#ill be posting my full piece in about a weeks time but in the meantime CHECK OUT THE FULL ZINE!!!!! WOW!!!

[en-chi-la-da]

!!GUYS!! here it is!! the neon downpour zine has dropped and happy one year anniversary to Master Detective Archives: Rain Code!!! 🎉🙌🏼☔✨💥 ZINE SO NICE I DOWNLOADED IT TWICE!! (on accident lmao)

SO MANY TALENTED ARTISTS AND WRITERS worked on this and with the help of some amazing mods/creators, they created this wonderful fan zine (my very first zine!!!) for everybody and i'm very proud to have participated in this project! :') HUGE thank you to everyone for their hard work, and please enjoy the zine!! 👋🏼💖

Neon Downpour is here!

Happy 1 year anniversary to Rain Code! We've been hard at work these past few months, and we're so happy to finally share the zine with you all! With incredible art, writing, emotes, printables, and even a custom mouse cursor, there's so much to enjoy!

Download it all for free here:

[route22ny]

(Copied here in its entirety below for the paywall-challenged)

***

The Differences Between the Vaccines Matter

Yes, all of the COVID-19 vaccines are very good. No, they’re not all the same.

Public-health officials are enthusiastic about the new, single-shot COVID-19 vaccine from Johnson & Johnson, despite its having a somewhat lower efficacy at preventing symptomatic illness than other available options. Although clinical-trial data peg that rate at 72 percent in the United States, compared with 94 and 95 percent for the Moderna and Pfizer-BioNTech vaccines, many experts say we shouldn’t fixate on those numbers. Much more germane, they say, is the fact that the Johnson & Johnson shot, like the other two, is essentially perfect when it comes to preventing the gravest outcomes. “I’m super-pumped about this,” Virginia’s vaccine coordinator told The New York Times last weekend. “A hundred percent efficacy against deaths and hospitalizations? That’s all I need to hear.”

The same glowing message—that the COVID-19 vaccines are all equivalent, at least where it really counts—has been getting public-health officials and pundits  super-pumped for weeks now. Its potential value for promoting vaccination couldn’t be more clear: We’ll all be better off, and this nightmare will be over sooner, if people know that the best vaccine of all is whichever one they can get the soonest. With that in mind, Vox has urged its readers to attend to “the most important vaccine statistic”—the fact that “there have been zero cases of hospitalization or death in clinical trials for all of these vaccines.” The physician and CNN medical analyst Leana Wen also made a point of noting that “all of the vaccines are essentially a hundred percent” in this regard. And half a dozen former members of President Joe Biden’s COVID-19 Advisory Board wrote in USA Today, “Varying ‘effectiveness’ rates miss the most important point: The vaccines were all 100% effective in the vaccine trials in stopping hospitalizations and death.”

There’s a problem here. It’s certainly true that all three of the FDA-authorized vaccines are very good—amazing, even—at protecting people’s health. No one should refrain from seeking vaccination on the theory that any might be second-rate. But it’s also true that the COVID-19 vaccines aren’t all the same: Some are more effective than others at preventing illness, for example; some cause fewer adverse reactions; some are more convenient; some were made using more familiar methods and technologies. As for the claim that the vaccines have proved perfectly and equally effective at preventing hospitalization and death? It’s just not right.

These differences among the options could matter quite a bit, in different ways to different people, and they should not be minimized or covered over. Especially not now: Vaccine supplies in the U.S. will soon surpass demand, even as more contagious viral variants spread throughout the country. In the meantime, governors are revoking their rules on face masks, or taking other steps to loosen their restrictions. It’s tempting to believe that a simple, decisive message—even one that verges on hype—is what’s most needed at this crucial moment. But if the message could be wrong, that has consequences.

The idea that all of the vaccines are pretty much the same, in that they’re perfect at preventing COVID-19 hospitalizations and death, got its legs on social media. The USA Today op-ed by the former members of the Biden team illustrated this by linking to a data table found on Twitter. Created by the infectious-disease doctor Monica Gandhi, it showed a variety of trial results for six different vaccines. One column was rendered in canary yellow—“Protection from hospitalizations/death”—and every cell read “100%.” A similar table, tweeted out a few days earlier by the dean of Brown University’s School of Public Health, Ashish Jha, conveyed the same idea through a grid of zeros—as in, zero people hospitalized, zero people dead. The prominent physician and researcher Eric Topol followed with his own clinical-trial data summary featuring a column of 100 percents. “That is impressive!” he wrote across the top. All told, their posts would be retweeted about 15,000 times.

The data were indeed suggestive of an encouraging idea. Based on the numbers so far, we can expect the vaccines to provide extremely high levels of protection against the most dire outcomes. Still, we don’t know how high—and it’s clear they won’t uniformly cause hospitalizations and deaths from COVID-19 to disappear in vaccinated people.

The experts understand this, of course. Gandhi has been updating her table as more data come in, and now pegs Moderna’s efficacy on that front at 97 percent; Jha has since tweeted that “nothing is 100 percent … But these vaccines sure are close”; and Topol told The Atlantic that the numbers in his tweet are not a sufficient basis from which to draw “any determination of magnitude of effect,” though the fact that they all point in the same direction is “very encouraging.” Still, the message of perfection that their initial tables and tweets spawned—the gist, for many readers, of all those 100s and zeros—has since been picked up far and wide, and misinterpreted along the way.

To grasp the shaky nature of these particular data, it’s important to remember how the vaccine-development process began. Last April, not long after the pandemic began, the World Health Organization set out a target efficacy for vaccines of 50 percent, with options for how that value should be measured. A vaccine could be shown to reduce the risk of symptomatic disease, severe disease, or transmission of the coronavirus. The FDA offered similar guidance in June, and other regulatory agencies also followed the WHO’s lead. Among these choices, symptomatic disease was the most feasible, because it’s both a common outcome and one that’s easier to confirm in a large-scale trial. An outcome that included asymptomatic infections would have been even more common, but screening for all infections would have been prohibitive, especially early in the pandemic. So that’s how the vaccine trials were designed: Each would try to demonstrate at least 50 percent efficacy with respect to symptomatic disease as its “primary outcome.”

The trials could have used severe disease, hospitalization, or death as primary outcomes, but that would have slowed things down. These events are far more infrequent—there could have been 200 infections for each COVID-19 death in the U.S.—and that means it would have taken more time, and larger numbers of trial participants, to generate enough data to be sure of a 50 percent efficacy. Developers did include “severe COVID-19” as a secondary outcome—that is, one that would be measured and analyzed, but for which the trial might not have been designed to provide a definitive answer. Efficacy against hospitalization and against death, however, were not included as secondary outcomes for every trial.

Given that fact, the data can’t support a claim that the vaccines are 100 percent effective at preventing these serious outcomes. (Topol highlighted this very issue in an op-ed last fall for The New York Times.) Out of the six vaccines included in the dramatic data tables that made the rounds on Twitter, the clinical trials for only two of them—Oxford-AstraZeneca’s and Johnson & Johnson’s—included hospitalization for COVID-19 as a secondary outcome, and reported that efficacy rate. The clinical research for one other vaccine, made by Novavax, had hospitalization as a secondary outcome, but that trial hasn’t been reported in full yet. (On my website, I’ve provided more detailed information and analysis of the relevant data.)

Now, a casual reader of clinical-trial reports—or their summaries on social media—might take the fact that no hospitalizations of vaccinated people are mentioned to mean that none occurred. That’s risky, given that pieces of the data have been published across various medical journals and via several different regulatory agencies rather than in full in one place; that the plans for some trials did not specify ahead of time that the vaccine’s efficacy at preventing hospitalizations would be calculated; and that we’ve seen only minimal early data (via a press release from Novavax) from one of them. It would be just as risky to assume that all hospitalizations would be included in the analyses of people who developed severe COVID-19. Hospitalization and severe disease are not synonymous—people could be coping at home even though COVID-19 has caused their oxygen levels to drop severely, and moderately ill people might be hospitalized out of an abundance of caution when they are at high risk of getting worse.

The two vaccine trials that did explicitly report hospitalizations as an efficacy outcome make this latter issue very clear. For the AstraZeneca vaccine, one person in the control group had severe COVID-19, but eight people were hospitalized; for Johnson & Johnson, 34 people in the placebo group had severe COVID-19, but only five people were hospitalized. It’s true that zero vaccinated people were hospitalized in either study after the vaccines took effect. But with numbers that small, you can’t draw a reliable conclusion about how high efficacy may be for these outcomes. As Diana Zuckerman of the National Center for Health Research pointed out about the Johnson & Johnson trial, “It’s misleading to tell the public that nobody who was vaccinated was hospitalized unless you also tell them that only 5 people in the placebo group were hospitalized.” She’s right. And you can’t be confident about predicting effectiveness precisely in a wider population outside the trial, either. For example, some of the vaccine trials included relatively few people older than 60 as participants.

You can see how fragile these numbers are by looking at those compiled for severe disease. In the Pfizer trial, for example, just one vaccinated person developed severe COVID-19 versus three in the placebo group—which meant that a single bout of disease made the difference between a calculated efficacy rate of 66 percent and one of 100 percent. For the Novavax and Oxford-AstraZeneca trials, there were zero people with severe disease in the vaccinated group versus only one in the control group, so adding or subtracting one would have been even more dramatic. The problem is even greater for deaths. For that efficacy analysis, only two of the vaccine trials—for Moderna’s and Johnson & Johnson’s—reported any COVID-19 deaths at all in the control groups.

It’s also important to remember that these are early results: Some people who enrolled very late in the trials aren’t yet included in reported data, and analysis is still under way. Indeed, the FDA pointed out in December that one vaccinated person in the Moderna trial had been hospitalized with apparently severe COVID-19 two months after receiving a second dose. That person was in a group still awaiting final assessment by the researchers, and was not mentioned in Moderna’s formal readout of results.

We’ve learned a little more from the ongoing public vaccination programs. Four important reports have come in the past two weeks. In one, researchers compared about 600,000 people who had had a full course of the Pfizer vaccine in Israel with 600,000 people matched in age and other demographics who had not been vaccinated. The shots’ effectiveness at preventing hospitalization was measured at 87 percent. (“This vaccine is fabulous in a real world setting,” Jha tweeted in response.) A preprint from Scotland reported an efficacy rate against hospitalization of about 80 percent among people 80 or older, almost all of whom had received only one dose of either the Pfizer or the AstraZeneca vaccine. Two reports from Public Health England estimated a reduction of hospitalization of about 50 percent and 43 percent for the same age group, again almost all after just one dose of the Pfizer vaccine. These are exciting outcomes—those vaccines really, really worked! But they oughtn’t lead anyone to think that the vaccines are all the same, and that protection will be perfect.

Where does that leave us for making decisions? As Anthony Fauci told The New York Times last weekend, “Now you have three highly effective vaccines. Period.” Again, you will get a lot of benefit from any of them, and your risk will shrink even more as those around you get vaccinated too. Whichever one you start with, a booster may be coming in the not-so-distant future, of the same vaccine or perhaps a different one. By taking the first vaccine you can get, you’ll also avoid the risk of finding yourself without protection if infection rates surge where you live.

Efficacy is merely one layer, though. The Pfizer and Moderna vaccines have an edge at preventing symptomatic illness, but the Johnson & Johnson vaccine brings its own advantages. It has no demanding freezer requirements, which means it’s easier to distribute and more accessible to many communities. It’s more affordable than the other two—the company is providing it at cost around the world. Then there’s the fact that resources can be stretched a lot further when only a single dose has to be administered.

For individuals, too, the Johnson & Johnson vaccine has benefits. As a one-and-done injection, it’s more convenient. It also has a lower rate of adverse events than Moderna’s. You can’t compare results of these trials too precisely, but there are indications of a striking difference. About 2 percent of those who got the Johnson & Johnson vaccine recorded having reactions, such as fatigue, muscle aches, and fever, that were severe enough to interfere with daily activities. For those getting their second injection of Moderna, that rate was higher than 15 percent. People who are on the fence about getting vaccinated may find that this difference tips the scales in favor of getting a shot. Others who have doubts about the newness of the mRNA technology in the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines may appreciate the fact that Johnson & Johnson’s approach has already been deployed in the company’s Ebola vaccine, which got full drug approval in Europe last year.

Given these concerns, there’s some danger in the message—however well intentioned—that the COVID-19 vaccines are all the same by any measure, or that they’re perfect wards against severe disease. Vaccination is a public-health imperative, and going full tilt to promote uptake supports the common good. But it’s a personal health decision too. People want to protect themselves and those close to them, and they are likely to care about outcomes other than hospitalization and death, no matter what anyone says now.

Still, raising these concerns in public can be fraught. In response to an inquiry about her data table, Gandhi affirmed the importance of looking at severe-disease outcomes and noted that “careful, collegial and collaborative scientific discourse on the vaccines is imperative moving forward to help us get through the pandemic.” Topol pointed out that he has emphasized the vaccines’ measured efficacy against symptomatic disease many times before, so any isolated reference to his table “takes that particular post out of context.” Jha wrote in an email that he stands by the message of his original tweet, and notes that COVID-19 hospitalizations and deaths are so rare among the people vaccinated in these trials, to quibble over differences is akin to “counting how many angels are dancing on the head of the pin.”

I can see why this might seem like quibbling, but I just don’t think it’s a trivial matter. It would be different if I thought the effectiveness of every one of those six vaccines against hospitalizations and death would really end up being close to 100 percent—or if I bought into the idea, now widespread, that they have already been shown to “nearly” or “effectively” eliminate these outcomes. There is very good reason to be encouraged by the data, but to say right now that people who have been vaccinated face zero risk of serious outcomes—that, for them, COVID-19 is no more dangerous than the common cold—is sure to influence behavior. Imagine how people in high-risk groups would feel about going to the movies, or how their employers would feel about putting resources into workplace safety, if we all assumed that vaccines confer perfect protection against hospitalization or death. Now imagine how the same people and employers would feel knowing they were 85 percent protected.

Nor is there any reason to believe that the public or the personal interest will be served by hype. People who think the vaccines provide ironclad protection may lose trust in experts if reality falls short. Trust in coronavirus-vaccine information is already a problem, and could sink even lower. Activists who are opposed to vaccination may end up turning experts’ “super-pumped” promises against them.

“The idea that people can’t handle nuance,” Jha tweeted at the end of February, “it’s paternalistic. And untrue.” I couldn’t agree more. The principle of treating people like adults is fundamental. We don’t need to exaggerate. Talking about the trade-offs between different medicines and vaccines is often complicated, but we do it all the time—and we can do it with COVID-19 vaccines too.

Hilda Bastian is a scientist, writer, and founding member of the Cochrane Collaboration. She was formerly the editor of the PubMed Health project at the National Library of Medicine.

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 7 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

I ended up spending most of this past weekend setting up the Mermaid AU on AO3, so I do hope y’all will check it out over there!

Please note that on AO3, this Marco’s Bauble story is going under the title On the Courtship of Monkey D. Luffy. I didn’t really know where this series was going when I began writing it, and “Marco’s Bauble” was most definitely a starting point, but it’s expanded well beyond that now, as you’ll probably see in this update ^ ^; I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll rename all the parts on Tumblr or not.

BUT in the meantime, I’ll continue posting updates in advance here on Tumblr (and on Patreon even further in advance ;D), so here’s an update for this week!

In which Sabo confronts Koala.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 5

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 6

~~

Hmm, Koala thinks. So this probably counts as a "kabedon."

A kabedon, according to the young new recruits who'd explained it to her, is a situation in which one person, ideally tall and attractive, leans over a second, ideally smaller person, boxing them against a wall with their arms, essentially pinning them in place. Koala thinks it sounds like menacing posturing, but the recruits insisted that if done by the right person, it's a terribly titillating scenario, the kind you'd find in romance stories.   

It happens to be the situation that Koala finds herself in now, with her back against the side of Merry's cabin as Sabo looms over her, effectively blocking all exits with his arms braced against the wall on either side of her.

Sabo, Koala grudgingly thinks, probably not only qualifies, but is likely the recruits' very definition of tall and attractive.   

Right now, he's doing that thing where his eyes are half-mast, dark and unreadable as they peer down at Koala through the curtain of blond locks that have fallen across his face. It's a look that Koala knows has half of Baltigo swooning, and she's heard people call it Chief's Sexy Look.   

Koala feels very strongly that those are a poor choice of words, because from personal experience, she knows it's a look that's usually followed immediate, brutal interrogation that often ends in screams and excessive bloodshed. 

"Koala," he breathes, in that voice that has stolen the hearts of half the Revolutionary Army, and has convinced more than one unfortunate soul that perhaps, they might survive this encounter after all.   

But Koala knows better.   

Because his next words are, surprise surprise, "What are you hiding from me about my Luffy?"

He smiles then, and it looks misleadingly gentle, and Koala can see why strangers may mistake him for a benevolent princely gentleman.   

But Koala knows Sabo. And all she sees is the manic sadism behind the oh so very fake expression.   

She cringes, because no, there is absolutely nothing romantic or exciting about this situation at all. All she feels is Doom.   

"Hmm?" she says, keeping her hands behind her back so he can't see them twist. In these situations, Koala's more than well aware that the more she talks, the more she incriminates herself.   

Many who observe their partnership are under the impression that Sabo's just the overpowered guy who beats people up and destroys shit, while Koala provides intel. And while it's true that Koala has intel, Sabo's the one who often personally extracts it from their most stubborn sources.   

In other words, what Sabo wants, he usually gets. It's usually a comforting thought, but not today.   

"Hmm?" Sabo parrots back, eyes lazily tracing over her face, and Koala frantically tries to keep her expression neutral as he searches for an opening. 

It's like when they were children, Koala thinks, when they played interrogation games with each other as assignments for Inazuma's class. Except this time, it's not Koala's grade on the line. And while Koala knows that her partner would never actually hurt her, he's also very capable of making life pretty miserable for her if she doesn't spill.   

And right now, she has a secret she'd really, really like to keep away from Sabo.

The secret being, y'know, the fact that someone proposed to his dearest baby brother.   

And even though it's extremely unlikely that Luffy understands the significance behind the gesture, she considers the gift hers, which, for all points and purposes...means she accepted.   

Koala does not want Sabo to find out about this, from her, at least right now, before she has more information.   

But, Koala glumly remembers, she's never actually managed to win any interrogation games against him.   

"You know," he says, voice deceptively light, and Koala wants to groan because here we go. "Luffy and Ace mean the world to me. They're not just my past, they make me who I am. Even when I didn't remember, they were with me, and I was with them. They're everything to me."   

Koala won't break. She tries to look for an opening without shifting her eyes, but Sabo's not an amateur and there are no escape routes.   

"It would truly be terrible, if something happened to one of them, something that should be stopped, that I could have prevented if only I had known."   

He's poking her defenses. He wants her to say, you're blowing this out of proportion, it's not that big a deal, or maybe you're overthinking this. Possibly even lie, I'm not hiding anything, or even counter, what makes you think I'm hiding something?   

Koala knows better. Those are all traps, all openings that he'd pounce on, and she's seen him rip people apart for falling for them. Koala won't give him the chance.   

He leans in close, and whispers in her ear, voice low and dark in a way that would make his fans cry, and his enemies cry too but for an entirely different reason. "You wouldn't know something that'd prevent me from fulfilling my duties as Luffy's older brother, now would you, Koala?"  

Well, Koala thinks snidely, depends on what you consider your brotherly duties, and whether they include homicide and starting a war with an Emperor.   

She says, "Mmm."   

Sabo, or rather his mouth, smiles. His eyes are a void. Koala's not used to be on the receiving end of this particular stare, and she isn't enjoying a moment of it.   

"Alright. If that's how you want to be. Let's figure this out together, now shall we?"   

Sabo's voice is calm, exaggeratedly patient, like a therapist. He never talks to Koala like this, but Koala still recognizes this particular tone, and cringes as she realizes which interrogation pattern he's chosen. It's one she's ill equipped to counter at the moment, and he no doubt knows it.   

Koala braces herself. Blank face, she tells herself, even breathing. He's using his stupid over-powered Observation Haki to keep track of your pulse.

"Well," he begins, "I know it's already about Luffy, because you're more nervous about me talking about her than Ace." It's stated as fact, and Koala blinks rapidly to moisten her eyes because she knows the real deal's starting now, and she'll have to avoid blinking when it might give her away.   

"And it must be something you found out during your Fishman Karate sessions, because you don't have any other time together, at least when I'm not watching."   

Koala isn't remotely surprised that he's monitoring everyone; after all, she's been doing the same. She wants to sigh but keeps it in.   

"It's probably something physical, because Lu can't keep secrets if she thinks of them as secrets, so it might have been something you saw...a scar, or a mark on her body? No? Then an object she has on her...Ah, there we go."  

Fuck you, I didn't give you any tells, Koala thinks indignantly, but she knows that expressing any annoyance will only confirm his guesses, and continues to refuse to speak.   

"You've been going to the kitchen more often than usual, but not during meal times, or even prep times, but rather lulls...times that you have no business in the kitchen, and times where only cooks are present, cleaning up or otherwise doing tasks that don't require their full attention...the perfect time to chat."  

Maybe I wanted a snack, Koala thinks, but keeps her mouth shut, because Sabo already knows when and how she snacks. This interrogation really isn't fair.   

"And as for the cooks in question...well, if it were Sanji, I'd just ask him myself, but you knew I wouldn't do that, right, Koala? You know I could get it out of him, so if it was him, he wouldn't know anything of value. But I don't think he's involved at all."   

Sabo looks at Koala expectantly. Koala stares right back at him, though her eyes feel very, very dry.   

"So the question now is, why would my dearest partner want to protect Thatch, Fourth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates and temporary first cook of the ASL Pirates?" Sabo talks as though he's asking himself, but he isn't, and Koala's not fooled. She keeps her face blank. "I doubt it's a personal thing, after all, his intentions towards Luffy couldn't be more obvious, he announces it at least once a day. And given my partner's obvious little lesbian crush, it doesn't seem in her best interests to help him, no?"   

This does get a reaction from Koala, and her breath leaves her in a whoosh. Fine, make it personal. If he's figured out this much, it's only a few more steps till the answer, and at this point what does it matter. Koala glares, relishing freeing her face from its mask, and for a moment Sabo's back to his usual self, giving her a cheeky wink as though to say told you so. But then Interrogator!Sabo is back, because he's not quite done yet.  

Whatever. She tried, alright. It's not like she owes the Phoenix anything. She leans back against the wall, bringing her arms in front of her chest, and scowls, hoping her expression projects exactly what she thinks of Interrogator!Sabo at the moment. Sabo likewise drops his arms, because he knows she's no longer going to escape.   

"You're not protecting Thatch himself, because if you were we could solve it here, and it never needs to get out of hand. So you're protecting someone connected to him. The fact that you're being so stubborn, tells me that it's not just a personal thing, but something that could cause an incident, that would likely affect the Army. Which means, obviously, a Whitebeard pirate.   

"But I don't think it's just any Whitebeard pirate. They're someone high profile enough that it would be a big deal if I were to confront them, possibly jeopardizing any potential future alliances the Army forms with them, or drawing the eyes of the World Government. Which, they're already watching us, which makes me think it's gotta be someone even bigger than Thatch..."   

Which, of course doesn't leave much.   

"It could very well be old man Whitebeard himself," Sabo says, but he's shaking his head. "But something tells me it's not. And I know that some very interesting little blue birds have been stopping by the Merry, likely with letters for Thatch, but possibly also with unsolicited deliveries for my baby brother..."  

Your baby brother, chill with your possessiveness, does rubbing it in feel that good? Koala sniffs.   

"And as for why it's a big deal...you wouldn't be so secretive over a crush. Everyone on the crew has a crush. That can be dealt with. This is a few steps beyond, something you think would make me mad, right, Koala?”

Sabo pauses a moment, but it's for dramatic effect, because Sabo knows that Koala knows that he already has an answer.   

"So tell me, Koala. What did Marco the Phoenix give Luffy to try to claim her as his bride?"   

And well, there you have it.

"Bravo," Koala says dryly. "I see you're qualified for your position, Chief. I'll be sure to inform the Boss."   

Sabo tips his hat, and even though she allows herself to relax, Koala keeps her eyes trained on her partner.   

He's taking this calmer than she expected, to be honest. Interrogator!Sabo still hasn't fully faded from his face, but he's no longer giving off sadistic vibes, and has that little frown that tells Koala he's still sorting through his thoughts. His ability to remain composed is likely affected by the fact that they're still in Paradise, and the Whitebeard Pirates and the New World are still quite a ways away.   

Which is good, because it means Sabo can't just impulsively cause a massive incident on the spot. But it's also bad, because it means he's got more time to plot, and Sabo can come up with some pretty devastating things if given the opportunity.   

"Sabo, I barely know anything myself, and neither does Thatch," Koala says, finally willing to speak. "I'm working on getting more information. Don't plan anything rash yet. It could all be a misunderstanding."   

Sabo slowly nods, still quiet. Koala sighs.   

This might be a good time to bring up a certain topic, she realizes. She'd been thinking about it for a while now, but had wanted to give him more time.   

She first thought about it when the night after he regained his memories, she sees Sabo slip away from the Merry to pursue the ship that's transporting the slavers who tried to sell Luffy at the auction house. The slavers have already been passed in the hands of Army agents, all of the enslaved have been freed and are on their way to safety, and Luffy's back with her crew. Their job should have been over.   

Sabo comes back before dawn, accompanied by Ace who had likely transported him with Striker. He seems calmer than the night before, but Koala doesn't miss that his gloves are still damp from recently being washed.   

There've been other incidents too, in the short period they've traveled together. Koala's seen Sabo dangerously close to snapping (and actually snapping) more during the past few weeks than their entire decade together. And on one hand, it's understandable, but on the other...   

"You know," Koala begins, as gently as possible. "she's no longer the child you left behind. She's an adult. Even if this ends up being nothing, she may still find someone, one day. What are you going to do then?"   

If Luffy's in physical danger, protecting her is one thing. But what if it's something that she chooses?   

The change is subtle, but Koala notices when the last of the Chief of Staff fades from Sabo, as his head tilts downward ever so slightly. And all of a sudden he reminds Koala all too much of the tiny, battered child who stared at himself in the mirror when he thought everyone was asleep, touching his scars and asking, Who are you?

"I can't lose her, I can't lose either of them," Sabo says quietly, and he overlaps completely with the lost child, and ah, Koala thinks, because she gets it.   

That child, that self who was missing for so long, is back now, inside Sabo where he always belonged, where he always existed but couldn't be recognized. That child now takes up so much space, too much space, and still hasn't been fully reconciled with the adult that Sabo's grown up to be. Simpler, childish emotions and desires that feel too vibrant and raw, clashing with the adult's more weathered world view, aggravated further by all the darkness that Sabo's seen in their line of work.   

Sabo's less concerned about Ace, Koala knows, because even though Sabo loves both his brothers, Ace is like his other half. They don't protect each other, but function seamlessly as a single unit, a unit with one priority that stands above all else.   

Luffy.   

Luffy, who as a child, Sabo was able to protect from anything and everything in their isolated microcosm. Luffy, who as an adult, Sabo knows all too well is more vulnerable than ever, as proven by the very situation in which they reunited.  

A gilded glass tank, hidden away behind dusty curtains, with a dark, motionless shape crumpled at the bottom. Chains, chains, and chains upon bruised skin, and bubbles rising from parted lips, getting smaller and smaller as she slowly fades...

That was bad enough, but Koala doubts Ace or any of the others know exactly what the fate of a captured mermaid is, at least in the way that Koala and Sabo do.   

Koala understands, she really does.   

But she also knows the importance of freedom, not just to Sabo, but likely to Luffy and Ace as well.   

"Would it be losing her?" she asks, and child!Sabo flinches.   

"We vowed to be free," Sabo says, and he still sounds lost, like he doesn't know what the word means anymore. "And we will be." His hat shadows his eyes, and Koala can't imagine how they look at that moment. "But I don't want her to go where I can't follow."   

"Then follow," Koala says, because what else is there to say? "Follow, if that's your freedom. But you can't stop hers."   

"I know."   

She couldn't have known how Sabo would take her words.

~~

Part 8, we see more of Thatch.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, any comments are immensely appreciated and help motivate me to create more for this AU! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[livesincerely]

it’s so easy (too easy) to love you, ch. 1

Also on Ao3

00000

Davey’s just gotten out of class—literally just walked out the door—when his phone starts ringing.

“Davey,” Tony says the moment he answers, not even giving Davey time to say hello, “can you swing by the apartment real quick?”

Davey sighs. “Are you locked out of the house again?”

There’s a guilty silence. Then, “Or maybe I just wanna see you, huh? You don’t know.”

“Tony.”

“Charlie’s the one that lost the spare,” Tony capitulates immediately, there’s an indignant “Hey!” somewhere in the background, “and I left my keys in my locker ‘cause I thought Charlie had his—”

There’s a scuffle of noise, then Charlie’s voice breaks in, “—don’t listen to him Davey, I asked him before we even got on the subway if he had his keys and he said he did but he didn’t even check—”

“—well, I thought you had yours, didn’t I?—”

“—and he was twenty minutes late picking me up from band practice because he was too busy making out with Spot Conlon to come help me carry my stuff—”

“—that was supposed to be a secret you little shit!”

“—you started it!”

Davey pulls the phone away from his ear as the other side of the line descends into a mess of indistinct yelling. He thinks about trying to get their attention, but he decides to just start heading towards the apartment, muting his side of the call while he waits them out—they’ll remember him eventually.

In the meantime, Davey sends a quick text:

Tony and Charlie locked themselves out of the house again

He’s not expecting a response, but Jack must be in-between projects because he gets one almost immediately.

jc again?

And you’re going to have to get a new spare made

fuck okay i’ll take care of it. are you heading over?

I’m walking there now

ur the light of my life dave

Davey can’t help but smile at this, a soft feeling fluttering in his chest. Before he can write back, Jack sends another text:

how did ur midterm go?

I feel good about it! Def did better than I thought it would!

duh youve been living in the library all week ofc ur gonna do great. ill swing by the grocery omw home and pick up some ice cream to celebrate. do we need anything else while im there?

Get a bell pepper and some tomato paste, I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner. And we need more laundry detergent.

fuck yes im starving! can we do garlic bread too?

Come home on time and we’ll see.

u drive a hard bargain. kerian owes me a favor so he can stay late tonight lol

“Davey?” The sound of Charlie’s voice, tinny and muffled, prompts Davey to lift his phone back to his ear; it seems like he might’ve been calling Davey’s name for a while. “Are you still there?”

“I’m still here,” Davey confirms.

“So are ya comin’ or what?” Tony cuts in, ever impatient. “I’m roasting out here!”

“Well, I was thinking about leaving you to ruminate on your poor life choices,” Davey responds dryly, “but I guess I can come let you in, since you asked so nicely.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Charlie says.

“I’ll be there soon,” Davey confirms.

“Hurry, will ya? Much longer and I’m gonna get heatstroke and die,” Tony declares.

Davey rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Tony.”

00000

When he arrives at Jack’s building some twenty minutes later, Davey finds Tony and Charlie right where he expects them: crowded together in the little bit of shade the roof’s overhang offers, wearing identical grumpy expressions that brighten immediately when they spot him approaching.

"Finally!" Tony exclaims, shooting to his feet. "What took you so long?"

“Stop losing your keys and you won’t have to wait for me,” Davey counters, slotting his key into the deadbolt and hefting open the heavy exterior door. He props it open with his hip and lets Tony and Charlie scurry past him into the AC. “You couldn’t get anyone to buzz you in?”

“Old Man Davis hasn’t gotten his hearing aid replaced yet,” Charlie explains as they climb the stairs up to the second floor, “and Mrs. Ikeda isn’t home.”

“She joined a new book club,” Tony adds. “She won’t be back till late.”

“Oh, I’ll have to ask her about it when I see her next,” Davey muses.

He gets the apartment door unlocked and the boys pile inside, tossing their backpacks down with dramatic groans of relief.  Charlie makes a beeline for his bedroom; Davey expects Tony to do the same but he takes a seat at the kitchen table instead, booting up his laptop with a couple of keystrokes.

“I’ve got a paper due in English tomorrow,” Tony explains. “Can you look it over once it’s finished? Maybe later this evening”

“Of course,” Davey replies. “What’s it on?”

“Lord of the Flies.”

Davey’s nose wrinkles up. “Oh, I hated that one. What’s the essay prompt?”

“Identify Golding’s argument about human nature as proposed in Lord of the Flies,” Tony reads off the top of the assignment outline. “Then make an argument agreeing or disagreeing with his assessment, using evidence from the text.”

Davey rolls his eyes. “Good to see that high school literature classes haven’t changed much in the last few years,” he says with a sigh. “How much have you written so far?”

“Oh, I haven’t even started it yet,” Tony casually rebuts.

“Is everything going okay?” Davey asks, frowning slightly. “If things are getting worse we can make an appointment—”

But Tony waives his concerns aside. “Nah, this is regular old procrastination, not ADHD procrastination. Like ya said, Lord of the Flies sucks ass, so I just didn’t want to write it.”

“Well, let one of us know if you start having trouble,” Davey says.

"Okay, mom,” Tony agrees, somewhat distracted. He’s already got a blank document pulled up on his laptop, a battered and thoroughly dog-eared copy of the book laying open beside him.

Davey looks at him for another moment, then he shrugs and continues making his way into the kitchen—he figures there’s no need to worry unless Racer starts actually missing assignments. And he’s right: Lord of the Flies does suck ass.

By the time Jack gets home they’re each fully entrenched in different activities: Davey’s washed a sink full of dishes and is working on drying the last few pieces of silverware, Tony is still posted up at the kitchen table, carefully hammering out a draft of his paper, and there are the familiar sounds of Charlie working through different musical scales on his oboe in the back bedroom.

“Honey, I’m home!” Jack calls jokingly as he enters. There’s a rustle of plastic and soft thunk of the front door closing behind him, then he comes around the corner into the dining room with an armful of groceries.

“Hey, Jack,” Davey greets absently. He starts rifling through the bags almost before Jack can finish putting them down. “Did you get the tomato—?”

“I got the tomato paste,” Jack says, kicking off his shoes and leaving them in the entryway with all the others, “and I picked up some more of that fancy coffee you like from the place around the corner, even though it’s expensive as all hell.”

“Don’t judge me,” Davey replies, gathering up an armful of vegetables and carrying them further into the kitchen. “You spend a semester grading 'Intro to Shakespeare' homework and tell me how much caffeine you consume.”

“I’m just saying, the rest of us schmucks drink regular coffee and do just fine,” Jack continues. “You can feed your crippling caffeine addiction just as well with Folgers and it’ll cut down on the grocery bill.”

“Watch it, Kelly,” Davey says, pointing a finger teasingly in Jack��s direction. “Smartasses don’t get dinner.”

“‘s that so?” Jack asks with a grin. “Then why the hell are we still feeding Tony?”

“I heard that,” Tony grumbles from the kitchen table.

“Yeah, you were supposed to,” Jack says, moving over to Tony and slinging an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side hug. Tony bats at Jack’s hand but makes no real attempt to get away. Then Jack says, “So, I hear you and your brother lost another set of keys.”

Tony throws Davey a look of the deepest betrayal. “You told Jack?”

“Of course he did,” Jack says. “Someone’s gonna have to get new ones made, and it sure ain’t gonna be either half of the dynamic duo.”

“Charlie lost the spare,” Tony says, mercilessly throwing Charlie under the bus while he’s not in the room to defend himself. “And I didn’t lose my keys, I just left them in my locker.”

“Uh huh, save it for the judge,” Jack responds, ruffling Tony’s hair. “Just know if I end up having to change the deadbolt, it’s coming outta your subway money.”

“Jackie, leave Tony alone,” Davey comments mildly over Tony’s spluttering protests. “He needs to work on that paper and you’re distracting him.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Tony repeats, a little smug. “You’re distracting me.”

Davey turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. Tony quickly busies himself with his homework.

Davey makes quick work of washing a green pepper and peeling an onion, then starts dicing both into small, neat pieces. He feels more than hears Jack sidle up behind him: the familiar weight of his gaze, the solid presence at his back. He stands there quietly, leaning against the counter-top and just watching Davey cook; unbothered, Davey leaves him be for the moment and moves to the stove, scraping the chopped vegetables off the cutting board and into a pan to start softening.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Davey glances over his shoulder at Jack and says, “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me with this? You know there’s no loitering in my kitchen.”

“Well, I’m nothin’ if not a law abidin’ citizen,” Jack drawls in answer, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He rolls up his shirt sleeves, exposing the long, muscular line of his forearms, and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “Where do you want me?”

Davey licks his lips. “Think you can handle browning the hamburger?”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Jack responds with a smirk.

Davey steps out of the way, letting Jack take his place in front of the sauce pan while he gets a pot of water set up on a different burner, salting it so it boils faster. They settle into their familiar dinner-routine, moving around and past each other with ease as they work on getting everything ready, chattering idly all the while.

“I’ve gotta head back out this evening,” Jack says at one point, as he sets the tray of garlic bread in the oven to toast. “Johnson’s got me working a night shoot and I have to be downtown by 9.”

“How long is the session?” Davey asks. “Here, will you open this?”

“We’re scheduled for five hours, but we might get to wrap it up early if everything goes well.” Jack’s hand brushes against the small of Davey’s back and they trade places again, Davey stepping back up to the stove-top and Jack rifling around in one of the drawers for a can opener.

“Are ya spendin’ the night or are ya headin’ back to campus?”

“Depends on how much help Tony needs with his paper,” Davey replies, shaking his head. He takes the can when Jack hands it back to him and empties it into the saucepan, then gives the whole thing a good stir. “We might be at it a while.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Well, if you do spend the night, go ahead and take the bed. The extra blankets are in the usual place.”

Davey sets down the spoon he’s holding, crossing his arms across his chest. “Jack,” he says warningly.

“Davey,” Jack echoes back in the exact same tone of voice. In the background there’s the faint sound of Tony muttering, “Jesus, not this again.”

“Jack, I’m not gonna kick you out of your bed,” Davey says, rehashing the same old argument for what feels like the millionth time. “I’m perfectly fine taking the couch.”

“Or you could do the smart thing and just take the bed,” Jack counters as he always does. “I’m not even gonna be here to use it.”

“You’ll want an actual mattress when you get home, especially if you’re out late.” Davey argues. “I don’t even have class tomorrow, it’ll be fine.”

“If you don’t take the bed I’ll just carry you in there once I get back,” Jack says, as if that's a perfectly reasonable course of action. “So you might as well save me the trouble.”

Davey sputters. “That’s not— You can’t just— That only happened a couple of times!” he finally gets out.

"Well, actually, it's been more like four or five times," Jack says with a smirk. "But hey, who's counting?"

"That trick won't keep working," Davey grumbles, feeling the back of his neck start to heat up.

“You sleep like a fucking rock, Dave,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “Why wouldn’t it keep working?”

“No, see, that’s exactly why I should take the couch,” Davey insists. “It’s not like the sound of you coming in will wake me up—”

Jack turns to face him. Davey cuts off, slightly startled—he hadn’t realized they were standing so close to each other.

“Just take the bed, Davey,” Jack all but orders, and those dark eyes with that low voice are a heady combination. “Please?”

Davey bites at his lower lip, suddenly flustered. “Fine,” he reluctantly concedes, hoping Jack will attribute his flushed face to the heat of the kitchen. “Just this once.”

"Thank you," Jack says with a dramatic heave of his chest, looking much too pleased with himself. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"You're letting the garlic bread burn," Davey answers tartly.

"Oh shit—!"

00000

Later that evening, after they’ve all finished eating and have cleaned up, Davey, Tony, and Charlie are still gathered around the table, working on various assignments.

Davey is finishing the readings for his Monday lecture in between helping Tony finalize the exact wording of his essay. Charlie sits opposite him, working through his geometry homework and every so often there’s a huff of breath and the rubbery scratch of an eraser—Davey makes a mental note to swipe some more pencils and notebook paper from the grad lounge when he’s there next.

Davey notices the time and frowns. “Jack,” he calls out, “it’s already 7:30. If you don’t leave soon you’re gonna be late for work.”

There’s a clamor of noise from down the hall, then Jack appears, freshly showered and fumbling to put on his socks and button up a clean shirt at the same time.

“Fuck, Johnson is gonna kill me,” Jack grumbles. He pats down his pockets, then groans. “Christ, has anyone seen my—”

“Your wallet and keys are on the counter by the microwave,” Davey says, pointing. “And take a jacket, it’s supposed to rain later.”

“Great, I’m sure the models will love that,” Jack says with a groan. “Hopefully we’ll be able to get through everything without getting rained out.”

He meanders his way over to the table, peering at Charlie’s homework from over his shoulder. “If Tony is still busy and ya get stuck, text me,” Jack tells him. “I probably won't be able to answer right away, but if ya send me a picture of the problem I can probably talk ya through it between shots.”

Charlie hums his acknowledgment, still scribbling furiously. Jack turns to Tony.

“Listen to whatever Davey tells you about your paper,” he advises. “The only reason I got through undergraduate writing was ‘cause Davey proofread all my shit before I turned it in.”

“I thought I was s’pposed to always listen to Davey,” Tony says distractedly, tongue poking out between his teeth as he types.

Jack pauses, considering. “Yeah, just do that.”

“Jack—”

“Oh, and Dave cooked, so you shitheads better do the dishes, get me?”

“Jack, you’re gonna be late,” Davey cuts in firmly, holding out Jack’s jacket for him.

“Alright, I’m going,” Jack says, shrugging it on, and he finally starts making moves towards the door.

He gives Charlie one last pat on the shoulder and cuffs Tony lightly across the back of the head in a slightly rougher, but no less affectionate goodbye, which is per usual. Then he turns to Davey, tips his chin up, and kisses him right on the mouth, short and sweet.

“Lock the door behind me and don’t forget to—” Jack stops mid-sentence, then turns bright red.

“Um,” says Charlie.

“Holy shit,” says Tony.

Jack’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Finally, he stammers out, “I u-uh— I-I d-didn’t mean—“

Davey doesn’t respond. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to—he’s frozen in place, his mind a sudden wash of static. For a moment, they just stare at each other. Then Jack blurts, “gottagoseeyoulaterbye,” and bolts out the front door.

Davey’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly into space, utterly dumbfounded.

“Davey?” Charlie asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

There’s a strangled, choking noise. A split second later, Davey realizes it’s coming from him.

"...What just happened?"

[purplesurveys]

958

Who’s one person who changed how you viewed something? Gabie has left me a big life realization or two.

At what age do you feel like you grew up mentally/emotionally? Well I think at any age people don’t stop growing and learning, but at this point in my life I felt like I did a lot of growing up at 17 in particular. There were a lot of losses endured and big decisions that had to be made when I was that age.

Do you have any brothers? I have a brother. Singular.

Are you currently happy? No. It’s gonna take a while to get there again, if I ever do.

Who did you talk on the phone with last night? No one. Work was prrrrretty exhausting yesterday so I was passed out by 9 PM. Wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone either; I just wanted my bed.

Is anything bugging you right now? Ugh, yep.

Who is the last person you missed a call from? My mom. She always seems to call on the ultra rare occasions that I put my phone down, which almost never happens.

What annoys you most in a person? Probably those who come off as unapproachable and unpleasant right off the bat. I get people who can be quiet at first because I can be that way too, but there’s still a big difference between being shy and just plain unapproachable.

Have you changed this year? For sure. 2020 has been a big year so far in terms of life changes and I’ve been greatly affected by all of them.

What are you listening to right now? I can hear Rhett and Link trying weird kinds of fondue.

Are you talking to anyone tonight? I don’t think so. I prefer not to, though; I’m always so tired after work haha.

Do you get nervous before doctor appointments? Not at all. I feel relaxed going to the doctor because it means getting feedback on whatever condition or illness I’m having. I feel way more nervous for interviews or having to take calls HAHA 

Whose bed did you sleep in last that wasn’t yours? My parents’, back when I was sick a few months ago. They had to look after me because I had felt super faint for a few days.

Are you a really understanding person? Yeah, very. I don’t know if it’s overall a good thing or not because historically, being understanding has made it easier for some people walk all over me. I don’t regret it though. It feels nice to be nice.

How many hours of sleep did you get last night? Around 10. This work-from-home thing is pretty sweet; it’s a big relief no longer having to drive to the workplace and spend 4 hours in traffic everyday.

How many pillows do you like to sleep with? Two.

Did you wake up in the middle of the night last night? Yeah once at midnight, another time at 3 AM. I fell back asleep easily though.

How are you feeling lately? Kinda annoyed at a miscommunication that someone else caused at work that led me to be wrongfully scolded; mostly relieved because I’ve done my tasks for now and I think I did a pretty good job. Also relieved because it’s lunch break which means I have time to take this survey.

How do you wear your hair most of the time? Down or in a lazy, low bun.

Think back to the end of last school year, who did you have feelings for? Gab.

In a relationship, do you think about the future, or now? I think of both. It’s not that hard.

Think back to the last person you kissed, did that person ever give you a piggy back ride? Yup, plenty. I’m half her weight so I’m easy to carry around.

Did you see your best friend today? I haven’t seen either in a while, no. Angela especially – I haven’t seen her since March.

Are you close to your father? Definitely closer to him than I am with my mom, but I wouldn’t call him a confidante or anything like that. He’s just more relatable and it’s easier to talk and open up to him. He also never scolds me, so there’s that.

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? It’s definitely possible. I’m sure I disappointed my mom a few times back when I was in my angsty-teenager-going-through-puberty phase, lol.

Where did you go today? The farthest I’ve gone is the kitchen to get myself brunch and coffee.

Where are you located right now? I’m in my bedroom, working on the floor because I find it more comfortable for the meantime.

What’s between you and the last person you texted? I dunno. It’s weird at the moment. 

Could you go a month without talking to your best friend? I technically could, but it would be miserable.

What was the last piece of furniture you purchased? I didn’t purchase it myself, but my mom got me a new desk in my room.

Have you ever broken up with someone for a reason other than lack of feelings (ex. moving away, etc.)? Nope.

Has anyone ever told you that you are too picky when it comes to the people you date? What about not picky enough? Ugh, I’ve taken this survey before looooooool. I’m too far in it now though, so I guess I’ll just suck it up. I remember answering this by saying that as a demi I’m bound to be very picky, and that I’m alright with that.

When was the last time you went to a bar? Start of Feb, at Kiana’s friend’s boyfriend’s new bar. I feel bad for the dude for having his bar open mere weeks before a global pandemic blew up, but I’m glad to see that it’s still doing well with online orders and such.

What three things would you change about your life? I wish my internship would soon turn into a full-time position; I wish I was more stable and happier; I wish I had a few creative talents under my belt like cooking and knowing how to play at least one instrument.

Was there anything unusual or unique about your birth? I’m gonna retain my old answer and say that it’s my siblings who get to share weirder facts about their birth. My mom’s pregnancy with me went smoothly.

What has happened in the past week that is worth remembering in five years? Internship and other life things. September 2020 is a month to remember lol

How much of your day did you spend completely alone? For the last week or so I’ve been mostly alone since internship eats up my days. I show up to my family for dinner, but that’s about it.

What was the best conversation you’ve had recently? Angela giving me a pep talk the other day. I’ve been holed up by myself for the last few days, so it felt amazing to reach out to a friend.

What is the next book you are going to read? I’ll continue reading Midnight Sun, as slow as my progress is.

Describe the hardest decision you have ever made. I’m currently in the process of having to pick a big decision but I don’t feel like getting into it.

Why did you last see the doctor? I had a pesky fever that wasn’t going away and I was starting to get scared that it was either dengue or COVID altogether.

Post a recent picture of yourself. Eh, you’re not getting one today, survey.

How do you spend the majority of your free time? I like watching YouTube videos, doing surveys, reading articles, and playing with Cooper.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow? Just hoping for more tasks to be handed to me so I can maximize my time in my internship.

List the cards in your wallet. Debit card, school ID, driver’s license, gas station card for perks, a couple of business cards, and a card listing down rights of media practitioners that was handed to us by the college’s student council a few years ago. As for the latter, that was when the political climate was a bit of a mess and when that happens, journalism practitioners and students are usually the main targets of the cops. We were given that card so we can protect ourselves just in case something shitty happened to any one of us.

What was the last thing to inspire you? The aforementioned pep talk given to me by Angela.

Who was the last person to do something nice for you? One of my superiors at work complimented me on the slides I worked on.

What was the lowest point of this year? The highest? Highest point would be pre-Covid days, which sucks because those were a lifetime ago. There has been a lot of low points.

Is there any artwork in the room you’re in? Yep.

What is your number one short-term goal? Long-term? Short-term is to do well in this internship, long-term is to work towards a career in a field that I’m into and happy in and let everything follow from there.

Are you dealing with anything difficult at the moment? Yes.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 238: Shigaraki Tomura: Tattered Goth Remix

Previously on BnHA: Young Shimura Tenko killed his whole family, as angsty young misguided antagonist characters sometimes do, and then proceeded to wander the streets feeling all sad about it until All for One just happened!! to come across him and was all “oh you poor thing it looks like you killed your whole family by accident, let me just adopt you and raise you to be my own personal killing machine.” We got some more flashbacks showing just how this transformation took place, plus some answers about the hands that kind of just raised more questions though tbh, and watched as little Tenko made his first premeditated kill after a number of effed up AFO pep talks. AFO then rechristened him “Shigaraki Tomura”, and we learned that Shigaraki is actually AFO’s own last name. The chapter ended back in the present day, with Tomura reflecting on how his family’s death wasn’t really a tragedy after all and ended up setting him free. We’ll have to agree to disagree, kid, but in the meantime have fun fucking up Re-Destro and dealing with Gigantomachia’s rampage!

Today on BnHA: Re-Destro tries to smash Tomura at 100% and absolutely nothing happens. So then he summons a bunch of robot armor bits like fucking Iron Man, and levels up to 150%! Tomura could not care less, because he’s leveled up to be one of those “yawn, is that all you got?” bad guys now, and while RD desperately tries to intimidate him, we briefly check in with the rest of the League. Everyone is freaking out at how quickly Machia is destroying the Liberation Army, and Compress calls Ujiko and frantically begs him to warp them all to safety. But Ujiko is all “nah” and says he wants to drive Tomura into a corner. Meanwhile Gigantomachia finally takes out Dairy Queen, since Dabi was doing fuckall, and the chapter ends with Tomura possibly killing Re-Destro?? To be honest it’s really unclear. For all I know the dude just dropped dead of a heart attack from all that stress. In fact, now that I’ve typed that, I kind of think that’s what did happen. Anyway! The point is I’m pretty sure the battle is finally over.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added one or two ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.) 

so I mentioned this in an ask post a couple days ago, but this recap is a day late because I was out of town this week. consequently I’m behind on my asks and other things as well (I know, what else is new), so I’m sorry about that!

also! @temperatezone informed me that there’s yet another BnHA spinoff coming out, and that the preview chapter debuted last week! so I went to check it out, and holy shit, it’s a manga all about the U.A. kids teaming up with various pro heroes!!!!??!! between this and the new anime season coming up in just two months (it’ll fly by) and BakuDeku: Heroes Rising coming out in December, I feel like I’m being fucking spoiled with BnHA content. and I didn’t even mention the 2nd light novel which just had its official English translation released last month! so all in all it’s a lot of good stuff, and I desperately want to recap chapter 0 of the new spinoff as soon as possible, but it’ll probably be a few days unfortunately, unless I decide to be very irresponsible and do that instead of the piles of work I should actually be doing. we’ll see which impulses actually win out sob

fortunately Jump is on a break next week if I recall, so that’ll give me some time to catch up. anyway let’s start this thing before I manage to procrastinate anymore! so the new chapter is called “Liberation”, probably after a certain army

and the chapter is picking up where we left off before, with Tomura taking his Father Hand out of his pocket and saying he doesn’t need it or any of his other hands

ooooooh

maybe the title isn’t referring to the Liberation Army after all! or just one of those cool double meaning things

oooh man

god but that is satisfying. is there anything more satisfying than seeing a character you’ve been rooting for finally reach out and take control of their own destiny? ahhhh yessss that’s the good shounen shit right there

lol Re-Destro

he finally scared you into using your ~full power~, huh? punk

don’t mind me I’m just appreciating how much of a total badass my boy here is

your move, RD. personally if it were me, I wouldn’t want to fuck with him anymore! but hey your funeral bud

hmmm

the last few chapters have been so well-drawn that I’m starting to think I was maybe getting spoiled. I wonder if Horikoshi will re-do these later for the volume release

anyway so it seems like what’s happening is that RD is trying to hit Tomura with another Almighty Bitchslap and Tomura is not having any of it, basically

oh wow

and this isn’t even the Gigantomachia damage. will there be any pieces of this town left larger than a toothpick once all is said and done here?? stay tuned! but the answer is no

so the rest of this two page spread is just more panels showing vague high-contrast images of the destruction. we’re also briefly cutting to Gigantomachia! and to Dabi, who is still fighting Pinkberry, and like, dude, come on. finish him off already

and now the dust is clearing after that latest clash, and would you guys fucking look at this dramatic bitch though omfg

Shigaraki Tomura: Tattered Goth Remix. you look like the cover of a Bauhaus album. thank god this arc isn’t set somewhere stupidly dark, like, say, a basement

lmao Re-Destro is so mad

once again I would like to point out that you invited him here, you overconfident dishrag

so now Tomura is casually conversing with him

Tomura did you burn one right before this battle. you’re so fucking chill all of a sudden. gotta say that if someone had asked me “what do you think it would take to get Shigaraki Tomura to mellow out” before this arc, I probably would not have answered, “hmm, well maybe flashbacks to his horrific childhood and the violent deaths of all of his loved ones”

well at any rate, watching Re-Destro progressively freak out while Tomura makes more (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) faces is my new form of sustenance, guys

“you seem a bit rattled. a bit ill at ease. perturbed. something’s got you in a tizzy, huh.” ⊂( ・ ̫・)⊃

(ETA: okay but rereading this here, he keeps talking about his heart pounding, and then he goes and summons a fucking robot suit that actually raises his stress on purpose. so like, I don’t know? but I vaguely recall reading a theory on reddit a few weeks ago that RD was going to have a heart attack and it looks like it could really be the case. or not! that last page is really inconclusive.)

and now the Re-Destro flashbacks that absolutely no one asked for! of course!!

-- OH MY GOD

I’M DYING I CAN’T. SEND HELP

Iida I’m so sorry. all this time I have been teasing you and calling you a 40-year-old man, when this whole time it was actually Re-Destro who Benjamin Buttoned his way from his mother’s womb

is he related to the Alpha Kid from the adventures of the Babysitter’s Club? he can’t not be, right? what else could it be? two characters just happening to vaguely resemble one another in a purely coincidental manner?? are you even hearing yourself?! get out!!

um hey, so what the actual fuck is happening

...Krestro??

lol what. Horikoshi Muriel Kouhei, did you seriously just give this fucker Hulkbuster armor. do you just have a list of Marvel comics tribute shit that you check off as you go

so apparently this suit jacks his power up to one hundred and fifty percent! wowwwwwwww

but meanwhile Tomura is all just

what would it take to faze new Toked Goth Remix Tomura, I wonder

sob omg

goddammit now he’s going to want one. Ujiko you’d better get on it

oh my god you guys

I’m starting to feel really bad about all of these nice Twice clones who are being so helpful and are just going to end up dying in the end omg

also, if someone ever asks you, “should I read BnHA,” you can say, “well that depends, how much do you like scenes of characters with two broken arms getting piggyback rides from other characters?” and they’ll be like, “that’s really specific, does that... happen often,” and you can be like, “well it’s officially happened more than once, so”

like, it’s a whole thing now I guess. also, ouch

anyway so Real!Twice is concerned that Machia is having far too easy of a time kicking names and taking ass, and he’s trying to regroup with the rest of the League

oh my god Compress, seriously?

League of Ungrateful Sods, is what you guys are. he’s trying to help you guys out!!

lol Dabi you fucking liar

no you fucking weren’t, you were going to keep fighting him for a million more years. your fight was going to make Goku VS Frieza look like a 15-second Youtube ad. once again, you guys should really be more grateful here

(ETA: why did they even invite Dabi lol. all he did was fight offscreen and have zero (0) flashbacks. fucking tease.)

so now Compress is calling Ujiko and asking him to warp them out of there

what...?

he’s absolutely 100% making this up, right?

lol yeah now even Compress is calling him on it

right, Compress??

okay now Ujiko is straight up telling him no

oh, this is good you guys

Ujiko, I don’t know how to tell you this but while you weren’t looking, the dude hopped on a fucking golf cart and drove his own damn self. and now appears to have made himself pretty damn comfortable in that corner too

oh is Halo Top finally about to fucking die??

the cornerstone?? really?? holy shit, it really is remarkable how thoroughly unprepared these guys actually were in the end

anyway so now more action panels are happening

did Machia kill him? it looks like he survived but just went flying

and what the hell does Hanabata think he’s actually going to be able to do. drive his van at him? give him encouragement??

anyway I guess we’re wrapping this up now, and we’re cutting back to Tomura who’s saying something extremely cool

it is kind of like that. except that it’s bullshit

anyway so it looks like he’s touching the ground and using his decay again and holy shit is this it???

!!!!!

YOU GUYS DID HE JUST DISINTEGRATE RE-DESTRO OH MY GOD. JUST LIKE THAT!!??!

YOU GUYS I HONESTLY CAN’T TELL, ALL I KNOW IS TOMURA TAPPED THE GROUND, AND RE-DESTRO HAD A WEIRD PANEL WHERE YOU COULDN’T SEE WHAT WAS HAPPENING, AND HE HAD A THOUGHT AND IT WAS SUDDENLY CUT OFF, AND THEN WE CUT TO GIGANTOMACHIA WATCHING AND WE COULDN’T REALLY SEE ANYTHING OMG

but can you imagine, though?? “one single strike”?! like oh my god, there wasn’t even any fanfare? if he really did just kill him that is pretty much exactly how I would have wanted it to go down tbh

at any rate, it’s safe to say life just got a hell of a lot more dangerous for our Actual Protagonist with this new power-up. shit. oh my god

well I guess that’s it! does that mean this arc is gonna wrap up next chapter. because I’m also going to be away the 16th, so I’ll be a day late in doing that chapter too. I s2g Horikoshi, if you finally cut back to U.A. on a day that I’m not able to read the chapter right away, I will... well actually I’ll be pretty happy regardless, but secretly I will also believe it’s some sort of conspiracy against me. so just know that

[silverbastardgoldenfool]

I'm really Going Through It™ right now and part of that is the therapy I'm doing which requires me to stop overriding my own boundaries and start listening to my body and actually resting and not pushing myself to be Useful™ and Productive™ and trying to Earn My Wretched Existence. I pretty much have to rewire my brain and it's really goddamn HARD like it has worked like this my ENTIRE life. It has become so deeply counterintuitive for me to act or even think in ways that are healthy and acknowledge my own humanity - which is to say, weaknesses, limitations.

And I am striving for balance but in an effort to challenge my preconceived notion that I have to be Good to be worth literally anything I am going all in on the counterintuitive front; I have been pretty much just aggressively doing nothing. And it’s really, really interesting because usually I would have at least like. gone for a walk or something by now. Not in an unhealthy way but just in a “God i need to move my body” way. Usually I would have cleaned the house, written a tonne, developed a new routine. Again, because I do enjoy those things and naturally gravitate towards them. Me not doing those things is - at this point - not about defying the nasty part of me brain. It’s just that I genuinely still physically need to do nothing. It’s reminding me a lot of when I started recovering from my eating disorder and for like a year I just had the most enormous appetite. I feel like my body is now finally allowing itself to feel the full extent of all the exhaustion it was forced to push through for a year and it’s demanding the rest it so desperately needs. Not to mention that my mind is purging all the trauma it accumulated while working, plus all the stress of actually quitting, dealing with centrelink, worrying about money. Then the last two weeks I’ve had PMDD level PMS on top of all of that plus my usual chronic pain, mental illness and usual toxic living situation. It’s no wonder I’m a screaming wreck; when I write it all down it’s really clear why I haven’t just sprung back up already after quitting. It’s been about a month but there still isn’t a tonne of certainty in the situation and the whole reason I quit in the first place is the toll it took on my health.

So to the actual, semi-relevant meat of this post: the nothing I’ve been doing is playing the sims. I’m the kind of person who is either not playing any games ever (I don’t even have a single game on my phone) or has let a game completely take over their life. Sims especially is all-consuming for me which is what I feel like I need at the moment. Of course I have to become capable of being present with my mind while defying it but for now while my body needs such intensive rest I think it’s best not to tempt the devil. Once I’ve recuperated a bit I can transition into different activities that don’t pull me out of myself quite so much. I am hoping that once this period is finished I’ll have recovered enough energy to mostly read as it’s not only more fulfilling than playing games but just more enjoyable for me and also manages to be absorbing without literally hijacking my brain lol. I need to start learning to be connected to my physicality and listening to my body so gaming isn’t really a longterm option (I mean ideally I will get back to creative output as well, just for like, my soul, but I am really trying not to put a timer on anything and just do bits and pieces whenever I can). So. The thing is. I don’t just want to read; I’ve been really, really wanting to reread RotE lately.

But... I just can’t seem to bring myself to do it. I barely read last year which is so depressing and yes I feel guilty about reading something I’ve already read when I have new books sitting on my shelf because I can find a way to feel guilty about anything and everything, but I am also genuinely hungry for all the breadth of diverse voices and stories just waiting there for me. It’s why I struggle to reread in general; I love stories and I want to experience as many of them as possible.

And it’s not that many books or series that I genuinely feel an urge to reread, but obviously RotE is special. It’s also even harder to commit to a reread of when you can’t help but think of rereading in terms of a trade-off of old stories and new; potentially I could read SIXTEEN(!!!!!) new books or I could read RotE again. I have always planned on doing so, but it just feels like a weirdly complicated choice atm. I think I’m kind of afraid that this powerful draw to RotE at this point in time is a subconscious belief that it will cut through the haze around me, open my heart back up and make me feel again. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a story that’s this important to me. Like, there is weirdly a lot at stake if I go into it with the wrong mindset. I don’t want to ruin it for myself in the long run because of timing.

And trust me I know a lot of this is just my mental illness trying to rob me of an experience that could be good for me - even just mildly good. I know in theory I could read a few chapters, realise it’s not the time and put it back on the shelf. I know I’m sitting in my room at 2am liveblogging an existential crisis based on whether or not I should reread a book series. I know!! But the act of consuming media that’s genuinely important to you can become really fucking complicated by mental illness. I so often get stuck in a cycle of putting off the experience of art I love because I don’t feel like I’m in the right space for it only to realise that the Thing I was waiting for to pass is hanging around a lot longer than expected and in the meantime I have been depriving myself of what could have been a sliver of hope, joy, thrill, laughter, empathy, escape, connection.

Idk what this post has even become lol. Perhaps it’s just a tiny insight into the absolute ridiculousness that is my inner monologue over the most superfluous decisions. But even after saying all of this “out loud” and realising how trivial it all is I can’t make up my mind. Possibly another part of it is that I don’t know if I’m going to be forced into another job and doomed to repeat the year from hell I’ve just had. I think if I had a bit of certainty that I will have an extended break from work I would be less worried about fitting as many new/different books in as rapidly as possible.

Anyway, basically I miss RotE and I need someone to make reading it my fulltime job so I can feel justified going back to it again and again. The saddest thing of all is how many fresh memes I know I would come up with through rereading :( rip

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

I still don't know what I'm doing.

I need to respect my BTHB prompts more than that, this is a catastrophe in terms of prompt filling. My characterization is literally all over the place with this one, but you can consider it a way to break the ice with new characters I don't know entirely yet. I've also taken great inspiration from my friend Azure's fanon (which is a nicer way to say I fucked up trying to write for her fanon) It's been a struggle coming up with interpretations for these two, so this is... meh at best, but I hope someone out there will like it anyway; At least, I hope it'll be a stepping stone towards better writing. I am very sorry for this, FE3H fandom, this is weird and experimental in nature. I was kind of trying things out and I've been in the wrong mood for this fic (as in: Inazuma Eleven mood sksk), but hey, if my friend and/or someone else likes this, then it'll have done its job.

I may come back to this ship another time with better ideas as to how to write them, but at least, the painful first approach is done and over with. Phew.

------

Shifting Temperatures

Summary:

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (pre-Timeskip, fanon-heavy) Ship: F!Byleth/Claude

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

--------

The monastery was a place he didn’t like and had never liked. He also didn’t have the intention of ever liking the place, this much was obvious: it was cold, so cold, and it was a prison he had been confined to. Yeah, sure, as if that was going to motivate it to become some kind of king over a kingdom.

Being forced to remain in just one room of that monastery just made things worse.

 It was all because of the weather that never knew what it wanted and the monastery’s absolutely garbage isolation. It was always cold, in that damn thing: stone didn’t protect them from the outside temperatures as much as these people thought it did. Spend more than a week in this place without falling sick, he dared the sky above: even a god couldn’t withstand the shifts in temperatures and the rain that kept pouring at the wrong moments.

Curse that thing, and curse having to live with an ailment of any kind. That wasn’t fun, that wasn’t the way he wanted to live his life! Being stuck in this place wasn’t enough, did they have to add on top of everything sicknesses?

 Nobody had ever been served better than by themselves, so Claude did as he usually did: feign normalcy and continue on with his day as … “less worse” than possible. It shouldn’t have been this hard to ignore a lingering headache and slightly stiff limbs. After all, they were all warriors in the making, post-training hours always felt sore.

Classes sored them dry, at times, too, but he minded them less. Well, he still minded them enough to skip on some of them from time to time, but it was the lesser evil of the monastery’s lifestyle. Attribute that to the teacher: she was gorgeous, quirky and always there for them. If there was one other person he’d have trusted with his life, aside from his parents, it’d have been her; and he was grateful for her to be with the Golden Deers.

He may have also had the tiniest crush on her, but that was a mere detail.

 The illness didn’t subdue, to his misfortune. As if the world was out to get him, the lingering feeling had turned into a full-blown headache and he could only describe himself as “intensely lethargic”, if the mess his mind was in had allowed for clear words. Instead, putting together a full sentence and not wanting to immediately sleep for three days was close to impossible, so skipping class it was: he’d just pretend he had been concocting poisons or something in the meantime.

He didn’t like skipping the opportunity to show off to his classmates, but what could he do about it? It wasn’t like he’d be able to pull out anything extraordinary with the pitiful condition he was in. A sneezing archer was ridiculous, he’d only get laughed at, or worried over, and he wanted neither of these options.

 But the Professor had her eyes everywhere. She had hands and feet in every room of the monastery, even if she wasn’t conscious of it, and he felt disappointed in himself not to be relied on by her.

 And there began a paradox. He missed her company, her eyes, her words, her scent; but he couldn’t let himself be seen by her. In a world where he could only really trust her, he didn’t want to her get concerned over him and call someone else because she was no doctor. He was much better off taking care of this on his own with what knowledge he had and compose with bits and pieces he could gather, and just showing up for her classes. Sitting on a chair and listening to someone couldn’t be a chore, right?

Wrong. As it turned out, he wasn’t made to be a cleric, and everything felt blurry around him. It was weird, fuzzy feeling: the faces of his comrades were unclear, their voices muffled and more and more distant, and his vision was severely hindered. Keeping up the façade and nosing around weren’t options anymore: he had to focus just to remain afloat, it was no time to be sneaking around trying to find new information he had never heard of before.

And he knew his façade had been shattered when the professor asked him to stay behind after a class he was regretting attending.

 He was, either lucky or the polar opposite, to have seen the world spin around him in unimaginable speeds, spots invading his sight, passing out right before she could tell him anything.

 Not that coming to hadn’t been a bad decision all in itself afterwards. He had managed to get himself landed in the very room he had been avoiding for an entire week: the infirmary. His head was still felt with lead, lolling on a pillow, as his eyes tried to focus on whatever the hell was around him. The summer sunlight passing through the window was doing no wonder to his shivering skin, but that discomfort had nothing on the humiliation that washed over him when he noticed Byleth was sitting next to the bed.

It couldn’t possibly get worse, and she looked pensive, almost lost in thoughts. If he didn’t know better, he’d have supposed she had fallen asleep sitting there all alone, perhaps speaking to a wall. He cleared his throat as to get back into the swift of things and still look cool (there was no way he was letting the situation slip away from him entirely).

 “Didn’t see you there, Teach,” he greeted her with a hoarse voice that hurt to use and the least pitiful smile he could pull off. It helped that it was Byleth gracing his eyes and not anyone else, truth be told.

“Ah, you’re awake, Claude,” she broke out of her daydreaming, face obviously bothered by something, undoubtedly him. “How you’re feeling?”

“Take a guess,” he avoided the question with.

“…terrible, then?”

“I wouldn’t have used that word,” he replied as he learned his back against the wall behind it, “but not too far, I suppose.”

“That’s what I thought.”

 Byleth closed the book she had held in her hands all along, before putting it aside and tensing suddenly. At least, it seemed sudden: truth be told, his swimming vision and sudden wave of dizziness didn’t help him decipher her body language more accurately than a soldier bleeding to death trying to guess where he was hitting with a desperate sword.

“You’re still burning,” she mumbled under her breath, sounding further than she should have.

“That’s just because I’m hot,” he tried boasting, without any success, and what he could see of her face only confirmed his wittiness wasn’t at its best today.

Sucked to be there, sucked even more to be stuck there.

 Right as he tried to muster an argument to let him escape from the infirmary when he knew he was doomed to stay there, he got a glimpse of his mother’s concerned face, before the vision broke off and he was left with his teacher again, his heart having missed a beat and a tear wanting to take shape.

“Is there something wrong?” She asked.”

“No… Nothing, Teach.”

“It… better be that way.”

 Her hands nervously grabbed the book back, fingers clutch around it. Typical Byleth, he thought as he felt a small smirk appear on his face, but he coughed before he could even try telling himself he felt better.

“You’re on bed rest for the days to come,” she told him without making eye contact. “Take that as an order from your teacher, please.”

“You’ve noticed?” Nobody would have cared before if he was sick or not.

“Of course I have. I may not be the best professor, but I’m trying. You’re the one who told me a teacher was supposed to be invested in their students, aren’t you?”

A butchered giggle got out of him as he remembered the conversation. “That’s… actually right.”

 Byleth crossed her arms, finally facing him again. Her cheeks were a little red, the expression not letting go of its sternness by much.

“The class kind of freaked out when you fainted. I’d appreciate it if you never did that again.”

“Huh… Same,” it was his turn to look away. “That wasn’t an ideal experience.”

“I’d also like it if you took this more seriously… You don’t know how concerned I got for the past week.”

“I know, I know, not that glorious for a future leader, huh?” He coughed again, case on point. “I promise I’ll be a better student, or at least try. I don’t like to see you with such a long face, Teach.”

Almost as much as being confined to bed because of some silly cold.

 He sighed.

“…how many days am I supposed to stay here, Teach?”

“I’m not sure, I’d say a couple days… Just the time to see how you’ll be holding up, I also guess.”

“You don’t have actual information?”

She gritted her teeth on the inside, her fingers clutching the book harder.

“I really don’t, Claude. I don’t decide how long people spend in an infirmary.”

She sighed back, as if to respond to his earlier one.

“Moreover, I don’t think we should have this conversation right now. You look exhausted, you should be sleeping. I promise nothing’s going to happen to you here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure of that…”

He felt faint.

“On second thought,” he picked himself back up, “I’m not entirely against this idea… Does it need to be here.”

“I’m afraid that yes.”

 Resigned by the circumstances, he shrivelled back into the bed, trying to make the most of what was offered to him (at least, it could only be better than dying on a battlefield without having the occasion to see the end of his project coming to fruition, right?). There was a feeling that he couldn’t win that fight, at least not when he felt this weak (a disgusting thought), so he cancelled on his plans.

Not when he could see the face of his mother on that of his teacher’s just because she happened to glance at him when he was doing less than superb, not when he was aware of how sensitive he’d get at the first opportunity given. That was unsightly to say the least.

 Yet, his entire character shifted when he saw Byleth get up. Before he knew it, before he could keep himself from doing such an embarrassing thing, his hand grabbed her wrist and he looked at her with all the intensity he could muster in his eyes. Must have been quite the sight…

“What’s wrong?” She asked in this shy, soft voice of hers that never failed to sooth him.

“Could you… stay?” It hurt to get out of his already sore throat. I think I need to… discuss some things with you…” Wow, even lying was failing on him now! What the hell was he doing!

“I suppose I can always grade papers in this room… It’ll be calmer than the library, in a way.”

The smile she gave him made it sound less like an excuse and more like her intentions.

“I simply would have never expected you to ask that from me, Claude.”

 Now was a chance to redeem his credibility.

“I’m always unpredictable,” he proudly tried to state before coughing.

“I also believe you should be resting, instead of, huh… Talking to me.”

Still, she sat back down, and he had a feeling of safety that had been missing from the air around them until now.

“If it takes me being here for you not to pull this again, then I have no choice, don’t I?”

“…most likely…”

Everything turned to black again, and the voices Byleth told him at last didn’t make it to his ears, but they sounded nice nonetheless.

 He was out like a candle blown by the wind.

[the-colony-roleplay]

The storm starts to dissipate by Monday, January 31st.

The howling winds slow, the white caps soften and begin to recede back into the navy masses of an ocean grown tired of its lengthy growling. The dark clouds overhead have lightened, like they are considering letting up and moving on but have yet to commit to doing so. Rain still falls, but it’s lost its menace for the time being and though the grounds are still soaked, some merchants and trainers venture out under rubber hoods to assess the damage.

By the first day of February, the skies have cleared, and the lockdown is officially lifted. Down at the docks, ships are finally able to set sail to collect resources and make other deliveries, now nearly a week behind schedule. The people of Colony 22 look to the horizon with grumbling stomachs, hoping to see new ships on course this direction, bringing fresh offerings from the trade agreement to help out their depleting shelves.

Hunting chores and fishing do resume, but the Hub remains closed as Merchants take a day to make any necessary repairs and sort through stocks that may have been drowned during the storm. Training also remains cancelled, as the grounds try to recover from the flooding.

The morning of Thursday, February 3rd, the Hub reopens and the training is officially back up and running. This is the day the package arrives.

A ship has docked at the shores of Belvedere Island and a couple of water logged Marine Merchants lug several large wooden crates up the front steps of Colony 22. ‘FRAGILE’ is stamped across each of them in imposing red letters.  The Marines bring the crates directly to the Chancellor’s office, to be delivered into his hands only, as per their direct orders. They apologize profusely for the delay; they’d been docked up near the Southern coast of Wales, their last delivery point, unable to take to the water again while the storm had raged on.

Accompanying the crates is a letter, addressed to Chancellor Dervilia, which is pulled from inside the Merchant’s jacket and is the last thing passed Quinn’s way before they take their leave.

The envelope is a little damp, and the slightly thicker drafting stock paper folded in clean lines. The letter simply reads:

Chancellor Dervilia,

Enclosed in this shipment is a specimen that has been engineered in the labs of Colony 1. It has proven to have significant effect on the faculty of the Infection abilities, however it remains temporary, and its side effects are currently too substantial to be of immediate use. We have now distributed this sample to other research labs across the Colony system to expedite progress.

Please put your best scientific personnel on this immediately for further research. The constitution of new veins and varieties of this specimen by way of research and testing is encouraged, and any resulting conclusive progress made should be reported immediately back to you, and then to Reformist Headquarters, respectively.

It is IMPERATIVE that information regarding this specimen be STRICTLY PROHIBITED to NWRF personnel ONLY, exception made only for non-NWRF lab and research specialists. However, all parties must be instructed to keep the existence of this specimen and all research surrounding it STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL, and any breach of this NWRF mandated privacy must be reported to Headquarters immediately and face further government investigation.

Thank you for your cooperation and commitment to the Mandate,

Regards,

NWRF Headquarters

Though the information is reasonably restricted, this delivery sounds like good news to the NWRF aligned. Perhaps a cure is within their reach.

However, it takes less than 24 hours for the truth to become obvious.

In the labs, researchers and technicians have been testing the contaminated flour tied to the spread of the Colony-wide parasite for several weeks. Though they have not come up with any conclusive answers, they know the nature and base structure of it well. It only takes a couple preliminary observational tests, and a peek through a microscope, for it to become obvious that this is the source of such a parasite. This man-made compound has been engineered to manifest the way it does, meaning that just as some anti-NWRF had already feared, the ‘contaminated shipment’ of flour had been no accident. It had been a full scale experiment.

What is most worrying, however, from a Reformist perspective, isn’t the execution of the experiment itself (though some who remember the severity of their own illness may staunchly disagree), but the fact that it’d all been done under the intentional ignorance of the Colony Reformist Reps—even the Chancellor himself had been left in the dark. What does this kind of revelation say about their reigning government? Is this a betrayal of trust for the NWRF Reps or simply necessary means to conduct testing vital to the future of mankind?

As the discovery spreads in shocked whispers and moments of uneasy disquiet throughout the labs, the forthcoming becomes nauseatingly obvious: someone will need to inform the Chancellor, and quickly. But who will carry such a burden, and how should it be handled? And more particularly... how will Quinn react to such news?

Once these decisions are made and the Chancellor is informed, Quinn will in turn be faced with his own quagmire—will he personally inform the rest of the NWRF Reps and agents about this matter? Will he hold a meeting, or pass on the responsibility to his subordinates? Will he confront the NWRF HQ about this betrayal and demand answers, or will he decide to keep his mouth shut? Where do the Colony 22 Reformists go from here?

A/N:

Hey team!!

So, this ~tantalizing~ new plot drop is sort of like a secretive prologue to part three of our Fever State event! But what makes this plot drop so unique from our previous one is that this is largely an OOC reveal. That is to say, we’re letting you, the muns, in on some pieces of the story to which 80% of the characters will remain totally oblivious for now. 

However, this is a vital stage of what will come in the next stages of Fever State, and as you can see, directly affects the NWRF characters, (especially the Reps & Elite NWRF) as well as any and all Scientists, Lab Researchers & Techs, etc—even those not specifically aligned with the NWRF.

While plotting and brainstorming the details of the unfolding of these incidents and spreading of information should begin in the NWRF OOC starting now, and will be soon seen hitting the dash in various forms, it is ABSOLUTELY VITAL THAT NO NON-NWRF CHARACTERS (WITH THE EXCEPTION ONLY OF LAB RESEARCHES & TECHS) ARE PERMITTED TO KNOW THIS INFORMATION UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. That is to say, that you may NOT plot to reveal or leak this info to ANY characters outside of the group stated above, even if you have NWRF characters with close relationships with Non-NWRF characters. This is strictly because the future of this plot that Lottie and I have been formulating for the past year, relies on this element remaining under wraps for the time being, but we definitely wanted to give the NWRF characters some interesting new elements to work with!  

We highly encourage applicable muns to use this information once their character(s) find out about it, and explore this development in plots with other NWRF, as well as in internal narration, while keeping this huge secret. Keep in mind too, that NWRF characters of various ranks will find out in different ways and at different times—Lab personnel would be first in the know, then most likely the official Reps & Quinn etc. Non-Elite NWRF, who are not directly involved, would likely not know immediately and would have to find out some other way, if at all. (e.g. Felix is NWRF aligned, but he is not of any kind of Elite status, and therefore has no immediate right to the knowledge. His father, however, would be informed relatively swiftly, but is something this confidential the kind of thing he’d tell his petty, self-absorbed and immature son? Probably not.) This kind of plotting should be taken to the NWRF OOC to be immediately accessible to all muns with whom it directly relates.

In the meantime, however, Non-NWRF characters are seeing the end of the storm, and can be focusing on the lift of the lockdown, outdoor resource chores going back to normal, training being back in rotation, Merchants repairing and reopening the Hub, the Catch and Stables being accessible again, and the lingering affects of the flooding of the grounds.

The verse timeline will move forward to the first week of February, but as this is not an event, you have the regular amount of vague flexibility. However, please use the specific dates listed in the post above as official canon reference points, and plan your threads and plots accordingly. Your plots should not extend past the 5th or 6th of February, until the next timeline update.

Other things to think about is that Game season is coming up again, at the end of Feb/beginning of March, so training will likely intensify in the coming weeks. Is your character looking forward to off season being over, or dreading it? We may also have some chore-related changes and plots in the near future for you, which will be a bit of new content for y’all to gnaw on, and chore rotations will be updated on the main this weekend as well.

Finally, with regards to the NWRF skeles, as you know, that task got backburnered with the loss of my grandfather, but once this plot element is safely underway, I hope to start gradually working on this again with Lottie in the coming weeks!

Alright kidlets, you know the drill! If you have any questions or concerns or wonderments, please bring them to the main blog! Preferable the ask box, so we can reply publicly and help out others who may have similar questions!

Love you all so darn much and happy Evil Scheming and Drama-ing!

xxColMods

[lightyourowntunnel]

Show and Tell - Week One: Act One

It’s that time again! Thanks to @thewriteblrarchives for the chance to chat about my 2019 NaNo project, If We’re to Carry Stars. For more information on my fantasy adventure novel, please see my original post - the first Show and Tell, where I detail my writing process and give a little insight to what IWCS is all about.

This is an exceptionally long post, so it’s all under here.

Show:

Excerpt using the word “Hello” 

--End of Chapter One; full First Draft scene--

Eiríńé didn’t plan on dawdling as she made her way down the path from the marketplace to the harbor. However, her feet paused every so often. The closer both she and the ship grew, the easier the vessel was to make out. She occasionally wondered if it would’ve been best to stop by Zéńios’ home before reaching the harbor, perhaps rouse him and inform of his potential foreign guests. Each time she considered it, though, her gaze would flicker back to the marketplace then between the various winding roads she passed. By the end of her indecision, she’d once again start walking only for the same process to begin all over again not long after. Thankfully, there came a point where she was far too close to the harbor to logically justify turning around and seeking Zéńios’ home out first.

There were a few large ships docked in the harbor, but the scene at the docks was mostly vacant, sans a few lingering seamen. Eiríńé stared up at a few of the ships, noting the almost monotoned woods on all but one ship, then over at the seamen. There seemed to be a jovial mood in the air; most of them were chuckling while others were shouting out jokes to one another. Eiríńé smiled and shifted her wicker basket to her left hand. 

The road passed the docks was rocky and full of sand, unlike the rest of the city’s meticulously kept roads. Rocks always scraped and prodded Eiríńé’s feet. But passing by the ocean drew a peaceful feeling from deep inside her. The salty, cold air and the sloshing waves swayed her mind; she seldom found herself cloying hesitation with the ocean at her side. Seldom. 

She paused at the head of the main road to look back at the oddly colored ship. It wasn’t nearly as large as the others; it was barely large enough to count as a seafaring vessel. But its wood was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Stripes of near ebony naturally mingled with pale browns. Each protruding piece of the ship was intricately carved in what looked like a foreign language. Eiríńé tilted her head and took a few steps closer to try and get a better look. However, the moment she did, a shrill bird’s cry drew her eyes further up. From the deck, a large, pale brown bird swooped down onto the docks with surprising precision.

Eiríńé took a few steps backwards and winced when her heel pressed on a rock. The bird was massive. It flapped its wings and looked around as if it were admiring the view of Nabresté from its lowly position. Its gaze soon landed on Eiríńé, though, it was surprisingly more like another Yuvel’s gaze than that of a bird. Eiríńé stared back at it, pressing her arms closer to herself and wondering if it were better to call out to one of the nearby seamen or run away. Realistically, they probably would’ve found her reaction amusing, and that was an embarrassment she didn’t need this morning.

However, the bird stepped forward with an unnatural bounce, wings flapping and beak open. Its curiosity was almost charming. It probably would’ve remained charming if its bouncing didn’t dramatically increase the longer, they stared at one another. The bird’s excitement spiked higher and higher. Only an abrupt “Do not go wandering off again!” gave the creature any pause. Even with it, with both the bird and Eiríńé jolting and turning their gazes to the sharp voice that boomed from the ship, the bird’s talons clicked against the wooden docks with each little movement of its feet.

Soon a young woman leaned over the railing, her dark hair delicately pinned to her scalp. Eiríńé couldn’t make out much of her expression, much less some of her words, but she seemed irritated at the bird rather than anyone else. It took a moment for the woman to raise her attention to Eiríńé, and when she did, she seemed to raise a hand to her lips. 

“I apologize, did I startle you?” she called out, in Yuvel, much to Eiríńé’s surprise.

Her voice was still much faster than Eiríńé had expected of a foreigner, but the words were articulate and precisely pronounced Yuvel. “All is fine,” Eiríńé answered in a slow voice.

The young woman sighed quietly, then pulled herself up. With her new posture, it was much easier to see the small wings on her back. A Darunshin, Eiríńé was sure. They were a traveling race with a virtual monopoly on Eondes’ cross-ocean trade routes. 

“Are we allowed to dock here?” she asked.

“I’m… uncertain. What purpose do you have here?”

Before the young woman could speak, another voice joined the conversation. It was fast and relentless, speaking a language Eiríńé couldn’t immediately recognize. She turned to find the voice, only to find herself nearly face-to-face with a tall young woman with light brown hair. It was peculiarly similar to the bird, which after further observation was nowhere to be seen.

The brunette stared at her for a long moment before speaking again. Eiríńé blinked and looked from the brunette to the young woman on the ship, who seemed to be throwing a rope ladder down, presumably to join them on the docks. 

“Don’t worry about her. She isn’t used to places where Capescune isn’t so common,” the young woman said, then looked to the brunette and started speaking in a manner similar to the brunette. 

“Is she… Capescu?” Eiríńé asked. 

The brunette abruptly turned to her, steely gray eyes bright and hands reaching for Eiríńé’s. She nodded eagerly, saying something absolutely incomprehensible aside from the word Capescu. Eiríńé had never met one of the shapeshifting race before. She knew they were one of the most prevalent races throughout Eondes. In her lessons, Capescune was often considered the language to know if one wanted to travel abroad. It had always been far too nasally for Eiríńé to properly pronounce; her knowledge of Capescune as a whole was decent, all things considered, but at the rate the brunette was speaking, Eiríńé couldn’t make out much of anything. 

The brunette was still running her mouth despite Eiríńé’s confusion. Eiríńé looked over to the young woman making her way down the ladder, then, in her best Capescune, asked, “Slow… please slow down. I cannot understand…”

It gave the brunette pause. She took her hands back, one coming up to cover her mouth while the other rested on her chest. “Sorry!” she gasped, something at least comprehensible, “Slower. Slower, I’m so sorry.”

“Mirunise,” the young woman from the boat addressed the Capescu, who immediately looked over, in a much slower voice as well as she finally stepped onto the docks, “I just said to be gentle with the Yuvel.”

The Capescu, named Mirunise, it would seem, gave the young woman a toothy smile, “Sorry, sorry.” 

Eiríńé wasn’t entirely sure she could believe Mirunise’s words, but her smile was eye-catching. She could barely move her gaze away from the brunette’s face. Something in that smile made her want to believe everything she said. It didn’t appear to have the exact same affect on the young woman from the ship. 

The young woman sighed heavily, “I apologize for her, my name is Ayondi. We’ve traveled here from Qaturkai for aid and hopefully some answers.”

Eiríńé nodded slowly. “Answers of what sort?” she asked.

“There is an illness–” Ayondi began, only for Mirunise to chime “–It’s called Horéscz!” in. Ayondi gave her an almost exasperated expression, but her lips were curled into a small smile. “Yes, the Capescune term has caught on,” she continued, “Rumor has it Yuvellen magic has no effect on it. We’ve come to assess these rumors and ask for information.”

“I apologize. I know little of any illness off Yuvellse’s shores. But I can take you two to someone who does.” 

“I thank you. We have two others in our company, if you would be so kind as to wait for them.”

Eiríńé nodded in lieu of speaking. Mirunise, in the meantime, walked by them until she was further down the docks. Once far enough away, she spread her arms and legs, her fingers splaying out. An unfamiliar steam-like mist drifted over her athletic form; it coated her legs, arms, and the rest of her body until there was nothing left. Soon enough, it shrank, and its form shifted into that of a bird. As the mist faded, Mirunise’s form had been replaced by the same large bird Eiríńé had witnessed earlier. She shook out each leg and wing, then quickly shook the rest of her body and flapped her powerful wings. Just as quickly as she’d arrived, Mirunise was gone, soaring from the docks onto the ship. Eiríńé could do little but stare in pure awe. Nabresté saw many foreigners, but she’d never seen a Capescu transform so readily in front of her. 

At her side, Ayondi clicked her tongue and murmured something. She was holding the back of her hand to her lips when Eiríńé looked back at her. “I apologize. It’s nothing to be concerned with,” Ayondi initially dismissed, but a brief bout of laughter, followed by a loud, “Just use the ladder showoff.” only made Eiríńé more curious. 

Her eyes briefly caught on Mirunise, standing where Ayondi had been not long ago, with another toothy smile. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to see the way Mirunise bowed to Ayondi before running off, or if the laughter if brought from Ayondi’s quiet voice was meant for her ears. But seeing it made Eiríńé smile just a little.

Excerpt using the word “Walk”

--Start of Chapter Two: full First Draft scene--

The walk to Zéńios’ home was meant to be brief. Walk down the harbor’s rocky roads until the bay jutted out into a little peninsula, then turn onto the connecting stone road to find the quaint home on the corner. Even with foreigners new to Nabresté, Zéńios lived near enough to where the boat was docked that one could see it in the distance from the edge of the docks. However, Eiríńé quickly learned that traveling with Mirunise took a little more effort than she could’ve ever planned for. 

Eiríńé had begun walking quite a bit ahead of the group, but Mirunise’s longer strides had quickly put them in step for a brief period. She was sure Mirunise would’ve continued onward, too, if it weren’t for Ayondi’s hand occasionally gripping her arm when she stepped too far ahead. However, Ayondi’s attention was thoroughly split between Mirunise’s antics and a Wevri named V'haǵir’s similar shenanigans. Ever since Mirunise had brought V'haǵir and a Zuifeel named Somayn from the ship, Ayondi had had her hands full with the Capescu and Wevri; Eiríńé couldn’t tell if it was worse or better now that they were walking.

She looked over to the three a few times. Even when Ayondi raised her voice, they were all smiling. They occasionally even laughed, too. Even Somayn, who she only caught a few times in her periphery, would chuckle along with them. She couldn’t understand how they all seemed to be having such a good time. 

Maybe it wasn’t something she was meant to understand.

Eiríńé folded her hands in front of her as she walked and just listened to the four as best she could. Their voices rattled off in Capescune, but V'haǵir and Somayn were only learning to slow their speech down; surprisingly, Mirunise had retained a slow-moving pace and occasionally glanced to Eiríńé as she spoke, as if gauging how well they were understood. Eiríńé could see the hand gesture Mirunise occasionally made, her wrist would flick while her fingers pressed together. Whenever she did it, Somayn slowed and V'haǵir briefly calmed down. He’d quickly gear up again, though, repeating the same cycle.

“Think the library’s here?” Mirunise pipped up. 

“It’s unlikely. I’ve heard the building is the size of a city,” Somayn said.

“Where… where would they even put that?”

“No, no. How would they even build it!” V'haǵir chimed in. 

Mirunise hummed and nodded, pointing her index finger in his direction. 

“They do have magic,” Ayondi said, prompting both Mirunise and V'haǵir to gasp “Yes!” as if the thought hadn’t readily occurred to them before. Ayondi chuckled into the back of her hand, then looked to Eiríńé, “Is it possible to use magic for building?”

“I would suppose so,” Eiríńé scrunched her nose up, “I can’t say I’ve tried it myself. But if you have enough control, I would imagine it’s possible.”

“I like how you two think!” Mirunise exclaimed. 

“The Yuvel are known for their gorgeous cities. I doubt Nabresté was made without a little magic,” Somayn said. 

Eiríńé shrugged her shoulders, “Perhaps. The elders would be better equipped to speak on such a topic.” Truthfully, Eiríńé didn’t know or care much for Nabresté’s history. She may have been in the city for a few years at that point, but it had never inspired such a needy attachment. Síbyél, though, adored discussions of history and architecture; Eiríńé wished she could recall one of Síbyél’s spiels to at least give Somayn something to work with. While he didn’t frown, he did look a little disappointed to hear that Eiríńé wasn’t knowledgeable on the topic. Realistically, even the other three had made varying expressions of confusion. 

Their gazes quickly flittered away when Eiríńé looked to them, though. She raised a brow, glancing between them only to find it impossible to meet any of their gazes. Even Mirunise was thoroughly avoiding her eyes. 

After a brief lull, the conversation seemed to pick up as if nothing had happened. Well, it had completely changed topics, courtesy of Ayondi. Their voices had sped up for just a moment, once again losing Eiríńé until they slowed down. But she couldn’t help but feel as if that time had been intentional. They all were making faces she couldn’t quite grapple with; the feelings clung for a little after the conversation had shifted, too. Eiríńé wondered what it all could’ve meant.

Once they reached Zéńios’ door, Eiríńé flexed her fingers at the four from outside of the doorway. With a faint smile, she said, “I wish you all the best of luck.”

While Ayondi stepped inside and pulled V'haǵir with her, Mirunise and Somayn paused and looked from one another to Eiríńé. Their faces read a concern Eiríńé could neither explain nor understand. But neither spoke, either. They just stared at one another until Eiríńé hesitantly stepped backward and flexed her fingers again. 

“Please wait,” Somayn finally said. 

Eiríńé stopped on her heel and blinked up at him.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier. It was wrong of me to assume you would know such specific facts about Nabresté.”

His words gave Eiríńé pause. She glanced from him to Mirunise, who bowed her head when their eyes met. Eiríńé slowly said, “I don’t understand why you felt the need to apologize. But, thank you, I suppose.” 

Somayn’s shoulders seized up, followed by one of his hands musing through his curly hair. “Where I am from,” he began then paused for a long moment before sighing heavily, “I have always heard that the Yuvel are like walking books. So I had assumed. I shouldn’t have, and I apologize.”

Eiríńé nodded slowly. “So I see,” she said and flicked her wrist in a dismissive gesture, “I forgive you, Moyću Somayn. It was a simple mistake, please.” 

He sighed in relief, then squeezed Eiríńé’s shoulder with a hand bigger than her actual shoulder. “I strive for betterment. This will be a lesson,” he said. 

She once again nodded and flecked her fingers at him, smiling a little despite herself. However, she noticed that Mirunise was still standing in the doorway, steely gaze once again locking with her own. “Did you want to apologize, too?” Eiríńé asked.

There was a brief silence before Mirunise’s lips pulled into a smile. “I had. But I wanted to ask if we would be seeing you again, too” she said.

“I live here in Nabresté, so it’s possible.”

“We won’t be staying long. V'haǵir won’t heal by standing around.”

Eiríńé paused, then said, “If you will be staying overnight, I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.” 

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a wish.” 

It was Mirunise’s turn to pause, though her lips were curved into such a bright smile that Eiríńé assumed she was up to mischief. “I want to see you before we leave,” Mirunise finally said, a little laugh trailing her words, “Can I?”

“You may… if Meyću Zéńios has nothing to offer you, I know someone who know more of Yuvellen folklore.” 

Mirunise physically hopped with excitement, “I’ll hold you to this, hear?” 

“Hear.”

Excerpt using the word “Eyes:

--End of Chapter Three; full First Draft scene--

Ayondi was right. Eiríńé knew that much, but she hadn’t been wonted to admit it to herself before now. If she’d just told Síbyél beforehand, if she’d just pushed passed her reluctance, Síbyél probably wouldn’t have walked out so abruptly. Eiríńé knew that much. And yet, she’d been more cowardly than even she’d expected of herself.

Her feet rushed down stone roads, passing through places Síbyél frequented: her father’s home or his glasswork shop, Tallise’s home, the library towards the outskirts of the commercial district, or the various bookshops scattered throughout Nabresté. However, Síbyél wasn’t anywhere she usually was. It was almost as if she’d recently mastered evaporation in complete secrecy.

Eiríńé stopped just shy of the beachfront, her feet just poking the rockier, sandy roads surrounding the coast. Síbyél had always been afraid of the ocean; its vast depths full of unknown and unexplored spaces wove under her skin in ways few other things could. However, there she was, her back to the city and her hands covering her ears, likely to block out the clapping waves barely missing her bare feet. 

“Síbyél,” Eiríńé called.

When she didn’t receive a response, she took several hesitant steps forward, stopping just shy of the sand when she tried again. Síbyél didn’t respond again, but it was much more apparent that she could hear her name on Eiríńé’s lips at this distance. The beach closest to their house was short, and high tide only ate up more of it. From this distance, Eiríńé could make out more of Síbyél’s appearance; her now sandy legs were trembling nearly in time with each wave, a full jolt bursting through her from the more intense ones. She looked almost frail and somewhat ghostly in the moonlight. It perfectly illuminated her mint green hair, which had significantly loosened from its normally meticulous bun and braids.

“Síbyél, please.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” She said instead.

Eiríńé sighed softly, “It’s not… I’ve just made a decision.” 

“A decision to leave Nabresté without a word to anyone.

“I had planned on telling you when we weren’t entertaining guests.”

“We hadn’t been for some time prior to their arrival.”

A pause. “I promise, I truly was going to tell you myself. I hadn’t expected you to just figure it out on your own…” At least not so quickly. Síbyél had always been intelligent, but now her quick wit had prompted Eiríńé’s immediate action.

Síbyél scoffed, “It’s always going to and never doing anything with you. You never speak with anyone about such serious matters without coaxing. I’d always hoped you’d learn to push passed that, but we’ve been engaged for this long and you’ve yet to speak with me about anything.” When Eiríńé fell silent, Síbyél turned around. In the moonlight, her orange eyes glowed like a firestorm, only further illuminated by budding tears. “Were the words ever intended to reach me before you set off? Or had you simply planned to fumble through them while I was falling asleep so you could say you tried whenever you return?” she continued, eyes lidding themselves, “If you ever return, that is.”

Eiríńé’s body trembled under the scrutiny, her voice barely pushing passed a whisper when “Please, listen…” bubbled passed her lips. Somehow, Síbyél’s silence – clearly full of impatience and frustration, but lined with a familiar compassion – only shook Eiríńé further. Her arms pressed closer to her sides and she fought to keep her head from faltering. “I apologize. I genuinely have never been filled with so much regret before in my life. Truly, I had planned on telling you. I wanted to tell you myself. I just… I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the words or my desires when bringing it up would’ve been optimal,” Eiríńé said, her voice cracking as it tried to grow.

Síbyél slid her hands down her face from her ears, dragging those bubbled tears as she did, “Eiríńé, I’ve been listening to you for years. But how are my ears meant to hear you when your mouth is sealed?”

“How am I to speak? How shall I phrase my feelings without…” Eiríńé started, but immediately faltered. 

“Without what Eiríńé.”

Another pause, this time longer. Then, softly, she said, “Without professing how unhappy I am here.”

“Unhappy with… what exactly?”

“Everything.” A thought without thinking. 

Just a single thoughtless word altered Síbyél’s entire demeanor; her eyes widened, and her mouth momentarily fell agape. Her earlier fragility reemerged, causing little tremors over her face, though her lips pursed in time to suppress it. It didn’t, however, keep the tremble from moving elsewhere over her frame. Her arms came up to wrap around her waist just as a particularly harsh tremble moved through her; festering tears inevitably dripped from her averting eyes. 

Eiríńé took a step closer, the need to comfort Síbyél charging through her, but when Síbyél took a step back, she halted as well. If Síbyél preferred to submerge her feet in the relentless ocean, then there was no amount of tenderness she’d be craving. Not from Eiríńé, at least. 

“For how long?” Síbyél finally asked, her voice so small Eiríńé almost didn’t believe it had emerged at all. 

The question deserved an answer Eiríńé couldn’t properly voice. Deep down, she knew her unhappiness had been ever present. However, there was no way to say that without coming off as cruel or ungrateful. It would’ve been heartless to speak so honestly, even if the words were cushioned. Admitting that she’d only ever felt that peculiar spark of warmth in her chest when she was with Mirunise, Ayondi, Somayn, and V'haǵir – with strangers rather than the people who’d supported and loved her for so many years – was something Eiríńé wasn’t sure she could atone for; she didn’t believe she deserved it, either. And yet, one look at Síbyél’s face not only told Eiríńé that there was no saving Síbyél’s heart from the damage, but that she deserved the honest truth, no matter how much it ached.  

So with a little sigh, Eiríńé started rubbing her arm as she said, “I’m uncertain. Possibly forever, if I’m being honest. I can’t… recall a time before meeting them this morning that I’ve felt so moved.” 

Síbyél lowered her head to regard her feet. Her voice, what little of it there was, shook as she spoke, “That’s not fair. For so long you’ve quietly endured this feeling, and not once had you felt it right to confide in me. Don’t I matter to you, too? This hurts, Eiríńé. I never... if I had known how you felt, I would’ve liked to offer everything I could have. I would’ve liked to know that I never made you feel anything at all. We’re meant to be friends before lovers… but you couldn’t seek my council as either.”

“Síbyél, of course you matter to me. I never wanted to hurt you; I wish I’d known that this displeasure was unnatural,” Eiríńé said slowly, “I love you. Truly, I love you so much.”

“Do you?” Síbyél stated as her voice once again grew, “Can you even say that if I couldn’t warm your heart as those strangers can?” As she spoke, she finally lifted her head to meet Eiríńé’s eyes. “I apologize for not picking up on it all sooner,” she said, although her voice drifted into dryness, “but don’t you dare tell me those feelings are yours when my presence has done nothing particular for you. Don’t you dare profess loving words after allowing me to see what your happiness looks like for your new friends instead of those who’ve sacrificed so much for your well-being.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Eiríńé before, given her tensing body language and expression. She hadn’t once considered how deeply such a sight would’ve troubled Síbyél, especially with so much new information coming to life. Eiríńé’s eyes averted this time as her teeth came out to gnaw her bottom lip. Before she could so much as say Síbyél’s name, Síbyél stated, “Don’t bother with explanations. You’ve done enough.” 

Eiríńé’s gaze snapped up. “I apologize. Truly, I–”

“–And I don’t accept it,” Síbyél stated and stepped forward as she spoke, “If there is truly love for me in your heart, I want you to stop this. Allow me to despise you so my heart won’t weep so many tears.” 

Síbyél’s posture was stiff and rigid, full of suppressed tremors and a bruised pride. However, she kept her head held high despite that and the tears rolling down her cheeks. “If you don’t tell everyone else, I will,” she said as she passed, “I hope you find whatever it is you’re seeking, Mayću Eiríńé.”

A pang rung through Eiríńé’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, “I hope you find happiness, Mayću Síbyél.”

“Thank you.”

So quickly, Eiríńé felt her world tearing apart. Síbyél was gone, leaving her with nothing but blossoming tears, the dark ocean, and the numbing reality of several more versions of this conversation playing out in the next few hours. Her knees trembled, buckling until they’d burrowed into the sand; she was momentarily surprised her face hadn’t fallen in as well, but her mind distantly became aware of a strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her from falling. She slowly lifted her head to find Somayn staring down at her. His lime green eyes were wide, and his expression had fixed itself into an almost uncharacteristic somberness. 

For a moment, it was silent, sans the occasional wind and the abrasive ocean. However, as the moment lingered, Eiríńé’s blossomed tears bloomed with a whimper. Her shoulders laxed, frame falling frail in Somayn’s surprisingly comforting embrace. He tightened his grip on her, pulling her in so she could hide her face in his shoulder. 

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Eiríńé. I’m so, so sorry.”

Eiríńé whimpered and weakly clung to his shirt. His soft encouragement only continued, occasionally accompanied by a hand rubbing her back. Eiríńé wasn’t certain what caused it, but for the time being, she felt safe and secure in such an unfamiliar way. 

Tell:

1. “What’s your inciting incident?”

IWCS’ inciting incident is prompted by the group coming together to find V'haǵir in Nabresté after he briefly disappeared. He stepped away to gather himself once his bout of an illness the Capescu have come to call Horéscz is found to be incurable by Yuvellen magic. Mirunise drags a rather despondent  along for the walk to the marketplace, where they encounter V'haǵir, and later Ayondi and Somayn.  V'haǵir expresses that he wishes to continue journeying in search of a cure to Horéscz, even if he believes he may not be alive to receive the cure himself. His ambition, along with the others’ determination in the face of grief, moves  Eiríńé to her core. Mirunise asks her to join them, and she asserts that Eiríńé  should just make a decision instead of dawdling and overthinking it all. Eiríńé ‘s immediate response, much to her own surprise, is a ‘yes’.

2. “What’s the norm for your main character’s life before everything goes wrong?”

So five main characters makes this section pretty long. But I’m going to speak for all five instead of just speaking about the PoV and focal character,  Eiríńé.

Eiríńé had an unconventional upbringing for a Yuvel. She spent the entirety of her childhood up until just before her seventeenth birthday moving around the continent of Yuvellse with her mother and father, Nomyken and Prokío. They settled down in Yuvellse’s largest city, the port city of Nabresté, in order to give Eiríńé a belated ‘normal life’ until she grew to maturity. However, almost three years later, Nomyken fell ill to a mysterious illness the Yuvel call Jakénpolv; the family decided to remain in Nabresté until she regained her health. During her time in Nabresté, Eiríńé befriended several people, particularly a young woman named Síbyél. They fell in love and got engaged about a year before the start of the story and are still engaged when the story begins. Eiríńé is deeply discontent with her life and has been for as long as she can remember. The first true spark of wonder and joy comes from meeting Mirunise and the party. 

Mirunise grew up in the small town of Kurant on the continent of Trivyna with her mother and father, Rosharia and Ovidyn. Her life was quiet there; Rosharia was the town’s baker and Ovidyn was a school teacher. However, when Mirunise was six, her parents separated; they attempted to give Mirunise a happy upbringing in Kurant for the next ten years, when Ovidyn returned to his coastal hometown of Barish. From sixteen on, Mirunise traveled between Kurant and Barish to see both of her parents throughout the year. She’d had an incredibly content life, full of a myriad of friends and laughter. Her mother had always hoped Mirunise would use her natural charisma to mend relations between northern and southern, but Mirunise never was drawn to politics. Instead, her dream became to travel across southern Trivyna and, perhaps, even see the northern half of the continent.  Rumors of an illness the Capescu called Horéscz spreading throughout the races, as well as talk of Yuvels leaving Yuvellse on information-gather quests, began carrying across Trivyna. Shortly after Mirunise first heard of these rumors, she encountered a Darunshin named Ayondi and a Wevri named V'haǵir while on her way to see her father in Barish. From there, at twenty-two, Mirunise became the leader of their questing party.

Ayondi grew up on the coastal city of Darsha on the continent of Fiullerse with her grandfather, Themiope. She was born to a wealthy merchant family and, thus, received the best education her family could afford. As a result, Ayondi became well-versed in Capescune - the most commonly spoken language on Eondes - from an early age; she picked up the building blocks for a few other languages as she grew up. She met V'haǵir long before she’d started her schooling, although she can’t remember when exactly. They were attached at the hip whenever he was on the surface. With a natural aptitude for business, Ayondi always knew that she’d be following in her grandfather’s footsteps. For much of their lives, she and V'haǵir had planned to continue the business together; Ayondi always knew it would’ve been a little hectic, but the thought of never losing contact as they aged was appealing. However, after V'haǵir returned from an extended time in Wevrun when he was twenty-three and she was twenty-two, he confessed that he’d contracted Horéscz. Ayondi didn’t want to believe it at first, but as she watched their loved ones in Darsha pull away from him, she drew closer. When he finally decided to quest for a cure a few weeks alter, Ayondi agreed to join him.

V'haǵir was born Luzińal in the underwater civilization of Wevrun, but he spent much of his time in Darsha, Fiullerse. He was raised by his mother, Zavelle. The Wevri have long-since been at peace with the Darunshin, particularly for trading agreements; due to said ancient agreements, V'haǵir’s family was close with Ayondi’s and the two, who were similar in age, were raised and educated together. Shortly before V'haǵir’s fifteenth birthday, his questions about himself were finally coming to a head. He’d felt different from his fellow female Wevri growing up, and a kinship with the boys had always existed under the surface. He confessed to Ayondi that he no longer wanted to be called Luzińal after he turned sixteen and he started going by V'haǵir - after a Wevri mythological hero - and male pronouns. He slowly let others know ever since. Much of his life had been spent between Darsha and Wevrun, but when he was twenty-three, an odd fatigue had begun to overtake him. As symptoms started appearing during his time in Wevrun, V'haǵir realized he’d contracted Horéscz. Many people in his life had begun to pull away from him over the illness, except for his mother Zavelle, and Ayondi. He soon decided that he wouldn’t wait for death and set off on a quest with Ayondi.

Somayn was born in the mountain town of Ovestul on the large island of Iosikein, to the southeast of Trivyna; it is the closest large landmass to Yuvellse. He was raised by his older sister, Hyrana, and her husband, Indyran, following their parents’ untimely deaths. Despite the lack of parents, Somayn led a happy life. He was a particularly gifted Zuifeel, picking up on sturdy magic from a young age. After he turned fifteen, he frequently joined Indyran and others from Ovestul for their bi-monthly trading voyages to Qaturkai on the coast. Occasionally there would be bandits and other mishaps, but in general, their changing routes made for relatively safe voyages when taken in groups.  Following the rumors of illness, bandit activity flourished around the larger cities on Iosikein, making even group travel risky. When Somayn was twenty-four, he was separated from his group on the way to Qaturkai and attacked; Mirunise’s new band charged in to save him and after he healed, Somayn decided to join their quest.

3. “What’s your favorite bit of worldbuilding so far?”

If I’m being honest, I love world building in general and I love the world building I’ve done for IWCS thus far. But if I had to pick my favorite bit for IWCS, it would be the cultural diversity. Each of the five main characters are from five different races and both exploring their differences and similarities, as well as their cultures and languages in general, is a very important aspect of IWCS world building. Playing with language and cultural mindsets has always been interesting to me, so I’m really looking forward to really dive into it here.

[voicesfromthelight]

A Breakthrough in Evidential Mediumship, And Some Things I Learned On The Way There

Those of you who follow my posts on a regular basis may know that as a medium and psychic, my specialty is channeling readings through my spirit guides, who read my clients’ energy fields and communicate their insights to them through me. Though I’ve always held my work to a high  standard of evidentiality, in the sense that I only consider my readings legitimate if I can intuitively communicate specific, verifiable details about my clients’ lives, more “mainstream” evidential mediumship (i.e. communicating with people who have passed on) has been more challenging for me. My theory is that the reason for this is that my guides dwell in a slightly different frequency band of the spirit world than the one from which the deceased tend to communicate. I attune myself energetically more easily to my guides.

Because of this lopsided affinity, in the interest of maintaining the best possible track record on accuracy, I have only offered human-to-deceased-human mediumship incidentally to my other readings. However, over the past couple of weeks, I have been led to clients who have had a very pressing need to communicate with the dead - in some cases, due to life-and-death situations at stake with those who have been left behind. As a result, I seem to have had a breakthrough in this area of my practice, with a personally unprecedented amount of specific evidence coming through. It has been an exciting, moving, and humbling experience. I have been astonished by some of the things that have been communicated. The fact that the need for it was especially urgent in these two cases supports my guides’ assertion that a strong motivation to establish contact, or “move the energy of information,” will contribute to mediumistic success.

The sessions have been fairly intense, since being a channeler, my most consistent method for connecting with Spirit involves a deeper, somewhat more physical state of trance mediumship than evidential mediums usually employ.  I use similar states of consciousness for this work as I do when channeling Ves and listening for clairaudient dictation, in which the individual ego takes more of a back seat than, say, in psychically reading people’s energy. However, because recently incarnated souls communicating about their lives on earth will often use physical responses in the medium’s body to relay information about things such as health issues and emotions, channeling them can be a less comfortable experience than working with guides who have been blissfully floating in the ethereal realms for much of their existence. (It remains to be seen whether I develop past this method, and get similar results from light meditation, as most evidential mediums do, but this is it, for now. I am embracing the journey!)

As in my channeling work, reports on these readings are based on transcripts of  the recorded sessions. Once the recorder is on, I set the intention for the reading, connect to my spirit guides, and have an initial conversation with them, until they tell me we are ready to go ahead and make contact with the deceased soul. Then, I greet the departed person, and wait for a clairaudient response, as well as a physical awareness of their energy (usually felt as a warmth.) When contact is established, I work to communicate and retrieve information by cycling through various lighter and deeper states of meditation, verbalizing what I hear, feel and see. It’s kind of like diving into deep, murky water (the unconscious), fishing for pearls (the information), and  then coming up to the surface just long enough to collect them into a basket (describing or expressing what I am experiencing) before diving back in.

The communications are a mix of directly channeled text, physical sensations, clairvoyant and claircognizant impressions, individual words clairaudiently introduced as evidence, and sometimes even words that seem to be channeled through an almost purely physical mediumship. Generally, the deeper the trance state, and the less I am consciously aware, the more specific and accurate the information. During the reading itself, the focus is less on understanding the information with the active mind, as it is on communicating the subtlest of details of the psychic impressions as they come in. The analysis is done later. The lovely thing about conducting mediumship in this way is that the directly channeled text offers a chance for the deceased loved one to communicate their personality, emotions, and signature expressions, which help the client recognize the spirit in question, whereas the more specific words and concepts provide concrete evidence that contact has been established, beyond the more subjective elements. This anchors the emotional healing of the communication in the reassurance offered by proof of continuity of consciousness after death. The results have been some of the best I have ever experienced in my work as a medium so far. 

I do still want to build up my consistency in this practice, and am going to continue to wait a while longer before offering these services separately. My guides, Salvador and Natalie, assure me that it won’t be long before I am ready to do so. In the meantime, however, I  thought I might share some tips on evidential mediumship that I either learned through experiencing these recent readings, or that were communicated to me by my guides while we were doing them.

First, some basic principles that bear repeating: 

1. The most important thing to learn in evidential mediumship, or any kind of channeling, is how to quiet your mind and step out of the way. Meditate, meditate, meditate. Practice shifting your consciousness into an altered state on a regular basis, until you are able to do so at will. The more easily you can access a state of openly receptive relaxation, or even a hypnagogic half-dreaming state, the more easily you will be able to receive information. Personally, much of my best information comes through when I am in a semi-deep state of trance: deep enough to have very little awareness of self, but present enough to be able to verbally express what I am seeing, feeling and hearing.

2. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Soothe your inner critic into silence. Celebrate every small success. Surrender to the process. Give every subtle detail of what you are experiencing your full attention, and make a note of it. What I have found is that even little “throwaway” utterances can be crucial when putting together the complete picture of a reading. No impression is too big, no hunch or hint is too small. Make note of them, and worry about their meaning later.

3. If something you feel, hear or see repeats itself several times throughout a reading, it’s probably important. In my latest readings, for instance, I heard the words “Lazarus” and “Queensland” over and over. I even heard “Lazarus” as I was going to bed the night after the reading, before I had confirmed its significance with my client. These turned out to be some of the most specific pieces of evidence I was able to channel: “Lazarus” was a song that had been played for the deceased person’s loved one every morning for the past several weeks, and the person I was communicating with had spent years in that part of Australia.

4. If something you are being communicated in a reading strikes you as unusual, and repeats itself in slight variations, or through different clair-senses, pay attention. In one of my readings, the person coming through kept reiterating that speaking was difficult for him. At first, I thought he was simply referring to an introverted personality. However, as I was channeling him, I began to notice a physical sensation of having difficulty verbalizing what I was saying. This struck me as strange, because I could hear his clairaudient communication as easily as any other spirit I had worked with. Later in the session, the word “Huntington” jumped out of my mouth with quite a bit of urgency, and the difficulty with speech connected all the dots.** Upon looking  up “Huntington,” I realized that the man was probably trying to tell us that he had undiagnosed Huntington’s chorea (which I couldn’t recall ever hearing of before): a hereditary illness that eventually leads to a loss of speech. In light of other details that were communicated to me after the reading itself, amazingly, it now looks like I may have actually hit on a correct diagnosis of this very rare condition. If this can be verified, it will be one of the most baffling examples of evidence I have been able to bring through so far.

5. If you can’t figure out exactly what you are seeing or hearing through your clair-senses, focus yourself, relax, feel around, breathe deeply, and keep describing verbally what you are experiencing. A general shape of a triangle might eventually reveal itself as a bale of hay, or a pyramid. If you are getting a snippet of a word, verbalize what you hear, then play around a bit with how it feels in your mouth, until it feels right. This is how I usually hit on exact names in readings. “Lazarus” repeated itself in my reading a few times in its correct form, but subsequently also came through as “Lazer” (the Yiddish version of the name) and at one point, what I thought was “lazy.”* (Ironically, the first attempt was the correct one. As my guides are fond of saying: “The first truth that comes to you, is the truth.”)

The last reading I did was especially interesting in that it was punctuated by shorthand conversations with my spirit guides, Salvador and Natalie, who not only encouraged me to trust what I was receiving, and gave me some context for what the person being channeled was communicating, but also offered suggestions on how to connect better with the subject of the session. A new concept Natalie introduced was that of connecting to the deceased through their emotional energy. Here is a passage from one of the sessions.

Natalie: “Try this: Call in his feelings - the energy of his emotions. Keep listening to what he says in full sentences - every word he says. Try, and you will be surprised! Raising your energy, and giving joyful greetings to Spirit, enable psychic knowing.  Beautiful, clear information comes through in small details. Please smile, and focus your mind. Use your psychic protection to lift yourself out of negative emotions, exciting now the energy of the heart. Please allow a warm meeting of the minds. Let go of your nervousness. Hear the misaligned wrongs that happened being blessed. Feel the energy of joy, and let the guides speak. Trust in this wonderful discipline! Let go of your preconceptions of what you should be hearing. Please ask open-ended questions, and smile! Feel the energy of joy.”

Salvador: “Yes, dear wife. Look to a manifestation of greater joy than you expected in this predicament, being communicated here. Look ahead to the future easing of the situation. Trust the advice. Just try to believe the wonderful, unexpected developments that are happening. Understand that the events are in the process of transforming. Just expect the future with psychic openness.

Emily: “How did I connect to the departed gentleman, just now?”

Salvador: “Wonderfully! Just trust your intuition, and when you begin to feel doubt, smile! It is important to hear Spirit with pleasure, and speak together with confidence. This was a legitimate conversation. It’s time to find hope, and forgive everyone. Expect a clear change in the joylessness. Surprising manifestations. Believe it, and and expect happiness and love to win out. Speak great truth. Respond to this new gift of intelligence: The unexpected instructions you are receiving. Return your focus, and concentrate on the future trajectory. Just come to the conclusion, together, that positive success is definitely accessible again in this situation.”

Emily: “Should we try to channel him directly again?”

Salvador: “Yes, dear. Bless the trust. Thank him. He will now speak of future expectations. Bring in quickly the trajectory of future success.”

From this passage, you can see the guides once again emphasizing the importance of taking joy in communicating with Spirit, to strengthen the connection. They were also trying to draw my attention to the fact that even though the session was being conducted in hopes of helping a person linked to the deceased who seemed to be in a dire situation, I should come to the reading free of any preconceptions about their future. This was, in fact, quite important in helping to piece together the information, because much of it was coming through in purely visual impressions that were later confirmed to be describing the future plans of the person in question - none of which I had been informed about. My guides were extremely helpful in framing those plans in positive terms. 

If you have studied mediumship, what are some of the most basic principles you use to help yourself connect? What would you add to my list? Let me know!

_____________________________________

*In yet another example of Spirit using synchronicity for reinforcement, right as I was reviewing this sentence in the post, in a cafe, mulling over this name, someone a few feet away from me uttered the words “Lazer vision!” 

** And yet again, the word “Huntington”  - in the form of a location - popped up during a completely unrelated work task, on the day that I confirmed that there was a possilibility that the deceased’s family had a history of this disease.

[bhaalble]

An Invitation- A Post-Trespasser Fic

So people have been showing interest in Sythia and I typed up this drabble forever ago about her being approached by my Inquisitor, Astyth Cadash. I’m always a slut for “returning heroes” and until da4 comes out, post-Trespasser is my playground

However, due to it being Fanfic Author Appreciation Day, I’d like to turn this into an invitation. Write up a drabble about what your warden, your Hawke, your Inquisitor, whoever you feel, is up to in a post-Trespasser world. How they’re dealing with the impending apocalypse (again). Tag me in it! I’ll try and reblog what I can.

So, without any more rambling...

It feels strange to be traveling on her own. The woods feel lonesome somehow without Sera and Dorian’s constant bickering, or Cole’s strange musings, or even Cassandra’s long-suffering sighs. Bull had offered to come with her, and she’d nearly accepted: it had been a long time since the two of them had taken a truly private trip.

But ultimately this was one she needed to take alone.

Almost all of her advisors had been against this, Cullen in particular. “Hero or no, she travels with one of the most well known and dangerous apostates in Thedas, not to mention one to whom you granted the magical knowledge of hundreds of elven mages!”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your personal encounter with the Warden, would it Commander?” Leliana had said coolly, though her expression had betrayed nothing as she peered over the missive from Harding.

Cullen had said nothing, but lapsed into silence. There was a story there, one Astyth was dying to find out, but she had a feeling nothing good could come of prodding her commander further. “Apostate or no apostate, I’m sure the Hero of Ferelden can’t have much motivation to see me dead. They have as much stake in the threat of Solas as anyone. Not to mention Morrigan is the only expert on eluvians we have any kind of contact with.”

“While I don’t quite share his...fervor” Josephine said, cutting across Cullen’s retort. “I agree with the principle of what the Commander is saying. Warden Tabris is a chess piece too important and too....volatile, to play in private. If we are going to bring her into the fold at this stage, it would be better to extend an invitation for her to come to Val Royeaux. She would be playing in our court, and additionally, she would be publicly lending some credence to our cause that we lost as the Exalted Council. We should-”

“She wouldn’t come, Josie.” Leliana said, putting the map down and straightening up. “Even if I asked personally, she doesn’t like to play politics.” She looked down at Astyth. “I think the plan is a sound one, Inquisitor, and furthermore, I think you should leave as soon as possible. Get away from Orlais for a bit while the talking heads wear themselves out. When you come back, with any luck, Josephine and I will have smoothed a few ruffled feathers, or plucked them. Meantime, Cullen can focus on marshalling the forces we have left.” She looked sidelong at the ex-templar. “Does that sound amenable, Commander?”

Cullen grumbled something seditious under his breath, but since becoming Leliana had become the Divine he had been reluctant to engage in their usual arguing. He heaved a heavy sigh and looked Astyth in the eye. “Its up to you, of course. But I can’t help but feel this will be a waste of resources at best, and an open invitation to something very dangerous, at the worst.”

“Its a risk I’ll have to take.” Astyth said, rolling up the map. “I’ll set out soon. Tell Dennett to have my horse ready.”

And now here she was, trodding through dense woods in the southern end of the Emerald Graves. Despite the Inquisition’s presence in this region, it was clear that this location had been intended to not be found. She had to abandon her horse to even have a hope of navigating these steep paths, and more than one bear skull mounted on a couple of broken pikes didn’t make for the most welcoming of images.

She didn’t know what to feel as she kept climbing. The Hero of Ferelden....she had just joined the Carta when the Blight began, and at the time had been too mired in trying to find her footing in the underworld of Orlais to care for much outside that. After her ill-fated stint with the Legion of the Dead, though, she knew better than anyone what a feat it was that she had accomplished. The versions of the stories that got to the bards of Orlais had no doubt been twisted and embellished, but they had inspired no small curiosity and admiration of her.

And then there were Leliana’s stories. Astyth flattered herself at this point that she had shaped Thedas’ future more than once, but she had nearly always had the full might of the Inquisition at her back. To do all these things with a ragtag force and next to no official recognition....half of them would’ve seemed unlikely. All of them, impossible.

She didn’t know what to expect. Leliana was fond of her, but had more than once described her as difficult to know. Morrigan had pointedly refused to discuss her while she stayed with the Inquistion, and Alistair had done the same (though, likely for very different reasons). 

Bull had always said she overthought things like this. She always countered that it was her job. She had to care about first impressions, about making a connection with people. Whether or not she actually was Andraste’s herald, her truest power came from her ability to inspire others to follow her. She was good at it too. But if it failed now...

There was a sudden thunk of a blade on wood, and she stopped. 

The path wound ahead for a little ways, but she could hear distant voice, and her instincts ultimately led her towards the sound.

“-depends what you’re looking for.” A woman’s voice. A bit out of breath, and punctuated occasionally by further thunks. “Personally, I prefer a little more-” thunk. “Power behind my strikes.”

“Papae says speed is more important.” A boy’s voice. Well, a teenager, likely, based on the cracks. And strangely familiar.

A snort, and another thunk. “Papae can talk about speed when he manages to take down a darkspawn horde on his own.”

She can see them now. A small clearing. A dark-haired boy she realizes with a thrill is Kieran, a bit taller and a little older now. He is playing with a dagger, watching an elven woman with hair so red it seems to glow chop wood. A bit aways she can see a decent sized cabin, smoke coming out of the chimney.

“Mamae, when are you going to say hello to our visitor?” Kieran says, without so much as looking away from the woman. “She’s come awfully far.”

“Visi-” The woman’s head turns, and she catches sight of Astyth.

For a moment, neither of them move. Sizing each other up, perhaps, or maybe the warden is just trying to figure out who she is. She hoists the axe onto her shoulder, casually, but perhaps also an unconscious warning.

Astyth examines her. Her face is etched with crimson vallaslin, an unusual color, so far as she knows. Even more unusual for a non-Dalish elf. Behind the markings, she can see lines starting to appear. She must be in her mid forties, but looks strong and healthy as can be. Her brow furrows a bit as she seems to give up the puzzle in front of her.

“....I’m sorry, can I-”

“Hello Inquisitor.” Kieran says cheerfully, slipping off the tree stump he’d been perched on. 

“Hullo, Kieran” Astyth says, managing a friendly smile towards him before returning her gaze to Sythia. “How is your mother?”

“She is well, but I don’t think she’ll like that you’re here.”

No, I don’t expect she will, she thought to herself.

“Inquisitor?” Sythia Tabris cocks an eyebrow. “Ah. So you’re her then.”

“I am. Astyth Cadash. Its an honor to meet you.” Astyth says, clasping her hands behind her back.

The elf snorts, lowering the axe to the ground. “Don’t know about honor.” She nods to Kieran, who hands her a basket. Tabris crouches to the ground and begins gathering the split wood. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping for some guidance, if you had some time.”

“Guidance?” She lifts the now full basket and gets to her feet, and Astyth realizes with a start that one of her legs is a prosthetic. It’s well made, but clearly a little worn. “What guidance could the Inquisition need from me? I’m assuming you know which end of the sword to stick in darkspawn, and as for not pissing off nearly every Ferelden noble, well, I was never much good at that.”

“Have you come about the Wolf?” It shouldn’t startle Astyth as much as it does. She should be used to it from Cole. But the child tilts his head, eyes bright with curiosity. “He’s not here, you know. Sometimes I see him at night, but he flits back and forth so fast I can’t ask him where he intends to be. I don’t think he knows.”

“Kieran,” Sythia says, tone not changing from one of quiet politeness. “Why don’t you go tell your mother we have a guest. I’m sure she has some choice comments she’ll want to prepare in advance.”

The boy doesn’t seem to mind, carefully placing the dagger on the tree trunk and running back to the cabin, leaving just Sythia and Astyth alone in the clearing. The warden nods her head towards the cabin and starts walking, leaving Astyth to catch up.

“I have to say, I was expecting you sooner.” Tabris says. Her gait, Astyth notes, only slightly favors the false leg. Clearly she’s used to it. Much more than she is to her own prosthetic, at least. “When I saw Leliana’s agents doing their best impression of field mice I was expecting a house call from your soldiers the next week at least.”

“Things have...been a bit hectic, of late.” Astyth said, running a hand through her white crop of hair. “As I’m sure you’ve heard.”

The warden nods, placing the wood by a small heap of firewood near the door. “I’ve heard rumors. Something about the apocalypse. The usual.”

“Leliana will be disappointed when I tell her you found her agents that quickly.” She says, handing her wood. Sythia gives her a long look before accepting it and carefully stacking it.

“To be fair, I live with one of the best assassins in Thedas, a child with the soul of an old god, and a pretty good guard dog.” She straightens up. “And Divine Victoria should learn to accept the fact that she has a full plate, and not make more work for herself sending people after me.”

She turns and starts mounting the steps to cabin porch. Astyth notes four chairs, gathered in a circle around a small pit holding the ashes of some long dead fire, and a side table holding books, a whetstone, and a pack of cards. Four chairs....Tabris, Morrigan, Kieran, and the fourth....

“My dear, have you seen my-...ah, company then?” 

A blond elf emerges from the cabin, examining Astyth with an amused glint. He’s handsome, to be sure. The lines around the eyes indicating a wealth of smiles, and his hair falls luxuriantly to his shoulders. Sythia’s shoulders seem to lose a bit of tension just at the sight of him, and she points back to the stump. “If you’re looking for your knife, your son has taken a sudden interest in fighting with speed.”

“We can’t all heft battleaxes, mi amor,” He leans in and pecks her cheek, pulling a smile as bright as it is involuntary from the Hero of Ferelden. “We leave that in your capable hands. Now, this is the Inquisitor, I take it?”

“Master Arainai.” She bows her head in acknowledgment. “Its an honor.”

“‘Master’? Now that I could get used to.” A mischievous grin creeps across his face, which somehow only makes him more dashing. “However, Zevran will do. I assume you have business with my wife? I warn you now, however much need Thedas has of her, it will take some convincing to get us to relinquish her.”

“I have no plans to take Warden Tabris from her home, I can assure you.”

“Mother wouldn’t let her anyways.” Kieran says, poking his head around Zevran’s side.

“Very true.” Zevran says, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Now, Kieran, I think its time we give your mothers some privacy while we find something for supper.”

“Can I keep the dagger?”

“Mmm, for now, I think, if only to annoy Mamae.”

The boy giggles, for the moment wholly child, and runs to fetch it. Sythia rolls her eyes and kisses Zevran. “Don’t go too far. As it turns out, these woods are no longer private.”

“Please, when have you known me to be reckless?” He tucks a strand of her hair back, fingers tracing down to linger on a gold earring, a simple gold circle studded with one ruby that Astyth realizes matches one on his own ear. 

“Mm, you’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Sythia says, a faint laugh in her voice.

“I’ll see you soon.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. Then he leans in to whisper something Astyth can’t quite catch. The warden’s face goes red, but suddenly the former Crow is off, guiding Kieran into the woods.

Astyth finds herself missing Bull, for a number of reasons. 

“I-...” Sythia clears her throat and gestures for her to come in, opening the door.

The inside is clean, but hardly spacious. Trinkets and books seem to fill every surface. Some oddities she recognizes (a stuffed nug, an Orlesian mask, a few books she remembers from Dorian’s collection) and others are a mystery (why a rainbow sword?). Every member of this household seems to be some variety of packrat, but regardless, its cozy, with an overstuffed sofa and a fire crackling in a hearth. 

The peace, however, is marred by a clattering of dishes coming from what appears to be the kitchen. The noise is too loud to be accidental, and there are some sharp huffs that Astyth recognizes as Morrigan. 

Sythia looks warily towards the kitchen and gestures to the sofa, holding up a finger to indicate one moment. Astyth decides to take her advice, and her seat as well.

Sythia disappears into the kitchen. The clattering stopped, but is replaced by furious whispers that threaten to become shouting soon enough.

“-taken enough, and if they-”

Sythia’s voice cuts across, gentle and murmuring, until eventually there is silence. Finally, a long heave of a sigh, and Morrigan emerges out of the kitchen like a stormy wind. Sythia is only just behind her but there seems to be some subconscious attempt on Morrigan’s part to shield her from view, as if Astyth might forget she’s there if she can’t see her. “Inquisitor. What an unexpected pleasure.” The sarcasm lingers heavily on the last word, and the apostate’s yellow eyes are crackling with warning.

“Its nice to see you too, Morrigan.” Astyth says, forcing herself to keep her tone light. At other times she had gotten on quite well with the witch, but then, at other times she hadn’t posed a threat to her wife. 

“Before you read off whatever long-winded summons your Chantry has sent you with, let me make it clear from the very start: we are not in the least bit-”

“Morrigan.” Sythia says quietly, slipping a hand through hers and coming along beside her. It’s hard to tell but Astyth thinks she might be a bit amused. “Let’s hear her out before you tear her to pieces at least.”

“I don’t see why.” Morrigan mutters, though her fingers lace instinctively through the elf’s. “It’s more efficient this way.”

“I really am only here to talk” Astyth says. “I do have an offer, but its secondary, if anything. I came here on my own, not as the Inquisitor.” She tries for a wry smile, tilting her head. “At least listen to what I have to say, so I don’t have to admit to Cullen this was the waste of time he thinks it is.”

It’s a cheap attempt, but it does almost seem to give Morrigan pause. That almost pause is enough time for Sythia to guide her into a seat, taking the one next to her. “Well. Can’t have Cullen thinking he’s right about something.” She turns to lock eyes with Astyth, and nods for her to speak.

“So....I’m assuming you’ve heard about my friend Solas then?”

“Bits and pieces. And Morrigan’s been noticing something’s off with the eluvian.”

“And when exactly did you find the time to pry into my notes?” Morrigan grumbles as she sits back. Clearly intending to endure this conversation with as little grace as possible, if she must endure it at all. Sythia only smirks and doesn’t respond to it.

“In any case, I’d like to hear your version of events.” 

“.....well, in order to understand it....I’d think you’d have to understand Solas.” Astyth says. Fingers tracing out patterns in the couch.

-----

She tells the story, beginning with Haven. She plunders her memory for anything, any small detail that might be useful, as she has done time and time again since her best friend disappeared into an eluvian with the promise to bring an end to everything she cared about. 

She tells of an elven apostate, mysterious and distant and a bit condescending, but kind in a way that’s hard to place and infinitely knowledgeable. She tells a story of alliance, friendship....and ultimately, betrayal.

Morrigan spends a good portion of the story making derisive noises and rolling her eyes. But when she comes to the elven orb, and the Exalted Council, the witch falls silent. She bites the corner of her lip in thought and at times her eyes widen in some kind of private realization, though she’s doing her best to mask it.

Sythia, for her part, says nothing. Slowly leaning forward, propping her elbows on her knees, she only watches the Inquisitor intently. Expression neutral, betraying no sympathy, but also no hostility.

Finally, she comes to the final confrontation. With perhaps a touch of dramatic flair, she pulls off the glove on her left hand, revealing a hand of copper metal. Morrigan flinches, just a bit, though Sythia does nothing more than tilt her head a bit.

“As it stands,” Astyth says, rotating her wrist a bit. “I’ve lost whatever control I had over the Fade, at probably the worst possible moment. Which is why I require your help.” She looks them both earnestly in the eye. “Both of you are more experienced than most with the Fade realm. And given that Merrill hasn’t been seen for months, Morrigan is the foremost living expert on eluvians we know of. I wouldn’t even require a physical presence. For the moment, at least, this isn’t your fight. But any notes, any piece of information you find....it may be exactly what we need to save us all from destruction.”

For a moment there is silence in the room. Morrigan has a stormy expression, looking at war between several desires at once. A mortal desire to not have the world destroyed, an apostate’s desire for new and possibly dangerous knowledge.....and a wife’s desire to protect her loved ones from harm. Her eyes keep travelling to the copper shine of Astyth’s arm, as though it is a physical reminder of everything she fears to lose Tabris to.  Just as Astyth opens her mouth to try and provide further assurances, Sythia abruptly gets to her feet.

“I’d like to talk to you alone for a moment.”She says, slipping her hands in her pockets and nodding towards the porch. Astyth hesitates for a moment, but ultimately follows the Warden outside. Morrigan decides not to follow, evidently reading something in her tone.

The story has taken time, and the woods are growing darker and darker. Sythia leans back against the railing and gestures towards a seat, which Astyth takes. “So, first question: where did you get your arm?”

“Oh-...” It takes Astyth by surprise, and self consciously she runs the hand through her hair. “Bianca Davri’s innovation. We commissioned her.”

Sythia nods slowly. “She does good work. Not that I have many complaints with mine.” She swings her leg a bit as if to demonstrate.

“Who did it?”

“Best blacksmith I ever met. Wade, of Denerim. He was eager for the challenge, and possibly owed me a favor.”

“....can I ask....”

“How it happened?” A wry smile spreads on her face as she looks out over the clearing. “Its a long tale, Inquisitor, and I was never much for stories. Suffice to say, curing the taint is no simple task.”

“And have you?  Cured it, I mean.” She had heard nothing of it.

“......It remains to be seen. Regardless, its quieted the damned singing for a few minutes, which to me is worth a couple of limbs.”

“Lucky” The word slips out, and even she isn’t quite sure what she means by it. Lucky to be cured, or lucky that at least there’s a good cause that’s taken your body? Sythia seems to understand, at least.

“I am. In many ways.....” Her voice is soft as she fiddles with something on her hand. A ring, simple silver, but well worn. “Still, when Morrigan found me in the aftermath I thought she might just finish the job. She was furious.”

“She was angry? With you?”

A rush of air through her nose that might be a snort and might be a sigh. “Morrigan’s had....an unusual raising. There’s nothing she’s more afraid of than weakness. Than loss. To her, the leg represents both, try as she might to hide that fear from me.”

“What does it represent to you?”

The elf says nothing for a long moment. “....you know, that warden motto never sat right with me. Perpetual war, perpetual vigilance....comes across as an excuse for anything we might do in the interim between the Blights. But they got something right with the idea of sacrifice.”  Through the woods comes a peal of laughter Astyth recognizes as Kieran. The hunters returning, and Sythia’s head turns instinctively towards them. 

“...I’ve sacrificed a lot to get here. And I’ll sacrifice a lot more to keep it. So to me....its a promise. In the same way your arm is a promise.” She turns to face her. “That there’s hard journeys behind and beyond where you stand now. But where you stand? Well....that’s worth keeping.”

They finally come into view, Kieran on some long-winded musing speech as he circles Zevran again and again. The former Crow has a brace of rabbits in either hand and is listening with amusement to the child’s story. His eyes meet Sythia’s and there’s a glint there Astyth knows. It’s how Sera looks at Dagna. How Krem looks at Maryden.

How Bull looks at her.

“Tell your council: I’ll come to Val Royeaux, if they can provide accommodations for my family.” Sythia says, a slow smile spreading as she waves to Kieran.

“I-” Astyth feels a surge of excitement. This was better than they had ever hoped. “Are-...are you sure? The notes would certainly be more than enough-”

“Knowing how these matters usually go, the notes won’t be enough. You’ll need Morrigan’s expertise, my experience, and a bit of Kieran’s insight. And....well, Zevran’s coming for morale.” She grins, before looking back at Astyth. “You were wrong, Inquisitor. This is my fight. I like this world, and I’d prefer if it went on spinning a little longer.”

“And what dark plans are you two making, hm?” Zevran says, coming to the base of the steps. He hands Kieran the brace and he rushes inside, chattering excitedly to Morrigan. 

“Now, it’s hardly fun if I just come out and tell you, is it?” she says, winking towards Astyth. The Inquisitor returns it: this is Sythia’s request to make of them, and she’ll leave her to the details.

“Aaahh, so its to be secrets then?” He moves to stand next to her, a wicked grin on his face as he leans on the railing. “You know that only makes me more determined to find out what it is”

“If it’s left to your spying ability, it’ll stay a safe secret forever.” 

“Such cruel words from a woman so beautiful.” He tugs lightly on a loose strand of her hair, which makes her cover a laugh as she bats him away. “It can’t be borne.”

“I’m sorry, would you two prefer to be left alone, or...” Astyth trails off suggestively, smirking a bit.

“Not at all, I enjoy it more with an audience.”

It makes Astyth laugh and Tabris blush like a schoolgirl, and Morrigan comes out to see about the commotion, trying very very hard to look annoyed, though she’s biting back a smile. “I suppose it would be too much to ask that you behave yourself in front of a perfect stranger.”

“My dear enchantress, you should know by now I never behave myself without incentive.” He looks down at his clothes with a sigh. “Though the rabbit offal on my shirt is a bit of a mood killer, I’ll admit.” Pushing off the railing, he turns to look at Astyth. “Inquisitor, you’ll be staying for dinner, I hope?”

“Oh, I...” She looks at Morrigan in a silent question. She doesn’t want to intrude. But the apostate only sighs. 

“Perhaps you should. You’ve a long journey back to camp. And at the moment your presence may be the only thing that restrains this one from doing something indecent within earshot of my son.” She pointedly clips Zevran’s ear, who only chuckles and grabs her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm before breezing past her to the door. 

“Excellent. I’ll cook.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll cook-” Morrigan says, following him as their bickering continues further into the house.

“Then again,” Sythia says, looking over at Astyth on her way inside. “Perhaps Val Royeaux isn’t ready for us yet.”

[vaguelyrotten]

Like a Lily in a Flood

Title: Like a Lily in a Flood Artist: @myulalie Beta: @another-random-stranger​​ Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, mentions of Jimon and Reyhill Word Count: 70k Warnings: Mild Gore, Beheading, Nearly being eaten alive and burned at the stake, Discrimination, Sickness Summary:  Alec returns home to find his town plagued by a mysterious illness. Unable to find a cure, he ventures into the woods to seek help from an unlikely source. We must not look at goblin men... This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Mini Bang 2021: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver

Chapter Four

Isabelle’s ingredients turned out to be a handful of seeds, spices, and spirits that they hadn’t had in the storeroom at the manor. Alec knew that he could pick up a majority of the ingredients at the general store. The others he would have to ask around for...and hope he got lucky. He tied Flame to the hitching post out front and went inside.

A bell jingled gently as he pushed open the door. The store was owned by Lucian Greymark — the step-father of the girl that Jace was absolutely smitten with. Lucian had been in his father’s army until an injury had forced him to retire early. Luke had always been kind to Alec and his siblings and had always paid them more attention than Robert had when the kids had visited or accompanied their father on routine patrols where they didn’t expect to see any action. He still helped out around town where he could — even if most days he was found working at Greymark's General Mart.

Luke was nowhere to be seen today, apparently, as it was Clary’s mother Jocelyn behind the counter. “Alec? Is that you? By the angel, look how much you’ve grown. You were barely eighteen when you left us!” She stepped around the counter to pull him into a tight hug. “How long has it been? Two years? Three?”

“Five, actually,” Alec replied. “Next year will be my last year of school.”

“My gosh, how time flies. What can I help you with today. I hear your mother is out of town — are you here for your household’s weekly order?”

Alec shrugged; he hadn’t known that there was a weekly order but if he was here, he might as well pick it up. His mother had left him in charge of running the manor in her absence, after all. “Well, I wasn’t, but I can certainly pick it up while I’m here. Izzy wanted me to grab a few things for her while she was preoccupied.” He pulled the list out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Do you have all this or know where I could get it?”

She scanned the small piece of parchment before nodding. “I think I’ve got most of it. It will take me a few minutes to put it together. Do you want to wait or would you like to come back? Shouldn’t take me long...maybe twenty, thirty minutes tops. If you’ve got other errands to run, now would be a good time.”

“I’ll come back, thank you,” Alec replied with a smile. “I want to stop by the Dough-Re-Me Bakery and pick Max up a treat. It’s been a while since he’s gotten to be spoiled by his big brother.”

“I’m sure he will most certainly appreciate it. This will be ready for you by the time you return.”

----------

The bakery was owned by the older sister of one of Alec’s old classmates. He and Andrew had been good friends growing up and they had often been the guinea pigs for Ava’s recipes before she’d finally been able to buy the bakery of her dreams. It may be the only actual bakery in town but Alec knew that she would be willing to whip him up a sweet treat for his younger brother if she didn’t already have any available.

The store was empty when he first entered, but a set of sleigh bells hanging on the door handle announced his arrival. Alec waited patiently, knowing that Ava was likely up to her elbows in dough in the back room. When the door behind the counter finally swung open, it was Andrew who stepped through.

“Alec? My gosh, when did you get back? I thought you’d gotten too good for us out there in the big city!”

“I haven’t been back long,” he laughed, extending his hand to Andrew. “Two weeks or so — my mother called me back to keep an eye on things while she went to Alicante to petition the king for help to find a cure. I had some errands to run so I thought I’d stop by and pick up something for Max while I was in town. Is your sister around? I was hoping to get some of her famous caramel cookies.”

Andrew’s smile faltered and Alec knew that he’d said something wrong. “Unfortunately, Ava has fallen to the stone sickness.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alec replied, grasping Andrew’s hand tighter and pulling the other man into a hug. “I didn’t know.”

“This illness isn’t your fault...and your father was one of the first to succumb. It seems no one is safe,” The other man sighed and stepped away from the hug. “In the meantime, I’m doing what I can to keep this place going. I can bake but I can’t work the wonders in the kitchen that my sister can. I hope your mother and the council are successful in Alicante. A cure for this cannot come soon enough.”

Alec wanted desperately to reassure Andrew that one way or another — whether his mother gained the King’s support or not — that he was determined to find a cure. How do you tell someone who was raised to be terrified of the magic that the woods hold that you’d gone to that very place looking for the monsters who live there in hopes that they could offer help that could save the town? He was fairly certain that the other man wouldn’t judge him for attempting to go to the goblins for help, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up regardless.

“Something will come, I’m sure of it. Everything happens for a reason,does it not? ‘After the storm, the sun will shine again’ as the saying goes…Now, I’ve got some time before Jocelyn has my order ready. Is there something I can help you with while I wait? We can catch up.”

----------

Helping Andrew around the store took longer than Alec had expected, but it had been nice to catch up with him despite the rather unfortunate circumstances surrounding it. By the time he made it back to Greymark’s General Mart, the sun was high in the afternoon sky. The bell over the door caught Jocelyn’s attention and she looked up from the counter. “Ah, there you are. You get tied up at the bakery?”

“Just catching up with Andrew,” he replied, stepping up to the counter and removing his coin purse from his pocket. “I haven’t spoken with anyone outside of my siblings since I moved to Alicante. We used to go to school together.”

“That’s right, I forgot that you’re a few years older than Clary. Such a shame about Ava — we’ve lost too many good people to this blasted illness.”

“Speaking of...Luke — is he…?

“Oh no!” She replied quickly. “Lucian is absolutely fine. We’ve had a lot of the guard fall victim however, so he was asked to go to the border to assist with strategy. Apparently there have been some skirmishes with the locals and being down so many men right now has the Captain worried. Lucian might not be able to fight any longer but he still has his tactical mind.” She handed him his change and patted his hand reassuringly. “I’ll tell him you said hello though. Hopefully, he’ll be here before you head back to the city. I know that he’d like to see you.”

----------

By the time Alec returned home, the sun had long since dipped below the treeline and Jace had apparently returned from the job that he had taken.

“Did you forget how to get to town since you’ve been gone?” His sister asked, barely looking up from a piece of parchment in her hand.

“No, I spent the afternoon helping Andrew out and catching up with him,” Alec replied, placing the bags that he had been carrying on the table next to her and fishing around in one for a small, white box. “I was hoping to pick up some of Ava’s caramel cookies but I didn’t realize that she’d fallen ill. You’ll have to settle for chocolate chip instead.”

Jace jumped off the corner of the table that he’d been perching on and made a desperate grab for the white cardboard box.

“I thought you were full,” Isabelle stated, leveling a glare in her brother’s direction. “That’s specifically what you said when I offered to make dinner.”

Jace winced all too aware of the lie that he’d just been caught in. “That was then and this is now. Besides, am I just supposed to say no to free cookies?” He replied, stuffing one in his mouth and holding the box out in her general direction as a peace offering. She hesitated for only a moment before she sighed and accepted a cookie.

“If I remember correctly, Ava was one of the first people outside of the soldiers who got sick.” She flipped the paper that she was holding over and pointed. “See: Ava Underhill - May 1st. She’s at the top of the list right underneath father’s men.”

“This is a list of everyone that’s gotten sick?” Alec asked, taking the parchment from her and paling as he realized just how many names were there.

“Since the beginning,” Isabelle replied sadly. “We just added three more names today. Trust me, a cure cannot come soon enough.”

“Speaking of — any luck with the paste? Or did we hit another dead end?”

“I haven’t been back upstairs yet...let’s go take a look.”

----------

Their father lay unconscious and unmoving and exactly how they had left him earlier that morning. The disgusting green goo that they’d rubbed on his arms had dried, leaving a slightly less disgusting flakey mess in its place. “Well, the clean up will certainly be easier than the application,” Alec muttered, scrapping at some of the residue that had been left behind. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the green out of my skin.”

“Oh, quit complaining,” His sister replied, following suit with their father’s over arm. She poked at the skin that had been revealed and then frowned. “Alec...I think it did something. He doesn’t feel as cold...and his skin isn’t exactly as hard? I mean, it’s definitely not entirely a cure but it’s definitely something.”

Alec finished flaking the rest of the paste off and tapped his father’s arm, repeating the process on an area of skin that they hadn’t applied the poultice to earlier. “It’s… I don’t know. You’re right...somehow. Magnus did say treat the symptoms and maybe they would lead to a cure. It’s a start...but I wouldn’t be getting my hopes up that we’ve managed to do what the various physicians couldn’t.”

“Those physicians didn’t have my stubborn older brother and his determination to take care of his family. We should make some more of that paste… and it can’t hurt to try some of the tea I whipped up earlier too…” Alec could already see his sister’s mind going a thousand miles a minute with all the possibilities that had now opened up with the first start of...hope.

“Izzy,” He grabbed her shoulders gently and forced her to stand still for just a moment. “Iz, just remember...this is a start, alright? It’s not the cure but it could lead there.” She nodded her understanding and Alec couldn’t help but pull her into a hug. “Alright, now… you want to make some more, you said? What can I do to help?”

----------

Long after his sister had finally finished ordering him around, by some miracle, he’d been able to herd her off to bed. He closed his bedroom door behind himself and sighed, glancing briefly at the clock as he did. If he managed to fall asleep within the next half an hour, he could get a few hours of rest before he had to be up to rein his sister in before she worked herself half to death trying something that may or may not work.

He began the arduous process of getting himself ready for sleep, realizing for the first time since he’d gotten home from his trip to town earlier that day just how exhausted he was. He laid down and closed his eyes when a sudden frantic buzzing had him jolt away. He sat up in time to see a small piece of paper fall to his bed and ignite the end of his quilt as it landed. He jumped out of bed, throwing the quilt onto the floor and beating at the small fire with his pillow until it was fully extinguished before slowly picking it up to get a closer look.

He couldn’t keep the small smile from his face as he read.

My darling Alexander —

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize if I gave you a fright… it only occurred to me once I’d already made up my mind to send it that most non-magically inclined people may never have seen a fire message before. Ragnor assures me that I’m being a blind and besotted idiot but alas, there are some parts of our souls that we just cannot change.

I hope you are having much better luck than I am in finding a cure for the people of Idris. My poor friend Raphael remains very much allergic to sunlight. We’ve spent the day pouring over all of Ragnor’s books but between my innate magical ability, Ragnor’s tendency to be a packrat, and Catarina’s healing, we’ve yet to find something that actually works.

Though we only had three short nights together, I cherished the time that we were able to spend together. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Alexander, and I do hope that one day our paths will cross once again. (Preferably sooner rather than later.)

Until then,

Magnus Bane

PS - I just now realize that this might be a little awkward with leaving you no way to return the letter. I forget that not everyone has access to magic. Until I find a solution, I’ll just have to imagine your responses.

Magnus had included a sketch below his signature of a sprig of what looked like rosemary (though Alec had to admit that he was certainly no expert.) He knew that Magnus had gone over the plant’s meaning and medical use during the few days that they had spent together but without going back downstairs to cross reference the pages of handwritten notes that he’d left in the workshop, he knew that the meaning of the plant was would remain a mystery until the morning.

He set the letter aside, hiding it under some letters from family in the drawer of his end table, and let himself drift to sleep with a content smile on his face.

----------

Two weeks later, he and his siblings were no closer to finding a cure outside of their mild success with the disgusting green paste. His father’s skin had remained hard but the paste had helped by returning some of the natural color, replacing the greyness that they had come to associate with the illness.

Unfortunately, his father remained unconscious.

“I hate to say it, Alec, but we might need you to go see if Magnus could offer any more assistance,” his sister stated with a sigh, wiping the remnants of their latest attempt at some sort of tea off on a towel that he had passed her. “I’ve tried everything I can think of here...I just don’t have the knowledge that someone who grew up in the woods would have. Our ancestors weren’t exactly close with the goblins...there’s probably a ton that the books haven’t included.”

Alec had known that eventually he’d be asked to venture into Edom Forest once again and he’d been anxiously counting down the number of recipes that were left in the little journal that his sister had been keeping. They’d crossed the last one off the list early the previous day and he’d been waiting for his sister to broach the topic of needing more knowledge or ingredients ever since.

Truth be told, there was another reason that Alec wanted to go try to find Magnus but that he’d never admit to Isabelle and Jace. Ever since Magnus’ first letter — fire message, he reminded himself — had come the day after he had returned home, he’d received at least a short message every night. Three nights ago, however, the letters had stopped and Alec had grown increasingly worried each night that passed without one.

His instincts told him that something had happened and that Magnus was in trouble and Alec had learned early on to listen to those instincts when they were trying to tell him something.

“Well, the plus side is that at least this time I have a way to find him,” Alec replied, trying not to seem too eager as he patted the chest pocket where he’d kept the magical coin since his return. “Do you have a list for me? Or do you want me to see what Magnus comes up with?”

His sister looked him over with a judgemental eye and Alec was certain for a moment that she could see right through him. “I’ve got a list, but I also wouldn’t be opposed to you picking your goblin’s brain for any other information that he can offer us.”

“I can leave shortly — just let me pack enough for a couple of days just in case and I can head right out.”

----------

By the time Alec finally set out to head to Edom Forest, he was an ever growing bundle of nerves. He couldn’t get to the woods fast enough. He spurred his horse down the dirt path without even hesitating at the entrance as he had each of the prior times he’d come before. Once he was past the entrance and where he was certain the wards that Magnus had mentioned before began, only then did he finally bring Flame to a stop so he could fish the coin out from his pocket without risking losing it.

Magnus had only given him the barest instructions on how to use the coin so he would just have to trust in the magic that apparently made it work.

He held the coin cat side down in his hand and waited a few tense moments where nothing appeared to happen. Finally, the coin spun slowly before pointing down a trail that Alec was fairly certain he hadn’t taken before. He closed his hand over the coin and continued to ride, pausing every so often to check the direction that the arrow was pointing.

He rode hard for the remainder of the day, wishing that Magnus had included some sort of spell to tell him just how close he was getting to his target. As night fell and Alec’s horse began to breathe heavily from the day’s exertion, he was starting to worry that he wouldn’t stumble across Magnus before the darkness completely took over the woods.

There was an unnatural scream from straight ahead and Alec was instantly on guard. Flame reared and Alec lost his balance and fell from his horse’s back in a way that he hadn’t since he’d first learned to ride. The gelding took off back the direction that they’d come from, leaving Alec sitting in the mud alone. “Hey! Flame! Get back here!”

There was another roar — this time louder and closer — and all the natural sounds from the woods came to a complete halt. The birds had stopped singing, the frogs had stopped croaking, and the crickets had stopped chirping.

A silent woods was a dangerous woods and Alec realized very quickly that he had made a grave mistake.

He dared not move hoping that whatever predator was in the woods somewhere in the darkness ahead chose not to come this way and investigate further.

He held his breath knowing that he’d have no such luck. That’s not the way things worked for Alec Lightwood.

There was no further shriek that came, but the crashing through the undergrowth grew louder and closer. He glanced up at the trees around him wondering if he could scale them as quickly and as quietly as his little brother could. Finally the movement stopped and Alec...couldn’t breathe. “Sire! Over here — we found somethin’!” A voice half-screamed, half-mewled from somewhere off to Alec’s left. He could only sit there frozen as the voices grew closer, and Alec found himself about to face the Goblin King himself.

A man stepped out of the undergrowth wearing a tattered suit of red and black that appeared to have mushrooms growing out of each shoulder. His feet were bare and he was wearing a hat that sported a gold and white feather that belonged to no bird that Alec had ever seen. “Well, well, well…” The man started, holding up the lantern and allowing Alec to finally notice his eyes.

Familiar cat eyes stared down at him with a mocking expression on the unfamiliar face.

“What do we have here?” The man asked, bending down to get a closer look at Alec. “A human, how strange. You’ve somehow managed to make it past my son’s protective wards and found yourself this far into the forest, without running into any of the beasts that lurk in the shadows waiting for their unsuspecting prey. What shall I do with you?”

He inched closer and Alec tried to scoot backwards, running smack into a set of legs that ended in clawed bird feet. The man grinned, his smile a little too large and his teeth a little too pointed for Alec’s comfort as he took a tentative sniff of the air in front of Alec. “Well isn’t that interesting. You smell of that stupid brat that wandered into the woods not too long that didn’t realize the danger that he walked right into...and there’s something else.” He took another sniff and the wolfish smile was replaced with a scowl. “And my son’s magic. You reek of him.”

There was only one person with magic that Alec had any sort of regular, well irregular, contact with in the last few weeks...at least to his knowledge.

That meant...Magnus.

Magnus was the son of the Goblin King himself.

Magnus was a prince.

“We’ve found hoofprints,” the goblin with the bird feet spoke up, his voice a whistling trill that was painful to Alec’s ears. “Not ones that belong to that damn vicious beast that he rides around on. These are shod — the horse was wearing shoes.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?!” Asmodeus screamed, his anger materializing in a flare of angry red magical flames behind him. The goblins took a few hasty steps back, terrified of their king’s power. The bird-footed one waited until the flames had subsided before he took half a step forward, his hands raised in peace.

“We were hoping to catch ‘im, they were often traveling together. We thought you would enjoy being gifted your son and his new toy.”

Asmodeus took a deep breath, apparently calming his nerves in a way that Alec was sure wasn’t actually working. “A little bit of warning when my son is involved is always preferred, especially after the brat stole something that was rightfully mine.” He glanced down at Alec, the disgust clearly written on his face. “Perhaps…”

He snapped his fingers and a mole-like goblin with large teeth and long toes scurried forward. “Yes, sire?”

“My son stole from me, so I shall take something that belongs to him. Take him back to camp; it looks like our dinner came to us today.”

Alec found himself roughly shoved backwards. Two goblins held him down, with a third coming up behind them and quickly began wrapping thick rope-like vines around his hands and feet. He thrashed about, trying to free himself from the goblin’s grasp, but one of the creatures holding him sent a quick jolt of magic through his body, effectively freezing his limbs. Alec opened his mouth to scream, hoping at least to be able to shout for Magnus and hope that the half-goblin was close enough to hear, but found that no words would leave his mouth.

Asmodeus grinned slyly at Alec’s bound state before turning and disappearing back into the forest, expecting his crew to follow after him. The bird-like goblin waved a hand in Alec’s direction and Alec found himself slowly lifting into the air and floating after the troop of creatures.

As the group moved back to whence they came, Alec could hear the screams and squeals turn to song. It was the same tune from the first night he’d spent in the woods — the one that Magnus had used magic to prevent him from hearing so he wouldn’t be called to the goblin’s camp. Just like before, he could feel the song call to him, promising him things that he knew it could not deliver. It was electric and inviting; but this time, Alec found himself not drawn to the mystery, magic, and danger that the goblin song contained.

Maybe it was something that Magnus had done or maybe the forest was having some sort of effect on him, but all Alec knew was that the song that had once lured maidens into the woods and lone travelers into their camp wasn’t working.

Their trek to camp lasted an hour. He begged and pleaded to whatever god would listen that Magnus would suddenly pop out from behind the trees and save him, but in his heart he realized that was wishful thinking. The woods were vast and full of dangers. Magnus accidentally coming across the goblins when he normally went so far out of his way to avoid them and protect himself from being found and hunted was little more than a dream.

When they finally reached the camp with the caravans that Alec had seen the night that Magnus had taken the medallion, the bird-footed goblin snapped his fingers and Alec fell quickly to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him and causing him to grunt in pain. “Where would you like the horrible creature?” The goblin asked Asmodeus as the king removed his hat and tossed it inside the red caravan with the black roof (the very one, Alec noted, that Magnus had gone into that night.)

“Well, I said dinner, so dinner he shall be,” The goblin king replied with a shrug, glancing over the crowd of assembled beasts. “Would you like stew or roast tonight?”

The creatures screamed and squawked in a language that was unintelligible to Alec but must have meant something to Asmodeus. The goblin grinned with that same unsettling smile he’d worn earlier. “Roast it is then. Get the fire going and get him ready. We’ll eat well tonight — a reward for all your hard work.”

The creatures left Alec lying in the dirt as they dispersed to take care of their assigned tasks. He rolled to his side and tried to push himself to his feet as he struggled against the thick vines wrapped around his limbs. “Now, now, little human. Where do you think you’re going? We can’t have a feast without the main course now, can we?”

An electric and biting wave of angry red settled over him like a small bubble, and Alec found himself even further trapped. “Good boy. Stay there until we’re ready for you.”

Alec’s bubble was too small for him to truly push himself up into a sitting position so he could only watch from his prone position on the ground as the goblins prepped for their meal. Meal. Asmodeus’ words were finally registering in his mind and Alec felt his blood run cold. They were going to eat him. He watched as two goblins finished piling up some firewood and called magic to their fingers, starting the large cooking fire with none of the ease that Magnus did.

They were going to roast him.

He needed to get out of here because this was not how he dreamed of meeting his end. He’d hoped that one day he’d grow old and die peacefully in his sleep as so many of his ancestors had. He refused to be eaten.

He tried to scream, but the words got stuck on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t sure if that was from the bubble or the magic that had been used on him earlier but even if he had been able to speak, it would likely have been a lost cause. What’s the point of screaming when there was no one around to hear him except the very creatures that were currently preparing to cook him?

He tentatively probed at the bubble with his foot and hissed in pain as a sharp jolt of electricity shot up his leg. Okay, so touching that thing was definitely not an option. He had to find another way out of here…

What would Jace do right now? He knew for a fact that his brother had his fair share of squabbles that have ended with him tied up, in chains, or in jail (and sometimes all of the above.) He was sure that Jace had needed to get himself out of seemingly impossible situations before.

So what would Jace do now?

He could almost hear his brother mocking him in his head. ‘How did you manage to make such a stupid mistake, Alec? Dad taught us to be more aware when danger could be afoot...but right now, you’re in a damn fucking mess and you need to get out of it. So...what do you have?’

What did he have? And what could he access with his arms bound the way that they were?

He had the clothes on his back - not useful. At some point, they’d divested him of his hunting knife so that was no longer in his pocket. He had the list from his sister, a crushed flower from the last time he’d been in the woods, and…

The coin.

He still had Magnus’ coin.

He knew that the coin’s main purpose was to lead him to Magnus’ location, but to do that, it used magic.

Alec didn’t know a lot about magic. Hell, he pretty much knew nothing about magic outside of what he had learned from Magnus, but there was one book that he’d come across in the manor’s library (which he’d been spending more time in than his own bedroom these days) that had focused on spells and enchantments that could be used by non-magical people. He hadn’t had a chance to do more than flip through it since they’d been so busy with trying to find a cure that he hadn’t wanted to waste time.

There was one thing he did remember from the few pages that he’d perused however. The book seemed to mention on each page that there was a special kind of magic in blood…

And that Alec did have.

Maybe there was a way to use his blood to reverse engineer the magic in Magnus’ spell. Instead of the coin showing Alec to Magnus, it would lead Magnus to him instead. It sounded like an absolutely impossible and improbable idea but it was the only idea that he had right now and he was very quickly running out of time.

Based on the cheering that was coming from the center of camp, Alec had a feeling that the goblin’s dinner preparations were close to complete. He wiggled as best as he could to get his arms in a position where they could secret the coin from his pocket. Once that was safely in his hand, he glanced around his cramped prison. He could bite himself, if necessary, but that was both tedious and way too obvious. He was hoping that there would be something he could use…

There.

Half-hidden under leaf litter and moss was a rock with what appeared to be an edge that was sharp enough to slice through his skin. Unfortunately, that rock was up by his head, and with no way to twist his body to get his arms closer within the confines of his bubble, that left Alec with no choice but to draw blood from the only part of his body that could reach.

His face.

He scooted a few inches closer, all the movement that the bubble afforded him, and placed his cheek on the edge of the rock. He paused only a fraction of a second to take a deep breath and steel his nerves before he pressed his cheek into the stone and drug it across quickly. He felt the blood start to dribble from the fresh cut and he sighed in relief. Now, to find a way to get some to the coin and pray that he could work some magic of his own.

He couldn’t lift his hands and move it closer to his head, but he could tilt his head and move it a little closer to his hands. With more flexibility than he realized that he had, he was able to smear a few drops of blood across the surface of the coin. Now, to pray for a miracle.

Alec closed his eyes tightly, remembering that Magnus had said that magic often worked through intent, and poured every ounce of his willpower and belief into accomplishing what he hoped he could — leading Magnus to him the same way Magnus had told him that the coin would lead Alec to him.

Please, Magnus, I need you. Be my knight in shining armor. I can’t get out of this one alone.

He felt the air pressure change and opened his eyes to find that the bubble was gone. He hoped to be staring into Magnus’ eyes but was sorely disappointed. Cat eyes indeed stared down at him, but they were unfortunately set in Asmodeus’ face and not his son’s. The goblin king had a hungry expression on his face. “Praying won’t help you, human. Your gods have no power in these woods. This is my domain. My rules. My decisions. And I’ve decided that you’re going to be dinner for my court.” He snapped his fingers and two of the more animalistic creatures rushed forward. “Get him up and ready.”

The rat-like creatures dragged Alec up into a sitting position and began tearing at his shirt with their sharp claws, the tips brushing his skin and leaving angry red welts. He closed his eyes, knowing that fighting would get him nowhere, and continued his silent mantra with the coin still pressed tightly into his palm.

Please Magnus, find me, please.

Suddenly the goblins froze, listening as there was a shout from somewhere behind Alec that followed by the sound of crashing and screams as creatures scrambled out of the way of whatever beast was heading towards them. Alec twisted his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of the monster before he met his untimely (but still better option than being cooked alive) end.

The noise came to a slow stop just a few feet from him, and he could hear the heavy breathing of an exhausted horse.

[love-takes-work]

Anyone else on SU Amino?

I guess I have some things to get off my chest and I figure I can just write this up once and then link people to it if they want to know what happened. 

I've been a happy and very productive member of the most popular Steven Universe Amino since March 2017. I quickly found friends, other SU nerds who liked my work or wanted to talk theories, and I had a blast sharing everything I was passionate about. 

I was best known for my epic merchandise posts and my embarrassing love of Garnet, I guess, though I was always posting my amateur-but-heartfelt art, my unpolished ukulele covers, my character analysis and theories, my SU food recipes and photos, and even the occasional quiz. 

My posts got featured all the dang time. 

Like, once a week, almost. I had THIRTY front-page features from March to October.

And lots of younger people looked up to me there, knowing I was older but still into cartoons, saying wonderful inspiring things like they wish I was their mom or they want to be me when they grow up.

Yesterday I woke up from a nap with my account banned with no explanation.

Looking up info on bans, I saw that usually you'd get a strike or a warning, or get your posts hidden, before something like a ban would happen, and I'd never done a ding dang thing to even get a warning. But the guidelines did say in rare cases you could get instabanned for illegal activities, sexual/graphic content, or violence.

As a banned member I didn't even have access to chat functions, so I couldn't do what the guidelines kept saying to do ("message a staff member!"). I enlisted the help of a really kind friend I'd connected with here on Tumblr after meeting there, but we knew there was little hope of helping that way because they also explicitly say there are to be no third party queries.

I eventually figured out how to log out of the Amino and make a new account (shut up, I'm old) and I used the new account to contact one of the Leaders. The Leader was kind enough to reply quickly, but the response itself was pretty horrifying. 

I'd been banned for sending sexual content to another member.

Without warning, the Leader sent me a screencap of what "I" sent someone, and it was a close-up photo of genitalia and a comment inviting the user to sexually engage with said genitalia. 

I don't talk about this a lot here but I'm asexual and moderately sex repulsed. Suddenly seeing that on my screen made me feel pretty ill. But the Leader had sent it to me under the impression that it had originated with me, even though I'd already claimed I did not know why I was banned.

So, a conversation ensued, and though the Leader was polite enough, I did feel that I was being talked to with full suspicion that I was a liar and had committed this offense. After all, according to the Leader, the reported incident was a live link of the offensive content leading directly to my profile. Which makes me think perhaps someone else accessed my account.

I asked what kind of options I had but the person I spoke with shut all my options down very quickly. No, my reputation, history of celebrated content, and lack of motivation to do such a thing is not relevant. No, my obvious confusion was not good evidence that I hadn't done this. No, my being asexual doesn't preclude the sending of graphic content. No, there are no other steps to take to investigate and absolutely zero wiggle room in a case like this. You can't prove you didn't do it; therefore, we have to treat you like you did. 

I was told the account would stay banned and there was nothing I could do about it, but that I would just have to use the new account from now on. When I expressed concern that whoever framed me could just track me down and do it again if they hate me, I was told it would be "simple" to just hide my identity. Easier said than done, since my art style's recognizable, everyone's seen my merch posts, and some things like cosplay and ukulele covers have me physically in them. But I wasn't given another choice.

I figured I would still investigate some options, like talking to the broader Amino support to see if they can help me prove those messages did not originate from me, but in the meantime I still love talking to people and sharing content, so I posted a couple things--one little essay last night, and two pieces of art this morning. 

One of the art pieces was immediately featured. 

I had been in the process of trying to find my friends and tell them what happened, so I was in a bunch of chats, and then my chats exploded with people confused about the feature since it was clearly the art of a known popular member being posted by some n00b. The comments on the featured post filled up with people asking what happened to me or accusing my new account of art theft. 

When I tried to reply to some of them so they wouldn't worry it was stolen, I suddenly couldn't post anymore because THE NEW ACCOUNT HAD ALSO BEEN BANNED. 

So they banned me, featured me, and then banned me again. (???) Seriously, I feel like I have whiplash. 

I don't know what the second ban was for. It could have been that I wasn't supposed to be talking about having another account or what happened to it, even though it was true and I wasn't in the wrong, but it also could have been someone reporting me for art theft or the person who has it out for me framing me again. 

I don’t know why that person hates me or what they have against me to do this.

I don't know what's going on. I don't know if I'll ever get my account back (with its 2000+ followers, 30 featured posts, chat full of conversations I can no longer access, wiki entries with organized book reviews, merchandise inventory, and all the lovely relationships and posts I cultivated). I'm so exhausted from spending my mental energy on trying to save this thing I loved so much that got yanked away from me when I literally did nothing wrong. 

I joined another group called Senior Universe (Amino ID: Senior) where old people can be SU nerds. The folks there are welcoming but it is small too. I posted a piece of art there as my first post and now it's featured. Well, some things don't change. ;) 

I hope to get around to messaging my friends from the original account because I don't want to lose them or leave them wondering what happened to one of their favorite members. I wish someone could help me. 

Really sad and just want to go back to posting about how cool Garnet is. :(

[these-are-the-first-steps]

3am is the PERFECT time for me to mention that I’m giving this Patreon thing a try!

Help me eat, live, and stave off the hulking student loan beast!

Premature Disclaimer: There is NO selling of fanfiction or paywalling of fanfiction going on here, nor will it ever happen. Getting some exclusive access to some good stuff before the general public, though? That’s a different thing entirely. Keep reading for details!

There are TWO BRANCHES of monthly Patrons:

–Original Content and –Fic early-access

Original Content offers one big tier:

$8 – “Here for the OC“ tier

The first look at completed original works, downloadable as an ePUB or PDF. (including back works- some already up!)

Access to assorted blog posts that'll chat about books, writing, shows, the city, you name it.

Story outline and notes and come see what made it and what didn't- and then shout at the author for it.

Individualized story commentary on what exactly is going on in a particular piece. What language is that guy speaking? Wait, did the world actually end? Come get your questions answered...

(Why $6? Bumping things up a dollar cancels out Patreon and vendor's fees.)

Fic also offers two main tiers:

$6 – “Here for the Fic” tier

Get chapters of fics like "PREY", and *unprompted* chapters of "Solace for the Damned" and fan-favorite "Exigence in Force Majeure" (tumblr-prompted chapters will always appear on tumblr first) 24-48 hours before the public! Ahhhhh!!

See brand new works HERE before they lose their maidenhood to the likes of Ao3 and other sundry platforms. The freshest ideas straight to you!

Access to blog posts that'll chat about books, writing, shows, the city, you name it.

(Why $6.01? Bumping up a dollar, again, cancels out any fees, the penny to distinguish it from the other $6 tier)

$12 – “Revenge of the Fic” tier Fics PLUS! Get ALL the details on your favorite works with:

Access to the outlines/notes for each chapter that comes out. What made it to the finished story? Scream at the author because X didn't?

Behind-the-scenes discussion on the less obvious goings-on of new chapters, including little unspoken tidbits about the "off camera" happenings in your favorite stories.

Plus everything to be had in the "Here for the Fic" tier, which includes early access to new chapters and interesting blog posts.

But What If You Want Both?

You can do both!!

$11 – “The Two-way Hitter” You want the best of both worlds? You got it, and at a slight discount! Teach me your thrifty ways!

At this tier you'll get:

Everything at the "Here for the OC" tier

Everything at the "Here for the Fic" tier

$23 – “Sample Platter” Look at you! All ready to read- I love you!

From this tier you'll get:

Everything at the "Revenge of the Fic" tier

...which INCLUDES the "Here for the OC" tier

...and ALSO the "Here for the Fic" tier

All at a small but tidy discount!

Not enough for you? Well I got MORE, (with some fun bonuses):

$35 – “Written Inspiration (song title)” Cool things happening at this tier!

Not only do you get:

Everything at the "Revenge of the Fic" tier

...which INCLUDES the "Here for the OC" tier

...and ALSO the "Here for the Fic" tier

But!! You'll get your name on the front page, and also have the opportunity to workshop one of your own stories with me for a week! Let's get to work!

Workshopping a story isn't necessary, however, so if you're just out to be an awesome person, that's cool, too!

$75 - “Winner-takes-All” The God Tier! Containing:

Everything at the "Revenge of the Fic" tier

...which INCLUDES the "Here for the OC" tier

...and ALSO the "Here for the Fic" tier

PLUS:

Your name proudly displayed on the front page.

Option to workshop your story with me for a week (yeah baby!!)

AND:

A custom story, Original or Fic, written to a prompt of your choice, that will be minimum 4k words. (heck yeah!!) Prompts will be discussed one on one, certain themes excluded.

Quick FAQ (in case some things weren’t clear):

Q: Are you selling fanfiction?!!!! A: NO. NO. What I’m doing is offering early looks at future chapters before they are publicly published, along with a bunch of background information, like original outlines, that will never make it to tumblr or other outlets. All chapters will eventually be published, in full, on Ao3/FF, like usual.

Q: If everything’s the same, why should I support you? A: Well, you get to see unpublished outlines for works as they’re posted for your early viewing pleasure, as well as discuss story hints in-depth with me and other Patrons (that’s cool, right?). I’ll definitely more readily point out semi-hidden details to the Patreon crew than on Ao3- so there’s some incentive! And also because you like my work, and like any artist, would like to support what I do. Writers can’t sell prints like visual artists, so this sort of thing’s the best we got! 8D

Q: Will you be posting original works exclusively to Patreon from now on? A: If this whole thing pans out, yes. Original Works may also include unpublished fanfics whose premises were so far-flung they worked better as an original story and were retooled as such (but who reylo readers, for instance, can easily substitute names and see familiar dynamics)

Q: Does this mean you’ll be writing more? Like...actually keeping a schedule? A: Again, if this whole thing pans out, clearly the incentive will be there to stop wallowing in the pits of despair and force a pen in my hand. In short, yes. So that’s a good reason to become a patron, right?

Q: Why are your tier names so flipping weird??? A: Fight me.  

What Will You Do With This Mountain of Coin, Eva?

Basically, eat. And survive. I’m still in the throes of job transition, and things won’t start to truly pick up until June, unfortunately. So I’m sort of trapped in limbo at the moment and would love to share my original work and early access to fic chapters with YOU in the meantime. And also eat.

You’ll be helping me live one more month in NYC, putting off any walk of shame back to a job that was making me genuinely ill, or worse, a retreat back to my home state that doesn’t offer universal health insurance or any other kinds of services because it’s the South and you’ll roll in a ditch and like it!

Essentially I have the chance to achieve a dream staying out here and pursuing this new job course, and you’d be helping me ride out the inherently bumpy start by becoming a patron and letting me write for you.

So, what do you say? Think it’s worth it? Either way, if you’ve read this far, thank you so, so much for your time and consideration, and please consider giving this post at the very least a reblog- it would be a huge help. :,)

[thevtykatee]

One More Light

Here I am today, 20th July. Well, actually it’s the 21st now because it’s around 2am, however, I’m still not sleeping. I can’t. Blankly staring at the wall, feeling so empty. I’ve never thought that losing someone who doesn’t… didn’t even know you, and lives… lived on the other side of the world can cause so much pain. Yes. Here I am today, 20th July, and I’m talking about Chester Bennington. I’m kinda lost for words, speechless, yet I have so much on my mind. My head is full and empty at the same time. It’s a strange and scary feeling. But I guess if you’re one of those people who’ve admired and loved him, you know this feeling too. Chester was the best. Like literally one of the best people I’ve ever “known”. He inspired many people around the world, many of us, including me, to always keep fighting. No. Matter. What. I remember that I was around 13 or 14 when I first heard one of Linkin Park’s songs. And since then, I have always had a place for this band in my heart, even tho that back then I couldn’t have imagined how much Linkin Park and especially Chester’s going to help me. And how much influence this man is going to have on my life. Anxiety disorder is no fun. Not a single mental illness is fun, unless you’re mad and enjoying the fact that you’re fighting with your own mind while no one believes you and everyone think’s you’re just simply mad, talking bullshit and you’re an idiot. I’ve had to postpone a year in high school because my anxiety turned that bad that I couldn’t actually leave the house without getting anxious, without getting an anxiety attack at least once a day. And during these times, especially at the beginning, only one thing kept me going. One thing, a band, that is called Linkin Park. And one person has given me so much strength. And that was Chester. I knew that he had drug and alcohol problems, and that he was struggling with it for years, but I also knew that he has never given up fighting and he got out of that deep hole he was in. All because he did not give up. And all because one song that Mike wrote, which is one of their most known songs, Breaking The Habit helped him to get through those hard times he had. (Heard him saying this in an interview.) And knowing all of this has given me so much strength, I knew I have to keep fighting, because I cannot be a coward and giving up is NOT an option. I know that in my previous posts about how Our Last Night has helped me I wrote about the exact same thing, but trust me, it’s not the same. OLN helped me to get out of the hole I was in, but Linkin Park and Chester helped me through it, to fight my way through that hole and find my way out of it, and never ever give up while I’m in it because I’m stronger than that. I even wrote a letter to Chester, I wrote my whole story in it, and then tweeted him about it… and guess what. He replied. Chester Bennington tweeted me. He told me he’s gonna read my letter. But well, he has never received it. I had it hand-written, and I’ve sent it to one of my friends, who was about to give it to him at a meet & greet. And why didn’t she give it to him? Because she couldn’t. 2 shows before that show, Chester broke his ankle and the rest of that tour was cancelled. That’s my luck. But still, he at least knew about the letter. :) And that’s just enough for me. This was back in 2015, but before that I saw them play in Vienna, luckily from the first row, so I could even get really close to him, to them, to the whole band. And this summer, I saw them play again, but this time in Hungary. It was such an unforgettable show. And today.. well. Today. I was having my riding class and my trainer asked me and my friend about that show. He said that we gotta tell him everything. So I told him that it was sooooo freaking awesome, and it was one of the best shows I’ve ever been to. Then, after riding, when we were on our way to the mall to buy a dress for me for my friend’s upcoming wedding. I was playing music from my phone and it was in shuffle mode. Crawling started playing, and I had a sudden thought of skipping it, but for some reason I was like “well. let’s just listen to it and enjoy the voice of my favorite singer.” So yeah, and then in the mall, I was walking around in a store and suddenly I bumped into a girl who was wearing a Linkin Park shirt. I was like woahh, it’s all about LP today. But right now it just scary. It’s just scary to think that these all were signs. Everywhere I went there was sth about Linkin Park… and then I checked my phone. To take a look at my Facebook. That was the moment when I saw the news. I was in shock. I was in so fucking shock, that I just waved at first, and said “Naaaah, this can’t be true, this can’t be, this is fake”. But in the meantime I was terrified that what if… what if it’s true, but no, it can’t be, I decided that I’m not gonna believe anything until I see sth from the band. And then Mike tweeted it. He confirmed it. It is true. Chester died by suicide. The person who I saw 3 weeks ago, who was my hero, who had such a big impact on my life is now have passed away. Needless to say… my heart shattered into a million pieces. I just simply am not able to process this whole thing, I don’t think I will ever be able to fully process it. Because it feels like a terrible nightmare that can’t be true. But this time it is not a nightmare. It’s reality. We’ve all lost an amazing person, who held our hands with music and with his voice through our worst moments and also through our bests. And this is the part where I have no idea how to continue this post, because I am lost for words from now on. I cannot continue writing cause I won’t be able to see the keyboard through my tears. So maybe I should just wrap this up, right here right now. Thank you Chester Bennington for being this amazingly awesome person, and thank you for helping so many people around the world with your presence here and everywhere on the world through your music. Thank you for being there for me through music when I was at my worst and felt like no one in this world understands me but you. You brought all of us joy and tears, your voice can never be mistaken for someone else’s. Your voice is therapy. You’re a hero. And sometimes heroes don’t wear capes. They wear tattoos and they scream for me when I can’t do it myself. You’re a legend. And legends never die, because their legacy lives on. Always in our hearts. Rest in peace, goodbye, my friend.

And for the end of this post after bawling my eyes out… I gotta mention mental health. This world is cruel, and heartless. We need to be there for each other. Always. We need to look out for each other, because mental health issues are no joke. We all should take it seriously BEFORE things go wrong… not just after that. Not just fucking after that. Yeah, it’s easy to realize the damage after it’s been done. But you have to walk with your eyes open and see it before everything goes down. And if you need help, please, be brave enough to ask for it. Please speak up. Raise awareness. And most importantly, just please care, everyone, care for each other, and be there. Always be there, no matter what.