#marick: something just like this

[dramatisperscnae]

@resignedworkaholics from [x]

"Cops were digging through the rubble of that building," Dick said with a wry grin and a shrug. "I figured it would be worth asking if they'd found anything in there, just on the off-chance. Got my phone back, too; turns out they weren't even in the part that collapsed, apparently." Which was lucky, really, given the state of that building and the explosion that had destroyed a good chunk of it. "Couldn't find your watch, though," he added apologetically. "Sorry…"

It was incredible, the difference between Q and the man who'd taken over that body the other night. The latter was - as far as Dick could tell - ruthless, calculating, and willing to do whatever it took to survive, while the former was absolutely timid in comparison. Though Dick felt that was probably doing Q a disservice; there was nothing wrong with being a confirmed civilian, and Q certainly wasn't a coward by any stretch.

He paused at the invitation, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before shrugging. "…I mean, if you want. I didn't figure you'd be all that keen on more time in my company, given every time we've met so far something bad's happened." The other guy had certainly been pleased to see the back of Dick, but that was the other guy.

[mav-tomcat-f14]

Ch 1 - Playing With The Boys - Top Gun Mav and Rose (OC) story.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- A/n WC - 2361 I have has so much fun making this story, that I hope other people like it to, Please leave feedback good or Bad I do not mind. Sorry for any Spelling or Grammar mistakes Playing with the boys part list and summary

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What a day, getting sent up to look into a bogey sighting around our aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, Myself and my RIO (Radar intercept officer) Mark William who we all call BullDog because he is big and he likes to bark orders at people even if they are ranked higher than him, My good friend Pete Mitchell aka Maverick, and his trusted RIO who happened to be my big brother Nick Bradshaw knows as Goose or Goosie as I like to call him, we also had Cougar and his RIO Merlin, 

It was meant to be a simple go up and have a looked but it turned into an almost dog fight with two MiG-28 one of which locking on to me with a missile but didn't shoot like they were playing with us wanting to see what we would do, I won’t lie I was tempted to blow them out the sky but our orders was to not fire unless fired upon, with some fast-moving and sharp turning I got the Mig off me only for it to head for Cougar, Who did not do so well, one moment he calm the next he panicking calling for Maverick and me to get in and help,

I got a missile lock on them just like they did with me as Maverick took the moment to have a little fun inverting his jet over the Mig, not long after that it was flying off home, and we got the call to head home too, only Couger was not responding, he was silent, all I could head was his heavy breathing as his RIO told us he messed up, 

I had lander first and taxied over to the side as Maverick was coming into land but at the last moment he pulled back up something I know he was going to get his ass chowed out for later, I stood on deck Bulldog next to me as we watch Mav and Couger come flying in Couger flying dangerously low before pulling up last second lading on the deck of the ship.

Now here I and BullDog stand outside the big mans Stinger's office waiting for him to call us inside as Maverick and Goose stand on the other side Sweating from how hot it is inside this carrier, Couger had not long gone in before us, I could head voices but could not make out what they were saying, 

“Why do you think we are here? we landed, we did our orders”

BullDog asked standing tall next to me as I had my back on the wall slouching a little, as I chowed on my lip not feeling worried. 

“Relax it’s probably just a briefing and to ask what went on up there, nothing to be worried about” 

I commented not bothering to look at him, but looked over at Goose and Maverick who both looked at me Goose smiling and Mavrcick giving me a wink, 

“Yeah you two will be fine, it's more like me a Mav here that are going to get told off after going back up to help Couger”

Goose points out, BullDog lets out a small laugh.

“When are you too not getting into trouble over the shit Maverick does” 

BullDog has been my RIO for two years now, and I trust him but sometimes he can piss me off with his comments about Marick, I stand up tall letting out a small huff of air from my nose before elbowing BullDog in the rips softly, but he acts as if I did it hard, making me roll my eyes at him, 

“I think what Mav Did was kind, Couger needed a little help, ok, and I would hope that if that ever happens to me, he do the same for me,”

I tell BullDog who just looks down at me, making a face of slite disapproval, which confused me a little more than I have already been with him lately, he has been acting differently he is not his same funny self finding things funny, he stiffer now, I was about to say something else when the door open, and Couger walked out, Goose called to him but all Couger said was ‘Thank Maverick’ with a node, 

Before anyone could ask him more all our names were called to get in the room and he did not sound happy at all, we all turned to walk in the door when Mav stopped and said Lady first getting a laugh from Goose and a shove in the shoulder from me as I opened the door, I know Mav was not being a 100% Gentleman like, he just did not wanna walk in that room first, No of us did, 

Walking in we all stood in a line standing tall and just wanting for Stinger to talk as he looked at some files on his Desk, 

“Maverick, you just did an incredibly brave thing.” 

He started by saying, but I get a feeling he not meaning it in a ‘yay way a go Mav you did amazing’ more like you're brave to be disobeying orders …. Again.

“What you should have done was land your plane, You don’t own that plane, the taxpayers do. Son, your Ego is writing checks your body can’t cash. You’ve been busted. You lost your qualifications as section leader three times. Put in hack twice by me”

Stinger went on to say looking over his glasses at Mav, as I stood beside him and Goose on his other side and BullDog next to me, 

“With a History of high-Speed passes, Over five air-control towers, and one Admiral’s daughter.” 

I could hear Goose whispering Penny Benjamin which made me need to hold in a laugh at the memory of watching that happen, Stinger may have missed the small sound coming from me but BullDog did not, giving me the same small hit to the rids I did to him outside. 

Stinger got up from his desk taking his glasses off as he wakes behind us toward Goose, 

“And you, Asshole, You’re lucky to be here”

His Comment to Goose made me turn my head giving him a small dagger look, lucky for me his head was turned away not to see, it

“Thank you, Sir” 

Was all Goose said back to him, 

“And let’s not bullshit, Maverick, Your family's names ain’t the best in the Navy. You need to be doing it better and cleaner than the other guy, Now, what it is with you?”

I swear someone has pissed in Stinger's coffee today, he can be an Asshole but today he was double the asshole, Stinger was now in front of us almost getting into Maverick's face as he talks

“Just wanna serve my country, Be the best fighter pilot in the Navy, Sir”  

Mav answered back, 

“Don’t screw around with me, Maverick, You’re a hell of an instinctive pilot, Maybe too good, I’d like to bust your butt, but I Can’t, I got another problem here” 

When saying that he looked over at me, making me raise an eyebrow at him, 

“I gotta send somebody from this squadron to Miramar, I gotta do something here, I still can’t believe it, I gotta give you your dream shot, I’m gonna send you up against the best, you Two characters are going to Top Gun”

Part of me felt happy for them going to Top Gun Is a big thing but the other half hated it, they will be gone and I will be here alone, it has never been like that since I joined they have always been with me, 

“And I can’t believe and having to say this too, But am sending Rose and BullDog with you, BullDog I understand but Rose”

He just looked at me smiling, the same smile I have seen many times, the smile of ‘Yeah right like you can do that’s’ But I’ve wiped that smile off many people's faces and it would give my great pleasure to wipe it of Stinger's face, he now turned his eyes back to Maverick who I could see out the corner of my eye smirking,

“For a year you’re gonna fly against the best fighter pilots in the world, You were Number two, Couger was number one, Couger lost it, Turned in his wings, You guys are Number one, But you remember one thing, You screw up, You’ll  be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog shit out of Hong Kong”

He looked between Mav and Goose before moving to stand right in front of me, 

“And you, if you don't last more than a week you also be flying Dog shit around, lets Hope BullDog here can keep you in order, I know about your high-Speed passes too, don’t think that I get you mixed up with other people, Girl”

“Yes sir” 

That was all I said looking him in the eyes, I was not scared of him, I’m used to getting looked down upon for being a ‘girl’, he backed off looking at all four of us, 

“That is all, You can tell me about the Mig some other time,”

As Stinger said that we all started to leave the room, BullDog being the only one to salute him, Mav was the first to open the door, but stopped when Stinger called out, making us all look around at him, 

“Good luck”

He said to us all, getting a thank you from us all, Mav then moved to the side making a hand gesture for me to go first, I smiled at him as I walked out the room, with him and Goose close behind, ending with BullDog, 

“Top Gun baby here we come”

Mav said all excited picking me up and spinning me around making me laugh before putting me back down putting his arm over my shoulder as well as Gooses, Me and Mav are not together no matter what some people think, but then again some people think me and Goose are twins and Mav is our younger brother, which is way wrong since Mav and Goose are the same age, 

“Let's just hope, you're not going to be flying Dog shit around”

BullDog said laughing, Oh so he can still have a laugh and a Joke, I turned to look at him, stopping making Mav stop too as he does not let his arm fall from my shoulder, “I think if I fail BullDog, you fail too, so we both be flying shit around, but I don’t plan to fail, I plan to show him am a good pilot and I can do just as good as anyone else, and to prove I have the best RIO than anyone else”

I smiled at him, getting a displeased sound from Goose as he punched my shoulder, 

“Hey I have you know I’m an amazing RIO just ask Mav” 

I looked at Mav who then look at Goose and surged his shoulder smiling at him, the look on Goose’s face it the look of a dog who just had its favorite toy taken away from them, making me and Mav laugh, 

“You the best Goose, am only play with you”

Mav tells him ruffling Goose's hair only to have his hand slapped away, 

“Not funny, Not funny at all, that hurt, it really did” 

I just laugh ducking under Mavs arm to hug my Brother, by this time BullDog has already fucked off as he does when we get into our same old playful mods, Pulling away from Goose, as we started to head down the hall to our bunks.

“Did he say when we are leaving?”

Goose asked a good question, he never said when, 

“Someone will probably tell us later on before lights out”

Mav replied pushing his way between me and goose to put his around over our shoulders again, Which I have to say, for anyone walking behind us would find funny as Goose is much taller than Mav, it was a bit of a reach for him to do it, but with me being smaller than him he does it was ease.

“So you snecking into our bunk again after lights out to finish that game of cards?”

Mac asked, I just laugh shaking my head at him, the first time I did it I was worried I get told off and kicked out of the Navy, but after the fifth time it was a walk in the park, and sometimes I did not know I was doing it until I was in their room, 

“And what risks getting seen and them taking away my chance to go to Top Gun, you must be crazy”

I tell him moving away from them to walk down a different hall as our bunks were not in the same place, being the only woman on the ship I had my own room, Yes there are other women in the Navy but not many get to go out to sea or in the air, as we slip up I turned around watching them walk away,

“Hey Mav”

I shouted to him making him stop and turn on his heels to look at me, 

“You best not cheat and change my cards again like you did last time”

I called to him making him give me one of his big smiles, 

“Does that mean you coming?”

“Only if you don't change my cards” “I won’t change them if you come”

I could not help myself but laugh, this man has to be the cheekiest man I have ever met and he knows it, he also knows he can get almost anything he wants by flashing that smile of it.

“Rosie you think too highly of him, to think he can ever remember the number of the cards” 

Goose then said making me let out a belly laugh watching Mav spin around to look at Goose who took one look at Mav and turned to sprint down the hall with Mav on his heels, 

Life without them boys is not a life I wanna live.

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

An Array of Unknown Plants

A/N: a story of a set of non-WIP OCs and how the prince may or may not find himself in trouble.^^

Word Count: 1348

TW: None

***

A lack of curtains on the windows provides light that fills the entire library, exposing dust covering books, scattering every place it touches. The door at a corner opens as two people enter.

A prince and a knight pull up at a desk, the latter setting a pot of plants on it. He takes a step back, dusting his hands. For the rest of the day, he's going to seek for answers to understand these items. If anything, he's learned that a library is always prepared with a book, which can assist him in finding it.

Moving towards a shelf, his eyes scan across various titles on it.

During this particular hour, Prince Marick was supposed to attend a lesson with his tutor, Miss Devreaux. He didn't intend it in favor of researching for an important topic. He could delay it and wait for it at another day. He had sufficient skills in terms of how to behave as royalty.

This is the only time when he doesn't have to obey orders from his parents, the two Queens. He cared for them both and respected them, it was just. . . they tend to stop him from pursuing on what's important to him. Telling him to focus on more frivolous non-sense, which he despised to be included in.

So, he did things that royals probably shouldn't do. Regardless, he kept on doing it and didn't think it would have an affect on his reputation.

On one of his travels, Marick discovered something unlike anything he had seen in his entire life. He planned on retrieving it, only to be stopped by the royal secretary. They exchibated a cave, where they found unusual properties not around in the kingdom.

Including a variety of plants that carries different properties than most plants in the nation.

Thanks to that journey in the cave, he discovered these plants in there. It had been on the ground, sprouting in the darkness miraculously. He removed them and decided to bring it back to the palace. He looked after them and it glowed within the light. It's green leaves shining like candle light except green and without fire.

With this vast library, there are bound to be books available to help him to know what these plants are. It must be in any of these selves, somewhere. He'd spend all night looking for it, if he had to.

"What are we supposed to be doing here?" Dame Tae asks, her arms folded across her chest.

"Nothing," he answers, briefly scanning a book, "I'm only going to check what these plants are supposed to be magic. There has to be something to help me understand it."

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "I don't believe you'd find anything that can do that, your Highness."

At least, Tae has the decency to keep her head up and clear. For as long as he can remember, she's been by his side as his royal bodyguard and defense trainer. Granted, he's not the best at wielding a sword for he drops it quickly if he thinks he might have accidentally stabbed something. Which, thankfully, never happened in his training.

"What's the problem in trying?" Marick closes the book, shoving it back on the shelf.

"These plants are rather. . . mystical, I doubt there's anyone who's discovered it before," she explains stiffly. "That's all. And I can't watch either of the Queen scold you for this. If they learn on what you're doing, they'd send you to your room."

"Don't worry, I'm sure they won't be too bothered. As long as I keep myself far from their sights, they won't have to catch me at all."

Tae narrows her eyes then pats the hilt of her dagger.

"It's all ancient. Are you sure you can understand it?"

"Of course, I am. After all, there's a lot of knowledge to uncover, and I've prepared for it."

"Alright then. You may proceed, your Highness."

"These mysterious plants," Marick says, rubbing his chin. "They might be of use for us."

Tae raises her brows. "How could you tell?"

"Not sure yet." He closes another book again.

Who knows what they can be used for? Perhaps, they can provide a source of light. Or grant health for a user. Or they can be helpful for healing. There are various possibilities in what those plants can do and he intends to look for that answers.

"I don't know, this seems. . . risky, don't you think?"

"Are you hesitant, Tae? This isn't like you."

"I am, because if you do something that lead to severe conequences. You had been nearly kidnapped for your genius a while back, and I can't risk it if it happens again."

'"Trust me, Tae, I won't let it happen."

He's not foolish to know this might lead hungry-powered people to capture him. It's a risk that he won't take, regardless of how. . . compelling these plants might be. It's properties must contain a rare material they might snatch it from anyone. Most scientists and pursuers of knowledge tend to be unlucky in their pursuit to seek for answers.

With a bodyguard by his side, he doesn't have to be afraid. Still, he understand her and she does have a point. She's been there with him since they were teenagers. He was peeved at how his mother told him that he needed to have one.

Eventually, they got to know each other better and more than bodyguard and prince. Tae doesn't speak on their relationship or friendship much but he likes to think they're friends. Two people, who have gotten close due to circumstances and all that. That beneath that stern and stoic exterior is a person, who's dedicated to fulfilling her duty.

Of course, she'd be fearful for his well-being: it's a part of her job description, after all. He'd be a fool to not acknowledge it.

Tae glances down, clinging onto her sword. She takes a deep breath and nods. She doesn't need to speak for him to understand what it means.

So, he continues on checking various book titles for hours. To find small information regarding plants but not the plants, which he found. He doesn't see anything about plants that thrive in darkness and glows like light. He clenches his teeth as his head aches. To think he can count on the library to have answers he needs.

For once, he's, utterly unfortunately, wrong.

Perhaps, it might be a splendid idea if he documents on these plants instead. If there are no books to help him with this, he can examine and observe them himself. He can put it down on a notebook,

"Let's go to the royal greenhouse," Marick says, removing the pot of plants from the desk. "I can watch them in there and there are supplies for me to take care of them."

"Take a cultivating plants book with you, so you can learn how." Tae shrugs. "I doubt you ever touched soil while tending to most plants in there."

Yes, he should. He got some books on that topic and Tae carries the plants as they go out of the library. They walk down into the castle's hallway and into the landscape of it. Dreary skies and heavy clouds greet them as if alerting them on how there might be a change in weather.

This can be an opportunity to see what it might do to those plants. If it has a different effect on it than those regular ones. There are a lot of promising things and this can be one of them.

If these plants turn out to be good, maybe he can tell people about it. However, if they turn out to be useless. . . he'd retreat to his room. He'd be mortified to learn that these plants aren't mystical and he only assumed.

These mysterious plants are difficult to understand. However, he's coward and he's willingly looking forward to any challenge it throws at him.

Okay. . . perhaps, not all challenges, only a few of them. Still, he's open for any improvement in terms of knowledge.

***

[hoodwinkd1]

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 1-3

I originally posted this story on AO3, but wanted to bring it to my Tumblr now that I’m back on here. Enjoy!

Fic Summary:  After Eris becomes High Lord, there's only one thing on his mind, now that his father is dead and he can finally leave his horrible façade behind. A slow burn romance featuring the misunderstood prince of flame and his mate, a powerful teacher who can't seem to step out of her small town life.

Ch 4-7 here.

Chapter 1: I was enchanted to meet you

It's no small thing, murdering your father in cold blood.

Not that anyone, even Beron, was surprised.

Eris looked at the bloody sword in his hand and then at his father's corpse, lying on the ground at his feet. He closed his eyes as the power of the Autumn Court rushed over him like a tidal wave of fire.

The new High Lord knew that he would have to deal with the consequences of his coup today. But tomorrow, after the dust settled and he dealt with his treacherous brothers, he knew exactly where he needed to be.

The night turned into a swarm of activity as the castle reacted to Beron's death. Advisors fought for a seat at the table, servants spread the rumors like wildfire, his mother gently took him to bathe as it all became too much. Eris slept that night, without terrifying dreams for the first time in centuries

--- He woke to the sunlight filtering through the trees. He had to leave now, before anyone could find him and monopolize his time any futher.

Eris winnowed as soon as he was dressed, landing on the outskirts of a village that had seen better days. He had only been here once in his life, ninety-five year prior, decades before Amarantha took over. His father had sent him and one of his younger brothers to several towns in the Autumn Court as part of their duties. This one had been a bustling center of trade and power, known for its capabilities in producing talented Fae children and training them in magic.

Eris remembered his utter boredom as he watched the parade put on in his honor. His brother Marick had scoffed at the idea of watching children perform small magic tricks, but Beron had insisted they attend to find any who were powerful enough to warrant interest from him. His father always had a nasty habit of stealing children away from their parents to become part of his court.

Eris also remembered the moment his life shifted. As the children moved to the center of town square, beginning their show, his eyes drifted slightly to the left.

And landed on hers. The teacher.

The mating bond snapped, harder and faster than anything.

If she felt it, she gave no indication. Her eyes returned to her students.

Eris swore that this bond, this life-changing connection, would not be ruined like every other good thing in his life. He shoved all the overwhelming feelings and instincts deep into himself, securing his facade into place. The Autumn Court would never know another side to him besides the arrogant, powerful Heir.

But now his father was dead. He was the most powerful Fae in the Court.

Eris wasn't sure how he would find her, or if she even remained in this town. Or, Cauldron damn him, if she was even alive.

This town had suffered. Almost every building showed signs of abandonment or violence and he could sense that the number of Fae in the area had been more than cut in half.

He wandered aimlessly for a bit, unsure. He was terrified to reach inside himself and attempt to tug on the bond, anxious he would find nothing on the other end. Finally, after passing yet another empty house with smashed windows, he pulled himself together and grabbed for the bond.

Gasping as the feeling rose up from within him and overwhelmed his mind, Eris began walking, not entirely in control of his body. He walked by one block, then another, before stopping in front of a one-story building. It stood out as one of the few that looked well-maintained, with all its windows intact and even a flower bed next to the door.

His mate. Alive. In this house. His hand knocked before his mind processed the enormity of emotions at this moment.

One breath passed. She opened the door.

“Can I help you?” she frowned, wary of strangers. He took in everything about her, from her dark hair, slipping out of a frizzy bun to her comfortable clothing, probably pyjamas.

“My apologies,” he started. “I--you surely don’t remember me.”

She turned her head slightly, brown eyes taking in his face. “Have we met? I prefer straight answers from strange males at my door.”

“My name is Eris. I promise I wish you no harm.” Her eyes widened.

“My lord, you must forgive me,” she responded, sharpening her tone to hide her surprise. “It’s not often that royalty appears on my doorstep.”

Eris noted her tense muscles and reluctance to let him in. This was not a female who trusted.

“Forgive me for showing up uninvited. I have a...personal matter to discuss with you and I would rather do it in private.” He attempted a reassuring tone. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but please,” he trailed off, unsure what to possibly say to convince her. His horrible reputation probably preceded him.

She looked him in the eye. “Do you know who I am?”

“I only know that you teach children. I was here for a demonstration, decades ago.”

Shockingly, she stepped back and opened the door wider.

“Certainly, you could have blasted through my wards and yet you chose to knock,” she explained, gesturing him in with a wave of her hand. “How bad can this personal matter be?”

Eris walked in and saw a large, empty room with a mirror on one wall. She led the way over to a table next to a small kitchen. They each chose a chair, then looked awkwardly at the other.

“Can I get you something--”

“No, please, sit down,” he interrupted.

She sat. And pinned those piercing eyes on his.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his soul dying for the answer.

“Rhiannon.” And it was like the entire world shifted, as if he couldn’t imagine any name more beautiful.

“Rhiannon,” he said softly. “I have no good words to say this. When I was visiting, all those years ago, I saw you as the children gave their performance.” He hesitated.

“Lord Eris, I would rather you say it bluntly,” she jumped in. “To be quite honest, I’m extremely worried at the moment.”

“Please, just Eris,” he corrected. “And yes. You’re right. Of course. Well, I felt the mating bond that day. With you.”

If only his enemies could see him now. Keir would keel over of laughter watching him stumble through a simple conversation.

Rhiannon had gone completely still. She stared at him, as if waiting for the punchline. He shrugged.

“You did say bluntly.”

She stood suddenly, stalking over to the kitchen. For some reason unbeknownst to Eris, she began making a pot of tea. He waited.

As the kettle whined, she waved her hand, directing two mugs out of the cabinet and onto the table. Of course. The teacher of magic children would have to have magic as well.

He said nothing, still, as she brought over the tea. Rhiannon poured herself a cup and then watched him do the same.

She broke the silence as he took his first sip. “You’re being serious.”

“I would never joke about something like this,” Eris remarked.

“Why now? That had to have been, what, a century ago?” she demanded. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the daylight from the window above her head.

He looked down at his cup. “I killed my father yesterday. I didn’t think it safe to acknowledge you before that.”

“You---what?!” she yelped, almost dropping her cup. “I said blunt, not absolutely earth-shattering.”

He choked back a laugh. “My apologies. I’ve had a stressful few weeks. But truly, I worried what my father and brothers might do to a partner of mine and never would wish to put you in any danger. So now, at least, I know that threat is handled.”

She considered this. “I have no idea what I’m feeling right now.”

“I understand. More than you now,” Eris acknowledged. “I don’t have any expectations of you. I only hope that we might spend time together, getting to know one another.”

“Get to know you. The High Lord. As my...mate,” she echoed. “I could, I think I would be fine with that.”

“As whatever you want,” Eris disputed. “As I said, I don’t expect a thing.”

“Then as friends. And privately, at least at first.” Rhiannon looked him over. “You’ll have to come here, during hours I’m not teaching or with others.”

He couldn’t believe she had responded positively. Eris would have agreed to any terms she set.

“When can we start?”

She smiled at his obvious enthusiasm. "Tomorrow night. And you're bringing dinner."

Eris couldn't control the huge grin at her smile. This female would probably ruin him and his reputation. Not that he minded in the slightest.

"Anything you want."

Chapter 2: not where the story ends

TW: Mentions of past sexual assault and panic attacks. Nothing graphic or specific, but please do not read if this will harm you. I"ll put XXX before and after any mentions if you need to avoid.

So the High Lord of the Autumn Court had shown up at her door. And thrown her life entirely off-course by announcing they were mates.

Rhiannon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort her thoughts and feelings into some sort of organized pattern. Her little two-story house and work studio felt suffocating, too small for all the chaos in her head. Throwing off the covers, she grabbed a pair of boots and a coat, winnowing to the street.

The town of Malefic, once a bustling city, stood quiet that night. Rhia wasn't surprised. After five decades of Amarantha, the population had decreased to only a couple thousand. She was relatively sure she could name almost every single Fae, and none of them were night owls.

She strolled down her street, aiming for a field of wheat at the edge of town. It helped to be in a wide, open space where she could see the entire night sky.

Eris Vanserra, the oldest son of the cruel Beron Vanserra, had shown up at her door. One of the most callous and powerful males in Prythian had knocked on her door and awkwardly asked to come in. And he had been, well, sweet. Kind. Attentive.

He'd explained some of his reputation, claiming that his father only valued power from his sons. He told her so much about his history, his regrets, his shame. And she had actually shared some of her life as well. The pull between them had opened her lips, despite her brain screaming at her to think rationally about all the red flags.

Because, unfortunately, even less powerful and less feared males could do so much damage. A fact Rhia knew all too well.

So many citizens had fled or sought aid from the capitol when Amarantha took over. Many others were killed or thrown into those horrendous camps. But Rhia and several other powerful Fae came together and warded the town. They could only cover a square mile, but it was enough at first. For twenty seven years, they maintained the wards, grew their own food, raised children to fight, and lived in fear, but not terror. They had all appreciated how much worse life could be.

Until a group of males snuck through the wards. To this day, Rhia never found out how they managed to get in.

The town woke the next morning to ransacked supplies and distasteful graffiti. The adults breathed a sigh of relief, for they knew how much worse it could be.

XXX

Sofine Linswell woke to her best friend sobbing on her bathroom floor.

Rhia woke to her best friend picking her up off the bathroom floor and hugging her close.

One of the males, as the group had split up, had stumbled upon a small, two-story house and work studio, probably looking for supplies like his companions. Unfortunately, this male found a sleeping, vulnerable female and did what any terrible, depraved soul would do.

Rhia hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed for months, and even now still had nights where she couldn't sleep in the small bedroom.

It had been decades and her life had returned back to almost normal, especially after Feyre Cursebreaker saved the day. She could even have casual sex again, but only with males she knew didn't have more than a drop of magic in them. The fear of being forced to lie still, struggling against invisible bounds, made it difficult for her to trust anyone with more power than she had.

Sofine, her best friend of more than a century, had talked her through many panic attacks over the years before they figured out her aversion to powerful males. Luckily, their little town saw almost no newcomers and Rhia knew her strength could dominated any of their neighbors. Not that she ever needed to, but the thought comforted her.

XXX

But the Cauldron had the most fucked-up sense of humor.

Eris Vanserra had shown up at her door. A male that had infinite more magic and power than she did.

Worse, he was awkward and kind and vulnerable with her. Her stupid brain couldn't just write him off or send him packing.

He hadn't been close enough to touch her once last night, so Rhia had forgotten about her issues for a few hours. But as soon as she closed her eyes, her mind drifted to what it would be like to lie next to him and all the darkness came rushing back.

She hadn't told Sofine yet. The night seemed like a dream, like an unbelievable story you tell yourself to fall asleep.

Eris had given her a piece of parchment before he left and told her to write if she wanted him to come over again. He'd been so obviously nervous that she would never write to him that she'd smiled and told him to keep an eye on it. Yet now, under the midnight sky, she was overwhelmed at the idea of taking a step forward.

She sat in the wheat until the sky started turning pink. Another day of teaching, lunch with Sofi, and cleaning her house.

Winnowing back to her kitchen, Rhia started making a pot of tea. Only caffeine would make this day run smoothly.

Waiting for the boil, she glanced over at the table and saw the piece of parchment glowing. Confused, she went to pick it up.

I apologize if this is intrusive. You probably think I'm incredibly desperate (because I am incredibly desperate). But I just wanted to say that I will take any part of you that you would give me. If you're willing to put me out of my pathetic misery and give me a chance.

She laughed. The rumors simply could not be true. This male couldn't be the same as the cruel, misogynistic bastard that tortured his brother's lover. She couldn't say how, but she knew that for certain.

So, as the sun spilled over the horizon and another peaceful day started, she wrote back.

Chapter 3: passing notes in secrecy

Eris couldn't believe it. It simply couldn't be true.

His advisors, his friends (well, all two of them), even his mother had commented on his mood. He was smiling, often unprompted, and making jokes. The palace full of nobles had no idea what to do with a High Lord that made jokes.

And he was getting his ass kicked in training. Gerwin, one of the two friends, looked down at where he lay on the floor.

"It really shouldn't be that easy for me to take down a High Lord," he grumbled. "First there are rumors of you acting like a fool in meetings and now this?"

Eris stood, pretending to brush some dust off his shirt. "No one thinks I'm acting like a fool. Just differently than my father." The last word got stuck in his throat on the way out, dampening his mood a bit. All of Prythian knew what he did and yet he still hadn't told the actual story to anyone. It felt like a confession, proof his guilt, an irreversible action that might suddenly inspire his Court to abandon him. Although he knew rationally that was unlikely (he had widespread support that came from not being a violent, evil bastard), Eris still felt like he could lose his throne at any second for any reason.

He faced off with Gerwin again, focusing and actually winning the fight.

Eris raced to his chambers after his training session, at a speed more fit to an energized child than the most powerful male in the Autumn Court. He threw open his bedroom door and scrambled to open the top drawer of his nightstand. There sat a glowing piece of parchment.

She actually wrote back, he marveled. Even though she had been writing back at least once a day for the past week, each message still brought Eris a flash of joy and shock.

Their first interaction had been tense and awkward. Her body language had clearly indicated she was uncomfortable with him in her home, but she hadn't kicked him out. The conversation was good, great even, but stayed to safe topics like her town's endeavors and his fumbling advisors. Eris fully believed he had thoroughly fucked up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and would never hear from her again. Except she kept writing.

I hope you understand this taxation argument, because I surely cannot. Some of us were meant only for brute force and fighting, not percentages and financial sheets. He had complained about one of his endless meetings yesterday, where the Financial Minister had almost burst a blood vessel when Eris suggested taxing the rich more than the poor. Outrageous.

He grabbed a pen and chewed on it thoughtfully. His responses were finely crafted to keep the conversation flowing easily and show off some of his stellar personality. His mother's voice, kindly accusing him of acting like an adolescent, floated through his mind. It was rather childish to spend this much time thinking about a female and wooing her, something he'd never really worked hard at before.

I'm glad to know you claim expertise on brute force, since apparently I no longer can. My friend just destroyed me in a training session, in a way that was very embarrassing for me and unbecoming of a High Lord. If I had more friends, I might even accuse him of treason just to avoid my utter defeat again. How are your students?

---

Did he have some sort of magic that could figure out her schedule? He must. There was no other explanation for how Eris managed to send her a message right before she had an important commitment. Rhia had shown up to her classes, a town hall meeting, and now dinner with Sofine with blushing cheeks and an unmanageable smile.

"Ha! There it is! That silly expression you keep getting," Sofine accused, pointing a finger at Rhia's dark red cheeks. "I've been complaining about my leaky sink for two minutes and you sit there staring off into the distance."

"Sorry, sorry, it's just been a long week," Rhia mumbled, turning to grab some bread off the counter so Sofine would stop trying to read her expression. "Classes, students, you know how it gets."

"I surely don't! Students make you groan and complain; this is like....this is more of..." Sofine trailed off, trying to put a finger on what could have her friend so distracted. "Well, honestly, if I didn't know you better, I'd say this was more of a schoolgirl crush." Rhia had no response to that, so she stayed quiet. Sofine gasped, her mind clearly spinning to fill in the gaps,

Maybe staying quiet was going to get her in more trouble. "Sofi, I love you so dearly, but I clearly don't have a 'schoolgirl crush' and I'm not sure how I would've managed to keep that a secret from you." Rhia hoped it would be enough. They were both over a century year old and yet sat here gossiping about crushes. Absurd.

Luckily, her friend let it go and the rest of the conversation was blessedly normal. After finishing a bottle of sparkling wine together, the females decided to call it a night. They both had the day off tomorrow and had huge plans to attend the local farmer's market.

Humming to herself, Rhia began to slowly clean the glasses off the table. Her thoughts trailed away from the town and towards the capitol. Eris. She hadn't written back to him yet.

Perhaps writing to the High Lord of the Autumn Court who was also your mate after half a bottle of wine wasn't the smartest idea in the world. Rhia hushed that logical voice in her brain and grabbed the paper to reread his response. Silly, how such a little joke about a rough training session caused her to blush again.

There was no second-guessing, no careful editing, no worry as she wrote back. The High Lord taken down by a simple training instructor? I would have loved to see it. My students are little terrors as always, though none are powerful enough yet to spar with me. I suppose I'll go through a similar embarrassment when they are.

His response came so quickly. Was he sitting in bed, just waiting for her to write him back? She giggled at the image, then giggled at her giggle because she wasn't the type of Fae to giggle normally. And the word giggle sounded funny.

My pride is quite grateful you weren't there to see it happen. A second later, as if an afterthought, another line appeared. And if you ever actually would like to see me, all you have to do is ask.

Her insides warmed. She blushed, yet again, at the shameless flirting. But at the same time, her brain kicked into overdrive at the idea that this was more than letter writing and idle flirting. The High Lord wanted to see her and she wanted to see him, a terrifying thought that would normally send her running. Luckily, the wine kept her mind open and her words flowing.

Maybe I only want to see you get kicked beaten knocked around in training.

Scratch that sentence I don't think I'm making sense. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.

"Oh shit," Rhia cursed at her confusion. The wine certainly wasn't making anything clearer.

Let me try again. I'd like to see you in my kitchen again.

In your kitchen? How specific. I'll be there whenever you tell me. And, please correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you would still enjoy watching someone beat me up in a sparring ring. Eloquence fails us all sometimes, it's quite alright.

Aren't High Lord supposedd to be busy? Her handwriting had started looking noticeably sloppy as her eyes began to droop. I have no plans tomorrow night.

Excellent. Tomorrow night. And no, we simply appear busy while others do all the work. It's a very simple and fun job.

I'm going to bed. Otherwise I might make more of a fool of myself. Rhia doubted that Eris would mind some sloppy handwriting and confusing messages, but she knew worse things might come out if they stayed up late in the night, writing on this stupid piece of paper.

---

Eris couldn't believe it. He was seeing her again tomorrow, technically today since midnight was long passed. He closed his eyes, feeling something that felt a bit like redemption and forgiveness grow within him.

[gregnas-the-grouch]

I guess my curiosity has gotten the best of me. Let's see what happens when Eudai takes posession of the guardian of the mystical evergreen forest Merick! (ask-the-Evergreen)

“Tell me, what is a friend to you?”, the buff Gallade spoke to himself. Sitting down in a meditative position, his face the definition of calm and collected. Silence followed for a brief moment before the Gallade spoke up again. More emotive and exasperated than before. “A friend? It’s someone that… hmm, it’s a bit complicated” the Gallade spoke out loud, trying his best to form it into a more coherent message. “A friend to me is someone you hang out with! They’re someone you play around and laugh with! Someone who is there for you in good times and bad. Does that make more sense to you?” A long silence came after, the seconds felt torturously long before the first voice responded again. “No, not really. I see no beneficial outcome to this beyond having these individuals solicit their services and trust to you. Yet, from the sounds of it, you make it sound to be more than that, when I see nothing beyond that. As if you involve yourself with them beyond that.” The Gallade paused, the other voice was silent, as if confirming the first voice’s suspicions.

“Well, of course, why wouldn’t I? When you make friends with someone, it shows that you care about them, even if it puts yourself at risk” Merick explained casually. Yet for Eudai, the ghost seemed unsatisfied with the answer. The ghost himself was about to respond, only to cut himself off as he heard the sound of a feminine voice in the distance. “It seems your female compatriot has come looking for you. We’ll continue this conversation another time.” Eudai muttered, slowly standing up as his host looked nervous. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me go now, will you?”, Merick asked with a bit of hope in his voice. Eudai never responded. Letting out a sigh, the Gallade huddled in a mental corner of his mind, wondering how much longer he’d remain a prisoner in his own body.

As the Roserade approached Eudai, the ghost’s flickered through an assortment of emotions before settling on a mildly pleased expression. “Oh, hey Gail, what’s up?”, the Gallade inquired as Gail shot him an annoyed look. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you goof! You’ve been gone longer than usual and I got worried”, the plant murmured. Merick stared for a second before letting out a light chuckle. “Ah, sorry about that, Gail. I’ve just been practicing one of my moves and needed a bit of time to myself, y’know? Didn’t mean to worry you like that.” The man let out a slight yawn, “must be more tired than I thought. Wanna head back home? I could use the nap.” Marick chuckled lightly as he walked past Gail. The woman raised a brow, staring for a moment before shaking her head. She could have sworn something seemed off about her friend. If only for a moment.

[ask-hetaaca-czechaslovak]

Intervention

With most of her room packed away into boxes, Adéla started her way back to Marick’s room.

It was rather funny, one could say. Every day she’d only leave him for a couple of hours, under the guise of doing laundry, and every day she would make more use of the cardboard boxes left unfolded in the back of her closet. Better still, she knew when she would disappear in a few days she wouldn’t be able to bring a single box with her as she and Mason boarded the ferry to the mainland, where her brother would then drop them off at their respective home counties.

She’d have to have someone send for her belongings. It’d be the last contact she’d ever have with this godforsaken school.

She’d yet to acknowledge the topic when spending her days in Marick’s room––as far as he knew, he’d convinced her to continue her education at WAW on the day Ludwig’s dossier dropped. It was better this way, she decided. If she were to disappear she wouldn’t have to admit defeat, wouldn’t have to see the broken look in the boy’s eyes as she turned to go.

And so now, standing at Marick’s door, she kept a neutral face, clenching and unclenching her hands to relieve the tension that built in her body every time she made preparations for her escape.

She knocked, twice, as usual.

When she saw the lost look on Marick’s face as he opened the door, the dark circles under his eyes left unaccompanied by his usual cheshire smile, she knew something was off.

She looked up at him a few moments longer in the doorway, not quite sure what to say.

“Marick, can I come in?” She finally asked, the words uncomfortable as they left her mouth. Something was very, very, wrong.

“Make yourself at home.” he shrugged, a tired smile trying to unfurl across his face. Taking a seat on his bed, he tapped the spot beside him twice, trying his best to act like the adult he definitely was not.

She followed him in, caught off-guard by how exhausted he looked now. She’d never seen him look so old, so frighteningly neutral, and perhaps the most stunning, so quiet. She felt anxiety building in the pit of her stomach, like a child on their way to the principal’s office, and already her heart rate began to quicken.

“Did something else happen?” she asked, trying to keep her tone steady, “I’ve been away from my phone the whole day.”

“Were you planning to leave?” Marick didn’t acknowledge her explanation, too exhausted now to even pretend like there was any other topic of conversation they were addressing. He levelled a look at her that he hoped felt half as comforting as he wished he could be, some desperate attempt to live up to the responsibility that was now his life.

Adéla’s mouth fell open, her mind racing for some kind of explanation where there was none. She already felt the guilt in her throat, choking her voice off, and once again she started to flex her fingers at her sides, pulling at the bedsheet, anything to distract her.

“You talked me out of it,” she said, all too aware of how dry her mouth was, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The aggression that normally characterized her defensive side was nowhere to be found. She knew, in that moment, she wasn’t defending herself for doing anything she deemed correct. How was she already lightheaded?

“Mm,” Marick hummed, suddenly fighting the growing lump in his throat. Even now, looking at each other in the eyes, Adéla still would not tell him the truth. He would not call his current emotion betrayal, because that would imply that he expected something from her. Instead, it was just the hollow feeling that everything he tried to do to help over the past week amounted to absolutely nothing. 

Adéla cursed quietly, under her breath, and looked down at her hands, now rapidly wringing together while she scoured her mind for some excuse. She knew she was caught. Still, she withheld an admission of guilt. Apology, for her, was always out of the question.

“I heard from one of your friends that you were planning to leave,” some last burst of misplaced mirth tumbled out of Marick’s mouth, too hysterical to be entirely genuine. “He said you two would steal a ship. Jesus, Adéla, you’re smart. Surely you know better than that?”

Adéla’s shoulders tensed, raising towards her clenching jaw. 

When this was over, she promised herself, she would kill Mason.

“We weren’t going to steal a fucking ship.” She muttered. “There’s a big fucking difference between catching a ferry and stealing a boat. That boy’s too stupid to be trusted with anything, Christ.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.” Burying his head in his hands, Marick let out something between a sigh and a huff of laughter, the sound shot through with fatigue. “Please, Adéla. I know you’re determined but we had a talk! I–”

Marick’s voice cracked with emotion, the crescendo of pleading punctuated with a painful choke. 

“I thought I got through to you.” He finally mumbled, averting his watery eyes from Adéla’s gaze. 

Adéla looked up at him as soon as she heard the tears in his voice, horrified by what she’d caused. She’d done this. After everything he’s done for her––she’d done this.

Once again she fumbled for words where there were none, her usual bite completely diminished, her hands clenched so tightly she didn’t need to look back down to know that her knuckles were white.

This was the conversation she was trying, so desperately, to avoid. She wanted to keep Marick separate from her choices, she knew he’d been put through enough, and yet somehow she’d rationalized getting close to him, knowing that she’d intended to disappear since the beginning of the week.

Adéla was never good at comforting the people around her, always a brash and aggressive force who lacked the kind words needed to soothe those so thoroughly exhausted, so broken as Marick.

She knew she didn’t deserve him.

She knew she was practically incapable of apology.

So she did the next best thing.

Casting her eyes down so she didn’t have to see his face, she pulled herself up from the bed and ran away.

–––

Nothing quite stung more than knowing a promise made was broken. 

Marick stared at Adéla’s retreating form, defeated gaze following her sweatshirt-clad form until the door slammed behind her. Logically speaking, he knew there was nothing he could do. She took these conversations like a cornered animal, and he knew that pursuing her would only make her lash out.

The only thing he could do was play the waiting game. To just sit around while Adéla escaped to parts unknown. 

Marick sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed, the fatigue of the past few days hitting him all at once. He had promised the sheep boy that he wouldn’t let Adéla out of his sight, and yet, here he was, alone in his room while Adéla could be anywhere on the island. Or perhaps she was on her way to get off it already, boarding a ferry that would bring her to the mainland. 

But there was nothing he could do about it now. With a silent prayer thrown up to whatever forces of the universe that guided his quirk, Marick left this issue, like so many through the course of his too-lucky life, up to fate.  

A few hours passed, with each second creeping by agonizingly slow. Marick had attempted to go to sleep and get the rest that he had given up in the chaos of the past week, but it was clear from his clenched jaw and tensed muscles that he was far too stressed to sleep. 

The rest of the time was spent listlessly puttering around his room, too worried to do much more than to half-heartedly learn a new TikTok dance. He had kept a close watch on his phone, hoping for a message from his runaway friend. Yet, even as the afternoon trailed into dusk, no such text came. 

It was time for Marick to find Adéla himself. 

If she were not already on a boat headed off the island, then there was still a chance for a proper talk, and he already had a hunch about where she would be. 

Grabbing his trusty skateboard, Marick headed out the door, trying to swallow the trepidation that stuck in his throat. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, reminding him that it was only a few short weeks ago that he had met Adéla. He almost couldn’t believe that the distrustful girl, crumpled to the forest floor not so long ago, was the same one who had now sobbed into his sweater and slept in his bed. 

Even without his lucky instinct guiding him, Marick knew exactly where to go. He retraced the same forest paths as he did the last time he was here, the wheels of his board kicking up dirt and pebbles behind him. From here, he approached the clearing where he had met Adéla, the sense of Déja Vu lingering in the back of his mind. 

“Hey,” he called, voice soft like how one would talk to a wild deer, carefully trying to not set off any skittish instincts to run. “Adéla? You there?”

It was not a question he needed to ask, as his quirk would not have brought him to a place where she wasn’t. But he wanted to give her the choice of conversation, a tentative olive branch offered in peace. 

At the sound of Marick’s voice, Adéla stifled a sob in her throat as she raised her head from her folded arms. She remained unresponsive, hoping perhaps he would leave her be, relieve himself of the caretaking position she so clearly didn’t deserve to have beside her.

Remaining on the path just outside the clearing, Marick folded himself down to sit on his skateboard, unwilling to intrude on Adéla’s space if she truly did not want him there. 

“If you really want to go, I won’t stop you.” He paused, struggling to find the right words to say. “I just want to talk to you before you leave. Say goodbye, y’know.”

Marick chuckled, gazing down at his shoes. 

“Well, at least, I hope it’s you in there, Adéla, and not an empty clearing. Or I’ll be sounding really fucking stupid right about now.” 

In the distance, Adéla took a shaky breath, turning from the tree she was leaning against to peer at Marick.

Once again, she was left completely off-guard by how tired, how vulnerable he looked. Another pang of guilt rang in Adéla’s chest as she slowly began to creep out from the clearing. 

She still didn’t speak up as she stood away from him, if anything just to confirm that she was there, as she met his eye from several meters away.

“Addie!” Marick grinned, leaping up from his board. However, seeing her now, eyes wet with emotion, insects swarming over her body like she was an already-dead corpse, his enthusiasm abated slightly.

Very indelicately pointing at the bugs on her skin as though he thought she hadn’t noticed them, Marick chuckled uncomfortably. “Yoh, before the whole emotional talk thing. Are you like…. good with that?”

Adéla paused for a second, grateful for the however-brief shift in topic, to nod as she gave a tired shrug. Still not uttering a word, she lurched forward further, already starting to fidget with her fingers once again to calm the nerves she felt spiking.

“Uh, yeah. Okay, cool. So that’s a thing.” Rambling inarticulately, Marick glanced down at his own fidgeting hands, clearly uneasy with the silence.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, wiping his palms on his sweater. 

“Well, if you are leaving, I just want to say that you are probably the smartest kid I know, and that you’ll be doing great things no matter where you are. Uh,” He chewed at his lip, hoping to say anything that might make Adéla reconsider staying. “I just... I hate seeing you throw away so much for some dipshit kids and shitty ranking system.”

Stopping suddenly, Marick looked away, jaw clenching with emotion. 

“Again, it’s your choice to leave or not. But fuck, can I at least get the courtesy of a goodbye?”

Watching Marick start to crack once again, Adéla bit down on her lip as she trained her eyes on the ground in front of her.

Obviously, he was right.

And even more obviously, she shouldn’t have started this in the first place.

But she hadn’t intended to say goodbye.

Goodbye implied that she would have told anyone of her plans before due time, allowed others to bear the weight of her actions, and even worse, allowed Marick to unravel while he was already being put through so much.

Some plan that was, with him once again on the verge of tears in front of her, practically begging for an answer where there was none. There was no explanation she could give, no excuse that could leave her lips, that she felt could suffice.

So Adéla looked back up, tears in her eyes, and nodded.

“I’ll miss you,” she started, already cringing at the emotions that warped her voice as she struggled to keep her tone straight, “you were the one person here who understood. So goodbye, thank you, really, for everything.”

She peered up at him, eyes wrinkled with remorse, with sadness, and weighed by the deep purple circles that formed beneath emotion-swollen eyelids.

At first, Marick opened his arms wide, intending to sweep Adéla into a hug, however, he faltered as he took notice of the insects still swarming over her skin. Still, the sight of her choked with emotion and regret caused a deep ache in his chest. Her hurt was something he could not fix, no matter how hard he tried. 

Striding over to stand in front of the girl, Marick tried to meet her gaze. 

“C’mon,” he coaxed, fraternal warmth returning to his voice, “Just… tell me why you’re really leaving. Our last conversation, okay?”

Adéla met his eyes and, hesitantly, nodded. She messed with the sleeves of the sweater she was draped in, exhaling deeply as she tried to put words to the dark, incoherent thoughts that raced through her mind. After what was probably only a few moments, but what felt like hours, she began, slowly, to speak.

“This place, I–– I was never supposed to be here. It feels like no matter what I do, I stagnate, I–– It’s never going to be enough.” She internally cursed her lack of articulation, words leaving in broken fragments, choked sobs, while she tried desperately to explain herself. She at least owed Marick that much. Another deep breath as she continued. 

“And now I’ve–– I’ve humiliated myself, and the amount of eyes, the looks that I get now–– I don’t know if their sympathy or anger is worse. It’s not safe here. I have to leave.”

Hands trembling, Marick brought his palms to rest on Adéla’s shoulders. She had shed her mask of animosity to reveal her anguish, and at the very least, he was thankful for her honesty. 

“Hey uh, can you tell your little buds to buzz off for a second? I don’t wanna hurt them.” Though half-joking, his voice too was thick with tears. 

Adéla smiled, just for a moment, a wet chuckle escaping her throat as her eyes trailed to the insects still circling around her, crawling up her sleeves. She shrugged hard a couple of times, muttering gentle words of encouragement under her breath as the cloud of bugs started to dissipate, and picked a particularly stubborn fly from her hoodie string before looking back up at Marick.

As soon as the last delicate insect left its spot on Adéla’s borrowed hoodie, Marick swept her up into a tight hug. In a way, he hoped that the embrace would say all that he didn’t want to admit to the world, that he would miss her. Just as much a comforting gesture as it was a confession of defeat and a prediction of regret.

“People are always going to think something of you, kid. You can’t just pack up and run away whenever someone gets judgemental.”

He pulled back, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. 

“To me, you’re worth more than every single one of those pompous hero-course kids combined. Don’t measure yourself on someone else’s strengths, because then you’ll always fall short. You have the freedom to do what you want, but just... don’t make that decision because of other people. If you think leaving is the best thing for you to do, then I won’t stop you. Just, think about who you were when you came to this school when you say that this all has been useless, because that is the only person you should ever compare yourself against.”

Once again, the tears building in the corners of Adéla’s eyes started to slip down her cheeks as a pained grin blossomed across her face, lower lip quivering.

“When I came to this school I didn’t know anyone but my brother. I was content to leave it that way,” she laughed just slightly as she continued, “so thank you for fucking that up. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

She paused to grip at the sides of her sleeves, once again trying to put words to the decision she was about to make. She never did sorries, concessions, or remorse. 

And somehow, even then, the words felt correct as they left her lips.

“I’m going to unpack my things.”

With a loud whoop, Marick scooped Adéla up into another, decidedly more enthusiastic hug, swinging her around like a child with a teddy bear. 

“Well, I guess when you met me, it was your lucky day!” Setting her back on the ground, he grinned down at the girl, both their faces still red with emotion. He hadn’t expected that answer from Adéla, not from a girl as stubborn as she, with her instinct to double down on whatever she felt was under attack.

“Still though, do you mind if I supervise? I don’t think I’ll be letting you outta my sight for a couple of days, made a promise, y’know how it is.” 

With a tearstained grin, Marick offered her his arm to begin the long walk home. 

Adela rushed to his side immediately, leaning into him as they began to make their way back to the dorms.

“I don’t mind at all.”

[Thank you @ask-hetaaca-southafrica for writing all of Marick’s dialogue and action descriptions!! this was so much fun to write and this tiktok mans has my whole heart]

[ask-hetaaca-southafrica]

Intermission

It seemed like these quick snatches of travel were the only times Marick ever had any silence anymore. Before everything happened, before hospitalizations and whistleblowing, he would have laughed at the idea of enjoying moments of quiet instead of breaking them with a grin and a joke. Now, it was the only time he could rest, eyes red with something between tears and exhaustion. Nudging open his thin dorm room door, Marick threw his skateboard and bag on the ground, collapsing into his forest-green beanbag chair. 

His midnight escapade to visit Adga had been heartbreaking, sitting by her cold hospital cot and staring into her milky eye, the quiet hum of the machines around them reminding him of the severity of the situation. He had tried to crack jokes, lighten the mood in the dark hospital room, but even his words sounded weak in the heavy air. He had left, eventually, after Agda became too tired to chuckle at his desperate quips and he felt the heavy panic begin to creep into his lungs. It was selfish of him to be scared while there are others more affected, more hurt, more vulnerable. As the auspicious son of the universe, there was nothing he could do but try to help.

Marick stared up at the dark ceiling, taking comfort in the steady breathing of Adéla asleep in his bed. She was so peaceful like this, nothing like her conscious spitfire self that snarled at offered hands, too often scorned to expect anything else. He had given her a place to feel safe, to be able to lower her hackles without fear, a place where she need not prove herself to the always-judgemental audience of her mind. He hoped that it was enough. In their world of heroes and villains, all someone like him could do was provide a respite from it all. 

Collapsing deeper into the beanbag like a puppet with cut strings, Marick felt the heavy weight of exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. 

He would not let himself pause. He could not let himself feel. Not while Adéla slept on in the same room, not while there are a thousand concerns more pressing than his. Staggering to his feet, he huffed out something too bitter and exhausted to be a laugh. Who would’ve thought that he, irresponsible, stupid Marick, would be the one flitting from duty to obligation, never allowing himself a respite long enough to crack.

He dragged his lead-heavy bones out the door again, turning left and slipping into the bathroom. 

Too exhausted to even turn on the lights, Marick pawed at the sink, the hiss of water and gurgling of the drains being the only sound in the far too empty dorms. 

He stuck his hands under the stream of spring-cold water, the chill leaving blooms of red on his tanned skin. In a singular, fluid motion, he splashed himself on the face, the frigid surprise feeling as harsh as a slap jolting him back into his body. 

Glancing back up at the mirror, Marick felt a hysterical laugh claw its way out of his throat, wild hyena cackles choking out of his heaving chest. He didn’t even recognize the person in the mirror, the one with dark shadows cast under his eyes and limp wet hair drooping over his too-tired face. Even his golden freckles, something that he had been endlessly proud of, shined less brightly in the shadow of the room, looking less like gold and more like dull brass. 

Half-collapsing onto the sink, he clutched at the porcelain, unsure if his own choked gasps were sobs or laughter. His fingers tingled and his head spun with lightheadedness, face numb to the involuntary tears gathering in his eyes. 

Slowly, he willed his breath to even, hands coming away to wipe at his emotional-swollen eyes.

This was not the time. 

Marick took a shuddering breath, fists clenched at his sides. He twitched his face into his signature grin, the muscles feeling heavy and wrong beneath his skin. With another glance at the mirror, he met his reflection’s eyes, smiled, and walked away. 

Settling back onto his beanbag chair, Marick pulled out a game console, the harsh light irritating his already tender eyes. He yawned, turning to look at Adéla once again. She continued to sleep, face finally free of the worries of the waking world.

He would stay awake tonight and guard her peace.

---

Adéla wasn’t quite sure when she drifted off. She remembered the light hum of an air conditioner in the background, the cozy atmosphere around her and Marick, a laptop pressed between them while they streamed some animated movie she was barely paying attention to, and the warmth of the hoodie she was wrapped in, like everything else she’d worn throughout the week not belonging to herself. To be fair, for the past week, she’d found herself walking around half-asleep constantly, both restless and inexplicably tired. 

So she was only mildly surprised to find that she’d woken at three in the morning, the shades of the windows drawn, wrapped in a comforter and tucked into Marick’s bed.

Adéla had never enjoyed being the subject of pity. It was a dirty, rotten feeling, knowing the people around you saw you as weak, as incapable of handling yourself. She was on the receiving end of it for the past few days by many, and against the scrutiny of others, sure. Some could claim it was better. But, at least, on the receiving end of scorn, of hatred, no one could call you weak. 

So she was never one for being watched over, showing others her vulnerabilities, exposing any little thing that indicated weakness.

She found, to her own surprise, that she’d unconsciously made an exception for Marick.

Marick, who was currently sitting on the other side of his room, having forfeited the bed to her to instead lean into a beanbag couch, focused on the game console he clenched just a little too tightly between his palms.

Marick who smiled constantly, full of energy, and was always a willing shoulder to cry on when things looked bleak. 

Adéla found herself reminded of her older brother by his optimism, the urge to seal the promise that everything’s gonna be okay, that I’m here, you’re alright, and even if she didn’t agree she could suspend her disbelief for at least few minutes while the two kept each other company.

Before Marick, the gentleness Adéla had known from others was a superficial one, pity in their eyes and saccharine words on their tongues as they bemeaned her. Other people, in her mind, became faceless, a collective, a hive constantly picking at her until she felt she was the only individual left, the only autonomous mind she could trust.

Perhaps this is why Marick, who’d practically forced himself into Adéla’s world, offering her a hand and a genuine, sound, voice of encouragement, proved himself different. He broke her self-imposed isolation with a bright smile, an encouraging voice, and the promise that he understood her, rather than a half-assed claim of sympathy.

“I was just like you kid,” she could recall him texting out barely three weeks ago, “obsessed with being a hero but couldn’t make the course.”

She’d resented those words, made them her mantra for the next few days as she worked herself into the ground, swore if she ever met the boy who’d sent them in person she’d give him a piece of her mind like she never had before.

And, in a way, she was right.

(Thank you to @ask-hetaaca-czechia for writing Adéla’s part and beta-ing my section!! You are a king amongst kings)

[vishers]

Friday-ish Links

An old friend figured out that you can make a grammatically correct sentence out of 3 repetitions of Poop. She seems to be absolutely killing it in the quarantine homeschooling unpleasantness. It made me think of one of my favorite examples of English ambiguity: the "buffalo" sentence by Dmitri Borgmann (best known for his work in recreational linguistics! 😂).

Miss Amy suggested that run books are actually just technical debt. While I agree on one hand I disagree on another. It's true that if you can write a sufficiently robust runbook to the point where an unskilled operator can simply follow the steps slavishly to solve the problem then you might as well take it one step further and write a program that does the slavish steps. Even so, I believe that run books are essentially extremely cheap first steps towards possible automation. If you look at a run book I write it does bear some similarity to a program. There are "if this, then that, else that" sections for sure and I do comment on them like I might in a program. But there are many more holes and explicit calls to say to the operator (often myself) "Last time I looked at this it was very ambiguous. Take a second to look around so you're sure you're doing the right thing. Add some notes right here if you see anything new." My intention is not that an unskilled operator can respond to things. My intention is that my learning and your learning can begin to merge until we think it's stable enough to write a program. The process of writing the program then is a heavier weight activity but should have been made as lightweight as it could be by virtue of having a body of discovery underpinning it in the form of the run book it replaces.

My buddy Joshua sent me this t00t because he knows how much I love D&D, Common Core, and Homeschooling. I'm constantly struggling with how to get my kids really into non-fiction texts which is one of my favorite insights from Common Core and it had never occurred to me that they way they devour the D&D Core books and duel with me on every minor detail the rules indicates quite a successful engagement with non-fiction text indeed.

Hidden Brain on NPR rebroadcast (AFAICT) Fake News: An Origin Story on 2020-04-30 on WHYY (my local NPR station) in How Failing Newspapers Cost Us All. It was an incredible listen all around but the quote that really caught me was

TUCHER: Yes. There was a real debate about the term faking in the 1880s and 1890s. But it was a debate in which many people argued, many journalists argued, faking is a good thing. By faking at that time, they didn't mean nefarious manipulation. They meant embellishment, adding some details, filling in gaps that they hadn't been able to see at the time, making an interviewee sound a little more articulate. It wasn't wholesale manipulation, but they argued that people would like that better because it gave them truth that was closer to what they expected, that it gave them stuff that wasn't boring, that - nobody wanted a newspaper said one handbook for journalists…

VEDANTAM: In other words, if the mere recitation of the facts doesn't do justice to the truth, the honest journalist actually goes beyond the facts to try and represent the truth.

TUCHER: Yes, yes. You can do a higher truth that way, and that's a term that we hear a lot, you know, somehow getting at a higher truth by glossing over inconvenient details. But this was a genuine movement. In the early years of the professionalization of the press, there were professional journals in which this argument was made… But in general, yes, there was a real sense that it was a good thing to do.

This of course immediately brought to mind a long standing debate my buddy Redmond and I have over the relationship between Truth and Fact. Elie Wiesel has said: "Some stories are true that never happened." While I agree that Truth reflects something greater than the sum of the facts that make it up, I still staunchly make the claim that Truth is separable from fact and can (sometimes) be gotten at more easily by lying about the facts in play.

Depression has been an enormous part of my life. My Mom suffered from it. My wife suffers from it. I think in some small ways I suffer from it. I had forgotten that Peter Sagal had opened up about his own depression on The Hilarious World of Depression with John Moe but was reminded of that fact on Fresh Air.

There's nothing more exquisitely pleasurable to me than spending a long evening locked in deep conversation with a small group of people. I am a great lover of good questions that flow freely in those times. Naturally I was intrigued by this post on Quartz and even more amazed that I had never even heard of Warren Berger and A More Beautiful Question. Boy do I want to read these books now.

eccentricj posed an interesting question on Clojureverse: "Are we the programming equivalent of “fake” martial arts?". I'm partly thankful just because I had never heard of the world of Fake Martial Arts that they reference and I think that just speaks for itself. But I also think that it's a good introspective attitude to have towards your tools. The idea that your language/ecosystem is the 10x language/ecosystem and everyone using anything else is brain dead and that you'll run circles around them is silly. It immediately called to mind this quote that I ran into recently.

Q: Is there a programming language that is the best choice for all (or nearly all) application development? If yes, which language is it, and what makes it best? If not, what would it take to create such a language?

Ritchie: No, this is silly.

Stroustrup: No. People differ too much for that and their applications differ too much. The notion of a perfect and almost perfect language is the dream of immature programmers and marketeers. Naturally, every language designer tries both to strengthen his language to better serve its core community and to broaden its appeal, but being everything to everybody is not a reasonable ideal. There are genuine design choices and tradeoffs that must be made.

Gosling: I think the one that has the best broad coverage is Java, but I'm a really biased sample. If you're doing things that are heavily into string pattern-matching, Perl can be pretty nice. I guess actually those are the ones I use much at all these days. Most of the older languages are completely subsumed; the reasons for using some of them are more historical than anything else.

---Interview with Dennis Ritchie, Bjarne Stroustrup, James Gosling

The uncomfortable truth is that because there's no silver bullet languages are more like productivity systems than any of us would like to admit.

This also brings to mind Brian Kernighan's talk on successful language design which is really good in its own right. Kernighan definitely seems to fall into the camp of pragmatic DSLs. Once you have a language that is purpose built to solve the problem at hand it should become quite simple to express the solution to your problem in that language.

Had on opportunity to link to BashFAQ/028 which is always fun. The vagaries of script location are quite surprising.

This Guardian article on an actual historical event that closely resembled Lord of the Flies was fascinating.

via Brian Marick

I don't understand Linux logging nearly well enough and I probably never will given that it's all being ditched for Docker anyway.

The issue of compliance testing against terraform is becoming more and more of an issue as we distribute control of our infrastructure around my company. I like the idea of using something like eerkunt/terraform-compliance (blog) to do static analysis rather than standing up actual infrastructure.

This post by Camille Fournier hits very close to home right now. This is my job and it's hard for all the same reasons she outlines.

This pair of posts sings my tune. Choose Boring Technology!

AWS Networking 101 is not particularly well named IMO and it has some very interesting insights regarding what you can and can't control in your AWS VPC. If you're looking for a higher level conceptual overview you should really head to AWS VPC Core Concepts in an Analogy and Guide.

via Corey Quinn

Love discovering new coreutils tools. In this instance it's numfmt because Steve Purcell had the gall to post something publicly positive about awk. xD

I try to take everything I read on the t00ts with a grain of salt but this t00t from a supposed education scholar fits my understanding of the world so it must be right. It's easy to think that because mass education was so recently introduced homeschooling/communityschooling must be easy or natural. Unfortunately most of us have no idea how homeschooling ever looked before and our expectation of education is entirely shaped by modern notions of what the goal of education is. The idea of teaching your modern renaissance style curriculum to your kids while doing full time work is, as the author suggestions, "batshit insane".

Peng Yu once again with a case of "why in the world are you using bash for this?" question.

Re: How to pipe just stderr to stdin in a pipeline?

Premature Optimization

I love Honest Trailers and they did one for Bladerunner 2049!

Whooooooooooooooa original broadway cast Hamilton is coming to Disney+ on July 3!

I've listened to a lot of Tom Lehrer over the years and despite nearly failing out of Chemistry I did love me The Elements set to the tune of The Major-General's Song. Helen Arney kills it with the addition of 4 new elements over a napping child!

via TARDISLittleFreeLibrary

Also Tom Lehrer: New Math (concert live) (1965)

Hello, my name is Mike, I'm a recovering True Believer - Mike Anderson

My wife recently watched through Wild, Wild Country on Netflix. It brought to mind this post by Mike Anderson about a community you may not have heard of that was very influential to me. I think about it often. The fallout is still happening.

I love automation. It's all about this statement from In Praise of AutoHotKey.

There’s something about the difference between “a single hotkey” and “four steps” that makes me more likely to bother.

When something is cheap and abundant why not do it all the time. Also I found out Hillel also has a 'Current Web Page' hot key!

Sci-Hub seems cool if not, as Hillel says, striiiiictly legal.

Will the Supreme Court crown Trump king? /sigh The Christians elected Trump President hoping a lecherous, sexist, broken, egotistical, predatory, narcissistic man could be the champion that would end abortion and take back control of the Supreme Court. He took back control of the Supreme Court alright. With sycophants who would love to repay him the favor if they can of elevating him to monarchy.

I recently finished reading The Art of PostgreSQL. I heartily recommend it. Definitely taught me many things that I had no idea SQL could do. I'm especially a fan now of lateral joins, window functions, and lag. He linked to 3 different sites that I thought were especially good:

Rob Pike: Notes on Programming in C

Basics of the Unix Philosophy

Database Design: Normalization Basics - Techniques

My god. The idea of mocking out entire clouds is… Well it's something… localstack/localstack

News about my favorite parasite? Yes please!

via Brian Marick

QAnon Is More Important Than You Think. File this under things I wish I wasn't aware of. Like I was struck by during the Impeachment Inquiry I just don't know how we're going to survive the sundering of the realities we perceive we live in.

Rich Hickey praises the JVM as it turns 25.

Makes me think of java sucks

Java doesn't have free().

I have to admit right off that, after that, all else is gravy. That one point makes me able to forgive just about anything else, no matter how egregious. Given this one point, everything else in this document fades nearly to insignificance.

[thedesperatehousehusband]

The Continuing Saga of Soap Operas

I don’t know if this happens to you. But it happens to me. Not every day. More now and again. There are days when I wake up in the morning and my first thought is this: “Goddammit, I really miss All My Children.” It’s potentially just me.

I used to be very invested in soap operas. Borderline addicted. It dates back a very, very long time. I was probably in late junior high. In the summer, I would eat lunch around noon and noon is when a person could tune into the day’s exciting episode of All My Children on ABC. Eventually, I would go back to school but on days off, holiday breaks and the like, I would tune in. Until the next summer when I was able to watch daily.

Then we got a VCR. And shit got real.

I began to record the show Monday-Friday. I would catch up when I got home from school. Or on weekends. Or when no one else was watching TV. My dad was not down with the machinations of Erica Kane so when he was ready to watch TV in the evenings I had to relinquish control of the TV to him.

In college, things escalated. Not only did I watch All My Children every day but I expanded my horizon to also include General Hospital. But then I figured out that I could record something on the VCR and while still watch something live. Because I was often home over lunch in between morning and afternoon classes. So several days a week I also watched The Young & the Restless and The Bold & the Beautiful.

It required a lot planning and forethought because VCR tapes only held so many episodes. You really need to be vigilant about watching, rewinding when you’re done, fast-forwarding to the end of the episode or changing tapes.

After college, I kept up with AMC and GH for many, many, many years. But Juan wanted no part of it so when I moved to Indy my soap opera days ended. All My Children no longer exists and I feel like General Hospital is hanging on by a thread.

But a million years ago the stories of Pine Valley, Pennsylvania were V-E-R-Y important to me. In retrospect the whole genre is completely ridiculous. But that’s OK. Story continuity, good acting and realism are overrated.

Following are thoughts, comments, questions, memories and meanderings about the 40-plus year history of All My Children

·        Erica Kane was married approximately 10 times.

·        Erica Kane was the first soap character to have an abortion. In the mid-70s. This would still stir up a ruckus today. I cannot fathom the uproar back then.

·        Why was there always a cosmetics company? Enchantment was Erica’s company. But why? Do independent cosmetics companies exist in Podunk towns in PA?

·        All My Children really invested a lot of time in developing diverse and minority characters. Angie & Jesse make me smile to this day. They were cool and on the front burner of the show for years. Well before there were a ton of primary black characters on any show not just soaps.

·        If all else fails, create an evil twin. When things were getting boring for Natalie, here comes her sociopath sister Janet who throws her into a well. Then Natalie impersonates Janet. This also helped the show to introduce us to Dmitri Marick which leads me to…..

·        If all else fails, introduce a bastard brother/son. Dmitri was some sort of Russian aristocrat (living in Pennsylvania) who is thrown for a loop when his bastard brother (Edmund Grey) is introduced.

·        Children do not age naturally on a soap opera. One day there is a child actor playing a precocious character, the next day the character is a teenager who is horny, up to no good and somehow rebelling against his/her parents.

·        There are always rich people who fall in love with poor people and vice versa. The upstairs/downstairs trope is what keeps most soaps on the air.

·        The tragic heroine will be imprisoned for murder. Just accept it. It’s going to happen. Erica, Brooke, Dixie, Julia and countless others….all murderesses. Some of them framed, some of them killed their attackers. But it’s going to happen. There will be tearful witness stand moments then there will be day-rate actor who plays a judge who renders a verdict. And it’s not going in favor of our girl. She will go to prison for a few weeks and then ultimately be saved.

·        That one time when the bridge blew up and Billy Clyde didn’t make it. Because Billy Clyde was an amazing character. Then you found out that the actor who plays Billy Clyde is married to Christine Baranski in real life and your mind is blown.

·        The rich will lose all their money and have to start from the ground up. That’s what happened to Palmer Cortlandt. He lost it all at Cortlandt Electronics and then bounced back with a fried chicken franchise restaurant using Opal’s recipes from her backwoods West Virginia upbringing. Because there was ALWAYS a hill billy relative that someone was trying to outrun or pretend did not exist. Faking who you are and then getting found out was BIG on AMC. It adds mystery.

·        A creative, exotic name is better than being called “Bob”. There was Silver Kane, Erica’s nutso sister. There was Angelique who was some sort of frail wife of Dmitri’s who I think was presumed dead. There was Alexandra who was a grande dame with a BIG personality. Brooke, Cecily, Laurel, Myrtle, Phoebe, Mona, Liza, Dixie, Opal, Winifred (she was a maid), Kendall. You have to have a fancy-ass name.

Really the pinnacle of my soap viewing came when I was living on Bissel in Chicago. That was the year Susan Lucci finally won a Daytime Emmy. She had literally been nominated like 21 times without winning. NOT winning maybe her exponentially more famous than actually winning. She turned that into endorsement deals galore and even hosted Saturday Night Live. The cruel and harsh reality is that she really isn’t an amazing actress but she worked it for damn near 40 years. She was an original cast member and Erica lived through a lot. I will never forget the ceremony when she won. Shemar Moore, who got his start on The Young & the Restless, announced the Best Actress category. He went NUTS when he opened the envelope. Susan came on the stage a sobbing mess. The audience was wild. Just completely wild. Cheering, crying, hooting and hollering. Oprah was in the wings and she couldn’t contain herself either. It really was a quite a moment. I admit with no shame that every so often I find the clip on YouTube and watch it. Because it makes me happy.

I have not watched soaps in years. My grandmother used to watch As the World Turns and Guiding Light. But eventually they got too racy for her. Then she gave up. Now there are only like 4 soaps left on the air. Because daytime TV just isn’t the same anymore. Everyone works. I’m sure some people still DVR or use OnDemand to keep up a bit. But there just aren’t a ton of people home midday. But I have my memories of Erica running Pine Valley. Adam Chandler plotting and scheming. His twin, Stuart, always being the moral compass. Janet from Another Planet transforming from villain to heroine. Tad Martin being a bad ass then a good guy then maybe losing his memory. There were hot button issues. There was copious sex and bed hopping. Love triangles aplenty. And the joy of the complete lunacy of it all. Tune in tomorrow……

[collection-of-curios16]

The Azure Beacon: Chapter 3

I slipped in and out of consciousness a handful of times. I don’t remember any of the times I had awoken, I just remember desperation from both of my friends, and an eagerness to return to the surface. I had an intense dream while I was lucid. I dreamt of a stag on an open field, grazing alone. It had antlers that rose and curled behind its head in a vein-like pattern. It’s eyes were beacons of light, and it raised its head and looked at me. Two lanterns of light consuming my flesh, and eating my breath. It seared my being away, and I was then reborn into a entity of light much like the stag. I felt rejuvenated, and cleansed. I also felt an almost overwhelming burden fall onto my shoulders as I stood up. With that burden came immense strength and power. A frightening amount of power. The kind of power you could only dream of, the kind that you envision when you hear the names Marick, Vork, Assandra, or Kardeneya. I blinked twice, and on the second blink, the stag and the open plain had vanished. In its place was the same woman I had briefly seen when I passed out. She flashed me a tiny smile, and then she too was gone. I was left alone in a world of white light, and then my eyes shot open, and I was among the living once more.

“Oh sweet Nyra, give me the strength I require to heal this man.” I heard Syla pray just above me.

“For fuck’s sake, can you not do anything, Druid? He’s dying!” Jarick panickedly hollered.

“I need silence if I’m to do anything!” Syla yelled back.

I opened my eyes then, and saw their faces. I was frightened for my life once I took a drink of their expressions. Their countenence seemed to have aged years, and they were harried. Jarick was in a cold sweat, and his eyes were bloodshot. Syla was sweating as well, her hair a mess as she kneeled above my prone body casting what I assumed to be healing magics.

“He’s awake! You need to lay down, and be still Warrior Wyran. You are gravely injured.” Syla said calmly, which eased me a tad.

“What happened?” I hoarsely gargled out. My throat felt like a tube of razors. I tasted blood, and something incredibly bitter which I would later learn was from some medicinal herbs Syla had fed me.

“Do not speak, Warrior. You need your strength.” She responded.

I sat up. Not the smartest decision on my part for two reasons. The first being that my body did not like me moving around. At all. I knocked myself back out for a few minutes. The second reason being that I found out why they were panicking so very much when I tried to lift myself up. My right arm was gone. In its place was a gnarled stump that hung off my shoulders. Exposed bone, sinew, and flesh garnered a macabre painting. I wiggled my arm and watch as my tendons flared, open to the air. I knew then how dire my circumstance was, and I grew sickly pale, and descended back into that plane of unconsciousness that I had been so acquainted with in this day. I would not awake for a long while and there were no dreams to cradle me in that time.

It was three days later by the time I awoke. I was rested securely back in Corey thank the gods. I found myself in a short, cozy wooden attachment to a neighboring building. Inside was quartered off into sections by cloth, each housing a bed, chair, and a table. This was the medical bay that we had. As I lay there, staring intently at the stump that had been tended to and was now neatly tucked away inside gauze and bandages, I couldn’t keep my thoughts off of the woman I had dreamt of. She was so very familiar to me. She was so real. What did my dream mean? A holy stag? Were these portents, or were they machinations of a mind struggling with shock and battling death? I couldn’t possibly know.

I heard a knock at my door, and then a woman entered without a response.

“Oh, hello. You’re awake. I was told to bring these to you.” She said softly, her eyes never leaving my arm.

“Thank you. How long have I been under?” I said, gnawing at some bread that I was handed.

“Three days.” She replied.

Not favorable, but I had expected it. I only nodded slightly and let my eyes fall down to my arm. The woman nodded back and swiftly left me to my misery. I tried to move my right arm, and I felt the ghost of what had been, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. I allowed myself that much. I allowed myself a moment of grievance. However, after that, I resolved myself to look forward. This was only a hurdle, and it would not set me back. I wouldn’t allow it to. I sat up. I instinctively propped myself up with my ghost arm, and a shock of pain surged through my body. I would have to remember not to do that.

When I got up, I made my way across the room to my clothing that sat on a chair. I donned my dingy white shirt, and pulled up my pants, then strapped on my boots. I assumed my uniform was in the barracks. I downed the water I had been given, and felt the refreshing coolness of it sting my parched throat. I took a single deep breath, and held it for a long while. Then I finally grabbed the door and stepped out into my home town. I exhaled after a couple seconds, and peered around.

Everything was the exact same, yet it all felt absurdly different. Eerily different. As if the town had been wiped clean from the surface of this world, and replaced with an exact replica. All the smiles were the same, all the sounds echoed what I had previously heard in my countless patrols. Yet, it was different. No. No, it was the same. It was the exact same. Nothing had changed about this place. The town square still held the fountain in the center, and there were still families and people gathered around unceremoniously, sitting on benches or playing with the water. There were still friendly folk passing by, greeting me with a nod. There were still old, yet sturdy buildings surrounding the square, branching out from it like oil in water. I smelled that familiar scent of bread and meat vendors posted around, scattered along the edges of the square. No, nothing had changed about Corey. I had changed. It was something far more than a gimp arm, and a sense of newness. This town remained the same, yet I had not. It was as if I was staring through the eyes of a new person. I looked down toward my good arm. I clenched my fist once, twice. I stood an inch higher, straightened out my back more. My eyes seemed sharper, my instincts quicker. I noticed the details more, and I felt amazing. I took one step. Curious. I took another. What was this? My arm has gone, and yet I felt amazing. Not just physically, but mentally. I felt renewed, I felt incredible. I took giant strides towards the barracks. Found myself in front of the Captain’s Quarters. I reached out my arm and pushed the door open, and stood confidently in front of the Captain. He was sat at his table in his chair. There were two figures across from him. Jarick and Syla. They turned toward me, and they looked stern, and worn out. Bags sat heavily under their eyes. They only looked toward me and said, “Wyran, you’re gonna wanna sit down for this one.”

[dramatisperscnae]

@resignedworkaholics [x]

It had been a long couple of days. The minor war down at the docks last night, which had kept him from actually going home to Marcus as he usually did after patrol these days - he'd at least sent a message to keep his fiance from worrying too much on waking up to find his side of the bed empty - plus two days full of meetings because trying to build a new hospital required getting a lot of people's approval and Tim's betrayal confession on top of all of that…Dick was tired.

And hurt.

Not just physically, which Marcus would probably fuss over once he saw the fresh bandages and bruises beneath Dick's clothing, but emotionally. He'd managed to compartmentalize enough to get through the day, but that didn't change the fact that he was still reeling from Tim's revelation. God, he'd been trying so hard, hadn't wanted to ride herd on the others the way Bruce tended to, had wanted to give them all space to do their own thing and trusted that they'd tell him if something was important, and now this…?

He was barely holding it together when Marcus pulled back, having to force himself to maintain eye contact. It wouldn't last long, though; despite his best efforts Dick was hiding against Marcus's neck in less than a minute, just shaking his head. "…Not now…please, just…not now…"

[tripile]

HEROINE ROTTERDAM

Yet another great opening in Het Industriegebouw in Rotterdam. A fine dining restaurant by the people behind De Matroos en het Meisje. With the very exciting name Héroine.

  Het Industriegebouw

If you go to Rotterdam, you only have to save 1 pin on Google Maps nowadays and that is the one of Het Industriegebouw. The building has been there since 1952 and is a symbol for the post-war construction of the city. A few years ago it was bought by a Rotterdam investor who turned it into a modern hotspot. The architects of MVRDV work there, you can shop at Groos and there are cool restaurants such as By Jarmusch, Old Scuola and Alfredo’s Taqueria. Héroine is the latest addi(c)tion. I spoke with owner Eva Eekman who runs Héroine together with chef Michael Schook and sommelier Fred de Neef.

  De Matroos en het Meisje

The idea of a new restaurant was born at De Matroos en het Meisje where Eva is also the owner together with two other silent partners: “Michael came from Restaurant de Hoefslag and started there as a chef three years ago. He always had the ambition to open something himself and because we work together so well, the idea of Héroine was born quickly after. I think De Matroos en het Meisje is perfect. The restaurant stands like a house. But I didn’t came up with the idea and I didn’t opened the restaurant myself, so it’s great to set something up from scratch. So you can implement everything you find important to create the perfect picture. With Héroine we can really show the better version of ourselves.”

  Contradictions

Héroine is actually a combination of contradictions: “We are in an industrial building, but we do not want an industrial image. We want to focus on fine dining, but not with the corresponding prices and etiquette. We want a beautiful, feminine, strong name with a wink.” That took some time: “The process of selecting the name was even more difficult than making up the names of our children, also because we had a certain idea and had to discuss it with three different people. Héroine is feminine, tough and open to interpretation. It means heroine. And it fits with our ideas of the interior and the food of Michael which are more refined dishes, rather than rough food.”

  The design

For the design they worked together with Modiste. A known name for fans of Petite Passport because they also did the interior of Bonanza Coffee in Kreuzberg, Berlin: “Joeri and Marick from Modiste immediately came up with atmospheric images that made us happy. They found the same things important as us. Lighting, comfort, practicality above design. We wanted to create something we haven’t necessarily seen a lot and they have translated that into this interior. The style is warm, 70’s, with the use of beautiful materials, fabrics and furniture.” Striking in the interior are the Burgundy red couches, the plant wall and the many Wishbone chairs by Danish designer Hans J. Wegner, which we have seen at Bonanza Coffee also.

  The food

Together with friends I tried the delicious 4-course menu. You can choose from a 4-, 5-, 6- or 7-course menu. Indicate whether you are a vegetarian or have other dietary requirements and then you will be surprised with the tastiest dishes: “You don’t know what you get. Usually, with an a la carte menu, you choose quite quickly what you know and like. Now we choose for you. We use responsible products in the kitchen with a lot of seasonal products. With this idea we almost throw nothing away. Because guests do not know what they eat, we can process leftovers in the menu or as an amuse. The wine list is made up of 5 different suppliers and has 100 titles and 15 wines per glass. We make the liqueurs ourselves and soon we will make our own soft drinks.”

  The recommendation

When I ask Eva what she would recommend, she says: “I would always choose the 7-course menu because I want to taste everything and wouldn’t want to miss the top-dish. But it depends on your companionship, the reason and the moment. If you have something to celebrate for example, it can be as extensive as you like, but if you just want to come and eat something, or you never eat so much, you take fewer courses. You can also just hang out at the bar and only order bar snacks.”

  Check out: http://ift.tt/2CH3ik5

            The post HEROINE ROTTERDAM appeared first on PETITE PASSPORT.

HEROINE ROTTERDAM published first on http://ift.tt/2xhZYN1

[comfsy]

HEROINE ROTTERDAM

Yet another great opening in Het Industriegebouw in Rotterdam. A fine dining restaurant by the people behind De Matroos en het Meisje. With the very exciting name Héroine.

  Het Industriegebouw

If you go to Rotterdam, you only have to save 1 pin on Google Maps nowadays and that is the one of Het Industriegebouw. The building has been there since 1952 and is a symbol for the post-war construction of the city. A few years ago it was bought by a Rotterdam investor who turned it into a modern hotspot. The architects of MVRDV work there, you can shop at Groos and there are cool restaurants such as By Jarmusch, Old Scuola and Alfredo’s Taqueria. Héroine is the latest addi(c)tion. I spoke with owner Eva Eekman who runs Héroine together with chef Michael Schook and sommelier Fred de Neef.

  De Matroos en het Meisje

The idea of a new restaurant was born at De Matroos en het Meisje where Eva is also the owner together with two other silent partners: “Michael came from Restaurant de Hoefslag and started there as a chef three years ago. He always had the ambition to open something himself and because we work together so well, the idea of Héroine was born quickly after. I think De Matroos en het Meisje is perfect. The restaurant stands like a house. But I didn’t came up with the idea and I didn’t opened the restaurant myself, so it’s great to set something up from scratch. So you can implement everything you find important to create the perfect picture. With Héroine we can really show the better version of ourselves.”

  Contradictions

Héroine is actually a combination of contradictions: “We are in an industrial building, but we do not want an industrial image. We want to focus on fine dining, but not with the corresponding prices and etiquette. We want a beautiful, feminine, strong name with a wink.” That took some time: “The process of selecting the name was even more difficult than making up the names of our children, also because we had a certain idea and had to discuss it with three different people. Héroine is feminine, tough and open to interpretation. It means heroine. And it fits with our ideas of the interior and the food of Michael which are more refined dishes, rather than rough food.”

  The design

For the design they worked together with Modiste. A known name for fans of Petite Passport because they also did the interior of Bonanza Coffee in Kreuzberg, Berlin: “Joeri and Marick from Modiste immediately came up with atmospheric images that made us happy. They found the same things important as us. Lighting, comfort, practicality above design. We wanted to create something we haven’t necessarily seen a lot and they have translated that into this interior. The style is warm, 70’s, with the use of beautiful materials, fabrics and furniture.” Striking in the interior are the Burgundy red couches, the plant wall and the many Wishbone chairs by Danish designer Hans J. Wegner, which we have seen at Bonanza Coffee also.

  The food

Together with friends I tried the delicious 4-course menu. You can choose from a 4-, 5-, 6- or 7-course menu. Indicate whether you are a vegetarian or have other dietary requirements and then you will be surprised with the tastiest dishes: “You don’t know what you get. Usually, with an a la carte menu, you choose quite quickly what you know and like. Now we choose for you. We use responsible products in the kitchen with a lot of seasonal products. With this idea we almost throw nothing away. Because guests do not know what they eat, we can process leftovers in the menu or as an amuse. The wine list is made up of 5 different suppliers and has 100 titles and 15 wines per glass. We make the liqueurs ourselves and soon we will make our own soft drinks.”

  The recommendation

When I ask Eva what she would recommend, she says: “I would always choose the 7-course menu because I want to taste everything and wouldn’t want to miss the top-dish. But it depends on your companionship, the reason and the moment. If you have something to celebrate for example, it can be as extensive as you like, but if you just want to come and eat something, or you never eat so much, you take fewer courses. You can also just hang out at the bar and only order bar snacks.”

  Check out: http://ift.tt/2CH3ik5

            The post HEROINE ROTTERDAM appeared first on PETITE PASSPORT.

HEROINE ROTTERDAM published first on http://ift.tt/2vmoAQU

[dramatisperscnae]

@resignedworkaholics

Boredom in the evenings was the closest thing to torture Marcus experienced anymore. Dick was busy, the books had all been read, and Rufus was fast asleep, so Marcus had pulled on a jacket he had 'borrowed' from Dick's side of the wardrobe and headed out. For the first few hours, wandering around in the dark had gone pretty well. Until some drunken idiots had run into him and immediately taken to tediously mocking his accent as though they thought British people never left the UK. He'd started walking away, only for a crumpled can of whatever dishwater Americans considered alcohol to smack into the back of his head with a throw so well-aimed Marcus almost reconsidered how drunk they must be. He turned back to them. One step, two steps, hands curled into fists as he prepared to knock a few teeth out to teach them a lesson and- He was grabbed by someone behind him, a someone that sent the drunks scrambling in the other direction, and the hacker spun to glower at the intruder despite how it made the collar of his borrowed jacket dig into his neck. "I will fucking-" He was cut off by the sight of Dick. "Oh." Marcus didn't know whether to be startled or ashamed of how quickly he'd been eager to fight. And Dick had seen. Fuck.

It was a quiet night for a change. Dick vaulted across the rooftops of Gotham, just keeping an eye on the streets. Apart from a few rowdy gangbangers and petty thieves, Gotham actually seemed almost peaceful tonight; maybe he'd be able to call it early and go home. Not just to the Belfry but actually home, where he could crawl into bed beside Marcus and fall asleep to the sound of his lover's heartbeat.

Or maybe not; down below his current perch came the sound of more rowdy drunks. Dick sighed, looking down, only to pause. Was that-…? That was Marcus, half surrounded by a pack of idiots clearly trying to start shit. Dick's jaw tightened as he prepared to drop down and break things up until Marcus…actually turned away.

That had a surge of pride rising in Dick's chest. There was a time - probably not so long ago - when Marcus probably would've just started knocking heads together rather than walking away. But then the beer can flew.

Dick was already moving as Marcus spun around, dropping down behind the man and grabbing the collar of his jacket - of Dick's own jacket, now he'd had a closer look. He locked eyes with the man who'd thrown the beer can, white lenses narrowing in what was a clear threat that had the whole bunch of them scattering like so many roaches.

And then there was Marcus, clearly still ready to fight. Dick just gave him a steady look before flashing a faint, wry smile. "…they're not worth the effort, y'know. You'd just get your coat dirty."

[dramatisperscnae]

[my muse was unexpectedly kidnapped, found a year later barely alive, injured, and bound.]

@resignedworkaholics

It had happened. Of course, it had happened. He knew it would the second the thought occurred to him only a few moments after finding out that the man he loved with a vigilante. Dick had disappeared. More than just disappeared - he had vanished into the air 12 months ago and Tim had been the sorry target to have to come to the house and tell Marcus when there had been no sign of him at the end of patrol. He'd held it together in front of Tim and then trashed the place as soon as the teen had left him to it. Marcus had had to tell him to leave, he still regretted how nasty he'd been but he didn't need someone babysitting him when he had a job to do. It had been a very long 12 months of barely any sleep and even less sanity. Marcus knew Dick wouldn't be pleased with him when he found how just how many people had been screaming, writhing on the floor at his hands but he would be okay if Dick was mad at him. Because if Dick was mad then Dick was alive. And alive he was. Skin and bones and covered in blood that Marcus knew was his own. New or old, it didn't really matter. He should have made them scream more. His hands were gentle for the first time in a year as he crouched next to the shell of a man who had been his partner; fingers gently checking for a pulse and then working to untie him. "Dick?" He said softly, forcing himself not to sound like a man who had been crying for so many days. "Hey, handsome, can you hear me?" Never in his life had he thought he would be able to pick Dick up... Yet, he was certain he would be able to lift Dick and take him home as soon as he was sure that wouldn't cause any more damage.

He'd tried to keep track of the time. Done his best without the aid of clock or light or regular feeding schedule. It had to have been weeks. Months, maybe. Surely someone was still looking for him, weren't they? Tim or Barbara or Jason…?

Marcus?

God, Marcus.

His siblings' faces had featured in what dreams - and nightmares, and hallucinations - he'd had, but Marcus…his lover had been front and center, the one thing he'd clung to above all else. The one name he could never speak. He had to keep Marcus safe, no matter what the cost. Had to keep Marcus safe, and had to get back. He'd promised, hadn't he? That he'd always come back. Always.

And so he'd tried. There had been quite a few escape attempts, each punished more harshly than the last, but he'd kept trying. He had to. Until finally they'd just chained him down here, had their fun, exacted whatever revenge or punishment they wished and let him writhe in his chains until they left grooves in his wrists and ankles. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. The last time he'd had water that hadn't been poured more over his face than in his mouth, half-drowning him rather than slaking his thirst.

And now there were fingers at his throat, making him try to jerk away, groaning softly in protest. He barely noticed his restraints being loosened, removed; everything already hurt, what was a little more pain? But his name, that voice…a voice he knew instantly. He forced his eyes open, tried to focus. Dark curls, green eyes, he knew that face. How could he not know it? One hand twitched, tried to lift as too-dry lips moved, parched throat trying to speak. Marcus…

[dramatisperscnae]

@resignedworkaholics from [x]

Just what exactly these people wanted from him Dick wasn't entirely sure. They shouldn't have pieced together his identity as Nightwing - he'd taken more care than usual these past few weeks after the last kidnapping attempt, just in case - but they might have linked him to someone else. It wasn't entirely out of the question. And then of course there was information pertaining to Wayne Industries or any of the other things Bruce was publicly involved in.

It was just unfortunate that his new friend had gotten dragged into all this.

Usually Dick wasn't a vortex for chaos, but apparently the universe was not going to let him have even a week off just yet. He glared up at the pig mask - it looked dumb as hell, but it was at least an effective disguise and hid what was probably a voice modifier fairly well, he had to give it that - and braced himself for the coming hit.

A sharp breath out just before impact saved him from actually being winded, but it didn't stop the pain. Dick coughed, mostly for theatrics and to sell the blow, and resumed his glower. "Just makes sense, doesn't it…?" he asked, keeping his voice tight and forced; it wasn't as difficult to do as he'd like. "Though honestly you're still not doing too great here; haven't even said just what exactly it is you want."