hours before the banquet you're hosting in Aang’s honor is scheduled to begin. You accompany her husband and yours to the imperial docks, a massive grin breaking across your cheeks the moment you spot her on the ship’s deck; she sends you a large, sweeping wave, catching you in her arms as soon as she's close enough to do so. 

“I'm so glad you're okay,” she cries into your ear. “How do you feel?” 

You nod, holding her by the waist as she pulls away. Her grip doesn't loosen, her arms still coiled around yours in an affectionate embrace. 

“I'm good,” you assure her. “I'm tough.” 

She smiles, pulling you in to kiss your cheek before turning to Zuko, greeting him with a warm hug. When she reaches Aang, her gestures are much slower, more tender. He takes her chin between two fingers and kisses her gently, his other hand positioned low on her waist as it presses her tightly against him; the action is so out of character for the two - typically so lively and averse to such kinds of public affection - that you and Zuko share an instinctive, curious glance. 

“Did we forget their anniversary or something?” you whisper, fear jolting through you when a look of panic crosses his features. 

“... I don't think so,” he says after a pause. “Maybe… he just missed her?” 

The confusion on his face is endearing - he's more emotionally intelligent than most people, but he's the last person who knows it. 

“Could be,” you agree. “This is the longest they've been apart in years.” 

The two of you watch as Aang assists Katara into Appa’s saddle, another strange behavior considering how used to flying Katara is. Neither of them seem to notice your staring, Aang leaning in for another lingering kiss before taking his place at the reins.

You return to the palace and are met with commotion, servants and high-level diplomats scrambling this way and that in a flustered frenzy. Everyone immediately alerts, prepared for yet another catastrophe. 

“What's going on?” Zuko demands as Rina approaches you; she doesn't hide her sneer at his brash tone, and you smirk as he apologetically shrinks back. 

“You have visitors, come to give their congratulations for your marriage,” Rina explains. 

“Who?” Zuko wonders. 

“Sun Warriors. They're waiting for you in the throne room.” 

Zuko and Aang exchange a look of shock. As you're ushered through the halls of the administrative wing and into the throne room, you take Aang by the arm, pulling him close so you can whisper to him. 

“Who are the Sun Warriors?” you ask. 

“They were the first fire benders,” Aang tells you. “They were supposedly wiped out, but Zuko and I met them when we visited their island at the beginning of my fire bending training. Their existence is supposed to be a secret.” 

“Then why would they come here?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” 

The throne room is silent - empty save for your entourage and guests - but a constant, electric buzz seems to hang in the air. Zuko falls into step beside you, taking your arm in his as you approach the group of visitors gathered before the throne; their clothing suggests Fire Nation, but from a different world, ancient to the point of almost primal. Each person present is decorated in baroque jewelry, glimmering gold and laced with vibrantly colored beads placed in intricate, deliberate patterns. Their faces are painted in stark lines of red and white, some across their noses and cheeks and under their eyes, others over their chins and foreheads; the makeup is so similar to Water Tribe markings that your eyes widen, unable to stop yourself from leaning in as you attempt to get a better look while also remaining dignified. The warriors are also much more robust than their mainland counterparts, with stocky builds and robust features - they remind you of your own people, leaving you in awe. 

“Chief Sunan,” Zuko addresses the leader of the group, bowing low as he speaks; you follow suit, leveling your gaze with the floor. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” 

The chief smiles faintly, warmly at the two of you, bowing in return. 

“We are not so cut off from the outside world that we have not heard of your marriage,” he says. “News has traveled to us of the strength of your union, and the tenacity of your bride. As Firelord, you have protected us, and made strides to restore the ancient ways of the element - we have come to give you our thanks, and offer our blessings to the both of you.” 

Chief Sunan steps aside then, making way for a man and woman carrying a basket between them; they lower it at your feet, bowing as they step back to rejoin their people. 

“A gift,” the chief proclaims. His muted grin morphs into something more knowing, almost mirthful as he watches Zuko approach the offering. 

You rest a supportive hand on Zuko’s back as he leans forward, lifting the lid of the basket to reveal its contents; he raises a bundle of blankets from the vessel, his eyes growing wide as he peels the fabric back. 

Inside the package is a dragon, just small enough to be cradled in his arms. Its scales are a gorgeous crimson, glinting and shifting between hues of gold and turquoise in the light cast from Zuko’s bended fire that surrounds his empty throne. The little beast peers up at its new parent with amber eyes that mirror your husband’s. Zuko lets out an astonished breath, raising his gaze to meet Chief Sunan’s. 

“I can’t accept this,” he states, so quietly that only you and the chief can make out the words. 

“You must,” Chief Sunan counters, his smile never faltering. “The masters insisted.” 

Under your palm, you feel Zuko’s body tense. He nods, cautiously settling the tiny dragon into your arms; you hold the bundle tightly, reaching in to stroke gently at the baby’s nose. It purs appreciatively, and your heart swells. 

Zuko bows, lowering himself to the floor in the ultimate display of respect. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I vow to protect him with my life.” 

When he once again stands, he looks to Rina. 

“Accommodate them however they need,” he commands. “Send a group of our Kyoshi Warriors to the island to guard it from outsiders.” 

Rina nods, scurrying off immediately to delegate the tasks. Chief Sunan then approaches you, resting a hand on your shoulder; you meet his eyes with slight fear, but find only kindness looking back at you. 

“We are grateful our bloodlines will merge once again,” he tells you. “The origin of our people is a history that has been lost to time, long before the war was even a speck on the horizon. You see, the Sun Warriors are descendents of migrant peoples from the earliest ancestors of the Southern Water Tribe as well as the Fire Nation - what our mothers and fathers knew of water bending shaped our understanding of fire. Your union brings our people together once again, as they should be.” 

Zuko wraps an arm around your waist, proudly pulling you against his side. You draw in a shaky breath, leaning into him as you nod, tears pooling along the lines of your lower eyelids. 

“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” you say. “I’ll do everything to make sure we regain our lost history. I promise.” 

Chief Sunan smiles temperately and nods, his fingers contracting around your shoulder in an appreciative grasp. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. “We are proud to call you our queen.” 

You invite the Warriors to stay for the night, Aang eagerly informing them of the banquet you have planned; by the time your reception of the unexpected visitors is finished, there's little more than an hour before it begins. 

Zuko brings your new ward back to your quarters, keeping him tucked protectively under his arms until you shut the sitting room door securely behind you. He then unravels the blankets the little creature is wrapped in, allowing him to explore his new home. 

“I thought dragons were extinct,” you marvel, watching as the fabled reptile twists and turns his body around every piece of furniture he encounters, inspecting everything he sees with humanlike interest. You smile, endeared by his wonder. 

“There are two still living,” Zuko explains. He kneels down beside the dragon, offering him a bit of a rice cracker from the box you keep in a side table for your nightly tea. “Three, now, I guess. The other two are the fire bending masters Aang and I had to seek approval from after I joined their team. Honestly, I thought they were both males.” 

“You must have made a good impression for them to trust you with their kid,” you remark, stifling a bit of laughter at his confession. “Maybe this’ll get Yong to stop bugging us about getting me knocked up.” 

Zuko chuckles, glancing up at you with an impish grin; the suggestive expression makes you blush, and you try to not admit to yourself that the excitement it sparks isn't unwelcome. 

The baby dragon lets out a mewling growl as he wraps himself around Zuko’s shoulders. He blows a minuscule jet of flame into the Firelord’s face, which Zuko mimics. You feel like squealing. 

“What should we call him?” you ask, lowering yourself onto the floor beside your husband. You hold a finger out to the dragon, which he curiously takes into one of his clawed hands. 

“Druk,” Zuko answers. “He looks like a Druk, doesn’t he?” 

You nod, your cheeks pinkened by the smile that’s plastered itself across your face; Zuko’s eyes meet yours with the same joyed expression. He maneuvers himself closer to you, resting his hand atop yours in your lap. As his fingers curl around your palm, you become achingly aware of just how near to you he is, and in a way that’s no longer friendly - the tension is heavier now, strained under the weight of a giddy, fluttering mania that leaves you dizzy. You don’t have to wonder if he feels the same. 

“Guess we’re parents now,” Zuko jokes, his voice barely above a breath. 

You giggle, taking the chance of leaning in to brush your lips to his. Your skin hardly touches; you’re too nervous to dive in and taste him, and for a moment after you pull away, you fear you may have imagined the glancing kiss. The fire that flares across Zuko’s cheeks tells you you didn’t. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, speaking in a murmur. “Guess we are.” 

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[struwwelzeter]

Please tell me everything about Wer Weiß Das Schon. Ilove that song so much and it almost made me cry the first time I listened to it / read the lyrics. And also, you know... your posts. I love your posts very much!

A couple of years back (maybe 7? 8?) while I was still at uni, I was at a student house party and it got really late and eventually there was this group of us at 3 am sitting on the balcony having these typical deep, intoxicated 3 am balcony talks that you have when you’re in your early 20s and a student and think that life is only going to get better from here. I don’t remember exactly waht we talked about, but what I do remember was that something I said prompted one of them to empathetically go “Oh, so you’re one of those Weltschmerz-types.” Everyone seemed to be quite sympathetic to that, and I kind of went “yeah”, and thought nothing of it, but it somehow stuck - over the next days, weeks, years. I still try to figure out why that impacted me so much, but I think because I was the only “Weltschmerz-type” amongst those handful of perfectly nice, compassionate, positive people that really didn’t know anything about my past, and they just kind of recognised that, and were perfectly nice about it but also a little bit “poor you”, it really drove home that I just see the world a little bit differently than most people. Just inherently, you know? It looks different to me than it looks to the majority. It’s a dark, messy, unfair and randomized monster, that has no real rhyme or reason for hurting that much, but it comes with cotton candy skies and so much love and it is very beautiful to me too.

The other day I was on the phone with one of my best friends who is the opposite of me in every way, but my most trusted advisor when it comes to my work and overall life choices. She couldn’t be less of a Weltschmerz type, she’s a social butterfly, and she wears flower patterned dresses - something you would have to pay me a million dollars to ever see me in - and somehow is the only person in my life that still dares to suggest that maybe sometimes I should wear less black. Because of this space and it’s mark up I’m gonna say she’s the Paul to my Richard because you’ll understand what that means (she annoys me like that too). Anyway, she had a terrible day. The contact restrictions, the entire pandemic, the inherent stupidity of people that it currently shows - it’s the worst thing that has ever happened to her. So this girl calls me close to tears and goes “Anna, I really miss people but everyone is so stupid” and so I spend an afternoon trying to talk with her through ways of dealing with that without going insane (compassion is the only answer) and at the end of it she’s like “I wish I could see it as stoically as you” and I say “I just never expected the world to be more” and she goes “that is really sad” and I go “well, you know. I’m one of those Weltschmerz-types.”

Now Weltschmerz is one of those big, big, emotional german words that are so untranslatable that they are somewhat (but not really) understood even by people who don’t speak the language, but in case you had any doubt whatsoever: That song describes what it is.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

White Crest 101 || Morgan & Margot

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @g0t-ri5h & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Margot gets a crash course in class from her new professor, and what it means to be a transplant White Crestian

The class had started several minutes ago and Margot had just barely rolled out of bed. She changed quickly into a pair of pants, not bothering to change the sweatshirt that she had slept in. There was no time. Margot had a habit of being late, a trait she had inherited from her mother. While her mother thought it was a fashionable faux pas, Margot was simply disorganised. By the time she busted through the back entrance of the room, the professor was halfway through her lecture. The nearest free chair was close to the front, one that would attract a great amount of unwanted attention. Margot trudged down to it, annoying a handful of students that had to stand to let her past. She sat down, listened to the remainder of the lesson, not following any of it. An advisor had called her over the weekend, told her that she didn’t have enough credits for the semester. To her chagrin, this class was one of the few that still had availability. English, a subject she had always struggled to comprehend, starting later would only make it more difficult. The lecture came to an end and Margot began to pack her things. “She’s a great teacher when she’s actually here.” One student said to another. Margot listened intently. “My roommate was telling me she was gone for like a month last semester. No explanation, just poof.” The other gossiped back. The two of them left, and Margot was just about to follow them out when she heard her name be called.

“Do your reflection responses! Do the reading! Make good choices! Remember you have agency in your life!” Morgan shouted her end of class reminders in one breath, waving goodbye to each of them as the filed out. Most waved back with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. They made faces, because they were still young and had too much pride, but no one was above a little personal attention or affirmation. “Ooh, not you, straggler! Yes, you, Margot!” She smiled smugly, waving the roster in front of her. It wasn’t magic powers that gave her the student’s name, just some really attentive refreshing of the faculty center page. “You know…” She eyed the girl and gave a wry smile, “If you only stay for half the class, you’re only getting half your money’s worth. Also, technically, no participation credit. Which is an extra bummer, since it’s the easiest thing to get. But since you’re new, I guess I can let the first day slide. You got some free time, Margot? I’d love to know what brought you to my class this late in the game while we go over make-up work?”

Margot let out a quiet and frustrated sigh. She was so looking forward to going back to her bed. Instead she turned to face the professor. “I’m sorry I was late. I overslept.” Margot knew this was not an adequate excuse by any means, but she had no patience or energy to think of something more creative or reasonable. Margot began to walk towards the lectern in the front of the room, towards Morgan. “It was a great lecture though, the parts I was here for. Very, uh, informative.” She offered this as a consolation. Margot glanced at her watch, as if she had someplace else to be. “Yes, I suppose I can stay for a bit.” She took off her backpack and sat it on the floor where she stood. Margot imagined this could take a while. “I thought I had enough credits for the semester, but apparently I didn’t. Yours was one of the only classes I could join so late. Is there much to catch up on?” Margot dreaded to think of all the homework she had missed, it would only add to the growing stack of overdue work on her desk.

Morgan let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course she had only come here for the credit. She had maybe even heard that it was an easy class to pass, which...wasn’t wrong either. Morgan didn’t think that being a hardass with grades was the way to students’ hearts, or to teaching them anything effective. She tossed Margot a syllabus and gathered the rest of her materials, leading her out of the room and off to the long series of halls and stairs it would take to get to her office. “No, there won’t be too much work. Just the introductory assignment, so I know some useful things about you. And you’ll have to grab the books and catch up on the book we’re finishing up next week. But, it’s really not much. I’m not interested in competing with your other courses for ‘Most Demanding Homework.’ I’m here to help you figure out how to think differently and express yourself more effectively. But--” She paused on the stairs to look over at the girl. “Maybe you have some questions for me? I’m not sure how long you’ve been at the school, but I know it can be a lot sometimes no matter what.”

Morgan’s sigh sounded nearly as pained as her own. If Margot was more empathetic, she may have even apologised for being so flippant and insulting the woman’s career. But, alas, she was not so perceptive. Margot caught the syllabus between her palms and began flipping through the first few pages as she followed Morgan out of the room. As she spoke, Margot made a mental note to source an online copy of this week’s reading material. It would be cheaper that way. “Introductory assignment?” Margot hoped it would be a simple questionnaire; name, age, perhaps favourite pets name. Hopefully it wouldn’t ask her about her lifelong hopes and dreams. She would most definitely fail. “I transferred in this year, so I’m still becoming acquainted with everything here.” Margot explained, “I do have one question, since you asked. Your absences,” Margot prefaced before continuing, “I overheard some students say you disappeared without warning last semester. I was just wondering, will attendance still be required if that occurs again?” Her question was admittedly influenced most by laziness and her wish to stay in bed as late as possible. But, Margot was also just curious, and rather nosey. It was probably an inappropriate question, but it was too late to rescind it.

“Oh, just a short reflection on how you feel about reading and writing about stories and what you want to learn this semester. Learning doesn’t happen by accident, and being clear with yourself on what your intentions are can go a long way to getting the most out of the semester!” Morgan explained. She jogged up the next flight of stairs and turned on the landing, bright with encouragement. She nodded along as she walked, commenting that asking questions were how everyone learned. And then Margot asked. Morgan’s foot slipped on the next set of stairs and she stumbled down to one knee. “Uh, my--a-atendance?” She understood that her students flourished better with consistency and she knew that even though none of last semester’s students had the nerve to ask her what had happened or express how it had made them feel, she knew they had their opinions on it. What Morgan did not know was that Margot was the kind of student to cut to the chase, no matter how sharp she needed to be. She straightened herself up and smiled again, scrambling to recover. “Uh, well, it is possible that I may cancel class for unforeseen reasons, in which case there won’t be any reason to take attendance, but if there is class, then there will be someone to teach you, even if for some reason it isn’t me. And if there is someone to teach you, then they will be taking attendance and passing on the roster to me.” Her voice was growing tighter, breathier. She was forgetting to breathe. Morgan hissed through her teeth for breath and forced herself to meet Margot’s eyes. “Is there something else that you wanted to ask me about my absences, Margot?”

Margot’s hand reached out to grab Morgan’s elbow as she stumbled. “Oh, shit!” Margot cursed under her breath. She had clearly taken her professor by surprise. But, as quickly as Morgan’s pleasant smile had faltered, it was back in it’s rightful place. “Very well.” Margot responded to the thorough explanation, “I only ask because my course load is already so full. My programming classes are very time consuming, and I just want to ensure I can keep my schedule intact.” A lie, Margot thrived in disorganisation. Her ‘unplanned routine’, she liked to think. “I’m glad to know that the class would be unaffected in such an event.” Margot smiled in a disingenuous, thin line, hoping to settle the sharpness of Morgan’s breath. She was being her most polite self now, the facade she reserved only for her mother and father. It seemed she had distressed the teacher, Margot wondered why. To her it was such a straightforward question. “No, your absences, and reasons for them are entirely your personal business.” For now anyways. Margot’s mind was already in front of her computer, researching. Her question had tugged at a nerve. Margot liked to know what made people tick, their darkest secrets and how best to exploit them to her advantage. “Did you still want to go over the make-up work?” They were still frozen on the staircase, and Margot wondered whether Morgan would still be willing to help her cause despite the hostility in her tone and posture.

Maybe all the mushroom stress was getting to Morgan too much. She’d been so sure a second ago that this girl was trying to get under her skin, needling about her ‘personal emergency’ last year. But Margot stayed on that line of courtesy, and Morgan wondered whether she made other people feel this way when she asked about their kids or their losses or their dates. Maybe people with their sanity just barely intact didn’t like surprise personal questions. Who knew? Morgan tried to smile again, better this time. “Thank you. I uh, appreciate that. And, yes, of course. I want you to succeed. There’s copies of all the handouts on the class website, since I know half of you guys live your life on your computer.” She climbed up the rest of the way and started down the dimly lit hall, ignoring its off-center doors and the soft give of the floor that was just too much on the wrong side of uncanny to bear contemplating for long. “I know I can’t promise a lot for you, Margot, especially in a place like White Crest, but I can say I’ll try my best for you.”

Margot was glad that she had somewhat diffused the situation, having Morgan dislike her would only make passing this class harder. Once more, they were on route to her office. Margot detested this university, most of all it’s appearance, it was as if it had never had a renovation or even been repainted. She visibly cringed as they continued on their path. She had never been in such a lacklustre environment before, having been born and bred in quiet luxury. She hadn’t acknowledged the privilege while she had it, but since leaving MIT, it’s all she could think about. What she had lost. What had been taken from her. “I appreciate the help. I need it.” It seemed that Morgan was one of the more passionate professors at UMWC, most would not give a student this much assistance. “I’m trying my best to fit in here. It’s just,” Margot paused, considering her words, “such a strange place.” Strange didn’t even scratch the surface. “Have you always lived here? In White Crest?”

Morgan’s office was all the way at the end of the hall, through a communal office supply room stocked with paper the wrong size for the printer and coffee that was perpetually burnt. Morgan’s office was through a sticky door off the corner, one desk in five crammed together. Today, only Karl and Kirk were nursing whiskeys in coffee mugs since Kyle (or his body rather) still hadn’t been found. “Sorry, boys. Official business. Come back in fifteen minutes?” Her voice was bittersweet, sharpening an invisible knife under its surface. Karl and Kirk put their mugs down so fast, whiskey spilled over the sides. They folded their laptops under their arms and shuffled away. Kirk clumsily dropped a mint tea bag on her desk before mumbling an apology and shutting the door behind him.

Morgan turned to her student, smile tight with awkwardness. “Don’t mind the Medieval Bros. They’re mostly harmless. Now, anyways. And I’m a transplant from Texas. Strange is probably...the gentlest word for how things are here. Which, just some unofficial wisdom? Don’t be out after dark alone, especially on the full moon. Stay away from the cosplay bars, the crowds there are more dangerous than they look. Don’t go off trail if you’re a hiker, ever. And keep some bleach on hand in case your bathroom starts sprouting blood, eyeballs, or fish.”

Margot restrained her laughter as the two bumbling men were ushered out of the room. She knew the smell of whiskey well enough to know that wasn’t coffee seeping from their pores. Normally such unprofessionalism would surprise her, but this was the new normal. “Yum, mint tea.” Margot picked the bag up, twirled it between her fingers a few times before dropping it into one of the mugs. She had a sly smile on her face, the result of witnessing something she probably shouldn’t have.

“Texas, wow. I never would have guessed. You don’t even have the signature accent.” Margot made herself comfortable, taking a seat in one of the desk chairs that had become vacant by Karl and Kirk. At Morgan’s advice, Margot’s mouth opened, then closed, not knowing how to respond. She didn’t know what to make of all of these random warnings; skeledogs, mimes, now full moons and the dark. “Why does everyone keep telling me to be careful?” Her eyes narrowed. “I know how to take care of myself.”

Morgan reached into her desk and took out some things from her cache of school supplies, the paper handouts, a journal to be graded, the first assignment, and a spare copy of the first book. “Oh, that,” she said, laughing at the teabag. “They’re just trying to...well, make up for their existence. I think they’re really coming along when it comes to respecting women, though they should probably figure out how to do it without being induced by fear.” She handed Margot the stack of assignments. “Maybe at your old school that was true, but things are different here in ways they don’t tell you in the brochures. So, take these, follow the instructions carefully, and have them in by next week, and I’ll waive the rest of what you’ve missed. And, seriously, be careful. Don’t die!”

[kshitij1997]

Welcome back!

Well, the die has been cast, and Europe shall endure the consequences. Or will it?

Onward with the story :)

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to Disney. All I own is this retelling and some original characters.

Chapter 10: Felino the crooked nose

 

February the 5th, 1828,

‘You’re a frigid, wormy piece of shit, you know that?’, growled the recently anointed Tsar at the Arendellian Monarch. Not a good sign for the conference the concert of Europe had arranged; the Monarch of Arendelle was hellbent on closing his country yet again, and no one was willing to budge on their stance.

‘I care not for the impression you choose to have about me, your majesty. I have my reasons and my fears to support my decision. I have to do what I feel is best for my kingdom, as would you if you faced a decision of a similar magnitude.’ Agnarr stated his position calmly, even as he felt no genuine respect for the Russian Monarch. Unlike his late brother, Tsar Nicholas the first had no great capacity for empathy and understanding. He had chosen to keep himself and his people ignorant. After all, what could one say of the sovereign who treated his highest officials and closest advisors like the serfs he saw them to be, and the holy synod under him bragged openly about how it was their god given duty to keep the downtrodden as they were. Oh, how their man, Sergei Uvarov, the Tsar’s minister of education, openly declared: “If I can extend Russia’s childhood another fifty years I will consider my mission accomplished.”

Oh, the Tsar saw himself as a god, and a jealous one at that. Agnarr understood that and knew that as a fellow sovereign, the Tsar could do little but rant in his face for the insult. Even if he would want to wage war upon Arendelle, he wouldn’t wish to give up access to the only warm water seaport he had. Still, Agnarr’s worries were far greater than some disgruntled people in power.

Elsa had lost control of her powers and was crippled in her fear, Anna had been forced to selective amnesia from Grand Pabbie, leaving no trace of Elsa’s powers and Olva...well she hadn’t been so fortunate. Against the advice of Grand Pabbie, he and Iduna had insisted on the procedure of wiping her memory clean of Elsa’s powers and the accident. The hermit warned of the consequences he was facing now with Olva, but how was he to know in his panic and desperation? Now the poor girl had begun experiencing fits and severe headaches, along with bouts of fainting for several minutes. He hadn’t slept this past month properly in the worry of what could happen to his family. Now he had a solution, and he would not back off from it. He must protect his family in any way possible. He must.

‘Your majesties, please don’t antagonise each other. This concerns all of us. You’re not the only ones troubled here. King Agnarr, you’d best explain yourself.’, queen Sophia spoke firmly as she presided over the conference. Agnarr’s declaration had shocked everyone, and he was yet to provide an explanation.

‘Thank you, queen Sophia. I have no intent on stepping on anyone’s face or insulting anyone. This sudden policy of isolation is a measure of precaution. I have it on reliable sources and personal knowledge that there are elements of revolution and insurgency brewing up in my kingdom. I can’t ignore it like the previous bourbon king of France in his time, god rest his soul. I must deal with these rebels quickly and with extreme prejudice. Because if I don’t then Arendelle falls forever, and if Arendelle falls, all northern Europe shall sink along with it.

And before you decide on persecuting war against me, ask yourselves this. Haven’t we had enough of war? We saw 2 decades of war followed by a decade of relative peace. If you ask me, I’d rather prefer the latter. I make this tough choice for the safety of all Europe, please understand.’

He paused to size up the room, who could be his allies and enemies hereafter. Corona and Austria-Hungary were definitely his allies; he knew Reginald would support him in the end. Weselton and the English would be against it; his partnership with them and America would be at risk, he’ll have to accommodate them somehow. Same was the situation with Russia. Maybe the Ottomans had to be brought in to keep Russia in check? Spain and the Southern Isles could be neutral; the Spanish could not care less, their main rivals were the English and the French, they would only vote as a formality. As for the Southern Isles were represented by queen Paulina, for the king had taken ill. On the surface, Paulina looked pleasant and charismatic, yet Agnarr knew that she would be a formidable and dangerous foe if he didn’t play this right. He began to speak again but was rudely interrupted.   

‘And what would be these insurgent elements? The Northuldra?’, asked the duke of Weselton. The room tensed at the duke’s blatant attempt towards badgering the king of Arendelle. Agnarr had to fight a very strong impulse towards bashing the duke’s head on the wall. After composing himself mentally, he replied with barely concealed intentions ‘Why, yes. They have been neglected for far too long. I must attempt to bring them up with the kingdom. They are too obscure and are getting discontent.’

‘Just the language your father used, didn’t he? And where is he now? Lost like the rest of them. I’m telling you; this country is a lost cause. The Northuldra are ‘discontent’? Don’t make me laugh. They’re out for your and your family’s blood. They have been for years.’, the duke was clearly enjoying himself at Agnarr’s expense.

‘And if I hope to pursue a peaceful solution and keep Europe out of the mess, what is so wrong with that, duke?’, Agnarr nearly spat out the last part.

‘It’s always something personal. What, a problem with your kids now?’

‘Why, your uncouth son of a-‘

‘ENOUGH!’, the presiding queen roared. ‘That’s the second time you have tried to lay discord in the concert on purpose, duke. Once it was over my kidnapped child and now this. I swear, if it happens again, you’re going to meet your maker without warning, in front of everyone!’

‘I can’t believe you’re still going on about your bloody kid. She’s fucking dead! I always get enraged how the kings of Europe are disturbed about such trivial matters, and I’m to be punished because I call out the bullshit for what it is?! Fine. Hang, draw, and quarter me all you want, that does not change the fact that once again, some people are sullying the good name of the concert for their own interests.’, the duke spat venom without a care.

‘I’ve heard enough. Marshals, break the duke’s kneecaps.’, an enraged Sophia gave the cold order to her personal guard. The duke’s bravado melted away instantly, and he shrunk in his stature as the marshals came to deal with him.

‘Sophie, stop!’ King Reginald shouted.

‘Pray tell, what now, Reginald?’ his spouse was beyond annoyed by now.

The king of Corona whispered in his spouse’s ear ‘We’ll get the coward some other time. I need to talk sense into Agnarr somehow. I advise you to break for recess.’ A rare sight for the usually tempestuous king to calm down his calmer, more pragmatic wife.

Queen Sophia sighed heavily and announced a recess.

Once they were alone, Reginald confronted Agnarr ‘What’s gotten into you, Agnarr? You’re supposed to be the sensible one amongst us two.’       

‘I’ll tell you what’s sensible. I should invade the fucking duchy of Weselton, lay it to fucking waste, burn it to the fucking ground, and salt the fucking remains barren forever!’ Agnarr snarled with uncharacteristic murder in his eyes.

‘Oh, calm down, crusader. I hate the duke much more than you do, believe me. Nevertheless, even I must agree with that poltroon over your course of action. It’s drastic and uncalled for. Tell me honestly what’s bothering you. We’ll make it right. Tell me.’

‘You don’t believe me? I told you every reason I have for doing this. My kingdom has only just recovered from the previous war. I can’t risk another. I certainly can’t afford it to become a pan-European conflict. At the end of the day, I just want my heir to inherit a stable state. An agitated group of people is not the hallmark of a stable state. Even if it takes me years, I must resolve this once and for all.’

Reginald spoke empathetically ‘Alright, but it still is a visceral reaction to the situation. I think foreign aid would only help more. Are you sure about it?’

Agnarr thought about telling the truth to his best friend, but ultimately decided otherwise; he couldn’t let the secret get out in any circumstance.

‘Yes I am. I also believe that those so-called insurgents are supplied by foreign powers themselves; they would like nothing more than to make my kingdom their colony. And that fucking Weselton shill... I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s behind the whole damn thing.’

‘That may be true, but without solid evidence, we can’t deal with him effectively. We must be sure.’ Reginald advised him.

‘Alright, but I can’t back down from my position. Yes, my kingdom will suffer in the short run, but I know we’ll be secure and united eventually.’

Ultimately, the concert decided that Arendelle would only keep one point of access open to the outside world; the main port. Only diplomats and special traders would be allowed. Every other traveller, from tourist to student would have to be barred from entering the country. It may cause uprising among the international students in his kingdom, but he’ll have to deal with them on his down. To preserve the security, the red tape for the traders and businessmen became very harsh. All, in service towards protecting my family; Agnarr thought.

A week later

A craven figure along with half a dozen guards floated in a rowboat towards one of the northern shores of Arendelle, beyond the mist. A hooded figure in silhouette waited for them on shore, heavily dressed to protect them self against the bitter February cold. Upon reaching the shore, the hooded bowed in respect and said ‘Welcome, honourable duke of Weselton. I hope your journey was pleasant enough.’

‘As pleasant a trip I could hope in stormy, waning winter, thank you for asking.’, the duke removed his cloak and coat to make his face more visible, and gestured his guards to disembark and stand around. The scrawny man took a moment to stretch himself, and at length, spoke ‘How many instances of forbidden people wandering into your grounds?’

‘Not as many as before, however a group of the Iceni tribe were intercepted in the valley of death during patrol two months ago and dealt with without exception. No survivors that we know of.’

‘Good, the illegals are dwindling, soon they would be no problem. However, as long as Arendelle stands, you’ll never be safe. We’ll have to confront them once and for all.’

‘Let’s continue our discussion on the way to camp, honourable duke.’

The Northuldrian camp was twenty-five kilometres inland from the seashore, but the spirits had grown very erratic in recent years, so the Northuldra had to find new routes to their homes every few weeks. The latest incident was particularly severe; a landslide had destroyed the usual detour they took, so they had to take the tributaries by another boat, a slower but safer way of travel.

‘Forgive me, honourable duke. I know travel by water does not agree with you.’

‘I’ll live. Tell me, how is everything holding up north of the mist?’

‘We’re eking out a living somehow. As you know, the rivers have been gradually changing course towards the south, our arable lands are going barren as a result. Adding to the problem, the rains are becoming scarcer with every passing year bit by bit. I regret to inform you that the poppy plantation is facing a loss, the raw material for the heroin would be short this time.’

‘It seems you’ve lost the plot, haven’t you? How will I get you your weapons if your end of the bargain is low? Weapons, armament, lumber and steam technology for ships don’t come cheap, you know?’ the duke said with the faux humility that masked grave threats underneath, and the hooded figure knew well what those threats were. Nevertheless, a low yield was not the biggest problem.

‘There’s more, honourable duke. Arendelle has tried to sue for peace and is willing to cooperate.’

‘Yes, I heard. We both know it’s nonsense.’

‘I’m not so sure. The terms they have offered seem rather reasonable.’

‘I’m sure they are. They may be too reasonable, I’m afraid. Implying something between the lines. The implication being disastrous for the Northuldra. If you ask me, I would never take any terms Europe offers at face value.’

‘I’m a fair sceptic of the south, just as you are. But since the rise of the mist, they have not engaged in any big skirmishes.’

The duke sighed and said ‘It pains me to say it, but you lack an ocean of imagination. There are uncountable ways to fight a war of attrition, and Arendelle has chosen the most insidious way.’

‘What do you mean, duke?’

‘I’d rather tell this to everyone at once, instead of making it a poor game of translation errors.’, with that, the duke fell silent, knowing full well that the hooded figure’s doubts had been flared up.

After a voyage of two hours, the party reached the camp. A huge crowd had gathered upon the riverbank where the canoe stopped. The hooded figure removed his hood and stood beside the Northuldra leader as her most trusted vassal. The Northuldra leader went by the name of Yelena, a woman moving towards middle age, standing barely above the duke in stature, but those aged eyes had seen many ups and downs. The leader slightly prostrated herself before the duke; the Northuldra way of showing respect towards authority.

‘Welcome, o duke! I hope your voyage was pleasant.’

‘As much as I could hope it to be. I must say, the Northuldra’s native lands grow more beautiful every time I venture up’ the duke said.

‘Your grace flatters us. I believe my trusted vassal has given you the lowdown for everything that has happened in the past three months. We’ll be happy to discuss a compromise for the goods you need.’

‘Thank you, your excellency. However, my worries include the survival of the Northuldra as well.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘You may have received terms from the king of Arendelle for a peaceful cessation in the past few days, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, they are more reasonable than I expected.’

‘I feared so, for if you paid attention, you’d realise that the terms are too positive. They’re willing to overlook the massacre of the group of Iceni that happened two months ago. Not to mention the fact that they may have stumbled about the truth about our trade operation as well.’

‘Speaking of the trade operation, what we may be short of in terms of goods, we’ll make up in plunder in the North Atlantic. I have sanctioned three fleets for the same purpose later this week.’

‘That is encouraging, but I must warn you, the plundering operation would become very difficult very soon. What with the king of Arendelle sealing the kingdom’s maritime and overland borders.’

‘Excuse me, come again?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.’

‘No, I didn’t. Please enlighten us, your grace.’

‘Well, your excellency, the king of Arendelle has decided to isolate the country, and I quote his speech: “This sudden policy of isolation is a measure of precaution. I have it on reliable sources and personal knowledge that there are elements of revolution and insurgency brewing up in my kingdom. I can’t ignore it like the previous bourbon king of France in his time, god rest his soul. I must deal with these rebels quickly and with extreme prejudice. Because if I don’t, then Arendelle falls forever, and if Arendelle falls, all northern Europe shall sink along with it.” Now you tell me, is this the language a man would use while suing for peace?’

Yelena became quiet for a moment, taking in al the information. At length, she asked ‘What are the possible ramifications of this declaration?’

‘They could be numerous, but I’ll tell you the most obvious one. Within a month at the latest, the coasts would be dotted by the Arendellian navy, putting a blockade through which nothing except their own ships could get in or out. You can imagine they would be only too happy to hunt down your pirate ships before you’re able to secure any loot at all. You can’t raid through the land, as the mist is your most powerful jailer. It will surely be a stifling experience; I won’t deny it.’

‘What if we do sue for peace? If we sincerely send an envoy to the south?’

‘Aye, you could try that. In fact, I suggest you try that without fail.’ Interrupted a tall, dark man as he made his way inside Yelena’s tent.’

‘Mathias, just because the mist forces me to tolerate and learn to like your presence doesn’t mean you interrupt me in meetings about the matters of state.’ Yelena bristled with annoyance.

‘Believe me, once the mist lifts up, I’ll ride south, first thing on my to-do list.’

‘Mathias, you look familiar. Tall, dark, muscular, good posture. Does your Ethiopian father still till the grain and tan the leather shoes?’, making harsh, cutting remarks was a talent the duke used well.

‘No. Does the honourable duke take me for his wretched bastard slaves in the Congo?’ Mathias growled.

‘Gentlemen, please. Your grace, please don’t mind Mathias. Yes, he’s a southerner. He was in king Runeard’s personal guard from what I gather. He may look brutish and imposing, but he’s harmless and dare I say, a halfway decent man. He doesn’t usually interrupt one of my meetings, so this instance must be special. Tell us big boy, what should bother us?’ Yelena finished as she turned to Mathias.

‘I’m sorry. I’m not willing to entertain the stories of a deserter.’, the duke said nonchalantly.

‘As if your pip squeakiness has ever been in a battle to judge a trapped prisoner of war?’ Mathias seethed.

‘See, even he agrees, we’re at war.’ Oh, they were all playing right into my hands, the duke thought with glee.

‘Yes, and now peace must be made. Yelena, this is not the time to go on the offensive. Trust me.’ Mathias faced Yelena as he settled down beside her.

‘Maybe, but it is a peace we would be forced into. We want it on our own terms, Mathias. I understand you’re homesick, but we haven’t had a home to go back to for decades. We will assert our terms onto the king, and he will have to accept it. If he doesn’t, it’s war.’

‘Lofty words, your excellency. Alas, there’s no substance or weight to back your words. You’ll be blockaded soon, and travel by land is impossible anyhow. I suggest you make a permanent settlement here and be done with it.’, the duke laid the bait.

‘And perpetually disturb the peace of the spirits by claiming their sacred forest? Never.’, and Yelena took it.

‘Well, I can’t negotiate such a big difference in your quantity of goods. You’ll have to offer me something if I must continue supporting your struggle. What about lumber from the forest?’

‘You must be reading a fucking comedy. When we refuse to make a permanent settlement in the forest, YOU PROCEED TO SUGGEST SOMETHING FAR WORSE?!’, Mathias had half a mind to strangle the duke right there, when he was stopped by Yelena.

‘Sit down, Mathias! We’re in desperate times. We’ll have to do what we must in order to survive.’

‘Making a bad situation worse is survival?! Can you imagine or fathom withstanding the rage of the spirits if we cut down the forest?! How can you even consider this, Yelena?’

‘If I may ease your concerns, I’ll vouch for the fact that a sacred relic commands a lot of value in the market. Especially amongst those who are powerful, proud, wealthy and don’t ask too many questions. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll introduce a tiny amount in the market. People would recognize it as sacred or magical with plenty of history behind it. Once I do that, I can manipulate the price for it and bring you all the money, all the weapons, all the ships you need.’, the duke reassured the Northuldra leader.

Yelena spoke at length ‘Alright, I agree to the venture. Let’s begin with ten logs.’

Mathias hung his head in defeat and nursed his forehead, which had begun to throb. This is not going to end well.

Yelena tried to comfort him after the duke left ‘Listen, for every tree we cut down, we’ll plant ten, I promise.’

‘Even if you do that, it won’t be the sacred forest of the fifth spirit anymore.’ Mathias said ruefully.

As the duke made his way to the ship waiting off the coast on his rowboat, one of his taciturn guards asked him ‘Your grace, why do we need these bunch of sheep worshippers?’

The duke grinned darkly ‘When a rival nation is at war with itself, best let it consume itself.’

Around the same time, somewhere in northern Greece

‘Rider, move your ass and get over here!’ A portly man called out as he wiped a greasy hand on his apron.

‘Coming, Elios!’ Flynn came running in. He was now a man of seventeen; having seen a fair bit of the world by now and had been working with Elios for a few months. Elios had hidden Flynn to save him from ‘The Hawk’, a notorious smuggler who had trapped him in his ring. In return, Flynn agreed to work for him in his front business.

‘Why must I go through this fucking chore every time? To have to call you up like a fucking parade float to just do your blessed job?’

‘I’m sorry for being two minutes late. I already did the prep for tonight; the bar has been cleaned and stocked. I just took a nap, calm your tits.’

‘I’ve heard that many times, give me something new Flynn’ Elios rolled his eyes.

‘What do you think I’ve been doing? Making merry around the city square? Come on, I know better than that.’

‘Don’t bother lying to me. I swear, one of those women is gonna make you the sacrificial goat someday.’

‘Alright, I heard your speech. Got it, can we move on?’

Elios wiped some sweat off his forehead and asked, ‘You know who’s coming tonight?’

‘Yeah I do, friends loyal to the Greek cause.’ Flynn answered without faltering

‘Not just any friend, mind you. The Gent is coming along with the Sicilians.’

Flynn’s ears perked up at that piece of news. The Gent was a legend in Northern Greece, almost singlehandedly forming the on-land resistance against the Ottomans in the Greek war of independence. He had been involved in the resistance for nearly seven years now and was lobbying for foreign support.

‘Wow, that’s a hero if I ever saw one.’

‘I told you I’ll introduce you to him soon. Today’s the day.’

‘Now, why would he visit an affluent restaurant filled with Turks day in and out, I’m sure I don’t know.’ Flynn stated incuriously.

‘Hey Flynn, let his people worry about it. I’m sure his people would be clever enough to figure it out.’ Elios was a practical man who knew the streets well, however, forethought was not his strongest suit.

‘No, Elios. Hear me out. If the Gent is ambushed here, we’re done for. Everything will be up for grabs and I know neither of us would like the prick of the cold sabre chopping our necks. And if we know The Gent is coming, the officials certainly know. And if the Sicilians find out, you’ll end up wearing concrete shoes, old boy. You may know the gutters and the roads, but I know loyalty.’

‘What do you suppose we do now? We can’t really serve them in public view.’

‘That is true. Tell you what, let’s clear the cellar for their dinner. I’m sure they don’t want any outsider to hear what they are discussing amongst themselves. Also, I think you should serve them personally, Elios.’

‘No can do. I’m the front. If I don’t stay there, they’ll investigate. You’ll have to serve them yourself. I’m sorry Flynn. The Gent trusts me, if he sees that I consider you worthy, he’ll be comfortable.’

But I don’t know the first thing about him and the others. What if I offend them without meaning to?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Flynn. We both know you know better than that. If the service is good, they’ll fill your pockets with enough dosh to set you up for years. If I truly know you, you wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world.’

‘Alright, I’ll do it. Say Elios, what if I warm them personally first about the last-minute change of scenery?’

‘No. I’ll have to warn them myself. Set the cellar up. I did contact them two days ago; I’ll do it again.’

‘Just make sure you’re not followed.’

‘Hey Rider, who knows the street better?’

‘You do, clearly.’

‘Yup. I’ll be back soon.’

A few hours later, a party of people showed up. There was the Gent, a tall slender man, worn down by the hiding and fighting. His face was warm enough, save for the green eyes that could bore holes through the Earth, and a crooked mouth that had a scare across the top lip. Still, he felt like a man who could fight forever. As for the Sicilians, they were something else entirely.

It was a band of seven people. The man most fancily dressed, along with the ruby ring on his little finger and the gold watch and chain, was obviously the leader. The six were presumably his bodyguards, each one burlier and more imposing that the last, looking like killers happy to kill a priest in the middle of a sermon. Ruthless and royal. Dressed to the nines up to their plug caps.

Flynn suddenly felt dwarfed and puny.

‘Gentlemen, this is Flynn, he’s been working with me for a few months, he’ll be serving you tonight.’ Elios gave a short introduction and left. Flynn gave a short bow, not sure how to address these powerful men.

‘What’s your name, green boy?’ The Gent asked.

‘Flynn.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Going to be seventeen next month.’

You’re not from around these parts, are you? Your accent tells me....Austria Hungary?’

‘No sir, Corona. The Rhinelands, to be exact.’ 

‘Uh huh. How’d you end up in Greece?’

‘War orphan from the Napoleonic wars, pushed around all of Europe, ended up here.’ By now, Flynn knew the story by heart.   

‘My condolences. Ok Flynn, you’re going to undergo something unpleasant. Forgive me, just the nature of these times. I need to be sure of your loyalty.’

Before Flynn could reply, one of the goons was upon him, almost choking him with his weight, pressing down on his spine. Even if Flynn had any wind left him, he couldn’t yell.

‘Answer me, why was the room changed at such short notice?’

‘When the Gent asks, you better fucking answer, figlio di sfagato!’

‘Get off him, let him speak.’ The goon got off at once.

Flynn coughed and gasped for air. When he could breathe normally, he said weakly , ‘Mr. Gent, it was Mr. Elios who suggested it.’ Flynn barely finished his sentence before receiving a punch in the gut, knocking the air out of him.

‘That’s a lie. Elios is not that big a thinker. You seem to be smarter than you let on. Why’d you try to protect us from the Turks?’

‘I didn’t want them to kill you here. That would be underhanded and filthy. I’ve heard....heard that you believe in engaging them head on, I didn’t want them to ambush you. You’re a hero around here, would be a shame if I couldn’t do my bit for your cause.’ Flynn was hit yet again by the goon, this time in his nose. Blood had begin ebbing from his mouth and nose.

‘You’ve said enough. I can guess the rest of the story. Either betray the Turks and face the sabre or betray us and face getting shot in the face. Why choose us over them?’

‘I gambled here.....I’d rather be loyal to someone fighting the slavers for freedom than the slaver themselves.’ Flynn braced himself for another hit, but the hit never came.

Instead he could hear a chuckle from the Sicilian leader, who had gestured his goon to stand down. He approached Flynn and held him by the cheek, saying in thick accent, ’Felino. That’s your name from now on. Felino the crooked nose. Drinks on the house, all night. Keep the drinks up, you’ll be richer than the sultan come morning. Good boy.’

The leader, or don as they were calling him now, lightly tapped his cheek and went back to his place, settling down with the Gent and the other goons. Flynn left the room and almost crumpled on the floor. I could’ve died there, he thought for a second. Nevertheless, he composed himself and put on his charm; Felino the crooked nose had a job to do.

Ha, the duke of Weselton’s such a bastard, always stirring up shit wherever he goes lol. I love the potential his character has.

Our Man Flynn is serving the big boys now! What could happen?

Thanks again to those who continue reading this silly story :P

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome!

[heyyyharry]

Blackout (from the Flatmate!Harry Series)

…in which there’s a big storm, and Harry and Y/N cannot leave their flat.

Warning: fluff, and (finally) smut.

It’s 4 AM where I live and I’m supposed to get up at 7, but I cannot sleep soooo.

Ben tells Y/N not to move as he carefully layers another coat of nail polish on his neighbor’s pinky, looking pretty proud of himself for how nice it turns out. Y/N giggles. She’s never actually paid attention to her nails, let alone painted them herself. She tried and failed miserably, thank God Ben’s here for the rescue.

“Oooh I love this color, Ben! Harry’s so gonna make fun of me for this though!”

“Knowing Harry, he would still swoon over you, I guarantee!”

Harry’s on the phone with Niall in the living room and has no idea Y/N and Ben are in her room gossiping about him.

Y/N holds both hands in front of her to admire Ben’s art work, then says happily, “I should practice nail painting on Harry.”

“You should definitely!” Ben chuckles. “But seriously though, thank you for doing this.”

“Doing what? You were the one who did all the work for me.”

“Inviting me over, spending time with me. It’s been a rough couple days lately. It’s good to spend some time with somebody who’s not yourself.”

Y/N heaves out a smile as she stares empathetically at her neighbor. Yes, the main reason she invited Ben over was because he’d been devastated over his fiancé cheating on him then breaking off the engagement right after, but that’s not the only reason.

“To be honest, I also need to spend more time with someone else other than Harry.”

Ben looks at her with wide eyes and the girl has to clarify right away.

“I love Harry, I do. I enjoy spending every minute with him, but I’m kinda afraid I’d scare him off if I started acting too clingy, which is very likely to happen.”

“I think you’re just overthinking, Y/N. It’s normal to spend a lot of time with him, it’s unavoidable. I mean, you two live together!”

Y/N rolls her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively. “True. But I don’t know…Harry’s not used to having a serious girlfriend. And I just…I want to be with him all the time, but I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“So you’re obsessed with your boyfriend, big freaking deal.”

“You don’t get it.” She shakes her head in response to Ben’s confused expression. “Harry rarely hangs out with his friends anymore. I don’t want him to feel like he’s obliged to spend every second with me. And I read it online that if you spend too much time with your partner, it’s more likely that one of you, or maybe both, will get tired of each other.”

“Let me stop you right there and call it bullshit!” Ben interrupts Y/N, holding his forefinger in front of her face. “Look, honey. Why don’t you just enjoy being in love and let everything happen naturally? I think you’re trying way too hard.”

“How can I not?” Y/N lifts her shoulders. “I...He’s the only good thing that’s happened to me in a long time...I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Everything happens for a reason whether you like it or not, so you should, I don’t know, go with the flow I guess? Relationships are unpredictable, Y/N, just be happy and enjoy every moment of it.”

Y/N doesn’t reply to Ben, she stays silent. He can only hope his advice doesn’t go over her head.

…

“I’m telling you, she’s been keeping distance!” Harry keeps his voice down, but he has to raise his head from the sofa to check if the door of Y/N’s room is still closed. On the phone, Niall remains very calm in contrast to his best friend’s anxious state. Ever since Harry got a girlfriend, Niall has somehow become his love guru though he’s not a lot more experienced than his best friend when it comes to a serious relationship.

“Have you guys been having sex?“

“No, in fact, we haven’t. We’ve decided to wait.”

“For what? Marriage or her finding a guy who would fuck her? The latter would be more likely.”

“Wait until she’s ready, you dick!” Harry throws his head back on the arm rest and blows up his cheeks. “But I guess you’re partly right, maybe sex is the reason, because she said she was afraid that I’d leave her after we’ve had sex. We’ve talked about it already, but I feel like she’s still worried somehow.”

“Would you though? Leave her, I mean.”

“Of course not! It’s never about sex when it comes to Y/N.”

“Then prove it to her.”

“How?”

“I don’t know!”

“Jesus, Niall, what kind of advisor are you?”

“The kind that’s just as clueless as you are when it comes to stuff like this? You should get more friends.”

Harry sighs into his palm and nods. “Maybe I should.”

The conversation is suddenly interrupted by the laughters coming from Y/N’s bedroom. She walks out soon after, followed by Ben. Harry quickly tells Niall he would ring him back, then ends the call just in time his girlfriend and their neighbor returns to the living room.

“I have to be at work, but I’ll be done at seven and I’ll pick you up.”

“Great!” says Y/N, smiling as she holds the door open for Ben to leave.

“You’re going out with Ben tonight?” Harry frantically asks as he sits up straight on the sofa. His girlfriend closes the door and answers him with a firm nod.

“Yeah. Girls’ night out. Aren’t you going out with Niall?“

“No.” He shakes his head slowly. “I thought we were going to a movie.”

“No…We said next week.”

“We said today,” Harry asserts. He cannot be more certain because he remembers correctly everything Y/N has ever said to him (well, maybe minus the parts where she asks him to do chores or buy something on his way home). “But never mind. If you already have plan, we’ll go next week.”

Y/N only opens her mouth to speak when the power in the flat goes off all at once and she screams so loud that almost sends Harry flying off the sofa. He quickly walks towards the nearest window to open the curtain for some natural light, only to find the sun is setting, and it’s still raining cats and dogs.

Scattered showers pop up throughout the entire day, and Harry’s been hoping the weather would improve, but seemingly it only gets worse and worse as the day’s coming to an end. Now the only things he can make out through the thick, white rain curtain are the dim street lights and headlights from the vehicles rushing home to avoid the upcoming storm, which was mentioned in the weather forecast.

“Guess your plan’s cancelled.” Harry turns to Y/N, smiling a little bit. She sighs, but looks rather at ease.

“I guess so.”

...

Ben texts Y/N to let her know he’s safe from the storm, but is now stuck at a supermarket somewhere for it’s impossible to travel in this kind of weather. Harry follows Y/N into the kitchen, using his phone as a flashlight so she can see in the dark. She opens the cabinet and mumbles a small ‘yes’ when she finally finds the candles she’s been searching for. She bought them a while ago despite Harry complaining they would be a waste of money, now it’s been proven he was wrong and she was right.

As Y/N lights up several candles around the flat, Harry looks outside from the window, the sight in front of him could be taken straight out from a horror movie. The howling wind is slamming against the glass with violent force as if its intention was to break it and intrude into their living room. The rain’s pouring down harder than a waterfall, lightning strikes here and there, lighting up the sky for a second before vanishing, soon followed by the cracking sound of thunder shaking up the whole room.

“Stay close to me, I’m fragile…” Harry begs, clinging onto his girlfriend’s arm, making her giggle.

“What happened to ‘be the Lois Lane to my Superman’?”

“I was very inspired after that Superman movie, okay?”

The candles turn out to be a great idea, because their flat has been transformed from a horror classic to a Christmas film, all cosy and warm, the complete opposite of what’s going on outdoors. Harry’s settled on the sofa with his laptop lying on his belly, there’s no internet so he decides to work on his essay until his laptop runs out of battery. Y/N’s sitting on the floor beside him. She’s trying to follow Ben’s tips to paint her toe nails, it’s much more challenging when you do it in the faded candlelight though.

“Need any help?” Harry chuckles as he notices his girlfriend’s trembling fingers trying to not fuck up. She doesn’t look up at him now that her entire attention is on the tiny brush.

“As if you can do better,” she says. Harry immediately closes his laptop as a result, and moves to join her on the floor, sitting with his legs crossed.

“Psst. Gimme that!” With a smirk on his face, Harry takes the nail brush from his girlfriend, then slouches down a bit to carefully finish the first coat on her toe nail. Y/N widens her eyes in shock as it looks perfect on his very first attempt.

In response to Y/N’s reaction, Harry tells her, “I used to paint my nails.”

“No way.”

“Way. I thought black nail polish gave me the rock star look.”

Y/N can imagine Harry’s nail painted black and the thought of him touching her with those hands alone is enough to get her off mentally. 

“Let me paint your nails! It’d be so sexy.”

Her offer makes him snort. “I’m already sexy.”

“Even sexier!” she says, holding her hands together, big round eyes staring at him. “Please?”

He cannot say no to her, not after she’s pulled the puppy dog eyes and used that magic word on him. So Harry voluntarily gives her his hand and allows her to do whatever she wants with it, same goes with his heart. He is such a fool for her.

Y/N does struggle a little bit at the beginning, but with Harry’s guidance she's able to finish one hand, then she stops because she gets tired. 

“Hey, I want a refund. Do both!”

“You can do your left hand on your own, should be a piece of cake to you.” Y/N giggles then gives his right hand a kiss. “Seriously though, I’m impressed. I feel like there’s still so many things I haven’t learnt about you.”

“Well...” Harry takes a deep breath. “Now since we have nothing to do, why don’t we play a game of Truth or Truth to get to know each other better?”

“Truth or Truth?” Y/N stares at him funny.

“Like Truth or Dare, but you can only pick truth.”

“Sounds more like a police interrogation to me!”

“You’re in or not, Y/N?”

“In. I’m in.” Y/N clears her throat, tries her best not to laugh and sits up straight. “Okay, I will ask you first, because you know about me more than I do about you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, Harry, when did you lose your first kiss and your virginity, and who did you lose them to?”

Harry presses his lips together as he throws his head back to look at the ceiling, thinking for a little while before he answers, “so I was fifteen when I lost both to the same person, an old friend of mine. Her family moved away a year later and I haven’t spoken to her since.”

Y/N furrows her eyebrows at Harry, clearly not happy to hear that answer. “What’s her name?”

“Olivia. Why?” Harry snorts, slightly amused by the obvious jealousy written on Y/N’s face. He loves to drive her mad, it’s been like that since the first time they met. “Told ya I haven’t talked to her in years, baby.”

“I thought I was your first real crush.”

“You are." Harry reaches out to stroke his girlfriend’s cheek and feels her soften all at once. “Ollie and I didn’t even date. We were kind of close friends, I’d known her since we were in middle school. We did it because we were just horny and curious, no romance involved, I assure you. Then she moved away and we lost touch.”

“Ollie and I,” Y/N mocks Harry’s voice, her arms crossed sternly in front of her chest. Harry scoots closer to her and pulls her onto his lap all of a sudden, making the girl squeal in shock. Still she doesn’t protest and eventually wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“I hate her,” she whispers against Harry’s lips with her eyes shut. She has no idea how much he’s enjoying how cute she looks when she’s jealous.

“Don’t hate her. She’s a stranger now. You’re my girl,” says Harry, staring at Y/N deep in the eyes then presses his thumb gently against her bottom lip. “Aren’t you?”

“I am. I’m your girl.” He makes her so fucking weak it’s embarrassing sometimes.

“Now, my turn to ask.” Harry chuckles and Y/N suddenly remembers they’re in the middle of this stupid Truth or Truth game. The sexual tension has made it impossible for her to concentrate and she secretly praises him for keeping his cool.

“Who’s your first crush? I know it ain’t me.”

Y/N giggles at the pout on his face. “One of my classmates in fifth grade. I thought he was cute, always helped me with Math and shared me his food at lunch.”

“Lameeee. Hate him already.”

“We were kids!” Y/N laughs, fingers toying with the hair at the back of Harry’s head. “Have I told you about my first time having sex?”

“Yeah, with your prom date, right?”

Y/N nods her head yes. “I was so drunk, and heartbroken that my ex-boyfriend cheated on me a few days before Prom. Having sex that night was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made. Had I waited a couple years later, I could’ve done it with you.”

“You mean...”

The look on Harry’s face cracks Y/N up. She nods fast. “If it was possible, I would want you to be my first, Harry.”

“Oh...” is Harry’s response because he’s utterly speechless, his inner voice, however, is screaming with joy. She must trust him a lot to even think about having him take her virginity, which, unfortunately will never happen, yet knowing so makes him thrilled to bits.

“I love you. Why’s it so hard to believe?” Y/N asks quietly with her forehead pressed against his and their noses touching. Harry closes his eyes and heaves out a heavy sigh.

“Lately you’ve been keeping your distance so I thought...”

Y/N immediately pulls away then grabs his face with both of her hands. “No, no, no. Gosh, the only reason I’ve been doing that is because I want to give you space. I noticed that you rarely went out with your friends anymore, don’t want you to change your life completely for me.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Y/N, I rarely go out with my friends anymore because they either get completely wasted or find some random hookups. You don’t want me to do that, do you?”

She shakes her head rapidly without a second thought. Harry smiles at her contently.

“I don’t want to either. I have you now. Cheesy as this may sound, I’d choose staying at home doing homework with you over any party.”

And Y/N cannot stop grinning as she replays that sentence over and over again in her head. She says to him, “you turning into an anti social for me is the most romantic thing you’ve ever done.”

Harry places one hand on his left chest and pretends to be in so much pain. “You making jokes during my romantic moments is the least romantic thing you’ve ever done.”

“That makes two of us.” Y/N relaxes her shoulders and slides her hands from the back of his head down to his chest. In the soft candlelight, he watches her smile slowly fades away. She sucks in a breath then lets it all out. “I know I shouldn’t think too much about this, but I cannot help it...I’ve dealt with assholes my entire life, thinking that I’d be better off alone. And then you happened...and I can’t imagine losing you.”

“Baby...” Harry throws his head back as he secures his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer to him. “To be honest, I’m just as scared as you are, but looking back, my life kinda took its turning point on the day we met and it’s been a crazy ride but I’ve never been happier. Why don’t we just enjoy the moment and not worry too much about the future?” He takes her hands from his chest and holds them tight. “Right now, it’s just you and me against the world. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Y/N gives Harry a nod and leans in to reattach their lips, slightly pushing him down so he’s lying on his back and she's on top of him. Her fingers get lost in his hair whilst his find their way from her knees to her bottom then slide under her shirt, resting on her bare back after given a nod as her permission. This is the furthest they’ve gone in this relationship, but it’s not enough for Y/N. She wants him more than this. She has no idea what’s gotten into her when she straight off tells him, “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

Harry, still trying to catch his breath, stares at his girlfriend in disbelief. Was she drunk, he would blame it on the alcohol, but she’s sober, and this is so unlike her, the pure and innocent Y/N he’s always known. He cannot say he’s not enjoying this.

“You’re sure?”

“Do I look like I’m not?”

“Feisty.” Harry chuckles, placing one hand at the back of her head, bringing her mouth back on his own as he flips them over so he’s now on top. 

“Do you want to move this to the bed?” he asks and she shakes her head. The only thing she wants right now is him. 

“Good, neither did I,” he admits and closes the space between them again. They’ve been waiting so long for this, they cannot wait any longer, even just a minute. Though having sex on the floor is not exactly the romantic scenario they’ve expected, with all the candles all around them, it’s pretty close, they would say. 

Harry and Y/N break apart for a brief second to pull his t-shirt off and hers soon follows, tossed away on the floor somewhere, leaving her half-naked in front of him for the first time. By the glow of the candlelight, he thinks she’s even more stunning, the shadows dancing across her features, accentuating the color of her hair. He parts his lips, wanting to tell her how beautiful she looks, but she’s already one step ahead of him.

“You’re so beautiful,” she breathes and his eyes sparkles with passion. 

“So are you,” he admires before coming back to her, pressing his nose to the dip of her throat and inhaling her, drunk with her scent. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Harry holds his breath, slowly tracing his fingertips across her skin as if she was made of glass, easily breakable. 

The rest of their clothes soon come off, Y/N feels so vulnerable and exposed. This is not her first time having sex, why does it feel like it is? Maybe because of the way Harry’s caressing her cheeks, constantly asking if she’s okay, telling her how beautiful she is, the things that she didn’t get to hear on her actual first time. She’s so lost in him, completely infatuated by him. She believes she belongs to him, and even if she wanted to, she could never leave.

The rain is still thumping against the window, but all Harry and Y/N can hear is each other’s breathing and heartbeats. They’ve lost track of time as they kiss, two bodies kneading against each other. It’s all new to Harry, he’s never made love before, because he’s never been in love with anyone else. He knows this isn’t the first for neither of them but he wants to take his time with her, to make her feel good because she deserves that. 

Y/N lets out a light moan when his fingers find their way into her heat and he has to audibly remind her to start breathing again. He lays kisses all over her face, letting her know how good she feels and how much he loves her. It doesn’t take too long for Y/N to start squirming and biting on her bottom lip as she feels her release building, but she wants to fall over the edge with him inside of her so she grabs his wrist and stops him just in time. 

Harry withdraws his hand from her thigh and brings his fingers to his lips to lick them clean, the sight of it makes Y/N groan in desperation. She takes no time to bring his lips back to hers, tasting herself in the warmth of his mouth. It’s crazy how she hasn’t even reached her high yet and he’s already got her seeing stars.

Y/N pets Harry’s cheek as he pulls back and looks down at her. 

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” His voice almost breaks as he holds her close and she clings to the back of his head. “I don’t want you to leave.”

His last words nearly bring her to tears. With all the shitty relationships in the past she almost thought no one would ever love her for real, now he’s here, telling her she’s everything he’s ever wanted, begging her to stay, proving all her doubts and fears wrong. He’s like her knight in shining armor.

“I’m not gonna leave, not ever,” she says, and she means every single word. 

"I love you,” he mumbles against her lips for the hundredth time, then lifts her legs to his hips as Y/N reaches down to take him in her palm, her sudden touch makes his breath hitch. 

“Wait...Condom,” he murmurs as his eyelids flutter and Y/N quickly assures him that she’s on the pills. Without hesitation, she slips the very tip of him inside her, the tightness causes both of them to gasp. 

She gives him a sly smile, holding his eye contact as she feels him slowly sink himself deep inside her. It takes her a while to adjust to this pleasing unfamiliarity. Harry thrusts slow and deep, causing his name to fall from her lips again and again. He holds her eye contact still, even though both of them are fighting to keep their eyes open. There’s no part of him that she cannot feel, and the feeling is just overwhelming. Harry’s eyes squeezing shut as he drops his head to her chest. She kisses his hair, fingers crawling down his back, letting the pleasure take over. The movement of his hips speeds up and Y/N feels the heat spreading through her veins. 

“Oh God, baby, fuck,” Harry curses against her skin while lifting both of their hips to get a better angle. Y/N arches her back as uncontrollable soft moans fall from her lips. She feels his entire body tense as well as her own.

“I’m so close,” she says breathlessly and he pushes her hair from her face, slipping his hand between their moving bodies to circle his finger tips against her clit, causing her to suck in a breath and clings tighter to his shoulders. 

“Let go baby,” he coaxes softly, his hips moving in time with his hand as he cries out when her walls clench tight around him.

Another moan escapes Y/N’s lips as she struggles to hold off her release. Harry speeds up slightly, goes a little deeper and harder and Y/N starts falling apart in his shaking arms. Harry’s mouth falls open, his brows pulled in and his eyes fight to stay open to witness her reaching her climax, repeating his name over and over again. He pushes though, even though his whole body is coming apart, and they both cry out until there’s nothing left they can give each other. 

All out of breath, Harry flips them over so she’s lying on his chest and he wraps his strong arms around her delicate body. They lay there on the floor, their breaths gradually come in sync after a little while and Y/N’s obliviously beaming when Harry tightens his grip and holds her close. Those small flickering flames around them grow dimmer every moment as the wax melts down, but Y/N can still make out a smile twitching at Harry’s lips. He takes her hand which is resting on his chest and raises it to his lips.

“If you’re wondering, we had sex, and I still love you.”

“I’m not wondering.” She kisses his cheek, closing her eyes and sighing. “And I love you too.”

[rickstexaschick]

Rick’s Texas Chick: Chapter 8

Originally posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183545/chapters/35229917

In a slow, even voice she told Rick the story.  How they’d met at the hospital where she worked, she a staff nurse, and he a trauma surgeon.  He’d recently immigrated from South America, hired to join the medical school faculty.  They’d met at a happy hour at a nearby pub that catered to the hospital staff, otherwise they probably would have never run into each other at the hospital.

She didn’t ‘do’ trauma, she said, quietly, wrinkling her face in distaste, keeping her eyes closed while she continued talking.

Couldn’t handle the blood, the horrific injuries, the patients’ screams of fear and pain, their family members standing outside the shock room, crying, demanding to know what was happening.  All the chaos and rush, everyone shouting out orders, trying to attend to everything at once.  It always sent up feelings of panic inside her, and she struggled not to give into the urge to burst into tears and run away.  Like she was the one who’d been hurt.  Her advisor in school had told her that that was just a part of her natural empathetic nature, that she’d get over it.  But she never could.

She much preferred dealing with patients once they were sewn up, drugged up, no bones sticking out or intestines spilling out of knife wounds slashed across the gut, and no longer spurting blood or other body fluids out all over the place.

In spite of this, they’d hit it off and were soon dating.  He was so confident, so sure of himself in an emergency and in his skills as a surgeon.  When they first met, she used to go down and watch him in the ER, to watch him in action when a trauma patient came in.  Directing orders right and left, he commanded the room with effortless ease.  He was unmistakable even when he wore a surgical mask: his tall body towered over everyone else, his shock of blue-gray hair visible even as he bent over to administer to a patient.  There didn’t seem to be anything he was afraid of.

By comparison, sometimes he made her job feel dumb and silly.  Her told her that her job just amounted to wiping asses and pushing pills, and she had to agree.  He was everything she wasn’t, and yet he still wanted her.  He was a god, her god, and they were married less than year after they met.

She was quiet for a moment.

She wasn’t young when they’d met, neither of them were---he was 10 years older than she was and divorced.  He never really talked about his past life that much.  Unlike her.  He said he’d left his ex-wife behind in South America so he could start over in the US, where she couldn’t get her hands on anymore of his money. That was as much as he was willing to tell her.  And she believed him.

Her friends urged her to move more slowly.  They didn’t like how he treated her: condescending, arrogant.  Always impatient, always criticizing her, ridiculing her.

She’d defended him. They were misinterpreting it, that’s all.  It was just a cultural thing.

And besides, she acknowledged privately, the way things had been going for her, she’d thought she’d never get married.  She’d be a fool to let this opportunity slip away.

“My mom and dad were soooo happy that I’d found a doctor to marry,” she went on again, quietly.  “Like that was the be all and end all to life…”

More silence.  Rick slowly rubbed her muscles without speaking.

“And boooy, did they love him.  He had them wrapped around his finger.  They thought he hung the fucking moon...

“But after we got married, I couldn’t tell them what he was really like.  I was too ashamed.”

After they married, he discouraged her from maintaining her friendships.  They were all losers, they’d only hold her back, drag her down.  Besides, they didn’t even want her to marry him.  How could she, he asked, stay friends with them after all the bad things they’d said about him?  What kind of person was she that she could do that?  They certainly weren’t welcome at his house---their house, she corrected him.

He’d reached out like lightening and grabbed her hair.  “Who paid for this house, slut?  Who pays the bills around here?  Me, I do.  This is MY fucking house, and they are NOT coming here.  EVER.”

So, she tried meeting them outside of the house: an early dinner, happy hour, always when he was working or out of town, so he wouldn’t know.  But whenever he found out about it he would give her the silent treatment for a week.  It was painful, it was pointless to keep trying.

So, she’d let them all go, one by one.

“And your parents?” Rick asked.

I can’t talk about that, was her cryptic response.

She paused for a moment, then went on, talking about her ex.  Describing how ambitious he was, had huge plans for a successful academic career here in the US.  He was always working towards that end.  He traveled frequently to conferences, accepted invitations to give guest lectures – always for money, of course, with all his expenses paid.  He never did anything for free.  He wrote journal articles, collaborated on textbook chapters with other trauma surgeons from schools around the country, participated in lucrative clinical and pharmaceutical trials...He was always busy, always building his empire.

Because of work, she couldn’t travel with him as much as she would have liked, but he never seemed to mind. In fact, very quickly he’d begun discouraging her from joining him.  He’d suggested that she stay behind, focus on herself, her career.

It was he who’d brought up the topic of her going back to school.  Before that, she’d never really given it much thought.  She’d always been content to continue working as a nurse.

It was an embarrassment to him, he’d said, that she was ‘just a nurse.’  He’d told her this on more than one occasion.  He didn’t like introducing her to his colleagues and professional visitors.  He’d made her feel ashamed of herself, as if she wasn’t worthy of being by his side.

The other doctors’ wives were either doctors themselves, or trophy housewives: involved in Junior League, charities.  More than that, they were always dressed immaculately, hair and nails done, always skinny, never out of shape.  Or, god forbid, fat.

She stopped, and in the quiet den this last word hung in the air over them like a balloon, the unspoken humiliation and shame clung to it like two lead anchors, never allowing it to dissipate and break free from her psyche.

Rick could almost see how they permanently draped around her neck, scarring her, holding her down from ever achieving any semblance of self-respect and happiness.  It broke his heart, hearing her talk about herself this way.

She went on....

She’d known this wasn’t entirely true, she said, but her ex refused to hear her side.  In their marriage, he was always going to be right, and she was always going to be wrong.  Someone had once told her that in marriage, if one had a disagreement with one’s spouse, you had to decide: Would you rather be right or would you rather be happy?

Well, she’d never been either one.  But she had to make the best of it.

So, she tried.  She curbed down the tomboy in herself, stopped working in her garden —hired landscapers.  She wore the expensive clothes, tried to dress and act more femininely for him.  She got her nails and hair done regularly, wore more make-up.  But she hated it.  It didn’t feel like who she really was inside.  And it still wasn’t good enough for him.

It was only then that the truth had begun to dawn on her.

It had nothing to do with if she was a nurse or not.  Not entirely.  She would never be good enough.  She would never, could ever be any kind of ‘trophy wife’ to him, no matter how hard she tried.

Ultimately, it just wasn’t in her nature to be that kind of woman, lead that kind of life.

So, she’d stopped trying to be a trophy, and went back to being just herself.

Just herself, the words echoed in Rick’s head, as he quietly rubbed her shoulders.  As if that was of lesser value than the farce of living your life, struggling to pretend to be something you weren’t, for someone who clearly didn’t give a shit about you except to bend you to his will.

She continued……..After that, her ex resumed his attack on her chosen profession.  He was ashamed to be married to her, she was beneath him as a nurse.  He pressured her to change her profession entirely.  Wanted her to go to med school.

But at that, she had put her foot down, literally.  It only goaded him to try harder.  He pushed and pushed, day after day, wouldn’t let the subject drop.  But uncharacteristically, stubbornly she’d refused to go along with his recommendation, his demands, wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

Finally, during one argument she’d totally lost it.  She stamped her feet to punctuate each word and shouted at him in frustration and anger at his arrogant refusal to listen to her and what her real needs and goals were.   She.Did.Not.Want.To.Be.A.Doctor.  She’d lost he composure.  Screaming, throwing a tantrum almost like a 2 year who didn’t want to take an afternoon nap.  His blue eyes became ice cold.  Losing control of herself like that in front of him was never allowed.  It was something he hated and thought of as a weakness.  It was the biggest fight they’d ever had.

He’d abruptly left her for three days, with no word of where he’d gone or if he planned to come back.  Didn’t return her calls, texts, or emails.  It was like he’d dropped off the face of the earth.

She’d gone almost insane with worry.  Even strayed down to the ER looking for him, where she’d finally learned that he was out of town at a trauma conference.  It was the ER nurse manager who’d told her this on the third day, a look of pity in her eyes as she told her.

Belatedly, she realized what it must have looked like for the wife of one of the trauma surgeons to come looking for her husband, clearly not having a clue that he’d left town.

Left town and taken an ER nurse with him, as it turned out, and not for the first time—but this latter detail she wouldn’t find out until sometime later.

After three days’ absence, he came back home all kisses and light, as if nothing had been amiss.  When she tentatively brought up the topic of school again, he refused to discuss it.  Told her she was a big baby and if she was too afraid to grow professionally, and couldn’t appreciate how he was willing to help her, then he didn’t want to waste his time with her.

She persisted, telling her plans to him.  How she’d compromise, and agreed to return to school to become an NP.  He’d laughed in her face, unimpressed.  He told her she was taking the easy way, settling.  Again.  Just like how she’d ‘settled’ to become a nurse in the first place.

Once again: not good enough.

Undaunted, she’d found a program at a local university which offered dual masters degrees—simultaneously earning two degrees with minimal extra course work, and only one thesis.  She thought this would placate---even impress him, but then she made the mistake of mentioning to him that it would mean she’d have more degrees – and, technically, more education – than he.  Her two bachelors and two masters to his one bachelor and medical degree.  She'd meant it sort of as a joke----of course she knew she'd never be more than he was.  He was a doctor, a renowned trauma surgeon.

But it backfired.  He was always sensitive about his foreign education.  Even more so, his ego refused to accept that she’d ever be any more, any better than he was, and certainly never an equal.  The mockery in his eyes instantly shifted to one of blind outrage.

In his rage and anger, he reached out with one swipe of his long arm and struck her backhanded across the face, violently knocking her to the floor in their bedroom.  His surprise outburst shocked her and she huddled there momentarily, almost knocked senseless.  Gathering her wits while stars swirled in her vision, she tasted blood in her mouth where her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek, and blood trickled from her nose and from her split upper lip, oozing down in two rivulets that dripped off her chin.

Wiping her face, she started to stand back up.  Snarling wordlessly, he’d grabbed her by her hair and shoved her face into the carpet, placing one long, bended knee down into the small of her back to hold her down.  She knew he would have killed her right then and there.  But adrenaline surged through her and she found the strength to wrench away from him.  She pushed herself back up to her feet and jumped out of his reach.  She stared up at him defiantly with hatred and anger in her eyes, refusing to be cowed even though he towered over her, seething with rage.

Without another word, he’d turned on his heel and left the room.  The house.  They didn’t see each other again for weeks.

It was not the first time he’d struck her.  But it was the first time he’d left such blatant marks for others to see.  She had to call in sick to work for the rest of her week’s shifts, to allow the cuts to close and the bruises to fade to the point where she could cover them up with heavy make-up, until they were gone completely.

So, after all the months of tears and fighting, after she’d finally agreed to go back to school, it was with only half a heart on her part, and no support or encouragement from him.

Because it wasn’t med school he’d refused to help pay for it, even though they had more than enough money.  He told her he didn’t support charity, and besides, it would make earning the degrees all the more rewarding for her, he said, knowing that she’d done it all on her own.

It was a load of crap, of course, but what could she do.  So, she’d had to keep working full time and could only attend classes part time.  She’d taken out a huge amount of school loans, too.  Going part-time made it take twice as long for her to complete the degrees, which had cost her even more money, in the long run…

While she was preoccupied with grad school, he’d quickly risen through the faculty ranks and was eventually named the new Trauma Director.  His ego and arrogance kept growing.

He kept to himself while she slaved away at her books.  Somehow their schedules worked out so that they were never off on the same days.  On her days off, she stayed home at their house in the suburbs, studying, writing papers.  The program slogged on, took longer than she expected.  Her thesis research had taken up an entire semester in and of itself.  She hated research — that’s probably why it had taken her so long to complete it. She just kept putting it off.  Then she had to write the thesis and submit it to her advisor.  An endless series of revisions and re-submissions took up another semester.  She wondered if her advisor had grown as sick of her paper as she had.

Increasingly, her husband spent many late nights and weekends at the hospital.  She’d thought he was finally showing her some consideration and kindness by leaving her to her studies, to keep from distracting her.

For surely, as the Trauma Director, he didn’t have to work those kinds of shift any longer…?

Eventually, she found out that he'd bought a high-rise penthouse near the hospital.  Had had it for years, she never knew about it.  It had never occurred to her that he would do something like that without telling her.  He’d said it was for those days when he was post-call, so he wouldn’t have to risk having an accident driving home after being awake for so long.  He made it sound like it was nothing, just a convenience for him, one that should have made perfect sense to her, so why, his tone seemed to ask, was she questioning it?

She’d believed him, of course.  Like she’d believed all his lies.

She subsequently found out he’d also gotten it for late-night entertaining of nurses from the ER and dancers at local strip clubs.

By then she’d finished school and was focusing on her new job and career.

By then his penchant for after-hours entertaining the nurses from the ER was a well-established and not-so-well-kept secret.  Everyone knew about it, except for her.

By then their relationship had drifted apart so much, she thought she just didn’t care anymore.

She grew quiet, her thoughts taking her down a lonely path of dark memories.

“What’s his name?” Rick asked softly, although he already suspected what it was.

A long moment of silence passed before she whispered, “Ri-Ricardo.  Rick.”

He nodded grimly.

“And, let me guess: we both look alike.”

“No.  Well, kind of.  You’re both tall.  But he’s been getting fat, all those free pharmaceutical lunches and dinners.  He’s stopped working out.  And he wears his hair in a sort of tall flat-top.  It's so thick, it makes it stand up kind of like a fur brush.  His skin is darker-complected, being Latin American.  I think he has a lot of Native South American or Indian in him or something.  His mother was from Spain, but I think his father’s family has been there for generations.  He never really talked about his family or anything like that.  He always said it wasn’t important.  He always said that since I was never going to meet them, what did I care?

She went on.  “They hyphenate their family names down there, you know, keeping both parents’ names.  But he dropped his father’s name when he came to the US, and just went by his mother’s:  Garcia.  But it’s really Sanchez-Garcia.  Funny, huh?  That you have similar names? I know they’re both common names, like ‘Smith’ or ‘Johnson.’  It’s just a coincidence that I’ve met two men with close to the same name, and y’all look like you could be cousins, or distant relations with some of the same DNA popping up out of the blue.  Maybe he's your doppelganger...”

She still wasn’t putting two and two together, even though to him it was so obvious.

But then, why should she?  How could she know that there were infinite dimensions, infinite Ricks?  And one had decided to drop in on his dimension and make himself right at home.

Beneath him, she swallowed, licking her lips.

“I need to drink something.”

So do I, he thought.

Silently, Rick handed her glass to her, the ice had completely melted.  He sat back on his heels while she propped herself up on her elbows and finished it off, leaving the olives and lemon peel as discarded refuse at the bottom, then he placed it back on the table before waiting for her to lay back down again.

She wriggled her shoulders to settle in. “Thanks for listening,” she said quietly, after a moment or two.

He smiled down at the back of her head wryly. “You really didn’t give me much choice, did ya, babe?”  He threaded one large, warm hand through her soft wavy hair and gently ruffled it.

She giggled, “No, I guess not.  But it feels good to talk about it.  Get it off my chest.”

He had been listening with growing interest, despite his initial misgivings.  And now he was glad he’d heard her story out.  His hands resumed kneading slowly across her shoulders as he considered his next words.

“But you haven’t told me everything, have you?” Rick said, quietly.

She sucked in her breath and grew tense beneath him again.  He saw her eyes pop open for the first time since she’d begun this tale, then she squeezed them shut in pain.

“No,” she whispered, shame and humiliation in her voice.  Please don’t make me, her voice said to him. He could practically feel her shrinking into herself, underneath him.

He took pity on her.  “It’s your story to share, babe.  I’m just your masseur for the evening.”

She lay underneath him quietly for a few moments.  He thought she’d fallen asleep.

“No.  I think I’ll save that for another night of too much gin.”

He chuckled, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room felt more lighthearted, as if a dark spell had broken.  He sat back and shifted his position so that he was sitting down on the couch once again.  He winced while he slowly straightened out his legs, feeling his knees and ankles pop from being bent for so long.

She rolled over and pulled a lightweight cotton blanket off the back of the couch and draped it across herself.  He lifted up her legs and laid them across his lap, his hands absentmindedly rubbing her feet.

His erection had left him long ago.

“So,” he looked down at her with a wink and a grin. “Ya wanna fuck?”

She laughed and lifted up her foot, pretending like she was going to heel him in the groin. “Don’t be an ass!” But her eyes sparkled and her smile was the most lighthearted since the first time he’d met her, he realized.

“But seriously, baby,” he said, leaning down close and holding her face in his hands.  “I am not that Rick.  I will never, ever make you do anything that you don’t want to do.  OK?”

She sucked in her breath.  “I know,” she whispered, looking into his eyes.

He bent down and took his lips in hers and gave her a sweet, soft kiss.

tbc

[livehealthynewsusa]

Dealing with discrimination? Mental health suffering? Let’s make the time to talk.

When I recently read the news about tennis star Naomi Osaka’s struggle with mental health problems, particularly her depression, I felt immediately empathetic.

I bet we can all empathize a little now, especially during this ongoing pandemic. However, there is an additional dimension related to being visibly not Japanese in Japan – or a colored person in a predominantly white society in the West – that can make the struggle a little more intense.

I’m sure the situation is similar for other people who are discriminated against, be they women, people who identify as LBGTQIA, people with a disability, or people in more than one of these categories.

To get a different perspective, I decided to turn to Mark Bookman, a colleague of mine. From Tokyo University, he is a historian of disability policy and related social movements in Japan and works as an accessibility advisor and works with government agencies and companies around the world on projects related to disability inclusion. Mark has a rare degenerative neuromuscular disease similar to ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease) that affects only six people in the world. Therefore, he uses a motorized power wheelchair for most of his daily activities.

Two weeks ago, Tokyo governor Yuriko Koike was hospitalized due to fatigue. Mark and I thought this would be a good time to do a quick mental health check by talking about our experience as non-Japanese residents investing in this country. We’re also pretty sure many readers can relate to it.

Baye McNeil: My experience is that discrimination is natural to a conspicuously strange looking person living in Japan. While it’s true that cops don’t routinely open fire on black people here, we are exposed to an abundance of annoying micro-aggressions that look like paper cutouts. These are emotional and psychological assaults that, if pointed out, can sometimes trigger reactions from both Japanese and non-Japanese telling you to “man up” or “make hard”. This can cause you to remain silent about these things for fear of appearing oversensitive and being accused of playing the victim card. I say “accused” because when “victim” is used that way it kind of comes off as an insult. How is your experience of discrimination in Japan, Mark?

Face to Face: When it comes to dealing with people with a disability, sometimes a person will interact with a caretaker rather than the disabled person themselves. This can lead to misunderstandings. | GETTY IMAGES

Mark Buchmann: My experience of discrimination in Japan as a disabled person is in some ways similar to yours. Nobody has used ableist insults against me, explicitly or deliberately, but I often run into barriers in the built environment that make life much harder. For example, public toilets are not set up for my large overseas wheelchair, making it difficult for me to be too far from my home. Lack of availability has kept me from many places and from telling others about my needs, so people often make wrong assumptions about what they can do to help me when I need support.

I particularly remember one incident where I called ahead to ask if a restaurant was accessible. The owner said the place has accommodated wheelchair users in the past so I went for it. When I got there, I saw that there was a step in front of the entrance that my chair couldn’t climb. The owner insisted he could lift my wheelchair over the step, even though it weighs 300 kilograms.

I knew if I turned down his offer it would spark a scene and get others in the area to interfere. Since I didn’t want to bother explaining to so many viewers why they couldn’t help the owner, I decided to say, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Before finishing my testimony, I tugged however, the owner is already at my chair. I’m sure he meant well and tried to help. Even so, he injured my arm, and the psychological damage was worse: I had no easy way to prevent such incidents because I couldn’t correct misunderstandings like the owners’ at the moment.

Baye: What should he have done?

Mark: He could have just asked me directly about my needs. It is possible to do this in a courteous manner that helps understand the situation. I know this goes against the Japanese concept of omotenashi where the host has to anticipate a customer’s needs, but if just had a chat with me I could have explained why pulling on my chair would endanger both of us, and we could have worked together to find an alternative solution to the problem of accessibility.

In addition, a person often interacts with an attending caregiver instead of the person with the disability. This not only dehumanizes the disabled person, but also leads to misunderstandings, as the caregivers only know so much about the people they care for.

Baye: I recently interviewed Kinota Braithwaite, a black Canadian who learned that his 9 year old biracial “Blackanese” daughter – a future Naomi Osaka – was bullied in her elementary school here in Japan. No physical attacks, just persistent efforts to stigmatize them and stigmatize their skin color, which bothered them and harmed their mental well-being.

So he wrote a children’s book called “Mio The Beautiful,” which was written in Japanese and English about his daughter’s experience of discrimination and was intended to be used as a teaching tool. Not everyone can write a book, but I mention it because this was a loving father who did something positive to help his daughter and the welfare of the wider community.

I myself have regular seizures of self-imposed seclusion to keep myself mental. During this “sabetsu (discrimination) sabbatical” I only venture to go public if it is absolutely necessary.

There are very few foreigner-friendly rooms that are “safe” from the psychological onslaught of foreigners. A man who refuses to get on an elevator with me, a woman who clutches her wallet tighter than she notices me, or a salesman who tells me they can’t speak English because I speak perfectly understandable Japanese speak to them – that can be annoying, it can trigger me. So, I prescribed these relaxing sabbaticals to myself to take a break. And more recently, those breaks have included my Japanese wife and our two adopted kittens. It’s amazing what a little time with some kittens can do for the soul.

Mark: I listen to you for this idea of ​​friendly, safe places. We need them to talk to others about the physical and social barriers we face that cause significant difficulties.

Social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter can offer some relief and solidarity, but there are many people who are unable to use these channels due to stigma, shame, or a lack of resources. We need to remember this fact and do our best to create multiple and different places where we can hear from data subjects about their experiences of discrimination. Then we can learn more about the needs of these people and start building a more inclusive society.

Personally, I’ve found solace in private online settings that I’ve made with friends. We play games, watch videos, listen to music and discuss problems we face every day with the aim of finding solutions. We try not to judge and pool our resources to make everyone happy. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But with community members from all over the world, we know someone will always be there, no matter what time zone.

Baye: I talked about this with my friend Selena Hoy from TELL. TELL is a certified mental health nonprofit that serves the international community in Japan and acts as a safe space for many people. She told me: “If you are overwhelmed, you are not alone. And you don’t have to fight alone. Talk to someone – a friend, family member, colleague … or if you prefer to keep it private, you can always call the lifeline, which is anonymous and non-judgmental. “

If you or someone you know is in crisis and needs help, resources are available. In an emergency in Japan, please call 119 for immediate assistance. The TELL Lifeline is available to anyone who needs free and anonymous advice at 03-5774-0992. For those in other countries, visit the International Suicide Hotlines for a detailed list of resources and assistance.

In a time of misinformation and too much information, Quality journalism is more important than ever. By subscribing you can help us get the story right.

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PHOTO GALLERY (CLICK TO ENLARGE)

source https://livehealthynews.com/dealing-with-discrimination-mental-health-suffering-lets-make-the-time-to-talk/

[bassnectarofficial]

BUTTERFLY BEINGS OF BASSNECTAR: SARAH KARU

Tell us about a connection you made through the Bassnectar community and how that person has impacted your life.

It’s hard to pick just one connection I’ve made through Bassnectar. Almost every day I have the opportunity to talk to a stranger that quickly molds into a friend. I’ve been lucky enough to connect with people that I now travel around the country with, have group chats with, send letters to, laugh with, cry with, I feel really lucky! Every person I’ve met through Bassnectar has had their own impact on my life. I’ve seen generosity; from people gifting tickets to others, or even gifting a bed in their hotel to me (Thanks Jesse) People coming to different community service events in my area with enthusiasm to give back, and leaving wanting to do it again. Just the pure empathy that people have in this community is totally inspiring to me. I got accepted into the Ambassador program at a very difficult time in my life. My mom had been diagnosed with a rare un-curable disease called Corticobasal Ganglionic Degeneration. Watching the woman who had constantly inspired me to do better and be better slowly fade away was incredibly difficult. It felt like all the light had been sucked out of my life. Bassnectar and the community helped bring the light back in, and for that i’m forever grateful to each and every person i’ve met on this wild ride. You are a very positive individual who is constantly spreading love to everyone you encounter. What are some tips you can provide to others on how they can do the same?

Phew… Gonna try to not ramble about this question because my mind is darting all over the place. It all starts with YOU! So many people are constantly wanting to give back and help others, but forget how important they are themselves. Practice self love! Start your days with meditation and stretching to stay grounded. GO OUTSIDE! Travel, make new connections, read a book, buy some plants, make sure to do something every single day as a gift to yourself. Once that’s taken care of, focus on others. Each day it’s like a scavenger hunt for me on how to help people or brighten their day. I truly believe doing a random act of kindness for a stranger starts a ripple effect. They leave thinking, “Wow, I don’t even know that person and she went out of her way to do ___ for me. Maybe I should do the same for someone else” You can also do anonymous acts of kindness. Leave a positive note somewhere for a stranger to find, buy coffee for the car behind you. Everyone tends to think they have to do something huge. Doing a a bunch of smaller things during the day really adds up. A quote that always stuck with me “The smallest good deed, is better than the greatest intention"  Also, so many people are on social media, and it is an awesome resource to give back. If you see someone posting a lot, maybe they’re lonely and this is their only outlet, why not send a message? I try to reach out to people on mothers day or fathers day if I know they lost a parent, because I know those days can be difficult. You don’t necessarily have to know these people to be able to help them! WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER! Think of things that may have helped you in a certain rough time in your life, and do those things for someone else. Also, remember everyones situation is different and sometimes people just need someone to listen. What is your involvement with the Bass Network and what are your thoughts about their mission to connect people around the country?

My official title with the Bass Network is “Positivity Advisor / Community Outreach” I help give ambassadors ideas of random acts of kindness to carry out during the week. Since they are so awesome, most of them go above and beyond to do those things. I also help out at shows, and connecting different people in the community. We’re constantly brainstorming ways to inspire people to give back! We’ve been doing these really awesome monthly Reaching Out missions. It is incredibly inspiring to receive photos of different groups of Bassheads volunteering at food banks, picking up garbage, going to retirement homes, planting trees or just giving back to their local communities. Bassnectar has such an incredible fanbase who are all interested in helping people. To take the enthusiasm from shows, and put it into our local communities is incredible! I believe it is something that should keep growing. When you collaborate with a stranger in your area to help others, it forms an unbreakable bond. (Shout out to all the NJ Bassheads that come out and help) From organizing these community service events, I’ve made amazing friends that I never would have known live only a few towns over. What are some things that the Bassnectar community has taught you?

The Bassnectar community has taught me to be more outgoing. If I see someone wearing a Bassnectar shirt, I assume that they’re already my friend and have no issue going up to them and saying Hello! It taught me love! Watching people travel around the country not only for the music, but for the connections they’ve made makes my heart sing! Its shown me how important it is to be empathetic. I truly care so much about everyone in this incredible community, even if I don’t personally know them. I’m also in constant awe at any Bassnectar event seeing so many people of all ages come together. It’s the absolute best seeing people make new connections with someone from a totally different walk of life and taking the time to try to understand them. The community has also shown me how important it is to express gratitude, constantly. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am ALWAYS ready to hug them and tell them how much I appreciate them. We are only here for a limited amount of time, let’s spread as much love as possible.

[daringdragons]

[Pictured: Mira, Thain, Kepi, Ameria]

@veldeien @shadowdrac-rising @sweetheart-swan @dragonhomeclan @jadedragons @fr-lore-hub if anyone else wants to be tagged in future lore of mine, just ask! :3

Shifting Winds Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, tag for all related stories to this arc, general story tag ~

recommended listening: x x

And Then There Was Three; its hard to shake the feeling, these phonies make my blood run cold

-

Mira didn’t want to murder somebody in the throne room. Truly, she didn’t. It wouldn’t reflect well on the kingdom in the eyes of other clans, and it would be impossible to get the blood out of the tapestries.

Nonetheless. A certain fellow advisor of hers was testing her limits, and really, it was only a matter of time before she snapped.

Mira was born into a noble Maren family, to a very well respected king and queen. From the start, she was afforded the best education, covering a wide range of topics, even those not related to her people, and when she wasn’t taking her lessons, she was observing her father in his kingly duties. When she made the decision to leave her parents’ kingdom under the sea, she spent quite a while traveling around Sornieth, educating herself further in every way she could. Then, after she had found a home in Roava, she had served as the king’s primary advisor, and, if she said so herself, had done a very fine job of counseling him.

So, when Thain, the healer, the new queen’s friend, came in with his sneers and scoffs at her guidance and input, with his constant arguments and his know-it all-attitude, Mira couldn’t help but find herself just a tad bit homicidal.

Despite such urges, she liked to think of herself as level-headed, within reason. Sure, she was strong enough to put most dragons in their place with a little bit of force, but she had been taught that it was always best to at least attempt to talk things out first.

Which she had been trying to do. For the past two months. Every time Thain disagreed with what she had to say, she tried to explain to him the sense in her ideas, all the while gritting her teeth that she had to explain herself at all. Things began to escalate, though, more and more as the weeks went on, until not a day could go by without at least one venomous exchange of words between the two.

Things with Rasmus had been different. He was no puppet, and she no puppetmaster, but he had understood that when it came to running a kingdom, she had the knowledge that he needed. Of course, there had been times when he had disagreed with what she had to say, had gone against her advice, and that was fine; she was there to advise, to offer guidance, not to argue him into submission.

At first, she had thought that being Kepi’s advisor would be much the same - she knew the new queen, considered her almost family, and had thought that the respect she felt towards her went both ways.

And perhaps it did, but one wouldn’t quite know it by the way that Kepi often kept quiet as Mira and Thain argued and sniped at each other, the once tranquil throne room feeling more and more like a battleground.

(There were times, few and far between, when the queen would finally intervene, snapping at Thain to stop, to let Mira speak her piece. Those were small victories, tainted by the glares between Kepi and Thain that would follow, causing Mira to wonder, not for the first time, just who was in charge.

Mira rarely had moments alone with Kepi, and when she did, those thoughts were always on the tip of her tongue, questions of if there was something the new queen needed to tell her, if there was anything she needed to know about the mysterious iceborn healer. Something always stopped her from voicing such questions, though; someone interrupting, or the need to discuss important matters regarding the kingdom. Months later, perhaps, she would wonder what might’ve happened had she not been so damn hesitant.)

Things came to a head just over three months after Rasmus had fallen into his coma, two months since Kepi’s coronation. They had been gathered at the small, round table that often sat in the middle of the throne room, parchment spread out as they went over any issues that needed attending to; Thain and Mira sat across from each other, on either side of Kepi, while Ameria, the queen’s assistant and occasional advisor, sat across from her.

Thain had shown up only a few minutes prior, and while Mira attempted to focus on what she was reading, she could just tell that Thain was gearing up to say something, something that she knew she wouldn’t like. His brow was furrowed, his lip twitching as though he wanted to smirk, but knew that he shouldn’t; both things she had come to recognize as meaning something vile was about to spill from his mouth.

She could not of predicted just what he was going to say, though, and had she been able to, she very well might of punched him in his face before he could even say a word, consequences be damned.

“I’ve just come from checking on your brother, Kepi,” He began with no preamble, leaning forward. The queen, busy with reading the parchment in her hand, looked up, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“And how is he doing today? Any changes?”

While Ravi, the king’s son, was his father’s primary healer, Thain often checked in to see how he might be able to help.

“I’m afraid not, no, though he remains stable.” The queen “hmmed” in response, her attention already returning to other matters.

“I have been thinking, though,” The healer continued after a brief pause, and Mira braced herself for whatever Thain had been thinking about. “And I believe that perhaps I should take over his care.”

Mira froze, Thain’s words taking a few long moments to properly register in her mind, and even then, she was sure she must have misheard him; she was even more sure that she must have also misheard Kepi’s response.

“That sounds fine to me, so long as it won’t interfere with your duties here.”

The conversation continued, but it was a quiet buzz in Mira’s ears, a dull roar overtaking her thoughts until she finally interrupted with a very quiet:

“What?”

All eyes turned to her, but her own gaze was locked onto Thain, as he narrowed his eyes at her, sensing a challenge.

“Is something the matter, Mira?” He prodded, feigning innocent curiosity.

“You…you can’t just…what about Ravi?”

“What about him?”

““What about him?” He’s already caring for the king, why would you need to take over?” Thain had the gall to roll his eyes and Mira had to grip the table with both hands to prevent herself from lunging at him.

“He’s much too close to the whole situation. If we have any hope of ever finding a way to wake up our queen’s poor brother, it won’t be through him. He’s so…emotional. It’s clouding his judgement, and I simply don’t think that-”

The healer was cut off by hands slapping roughly against the table as Mira stood, towering above them all, the wood nearly splintering beneath her hands. She was an imposing sight, and she knew it.

“That’s enough,” She practically snarled, her eyes swirling whirlpools of rage. “I’ve sat here for two long months and listened to you argue with me at every turn, give horrible advice, and just be an all around terrible presence, but I will not sit by and let you speak that way about Ravi.”

Ravi was family, her mate’s brother, a shining light among them before all of the stress of his father’s sudden illness came crashing down upon him.

(She often looked at Ravi and saw the little brother she left behind at home, sweet and loving and entirely too empathetic.)

Mira could let most arguments between her and Thain lie, had grown increasingly numb towards her advisor related duties, but this was different, this was Ravi, and the odds of her shoving her trident through the healer’s chest in the near future had just increased tenfold.

“Of course he’s emotional, it’s his father, but if you think for one moment that he would allow his emotions to cloud his judgement or get in the way of finding some sort of cure, then you’re an even bigger fool than I previously thought.”

Thain stood as well, a cold fury burning in his eyes, and oh how Mira wished for him to give her a reason, an actual, plausible reason for her to attack him in this moment. If he struck first, nobody would be able to quite blame her for whatever may happen next.

“How dare you, you will regret-”

“Stop,” The queen hissed, standing as well, clearly sensing just how close Mira was to leaping across the table. “Stop it, the both of you. I will not have any more fighting between you two. Thain, sit down.”

As the Nocturne begrudgingly did as she said, Kepi turned her gaze to Mira, softening slightly. Mira was coming to realize just how good of an actor the queen was, knowing that the way that her face turned sympathetic, her tone grew quiet, was all just an act. A good one, but not one that Mira was going to fall for any longer

“Mira, I know that it’s difficult to hear, but I trust Thain in this. If he says that Ravi is no longer fit, then I wish only to relieve Ravi of at least some of his stress, and for Rasmus’ situation to receive the best possible attention.”

Mira couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she was quick to make that clear.

“If you seriously believe that he will do any better than Ravi, Ravi who is doing everything in his power to bring Rasmus back to us, then perhaps you’re a fool as well.”

(Mira realized in that moment that perhaps not all of the anger that she’d been feeling had been because of Thain.)

Kepi’s face instantly darkened, hardening as she straightened up, any trace of sensitivity gone as she spoke.

“Get out of my throne room. Now.”

Later, maybe Mira would regret her words, falling too quickly from her mouth before she could filter herself, but for now she simply gave a mirthless laugh.

“Gladly,” She spat, knocking her chair to the ground as she turned and stormed out of the room.

All the while, Ameria stayed silent in her seat, the normally talkative Spiral deciding it best to stay out of everything. It’s not that she didn’t agree with Mira in every way, no, she just had a different way of going about things.

Because she, too, had seen the secretive glances that Thain and Kepi occasionally shared, had caught snippets of the verging on threatening way that he sometimes spoke to the queen, and it worried her.

She stayed quiet, bit her tongue more times than not, because she was afraid of Thain, of whatever his intentions were, but she was even more afraid of leaving him alone with Kepi. If she were to leave, or to be kicked out as Mira had been, he would be the only voice left whispering in the queen’s ear.

And Ameria, caring to a fault, refused to let that happen. She wasn’t entirely sure that she trusted the new queen yet, despite all of the good that she’d been doing for the kingdom, but that didn’t mean that she was going to leave her all alone with one of the most loathsome dragons that Ameria had ever met.

And so she would endure Thain’s cold glares, as though he was wishing her away, too, and she would not allow him to bait her into inane arguments, using her charm and quick wit to remain on Kepi’s good side. For the sake of the kingdom, but for the sake of the queen, as well.

-

I really liked this when I wrote it last night at 3 in the morning, but now I’m like??? It really got away from me there at the end, but oh well, it serves it’s intended purpose, which is to be a brief interlude between actual “official” parts of the main story.

There may or may not be one or two more things like this before the “actual” story keeps going (in quotation marks because, I mean, this is part of the story, it just doesn’t overly progress things along, other than giving some insight into some things, as well as getting Mira out of the throne room and Ravi away from his father), but we’ll see! I really just want to get to the rest of the story because it’s been sitting in my head for so long.

Mira is channeling all of you guys that fuckin hate Thain too lololol she’d like to hand out tridents to all of you :’D

if anybody has any questions about anybody here, I’m dying to yell about Mira and Ameria in particular, so feel free to ask! :3 fingers crossed that my next update is less than two months from now ;o;

[vivid-nemesis]

Heyo, of course this is going up on the last day, sorry!! But, Happy Holidays to @yamsbydayguccibynight, I’m your secret santa!!

I hope you like it, this fic, kind of, sort of got away with itself to be honesty. It’s a prince!au of about 3.8k words. It’s got a healthy dose of angst, a dollop of gore (not terribly explicit), and a little bit of fluff for the road.

I hope you enjoy!

                                  For Better and For Worse, Together

Kei meets him when they are five years old.

Kei has heard many stories and descriptions of the people of the Southern Kingdom, but none are enough to keep back Kei’s wonder when their royal envoy enters. Their people are warm skinned, freckles scattered across their limbs, a striking contrast to the fair skin and light hair that Kei has grown used to from his countrymen. Amongst the tall, richly dressed adults, Southern Kingdom’s prince trails behind his mother and father, shorter than Kei and meek, but from the moment Kei lands eyes on him, the blond is fascinated.

He is an enigma to Kei, so similar to his parents, but noticeably different as well. He has his mother’s slightly lighter skin tone, the same spray of freckles on his cheeks, and similarly shaped nose, the two even share the same thin, bowlike lips. The prince does not, however share the same onyx hair as her; instead his is an odd shade of brown, bordering on green, similar to his father’s. He also shares his father’s brown eyes, and sports the same strand of hair sticking straight up from his head. At the time both princes are children, barely out of toddlerhood so Kei has no clue whose stature the prince will grow into. His mother's tall willowy one, or his father’s bear-like stoutness. Perhaps Kei will never find out, but he can’t help but wonder.

During the introductions Kei’s eyes never leave him, but the blond has no idea what words to say, so he stays quiet.

Even during the banquet, Kei has yet to think up a way to approach the other prince. But his mother nudges him after a conversation with another noblewoman, and nods her head sharply in the direction of the other prince and urges Kei forward.

“Why don’t the two of you go and play?” his mother suggests sweetly, the sugary tone foreign to Kei’s ears. His mother is too busy being a strong queen to really coddle either of her children, but that smile is one he knows from the royal court, it is one of sugary nothings, because no matter how kind the words are, they are merely veiled. There is steel beneath them, and it is nothing but an order to be followed with utmost haste.

“Yes, I agree,” the Southern Queen murmurs, alarmingly at his mother’s side from seemingly nowhere, her voice is low, gravelly, but her smile warm as she ushers her son forward. Kei is usually the type to decline, usually a child to push away other children his age because they were all snot-nosed brats who want to roll around in the dirt, but there is a warning in his mother’s eyes, so he seizes the other prince by the wrist, dragging him outside of the crowd ballroom. They are down several hallways before Kei stops, and realizes what a bad host he’s being, but he has no idea how to truly entertain guest, so he goes with what he likes.

“There are books about ancient creatures in the library,” Kei offers hesitantly, knows that it is a topic that often bores other children his age, and is ready for the other prince’s disappointed pout, an ultimate dismissal. Imagine Kei’s surprise when the other prince’s eyes go round, and he bound forward, looping his arms with Kei.

“Then I want to read that!” he cries

Hours later, they will be situated at a long table, various books spread about them, and Kei will look up at the other prince and smile, glad to share his hobby. The other prince will beam back, brilliant sunshine until he accidentally kicks Kei’s shin and cries out.

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

“Why do you call me that?” Kei murmurs with furrowed eyebrows, the name foreign to him.

“Well, because the royal family’s name is Tsukishima, but that’s too long…” the boy murmurs, self-consciously glancing down at the floor in an obvious apology.

“You can call be my first name,” Kei murmurs, a flush on his cheeks as he slowly murmurs out the rest. “Tadashi…”

“Alright, Kei.”

-

Friendship comes naturally within the years.

It is tentative, but being constantly in contact with each other helps. The servants murmur that it is to foster friendly relations; their friendship is meant to be one of politics and amicable conversations, and for the most part, Kei believes that.

But it flourishes, and soon Kei can’t imagine a day where he doesn’t speak to Tadashi, or writes a letter about his day to the Southern Prince. Kei has never been dependent on anyone, but Tadashi is such a good listener that sometimes he just can’t help it.

Their friendship evolves into something beautiful, perhaps something that could one day be so much more. When they’re older maybe.

But life always did play such fickle games.

-

Kei wakes up to a blood curdling scream. He is thirteen, visiting the Southern Kingdom to spend some much awaited time with Tadashi, and the past few days have been good. His brother had accompanied him to look into some of the medical teachings the South Kingdom had to offer, and Kei and Tadashi had spent the afternoons exploring the sprawling grounds of the castle. Tadashi’s parents hadn’t looked it, but both were very kind and enthusiastic, his mother’s gravelly, but soft voice telling them stories and his father who would throw in their air with uproarious laughter. It’s obvious that Tadashi has grown up in a family full of warmth.

Tonight is not nearly as warm and comforting.

The loud clang of the warning bells is deafening, and Kei lies awake in the dark, unsure of what he’s hearing, terrified of every scream and shout, but too frozen in fear to even think about moving, his limbs locked in place with tension, his own worries consuming him. Is his brother okay? What is happening within the castle? Is Tadashi okay? Where is Tadashi!?

“My prince, we must go,” a knight breathes as he opens the door, causing Kei to nearly jump a foot in the air.

“Tadashi, where is Tadashi?” Kei’s voice sounds small even to his own ears. The knight does not respond, merely tugs Kei out the door, and slaps a forceful hand over his mouth when he protests, and skitters the two of them down narrow corridors, dodging hordes of raiders a lot more easily than Kei would’ve expected, in honesty. When they are far enough and regroup with their other forces, Akiteru wraps Kei in a hug, a worried breath to the top of his head, but Kei is still wired, his eyes scanning the castle in the distance. Tadashi is in there somewhere, alone, but Kei is forced to wait here, unsure if he’s even alive at this point.

It is several, molasses-paced hours later that they are given the okay to go back, but Kei is not the least bit ready for what he sees.

The carnage left in the raid’s wake is awful, bodies strewn about, but his accompanying knight moves like a man on a mission, and perhaps he is because he takes Kei straight to the throne room. The knight pauses before the ornate, but now marred and stained doors before hesitantly pushing them open.

The three find Tadashi knelt in the throne room, the majestic room bathed in moonlight, illuminating a scene from what can only be a nightmare. Tadashi is knelt before the thrones, petrified at the sight before him, a puddle of bile at his knees soaking his nightclothes, but Kei can’t fault him for that. Tadashi’s parents. the King and Queen are mutilated before the thrones, their regal figures cut down, and their noble blood splattered across the steps. Mere feet away an advisor speaks in distressed murmurs to a guard

Tadashi looks up at their entrance, and his horrified expression tries to rearrange itself, but all it can really so is form an obviously painful imitation of a fake smile. The Southern Prince’s eyes are blank voids as he tries to speak through the unconsciously welling tears. “Kei…”

Something inside both of them breaks.

-

Kei’s family takes Tadashi in, and after a few weeks it’s almost possible to pretend that nothing has changed.

‘Pretend’ being the key word.

Tadashi seems more and more like a ghost with every passing day.

-

The ballroom is too loud for Kei’s taste. He is sixteen, and the women of the court, no matter how renowned for their cold, otherworldly beauty, throw themselves at his feet. Kei withdraws because he doesn’t find their coifed hair and flawless, porcelain faces attractive, he is not attracted to the dark pigment around their eyes or the bright, unnatural colors to their lips. To him, beauty is comfort, it is a warm presence by his side while studying, it is a freckled cheek pressed to his shoulder and a soft, slightly breathless, and undeniably real laugh at a well-placed barb only to be scolded in private. To Kei, nothing is more beautiful than a dazzling smile, given only when they are alone.

He cannot acknowledge that these are all traits only Tadashi has as of late.

-

Akiteru disappears no more than a week later, and the castle is shaken to its core at the loss of its crown prince. Kei has a hard time absorbing it, expected it to all be one big prank and for Akiteru  to round the corner one day, and tell Kei to let him hide a little longer, but the day never comes.

Tadashi is empathetic, of course he is, he’s Tadashi, but for all the warmth being with his best friend hopefully something more? Kei just can’t draw any comfort from his words. The days pass by in melancholy, and more often than not Kei finds himself in Akiteru’s room, long and wistful. Nobody questions him, the servant girls whisper about him mourning in agony over his brother, calling him a fitful dreamer, and Kei wants to remind him that his brother isn’t dead, but he will not stoop down to their level just yet.

It is a balmy afternoon, another spent in his brother’s room. Afternoon sunlight pours into the room, and it is so easy, so very easy to pretend that any minute now Akiteru will walk in and make some lame joke that will make Kei roll his eyes. Momentarily, he wonders if that’s how Tadashi feels like when he thinks about his parents.

‘Of course not, stupid, he knows for sure they’re dead,’ his mind vehemently spits in response.

The words are jarring, and Kei sits up so quickly he send a pile of books on the desk to the floor. Cursing as he makes his way to pick up the fallen items before he seems something strange, it is a piece of parchment paper, different from the one often used in the kingdom, a much rougher material and emblazoned with a black crow encased in a circle. On the backside are five little words that send a zip of electricity down Kei’s spine.

In your usual hiding place.

Usual hiding place? What on earth… unless. Kei urgently tucks the emblem and note in his pocket, darting from his brother’s room. It’s a long shot, a little piece of paper tucked into one of the many books on his brother’s desk, but he does it anyway. He slows his stride down though, neutralizes his expression and he makes his way to his room, no need to be suspicious. The unwanted attention will only cause problems.

Once in his room, he makes his way to the night stand, effortlessly pushing it out of the way. The small wooden shelf groans a little as it’s pushed, but Kei is confident it’s not enough to garner too much attention. Beneath the stand his a loose floor board, something Akiteru had shown him when they were both still so young, Kei had once used it to store pointless knick-knacks, but now there is something else in their place.

His breath catches as he pulls the letter, so easily disguised as a cake recipe on the other side.

Kei,

If you’re reading this then that means I’ve found myself caught too deep already, and need to flee. I can’t give you much information, for fear this will be discovered, but if you want to help Tadashi recover, I think I might have found some information for you. But believe me when I say once you’ve uncovered the truth, there will be no going back. It’s sickening, but the crimes of our own kingdom are too much for me to stomach, and I’m almost certain you will feel the same once you figure it out as well. I urge you to not do anything rash. I will try to help you as much as I can.

Love,

Akiteru

The papers bundled tight beneath the letter give him reason for pause.

Blueprints, letters, plans, contracts with a vicious criminal group all signed under his parents own name.

Kei tucks the papers into his coat, his mind whirling to put all the pieces together.

-

Anger boils low in the pit of his stomach as he approachs the throne room. After discovering the papers in Akiteru’s room, it was child’s play of getting the rest of the information, or maybe it wasn’t child’s play. Perhaps Kei was just feeling particularly inspired, no inspired isn’t the word either. Enraged more like, once the information has been confirmed he had shared the information with Tadashi, the sheer horror and hurt on his face had been enough to solidify Kei’s decision.

How dare they, how dare they sit there on their opulent thrones as Tadashi suffered. Kei can’t help how the rage overtakes him; blinding and real. His parents are stunning negotiators, cruel politcians that get whatever they want, but neither are warriors. His father used to be, but years upon the throne have dulled him, there aren’t even any guards in the room. Why would they need to be though? No need for guards between the now crown prince and his beloved parents.  The irony almost makes Kei laugh.

His mother is struck down before she can scream.

His father’s head falls to the ground with the flick of a blade, and Kei does not hesitate to pick up the crown.

-

The year his is crowned king is a hectic one.

He drives his men and military further, faster, harder. He pushes the boundaries of alliances, and does not flinch at the backlash on his people. They were willing to abandon the Southern Kingdom to their own means, even perhaps after knowing that they were the origin of the attack. They willingly sat back as an entire kingdom was razed; its monarchy murdered in cold blood, their allies no less. The deserved it, they deserved to suffer just as Tadashi and his people had.

One day, Tadashi will be better and then they’ll build this ruined empire from the ground up. The two of them, together as it should be.

Until that time comes, Kei will push for his retribution, until Tadashi says that their debt has been paid in full.

Subconsciously, he wonders when was the last time he saw Tadashi smile.

-

“Why,” Kei murmurs, not even trying to hide the disbelief that courses through him as he goes cross-eyed staring at the blade at his throat. Tadashi stands before him, his lip quivering but hands steady as he holds the sword hide, the tip a feather light, but deadly pressure against Kei’s jugular.

“Because this isn’t right, Kei! C-Can’t you see,” Tadashi’s voice cracks, and Kei can see. He sees the tears that are welling up in Tadashi’s eyes

“Who did this?” he asks urgently, carelessly pushing aside the blade, uncaring for the way it slices open his palm or the look of horror on Tadashi’s face at the sight. Tadashi retracts the blade immediately, shaking visibly now, his sword arm falling to his side, though the blade remains in his grasp. Kei doesn’t care about that, instead he surges forward, roughly seizing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look Kei in the eyes. “Who did this, Tadashi!? I’ll kill them, I swear I’ll kill them!”

“That!” Tadashi cries hysterically, struggling in Kei’s grasp. Until Tadahi pushes back, one of his hands desperately grappling at Kei’s shoulder while the other tightens uselessly around the blade that hangs at his side. Tadashi shakes him, voice quivering and eyes misted with a myriad of emotions Kei doesn’t want to name. “They’re your people. How can you speak so easily of hurting them!?”

“Because they’ve hurt you!” Kei roars, he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand. Everything he has ever done is so Tadashi would feel welcomed here; every punishment to the people was to lessen Tadashi’s anguish over his family’s death. These people, these horrid people Kei was forced to call his countrymen had condoned such pain on the person dearest to his heart, someone so very sweet and kind who didn’t deserve to live with such trauma. They deserved every ounce of pain Kei could give.

“Hate will fix nothing!” Tadashi cried, shaking him once more. “Your people are suffering! People who have wronged me in no way are suffering! You send your soldiers out to needless war; this is madness Kei, utter misery that no humans deserve! No good king would do such things to his people!”

“You’re only saying that now! You’ll see Tadashi when─,” he freezes, frozen as he stares at Tadashi’s tearstained face, the tears continuously pouring as he sobs, breathing hard with his expression as frozen as Kei’s own. Unbidden, Kei’s hand goes to his chest, hand absently grasping at the blade impaled in his chest, breathing becoming suddenly more difficult. His hands come away sticky and warm.

They are covered in red.

“Why?” he croaks, this time the anguish evident as Tadashi pulls the blade free on reflex. The pain is sudden and excruciating, driving Kei to his knees as he stares up at Tadashi. Sweet, kind Tadashi who cries over the death of old stable steads, who politely greets every servant in this retched castle. Warm, peace-loving Tadashi who smiles at servants from a kingdom that has taken everything from him.

Kind, peace-loving Tadashi who has just stabbed him through the chest.

“I can’t let you become any more of the king you never wanted to be,” Tadashi murmurs, and Kei wonders if he’s an angel, even now stained in blood as he falls to his knees before Tadashi, so obviously broken. He buries is face in his hands, and lets out a wracking sob. “This is how it should be…”

It is the last thing Kei expects when Tadashi scoots closer and looks him right in the eye, happiness shining through the anguish.

Tadashi presses his lips to Kei’s, and the sheer warmth of it, is enough to make up for the smell of blood in the air, is enough that it’s almost easy to ignore the taste of copped on his tongue. Kei wants to object as Tadashi raises the sword once more, tell him that if not Kei, then he should rule the Northern Kingdom, but there is too much blood in his mouth to speak, the strain too great. Soon, the blood staining the throne room’s floors is no longer just his own.

Tadashi hiccups, pulling Kei’s body even closer to him him, tears flowing freely as he holds him. Why is it only now that Kei realizes that this is all he has wanted all along? It’s not fair, but the way Tadashi’s fingers gently card through his hair is almost enough to make him forget. The world is fuzzy, dipping into black and the bursting into light, fading around the edges. But before the syrupy darkness can drag him under he feels a pair of lips pressed to his temple, and a single quiet word murmured through the fog.

“Together.”

-

Kei rockets forward in shock, bile rising in his throat as a strangled cry escapes him. Even though he is evidently sitting in the shade the sunlight is still too bright around him. He is drenched in cold sweat, his worn clothes, definitely not meant for a prince, sticking uncomfortably to his figure. His head is pounding, and his lungs scrabble for air, causing his lips to gape like a fish. It takes a belated moment for him to realize that his left hand in entangled with someone else’s, a that there is a familiar, warm figure sitting next to him against the tree trunk. That right now, Kei is safe.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a soft voice murmured beside him. Tadashi sits there beside him, a warm smile on his face and a book in his lap, the picture of peace. That is, until his features twist with worry, and one of his hand came up to cup Kei’s face, “Kei, are you alright? Bad dream?”

“Yeah,” he groaned in response, flopping down. It was a dream, just a dream. Tadashi is here, right next to him perfectly unharmed.

It comes back to him in a rush, his sixteenth birthday, Akiteru gently ushering the two into the hallway to talk. He remembers the nauseating hatred that had seized him when Akiteru explained. Sawamura had offered them a choice, and Tadashi and Kei; still children really, had grasped the opportunity of a new start with eager, but skeptical hands.

They have not come to regret the decision.

The years with Karasuno had been good to them, though it had been hard for Kei to just swallow the atrocities his people had committed, but Tadashi had been patient, gently coaxing both Tsukishima brothers to let go of their anger. It didn’t mean that no retributions came to the Northern Kingdom, far from it actually and all ironically under Tadashi’s carefully planning, but Tadashi dispelled any thoughts of blood lust Kei might have held on to otherwise. And here they were, possibly the same age as that awful last scene from his dream, but so happy.

“What are you thinking about, Kei?” Tadashi asked kindly, closing his book to give Kei a sweet smile.

“Nothing,” he brushed off immediately. Anyone else might have found it rude, but Tadashi merely smiled, raising a hand as if to be pulled up by an awaiting servant. Ever the gentleman, Kei, uncharacteristically, sprang to his feet to grasp Yamaguchi’s awaiting hand.

“My prince,” he teased lightly, pulling the shorter male to his feet, and nudging him slightly before Tadashi could fully regain his balance. The former prince squawked, and Kei couldn’t hold back a laugh as Tadashi shot him a dirty look, though if favored to completely ignore. Instead, he pulled the freckled man to his side, smiling to the point it was almost painful.

They had each other, there was nothing to fear.

-

“Their paths could have gone very differently,” Koushi murmured, watching with a sweet smile as Tsukishima wrapped an arm around Yamaguchi’s shoulder as they walked. The look of pure relief on the blond’s face wasn’t entirely disguised as he buried his face in Tadashi’s shoulder, holding the other young man like a lifeline.

“We all can choose to walk in either the darkness or light,” Sawamura responded easily, his own eyes trained on the couple. There was obvious pride and fondness in his voice as he smiled. “But I have a feeling those two, no matter what, will always have intertwining paths.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sugawara sighed breezily; glancing back to see Yamaguchi throw back his head with a laugh, Tsukishima swatted him in return, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I’m so glad they’re happy.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Sawamura laughed, content as he watched Tsukishima sweep Yamaguchi in his arms, a teasing smirk on the blond’s lips as the brunette squealed.

Yes, those two would be alright.

You made it!

I may have gotten a smide carried away xD

Hope you like it~

Edited now kill me I’m sorry you had to see the un-edited version, sorry! And beta’d by the lovely @photo-photo-photato