#long time listener first time caller: i wrote this ages ago but have never posted it

[ecc-poetry]

Text version under the cut.

(If you like my work, you can tip me on Ko-Fi or support me on Patreon!)

The Surgeon’s Dictionary, Elisa Chavez

“He is no physician who has not slain many patients.” -Surgical paper discussing the treatment of stomach cancer, 1933

In 1882, Willam Stewart Halsted invented the radical mastectomy, a method of treating cancers of the breast  in  which  tumors were removed by excising the entire breast, lymph nodes, and pectoralis major and minor,leavingbehindprimarilyribsandskin.

Radical means ‘root,’ as in   ‘to pluck out by the roots,’ as in ‘when surgeons  excavated  the  sites  of   resurgent  tumors, they found tendrils had sprung up   in organs nearby    ,  cells curdling from   irrational   roots.’  Cancer   knows   us  better than we know

ourselves; likehistory, it ranges broad and deep, and womenknow how history makes bodies    repeat themselves. ‘Radical’ as in ‘advocating extreme measures.’ To this day,   there arewomen who say, “Cut the whole thing out.” Apple, pear,

plum or cherry: left in the samebowl, any housewifeknows how rot will spread.   Halsted gave them augury and scalpel;   the worse it sounds, the Better            it’s working.      His operation left patients nerveless, theirshoulders slumped from steel subtractions.

       ‘Radical’ as in ‘very basic or important.’ It is very   basic and important   to understand that    when tumors have metastasized,  no knife can cut them out—and when they haven’t,vivisection isnotnecessary.WilliamStewartHalstedfollowed

cancerlike a kitestring in a maze, toomuchandnotenough,wending the labyrinth below a woman’s breastbone.    His knife could have slain a minotaur, but cancer knows war better than we do, digging for our    Hail   Mary’s    in the etherized pulp of an operating table.

The radicalmastectomy became popular because by1882, women        were accustomed to treating their bodies as       battleground, and men were         used to gambling with       what wasn’t theirs. Ten years later, survivalrates were not what Halsted had projected;

he suggested cutting        into the Neck. Halsted preyed          for years over           women’s soft       tissue,          their    oracular    flesh   cut      and consulted      in   search of the tapering roots of chaos. He never found them.

‘Radical’ as in    ‘awesome.’ Cancer and God         move in mysterious ways     , and women     know something about    ineffability. Whendisorder turns their fleshtomultiplicationtables and theyarea

Bible  verse  read  backwards,  they know sometimes   salvation looks like a spear.   They know to fear what they carry with them in the mud at the bottoms of their         bellies. Radical as in ‘relating to the      origin    .’

    Women would face the Devil  himself if he condescended tostand in one place. Theysettle forbelievingthat toget at the root of what’s wrong with them,     Good men       will have to cut much deeper          than they         thought.

[gottlem]

favourite song (lemonjuice)

a/n: well here it is! gonna keep this short and sweet but i wanted to say how much i love these two and i wrote this just bc i felt like we needed more lemonjuice fics !!! props the the handful of writers who have already written this ship, they’re all so great !! quick sidenote, i haven’t written in a while, so i really hope y’all find this up to standard !!! <3

summary: Juice found that the best way to get her feelings out was through writing songs, but she would never tell her best friend and long time crush, Lemon, about that. Well, until she does. (3.3k words)

Juice was never really the best at outwardly expressing her feelings. Even when she tried to open up to her best friend from childhood, Lemon, it was as if the words got lost somewhere between her mind and her mouth. And as someone with far too many emotions to keep bottled up safely, she needed a way to let them out. So she began to write songs. Over a few years, she taught herself to play a guitar she had found stocked away in her home, which had been surprisingly intact and functional for it’s age.

At first, her songs were mediocre at best. The chords sometimes wouldn’t sound right together and she couldn’t really get the lyrics to flow in the way she wanted them to, but after writing and writing she started to find her sound. And it was good. Once she was truly happy with the content she was creating, she didn’t want to keep it to herself any longer. It’s not like she wanted to become famous, no, the idea of fame scared her shitless. But she wanted somewhere to put her work, she didn’t care if one person or one thousand people listened. So she made a small Instagram account. It didn’t have her name, and she didn’t tell any of her friends, but over time it acquired a small but surprisingly active following.

It was Friday night when Juice started on a new song. It was one she had been meaning to write for a long time, but was about something she was scared to even admit to herself. Feelings she was scared to face. Feelings for Lemon. They had been there for a while, festering under the surface, and only recently had they gotten out of control. Nothing had triggered it, not particularly, but suddenly she had found herself thinking about her friend far too often to be considered platonic. They had been best friends for as long as Juice could remember, and she knew she was far into the friend zone. Lemon would flirt often, make jokes about them becoming girlfriends. Which was fine. It meant she was comfortable enough in their friendship. And as long as Lemon loved her in any way, Juice was happy. Or at least, that's what she told herself.

She was in the middle of writing her very first song about the girl when her strumming was interrupted by her phone ringing. Loudly. She should have remembered to just put it on mute. It’s ringing startled her enough to be taken out of the zone she was in, so she decided the least she could do was check who it was. And she figured the universe had decided to play a massive practical joke on her right at the moment, because the caller ID read “lem”. She answered it anyway, it was Lemon after all, how couldn’t she?

“Lem! Hi!” She cursed herself for how smitten she sounded, Lemon would be quick to figure out her feelings if she wasn’t careful.

“Juicy! What’s up? What are you doing right now?” Juice’s heart stopped. Partly because of the nickname that she still hadn’t gotten used to, and partly because she has no idea how to answer that question without having to explain why she’s kept this hobby secret for so long.

“Umm, well”

She didn’t actually know why she had kept this from Lemon all this time. Maybe telling her would be good, maybe it wouldn’t even change anything. So she bit the bullet and made the split second decision to let the cat out of the bag. She didn’t have to say what, or who, she was writing about, right?

“I was in the middle of writing a song, you actually kind of scared me, my phone was so loud” There was a beat of silence. Juice bit her bottom lip nervously and just hoped she wouldn’t be asked a question that she was absolutely not ready to answer.

“You were- since when did you write songs? Juicy how did I not know about this? Can you even play any instruments? What do you play?”

These questions, Juice could deal with.

“I uh, started a few years ago, didn’t tell anyone because I wanted it to be something I could keep for myself, and I taught myself guitar after I found one in that spooky cupboard you can never go into.”

Lemon chuckled, causing Juice to blush instantly. Because of course she did.

“Wow. Years, huh? Why didn’t you tell me though?” Juice didn’t expect her friend to sound almost hurt by the fact that she had kept this from her. But then again, they tell eachother everything. She didn’t really know why she never told Lemon. Maybe she was scared of opening up too much, sounding dramatic. Maybe she was scared she wouldn’t like her songs. Maybe she was scared she would.

“I don’t know Lem. Just didn’t come up I guess”

“Well, can I hear one? What about the one you’re writing now?”

“Not yet. Maybe next time you come over once it’s finished.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, definitely. Well I’ll let you finish it then, text me when it’s done!”

When Lemon hung up, the silence of the room fell heavy on Juice’s ears. Obviously, she wouldn’t show Lemon the song she was writing just then, but she didn't have to know that. She would show Lemon a song she wrote a month or two ago, she remembered it well enough and it’s not about anything too serious that Lemon doesn’t already know about. No harm done. Easy.

~

Lemon was set on hearing at least one of Juice’s songs. She couldn’t believe that after knowing her for so many years, she had hidden this from her! It’s not that she was angry, she wasn’t, she just wished she hadn’t missed out on all this. She wondered what she could have written about over the years, what she writes about now. She wondered what her voice sounded like, would it be smooth and silky, or breathy and soft? What would her songs even sound like? Does she have her own special sound, distinctive from everyone else? She just wanted to know. She wanted to hear them.

When Juice finally performed a song for Lemon, she was speechless. They sat on Juice’s bed, candles burning on the windowsill and hot chocolates resting on her nightstand. The moon shone from the window, it was quite late, probably too late to make any noise, but nobody was home to hear, so neither girl tried to keep quiet despite the late hour. From the moment Juice started to pluck a soft pattern on the nylon strings of the old guitar, she was mesmerised. The melody was soothing, and her voice was soft enough to send her to sleep if she closed her eyes for too long. It was a beautiful song, about a story Lemon had already heard a thousand times before, but never in this format. That made it feel brand new.

The pair fell asleep soon after that, limbs tangled in Juice’s bed just like all the other times before, except a soft humming could be heard that sent Lemon straight to sleep in her friend's familiar arms. Juice wished it could be like this every night. But her and Lemon were just friends, eventually she’d be okay with that reality. She’d have to be.

It didn’t take long for Lemon to find Juice’s account dedicated to her songs. After she went home that morning she went straight onto Instagram, remembering something Juice had said about an account where she puts all her music onto. At first, she didn’t quite know where to look, but she ended up searching through the followers and following on Juice’s main account and eventually stumbled upon it. She just wanted to hear more.

Lemon checked the most recent video posted, expecting it to be the same song Juice had performed for her the night before, since she had been told it was the one her friend had just written, the one she had interrupted the writing of. It took her a minute to realise the song was definitely not the same, but she didn’t think too much of it, maybe she hadn’t posted that one yet. Hearing one of her songs before anyone else made Lemon’s stomach do a little flip, something she was growing used to around her friend.

As Lemon scrolled through the account, listening to each and every song, she encountered one that sounded extremely familiar, posted months ago. It was the exact same one Juice had performed to her. But if she had only just written it, how had it been posted months ago? She tried not to dwell on it for too long, opting to just enjoy the music instead. Once she had sifted through every video, she followed the account, wanting to hear everything her friend came out with.

Juice’s songs were special. They allowed Lemon to feel more connected to her friend; she always felt as if Juice was biting her tongue, holding back. All she had ever wanted was Juice to open up around her, and if it was through her breathtaking music, then so be it. Some songs were about stuff that Lemon had never heard her friend even mention before, and she was tempted to give her a ring or text and ask her about them, talk more into detail about the contents, but she always stopped herself at the last minute. If Juice wanted to talk about something that was bothering her, she would talk. Maybe she was scared to. 

-

Juice almost screamed when she saw the notification that Lemon had followed her account. She looked over every one of her posts, making sure they were all good enough for Lemon to see. She wanted Lemon to love her music now she knew about it, and hoped she would bring up one of her songs to her. She wondered which song would be Lemon’s favourite, and why. She wanted to know how many she had listened to. Had she just followed the account and left it at that? Had she watched her most recent video? Had she listened to all of her posts?

So Juice waited. She waited for Lemon to bring it up. But even after posting a couple of new songs, she got nothing. She was quick to come to the conclusion that Lemon wasn’t really looking at her new posts, though in reality that couldn’t be further from the truth. When Juice figured Lemon wasn’t listening to her new music, she found the courage to post her song about the girl. It wasn’t very specific, it was clearly about a girl she had some strong feelings for, but there were no identifying details that could lead to the conclusion of the song being undoubtedly about Lemon. This meant if Lemon did happen to hear it, there was no way she would know right off the bat that the song was about her. She didn’t need Lemon to know her true feelings.

When Juice posted her first song about Lemon, the feedback had been overwhelmingly positive. She received a few more likes than usual, and the comments were filled with well wishes for her and the mystery girl she had written a song about. But there was nothing from Lemon, as usual. Juice was confident that she wasn’t listening, so she posted more and more songs about her. It wasn’t like she only ever wrote about Lemon anymore, though she was definitely getting more comfortable doing so and began writing about her more often than not, allowing herself to fall deeper for the girl. As she posted more songs, they became increasingly more specific, but never enough to allow her to be figured out. Someone would only be able to tell it was Lemon if they were actively looking for that specific conclusion.

-

Lemon couldn’t believe it when she heard Juice’s first love song. She watched her best friend’s eyes light up on her screen while singing about this mystery girl, but there was something else to her facial expression that made it all seem bitter sweet. Maybe it was the way her eyes would lose that sparkle for just a moment every once in a while, or the way her lips never really formed into the beautiful smile Lemon had gotten so used to over the years. The song itself was beautiful, as always. Juice sounded as if she meant every single word, truly singing right from her heart.

It hurt Lemon a little to find out Juice felt so strongly about someone and hadn’t told her, but perhaps she was just getting round to it. It hurt her even more that it wasn’t Lemon she was singing about. She knew she had liked Juice for a while, but tried to keep things platonic in fear of her feelings not being reciprocated, and it looked as if that was the right move because now she was listening to Juice sing a love song that wasn’t about her.

Even though she knew she would be hurt by the truth, Lemon was determined to find out who Juice had been singing about in her more recent posts. Each song hurt to listen to more than the last, because she was creating a fantasy where Juice was actually singing about her. It was only made worse that everything Juice said about this girl and their relationship could be used to describe Lemon. She just needed confirmation that it wasn’t her and then she could move on with her life as Juice’s friend. And be content with just that.

Her idea was simple, but effective. Just ask her. Juice was a terrible, terrible liar, made worse when it was Lemon she tried to lie to, so she knew she’d be getting the truth about whoever this girl was. All she had to do was try not to show her feelings, and try not to get jealous of this girl. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

-

Juice enjoyed whatever time she could spend with Lemon, but nothing could beat when she stayed over. They turned on fairy lights and lit candles before making hot chocolate and turning on netflix, watching from the comfort of Juice’s bed. Maybe she liked it so much because they always ended up tangled together. She just liked the way Lemon’s skin felt against hers, even if it was just some small brushes under the covers. 

They were chatting about nothing in particular when Lemon changed the subject without warning, something she always did.

“Hey Juicy, I’ve loved your songs lately by the way. Not that I don’t always love them. I just thought I’d tell you” 

Juice’s heart stopped. She could practically feel the colour drain from her face. Lemon listened to her songs. Her recent songs. 

“You’ve heard my new ones?” Is all she could get out.

“Duh! I’m your number one fan, juicy”

“Oh.”

“Just one question though, who are all the love songs about?” Juice wouldn’t really describe them as love songs, more like ‘hopelessly crushing on my best friend who I have virtually zero chance with’ songs. But sure, love songs it is.

“Lem. You can’t really write a love song about a stupid crush. Love is a very strong word, I don’t love her. I can’t”

“Honey, you’re in love. You can see it in your eyes when you sing about her. Must be some special girl, huh?” Lemon rubbed salt into her own wound with every word she said. It almost physically hurt to ask about this girl Juice was so clearly smitten for, knowing it wasn’t her.

“Yeah. She’s special. But you don’t get it Lem, I can’t be in love with her. I just can’t”

“Why not?”

Juice just shook her head, defeated. She knew the answer to that. She can’t be in love because she’s her best friend. It would ruin what they have. She would get rejected. Everything would change. 

Lemon wiped a stray tear from her friend's cheek.

“Hey. Look at me,” she did, “whoever this girl is, would be so, so lucky to have you. I promise you, one day you’re going to find someone who loves you with just as much passion as I hear in those beautiful, beautiful songs. You deserve to be loved by someone who loves you that much. Okay? Don’t cry baby”

The pet name slipped out of Lemon’s mouth before she could stop it, but it felt so natural as she took the crying girl in her arms. They sat there for a while, Lemon whispering little reassurances in her ear, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Until Juice pulled away, took a deep breath, and looked Lemon straight in the eye. She was going to tell her.

“I just- Sorry for crying on you”

But she couldn’t. Love is scary. But Lemon is not. It was a painful cycle.

“Don’t be.” Lemon couldn’t stand seeing her Juice so broken, so she figured she’d try to lighten the mood and try to find out who it was so she could finally just get over her. “Sooooooo, who is it?”

“No, I can’t tell you” Juice managed a weak chuckle, shook her head affectionately.

“C’mon, do I at least know her?”

All Lemon got in response was a nod. She was confused, really. She had set herself up to be told a random girls name and have her heart broken. She would take a few weeks to recover, but eventually Juice and this girl would get together and they’d all live happily ever after. She had prepared herself for that. She had not prepared for tears and love and self doubt and secrets. They had never kept anything like this from each other. Ever since coming out to each other, they had vowed to be one another’s wing-woman, so what happened? The only reason Lemon could possibly think of as to why she couldn’t tell her who, was-

“Juicy...” Her tone felt unfamiliar in her mouth. It wasn’t sharp or soft, it wasn’t happy, angry or upset. It might have been hope. Juice just looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Is it-”

“Whoever you’re going to say, I can almost guarantee that you’re wrong” Juice almost found it funny that she was about to guess.

“Let me finish,” Lemon looked at her in the eyes, and smiled softly “ Is it me?” 

“I-”

What was she even supposed to say to that? She couldn’t lie, Lemon would see right through it. She couldn’t tell the truth, everything would change. What if Lemon felt weird about it? What if she didn’t want to be as close with her any more? Was she uncomfortable with the idea of Juice having a crush on her?

Lemon giggled softly, “I guess the silence answers that question, huh?”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to anymore. I swear I can just move on and get over it. I really don’t want to ruin our friendship and I’d hate to make you uncomfortable or anything. Are you mad? I don’t blame you if-”

“Shut up” Lemon almost whispered, her soft tone still somehow cutting through Juice’s words like a knife. Juice said nothing. She let the silence take over for a second or two, before Lemon took a breath, and spoke again.

“Shut up, and kiss me”

So she did. Juice had always wondered what kissing Lemon would feel like, but now she was actually doing it, all her expectations didn’t even come close to the real thing. They fit together so easily, the kiss hardly ever breaking, staying as soft as ever. They had all the time in the world, so why rush it?

After that night, Juice wrote countless more songs for her now-girlfriend, and every single time a new one came out, Lemon would say the same thing.

“I like this one. I think it’s my new favourite song. I love you”

And Juice loved her back. You could see it in her eyes. Feel it through her kiss. Hear it in her songs.

[iffeelscouldkill]

it only means there is no room for you to fall [Epilogue]

A/N: This is a follow-up to it only means there is no room for you to fall, my alternate post-episode-5/episode 6 Sana/Arkady/Violet fic that I wrote uh... last September, wow. It won’t make much sense if you haven’t read that, so go read that fic first!

Those of you who follow me on AO3, or who followed the fic on AO3, will know that I already wrote and posted an epilogue to this fic about a week and a half after it was written. But I never posted it to Tumblr. I liked it, but I also wasn’t that happy with it - there was too much “plot”, and not enough of the fluff and indulgence that I’d so enjoyed when writing the first fic. And I liked how the first fic ended, so I sort of wanted that to be a stand-alone on Tumblr, until I was happier with the epilogue.

I never intended to rewrite it - I was originally planning to write a follow-up fic or two in the same ‘verse, and figured that once those were written, I would post the epilogue to Tumblr first so that it made sense. However, I lost a bit of steam with the next fic in the series, so that didn’t quite happen.

Fast-forward to now, and... well, I’m sure I don’t need to spell out why I needed a dose of fluffiness and self-indulgence in my fic-writing life. So, I decided a couple of days ago to have another go with writing this epilogue, and see if I couldn’t write a version that I was happier with. Turns out I could! Here it is :D

---

The first thing that Sana is aware of when she wakes is that she’s very, very warm.

The second is that someone is playing with her hair, carding their fingers through the strands that have escaped from the loose plait she wears it in. It feels nice. Sana closes her eyes again.

A vague memory filters through the sleepy haze in her brain. Arkady and Violet hugging her. Arkady leading her into her room, pulling her down onto her bunk, wrapping her arms around her. Violet at her back. She realises that she can hear voices talking softly.

“...might wake up and decide that she can handle it without our help.” Violet’s voice. “She is the Captain, after all.”

A snort from Arkady on her other side. “You underestimate my willingness to flat-out pin her to this bunk until she admits that she can’t handle everything by herself.”

Sana cracks one eye open. “I’d like to see you try.”

She feels Violet jump behind her, but Arkady just smirks, unrepentant. She looks slightly softer-edged in the morning (well, Sana realises that she doesn’t really know for sure that it’s morning, it’s hard to tell on the ship), her normally carefully tamed hair in unruly tangles around her face. It’s a look Sana has only rarely had the privilege of seeing.

“How did you sleep?” asks Violet, and Sana turns to smile at her.

“Like a log. I hope I didn’t snore.”

Violet laughs. “I don’t think so. I would know if you did - I’m a pretty light sleeper. It comes from being a medic,” she adds by way of explanation.

Sana is about to say something else - ask what the time is, maybe - when a key part of the previous night suddenly comes back to her: Ricky Q’s smug voice on the other end of the line. His threats against her crew, and the rendezvous on Hafizah. Sana groans as her head starts to throb slightly.

“Sana?” Violet looks worried, reaching forward to brush strands of hair gently from her face. Sana realises that Violet had been the one playing with her hair when she woke up, and she takes a moment to delight in this tiny gesture of affection from the other woman, who had always seemed quite reserved in her interactions until now. They would brush past each other, sometimes, in the narrow kitchen, and Sana was often guilty of wanting to read too much into the touch of fingers as moonshine cups were passed around, or Violet’s gentle ministrations as she checked an injury. She’d always told herself she was wishing for the impossible. She’s now starting to realise that might not have been true.

“What is it, Sana?” Arkady asks her, tense, like she’s readying herself for a fight. Sana weighs her options. She knows that telling Arkady about Ricky Q and his blackmail will only make her angry, and she doesn’t want to puncture the little cocoon of warmth and calm that they’ve created for themselves. But she also knows that putting her best friend off won’t be well-received. Arkady will probably make good on her promise to pin Sana to the bunk until she opens up about what’s going on (Sana carefully doesn’t think about all the ways that image appeals to her).

Even as she hesitates, Arkady says, “Look, you know all that touchy-feely crap you pull the moment one of us freaking blinks wrong? You know that goes both ways, right? You can’t just... It isn’t right for you to always have our backs, and not let us have yours, too.”

There’s frustration in Arkady’s voice, but there’s an underlying hurt, too, and a hesitancy. Arkady isn’t used to voicing her innermost feelings, Sana knows, and she’s always quick to retreat defensively afterwards, like she’s afraid of being mocked for it. But Sana thinks that Arkady is more afraid that Sana might not trust her with this. That she doesn’t see their friendship (more than friendship? a part of Sana’s mind wonders) as a partnership of equals. Sana lets out a soft breath, fighting down the urge to pull Arkady to her in a crushing hug, which might not be well-received.

“Before I tell you both what’s been going on,” she begins, “Kady, I need you to promise me that you won’t... fly off the handle.”

Arkady eyes her suspiciously. “That depends on what it is you’re about to tell us, because I already really don’t like the sound of this.”

Sana sighs. “Just, promise to hear me out first? I need you to do that for me.” She levels Arkady with her best Captain’s stare, a mixture of sternness and warmth. It works on the whole crew, but particularly Arkady, who will often back down only when Sana levels it at her.

Sure enough, Arkady grumbles but subsides, her cheeks going pink. “All right. Whatever it is, I’ll wait until after you’re done telling it before I blow a gasket.”

Smiling slightly, Sana looks at Violet, whose expression is intent and serious, before she begins.

“Last night, not long after I got done fixing the temperature reg, I had a call from Campbell...”

She outlines the tense exchange with Campbell, his assurances about Red Gregor, and then her accusation, the argument and Campbell’s parting words. True to her word, Arkady doesn’t interrupt, though she frowns indignantly on Sana’s behalf a couple of times. As expected, however, when Sana gets to the second caller and reveals his identity, she explodes.

“What?! What do you mean, Ricky Q? How did that rat bastard even get your number?”

Sana gives her an amused look, but it’s tired. “I told you you’d be angry.”

“Did he hack us? No, he can’t have done,” Arkady says. “Goddamn it, I should have known he’d crawl back up out of the gutter somewhere-”

“Arkady,” Violet says quietly but firmly. She reaches across Sana and takes Arkady’s hand. “Remember what you promised. Let Sana tell it.”

Sana bites back a smile as Arkady goes pink, looking down at their entwined hands as if she can’t quite parse what she’s seeing. “I- fine, whatever,” Arkady stutters.

Violet looks serenely back at Sana. “Carry on, Captain.”

Sana presses her lips together with amusement, and files away the way that Violet says ‘Captain’ to turn over in her brain later, because right now she can’t give it the attention it deserves.

“He talked to the Fowleys, that’s how,” Sana says in reply to Arkady’s question. Arkady’s expression darkens, and darkens further as Sana recaps the conversation and Ricky’s threats.

“That bastard,” she hisses, and this time neither Sana nor Violet stops her.

Violet looks upset. “He said that someone on this ship has been informing to a middleman... but we haven’t had contact with anyone...”

“He’s lying,” Arkady says instantly. “He’s making it up to bait you. Sana, you can’t meet him, you don’t know what he’s gonna do.”

“He knew about Violet,” Sana points out, her voice quiet. “He knew things he never could have found out unless he had some kind of… source. I don’t know what it is,” she goes on, before Arkady can say anything else. “And I don’t believe it’s any of you. But I have to know how he got the intel.”

There’s silence for a few moments as they all contemplate the situation. Sana hates that they’re in this bind, that they have to bow to the whims of someone like Ricky Q because they can’t risk the alternative. And she resents the loss of what could have been a quiet, peaceful morning with her two favourite people if not for this whole mess. (Oh, who is she kidding - the Rumor has never even met “quiet” and “peaceful”).

“I don’t think you should go in without backup,” Violet says quietly. Sana looks at her in surprise, and Arkady does a double-take.

“Hey, that's my line!” she exclaims, mock indignant, but she’s looking at Violet with warm admiration. A tingling sensation spreads through Sana’s gut, and she takes a moment to appreciate the way these shared looks between Violet and Arkady no longer make her feel a stab of jealousy and loneliness; instead, she feels overwhelming affection for both of them.

Still, she shakes her head. “I said I would meet Ricky alone, and I will. I can handle him.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to,” Arkady points out, practically vibrating with frustration. “You can’t seriously believe he’s going to play fair with his one. You don’t know what shit he’s planning to pull. He could be waiting at the rendezvous with an army of IGR agents!”

Sana shakes her head again. “No. However much of a scumbag Ricky Q might be, he has more to fear from the IGR than we do. He won’t have tipped them off. Listen,” she goes on quickly, “I’m going into this to get information out of Ricky, so I need him to have his guard down. He won’t, if you’re there. And no offence, but I don’t think you could restrain yourself from stabbing him in the gut if you saw him again.”

Arkady shrugs. “Not really sure I see the downside there.” Violet gives a little snort of amusement. Sana smirks slightly, but then becomes serious again.

“I know you’re worried,” Sana says gently. “But I’m still the Captain, and if Ricky is making threats against all of you, I can’t let that lie. It’s my job to make sure you’re all safe. And to make life a living, breathing hell for whoever dares to cross us.”

Arkady smirks and stretches languidly. “I love it when you talk scary,” she jokes, though there’s a spark of heat in her eyes that makes Sana think she’s not entirely joking.

Sana smiles and reaches for Arkady’s hand, lying on the bunk next to her, and twines their fingers together. She does the same with Violet’s hand on her other side. For all that the situation with Ricky Q is a mess, and it could go sideways on them in the worst way possible, she feels calmer than she has done in a while. And her headache has miraculously faded.

“So...” she says. “Is this the part where we talk about... this?”

She feels Arkady go tense, as she’s prone to doing whenever feelings enter the conversation, but to her credit, she doesn’t pull away. Violet is nodding.

“I think... maybe we should? Arkady and I... well, we kind of talked about how we wanted to uh...” Violet blushes bright pink, but forges on, “take care of you, because you always do it for us, and both of us... care a lot about you, and we wanted to show it. That’s why we came to your room, last night. Well, this morning, I guess. I’m not even sure what time it is.”

“I was wondering that, too,” Sana admits. “And speaking of which, I haven’t even thanked you both for-”

Arkady groans and buries her face in the bunk’s one pillow, which she has somehow managed to steal. “Oh my god, can we please skip the speech? You really don’t need to thank us for that. At all.”

Sana knows from years of experience that Arkady’s protesting is her way of saying ‘you’re welcome’, so she isn’t affronted. She shoves Arkady lightly on the shoulder. “It wasn’t going to be a speech. I just wanted to say thank you. That’s all.”

Arkady makes an inarticulate noise of disbelief, and Violet grins.

“And, so that we’re all on the same page about this...” Sana begins, feeling like the ball is in her court now. She’s suddenly unaccountably nervous. They spent the night in the same bed, and Violet has just said that she and Arkady “care a lot” about Sana and wanted to show it, which is pretty hard to misinterpret. But Sana also hasn’t felt about anyone the way she feels about Arkady and Violet. And living as they do in such close quarters, she can’t afford to get this wrong.

“Sana?” Arkady prompts her, and the note of nervousness in her voice is enough to spur Sana on.

“I care a lot about both of you too, and have done for some time,” she says, feeling her face warm with a blush. “As more than just friends,” she adds, to be absolutely clear. “I don’t really know how… dating… will work on the ship, especially not with everything else that’s happening right now - but if you’re willing to give it a try, then so am I.”

Violet nods vigorously. “Yes. I would really like that,” she says, with a heart-melting soft smile. “And, well, Brian and Krejjh seem to manage somehow, so we can probably make it work, too.”

She says it with a grin in her voice, and Sana knows she’s saying it at least partly for the inevitable reaction it will provoke from Arkady when she emphatically declares that their relationship is in no way going to be like Jeeter and Krejjh. There’s a pause as both she and Violet wait for that reaction, but weirdly, it doesn’t come. Sana looks round at Arkady, who is red-faced and fidgeting with the pillow cover.

“So, uh, Krejjh might... know about the three of us already. At least, they know that I have feelings for both of you.”

“Really? How?” Sana asks, and from the surprise on Violet’s face, she can tell this is news to her, too.

“They sorta... gave me a pep talk. Last night. Just before I ran into you in the kitchen,” Arkady adds to Violet.

Violet’s eyes widen. “I wondered what that announcement over the comms was about.”

Sana senses she might have missed quite a bit while she was dealing with the double crisis of Campbell and Ricky Q. She makes a mental note to ask for the full story later. “So, let me get this straight,” she says slowly, because she is absolutely not passing up the opportunity to rib Arkady about this. A lot.

“You took romantic advice from Krejjh? The same Krejjh who kept inviting us to dinner with Brian when he was trying to ask them out? That Krejjh?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Arkady shoots back, still red in the face. “Anyway, it wasn’t really advice, it was more like... encouragement. They suggested that you guys might be open to the possibility of a relationship involving... all three of us. And something about Dwarnian relationship norms. Apparently polyamorous relationships are pretty normal for them.”

“Huh,” says Violet, contemplatively. “So I guess it’s Krejjh we should be thanking, then.”

Sana smirks at Arkady. “You realise that Krejjh is going to be insufferable about this as soon as they realise we’re together.”

Arkady groans again and faceplants back into the pillow. “Don’t remind me.”

(Sure enough, when the three of them enter the kitchen in search of breakfast - well, lunch technically - about half an hour later, Krejjh’s squeal nearly ruptures their eardrums. “Crewman Jeeter, come look! They’re holding hands!”

“We can hear you,” Arkady complains, half-heartedly.) 

[ephriza-dawnblade]

This is a long post pertaining many elements related to Ephriza's history. I appreciate you taking the time to read through it. Please enjoy.

“The Lady Dawnblade has taken ill. You are her only remaining heir so it is only fitting that you are there at her side in her final hours.”

The words played through her mind as she wrote a letter of her own. A scribbled message written with a shaky hand that belied her training.

Apologies, Captain, I have received urgent news regarding my family. I would not leave unless it was absolutely necessary and I fear that is the case. I will negotiate proper punishment when I return.

Sincerely,

Corporal Ephriza Dawnblade

She folded up the letter and cursed as she cut herself in her haste. The envelope sat upon the Captain's desk, awaiting retrieval as the void elf slipped out of the building.

---

The Dawnblade estate was a respectable compound in comparison to many but it hardly boasted the fervor and livelihood of other noble homes. The symbolism was not lost on Ephriza as she made her way up the main road to her old home.

A dying home for a dying family.

She thought, her eyes wandering the vacant fields. That wasn't to say the land was bereft of beauty, quite the opposite actually, the lack of attendants and workers left nature to reclaim much of the estate. The trees gave credence to the rumors of Eversong Woods, nearly shimmering in the sunlight. Hues of gold, orange, and red dotted the fields and a light autumn breeze kicked up the fallen leaves that had collected on the fine stone path.

It was a road she walked hundreds of times but one she had avoided for the past decade. The aged Dawnblade Manor say at the end of the path, an elaborate building with gorgeous architecture. The stone path circled around a fountain of brilliant marble, made to match the immaculate manor in its prime, now home to more if the same leaves that had swept across the land.

In the old days, when Ephriza was still a student, she would wander about the grounds, finding various secluded areas to complete her studies. She revisited the bench beneath the large tree that she read most of her books and then the pond in which she would skip rocks when she was bored. The memories flooded back to her; chasing her brother around the yard only to get scolded for doing so in her nice day dress. When she saw the old swing out by the pond it reminded her of her first kiss, her first love, and ultimately her first heartbreak.

There were many more as she passed by the stables on the side of the house but her reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing.

Ignatius. The family butler for as long as Ephriza had been alive. He was a serious, strict individual that didn't seem to like her.

“Madam Dawnblade. I am pleased to see you have arrived safely. The Lady is in the master suite, if you would be so kind.” He motioned for her to follow him into the house. He stared at her for a long moment and she felt his eyes wandering over her changed self.

“Hello, Ignatius. It has been a long time.”

“Do not worry, ma'am. I have taken the liberty of warning the Lady of your… condition.” He said in a matter of fact tone. “It is best that she does not experience too much of a shock in her current state.”

Ephriza was a bit taken back by his words, they cut her deeper than she had expected but she did her best to keep it to herself. The trip through the manor continued to bring back memories, everything from running through the halls as a child to leaving out the front door with her pack and embracing her brother for the last time. He was only a few years younger than her but she had always treated him like her own child, taking care of him even when he didn’t want it and ordering him around always when he didn’t want it. They had both become rangers but he had perished in the Third War during the defense of Quel'thalas. It had been their last visit home before being sent off to the front lines, they were in separate companies, and their final interaction had taken place as Ephriza left home. An older sister telling her brother to be careful and the brother reassuring her that everything would be fine was a common scenario that often played out fine but this was the time when he hadn’t returned. The news had hurt her more than any of the others; more than her father passing and even now with her mother on her deathbed she could still only think of the pain of losing her brother.

Her focus shifted back to the house as they moved through it. A grand staircase greeted any who entered, curving off in two directions while a large balcony lined the walls. The sound of her boots resonated throughout the spacious foyer until they hit the lush red carpet that lay over the wood. Paintings and decorations littered the walls and her eyes took time to look at each of them, just as she remembered them, as her hand held the railing leading upward. Hanging on the wall above the landing was a massive portrait of the family with a small plaque: Dawnblade Family - Benicio, Aurora, Ephriza, and Rylen. The four of them were posed for the painting; her father in the back flanked by her mother with the children seated in chairs in front of them. The portrait had been done over a hundred years ago, Ephriza guessed she was probably around fourteen, and her father’s dark hair had not even started to grey yet. He stood proudly beside his family, chin up and a serious expression on his face. None of them were smiling though she had imagined that the painter had to be imaginative with Rylen whom was nearly always laughing it seemed. Ephriza nearly identical to her mother, being around the same age as her mother in the painting. The resemblance was striking and that is what pained her the most because it reminded her of the time before her change - before the exile. She looked down at her hands, the dark purple skin that now covered her was a stark contrast of what she had once been.

There was another throat clearing from Ignatius and she nodded to him, following closely behind. They made their way through the halls to the Master Suite, her parents private quarters. It was one she had not been in often but it was just as she had remembered it from her past. Old hunting trophies on display, fine curtains drawn out to display a large balconied window with one of the best views in the house, and her parents’ massive bed. The bed was occupied by her mother, or the sickly shell of what remained of her. It was a sight that Ephriza was not prepared for, one that rocked her where she stood. Her mother had always been a strong, albeit overbearing, figure. It was not like her to show weakness nor to allow others to but in this state, with handmaidens nearby, she was the most vulnerable Ephriza had ever seen her. She stepped further into the room and Ignatius introduced her.

“It is worse than I feared.” Her mother began shortly. “Come closer, Ephriza. I need to look upon you more clearly.” A shaky hand reached for some glasses, one of the handmaidens quickly helped her, and she looked back to her daughter.

She approached and the others crowding the bed shuffled back, their mouths agape as they looked upon her. Her mother gave her a scrutinizing look and shook her head. “Foolish girl. You tampered with things you had no business tampering with. Just like you. This is why you could never get anywhere in your studies or with any of the callers. You never listened wh-”

Ephriza interrupted her. “With all due respect, Mother, you have no say in what I do nor do you understand what happened. The Void is an enigmatic power that needs to be studied. We cannot simply accept its existence, to - to ignore the dangers it can pose. How are we supposed to protect ourselves from it if we know nothing about it?” She tried her best not to get flustered but her mother had a way with her.

“I do not care about your studies. I know what you do, what you’ve done. You lie, you cheat, you steal, you kill. You were exiled and now you come back to me looking like one of those Highborne that forced us into this life. What have you done for our family? What have you done for the Dawnblade name?”

“I have fought for our people in every war. I stuck it out through our turmoil with the Humans, when they kicked us out. I was there when our people started calling themselves ‘Blood’ Elves. I experienced the pain firsthand while you sat in your manor doubting me. Your husband is dead. Your son is dead. What have YOU done for the Dawnblade name?”

Her mother wore an expression of pure hatred as she talked, shaking her head at the girl. An accusatory finger, aged and withered, pointed at Ephriza. “Do not speak of your father. You were not there when he died nor did you come to the funeral. The same for your brother! Where have you been all this time, Ephriza? Why do you come back now? Just to claim your inheritance? You wish to have the manor for all the whores and con artists you made friends with along the way?”

“Perhaps the reason I haven’t returned is because of you, Mother! Did that ever cross your mind? You are never satisfied! Why can I not live my own life? Why must I live the life you picked out for me? I am not you! I do not wish to be paraded around and given everything on a silver platter! Take your money to your grave for all I care!” The heated argument left Ephriza clenching the bed frame, digging her nails into the fine wood.

Another shake of her mother’s head indicated that she wasn’t finished. “You were never going to live my life. You weren’t cut out for it. You couldn’t do it. I was a fool to think you could live up to the task. Every opportunity was given to you, Ephriza, and you threw it away. It is for the best that the Dawnblade name dies with you. You have shamed it.” Her words struck a chord in Ephriza and she lost her temper. A violent scream rang out as she stormed from the room, followed hurriedly by Ignatius.

“Ma’am, I do not wish to overstep my bounds but it is necessary that you stay. In case you were planning on leaving, for the matter of inheritance is true.” He said behind her, causing her to stop halfway down the stairs. She turned and looked at him, expecting more. “Yes, well, you see. Your father, in his will, left you all of the estate and its holdings. His wishes were that despite whatever disagreements were shared between you and your mother, you would still be the sole inheritor.”

She started to head back up the stairs, to the landing where he stood. “You’re telling me that no matter what she says, I still get everything?” He gave her a nod and she shook her head. “It means nothing to me. I’d much rather give it all away.”

He gave another nod. “That being said, what you do with it is up to you, but for the time being I would ask that you stay so that we can take care of things the proper way.” He gave an insincere smile and motioned towards the opposite staircase. “Now, if you’ll follow me to your quarters.”

(relevant: @blackbay-wra @quai-mason @brian-wellson @mycoronervinny @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @malodarstarstrike )