#not with head hair as keeping it long is a strong cultural standard and under normal conditions only cut short in mourning)

[serpentface]

Cold sores are thought to be best addressed by lancing the sore to remove polluted blood, washing with vinegar, applying a paste of honey + tansy + horsefat. In frequently recurring cases, it's considered best practice to also shave the face to eliminate any lingering traces of infection. This is the most psychologically devastating thing that Brakul has ever experienced in his life.

[threewaysdivided]

Gelnek Goes to a Gala

More Dan Jones & Dragons art! This time their glorious Double Leader, Gelnek (played by the inimitable JoCat) all fancied up in his best Goblin party-attire.

More Flower Crowns Gala Outfits: Morenthal | Hobson

Design talk under the cut:

Unlike with Morenthal’s outfit (which was mostly drawn from Dan and Gamb’s official stream design) I thought it would be a fun challenge to take the chaos of JoCat’s Gala outfit brief for Gelnek (a large fluffy fur coat and stacked tower of Cowboy, Pork-pie and Trilby hats) and try to render out something fashion-adjacent.

Figure-wise, I wanted to push the broadness of Gelnek’s build and body-shape, since Jo introduced him as being atypically bulked-up for a Goblin (to the point that he sometimes gets almost-mistaken for an odd-looking Dwarf) and charging Hobson down like small green boar during their first training spar.  I thought it would be fun to lean into him being a stocky bundle of muscle compared to how Goblins are typically drawn. 

For the coat, I liked the idea of taking men’s fashion-furs and giving him a long-cut trench-style coat with a big fur ruff around the collar.  Really fluff the guy up with an impressive “beast-coat” that makes him look even bulkier.

Gelnek’s under-coat situation wasn’t described, so I went with a close-fit black two-piece since I figured that could help emphasise his actual silhouette without being too visually busy, and might make some fun strong shapes if I wanted to draw him in more dynamic situations later.  I also gave him a few sash-belts with some of his hunt-trophies pinned on (the Voidcrystal Snail-eye, a Wyvern Tooth from their fight on the Javelin and Trilby’s gifted Dragon-Scale button), just to keep the under-outfit from getting too conventional.

Hat wise, there’s not much that can be done to rein in the “putting a hat on a hat” effect of the Trilby on Porkpie on Cowboy tower, so I just tidied them up a little with some nice complementary colours and bands that coordinated with the rest of the ensemble.  The Cowboy brim and long coat combo ended up giving him some strong gunslinger energy, which is kinda fun for a traveling war-bard.

For his hair, I wanted to neaten up his big mess of fluffy curls for the formal setting, without going the same slicked-back conventional-imperial-common route that Hobson and Morenthal were already sporting.  Since Gelnek’s birth-tribe come from a swampy region and places a lot of cultural importance on headwear, I thought it might be fitting to do him up with some neat protective braids.

Gelnek’s shoe situation was an interesting one since canonically he doesn’t wear them.  I didn’t want to deprive him of his quest for the perfect shoe, but also figured he would need something to avoid the standard “no shoes, no service” rule at formal events, so I ended up pulling inspiration from Across the Spiderverse and giving him some Pavitr Prabakar-style foot-wraps with a bit of fancy gold trim to match the sash and middle hat.

I also decided to rep’ his drum-shield, seeing as Gelnek ended up being allowed to bring it into the venue.  It’s barely visible in the final drawing but a good quarter of his thumbnail page was notes on how do drum-shield work?  In my head I see it as something like a kettledrum set inside a convex round-shield/Dhal that lets him beat the drumhead while keeping the shield between him and danger.  I also like the idea of him being able to play the shield part like a handpan.

Bonus look at his sketch layers because this man's hats and physicality fought me harder than he fights drakes:

[soundsfaebutokay]

So I've recc'd this video before, but it deserves its own post because it's one of my favorite things on youtube. It's a Tedx Talk by comics writer, editor, and journalist Jay Edidin, and I really think that it will connect with a lot of people here.

If you live and breathe stories of all kinds, you might like this.

If you care about media representation, you might like this.

If you're neurodivergent, you might like this.

If you're interested in a gender transition story that veers from the norm, you might like this.

If you love the original Leverage and especially Parker, and understand how important it is that a character like her exists, you will definitely like this.

Transcript below the cut:

You Are Here: The Cartography of Stories

by Jay Edidin

I am autistic. And what this means in practice is that there are some things that are easier for me than they are for most people, and a great many things that are somewhat harder, and these affect my life in more or less overt ways. As it goes, I'm pretty lucky. I've been able to build a career around special interests and granular obsession. My main gig at the moment is explaining superhero comics continuity and publishing history for which work I am somehow paid in actual legal currency—which is both a triumph of the frivolous in an era of the frantically pragmatic, and a job that's really singularly suited to my strengths and also to my idiosyncrasies.

I like comics. I like stories in general, because they make sense to me in ways that the rest of the world and my own mind often don't. Self-knowledge is not an intuitive thing for me. What sense of self I have, I've built gradually and laboriously and mostly through long-term pattern recognition. For decades, I didn't even really have a self-image. If you'd asked me to draw myself, I would eventually have given you a pair of glasses and maybe a very messy scribble of hair, and that would've been about it. But what I do know—backwards, forwards, and in pretty much every way that matters—are stories. I know how they work. I understand their language, their complex inner clockwork, and I can use those things to extrapolate a sort of external compass that picks up where my internal one falls short. Stories—their forms, their structure, the sense of order inherent to them—give me the means to navigate what otherwise, at least for me, would be an impassable storm of unparsable data. Or stories are a periscope, angled to access the parts of myself I can't intuitively see. Or stories are a series of mirrors by which I can assemble a composite sketch of an identity I rarely recognize whole...which is how I worked out that I was transgender, in my early thirties, by way of a television show.

This is my story. And it's about narrative cartography, and representation, and why those things matter. It's about autism and it's about gender and it's about how they intersect. And it's about the kinds of people we know how to see, and the kinds of people we don't. It's not the kind of story that gets told a lot, you might hear a lot, because the narrative around gender transition and dysphoria in our culture is really, really prescriptive. It's basically the story of the kid who has known for their whole life that they're this and not that, and that story demands the kind of intuitive self-knowledge that I can't really do, and a kind of relationship to gender that I don't really have—which is part of why it took me so long to figure my own stuff out.

So, to what extent this story, my story has a beginning, it begins early in 2014 when I published an essay titled, "I See Your Value Now: Asperger's and the Art of Allegory." And it explored, among other things, the ways that I use narrative and narrative structures to navigate real life. And it got picked up in a number of fairly prominent places that got linked, and I casually followed the ensuing discussion. And I was surprised to discover that readers were fairly consistently assuming I was a man. Now, that in itself wasn't a new experience for me, even though at the time I was writing under a very unambiguously female byline. It had happened in the letter columns of comics I'd edited. It had happened when a parody Twitter account I'd created went viral. When I was on staff at Wired, I budgeted for fancy scotch by putting a dollar in a box every time a reader responded in a way that made it clear they were assuming I was a man in response to an article where my name was clearly visible, and then I had to stop doing that because it happened so often I couldn't afford to keep it up. But in all of those cases, the context, you know, the reasons were pretty obvious. The fields I'd worked in, the beats I covered, they were places where women had had to fight disproportionally hard for visibility and recognition. We live in a culture that assumes a male default, so given a neutral voice and a character limit, most readers will assume a male author.

But this was different, because this wasn't just a book I'd edited, it wasn't a story I'd reported—it was me, it was my story. And it made me uncomfortable, got under my skin in ways that the other stuff really hadn't. And so I did what I do when that happens, and I tried to sort of reverse-engineer it to look at the conclusions and peel them back to see the narratives behind them and the stories that made them tick. And I started this, I started this by going back to the text of the essay, and you know, examining it every way I could think of: looking at craft, looking at content. And in doing so, I was surprised to realize that while I had written about a number of characters with whom I identified closely, that every single one of those characters I'd written about was male. And that surprised me even more than the responses to the essay had, because I've spent my career writing and talking and thinking about gender and representation in popular media. In 2014, I'd been the feminist gadfly of an editorial department and multiple mastheads. I'd been a founding board member of an organization that existed to advocate for more and better representation of women and girls in comics characters and creators. And most of my favorite characters, the ones I'd actively seek out and follow, were women. Just not, apparently, the characters I saw myself in.

Now I still didn't realize it was me at this point. Remember: self-knowledge, not very intuitive for me. And while I had spent a lot of time thinking about gender, I'd never really bothered to think much about my own. I knew academically that the way other people read and interpreted my gender affected and had influenced a lifetime of social and professional interactions, and that those in turn had informed the person I'd grown up into during that time. But I really believed, like I just sort of had in the back of my head, that if you peeled away all of that social conditioning, you'd basically end up with what I got when I tried to draw a self-portrait. So: a pair of glasses, messy scribble of hair, and in this case, maybe also some very strong opinions about the X-Men. I mean, I knew something was off. I'd always known something was off, that my relationship to gender was messy and uncomfortable, but gender itself struck me as messy and uncomfortable, and it had never been a large enough part of how I defined myself to really feel like something that merited further study, and I had deadlines, and...so it was always on the back burner. So, I looked, I looked at what I had, at this improbable group of exclusively male characters. And I looked and I figured that if this wasn't me, then it had to be a result of the stories I had access to, to choose from, and the entertainment landscape I was looking at. And the funny thing is, I wasn't wrong, exactly. I just wasn't right either.

See, the characters I'd written about had one other significant trait in common aside from their gender, which is that they were all more or less explicitly, more or less heavily coded as autistic. And I thought, "Ah, yes. This explains it. This is under representation in fiction echoing under representation in life and vice versa." Because the characteristics that I'd honed in on, that I particularly identified with in these guys, were things like emotional unavailability and social awkwardness and granular obsession, and all of those are characteristics that are seen as unsympathetic and therefore unmarketable in female characters. Which is also why readers were assuming that I was a man.

Because, you see, here's the thing. I'm not the only one who uses stories to navigate the world. I'm just a little more deliberate about it. For humans, stories formed the bridge between data and understanding. They're where we look when we need to contextualize something new, or to recognize something we're pretty sure we've seen before. They're how we identify ourselves; they're how we locate ourselves and each other in the larger world. There were no fictional women like me; there weren't representations of women like me in media, and so readers were primed not to recognize women like me in real life either.

Now by this point, I had started writing a follow-up essay, and this one was also about autism and narratives, but specifically focused on how they intersected with gender and representation in media. And in context of this essay, I went about looking to see if I could find even one female character who had that cluster of traits I'd been looking for, and I was asking around in autistic communities. And I got a few more or less useful one-off suggestions, and some really, really splendid arguments about semantics and standards, and um...then I got one answer over and over and over in community after community after community. "Leverage," people told me. "You have to watch Leverage."

So I watched Leverage. Leverage is five seasons of ensemble heist drama. It's about a team of very skilled con artists who take down corrupt and powerful plutocrats and the like, and it's a lot of fun, and it's very clever, and it's clever enough that it doesn't really matter that it's pretty formulaic, and I enjoyed it a lot. But what's most important, what Leverage has is Parker.

Parker is a master thief, and she is the best of the best of the best in ways that all of Leverage's characters are the best of the best. And superficially, she looks like the kind of woman you see on TV. So she's young, and she's slender, and she's blonde, and she's attractive but in a sort of approachable way. And all of that familiarity is brilliant misdirection, because the thing is, there are no other women like Parker on TV. Because Parker—even if it's never explicitly stated in the show—Parker is coded incredibly clearly as autistic. Parker is socially awkward. Her speech tends to have limited inflection; what inflection it does have is repetitive and sounds rehearsed a lot of the time. She's not emotionally literate; she struggles with it, and the social skills she develops over the series, she learns by rote, like they're just another grift. When she's not scaling skyscrapers or cartwheeling through laser grids, she wears her body like an ill-fitting suit. Parker moves like me. And Parker, Parker was a revelation—she was a revolution unto herself. In a media landscape where unempathetic women usually exist to either be punished or "loved whole," Parker got to play the crabby savant. And she wasn't emotionally intuitive but it was never ever played as the product of abuse or trauma even though she had survived both of those—it was just part of her, as much as were her hands or her eyes. And she had a genuine character arc. My god, she had a genuine romantic arc, even. And none of that required her to turn into anything other than what she was. And in Parker I recognized a thousand tics and details of my life and my personality...but. I didn't recognize myself.

Why? What difference was there in Parker, you know, between Parker and the other characters I'd written about? Those characters, they'd spanned ethnicities and backgrounds and different media and appearances and the only other characteristic they all had in common was their gender. So that was where I started to look next, and I thought, "Well, okay, maybe, maybe it's masculinity. Maybe if Parker were less feminine, she'd click with me the way those other characters had." So then I tried to imagine a Parker with short hair, who's explicitly butch, and...nothing. So okay, I extended it in what seems like the only logical direction to extend it. I said, "Well, if it's not masculinity, what if it's actual maleness? What if Parker were a man?" Ah. Yeah.

In the end, everything changed, and nothing changed, which is often the way that it goes for me. Add a landmark, no matter how slight, and the map is irrevocably altered. Add a landmark, and paths that were invisible before open wide. Add a landmark, and you may not have moved, but suddenly you know where you are and where you can go.

I wasn't going to tell this story when I started planning this talk. I was gonna tell a similar story, it was about stories, like this is, about narratives and the ways that they influence our culture and vice versa. And it centered around a group of women at NASA who had basically rewritten the narrative around space exploration, and it was a lot more fun, and I still think it was more interesting. But it's also a story you can probably work out for yourselves. In fact it's a story some of you probably have, if you follow that kind of thing, which you probably do given that you're here. And this is a story, my story is not a story that I like to tell. It's not a fun story to talk about because it's very personal and I am a very private person. And it's not universal. And it's not always relatable, and it's definitely not aspirational. And it's not the kind of story that you tend to encounter unless you're already part of it...which is why I'm telling it now. Because the thing is, I'm not the only person who uses stories to parse the world and navigate it. I'm just a little more deliberate. Because I'm tired of having to rely on composite sketches.

Open your maps. Add a landmark. Reroute accordingly.

[steves-on-a-plane]

The Ambassador

Words: 1613 Square Filled for @buckybarnesbingo: Bodyguard Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Reader is a young ambassador tasked with setting up with a new US embassy in Wakanda. She is less than pleased to find out she's been assigned a body guard to watch over her.

"Enjoy your flight!” The attendant said as they handed you back your ticket. They waved you through the ramp and assured you that your luggage would be taken care of. You texted your boss, letting him know you were about to board your almost thirteen-hour flight to Wakanda. It was just the first item on a laundry list of tasks you’d have to complete in order to set up the first US embassy in Wakanda.

till tapping away at your screen, you sat in the nearest plush leather seat. You had a few emails you needed to send before the flight crew made the rounds and asked everyone to turn off electronic devices. The same attendant from before came by and took your drink order. You took note of the five other passengers on board. Traveling in a private jet might not be cheap, but so far it was more comfortable than commercial.

“Ambassador [Y/L/N]?” You looked up from your phone when someone called your name. Standing in front of you was a handsome man with neatly cropped chestnut brown hair. He was wearing black jeans, a black moto jacket and black leather gloves. Not your typical diplomat’s style. “My name is James, it will be my job to keep you safe while you’re in Wakanda.”

“I wasn’t aware I was in any danger.” You told him in a bristly tone. “It was my understanding that the Wakandan government was in full support of us building an embassy.”

“It’s standard protocol apparently.” He assured you.

“I don’t need a baby sister, James. I suggest you get off the plane now before they start to taxi us to the runway.” You advised.

“No disrespect, Ma’am, but I’m staying.” He sat down in the chair across from you. The bag he had slung over one shoulder was tossed to the floor with a thump. “I’ve been assigned to protect you and I’m a man of my word so that’s what I’m going to do. At least until the embassy is up and running and you have a full security detail.”

“Well then I’ll have you reassigned.” You took out your phone again, but the cabin crew had already closed the doors and seatbelt indicators had been turned on. It was too late to turn back now. You were stuck with him for at least the next day.

You rolled your eyes and swiveled your leather chair, so you were facing the window. It would be at least thirty minutes before you’d be allowed to use your phone or laptop. You looked out the window and watched the earth descend below. You began running through your mental checklists. You had a checklist for everything that needed to get done once you landed. You had a checklist for the welcome dinner the first night you were in Wakanda. You even had a checklist of work you wanted to accomplish during your day long flight.

What you didn’t have a checklist for was the new bodyguard you’d been saddled with. Protection details were common with embassy work, but usually the team was cleared well in advance. They weren’t just thrown onto a plane with you in the last minute. Still, it wasn’t this guy’s fault he’d been stuck with you. You swiveled your chair again to face him.

“Have you ever been Wakanda, James?” You asked, trying to make conversation.

“Once or twice.” He nodded. “You?”

“No.” You confessed. “Have you ever worked security for an ambassador before?”

“I won’t get in your way Ma’am.” He assured.

“You’d better not.” You smirked. “But I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I just think if we’re going to be working so closely together, we might as well get to know each other.”

“No thanks.” He reached into his bag and removed a book. “Kumbaya isn’t my thing.” He opened the book and began reading. You took out your laptop and got to work. You had checklists that needed tending too.

The flight crew came around and brought everyone their drink orders. When a cool glass of whiskey was placed in front of the bodyguard, he put his book down and sipped slowly. He watched you over his glass.

“Why Wakanda?” He questioned suddenly.

“I thought we weren’t talking.” You commented before drinking from your own glass.

“I don’t want to braid your hair or talk about our hopes and dreams. Sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “I want to know why an ambassador with such little experience was chosen to set up a new embassy with the US’s most important ally.”

“Not that I owe you any sort of explanation,” You sighed. “But from what I understand I was the only one who wanted it. Those ambassadors with more experience don’t want to put in the leg work needed to set up an embassy. They want to go somewhere already established, to bring their wives or mistresses somewhere romantic like Italy or France. Not to mention they aren’t dedicating their spare time to learning about the culture or the people in the nation they're assigned to.”

“And you are?” He raised his eyebrows and sounded surprised.

“You might not think so, but I’m not an idiot.” You huffed. “I’m not going to Wakanda to bring the America way to them. Wakanda’s made more technological, medical, and overall scientific advances in the last decade than we have in the past three. The US needs Wakanda far more than they need us. But it’s my job to make this whole experience feel like a mutual partnership. It’s not something I take on lightly.”

“You know.” James yawned, reaching for his book again. “I’m willing to bet if you gave that exact same speech to the king, that might be all he needs to hear.”

“Thanks for the input.” You huffed sarcastically. “I don’t know why you asked if you were just going to mock my answer.” You looked back at your computer screen.

“I wasn’t trying to mock you.” He said earnestly. “This is a genuine piece of advice, so do with it what you will, but T’Challa would rather you be honest with him. He’s very good at reading people.”

“So he’s just T’Challa to you?” You couldn’t help but smirk. Surely this man wasn’t implying what you thought he was. You looked over at him again. “Are you trying to tell me you’re on a first name basis with the King of Wakanda?”

“As a matter of fact,” He said, turning the page in his book. “I am a close friend of sorts. The royal family really helped me out of a bind a while back.”

“I thought you said you’d only been to Wakanda a few times.” You remembered.

“I said once or twice. I didn’t say for how long. I’m going to back to this now.” He said, pointing at the book.

You weren’t sure if he was bluffing and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be or not. You thought about spending some time researching James Barnes trying to see if you could verify his story but decided that it would be better to take him at face value. After all, he had no reason to lie to you. Instead you’d sped as much time in the next ten hours as possible reworking your dinner speech and some of your other talks planned for the week. It never hurts to have a backup plan.

Six hours into the flight, Bucky had finished his first book. You’d been tapping away at your keyboard aggressively nearly the entire time. As he read the last sentence on the page and closed the book, he realized you’d gone awfully quiet. His eyes flashed to you, you were sleeping.

It didn’t look like you were sleeping comfortably either. You were still sitting upright, your head lolled to one side. If he left you like that, you’d wake up with a neck cramp and probably be even crabbier than you were before. He picked up a cashmere blanket off one of the vacant seats.

“You’re not so scary when you’re sleeping.” He whispered to himself. He leaned over and saved the document you were working on. He caught a hint of the perfume you were wearing. It smelled like Jasmine and sandalwood. He secured your laptop and reclined your seat ever so gently. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in the act of being nice to you. After ensuring that you were still asleep, you draped the blanket over you before tip toeing back to his own seat.

You awoke with only an hour left of your flight. You stretched your limbs and opened your eyes. You noticed someone had covered you with an incredibly soft blanket. The urge to snuggle up to it and go back to sleep was strong but you still had a lot of work to do. You looked to your right and James was still there, reading his book.

“What time is it?” You yawned.

“Just about three.” He told you.

“Three?” You exclaimed. “You let me sleep for six hours?”

“You looked like you needed a rest.” He explained logically.

“No what I need is…” You stopped yourself. “Look I’m under a lot of pressure to make this work. If you’re planning on being glued to my side for the foreseeable future. You’re going to have to get used to my…”

“Bristly attitude? You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got thick skin Ma’am.” He said, casting his eyes back to his book.

“You can just call me [Y/N], James.” You told him.

“Buck.” He corrected you. “My friends call me Bucky.”

[queensdivas]

Peonies Chapter 7

I really don’t have much to say before I post. I’m tired and I don’t feel quite well so if it’s a little bad then I’m so sorry! 

Please enjoy and I’ll see y’all later! 

Previous Chapter 

Masterlist 

Perhaps I was too harsh. I mean. Though war is inevitable and will indeed cost a lot of lives. I think that I was a little cruel to Catherine and her ideals. She’s very inexperienced when it comes to this life and haven’t had the world of war drilled into her head like my family. I just want to go back to the Palace so Grigor and I can eat dinner then crawl into bed. Never would’ve thought that I would be enjoying someone's company this much in such a small amount of time.

The carriage turned down onto the main path for Catherine to begin gathering herself with her anger much more in control. Elizabeth was smiling as she was looking at the palace through the carriage window.

“Ah. Home sweet home.” She kept that weird smile on her face as I was fixing my cape.

“You’re not a joyful person are you Chiara?” Elizabeth blurted which made my eyes widened a little.

“I am on most occasions. Just today was an exception.”

“You were harsh on the field. A little compassion can go a long way Chiara.” Sorry that I don’t open my legs to ever walking being that foot in my general direction. Maybe if you focused more on your head and reality instead of that stinky fishy thing between your own legs then the world might shine brighter. Is what I would like to say.

“Elizabeth you know absolutely nothing about who I am. Nothing. Zilch! Get off that high horse you enjoy riding so damn much to have a much better reality of the world.” This whore of a woman who spends her time teaching butterflies has no right to pass judgement onto me and my own personal views. The carriage stopped for me to practically kick open the door for myself to climb out.

“Don’t mind her Aunt Elizabeth. She does have compassion under that skin, just knows when and when not to use it in her standards.” Listening to the last of Catherine for me to start walking up the stairwell. Stupid women whose hair looks like some sort of mushroom.

Where is Grigor? I need to see Grigor.

Fucking stupid royal air heads. Let’s go pass out macarons to make the soldiers feel better for fighting for a fucking cause that doesn’t even matter! Egotistical bastardo! We need to pick up the pace on putting Catherine at the top of the food chain for this country. This War if not done properly will end in the Swedish favor and they will lose St. Petersburg, then Moscow, and goodbye to the Russian Empire. I will not be around to watch the fall. I grab Catherine, Leo for her own pleasure, Marial because I enjoy her temper, Orlo due to his vast knowledge, and Grigor for the obvious reasons.

This is becoming far too stressful for my taste at the moment. Shaking my head to make it to the apartment section of the palace to hurry my pace a little more. Leo was walking out of Catherines room with a bottle and two glasses in his hand. He smiled at me to start walking towards him. I feel like a herd of Wildebeest at the moment and I might run over Leo if he doesn’t move.

“Oh dear Duchess you look rather annoyed. A drink perhaps?” Halting directly past him to take a few steps backwards. Catherine had mentioned that his drinks are quite relaxing with the different flavors.

“What have you got?” It better be something delicious that’ll calm my nerves.

“Peach vodka.” Never had it but it sounds ravishing. Nodding for us to enter Catherines apartment to sit down at the living room for me to sit next to the fire. Leo poured me a drink to hand me the glass as I took a sip.

“God that’s strong.” I could feel my chest exploding. It’s delicious but damn is that strong. Taking another sip for him to sit across from me.

“Vodka is made from Russian tears so it’s going to make you feel some sort of emotion.” How very...Russian I think.

“How was the front lines?” Leo asked as he got comfortable in his chair.

“Oh the usual Leo. Blood, horse shit, and so bleek. Get ready for a long discussion with Catherine if you talk politics with one another.” Taking another sip for the drink to start making my cheeks feel warm. It’s absolutely delicious and I definitely want some more of this delicious vodka. I wonder if oranges would be good to mix with vodka.

“Have you thought about mixing citrus with vodka?” His eyes widened a little bit at the thought of it.

“Chiara that would be absolutely delicious. It would create such a punching taste to the body that I’m afraid it would knock you down on your ass. Genius.” He was looking at the glass for me to wonder. He’s a lover, and I’m new to this game so I can finally ask him a very important question.

“Leo tell me something. What do you even gain as a lover?” It’s out of the blue yes since he wasn’t expecting me to ask this kind of question. But from one lover to another I get the feeling he can give me advice on to handle these feelings.

“I get to witness the true Catherine. Not just in physical appearance I get to know her. I get the chance to pick apart her mind, challenge her, and understand the true nature of mind and soul. Being a lover is much more about the love making part of it Chiara.” Holding the glass close to me as I crossed my left leg over my right.

“Is it worth it?” He doesn’t even know what Catherine is doing. She’s plotting to overthrow the current Government and he has absolutely no clue. So much for seeing her true colors, but then again he could be a spy. Yet like Marial said, far too handsome.

“Yes. Every moment I’ve spent with her. She shakes my core in some way that I felt impossible. I’ve fallen for this extraordinary woman who I get this strong feeling that she also loves me.” Sighing st his comment to start thinking on my interest in Grigor. Do I love him? Is this just lust? I haven’t yearned like this before and it feels foreign in my life. I may not be in love quite yet but possibly in the future perhaps?

“You’ve must’ve seen parts of Grigor that even his own wife hasn’t seen. Though they’ve been married for a little longer than Peter and Catherine, Grigor must’ve shown you a side of him that they don’t even know.” His artwork? I imagine his wife has seen it just prefers not to deal or acknowledge it at the end of the day.

“I think so. I’m not quite sure or used to what’s going on here. This wasn’t even why I came here in the first place. The goal wasn’t to find a lover. This achievement was meant to help Catherine deal with the horrid beginning and adjustment to royal life.” Drinking the rest of the vodka for me to place the glass down.

“She told you that Peter punched her in her stomach right? After he shot her bear and burned down her school.” Leo nodded at my comment to take another drink.

“How could anyone handle that? I would’ve just killed him on the spot if he ever laid a hand on me in such a manor. It doesn’t matter anyhow. Excuse me for rambling Leo.” He grabbed the glass bottle to fill up my drink.

“Be gentle with Grigor. From what I’ve gathered and what Catherine has told, his wife and the Emperor just ride over him.” I mean. In bed I know exactly how he likes it. But I am getting better with my anger when it comes to things. It’s mostly just a culture shock into things and that I swear.

“Speaking of the devil. I’d like to forget the horrors that I saw today for a few moments. Have you seen him?”

“I think he was in his apartment.” Nodding for me to get up from the chair and smiling at him.

“Thank you. And thanks for the drink, send a bottle into my apartment if you don’t mind.” Grabbing the glass to start walking towards the door.

“Of course. One must enjoy some sweet libations to keep themselves sane.” He escorted me out as I stood in the doorway. He handed me a spare bottle to then look down the hall.

“It is such an..” He stopped mid sentence as I was assuming he was going to say something extremely naughty about Catherine to me.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t speak of your cousin in such a matter. Would make things rather awkward. Goodnight Chiara.”

“Goodnight Leo.” Smiling at him for the doors to close in front of me. Leo is definitely a nice chap who I get the feeling always keeps Catherine on her toes. In a goodway of course.

Either Grigor is in his apartment waiting for the word I’ve returned or in my room waiting for me in there. I miss his warmth, his smell of fire and pine which sort of surprises me after having loads of sex. I also have a theory that I’ve been working on that when I’m sleeping he’s secretly drawing me. Sometimes I wake up in the night to grab a drink of water to then hear his pencil being used right next to me! Just have to wake up and catch him off guard!

Taking another sip of my vodka to open the door into my apartment to only see Peter standing at the foot of my bed. I was sort of expecting him at some point due to my stunt on the frontlines. Slowly closing the door behind me as I walked over to the table to place down the vodka and glass.

“You think you’re fucking clever don’t you? Giving Velementov tactics on how to lead my own fucking army.” That was quick. Well he wasn’t doing a good job in the first place, someone had to step in and help.

“The answer to your question is yes Emperor Peter. I only gave him advice on what he should do in order to keep the Swedish back out of Russia. He had a choice on whether to follow or not follow my advice.” He stomped over to me and tried to look intimidating. He was not, in fact more like a spoiled child before my eyes.

“I should fucking beat you for what you’ve done! Don’t ever get in the influence of my army ever again you fucking bitch.” What an insult! I’M SHAKING IN MY BOOTS BECAUSE I’M SO INSULT AND THREATENED BY THIS CHILD!

“Well you have two options then don’t you Peter. If he takes my advice and wins then you have defeated the Swedish and can easily push them back to their own lands. I will be expecting a thank you and an apology for when that happens.” Leaning against the fireplace setting up my option two statement.

“My second option is to fucking beat you in open court and throw you out of my own country. Just because you’re a fucking Duchess doesn’t give you some sort of shield to protect me from you.” Well it does.

“If you say so. But I would hate for the rest of Europe to get involved with your self-esteem war against Sweden. For the record that’s what everyone thinks that this is nothing but a chance to fill in the shoes of your dead father.” Oh don’t worry I know what I’m saying. As long as I don’t bring up his dead mother.

“Like you could get the rest of those fuckers involved. They love me and they love Russia.” No one outside of Russia loves Russia. It’s a cold wasteland!

“This country is so backwards that they wouldn’t waste one singular soldier on your land! How blind are you? I’m the first person who's ever put you in your place?” Approaching him with my hands crossed over my chest.

“Shut up you bitch.” Again. What an insult!

“Did your mother or father never discipline you? Your long list of nannies teach you any manners? Did they always give you what you want!?” His entire body from what I could see was turning dark red. Almost darker than a sweet cherry. Peter decided to come into my room and chose violence against me! I’m just defending myself from the toddler before me!

“God I should’ve known you were a spoiled brat when Catherine told me you punched her because she was angry!” Laughing at him to pick up my glass to take a long drink.

“She slapped me!” Throwing it in the fire out of the rage that was forming inside of me.

“When you killed her bear that you gave to for her wedding present!”

“I told her I was sorry!”

“Oh and you actually meant it? Face it Peter you’re a spoiled adolescent who has no idea what he’s doing!” He was about to scream bloody murder. He looked over to see my trunk full of swords. Dear God is he going to try and fight me! He ran over to grab one of my swords and hold it up to me. Grabbing my boot dagger as I waited for him to do something.

“With all your swords I imagine you can’t even fight properly!” Bold of him to assume! Wait! Running over behind the vanity to grab the Scimitar I had hiding behind the vanity! I’m aware this is used for cavalry units but I can definitely make this work! Unsheathing it to put the dagger back in my boot.

“I will not hold back because you’re a female!” Swinging my sword around me waiting for him to move.

“I could say the same thing about you.” Raising my eyebrow as I began circling one another.

Peter's first charge was sloppy for me to block his attacks and kick him onto the love seat. I plan on playing defence the entire time to avoid any sort of bloodshed on my part. He’s the one attack as I’m the one blocking his horrible attacks. Pouncing up from the love seat to take off his long robe and act all “I’m ready to fight now!” stance and attitude.

“Fine. If you want me to fight you like a true man than you have brought it on yourself!” He screamed to try for a low strict on my legs. Jumping back to block his low attack!

“Going for the legs is a cheap shot sei un idiota!” Kicking him directly in his chest that almost knocked him over the love seat.

“Sei un cretino! Non hai assolutamente idea di cosa stai facendo, vero?” Lifting up the sword to place it in front of my face to clash our swords together.

“Please speak a language that I can understand!” Pushing him back for him pounce back up and start swinging.

There’s a reason why swordsmen are such wonderful dancers. We’re light on our toes and must keep a constant aware of our area. You hear the comparison of sword fighting and dancing constantly being compared with one another and it’s a rightful comparison.

My feet are as light as a bird flying through the sky, my eyes are entranced by the movement of my opponent who is sadly horrid at this dance. You feel the music with your arms on how fast and you strike and defend yourself from the opponent. It can be a waltz or even a harsh presto that leaves you wondering if you’ll even make it out alive.

Peter began throwing his sword down upon me as hard as I could to continue backing up from each blow he enforced. The problem with fighting in your room that you sometimes forget about the rest of the furniture in the room! Backing up to fall down onto the other love seat. He was about to throw his sword down for me to lift my legs, crossing them and wrapping them around his neck for me to start squeezing. I could easily snap his neck if I didn’t want the rest of Russia to witness his death! A child like Peter must be made to suffer in public for him to see what he hates the most be the last thing in his life. It’s fitting and it drives them mad!

“Women in trousers must scare you Peter!” Chuckling as he was trying to move my boot from his neck. Turning my boots for his head to face up towards the ceiling for my heel almost in his face.

“No being able to lift up ones dress in order to fuck must really irritate you!”

“I prefer women with absolutely no clothes.” Tightening my grip for his head to raise up, grabbing for as much air as he could.

“No wonder no man has the balls to marry you! You’re only good for love making! Not to mention your swordsmanship is weak so that just makes it more difficult doesn’t it!” BASTARDO!

“Tu bastardo! Non rinuncerò mai alla mia spada per qualche stupido anello e decreto!” He was confused till I sighed and had to remind myself that he doesn’t speak Italian.

“I shall never relinquish my sword for some dumb ring and decree!” Spitting at him for me to pull him down and punch him directly in the face in his. My legs launched him from my grip for him to stumble back. Popping back up and grabbed my sword from the ground. He was reaching for his but I kicked it away from him underneath the bed. Doesn’t hold the sword properly which allows me to practically throw it out of his hands.

“Not such a great Emperor who can’t even handle a simple combat.” Tilting my head a little with a coy smile displayed. The great thing of having a long blood line of Knights is that I am able to learn a vast amount of techniques.

“There’s something my Grandmother always told me because she once fought for the Holy Roman Empire. A woman must be highly skilled above a man in order for her to succeed. She rode into war on a monsterous red shirt that when she came back from battle it had turned into a completely different shade of red.” Peter gulped as I knelt down. Lowering my sword to place it directly underneath his chin.

“Never unsheath a weapon on me again. Is that understood? I could give a shit if you are an Emperor. If you were even the King of the world I would not care. Don’t ever draw a sword on me because I will win.” He was smiling? Wait a minute. My eyes trailed down to make OH MY GOD!

“What a woman you are! No wonder Grigor enjoys spending all over his time with you. God you just made my cock so fucking hard. I wish for you to sit down and ride me!” My eyes widened for him to slide out from under me and began undressing himself.

“Peter...you do know that we’re related now by marriage right?”

“Since when does that stop anyone? The fucking English sleep with their own cousins that are blood related.!” I think I’m going to throw up. I could feel my stomach beginning to mangle inside of me from even the thought!

The doors busted open for Grigor to smile but turn into shock at the sight he was witnessing before him. Peter and I both looked at him as I was waiting for Peter to say something. I could feel my blood rushing throughout my entire body all the way down to the tip of my toes from how anxious I just became. Obviously I have a sword in my hand so nothing was going to happen in the first place.

“Grigor. Control your fucking lover in the palace.” He barked at Grigor for him to grab his robe and stomped out of the room. Peter marched out for Grigor to shut the door immediately behind him. Putting my Scimitar back into the holding as I tossed it onto the love seat.

“Are you okay?” Grigor asked for the blood to keep increasing. The adrenaline is so much good!

“Oh I’m fine! That was a cake walk compared to other fights.” Telling him for him to cup my face and check for any fresh battle scars.

“Grigor I’m fine.” God the adrenaline! My entire stomach is filled with butterflies flying around, blood pumping through my entire body. At once I can feel the hand that I punched Peter with was beginning to hurt. It’s been a while since I’ve punched someone hard like I did with Peter. My other hand was rubbing it for Grigor to grab it and act as if he was some Doctor of some sorts.

“What happened?” He asked to squeeze a little too hard. I flinched a little for him to sigh and was beginning to over panic. Was Peter’s nose bleeding?

“I’ll call for some ice.” Rushing over to the bell to pull the string to alert whoever was available to bring me some ice.

“Did you see him bleeding by chance?”

“No it wasn’t.” Okay good.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” If I tell Grigor that I was going to kill The Emperor I’m not quite sure on how he would react. But if I make up a lie it would definitely lead to another bad reaction that feels uncontrollable. I am screwed no matter what route I decide to take in this situation!

“I uh…”

“You 're going to...sleep with Peter!?” No. No no no!

“Dear God no! Grigor I despise him more than you do!” He already took the thought he already had and was off. I could see Grigor's mind running at an alarming rate before me and I don’t think I can stop it!

“Grigor Grigor look at me.” Standing in front of him to place my hands on his cheeks to have him focus on me.

“Peter will never put his hands on me. I won’t let him.”

“Then why was he in here?” Maybe he won’t mind if I tell him? I mean to be fair Peter started the fight I just happened to finish before I actually sliced him up like a piece of meat.

“Because...Bec..” Removing my hands to face the fire for me to hold myself.

“Because he’s Emperor!”

I could feel my blood rushing, my heart pounding, and my breathing becoming short. He thinks he can just come into my life, sleep with my wife and the love of my life! No! Not anymore! I’m going to put a stop to this!

Storming out of Chiara’s room to start marching down the hall. There has to be some way of punishing him for everything! He can have George all he wants at this point but Chiara is crossing the line now!

How would I punish him? I can’t do anything bloody because that just leaves an absolute mess! Beating? I stopped myself halfway through the hallway to find a small room. A painter was on the floor working on something as I looked over at him and sighed.

“Fuck off.” Yelling at him for me to start circling the room. Can’t stab him, can’t beat him, can’t send a wild animal, and I can’t shoot him.

I..can’t..

Wait a minute. I looked down to see a small bowl and scrapper that had some paint on it. That..that might work. Grabbing the scrapper out of the bowl to walk out of the room. He’s sulking in his food at the moment due to the rejection of Chiara.

Hearing him eat to shove the scrapper up into my shirt a little more to see him feasting on Louis' food. Borscht. I can mix the paint into the borscht when he’s got his entire head turned away from me.

“Ah Grigor! Try this black bread with moose lips. Makes my cock hard like your wife and lover. How on earth you’ve managed to wrangle these women into your life is very impressive.” That vile smile he enjoys displaying that makes me want to shove this down his throat! He held up the plate for me to grab it and take a chunk out of it. Throwing it onto the empty plate in my seat to sit down.

“Fucking delicious.”

“There’s Louis’ famous borscht too.” I can scrape it off in there, mix it and would not be the wiser. But how do I distract him to put the paint in? Ummm. The pig!

“Remember when we shot that fucking pig?” Laughing for me to point at the pig head mounted on his wall. Peter turned around for me to shove the scrapper into the borscht to stir it around as fast as I could. Pulling the scrapper from the bowl to hide it back into the sleeve of my shirt.

“Great day!” He smiled for me to nod along with him. Watching Peter grab his bowl to begin pouring the borscht into it. Here he goes. Fucking suffer you worthless little man.

“You want some?”

“I’ve eaten.” Wouldn’t touch that dish in a mile.

“We should go play handball after this.” He offered for me to nod. I..I have to get him out of here so they don’t suspect the food if he comes ill.

“Let’s go now!” We have to go now! I jumped out of my seat for Peter to keep his bowl with him.

“Uh..maybe leave the food?”

“Louis’ borscht? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of course I’m bringing it!” Possibly but shit! Watching him walk out of Zeus right behind turned my blood from boiling range to thin ice in a matter of seconds.

I need to calm down! Grabbing the bottle of vodka to rip the cork off with my teeth then begin drinking it. I’m not having one of those reality moments where I question my actions because I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing. I’m going to punish the fool that has tried to come after my love!

She’s more than my lover. Though our little time spent with one another it’s grown. Everytime I think about her my heart beats so fast I can feel it through my body. Her scent when she’s laying next to me in bed is intoxicating. For she has enchanted me with her words and actions that I may never get over.

When at night she’s asleep and I lay awake wondering through my empty mind. I take a few moments to begin sketching her so that she may stay with me my entire life. For she will be leaving one day, I would prefer it to act if she wasn’t leaving quite yet.

Chiara has overthrown and placed herself on the throne of where George once sat in my heart. I love her...though she doesn't love me, it is worth every moment I spend time with her.

Taglist: 

@mirkwoodshewolf @bonafiderocketqueen @johndeaconshands

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @amethyst-serenade @radio-ha-ha @i-have-a-wonky-eye-too @deck-heart @actuallyanita  @the-baby-bookworm @ewanmcgregors​ @panagiasikelia​ 

[goth-girlfriend]

Hear me out: Reader who is richer than Shoto and Momo combined. They have a reputation of being stuck up and transfer into UA by STRONG recommendation. Everyone avoids her out of fear of being caught in rich wrath. But it’s not until the Bakusquad make a joke with her they realize what a complete idiot/nerd/funny person she is. Denki *makes joke about reader being to rich* Reader *pulls out hundreds to wipe tears and throws them on the floor when the tears are gone* If you can please? 😊❤️❤️

Request: “Sorry to message you! I but I sent a recent ask! I was going to ask if you could add the reader having like mesmerizing long black hair and killer brows and false lashes? Bonus if she ends up with Best Boom Boy!

I love this honestly! I’ll do my best to answer this the best I can! I’m assuming Bakugo right? I hope so, ☺️

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader + Friend Bakusquad

🖤💥❤️🧡🖤💚🖤🧡❤️🧡🖤💚🖤🧡❤️💥🖤

Class 1-A was bustling with conversation at the news they’d just gotten. A new student would be joining the class Mid Semester. The daughter of a well known known man in Japan.

The Family name foreign, (L/n), It’s been in Japan no longer than four generations. And they’d already come to sit on the top of the money empire. Being rich and known would be a good thing for anyone aspiring to become a hero. It was a lie, often times press would take chances to start rumors and make false accusations leading the newest generation of (L/n) to be held to a new standard.

“I know! Everyone makes her out to be stuck up, snobby and rude!”

Morning

“Aren’t the (L/n)’s the family the Hero Times magazine compared to other families? If I’m right they said Her family dwarfs the Yaoyorozu, Iida, and Todoroki families combined!”

“I heard she had press locked up and cameras destroyed for taking her picture!”

“Oh! I saw a video from her middle school days! You can’t really make her out, but she brought a girl to her knees in-front of the school! For something she did....”

“Oh! She must be the girl who took down a group of boys because one of them brushed shoulders with her!”

“No way! I heard she got a boy expelled because she thought he was looking down on her!”

“She s-sounds scary, I don’t think I want to talk to her.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna run the risk of getting kicked out of U.A., not after all the hard work I put in to get here.”

The chatter continued, on the other side of the door, hearing every comment stood (Y/n), her brows furrowed slightly in anger. She released the tension in her brows, they rested in their usual place. Her brows fell into her natural RBF as she sighed, she looked at the Principal, the dog/bear/mouse beside her smiled and knocked. It was answered by the Teacher she had met not to long again Erased Head, or as she’d be introduced. Shota Aizawa.

“I’ll leaver her in your capable hands, make sure she gets a good view on what U.A. iS really about.” He smiled and waved at the teacher and left without word.

Aizawa let the girl enter and stand at the front of the class room. He stepped over to his desk picking up a black folder with a golden crest printed on the front. It was the information U.A. has asked for when you applied.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself.” Aizawa said staring at at the first part of your folder. A record for my our old school, no tardies, no absences, no missing work, no violations, no record punishment, no reported incidents, No grade under a 98. Class representative, president of 6 clubs, President of Student Body Council, 4.0 GPA, in quirk control you placed number one in your school, In your school Sport festival you came in first, Cultural Festival you’d brought in the most donations and had a recommendation letter from almost every teacher and both the principal and vice principal.

I stood silent for a minute staring the class over, recognizing every weak point. I didn’t bother smiling, they probably would be scared anyway. I looked through the corner of my eyes to the window.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n), call me (l/n), I don’t have time to waste on friends, formalities. You bunch of extras would probably just drag me down, I don’t expect much from any of you. I reached the top of my class with ease, and by just looking at you I can tell it won’t be any different.” I scoffed and looked over the class. I

It definitely struck some nerves.

“WHO THE HELL DID YOU JUST CALL AN EXTRA YOU TRASH.” A blonde boy with red eyes glared at me popping up from his seat.

Pops coming from his hand, I stared his down, “What are you doing?” I scoffed, “With pop rocks like that the only thing you’d be scaring it probably a kitten.”

“I’ll kill you!” He screamed bringing his hand up.

“Bet.” Was all is said, a watched his hand and the bright light starting to form, with a quick hand sign he fell face first into the floor arms bound behind his back.

I watched him struggle, explosions forming in his palms. Everyone watched him, stares no longer on me I turned to Aizawa.

“Take a seat in the back by the window, it’s the only open desk.” He said closing the file.

I looked ahead not bothering to look at anyone or make eye contact, I say down and moved my hair so I wouldn’t sit on it. I brought my hands to my nape and pushed them back pushing my hair over my back and into the space between my back and the chair. It felt pooling into the part of the chair I didn’t take and overflowing on sides where he chair didn’t catch. It dangled just an inch from the floor. I held my bag beside me. As I got adjusted to my seat and finally looked ahead to the front of class. I felt stares as I started to pull out my notebook, pen, and pencil. 🖤

I ignored it and went about my business, by the end of the day I heard whispers of why the things I used were so expensive. They hadn’t seen my phone yet, it’d definitely kill them if just a brand note book had them like this. The day was finally coming to an end, during lunch I stayed in class, afraid of sitting alone, I’d rather be alone and unseen rather than alone and stared at.

I sighed and looked at my bag, class was coming to an end for the day, and Aizawa was standing at front in his sleeping bag. Everyone was talking, some sitting on desks. I pulled out my phone, over a thousand notifications on my public social media’s, my dads manager saying I need to become friendlier with the public because of the appearance the press keeps trying to force onto me.

‘I set up some social media accounts for you just post about your day, make some friends post about them, just show the public you aren’t who they’re trying to make you out to be.’

I scoffed at his words but nodded just agreeing, if it’s for my dad I’d try my best. So here I am switching between accounts and now on public Snapchat scrolling through chats answering a few and adding people back so it feel more ‘personal’

“Do you see that?” I heard a whisper.

“Do you think it’s real?”

“It’s huge! If it’s real it must cost a fortune!”

“Look it up.....”

The room was silent for a minute,

“No way, the company only made a few and they sold for 48.5 million, and that was an IPhone six, that’s literally the newest iPhone, so it ages to be worth double even triple what the six was!”

“Go ask,” “Dude, no you go ask.”

“I’m scared,” “You probably should be.”

The bell rang and I was up and gone, no point in sticking around. I found a stair case, it led up to the roof. I followed it, it was so high. I walked over to the railing, I watched people pour out rushing to dorms or wherever else. I dropped my bag on the gravel floor and reached for my phone in my pocket, I held up my camera to the sun, the sky was turning orange. I took a picture, the sun rays peaking through the clouds.

I waited it out a bit longer, I felt a smile graze my face for the first second time today. My friend was posting on her story pictures we’d taken last year today. We skipped school to go to arcades, she met her boyfriend of one year now, we had boba, bought a bunch of merch, and just stayed out till night had claimed the sky. We walked home, bags in tow, uniforms scrunched up, cheeks sore from laughing and smiling the whole day.

Just as I finished the story I got another notification, a message from her. I opened it it was a video, unknown to us it was my last day at my old High school.

“Awww, I love you!” She hugged me, I hugged her back, “Love your too loser.”

“We’ll be best friends and together forever right?” She smiled as we rocked back in forth in the hug.

“I wouldn’t leave you for the world.” I laughed.

“Well just act like I’m not here,” her boyfriends voice in the background.

“I will, bros before.....hoes.....” she laughed and I smiled shaking my head.

“Come on, ill pay dinner.” I said and the video stopped.

‘You loser 😭 I didn’t feel like crying today, it’s my first day of school.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have left me 😭

‘I didn’t even know 😢’

‘🤔 Mhm, we need to meet up soon, it’s only been a day but I already miss you 😢’

‘Aight Bet.’

‘A challenge? 👀’

‘Saturday the usual? 😎’

‘I accept your invitation.’

The conversation ended and I headed to the dorms. This repeat for the next few days, I met with my friend Saturday and told her about my dads managed, she agreed every weekend we’d meet up and feed the public. After a month of this I was sitting in class minding my business, I cracked a smile at my phone and quickly wiped it away realizing I was still being watched.

“Sooo, (l/n)?” I looked up, the boy everyone called Denki leaning on my desk.

I cocked a brow, “Hm?”

“I’m in need of money, and I’ve been shot down twice, sooo, let’s make a bet a gamble really. If you win I’ll pay you, but if I win you pay me.” He sounded so cocky, I squinted at him brows furrowed.

I reached into my bag bringing out my wallet “I don’t waste time just take a donation.” I pulled out six hundred and handed it over like it was nothing.

“Oh....thanks? I guess it’s easier to pay people off when your loaded,” It sounded more like a joke.

I felt a small smile and pulled out another hundred, “Sometiwms you have to buy friends, it’s sad I know.” I patted fake tears and dropped the money ont he floor.

“But you know what they say,” I held the hundred out to him, “You feel better when you cry in a Ferrari.” I let out a single laugh, and then realized the mistake I made when I smield as he laughed.

“I knew you weren’t completely heartl-” I cut him off,

“Don’t talk about it, I’ll pay you off to never mention it.” He laughed and smiled a hand reaching to the back of his neck.

“Call us friends and you won’t even have to pay me.” He smiled.

“Deal.” I answered.

He opened his phone and held it out, “here add your number.”

I sigehd and added my number, he sent me a message and I saved him number.

“Alright new friend, I’ll see you later.”

He waved and walked off as the bell rang.The next day I was dragged to lunch and sat between Denki and Bakugo. I don’t know what to do, so I just drank water, I tried to talk to Mina when she talked to em but they all seemed so tense except for Denki.This became my schedule for the weeks to come.

“I’m hungry,” I grumbled into my phone.

Denki had FaceTimed me at 2 in the morning.

“Then go eat, nobody’s up except you and me.” He shrugged sitting on his bed under his blanket.

“Alright, I’ll be back. so just stay here.” I propped my phone up he had a view of my room from the prop my phone was on.

“Oooo, even your room looks like it belongs to a rich girl. Definitely fancier then Yaoyorozu’s.” He looked around to see what he could.

“Nice, I’ll be back I’m going to find.... dinner?”

“MKay.” Was all he said as he yawned.

I grabbed my second phone and popped in my AirPods, I started to play my music on shuffle. Making it to the Kitchen I was vibing with my music and getting into it. I started to make a sandwich and doing weird dances. I smiled and finally started to Clean up.The song Falling for you, started to play and for some reason my mind went to a certain blonde. I smield to myself, thinking about him. I fluffed my hair and ran my finger over my lashes. I felt the tips of my hair brushing my bare legs.

I smiled and picked up my sandwich and started a new dance with hip movement when the song Hotel Room Sevrvice came on. I started to turn to walk away stopping when I met familiar eyes.

“So, the edgy princess isn’t who she acts to be.” I swallowed, staring at him, his biceps were huge, especially in that muscle shirt.

I got a message form Denki, I’d given him my second number, “SOMEONES HEADED YOUR WAY!”

“Heeeyyy Bakugo....” I was caught, no point in hiding.

“What are you doing up this late?” He asked unamused.

“Well,” I looked at my sandwich, “I was looking for food but an even better snack walked in.” I winked at him.

He made a grunt.

“No? Not Good enough?” I asked an dlwaned against the counter.

“No.”

“How about are you a tombstone cause is nat you on top of me,” I did finger guns this time putting my sandwich down.

“Anything better?” He asked his eyes narrowing.

“Are you a sinning ship? Because I really wanna go down on you.....” I didn’t fight back the smile.

I heard him cough, and I smiled as I noticed a very faint blush.

“Want me try again?” I asked with a cheeky smile.

He didn’t answer he just looked at me,

“You can call me a coffin cause I want you be in-“ I couldn’t finsh I looked and licked my top lip, I assume she understood what I meant but wanted to finsh “inside me.”

At that point I forgot my hunger, I was hungry something else, nothing particularly dirty but some attention.

“Well Katsuki,” I casually walked over to him pushing myself into his side tilting my head onto his shoulder and looking up at him. “I know we definitely have a lot of bad reactions, but I say we should experiment with this chemistry we have going on.”

I pulled his left arm from across his chest and held his hand between my palms, “You look like you’d enjoy someone who would totally dominate you.” I pulled back and placed a soft kiss on his shoulder.

“What do you say?” I asked squeezing his arm.

“Yeah right,” he scoffed and looked down at me.

“Come on, from what I’ve heard you wanted to be called a king, I can make you feel like a king.” I nuzzled against his shoulder.

“I’ll give you one date, but after that you’ll just be an extra so you’ll have to stay out of my way.” He said and brushed it off like it was nothing.

“Ill make sure you don’t regret it.” I stretched and kissed his cheek and booked it out of there sandwich in tow.

“YOU WONT BELIEVE IT.” I screamed at Denki who was still on face time.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“Soooooo?” I hugged Bakugo’s waist as the class gathered around in the gym.

Everyone in costume, “You look so fine dressed in your hero uniform.” I said and trailed my hand up the giant gauntlet on his wrist.

“Hm.”He grunted ignoring the stares of disbelief. “Whatever.”

The moment we broke of into our Duos to play an all to competitive game of catch the flag we stopped in the middle of the trading grounds, I was pulled into his chest, his right hand brushing my hair from the top of my head to my lower back. “Your hair is so long,” He mumbled I felt him take a hand full and pull on it, I was weak in the knees almost instantly.

I looked up at him batting my eyelashes, “There you go batting your fake lashes just to distract me.” He grunted.

“I’d agree with you if they’re weren’t real.” I smield and blinked slowly.

“Well aren’t you just gorgeous.” He snarled and he kissed the top of my head

“Now out of my way Extra I’m leading you so don’t leave my side or get in the way.” He stepped aside and looked down at me.

“You and I both know your better at taking Commands. But I’ll play obedient, only for you Katsuki.” I winked at him.

He turned with a growl, “Let’s just go beat that damn nerd.”

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Written for Kataang Week 2020. Prompt - Keeping Warm.

There’s a blizzard at the South Pole, and the Water Tribe has traditions.

~~~

Hi guys! So after doing Azula Week earlier this month I was like "Oh yeah I feel like I could manage Kataang Week too!" so this is that. We'll see how it goes. Fair warning - I am not much of a shipper. I do like Kataang, a lot, but writing romance is kinda...eh. So expect me to use this week more as an excuse for character exploration and worldbuilding than actual shipfic, lol. You have no idea how many times I started to write “oral tradition” in and then had to slap my wrist like NO this is a SHIPPING WEEK and if you use that phrase people will assume it’s mature and then be disappointed when it isn’t. XD

Warnings: There's nothing explicit going on here, but we do hear about a past animal attack and said animal's death.

Enjoy!

~~~

Something heavy, furry, and large was dumped over Aang’s head, and he sputtered and laughed and breathed in the scent of well-conditioned animal hide even as he extricated himself from the massive fur pelt. “Katara, come on, you know I don’t get cold!”

Katara lifted a corner of the fur, flopped down beside him, and flipped the fur back over herself. “It’s a blizzard. Humor me,” she said, eyes sparkling in the light of the fireplace.

“You know I can easily enjoy a snowstorm in nothing but a cape.”

“Blizzard, not snowstorm,” she said, snuggling up beside him. “I don’t care about your Airbender temperature-regulation abilities, that’s a South Pole blizzard out there. It’s going to get cold by my standards.”

“I survived a North Pole blizzard without any extra layers just fine,” Aang chuckled.

“That wasn’t a blizzard, that was a regular old flurry, and you were running on adrenaline,” Katara said, snuggling up to his side. “The city was under siege, you were talking to a spirit that wanted to steal your face, Zuko had captured you again… Besides,” she added, grinning up at him, “this is cozy. And it’s my favorite blanket, so you should feel honored that I’m feeling gracious enough to share it with you.”

Aang laughed. “Okay, okay, you win.” He wrapped one arm around her. The other he poked out of their warm cocoon to examine the fur she’d wrapped them in. He was always going to be put off by the idea of dead animal skin, but the poles boasted harsh climates that the Water Tribe had perfected living in, and no other material held heat as well as fur did. This one was completely white, the hair coarse but well-cared for, and it was huge. Whatever animal it came from, it had to be enormous. “What is this, anyway?”

“Polar bear-dog,” Hakoda said. He was seated on the floor on the other side of the fireplace, also wrapped in a fur. In his hands he held a piece of whale-walrus tusk, which he carefully examined while a set of carving tools sat nearby, waiting. Kanna sat beside him, closer to the fire, keeping an eye on the labrador tea she was brewing.

“What?” Aang said, looking at the fur with new interest. “I thought you guys said they were too dangerous to hunt!”

“They are,” Bato said. He was sitting near Hakoda, removing a broken handle from a knife that needed fixing. “That one was hunting us.”

Aang stroked the fur - the closest he’d ever gotten to petting an actual polar bear-dog. Well. It was an actual polar bear-dog, just. Dead. Which didn’t count. Aang had never met a large animal he didn’t want to ride in his life, and his list of accomplishments included hog-monkeys, the unagi, and Zuko’s dragon, but everyone he’d ever spoken to in the Southern Water Tribe - and also everyone he hadn’t - agreed that he should, under no circumstances, ever attempt to ride a polar bear-dog, and had made a point of telling him so. Multiple times.

Of course he fully intended to try it anyway. What was the worst that could happen?

“So what happened?” he asked. Katara was still curled into his side, and he rested his head on top of hers and waited for the story. The Southern Water Tribe loved a good story, and they had so many of them - so much of their history was passed down in speech, not writing. And that was only partially because of the war - the Fire Nation may have destroyed much of the Southern Tribe’s culture with their attacks, but they’d been passing down their history from generation to generation long before they’d bothered with paper or a writing system. That strong oral tradition had saved so much knowledge that might have been lost otherwise. Now that they had a permanent settlement again, with enough room and resources for record keeping, they were writing things down again, trying to make the knowledge more accessible.

But nothing, Katara insisted, could beat a good story told by loved ones gathered around the fire. And blizzards, she said, were when the tribe hunkered down and enjoyed each other’s company, passing the time by telling stories, or creating art, or sharing food, or fixing things. The wind might howl outside, the snow might pile up, but you were safe and warm inside with your tribe, your family, and everyone would tell stories to help pass the time.

The wind wasn’t howling outside yet, but it would soon. One of the last things Aang and Katara had done before hunkering down for the storm was take Appa out for a flight. The sky outside was overcast, so they’d flown up, up, up until they’d broken through the clouds and seen blue again. The sky had been a sea of clouds for as far as the eye could see, freezing cold and just waiting to drop snow on the South Pole.

Hakoda hummed and raised his head from the ivory in his hand to look at Bato. “This was decades ago. We were just little kids.”

“Little enough to get snatched up by a polar bear-dog and eaten in three bites,” Bato agreed, removing the last piece of broken knife handle and examining the tang. “When it started prowling around the village that winter, our parents didn’t let us step foot outside alone.”

“It was terrifying,” Kanna joined in. “It’d been a harsh winter. It was bitterly cold, and snowed often, and the animals were getting desperate. The caribou-bison herds were either freezing to death or migrating elsewhere, and the predators were having a hard time finding food. Normally polar bear-dogs prefer to stay in the deep tundra or out on the ice floes, far away from humans, but this one was hungry that winter.” She picked up the teapot and started pouring the tea into waiting cups.

“It prowled around the village for a week,” Hakoda said.

“One of the scariest weeks of my life,” Kanna said. “You were a rambunctious child and you didn’t like being cooped up inside. Your father and I worried you’d wander out the gate and get eaten.”

“I remember seeing its pawprints in the snow,” said Bato. He had two halves of a piece of caribou-bison antler in his hand, already carved into the shape of a handle, and he was fitting them around the knife tang. “It’d circle the village, waiting for its chance. And it would howl.”

Hakoda shuddered. “I remember the howling,” he agreed. “That was awful. You’d be trying to sleep, and all of a sudden that howl would start, and you didn’t feel safe anymore.”

“We had a wall,” Kanna explained to Aang, handing him two cups of labrador tea. He passed the second to Katara. “Not much of one, our Waterbenders had been lost for years at that point. But we did have a snow wall, and we were able to maintain it, and someone was always on watch to scare the beast away when it tried to dig through.”

“Why didn’t it just attack?” Aang asked. He held the teacup beneath his nose for a moment to enjoy the piney, floral scent. Then he used some subtle airbending to manipulate the temperature a few degrees cooler and had a sip. Katara wordlessly held her own cup out, and Aang grinned and repeated the trick for her. She pressed a kiss to his cheek before enjoying her drink.

“It was starving. Weak,” Kanna said, handing another two teacups to Hakoda. “It was looking for an easy meal, not a fight.”

“It almost killed my aunt,” Bato said, putting the knife down to accept the cup Hakoda passed to him. “She went out to get some fresh snow for water, and it almost got her.”

“We decided enough was enough,” Kanna said. Her hands were wrapped around her own teacup now, for the warmth. “We’d hoped it would go away by itself when it saw we wouldn’t be easy prey, but we were its only prey. It wasn’t going to leave. So we had to do something.”

Aang nodded, holding back a grimace. His people would never have killed anything if they could help it, but his people could also take their bison herds and fly away from whatever leopard-wolves or jackal-lynxes were stalking them. Life in the Water Tribe was different, as was being hunted by a desperate, determined predator you couldn’t escape. He could respect that.

“One of our most experienced fighters at the time was our former chief, Akkikitok,” Kanna said. “She’d retired a few years before, but even though she was no longer our chief she was still a respected elder and leader. She always put so much thought into the safety and wellbeing of our people.”

“Who was your chief then, if she’d retired and Hakoda was a little kid?” Aang asked.

“My mother’s father,” Katara said.

“Chief Oomailiq,” Hakoda said with a fond smile. “I learned a lot from him.”

“He got re-elected so many times,” Katara told Aang proudly.

He chuckled. “Leadership skills run in the family, huh?”

Katara’s grin was fierce.

“We decided we had to do something to protect the village,” Kanna continued the story. “So the next time the polar bear-dog came to the village’s wall, Akkikitok took her spear and her club and went out to either chase it off or fight it.” She grimaced. “She wound up fighting it.”

“Not alone, though,” Aang said, because the Water Tribe never did anything alone.

“Of course not. Our best fighters went out to support her. But she kept the animal’s attention focused on her, and she suffered many wounds before she struck the killing blow.” Kanna sighed. “She didn’t live long after the fight, but she died knowing she’d saved the village, and she considered it a good ending.”

“And that’s why you’re never allowed to ride a polar bear-dog,” Katara said, removing one hand from her teacup to poke Aang.

“Hey,” he laughed. His fingers twiddled with the white fur as he considered the story he’d just been told.

“We kept the fur, of course,” Kanna said. “We considered cutting it up to use in the tribe’s hoods, so everyone could have a piece of Akkikitok’s sacrifice. But it was decided the pelt was too precious - we very rarely kill polar bear-dogs, after all. So it was kept in one piece, and we are grateful for the warmth and comfort it’s provided us over the years.”

Air Nomads held all life as sacred. Aang found it so very comforting that the Water Tribe did too, just...in a different way. Meat was a necessary food group at the poles, furs necessary to keep from freezing to death. But the Water Tribe never took more than they needed, and every animal killed for the tribe was honored and thanked for its sacrifice.

This one had actively tried to harm the tribe, but it was still treated with respect even after death.

“So you use it as a blanket now?” Aang laughed.

Kanna smiled. “Yes, well, we’re practical.” The Southern Water Tribe hadn’t had room for anything frivolous until very recently. Their traditional lifestyle didn’t lend itself well to extraneous possessions to begin with, but decades of running and hiding from the Fire Nation hadn’t helped either.

Hakoda straightened a bit. “Oh,” he said, “we could display it now, though. In town hall.”

Kanna blinked. “Oh,” she said. “We could.” They were all still getting used to the idea of having a centralized government, of having permanent towns again.

“It’d be a good place for everyone to see the tribe’s history,” Bato mused. “Including foreign dignitaries.”

“See how important our history still is to us,” Hakoda nodded. He looked back at the piece of ivory he hadn’t figured out what to do with yet. “I’ve been considering art displays as well, but that fur is a direct tie to a beloved chief. It’s a good idea.”

Katara watched them all with a flat expression. “I know what story I’m going to tell our children years from now, Aang.”

Aang felt a flutter in his stomach at the thought of him and Katara having children. “Yeah?”

“This is the story of how I lost my favorite blanket to a museum display.”

Aang burst out laughing.

“It’s for a good cause, Katara!” Hakoda protested, grinning.

Katara pulled the fur pelt even closer around herself and Aang. “One last time, old friend,” she muttered into the hide.

“I’ll get you a new blanket,” Aang promised. “Bison fur can be really warm, and Appa definitely sheds enough for a blanket.”

“Not the same,” Katara huffed. She poked him again. “Your turn. Tell us a story.”

Aang blinked, and then he noticed that Kanna, Hakoda, and Bato were all looking at him expectantly. “Oh,” he said. “Okay. Uh…” He trailed off, thinking. He had lots of stories to share, from before, during, and after the war; it was just a matter of picking which one he felt like telling. Something funny, he thought, after the serious one they’d just told. And something new, which might be tricky - Katara had lived through so many stories with Aang, after all, and her family were already aware of a lot of them. But they’d just shared a piece of their tribe’s history with him - it would only be right to share something of his.

Which meant something from before the iceberg. Before the war.

Talking about his people could be hard. He still did it - the Air Acolytes had questions, and he had to explain his philosophy to so many world leaders who just didn’t understand. He tried to keep it abstract, matter-of-fact, but it always hurt, even if only a little.

And oftentimes a lot. There was a distressing number of people who thought that the Air Nomads’ extinction was proof that their beliefs had no value. That there was no room in the world to bring that way of life back, nor any point to it even if the Air Acolytes managed it. It made Aang want to be careful about who he shared something as precious as his people’s memory with.

But the Southern Water Tribe were survivors of the second-worst genocide the world had ever seen. If there was anyone Aang knew would understand - anyone he could feel comfortable talking about his own people and his loss with - it was them.

With that in mind, he recalled an old memory and smiled. “Alright, so back when I was like - seven? eight? - Monk Gyatso and I visited the Western Air Temple. Now there was this nun who lived there, Sister Aditi, and she had this way with animals…”

~~~

Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. :D

I’ve always loved how Aang and Katara’s cultures are super different, yet super similar. Air Nomads were vegetarians, while the Water Tribe diet would, by necessity, focus on meat. Both cultures regard life as sacred, though - Air Nomads could just afford to be vegetarian and thus didn’t hunt, while the Water Tribe hunts to survive but also respects the sacrifice of the animals they kill. (I mean I guess that’s not in canon but they’re based on Inuit/Yupik/Native American cultures so we can infer.) Both cultures appear to live pretty sustainably. Annnnd they’ve both suffered a lot from the war. :( The idea of Katara and Aang supporting each other through the rebuilding of their cultures means a lot to me.

Aang is probably never going to fully appreciate a nice fur like Katara, but he does appreciate how important it is to her culture and her people's way of life. I really like how in the show, neither Aang nor the Water Tribe kids ever rag on each other for their diets. Sokka talks a lot about how much HE eats meat, but he never tells Aang to eat it, nor does Aang tell Sokka he should go vegetarian. They just respect each other. (There is that one time they go to a meat place in the Fire Nation but they were also trying to blend in and they let Aang bow out without comment so I'll let it pass.)

The story of former chief Akkikitok taking down a polar bear-dog and also Kya's father Oomailiq being another chief (and Hakoda's mentor) are things I first wrote about in my fic Early Birds, but I thought it'd be nice to elaborate here. As far as I can tell, Akkikiktok is Inuit and means "costs little" (cuz I didn't wanna spend forever finding her name lol), and Oomailiq is Inuit for "leader of the boat, whaling captain", friendly reminder that it's tricky verifying Native names on baby name lists so I can't guarantee that.

Sister Aditi is an Air Nomad OC of mine who I keep meaning to bring in but never have the chance to (she was literally supposed to be in the next chapter of Vintage Gaang, which I haven't updated since 2009). Her name was 100% chosen to mimic noted animal lover and spiritual man St Francis of Assissi. I swear I will use her properly in a fic someday. XD

[ardentprose]

Cold Brew - Prologue

This is my attempt at the old coffee shop cliche. I’m warning you now, my writer’s block is strong. But I will tell you this story to the best of my abilities. 

*I don’t own the gifs.

*Dialogue: English will be in standard font while Korean will be italicized.

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow-Burnish, Romance

Warnings: Language (if more are found, please message me)

Summary: Going to an American college for music was an opportunity Min Yoongi could not pass up. Despite the comments about his eyes and accent, he’s determined to make it through the semester and prove himself to his parents back home. After an awkward but fateful conversation, Yoongi finds himself crushing hard for a girl he only has so many weeks to confess to. If he will at all.

November

He sits at a table shoved against a wall, his mind concentrated on chasing down the train of thoughts bustling through his mind before it escapes him. His hand scurries across the page, the inevitable pain slowly rising in his wrist as the pen audibly scratches through the journal. Now and then, his left hand brushes the pale hair settling on his eyelashes. The brim of round wire glasses faithfully slides down the smooth bridge of his nose and so his fingers are kept busy with this task as well.

In the past hour, the bell has jingled a hundred times, the voices of patrons intermingling with the whistling espresso machines and clank of the register drawer. It’s background noise easily tuned out, and yet with an uncanny sense, when the bell chimes again announcing a new arrival, Yoongi slams his journal closed, slipping it into the safe cavern of his backpack.

He pulls out his English Composition 101 textbook and the accompanying black spiral notebook to set on the table.

She slides into the chair across from him, her sweet perfume cutting through the ever present aroma of coffee. The soft thud of her messenger bag accompanies her warm tone.

“Yoongi.” His eyes train on his notebook, watching the veins in his hand flicker as he opens the massive textbook to the current chapter. Only after finding the correct page does he looks up at her and her awaiting smile. That brief moment of delay does nothing to prepare his heart as it skips twice, taking in her shining eyes, rosy cheeks, and chapped lips parted for him.

“Hey.” He swallows the strain in his vocal chords, hoping to disguise their fragility with a long sip of his cold brew.

“How are you? Did you get any sleep last night?” She asks as she leans forward and slips out her winter coat. She drapes it over the back of her chair, left in a hoodie dyed the navy blue of the university.

“The same.” He mumbles, licking the aftertaste from his lips and anticipating the crinkle in her brow.

“Yoongi, you have to learn to go to bed! It’s not healthy to skip sleep. One of these days you’re going to collapse from exhaustion.”

“I have...too much work.” He reasons, watching the lavender scarf she claims to have knit herself unravel around her neck. She leans over to stuff it into her bag and then gives him a glare.

“We all have too much work to do, Yoongi. You need to sleep.”

Why does she keep saying my name? He muses, intrigued and yet horrified at the electricity that shoots through him every time he hears her say the familiar syllables.

“And you?” He chides, watching her momentarily cover a cough and then sniff. “You gonna catch a cold.”

“No, I’m not. I was just outside.” She shakes her head, tugging out her own textbook and note-taking utensils.

"Your voice is scratchy. That wouldn’t happen if you drank the warm honey water like I told you to.” Yoongi says.

“Yeah, well...” She sighs, and her eyes flicker to his along with a guilty smile. Despite her age, youth couldn’t prevent the exhausted wrinkles creasing under her eyes.

“Let’s both agree to take better care of ourselves. You go ahead and start, I’m going to order some tea.”

“I got it.” Yoongi says, allowing her to remain in her seat, albeit with a confused expression. He waves his hand above her head, catching the eye of the barista, who nods and disappears behind the kitchen. He returns promptly with a porcelain tea cup on a saucer, setting it down in front of her wide eyes.

“Thank you!” She glances from the barista to Yoongi, blinking several times at the steaming cup of tea.

“Let’s get started.” Yoongi clears his throat, taking another sip, and flipping open his notebook to the next blank page.

She hums, taking a careful sip of the spiced chai she so dearly craves. Soon, they slip into routine silence and time passes as it always does. She explains the English language in a patient voice, sometimes reaching over with her pen to point out a particular word or phrase. He writes it down, taking note of her correction and the way his knuckles burn when she grazes them in proximity. The atmosphere is calm and productive, and Yoongi can’t help but notice the contrast between the silent companionship in the café to the initial meeting they had only a mere three months ago.

September

He had just arrived in America, via a Student Visa and Study Abroad program. Though he had only spent three weeks at most on campus, he quickly realized the color of his skin and the accent of his words was evidence enough to attach numerous stereotypes to his character, most of which he had never heard of before in his life. The American students would clap him on the shoulder in class, asking if he could check their math homework. The teachers would speak to him in a patronizingly slow English, as if he had a mental issue, not a language barrier. A fair share of giggling girls with pretty Asian men tucked into phone cases would ask for his number, but struggle pronouncing his name. The worst of it came from the frat boys who, though having never seen his crotch, assumed it was lacking in comparison to their superior American-made crotches. It was by that time, Yoongi decided that save for the incredible opportunity it was to study music in America, the rest of it could burn in hell.

The only one stopping him from taking the next ticket back to South Korea was his roommate Hoseok, who came over on a dance scholarship the year before. Having acclimated for one year to American college life, Hoseok tried to convince Yoongi on a daily basis that not all Americans were as ignorant as they let on. However, it still took Hoseok disconnecting Yoongi’s laptop from the school Wi-Fi on a particularly climatic night in order to convince him to stay in America - at least until the end of the semester.

That being said, Yoongi had, fair or not, formed a prejudice against American students and avoided them at all costs. Ironically, it was this mindset that caused him to open his mouth, one picnic table away, and comment on some American’s awful pronunciation of his native tongue.

The soon to be victim was sitting at the picnic table next to his sitting with a presumably Korean girl.

“I haven’t gotten it down perfectly, but I definitely know how to have a basic conversation.”

“Really? Show me, show me!” Her loud volume caught Yoongi’s attention, which up until now had been focused on the next four measures under his pencil.

Having forgotten his earbuds in his dorm, he was left with no other choice but to eavesdrop.

“How are you?" The friend immediately asked and Yoongi could hear her smile in the eager question.

“I’m great! How are you?” The American responded.

A frown wrinkles Yoongi’s brow. He understood her words, but the pronunciation was slightly jarring, as if she was talking with rocks in her mouth.

“Very good!” The native encouraged and asked her what her career is, a basic introduction that any stranger would ask.

“College study gift. I’m study music and singer.“ Stumbling and humming her way through the sentence, Yoongi can’t help but snicker, holding his knuckles to his grin.

“Yes!” Expecting a correction, Yoongi scoffs as she ignores the obviously incorrect sentence and encourages her on. 

“Are you kidding me? She sounds like a damn Google translation.” He laughed, resuming his writing with a shake of his head.

“Hey! Who the fuck asked you?!”

Yoongi’s heart jumped into his throat. One moment he was scribbling notes on a composition sheet, chuckling to himself. The next, a furious Korean female was in his face, cursing him out. 

He blinked up at the sudden fire and brimstone before him. Before he fired back a few choice words of his own, he pieced together that his comment had been overheard. 

He glanced at the woman currently sitting at the other table, her tears brimming and her lips tucked in shame. She may not have understood his comment, but clearly, by the tone of his words and the righteous anger of her friend, he had insulted her. She cautiously lifted her eyes to him and Yoongi felt the boulder of remorse hit his stomach.

“Fuck.”

Leave it to him to insult the one American woman who, at the very least, was doing her best to understand his culture, and at the very most, was the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

Without a moment’s hesitation he met the eyes of the furious friend, choosing to deal with her first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me.”

“That doesn’t mean you can insult her! She was trying her best. We weren’t even talking to you.”

“I’m an asshole, okay? I didn’t mean to take it out on her. Can I at least apologize?” Choosing to agree in order to calm her down, Yoongi maintained his calm exterior despite the guilt twisting his stomach into knots.

The friend huffed, tossing her raven hair over her shoulder as she stepped back slightly. Yoongi cleared his throat, ignoring the tremble in his fingertips and shuffled over to the picnic table, sitting down on the opposite bench.

“Hey, I’m...” Doing his best to clearly pronounce his English was just another lash of shame against his burning cheeks.

“I’m very sorry for...my words. I was...idiot. Very big idiot. I...You speak...good Korean. More good than...I speak English...” Stuttering and flitting his eyes around her face, the table, and his shaking hands, Yoongi stumbled through an apology, his voice gruff but his expression sincere.

“It’s alright.” She sighed, swiping under her eyes with the back of her fingers. “I get it. I probably do sound really dumb. But thank you.” 

Her instant compassion tore at Yoongi all the more and he wondered at which point he turned into the monsters that terrorized him all day long.

“I...I help you, if you help me.” He was speaking the words before he could register them. Once they do, a cold terror drained his expression at the same time a large smile warmed her face.

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Hey, what about me?” The two glanced at the Korean friend who sensed the sudden shift in the conversation.

“I need all the help I can find, Eun. You know we hardly have time to meet up as it is. This is the first since two weeks ago I’ve been able to practice with you."

Eun rolls her eyes. “He just insulted you. Don’t trust him so easily.”

Yoongi blinks, lacking the words to defend himself and still processing why he offered his help to a stranger when he hadn’t given the time of day to anyone other than Hoseok - who wore a watch.

Her gaze fell on him now, taking in his features for the first time. Her eyebrows wrinkled. 

“Haven’t I seen you in a class before?”

“I...uh...I take music.”

“Oh, I am too! Music Production with Mrs. Harris, right? You’re the one who plays the piano all the time. I never see anyone with you. Have you made friends here?” Before he has time to think of an answer, she cuts him off. 

“Oh my word - ignore that! That was so rude to ask! I’m so sorry.” 

Again, how could he have insulted the kindest person on campus?

Yoongi licked his lips, shrugging. There weren’t enough English words in his vocabulary to explain the prejudice-driven harassment and bitterness he had experienced since moving here. He never noticed someone so genuine and sweet in that classroom of entitled pricks, himself included as one of them.

“Never mind. All the more reason. It’s a deal, then.” She held out her hand, brimming with a newfound excitement that hadn’t caught onto him yet.

“You’ll fix my pronunciation. I’ll help you pass ESL 101.” She promised as Yoongi slid his palm over hers. The fact she knew he was taking the English as a Second Language course wasn’t a surprise. All exchange students were required to take it and this incident more than warranted her assumption of his class register.

Swallowing thickly he nodded, now finding himself the one put out. Eun rolled her eyes but sat down beside her friend again.

“At least tell each other your names if this is gonna happen.” She exhaled.

Yoongi’s new tutor laughed, and it’s so contagious, he cracked a smile.

“We’re off to a great start, aren’t we?” She giggled, giving him a look that could rival the stars.

Chapter One

[moonloredraws]

What tyepes and how elves do you have in your homebrew d&d??! Like the worldbuilding is huge, and hope I don't bother you by asking.

I don’t mind the questions, honestly! But be ready for an INCREDIBLY long read because I love elves and I might as well go into detail with them, and most of the information and brain thoughts can be found under the read more!

Anyway, I have 3 different realms. Manala, which is my Homebrew D&D world, The “It’s an Odd Kind of Fairytale Universe” which... is my webcomic’s universe (I still haven’t named the realm OTL) and Ozarathan, which is the Elf Only Universe. 

Manala is the one I’ll focus on since you asked D&D homebrew but I’ll touch on the other two as well. Ozarathan’s elf types are a mix between the Manala and IAOKOFT elves but with SOME differences.

Now... onto my D&D elves!

Manala has 10 types of elves. Here, we have 9 pictured, and those are the actual playable races. I’ll get to the last ones once I’ve explained these ones!

Manala has 2 categories of elves. True Elves and False Elves. False Elves are Wood Elves and Sea Elves, the rest are all True Elves. The reason for this categorization is that Wood Elves came to be when Eladrin mixed with Amali (beastfolk, essentially kemonomimi) and Sea Elves came to be when Eladrin mixed with Triton. They have plenty of elven blood, but they’re removed enough that they have their own cultures and are not as afflicted by The Hunt as True Elves are.

The Hunt is something all True Elves suffer from and it’s an innate bloodthirst. Elves on Manala are incredibly unhinged, especially Eladrin and Shadar Kai, who were the first Elves to be created onto Manala, and Shadar Kai especially just tend to start eating prey while it’s still alive. The others at least have the decency to kill the thing before starting to eat it. Most elves enjoy raw meat, and if it’s still warm from the hunt that’s even better.  

That being said, High Elves (so Sun Elves, Moon Elves and Drow) try to move away from being so overcome by the Hunt that they immerse themselves into practising the arts, and most modern High Elves don’t even experience the Hunt anymore... unless they actually go out to hunt. Which they don’t, because they either raise livestock or assign certain individuals to hunt so that not everyone turns into chaotic bloodthirsty morons. Sea Elves have no remnants of The Hunt, and Wood Elves experience it in a completely different way. They don’t revel in the kill, they revel in the hunt itself and a hunting party can spend weeks away from home tracking down some kind of behemoth, running it ragged until it dies from stress. 

True Elves also have mostly matriarchal societies, and most men dress in very revealing ways. Piercings and Tattoos are common across all True Elves, and preference of Fabric depends on region and subrace, with High Elves and Eladrin enjoying silken and loose flowing fabrics that move well, and Shadar Kai preferring leathers and wool to fight away the harsh cold of the Shadowfell.

Now... onto more specific explanations of the races!

Shadar Kai. Shadar Kai are one of the two Original Races of Elves. They were created alongside Eladrin, and at first were put into the Material Plane before the Creators decided to split the Material plane into 3, which resulted in the creation of the Shadowfell and Feywilds. Shadar Kai are definitely the most unpredictable of the elves, The Hunt is incredibly strong in them, and as such they get very distracted by that need to go out and kill some poor beast. Because of this, the Shadowfell is relatively safe where Elven societies exist, pretty much anything that’s deemed a danger is ripped apart. Their Shadowfell sister-race, the Shadow Orcs, keep them at an arm’s distance, but even if there’s surface bickering, but the two races are very close and if a larger enemy comes, the two team up and their combined forces easily dispatch any dangers.

Shadar Kai are the largest of all the elves. Stronger, more ferocious, and definitely way more extreme. Their society employs very Art Deco styles, unlike the other Elves who prefer the more fluid Art Nouveau looking styles. Shadar Kai have tons of piercings, and as they come of age, they get large geometric tattoos that cover their entire bodies to separate the youngins from adults. Shadar Kai do not have very colourful natural colours. Their eyecolour ranges from all tones from white to black, and occasionally very pale colours of any kind. Their Sclera tends to range from grey to black. Skintones range from black to white, and this is true for their hair too. The exception is with Ghost Shadar Kai, who are born pure white except for their sclera, and the result is a very jarring humanoid. They have feathery growths adorning their skin, mostly on the face, but down the back, on the shoulders and neck, as well as forearms is also common.

Up next are the Eladrin, who are really crazy and obviously very very horny because they ended up creating the false elves all on their own. They’re native to the Feywild, but very often travel to the Material Plane, so Eladrin are much more common than Shadar Kai. Like their Shadowfell counterparts, they have growths as well, but it ranges wildly from individual to individual, and even their season. 

Eladrin can be pretty much any colour, and often have skin markings. They’re a colourful bunch. Eladrin men tend to be VERY ostentatious, and the less actually properly covering their skin, the better. But don’t let the bright colours, horniness and smaller size distract you, because the Eladrin are only marginally better than Shadar Kai when it comes to dealing with the Hunt. They’re a bunch of party animals but will definitely rip your throat out if they feel threatened.

Surface High Elves are the best at taking care of their Hunt instinct, and actually have it so under wraps that they have extensive cities filled with so much art of all kind that they make other races forget that Elves are actually nuts. Surface High Elves developed after certain clans of Eladrins began losing their connections to the Feywild after spending extensive amounts of time on the Material Plane.

(Elerath isn’t a Sun Elf but he presents himself as such)

The men dress a LITTLE more sensibly, but the sheer variety of High Elf fashion can lead to some... weird clothing choices. Surface High Elves don’t have the jewel tone range of their Eladrin cousins, but still come in all kinds of skintones, hair colours and eye colours. They do not have any growths of any kind, and actually have super soft skin! (poking elf cheeks is super satisfying) The main difference between Sun and Moon Elves is mostly their colour schemes and sleep cycles. Sun Elves are diurnal, Moon elves are nocturnal.

Drow developed from an offshoot of Surface High Elves when they travelled into the Underdark to protect the Surface from Aberrations that had started migrating to the surface and causing chaos. Unlike canon Drow, Drow on Manala are not as bad with their overwhelming misandry and the whole “treating men like garbage” thing doesn’t exist. They’re still strongly matriarchal, and men are held to a different standard, but in a completely different way. Drow men are THE most beautiful group of elves in the entire world, and most high ranking ladies have harems of handsome men who they protect with such overwhelming ferocity that it almost rivals that of Shadar Kai. So I guess Drow men still get the short end of the stick but hey, at least they get pampered?? (But if you’re a handsome man, your chances of getting out into the world is... almost nil)

The Drow are zealous worshipers of The Spider, the Archfey of Weaving, Protection and Good Fortune, and due to this, they work in tandem with various Drider, who in this setting are natural Fey creatures, not drow dudes who fucked up a weird and complicated ritual. (Can you tell that I hate canon Drow culture? Because I really do. Drow have such great potential so here I am, turning things on its head)

Drow skintones range from white to charcoal, and sometimes have a slight purple tone. Eye colours tend to be jewel tones, but yellows, oranges and greens are very uncommon. Hair ranges from white to black, but can also be bright purple.  The exception is with ghost drow, who are pure white. Even their pupils are difficult to distinguish from their iris so they look super jarring.

Wood Elves are a fun bunch. They don’t mingle with other elves as much, not do they associate with Amali much, but they have good relations with both. Most Wood Elf cities are hidden from the world at large since they tend to just keep to themselves and protect nature from other races, and to protect the other races from whatever lurks in the forest. 

They have ears with extra lobes attached, and many also have fur on the tips and the back of the ears. Some individuals even have furry manes that run down their spines! Their colours are basically any shade of brown you can imagine. They span the entire human gamut, also include greys, and sometimes are a little too yellow or red toned to be completely right. They also sometimes have stripes or spots on their skins!

Then there’s the Sea Elves! Unlike other elves, Sea Elves are not mammalian. They lack breasts, and their young can eat fish pretty much as soon as they’re born. Sea Elf Babies are born very small, but more developed and take a while longer to get to their adult sizes since Sea Elves are quite large when it comes to elves. They have patches of scales on their skin, and gills. They can breathe both above and underwater, and most large Sea Elf societies are underwater, built into cliffs by the coast

Any colour a fish is, they can be. As such, Sea Elves are seen as very striking individuals if they come from more tropical seas, and they become very sought after courtesans.

Elves in general are really horny. Unlike most media where elves are seen as aloof and standoffish and holier-than-thou because of their beauty and long lifespans, on Manala, ALL elf subraces are pretty easy to seduce. They enjoy the attention, and as a result, the entire realm is filled with half-elves of ALL kinds of mixtures. Also, gender is so fluid in elven society. An Elf picks how they present themselves and because of the ease at which magic is available, they can sculpt their bodies to fit how they wish to be seen. Elves said Trans Rights.

Now... there’s one type of elf I didn’t touch on, and those are the Aetherians. The Aetherians don’t play much of a role on Manala because they’ve actually left. Aetherians are essentially Space Elves and they have WEIRD crazy powers. They’re the creators of the realm, but after they deemed their newest project complete enough, they left. Well. Most of them did. Two of them remain in the Realm but I’m not going to reveal their identities.

Aetherians are HUGE. They’re like. 9-10 feet tall, and have geometric grooves in their skin that glow. They also have floating crowns of shards above their heads. They’re a mystery, and were involved in the creation of the world, but aside from that almost nothing is known of them.

So uhhh yeah. Those are my D&D elves.

I’ll add a little bonus section of the Ozarathan Elves here as well because that’s fun:

I haven’t finished drawing the lineup so the anatomy is whack on some of these here’s a general idea of their sizes??

(Also in IAOKOFT) The Solarians – slightly scorched skin, tanned, warm grey/brownish sclera, live in high mountains, art deco style, very isolationist.

(Also in IAOKOFT) The Umbrals - Reskinned Manala Shadar Kai and Ghost Shadar Kai, cousins to Umbrals, very similar aesthetics

The Vokorians- Reskinned Manala Wood Elves. They have the same fluffy ears but also have tails.

The Hush-Hush – Reskinned Manala Drow and Ghost Drow, but also have tails.

The Maritimians- Scaled Skin in parts, fins and gills, often have tails. Freshwater and Saltwater varieties exist.

(Also in IAOKOFT) The Zephyrians- Elves with small wings. Often have feathering on their bodies, and also have feathered tails. Live in moving cities that get moved by the wind. Nomadic.

(Also in IAOKOFT) The Uzarians- High Elves, the most typical elves.

(Also in IAOKOFT) The Duneriders- Desert elves. Grey sclera, dark skin, have marks, offshoot of Solarians, but have rounded highly mobile ears.

[codylabs]

Alien Rules.docx

All intelligent alien lifeforms I come up with for my universe must adhere to a strict set of rules. They should be:

1. Able to function as a character. Though good science fiction is often defined by new and interesting explorations into ideas, technologies, and sciences, a good story always arises from explorations into the human condition, from reflections on the successes, failings, thoughts and feats of people. In order to contribute to such stories, then, aliens must largely function as people. They should:

Have a brain complex enough to be comparable to the human model, including similar (though not necessarily identical) skills in reason, creativity, and emotional relation.

Possess jointed fingers, coordinated tentacles, or some other form of dexterous limbs, so as to make use of complex tools.

Be able to function for extended periods in an Earth-equivalent environment, including moving under standard gravity, and surviving pressurized oxygenated atmosphere. (This rule’s only purpose is to make conventional stories easier to tell, and it is thus a soft rule. Exceptions can and should be made.)

2. Well-suited for their native environment. The great narrative potential of extraterrestrial life is to explore the mysteries of how things would work if everything was different. A creature identical to a human wastes some of this potential, and may as well not be alien at all. But a good alien will not only hail from a different world, but will have their body (and possibly mind) designed with the qualities such a world would require. They should:

Possess the structure and strength necessary to move in their native gravity, and to navigate their native terrain with a minimum of effort.

Have the teeth, claws, hands, or other biological tools needed to fill their own niche on the food chain, be it carnivore, herbivore, parasite, photosynthesizer, electrotroph, nuclear harvester, or other.

Have their vulnerable body parts armored, or at the very least easily guarded, so as to survive accidents, attacks by native predators, or combat with fellow people. (Think of humans, with our ribs and skulls to protect our crucial organs, and the forehead and cheekbone that protect our eyes from impacts.)

Not be burdened with extra or useless body parts. Everything on a human has a purpose; we are built around our hands, and everything else serves to move, power, and inform them. Things on a human body without a clear purpose, like hair and appendix and earlobes, are small or light or aesthetic, and probably served a decent purpose in the recent past. Aliens should be the same way; though long tails and spikes and heavy armor and extra arms are cool, it isn’t realistic to be generous.

Have a culture that values the same traits and qualities of character that would aid survival in that environment. This rule is open to interpretation. Seeing as how I believe in moral absolutism, things like strength, benevolence, honesty, and work ethic are more-or-less universal, but the way that they are expressed can vary.

3. Obedient to the laws of physics. I love going off the wall, and I've got nothing against wacky, outlandish factors, but in a setting like this, you can't do everything, and you can go to far. Aliens should:

Be small, lightweight, and strong enough to support their own weight under their native gravity, keeping in mind the square-cube law (no 50-ft giants, no human-sized bugs.)

Be large enough to house a sufficiently complex brain (no 3-in fairies.)

Not possess innate 'superpowers', except when allowed by sufficiently advanced technology (e.g. telekinesis using tractor beams,) or by feasible biological features that follow from their environments (e.g. breathing underwater using gills.)

4. Unique. If a creature design doesn't bring anything new to the table or if they're boring, keep them to yourself. They should:

Not have any direct analogues on Earth, and should not strongly resemble any single Earth creature.

Not strongly or glaringly resemble any alien in popular culture, neither from biological, cultural, or behavioral standpoints.

5. Difficult to lewd. This is a personal preference of mine. We all know that every popular character gets rule 34 made of them eventually, regardless of species. But in my case, I prefer to make the task as difficult and unrewarding as possible for horny artists. Aliens should not be conventionally attractive to humans. They should: 

Lack breasts in any capacity. If mammary glands are necessary, they should not extend from anywhere near the chest region. If anything does extend from the chest, such as gills, cannons, arms, or the head, it shall not resemble human breasts in size, shape, or number. This is a hard rule.

Possess means of reproduction strictly non-humanoid, and preferably non-mammalian. (This is a soft rule, as the humanoid method is often the most efficient and logical. However, any functionally phallic structures should not be readily recognizable as such.)

Possess no alternative body structures which could be readily fetishized. Tentacles shall be equipped with gripping nails or thorns, feet shall be non-humanoid, lips shall be avoided, bipeds shall not exceed 8ft in height, facial plans should not directly resemble cats, dogs, or other Earthly domestic animals, creatures shall not be overly muscular.

Possess faces which are organized differently from human faces, or are at least kinda ugly.

As a general rule, be designed in such a way that nude pictures of them could be posted anywhere on the internet, and not be seen as lewd to general audiences.

[spc4eva]

Mandokar: Chapter Two

Summary: Clan Vizsla returns to the Tribe and Senaar settles into her new life.

Word Count: 15,125

Author Notes: Just some more info about the Anaxian race that I've created!

An offshoot of the Sephi race, removed by generations of evolution based on Anaxes' climate. Appearance: Humanoid, sub-human, differentiated by long pointed ears (longer than most Sephi) which are hyper sensitive to the forests that they dwell in. Skin tends to be tan to dark, though there are a few fairer skinned Anaxians. Sunlight is powerful, despite the forest, which is why the melanin in their skin tends to be strong to act as a buffer when they leave the woods or are in glades. Eye hues range in earth tones, mostly brown, but a few are green. Gold is another color, while a bit rare and considered blessed amongst the people. Royalty almost always has the golden eyes. Hair color is also dark, from jet black to medium brown. Blonde, red, and light brown hair is almost unheard of and incredibly unnatural amongst Anaxians. On average, they get to the same height as humans, but tend to be more slender and willowy. Anaxians eyes work well for the dim lighting of the forest acolves and long nights. They have the ability to see in little to no light, but not utter darkness. Due to their lighter bone structures, Anaxians are quicker and more agile than other races, making for spectacular warriors should they have the inclination. Light footed from years of hunting in their forests, they are exceptionally gifted with stealth and able to fight with acrobatic feats. Despite these abilities, Anaxians have the drawbacks of being more frail than other humanoid races. For their speed and stealth, they are more easily overwhelmed by strength.

Goddess Marks/Tears: markings on the skin of Anaxians which are similar to beauty marks. Rather than be dark, these marks are the size of tears and shaped the same. Sometimes they are also referred to as petals. Each mark is gold, humming with a shimmering iridescence which is contrasted by an Anaxian's dark complexion. Most Anaxians have between 5-10 marks, though those descended of purer bloodline - ie. nobles or royalty - often have more. They are not tattoos and are on an Anaxian from birth. Those that possess a lot of them are considered 'Chosen' by the Goddess, especially if the marks play out in a more purposeful manner than just sporadic petals against the skin, placed randomly. Some Anaxians get more tattooed on them in an attempt to seem more special and it's not uncommon. However, the tattoos don't have the same glow as the natural marks. Often Anaxians will use the tattoos to link their marks together in designs. 

Note: Anaxians are not long lived like Sephis. They live 80-100 standard years on average. Anaxians do not reach sexual maturity until 20 years old, taking a little longer to grow through their adolescence into adult bodies.

Anaxians are also not well traveled. They don't like to leave their home planet often. Pure Sephis often call them forest bumpkins, so there's a little love lost between the similar races.

Most of Anaxian culture was inspired by wood elves from Lord of the Rings with a mixture of Celtic heritage. 

Inspiration photo for Anaxians (and Sena specifically) is  this

Crossposted on AO3

The helmet was more comfortable with the padding, but she wasn't forced to wear it much around the ship with her aliit. Senaar Vizsla. She repeated it numerous times in her head, staring at the ceiling as she cocooned herself in a pile of blankets on the floor. Hux, her buir now, told her not to dwell too deeply on what had happened on Anaxes. He'd said that nothing could be done and carrying that in her heart would just hurt. When she asked about her papa, he explained that he was marching far away, but one day she'd see him again. He taught her the prayer to say every night before bed and that more names would join her papa's, but it was her duty to remember them and love them. Sena was fully committed to becoming Mandalorian, even if she was a bit nervous and frightened by the shock of everything that had happened. Be strong. Papa would be watching and she had to make him proud... buir and ori'vod too.

" Sen'ika ," Paz entreated, drawing her attention as she leered at the ceiling of the ship, hiding in her blankets as if it were a toasty little garrison. Hyperspace was cold, much colder than most of Anaxes' yearly climate. "Come sit over here."

Dragging her blankets with her, helmet nestled against her tummy, she sat beside Paz and eyed what he was working on. Set in front of him was the rifle he had used during their escape from Genmaris. Now, it was in several pieces, he had a cloth and swatches of cotton, many of which were stained with blaster residue. He was cleaning the weapon.

"Have you ever taken one apart before?" Paz inquired lightly, gazing down at her with icy blue eyes. Despite how shockingly pale his eyes were, they were still kind and warm. He had short blonde hair, messy from his helmet, and was probably not much older than her despite his height and fitness.

"I know how to take the slide off of my pistol, but I've never taken it apart like this," Sena admitted, cheeks burning as she wondered if she was severely behind in her knowledge. What if the other children made fun of her? What if she was stupider than kids a lot younger than her? Would her buir disown her? Take the helmet back and tell her to get out?

"Most firearms are the same aside from the coils in buttstocks of rifles and shotguns," Paz eased, sensing the girl's worry. "You will need to know not only how to fire your weapons, but how to clean them and assess any issues you may have while firing. Weapons are our religion, so we must take good care of them to protect our people. Now, let's begin-"

Paz showed her the various pieces of the rifle, the charging handle, the bolt, where cartridges were loading. There were bits of information that were familiar, as there was some overlap from what she knew about her pistol. Having her hands on it, manipulating the pieces, putting them together and taking them apart - everything clicked rather swiftly. The visual and physical method of learning, rather than out of a holobook, took repetition and application. The distraction was greatly appreciated and Sena was keen to prove that she was a quick learner.

They moved onto a blaster, Hux dropping down from the cockpit, cocking his head as Sena cleaned the weapon. "I thought I told you to clean them," he said, directing his attention toward Paz.

"I can help!" Sena insisted quickly, before Paz even had the chance to offer.

"I thought she should begin her lessons," her vod retorted, stiffening under the tart gaze of their buir .

"Teach yes, but don't let her do all the work. I assigned you this task," Hux reminded him duly, looking to Sena next, who jolted erect under his pale gaze. "Let your ori'vod finish the rest. Come along, there are many things you need to learn, ad'ika."

More distractions. Scampering up from her blankets, she followed her buir deeper into the ship and away from Paz as he was left by the armory. This part of the Kote was filled with weights, a pull up bar, a sparring dummy, thick padded mats, and other work out items. " Buyca ." Bucket.

Sena slipped it back on and fiddled with her belt, making certain that her belt was tight enough to keep the extra material from her clothes from tripping her up.

"I am going to test your strength and endurance levels," Hux alerted her. "I know that you had some training in combat."

"A little," Sena confirmed, but knew her knowledge certainly quailed in comparison to Mandalorian standard.

Hux began prattling off exercises. He started with pushups, which weren't too hard. Sena was tiny and her limbs short. She ran around through the woods often and handled her own body weight. Capable of pushups and a few weak pull ups, she hung upside down from the bar like a monkey, braid swaying behind her as her buir remarked quietly to himself. Apparently, she was not too bad off, her excursions outside of the castle leaning well with her heritage as an Anaxian. Small, compact, ready to spring like a viper; she was putty to be molded. Her hands had callouses from where she'd climbed trees, tearing the soft palms and pads. Her feet were rough from trolloping barefoot, which would ease the pain of wearing boots and the callouses that would form on top of her soles.

And the girl could run. Around the drill shed floor, without reprieve, puffing out of her vocoder and using the boxes as obstacles. The original doubt that Hux had about taking a princess in was vanishing. Even if she might feel a little out of place amongst the Mandalorians due to her upbringing, Ardryll had not lied about her being well suited for training. The right disposition could be developed and she still had many years ahead of her before she would become a hunter. Most of all, the girl was eager to prove herself, hanging onto every word that came out of Hux's vocoder, the analyzer picking up the earnesty and excitement in her voice.

They had five more days on the ship before they were to touch down on Vorpa'ya and rejoin the Tribe. Even if the child was tired, she got up early and helped out as much as she could. It was plain she didn't know how to do many mundane tasks, given that servants had done this for her during the course of her short life. The Vizslas were patient with her, having to teach her how to turn a burner on, how to properly fold her clothes, how to wash them, how to tidy up after herself, how to be more considerate of those she was sharing space with. Hux was thankful they had the ship to do this on, glaringly aware that the girl would be tossed right into training with peers of a similar age and set before the Council before the Tribe welcomed her.

Hux's nerves faded, glancing fondly over in the direction of the plum helmet as the child bent over with his son, trying to stitch together where they had cut up her shirt in an attempt to take it in so it wasn't so baggy. Her fingers quaked and she gasped again, pricking her thumb for the umpteenth time. Despite fussing at his son before, Paz took to the girl like a womp rat to filth and was thrilled to have someone to take under his wing. It was difficult not to and Hux grudgingly admitted that to himself often at the kid's heart. She didn't give up. Settling back in his spot by the table, he wondered what Sova would have thought of the girl.

She would have loved her, he reasoned silently. Anaxes was gone. Having turned the news on in the cockpit long enough to hear about the sweeping of the Empire through the galaxy, his insides had gone cold when he saw the information regarding Anaxes. After resisting the Empire, there was a reactor failure in one of the shipyards that detonated a stockpile of hypermatter. Whether this was accidental or the locals had decided that they wouldn't allow for Anaxes to be used as a pivotal anchor point, Hux could only speculate. All that remained of the planet was an asteroid belt, wiping away the beautiful forests that Genmaris had been tucked along. As far as anyone was concerned, the Anaxian princess had been on the planet during the cataclysm.

Her anonymity was more important now. Her long ears and Goddess Tears would be easily recognizable.

Damn Jetii, you knew. You knew all along what was coming and how she'd have to be hidden , Hux cursed. Originally, he had been vexed by the arrangement, held by his debt to the Jedi. Take a princess and make her Mandalorian? He'd scoffed at the idea, but knew in his heart he couldn't abandon a child to an abysmal fate. There had been many others who had likely died on Anaxes, but Hux couldn't have saved them all. At least one would live to have a family and he could have a hand in raising her. Paz had already detailed that the little bird had attacked a trooper like a rabid massiff, flying out from the shadows and puncturing the small exposed bit of his throat. While still clumsy, the girl had managed to buy Paz time and kill the soldier. Potential . The girl had a lot of potential.

That potential was shadowed by her naiveness, but she'd grow wiser with age.

"I look lumpy," Sena had her shirt on, the poor stitching bunching up around her midsection and zigzagging where she'd not kept the line straight.

"Could use some work," Paz admitted honestly, pinching at the fabric to attempt to tug the bundling seams down. "Don't worry, there will be clothes that fit you amongst the Tribe. You'll also get some leather beskar'gam , which we'll put the jai'galaar eyes on."

Jai'galaar eyes or shriek-hawk eyes were the original clan sigil of the Vizslas.  It had been used for the Death Watch in the more recent years, disparaged and spat upon by many other Mandalorians for the Sith that Hux's brother Pre had unleashed on their home world. Originally, Hux had helped try to retake Mandalore, before realizing how wrong he had been about forcing the Resol'nare on people who wanted to live peacefully. His own commitment did not circumvent how sacred he held the lives of Mandalorians, even if they were considered dar'manda . Pre had not agreed, saying that the dar'manda would submit or die.

After being spared by the Jetii , Arydryll, he removed the blue and white paint of the Death Watch and returned home to his son, uprooting their life and moving amongst the Tribe where they were accepted with open arms under the condition that they did not remove their helmets. This dedication to the Resol'nare attracted him; the ideal lifestyle he had hoped for all of Mandalore. Yet, he knew their little covert was one of few and he cherished what they had found. Here, he could live as he wished, but without forcing it on those who did not possess the same dedication to the Resol'nare. Hux did not want glory or to partake in the fight against the Empire, he desperately wanted peace. Here, Paz would be able to learn and supply for his people. There were always threats, as being Mandalorian came with its own clauses, but the covert had escape plans if the need for relocation arose.

" Sen'ika , go work on your combat drills on the practice shed floor," Hux thrummed eventually as the girl continued to fiddle with her awkwardly sewn clothes.

"Yes, buir ," she answered obediently, trotting off without needing to be asked again.

Paz tilted his helmet, staring over at his father. Questioning.

Once the child was safely out of earshot, he let out a low sigh. "We will be landing soon and you know what'll happen. The Council will want to meet her and then introduce her to the Tribe," the man started, earning a nod of comprehension. "We will not be telling them where she is from."

"We are going to lie to the Tribe?" Paz asked, voice hitching in disdain.

"No, we are going to omit information. The less people that know who she was and where she is from means the Tribe shall be safer. Anaxes is nothing but rubble and asteroids. No one shall see her face aside from us until she marries and by that point, no one will be looking for her. Until then, it is for the Tribe's best interest that we are as nondescript as possible in regards to her heritage."

"Understood... Have you discussed this with, vod'ika ?"

"Yes, she fully comprehends the importance of being ambiguous with the Tribe. As far as they know, she's from Naboo."

"A little Naboo child who can jump and do acrobats better than the rest of them?" Paz pointed out, harping upon the natural gifts lended to her from being Anaxian.

"It explains her accent and education. They will not start her training out too difficult, as they'll want to test her to get a better idea of what age group to place her with. She still has a lot to learn in order to be as well prepared as others her age."

"Hm," Paz hummed in disagreement. "Maybe in Mando'a and hand to hand combat, but she knows how to hold her own. The others will come quickly enough."

"Keep a close eye on her. There will be an adjustment period, even if she is doing well with just the both of us," Hux warned. In the privacy of the Kote , she felt comfortable with her new clan. Amongst the Tribe, she'd be faced with unfamiliar helms, various trials, and an entirely new setting. He worried how she would react, that the comforting embrace of the ship being ripped away from her might cause her to falter. It was all she had come to know after leaving her home world and acknowledging her past life was dead. Even the most resilient children needed time to recover and whilst she was putting on a brave face, it would only take one misstep for her emotions to finally catch up with the swift pace she had set. Hux was expecting a breakdown of enormous proportions in the coming days.

"Of course, she's my vod'ika . I'll not let anything happen to her," Paz swore, the oath so deep and intended that Hux smiled. This was the Way.

Vorpa'ya was coated in lolling hills rustling with tall green grass. Not a tree in sight, the plains spreading onward, and the sun pelting down across the landscape to catch the glimmering shift of the wind through the grass. So open and exposed, so strange and unfamiliar as large brown herbivores meandered the grass. They had four pronged horns that cradled their faces, mooing quietly as they gnawed on the vegetation and trotted along. Despite the sun's glare, the temperature was mild and the wind chased away any discomfort the sun's smile might provide.

Dome shaped homes littered the largest hill, cresting upon it like little green dimples. The steel had been thatched with grass, which grew tall and swooned in the wind. From above, the houses would be impossible to discern from the rest of the rolling land of Vorpa'ya. Between the homes, the people milled around - the Tribe. Beskar helmets painted in various hues, visors shifting between T and Y-shaped, and daily life gliding forward, seemingly untouched by the war that ravaged the galaxy. The people were not ignorant to it, as each Mandalorian donned at least three weapons a piece, the hunters even more, but they were careful, meticulous, and on guard. Any day, their little village could be disrupted and they were prepared to fight and escort the children far away to relocate the covert.

Following awkwardly between Paz and Hux, Sena's head swiveled around. Visors tilted toward her, noticing the new bucket amongst their Tribe, and greeted her aliit in kind with, " Su cuy'gar " and " Su'cuy " from a few very small children who did not wear helmets. Even if this was not the comforting forest, Sena's heart burned in her chest, warmed by the atmosphere, and she smiled stupidly beneath her helmet as she offered a few little waves to children running underfoot. Some attacked Paz, forcing the trio to stop as a child collided with her shins.

"Hello," Sena chimed, looking down into the bright blue eyes of a twi'lek boy.

"You're new! Who're you? I like your bucket. It's a pretty color," the boy was no more than five and tugging at her trousers.

"My name is Senaar," she bent down toward the grabby hands and picked him up, a little surprised by how much he weighed. She'd already committed, so she huffed him up onto her hip and let him tug lightly on her long, black braid. "What's your name?"

"Zim!" he squealed, palming her helmet and pushing his brow against hers. Sena knew that this was a keldable kiss and was exchanged between family and lovers, but didn't know what to do when a child was doing that to her. The big blue eyes opened, pinning her reproachfully, and he butted her more forcefully - demanding reciprocation.

"Bonk," Sena muttered, offering him a small headbutt.

Zim giggled delightedly.

"Run along now, ade. Lalli is undoubtedly looking for you little womp rats," Hux scolded, but there was no spice or menace in his voice.

" Sen'ori , come play with us later?" Zim asked quickly, knowing the moments he had with her were numbered to the second.

"Uhm," she was bending down to put Zim back on his feet. "If it's allowed..."

Paz gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "I can show you the town and nursery later," he told her, Zim galloping off with the other younglings before they were allowed to continue their passage amongst the covert. "Do you have a lot of experience with children?"

Her cheeks burned and she shook her head. "Not really. There weren't that many kids around... there. And if there were I wasn't really allowed near them. Not because I'd get in trouble, but mostly just social standards. No little cousins or anything like that."

The nicest thing about this village was that there were so many people to talk to, to not treat her like a princess, and estrange her due to her status. People always dreamed about being a princess, but most of her friends had been written in the pages of books. Everyone in Genmaris had been wary about offending her, even though Sena tried not to come off as rude or cold. Just the brush with the children made her ecstatic, because she'd never experienced anything like it. Little Zim had forced himself into her arms and stolen two keldable kisses and he barely knew her. What would everyone else be like?

"You'll get the hang of it. Zim was rather taken with you," Paz assured her.

"I hope so. If we have time, I think I would like to go to the nursery," Sena insisted, licking her dry lips beneath her helmet as they approached the largest domed structure, which was located at the epicenter of the camp. Two grand doors were propped open, leading into a cavernous room that pelted warmth. Situated in the center was a circular hearth where pale white blue flames lanced up the rim, stabbing up like daggers toward a range hanging from the ceiling that filtered any smoke and helped contain the immense heat that wafted from the fire. Seats were arranged against the wall, curving into the structure in the form of benches, where dozens of adults could sit around the forge.

Dozens were not there now, only a few. Immediately, her eyes sought out the most imposing of the crowd, a broad Mandalorian in soot black painted armor. He had a hammer in his hand, pausing to watch them carefully, his visor framed by white so that it was distinguishable from the darkness of the rest of the armor. On the other side of the forge was a female with a golden helmet, who appeared to be helping him, the crown fringed with short horns.

"I have not seen that helmet in a long time," the black-painted Mandalorian declared in a deep, resonating voice that echoed throughout the hall like ocean waves crashing against a rocky coastline. "A Foundling, Vizsla?"

" Elek , Smith," her buir stepped forward, brushing his hand along her shoulder and bringing her forth with him. "Senaar."

Uncertain of what to do, since she was no longer a princess, she simply stood there stiffly. Her helmet wasn't reading the Smith's voice very well, coming up as unknown.

"She is Mandalorian?" the Smith inquired, cocking his head slightly.

Sena was getting better at reading body language. Despite the fact she had seen Paz and Hux's faces, they tended to still move around as if they were wearing their helmets. Body language spoke volumes and the questioning turn of a helmet was already ingrained in her brain. She still had to learn the other nuances.

" Cin vhetin ," Hux offered simply. "I have renamed her."

"Welcome to the Tribe, Senaar of Clan Vizsla," the Smith greeted, visor skimming over her frame. "It appears you are in dire need of proper attire. Armorer, could you please assist in getting our new vod outfitted?"

The golden helmeted female stepped forward, bending down slightly to lift Sena's arms and take a few measurements. Her fingers picked at the atrocious stitching that Sena had managed and she murmured quietly to herself. "I should have things that fit you, vod . Come along."

Despite the encouragement from the young woman, she threw her head toward her buir , who gave her a nod. Allowed to follow the Armorer, they entered a back room in the hall. Considerably smaller, but chocked full of supplies to include various ingots of steel, most of durasteel, some of beskar, cloaks, boots, trousers, shirts. This was a supply closet, most of the attire dark and earth toned. A warrior's armor was where their personality was displayed in the colors in which they chose to paint it. She noticed that the Armorer's bucket was not painted, but shimmered gold. Sena wondered what color was beneath hers, but hadn't thought to touch the plum paint.

Pulling a few tops out, the Armorer decided which size would work best and began to create a pile for Sena. Boots, socks, underwear, and gloves were added to the ensemble. Finally, she pulled a few leather vests out, tightening it around Sena's frame to make certain it fit.

"This will be your armor until you can hunt and earn your own," the Armorer explained, adding leather vambraces and leg pads. "Get changed up and I will show you how to adorn them."

Sena was worried that the Armorer would wait nearby, but the female was discreet and stepped out of the supply closet to let Sena change in privacy. Discarding her frumpy, borrowed attire, she swapped it for clothing that fit much better. The pants were a little long still, but at least they didn't require a belt to keep up. The fabric was dark brown like dirt, the neckline curving up to hide her throat entirely. With gloves, knee high boots, a belt, with pouches - she stood there awkwardly trying to figure out what to do with the cuirass.

"Armorer?" she called tentatively, the gold helmet popping back in the doorway at the sound of her name.

"See these here?" the Armorer touched her gloves to the loops on the suit she was now wearing. "The armor attached to these points. Let's begin with the cuisse and greaves," sitting her down on the bench, she began strapping up the leather pads over her thighs and against her shins. "The cuirass or heartplate straps in on its own. Since it is not steel, it'll be a little tighter than beskar. Next, we have your vambraces, which will act as a point of defense. This is the first item you should craft of beskar," she tied the laced, the leather polished, but missing any of the tiny buttons that Hux had on his. "And your pauldrons will be where your clan sigil is displayed. For Vizslas, that is the shriek-hawk eyes."

" Ori'vod said he would help me paint it. Am I allowed to paint the leather? I don't want to get in trouble-" Sena's fretfulness caused her to begin babbling much too quickly, earning a light chuckle from the Armorer.

"The armor is yours now. You are allowed to paint it, though leather does not hold the paint as well as steel. During your training is it very likely to chip and peel," the Armorer informed her kindly. "But you should add the shriek-hawk eyes."

Sena wagged her head in agreement, thanking the Armorer before picking up her bundle of clothes and her extra set of boots. Hugging the supplies to her chest, she trundled out of the supply room to see a few other Mandalorians poking around. People had wandered into the hall. Immediately, they looked toward her, causing her to freeze where she stood and drop a boot. The sole colliding with the ground echoed throughout the cavernous hall and interrupted all conversation. Sena wanted to faint, shaking like a leaf.

Bending down, she battled with the edge of the boot before managing to snag it and toss it back on top of her pile. All but running over to Paz, she tucked toward his side and glanced around anxiously. Sena wasn't shy, but she'd also never seen Mandalorians before the Vizslas and now she was in an entire village of them. On top of that, she wanted to impress them and not make them regret taking her in. The sheer weight of wanting to be as good as possible made her quiver anxiously a bit. Being a princess wouldn't win her any brownie points and as far as they knew, she was from Naboo.

"Much better," Paz said, looking down at her new clothes and armor. "A full Mandalorian now, vod'ika -" he elbowed her lightly, nearly sending all her belongings flying from her hands. "The Elders want to meet you. Let me hold these for you and then we'll get the chance to drop them off at home."

Elders? They sounded mighty important. Sena swallowed the impossibly large lump in her throat and gave Paz a mute nod, passing over her supplies.  She gave herself a minor pep talk, rationalizing that this couldn't be anymore intimidating than the vipers in the court. Even if she was unable to see their faces, at least they'd all been rather cordial with her until this point. Direct, straightforward, no beating around the bush. It was so unlike the climate she was accustomed to and while she liked it, she felt woefully ill prepared. Being guarded was so much easier, as was not taking most people at their word.

Arranged in the seats nearest to the forge was a council of seven - to include the Smith who sat amongst them. Most of the members had on armor, though there were two Elders, so old and fragile looking, that they did not don any armor. One was a woman who looked like a shriveled up prune, her skin hanging around her face so loose that it was difficult to tell if there were scars amongst her riddled countenance. Dark brown eyes perceived her, lancing right into her own, despite the visor that obscured Sena's.

The patriarch had a kinder expression, his face not resembling a crinkled up tissue. His skin was dark, sagging pale brows over wise irises. Braids of snow rain down his scalp and around his shoulders, a pink scar dragged along his left cheek like a bolt of lightning on a blackened field.

Four others; a female in cyan armor, a male in orange, a male in crimson, and a male in blue and white. Each one had various markings, designs, and spots differentiating their beskar. From the years of wearing the beskar, there were gouges, scratches, and marks that they wore proudly. Vambraces varied, as did weapons, and despite the fact that people said that all Mandos were the same, modulated bucketheads, Sena saw a huge difference between each of them. Not just because of their varying colors, but the manner in which they had painted designs, or highlighted the scratches with paint to make the scars pop, or the variance in design of the cuirasses as the style had improved over the years.

"Senaar of Clan Vizsla," the patriarch had a husky voice, so deep that it sounded as if it had been dredged out of the depths of Trask's oceans. "The Tribe welcomes you as our newest addition. My name is Rhenx and I am the Alor of the Tribe."

Alor sounded important, but in her nervousness, she couldn't recall if her buir had told her what it meant. "The pleasure is mine, Alor ," she retorted, still a bit too quickly, but was thankful her voice didn't fail her. The least her courtesy training could do for her was not make her sound like an idiot in front of the most important people in the Tribe. They were judging her at that moment, she was certain of it.

Rhenx gave an encouraging smile with pooled heat in her tummy and eased her shoulders. "Polite. Perhaps you could teach your aliit some manners,” he remarked, drawing a few laughs from the Elders flanking him. “Tell me, vod , what is your ambition?”

This was a question she had not been prepped for, the helmet heavy on her head as she tilted slightly to the side and considered him for a moment. Better to think than to spew nonsense. “To have a home and family. To belong ,” the answer was simple and yet it was all she could hope for now that her papa was gone. She’d not have many friends before and she hoped that she could change that here.

“Not of great prowess? To be the best hunter?” Rhenx mused, his questions making her heart thump in her chest as if she were a rabbit being eyed by a wolf.

Had she chosen the wrong words? Shuddering a breath slightly, she knew she couldn’t rescind them without looking stupid. “That too, but those come after,” she retorted, cheeks heated beneath her helmet, thankful for the mask to hide her abysmal expression.

Rhenx bellowed a laugh, making her jump. “Where did you find this one, Vizsla?”

“Naboo.”

Devoting his attention back to her, Rhenx offered another obliging look. “You have had a long journey, vod. We look forward to seeing you excel here. The Tribe is now your family, we take care of one another, protect one another. You will learn our ways and one day provide as your buir provides for you.”

Out of habit and because it felt natural, Sena bowed her head respectfully and took her leave. She couldn’t get beside Paz quickly enough, feet hastened and heart beating erratically until they had left the pressure of the hall. While the meeting with the Elders had gone much more easily than she had been expecting, she had a feeling that they’d be watching for the days to come. Until this point in her life, there had been little expectations of Sena other than to sometimes be at the right place at the right time. Taking advantage as a princess, she’d been able to shirk many duties and get away with mistakes that normal people would have been reprimanded for. There was a tiny bit of regiment in her from the little combat training she did have, but drawing upon her week on the Kote she knew that laziness and indignance would not be tolerated. Even if she was only 13, Sena was not stupid. Her frivolous years until this point were just that; until this point.

Tingling like bad food in the pit of her tummy, she considered what might happen. Part of her was fretful that she wouldn’t fit in and that she’d be detrimentally behind the others. Not in academics, because she’d studied with tutors, but in combat. They literally breathed blaster smoke like oxygen.

“You’re quiet, vod’ika ,” Paz observed as they continued to bask in the glow of the sun, heading to the edge of the town. She saw a few of the cattle grazing in the distance, otherwise just an empty landscape that seemed as if it could fall into the sky. Despite having found it pretty before, Sena was suddenly anxious at how open and scarce it was. Nowhere to hide. No shadows. Just open. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous,” Sena admitted quietly, tearing her eyes away from the moors as they paused in front of a house.

“You did well. If Rhenx likes you then there’s little to worry about,” he assured her, punching the code into the door: 568768. Hissing open, he allowed her in first.

“But I didn’t do or say much,” she pointed out, stepping down into the main dwelling area or karyai . The large chamber was not only the kitchen, but the den, dining area, and communal resting area. She noticed to the flanks of the karyai that there were doors to other rooms, assuming that these were bedrooms and a fresher.

“You weren’t a blubbering mess and you were concise and honest,” Paz countered, shutting the door and ripping his helmet off. Running fingers through his helmet curls, he cocked a smile at her that took the edge off her anxiety. “The rest you’ll have to prove, but you showed tenacity today. Seems your princess training helped a bit.”

“I felt like a blubbering mess.” She still did, clinging desperately to her clothes as if they were her last semblance of sanity. Everything was so glaringly real now. On the ship, she’d been toiling through hyperspace and with the idea of the Tribe. In theory, it all sounded magnificent. In reality, she was terrified of letting the aliit down or the rest of the Tribe. There had been moments in her life where she worried about letting papa down, but she’d never cared much for what others in the court thought of her. They had never been this close of a community. Sena expected if she made one slip up the entire village would know and talk about her behind her back. Call her a dope or an idiot.

“See, this is why I’m glad I only have one brain cell. You’re thinking too much, Sen’ika .”

She jolted, turning her head to look at her vod and let out a pitiful whine. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Were you ever this worried when you were a princess?”

She shook her head.

“Being a princess seems a lot more difficult. Just be yourself… minus the royalty thing, but you catch my drift,” Paz gave her a small pep talk, bending down to affectionately butt heads with her helmet. “Come around here. The guest room is yours now. There’s not much in it, but you can make it your own-” he pressed a hand into her back and began guiding her across the karyai and toward the first door on the left. “We can set up your own code too. Buir likes to snoop.”

They deliberated quietly on a code for the door before Paz set it. It didn’t strike Sena that he also knew her code, but she didn’t mind either way. What did she really need to lock her door for when she was amongst a village of Mandalorians? Just as he’d claimed, the room was nondescript. Decorated simply with a full bed, a dresser, a single night stand with an alarm clock, and a closet. There was a window which gazed out on the fields. The room itself was the size of a powder room in Genmaris Castle and lacked all the refinement and grace of her old chambers. No wood, no warmth from the shimmersilk drapes, nor the stash of holobooks or paperbacks. Putting her belongings on the quilted comforter, she reached up and pulled her helmet off, thankful to finally be able to smell and feel the atmosphere on her face.

“The windows are shaded, so no one can see in,” Paz gestured to the glass. “Class begins at 0500 every morning except weekends. For you, that’ll be at the Junction House. Physical training starts the day, then academia, followed by a changing schedule of marksmanship, weapons courses, and other specialized courses like reconnaissance, basic medical, starship lessons… There’s a lot to list, but it’ll be handed to you piece by piece. Tomorrow you’ll get a holocard with the schedule as it changes week to week. Days end at 1500, with the exception of specialty lessons you might have once or twice a month. After end of day, you’re allowed to do what you want. Some people continue training, some people slack off, others help around the village… Ah, and there’s a Foundling shift roster. Once a week you’ll be tasked with watching the ade . But you’re always allowed to go more if you want.”

Sena listened, nodding as she thought of the other children she’d known who had gone to boarding school. The regiment and timelines seemed similar to that, though the classes being offered here sounded way more exciting. “What do you do after classes?”

“I don’t have as many classes anymore, since I’m older and just completed my First Trial. When you’re 16 you’ll also attempt your Trial if you’re ready,” Paz revealed.

“ 16 ,” Sena gasped in horror. “That’s only 3 cycles away!”

“The Tribe will not make you do your Trial if you’re not ready,” Paz placated, but it had the opposite effect.

“Then I’ll look like an idiot ,” Sena balked.

“You better train hard then. No more running off in the woods, shirking your duties,” he smarted, making her frown.

“There’s not even any forests to explore,” she pointed out disdainfully.

“Good thing. Less distractions,” he grinned, turning back toward the door. “Put your things away and then we’ll go check out the village. Maybe you’ll even get to meet some of your vod before tomorrow.”

Giving her the first real private moment since leaving Anaxes, she sat on the edge of the bed and palmed her eyes. This was life now. A mundane room, no books, no friends, and no clue on how to do anything. That had been obvious on the ship when she’d not realized that there wasn’t a magical clothing fairy who picks up after her. Or that she actually had to make food when she was hungry and not just ask for it. Or that people didn’t like when you were a little messy. Drawing in a shaky breath, she stood up and began putting her clothes away. A new beginning. She really had to give it a try and put her heart into it, because otherwise she had nothing else. Here, she would learn life skills; how to defend herself, to supply for others, to feel a part of a community, and to build a life. Until this point in her life, Sena had never really thought much of the future aside from what she didn’t want to do, like marry Rathas. Each stride was taken day by day and her ambitions were nothing more than mischievous fun to be had around the castle.

Was she upset by the guidance? No, she wasn’t, but it still made her hands shake. There was no papa to defend her choices, to wash away any bad she might’ve done. Hux had already told her that she had to own up to what she did, even if she made a mistake. Honesty was paramount.

After putting her belongings away, she picked her helmet back up and went out into the karyai . Paz held up a piece of… dessert? She didn’t know what it was other than it was layered densely, flat, and appeared to have nuts and fruit in it. “ Uj’alayi ,” he told her, offering her a piece as he scarfed his own down.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d not eaten much since getting off the ship and they’d been eating rations. Real food was such a comforting sight that Sena nearly cried. Biting her tongue to keep herself from being dumbly emotional over cake, she picked up the sticky pastry and enjoyed the sweetness, the syrup, and the kick of spices that warmed her palate and hummed in the back of her throat. The uj’alayi was amazing. However, her gloves were now coated in stickiness. Big eyes turned toward Paz, he chortled as he washed down his cake with water.

“Wash your hands,” he reminded her, as if it were so obvious - which it was - but she hadn’t thought of it just standing there like a dope.

Coming around the counter, she scrubbed her gloves free of the syrup and picked her helmet up from where she’d set it down. “Do we get to eat that everyday?”

“Our teeth would rot right out of our heads,” Paz chortled. “ Uj’alayi is a treat. Bhone delivered this to us - the Elder in the cyan armor.”

“Oh, that was very nice,” Sena remarked, slightly disappointed that the cake was not a part of everyday cuisine. If she were still a princess, she could demand that it was. Here, she’d just look like a petulant brat. “How would I say thank you? Do I send a gift back or-”

“You could just thank her next time you see her. You’d really impress her if you said it in Mando’a. ‘ Vor’e’ would work.”

“ Vor’e ,” she repeated quietly, hoping that Paz hadn’t just told her how to say something rude to the Elder, but knew she had to trust in his guidance. He was one of few people she was somewhat familiar with around these parts and one of even fewer whose face she could see. Taking in a deep breath, filling up her diaphragm as much as she could muster, she turned her eyes to Paz. “Alright! Let’s go do things. Now it’s your turn to show me around.”

“The village isn’t half as large as Genmaris and you knew that place better than the back of your hand. Won’t take too long and then we can stop by the Nursery,” Paz picked up his bucket and slid it back on.

Donning hers, they went back out into the village where Paz escorted her past the huts and toward the big hall that they’d entered first. That was the Foundry - the important place where all the Tribe gathered and also where armor was forged. Radiating out in a spiral where the other important buildings, which were larger than the residential homes. These included the Junction House, the School, and the Nursery - where all the children to teenagers would spend their time during typical academic hours. The Den was where the hunters met up, dropped off what they’d earned, and had a few drinks time willing. The Cache was another supply location, but it was mostly groceries and miscellaneous housing items. There was also a small mechanical hut with spare parts for the few ships the Tribe had and Med-Deck where the doctor lived. Otherwise, training that did not occur in any of the aforementioned locations were done out in the fields surrounding the village.  

Circling back around to the Nursery, they spent a little time with the children before dinner, the tykes throwing themselves at her when they found out that Ori’vod Paz now had a sister of his own, leading them to assume that she’d be just as fun and amazing as him. The expectations made her a little dizzy, unable to heft the kids quite like Paz could, but she did manage to tumble on the floor with a few of them. Zim had all but claimed her as his own, demanding headbutts every spare second she had to breathe. So, for those brief couple of hours, she forgot about how nervous she was about her first day of school and meeting the other kids her age. According to Paz, her class was aged from 10-14.

When they returned home, Hux already had food ready on the table, looking at them expectantly as gloves were removed and hands were washed. Plated before her was an orange-red curry, the spices making the hairs in her nose curl. The meat and sauce was piled on top of a grain. Since she was hungry, she began spooning it into her mouth, immediately regretting what she had done as her tongue went taut and began to burn as if both suns of Tatooine were sitting upon it. Eyes watering, it took every ounce of willpower not to spit it back out, the other two Vizslas watching on with absolute mirth and delight as she reached for her drink. That didn’t do any better, because even that was spiced.

Panic began to set in as she panted, blinked over and over again as her chest ached.

“Giving you a heturam? ” Paz grinned to her contempt.

“If you’re hungry, you’ll eat it,” Hux barely looked up from his own food.

She managed to turn over the rice and push some in her mouth which helped with the burn. Neither of her aliit were bothered by how spicy the food was and she wondered if her buir had purposely made hers hotter just to get a kick. By this point, her entire tongue was scorched of any taste buds, allowing her to force down a few more bites as her throat rebelled. How had they gone from uj’cake to this?

Ending the day with a shower, she wandered over to her window, her headband off and her ears finally free. Gazing out, she noticed how the moonlight dappled the grass and turned it blue like back in Genmaris. She thought that it was rather pretty how the wind would tangle its fingers through the tall fronds, scattering them in rippling ethereal waves as the moonlight highlighted them. There were no birds, no songs to look forward to in the morning, but then again… Sena was the bird now. Clinging to the edge of the window, she lingered, wishing to open it but afraid that someone might pass by and see her face.

Papa, I miss you.

---

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

It was the most Goddess awful sound she’d ever heard in her life. Rolling over, she eyed the alarm clock which read 0430, blinking its red lights at her, indicating that it was time to get up. Groaning, she slapped it a few times, trying to get the atrocious noise, that sounded akin to a loth-cat being strangled, to stop. Finally, she found the button and clicked it off, rubbing her eyes as they quickly adjusted to the dim light of the room. Dawn was just on the horizon, but it was not time for sunrise for another couple of hours. Sena hadn’t slept well, her anxiety hitching with the hours and when she finally had shut her eyes, she had only gotten a couple hours.

Changing from her pajamas - a simple pair of leggings and a t-shirt - she traded them for her jumpsuit and began fumbling at the armor. Her fingers weren’t dexterous at it yet and she kept eying the clock, realizing she was taking much longer than she should have. Tying her boots too tight, she grabbed her helmet and ran out of the room, forgetting her headband and having to turn back around to get it. Paz was already about to leave and she was frantic, sprinting to the counter to grab a piece of toast before forcing it down her gullet. Some food was better than none.

Oh, Goddess. Only 5 minutes.

She shoved her helmet on her head and ran out of the house. Her brother was already gone. Whipping her head around she started for the Junction House, her stomach balling up, bile rising in the back of her throat as she slipped into the room just as the bell chimed. Sena was momentarily relieved until she realized she was standing by the door while the rest of the class was neatly arranged in a formation on the padded mats. A pair of adults looked her way, her fingers clasping together in front of her to prevent her from shaking.

“Vizsla?” the male adult, in juniper blue armor inquired, his visor accented with holly red.

“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered, stepping forward after counting 10 students sitting on the ground.

“ K’olar! We haven’t got all morning,” the male informed her, gesturing sharply, his voice powerful and commanding.

Sena stumbled forward and waited expectantly.

“At attention,” he sighed, shaking his head at her.

“Att-” she’d seen guards and knights snap to attention when she and papa passed by them. Comprehending what he was asking, she jolted, heels together, spine erect, chin leveled, and shoulders back.

“And here I was thinking Hux would’ve prepared you for this. Not surprised another Vizsla is lacking brain cells.”

“Give the kid a break. It’s her first day,” the other teacher chimed, a female mando in polished sage green armor. Sena decided she liked this mando better.

“Learn fast or fall hard,” the male snipped.

“As long as you get back up,” Sena said in a very, tiny, tiny voice.

“What did you say?”

She stiffened, realizing she couldn’t just speak when she wanted. This was a very strange concept to her. Only speak when asked a question or given permission. Before, she’d been allowed to blabber to her heart’s content. Now she was afraid.

The female mando chuckled. “Relax, adiik. Thak, cut it out with the theatrics unless you want Hux to find you later and beat you into the wall,” she soothed, turning around and tilting her visor toward the rest of the students. “Class, this is our newest Foundling, Senaar of Clan Vizsla. I expect you all to accept your new vod with open arms and help her learn the ropes. Senaar, do you have anything to say?”

Turning around, she glanced out amongst the unreadable visors of her peers. The rest of them were wearing leather armor as well and for once, she wasn’t the smallest one. “I just want to… say hi,” the words came out sheepish and she floundered, having not prepared to be put on the spot like this. So many other children her age. So many chances to create friendships she’d never experienced before. So many chances to kriff it up. A few giggled at her, which did nothing to calm her erratically beating chest. Licking her lips, she clutched her fists and hoped that this would end soon.

“Xivi, I am tasking you with looking after Senaar today and helping explain anything she might not understand during the lessons,” the female teacher declared, giving a meaningful glance toward a girl with a bright yellow bucket.

Sena didn’t have to be a mind reader to see the slight dip in shoulders, the disappointment of having to babysit. They thought she was going to be dead weight for a while.

“Senaar go stand beside Xivi,” the mentor ushered her off.

Joining the other girl, her cheeks burned beneath her helmet as a few watched her step by. The moment she was beside her, Xivi tilted her head slightly. “Where are you from?”

“Naboo.”

The girl sighed .

Kriff. What was wrong with Naboo? Grinding her teeth, Sena waited apprehensively, solid as a statue and absolutely unmoving as the teachers, Thak & Nibak, started morning warm ups. After spreading the kids out, they began with stretches so that they wouldn’t hurt themselves. This was easy enough to follow along, as were the minor exercises that followed after. Lifting her head while doing push ups, Sena was startled to see that she was actually doing quite well. A larger girl, more than a head taller than her, was struggling to get the form down. Sena supposed that her own compact form and being light due to her race assisted in the ease of these body weight workouts. She was able to push out just as many as the boys were.

“Nice form, Vizsla. Go a little lower next time,” Thak paced between the students, giving her a nod of acknowledgement which made her let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“ Elek ,” she huffed, making certain that she addressed the adult properly.

“Aya, go down to your knees and keep pushing if you’re struggling,” Thak moved onto the girl who was just in front of her. “Proper form is more important than doing full push ups.”

Most of the girls were on their knees by now, trying to shove the mats beneath them, as Sena finished off her last 10. Sitting up and tucking her legs beneath her rump, she glanced around.

“Was your weekend too long? Did you eat too much uj’alayi? ” Thak craned down, scrutinizing a boy with a midnight blue helmet. His voice was pensive and sharp, angry almost. “Just because you have days off doesn’t mean you’re allowed to slack! The future of the Tribe is here and you can’t even push out 40? Disappointing. On your feet!”

Sena jetted up, bouncing slightly on her heels as she wondered what was about to happen. By the depressed postures of the other students, she had a feeling that they were about to be punished.

“Seems you all need to run off your sweets from this weekend-” his proclamation was met by numerous groans. “ Uur! I’ll hear none of it. Last one to return after five laps of the covert will be stuck with cleaning duty tonight. Viinir! ”

Buckets swiveled and feet pounded like a stampede of bantha as her peers began rushing out of the entrance. Sena nearly tripped, sputtering after them as she followed the pack, comprehending that the laps were around the village’s perimeter. Filling her lungs with air, she trotted past and set her eyes to the front. Of course she wasn’t going to be last, but she wondered if she could manage to be first. What would happen if she was the best? Did the first place winner get a reward? The loser had to clean, so she supposed at the very least she’d get bragging rights.

Kicking her legs out beneath her, she sailed forward and caught up with a boy with an unpainted helmet, the silver beskar catching in the dull blue morning light. She didn’t speak to him, didn’t greet him, but focused on beating him. That way she could go home and tell Hux what a great job she had done. Running was easy, after all, she’d done it plenty of times in more hazardous landscapes, dodging roots and rocks, hills and nooks. The grass was nothing , nor the little mounds and rises they crested and sloped across.

Five laps ended with her fighting the silver boy for the lead. Her heart burned, soaring high like a bird, her eyes stretched wide as she panted and strained for victory. Thak and Nibak were waiting by the doors, the man having his arms crossed as he tapped his foot. “Hurry up!” he intoned, despite the fact that they were the first ones back. “Djarin. Vizsla. Good job, go get a drink of water and wait for the rest of your vod. ”

She grumbled slightly, disappointed that he’d called the boy’s name first. Heading back inside, she picked up her water bottle and flipped the straw up, shoving it into her mouth and quenching her burning throat with the lukewarm liquid. Her helmet turned toward Djarin, who was also sipping at his water. “Nice job. Next time I’ll beat you,” she said hoarsely, but in good spirits. Running was probably her favorite exercise to do aside from climbing.

“I wasn’t trying,” the boy retorted peevishly.

Sena’s smile wilted on her face. “Neither was I,” she snarked, trying to sound impressive, but her voice squeaked, absolutely betraying her. Cheeks and ears heating, she sat down and muttered to herself. What was his problem? No sense of honest rivalry? She wasn’t given the time to come up with another snide remark, but she was thinking about it - imagining how she could have clapped back at him, all the clever things she could have said in place of the stupid one she’d blurted out.

Other classmates were trailing back in, huffing and puffing, in much worse shape than the victors. Amongst the last to trot in was the girl, Aya - who had a bright hot pink helmet - and a boy called Vowr whose helmet was a splotchy grey, as if the paint had faded and he hadn’t bothered to touch it up. Routines phased into hand to hand combat, which she was quite nervous about.

Paired back up with Xivi, they observed the teachers explaining simple throws and strikes, telling them to draw their punches today and aim for center mass. Eventually, they let the young teens turn back toward each other.

“You’re fast,” Xivi commented as they began going through the palm strikes. Thrust, thrust, parry, turn.

“I like running,” Sena shrugged, catching the strikes on her vambrace as Xivi continued her routine.

“Yeah but no one is Djarin fast. Gave him a run for his credits today,” she snickered, moving into a defensive position so that Sena could start her own offensive turn.

“Really? He said he wasn’t trying,” she smiled a bit at Xivi’s words. Thrust, thrust, parry, turn.

“Course he did,” Xivi snorted, shaking her helmet. “How old are you?”

“13. And you?”

“14,” Xivi answered. “I was a little bit worried about you, but you seem to be in good fitness.”

“Thanks, that means a lot to hear that,” her cheeks flushed at the compliment.

“Little word of advice though. Careful about trying to best Djarin.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s top of the class and has been for a while. Only Kedth has come close in some aspects and the two have fought over it. Had a few duels to settle the matter-” she cleared her throat, stepping back slightly as Sena’s strike slipped through her guard and hit her chest. “Anyways, unless you want a shebs kicking, I’d advise against it.”

“I don’t think I’m nearly that good, but thanks for the warning. If I can just beat him at running, I think I’ll be pleased,” she admitted, clenching her fist and opening it slightly. Despite being good at physical activities, she doubted she’d come close to any of the other kids in varying subjects. There were too many topics for her to be naturally gifted with them all and she wasn’t an airhead who believed her princess upbringing made her any better. In fact, it should’ve made it worse, but at least Xivi was rather nice now that she’d warmed up to the Anaxian.

Combatives ended and they were given a short recess to get more water, have a snack, and file into the classroom. The topics of the day were geometry, galactic history, and Mando’a. Sena found the academics to be simple enough, though the Mando’a she had to take a considerable amount of notes. Most people in the room could string entire phrases together, even speak it fluently, and she was putzing around in slight confusion. Xivi leaned over a few times to translate. Lunch time came and they were allowed to go back to their homes to eat with their helmets off.

“How’s class?” Paz asked her, their buir not home for lunch.

“Not bad, actually,” Sena revealed, chucking a dopey smile at her vod. “I honestly thought it was going to be worse.”

“It’s only the first day, but try not to lose that shereshoy . You might be chipper today, but you’ll get sore eventually,” Paz reminded her in good nature.

“Sore?” she scoffed. “I’m Anaxian, made entirely of sinew and muscle, wind playing through the trees, and verdant shadows. A little running and push ups isn’t going to break me.”

“ Nayc , you’re Mandalorian now,” Paz disagreed, tossing a look over at the clock on the stove. “A stupid, grinning pointy eared Mandalorian, but one nonetheless. Prove to your aliit that you’ve got a few brain cells. Oya! Don’t want to be late. Thak won’t be so nice to you if you pull that stunt again tomorrow.”

“Nice?” she squeaked in disbelief.

“You don’t want to see Thak when he’s angry.”

“He seems angry all the time!”

Paz chuckled, guiding her back out of the house as they put their buckets on. “He’s aggressive, not angry. See you after class, Sen’ika.” He gave her a slight head bump and they parted ways.

Classes after lunch consisted of marksmanship for the remainder of the day. The others were allowed to go through drills, but Nibak pulled her aside to test where she was. The sage green mando had her disassemble a few different weapons, which Sena was comfortable taking apart and putting back together. She fumbled a little bit with the coil in the buttstock of the rifle, her muscles straining as she shoved it back in, but otherwise thought she moved at a smooth pace. Not too fast, but also not dragging on.

“How well do you know how to shoot?” Nibak inquired after they went through the weapons.

“I know how to shoot a sidearm well enough, but I’m not that familiar with rifles and shotguns,” she answered honestly. There was no point in pretending she was good at it just to eat her words when placed on the range. “My buir showed me how to take them apart.”

“As he should have,” Nibak hummed, picking up the rifle. “We’ll start with this. Come along.”

Following the teacher away from the rest, who were doing dime and washer drills, they left the Junction House and headed out toward the range on the outside of the village and nestled down in a valley. Burms had been created out of soil and dirt, a line of target dummies set at varying distances. She noticed that some of them were droids, which could probably be turned on to move around and simulate live targets. Nibak set the rifle down on the block, muzzle down range, and handed Sena a cartridge.

“Start with prone, which will be down here,” she got down on her belly, propping herself up slightly with her elbows, pretending to have a rifle seated against the pocket of her shoulder.

Sena got down on the grass with her and cocked her right leg, which helped steady her balance and lifted her up. After getting a nod, she picked up the rifle, her arms quivering slightly at the weight.

She found herself struggling to hold the weapon upright, fumbling the cartridge in, before sliding the charging handle forward. Nibak noticed her struggling. "Tuck your elbows in more, you can slide down lower in order to plant more firmly." Following the instructions, Sena found a more comfortable position, her finger flat against the side of the weapon as she waited for more instructions. "Aim for the target at 100 meters and fire."

Switching the safety off with her thumb, Sena set the cheek of her helmet against the buttstock, surprised to find that the curve fit perfectly, locking into place. Her visor adjusted swiftly to the sight picture, listing the muzzle in the direction of the target a medium distance away. Drawing her breath, she squeezed the trigger at the bottom and the weapon kicked with the fire. She blinked a few times, her shoulder absolutely raw from where the high powered rifle sat. Teeth rattled, she licked her lips and glanced at Nibak.

"Good shot. Control the kick more so that you don't lose sight picture," Nibak eased, nodding for her to continue.

Sena fired a few more times before her shoulder began to shake.

"Are you alright?"

Grinding her teeth, she gave a mute nod, not wishing to seem weak, but kriff it hurt. Felt as if she'd been kicked by a bantha. Volleying off a few more shots, they swapped over to the shotgun and Sena felt herself absolutely dreading have to fire it. Leaning into her shot, her grip slipped and she dropped the gun. Nibak darted forward, shoving her back away from the hot weapon, and yanked her by her raw arm. Sena was unable to stop the howl from escaping her mouth.

" Verd'ika ! Dank farrik how much do you weigh?" Nabik hissed, snatching up the shotgun and switching the lever to safe.

Sena's hand palmed her aching muscles. "A normal weight," she muttered, realizing she was a normal weight for an Anaxian. Not a human.

"You can't be more than 30 kilos," Nibak continued to fret, realization dawning on her. "Your shoulder-"

"I'm fine!" Sena spat irritably, upset that her arm hurt and not wishing to be treated differently.

"Are you human?"

She sucked her teeth, having hoped that this wouldn't come up. Until now, everything else had been manageable, even the hand to hand combat. "No." Would Nibak pry?

"That is important information, verd'ika. Will you tell me what race you are?"

She shook her head. "Sephi offshoot," was all she could supply.

"Lighter bone density," Nibak sighed. "This will affect your training."

Her stomach dropped and she pulled her hand down. "I feel fine. I can keep going. I can-"

"Stop lying, verd'ika . Trying to push your body past its breaking point will only get you and your vod killed in the future," Nibak started, her voice hardening and becoming crisp. No longer was it nurturing or warm, Sena quailing and sitting back on her heels as she waited to be yelled at. Instead, Nibak just shook her head. "Every Mandalorian has different strengths. You will need to play to yours. You are quick, verd'ika . You will still need to qualify with a rifle and shotgun, but we will make exceptions to spread your testing out to prevent injury. Come along, we are finished for the day."

Even if Nibak had been reasonable in what she said, Sena's head sagged, trailing behind her teacher as she knew for a fact that others would notice her getting special treatment. She tried to blink back tears, but supposed that the helmet did her a favor in hiding them as they stung down her face. She held her lips to prevent her mouth from sniffling. Her first day and she'd already been sorted out and told she would be inferior in certain aspects.

The class was released for the day and Sena slunk back home, not feeling up to doing anything as her shoulder hurt. Peeling off her bucket and pauldrons, she tugged down her sleeve enough to see that a nasty bruise was spreading along the inside pocket of her shoulder beside her pecs. A frustrated huff parted her lips and she rounded, kicking the frame of her bed as hard as she could. The fit was followed with a lance of pain up her leg, radiating from where her foot connected with the steel. At least it distracted her from the pain on her shoulder.

Moping in her room, she didn't go out for dinner, hearing a knock on her door. How could she face her aliit? Word probably traveled fast and they'd know that she would never be able to wield a rifle or shotgun in an adept manner. That was a huge part of an arsenal. If she couldn't even heft a rifle, it meant she'd never be allowed to touch heavy machinery for fear of it breaking her.

The door puffed open, despite the code she had set on it, recalling duly that Paz knew it. She snatched her blanket up, pulling it up to her chin and keeping her back to the door. "Was the day that long?" he teased. "Sen'ika?"

"I'm just tired," she grumbled, her voice cracking from how parched it was from sniffling like the biggest baby in the galaxy.

"I heard you did pretty well today. Almost beat Din in your morning run-" Paz preened, sitting on the edge of her bed. "But you need to eat to keep up your strength. Even if you're not hungry, you should try to put down some of it. It's not as spicy tonight." He patted her shoulder, making her suck in a sharp breath, her body betraying her before she could purse her lips. "Wha- Are you hurt?"

Her eyes began burning again, her teeth clenched as tight as a vise grip as she tried not to cry. Why was she such a wimp? "I'm fine."

"Senaar, if you have an injury we should put some bacta on it. You still have to go to training tomorrow," Paz was definitely frowning now, but she didn't turn to look at him. "Let me look."

She grumbled petulantly, but her brother didn't move. Instead, he waited until she was done grousing, throwing glares, and then sat up yanking down her shirt to show him the darkening bruise.

"Dank farrik how did you get that?" he cursed, eying the nebula blossom against tanned skin.

"I was testing weapons with Nibak and one was a high caliber rifle. The kick bruised me and then I dropped the shotgun and she asked if I was human. Obviously, I couldn't lie or she'd think I was severely underweight. Now they're going to treat me different. I-I-I just told them I was a Sephi subrace, but now I can't do the same things as the others-" the words splattered out of her mouth ineloquently, absolute word vomit as she felt the bitter tears burn in the corners of her eyes. "I was doing so well today and then this happened."

"So?"

Her mouth dropped open and she glowered at him. "So? What do you mean? I'll never be as good as anyone else if I can only use pistols!"

"You're really worried about that?" Paz was staring at her honestly, his icy eyes snaring her gold. "What good are you broken? Your first day here and the teachers are already talking about your potential. No one is perfect at everything, this is a minor setback. Focus on your strengths. You're fast and can move silently, that's a skill most Mandalorians don't have - at least not naturally, they have to work for years to have that. In the meantime, stop beating yourself up over it. Your teachers are here to help you grow in the right direction and will tailor your training accordingly. Do you want to keep shooting these weapons until you fracture your shoulder?"

She shook her head.

"Then stop worrying," he reached up and ruffled her hair. "Want to know a secret?"

"What?" she muttered.

"I sucked at reconnaissance and stealth. So terribly that I thought they weren't going to let me attempt my Trial. You know that little stunt you pulled back in the castle?" he was alluding to when she'd stabbed the stormtrooper. "I could have never done that. You are as silent as a shadow and jumped several meters like a nexu. Dush'shebs ! You'll make an amazing kyramud one day."

"You think so?"

"I know so. But only if you eat your dinner and keep on top of your studies and practice," Paz reminded her. "Let's get some bacta lotion for that bruise."

"And food," she added, feeling a little better after Paz's pep talk.

Sena's schooling continued and she took what Paz had told her to heart. You couldn't be good at everything and dwelling on her deficiencies would just cause her to get into her own head too much. Didn't help that this Djarin kid seemed to be good at everything, but Sena tried to ignore this fact and focus on her own training. Xivi became a fast friend and her partner for most combat drills. The canary yellow mando swiftly fell in step with her after classes, where they would practice Mando'a, since it was Sena's roughest academic subject. In exchange, she helped Xivi with her running and tried to teach her more acrobatic maneuvers with obstacles. For Sena it was easy to leap, duck, dodge, and adjust on the fly - be that midair or on the ground. This agility was quickly noticed and Xivi yearned to have even a shred of Sena's ability.

It became common knowledge that she was Sephi, which wasn't entirely true, but she didn't discredit it. She couldn't fully participate in some live fire activities, Thak let her fire a few times before putting a pistol in her hand, telling her to sharpen those skills instead. Part of her desperately wanted to be able to saddle up with one of the cool ambien rifles, but her shoulder twinged in memory of how badly the initial kick hurt her. Sidearms didn't bother her and she had a decent shot, increasing her draw and hipfire with the progressing weeks.

Mornings were her favorite, hoping that Thak would make them run so she'd get a chance to try and best Djarin. The silver mando never spared her, or anyone, many words. He kept to himself and Xivi said he'd always been like that. Sena wondered why, since they were all vod and being reclusive did nothing but make the others dislike you. Did she dislike him? She didn't know him. Though the few words she did exchange with him were mostly terse and fuelled by their rivalry in fitness.

But everything wasn't sunshine and rainbows. Falling into step quickly, adjusting with her peers, and finding a niche to occupy, she swiftly saw the weakest links amongst their group. Had she not been Anaxian and a wild spirit who had trolloped through the woods, Sena expected she might've been more ill prepared than she was. The girl who had difficulty with push ups on her first day, Aya, was amongst the struggling. Her magenta bucket was easy to pick out and it was like a beacon for Thak to hone on and chastise. Sena actually felt bad for how much the girl was picked on, told to improve... but that pity quickly faded. She'd caught Nibak offering extra lessons after their final bell, only for Aya to decline and say she was working on her own. Still, there was no improvement and she continued to get reamed out by Thak.

Eventually, about two months since Sena's arrival, Thak began comparing Aya's failures to other students. Particularly her.

"Senaar has been here for two months and she's already outpaced you, Aya," he scolded as she continued to struggle with push ups. "A Sephi Nabooian has outpaced you."

She wondered if she should have been offended by the way he said Sephi, but supposed it didn't matter since that actually wasn't her race. Everyone knew she was featherlight by this point as Nibak had told them that no one was allowed to use full strikes during combatives for fear of someone breaking something. If the teacher's words were meant to be motivating, they weren't, and Sena's cheeks burned with embarrassment for both herself and Aya.

Following class, she found the magenta bucket and tapped the tall girl on the shoulder. "Aya..." she cleared her throat, trying to muster her princess voice so she was as polite and courteous as possible. The girl turned, tilting her helmet down impassively - the telltale taut and bitter line of her shoulders clear. "Xivi and I are going to do some obstacle course runs today if you want to join us. After we practice Mando'a. You're more than welcome to join us today and any other day."

Aya was utterly silent, so silent that Senu realized she'd barely heard the girl speak before. Finally, "Do you think I'm laandur ?" her voice came out hot, Sena's helmet immediately picking up on the fury in the girl's voice.

"What?" Sena squeaked, throwing up her hands in a submissive manner. "N-no, I just thought you might-"

"That I need to run more? That I'm fat and slow? That you, an aruetii , could show me the ropes?"

She had not expected this at all, her jaw dropping at Aya's harsh words. Aruetii ? Aya had called her an outsider. "I'm trying to be nice!" she screeched, her patience vanishing like smoke dissipated by a strong gale. "I never see you practicing after class and Xivi and I are always outside. I thought maybe you wanted other people to work out with."

"Like I'd choose you or Sunshine to help me. You can't even shoot most weapons. You're not exactly the shining example of mandokar . At least I can handle an entire arsenal, vaar'ika ," Aya snapped, jabbing a thick finger into Sena's chest, making her stumble back. "Let's see where all the running gets you when I snipe you across the hill."

"Kriff! Fine, forget I asked," Sena hissed dejectedly, turning away and leaving Aya to her fuming. Her own heart burned, chest heaving as she stomped back home. What the hell was her problem? Did she really think that Sena was being snide? That inviting her out was going to be nothing but a chance for Xivi and her to laugh behind their buckets? Then, on top of that, Aya had gone right for the kill and insulted her. This was the first time in her life that someone had rejected her like that and Sena was trembling with unbridled rage. Had she done the right thing? Could that conversation have gone better?

"Woah look out over here, we've got a wild mythosaur on a rampage," Paz hooted as she opened the door to their karyai and continued to trundle in.

"What do you know about that stupid pink bucket, Aya?"

"Aya?" he arched a brow, setting down his blaster that he had been cleaning. "I heard that she's having some issues with her fitness."

"I invited her to join Xivi and I after classes and she bit my kriffing head off!" She plopped down across the table, removing her own blaster, deciding she should clean it while she was there.

"Hm," Paz hummed, thinking about the subject for a little while before speaking again. "She's sensitive about it. Her buir didn't return from a hunt a few months before you arrived. It's been worse since then."

The blood rushed out of her face and she felt her ears sag slightly beneath her headband. Sighing deeply, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I was trying to help her," she said quietly. Now Aya's reserved nature, the quiet answers to Thak, and Nibak's offer being turned down were making more sense. "I didn't know."

"How could you, vod'ika ? You did the right thing and tried to help her, but respect her decision to take the time she needs," Paz eased before shifting the subject. "So, I heard from the pipeline that your marks are quite high."

"Well aside from marksmanship since I can only really shoot this thing-" she bared the blaster which was already in three pieces. "Academics aren't that difficult and Xivi has been helping me with Mando'a."

"A humble princess? You surprise me again, vod'ika ."

Humble? Papa had told her that bragging about your accomplishments would just make people dislike you. Plus, Sena knew that school and marks didn't make up for real experiences. The real tests would be the Trials which were a few years off. She could only hope that she'd be prepared enough to make an attempt at 16. Given her comfort with the current regiment, aside from her disappointment in marksmanship, Sena was hopeful that she'd be able to make it there in time. "Not humble, just realistic," she groused, blushing at her brother's words. His praise was hard earned and he always knew the right things to say to brighten her mood even when it was abysmal.

"I wish I had that many brain cells," Paz snorted.

" Gar mirsh solus ," she countered, drawing a guffaw from him.

"Xivi teach you that one?"

"She taught me all the rude things first so that way if someone insults me, I know," she grinned, but sat back and considered what had happened. Even if Aya had lost her buir , she hadn't needed to take it out on her. Sena lost her papa and entire life as she knew it and wasn't ripping people's throats out for offering to help. Whatever. It was over and Sena had done the right thing in being the bigger person.

At least, that's what she thought.

Come morning, after their initial work out, they were paired up for combatives. Partners were switched around, so that people would be on their toes not facing their typical match up. Sena was loomed over by Aya, which was fine, all it was was grappling today. Most would just be mounting, a few tosses, and domination positions and the mats were padded. If Aya was still mad at her, she could vent her frustration and Sena wouldn't blame her. Squaring up with the girl, she knew this wasn't going to go in her favor. This wasn't free fighting where she could try and coil around Aya like a snake to try and win, it was a set of maneuvers and Aya would win because she was bigger and heavier. Heck, nearly everyone in there would be Sena except for 10 year old Terri.

Well, hopefully this goes by fast, she thought tartly, glancing over a Din and Oyiin who flanked them.

Aya lunged first, trading a few weak blows before they toppled to the ground. Sena fought for a dominant position, but was little more than a hissing loth-cat kitten as Aya picked her up by the scruff and flung her against the floor. Air whoosed out of her lungs, but Sena recovered before the girl could mount her. She rolled out of the way, rubbing her neck where she'd collided. Not a big deal. People often forgot how small she was and underestimated their strength. Aya hadn't fought with her before, so it'd be a little touch and go.

Grappling again, Sena swiped her foot under Aya, sending her thumping down and mounted. The girl twirled, asserting dominance and flipping their positions. Sena squirmed, writhing in her grip, managing to slip the hold like an eel and jump to her feet.

Thak and Nibak were across the room, correcting tosses. Back with her boots on the ground, Aya parried again and did something that Sena was not expecting. Her fingers grabbed the front of her cuirass before Aya checked her into the ground. All air was driven from her lungs and her head spun, choking for breath as a sharp whine crackled through her modulator. Aya mounted while she was dazed and pushed harder than she needed too to restrain her collar, air still not pooling in her lungs.

"Hey. Hey !"

Her ears were ringing, each blink hazy and spinning as she registered the magenta bucket casting a shadow over her. Everytime she closed her eyes, the world returned in a slow, foggy shape and Aya almost appeared as if she had two heads.

"Get off of her!"

Aya was shoved off and she was finally able to sputter, greedily sucking at air as she tried to process what had just happened.

"Didn't realize. She's laandur -" Aya was speaking, crossing her arms as if she hadn't just used an illegal toss and choked the air out of her partner.

"She barely weighs 30 kilos. What did you think would happen when you sat your fat shebs on her chest?"

"Watch it Djarin or you'll be next."

"What's going on over here?" Nibak trotted over, glancing between the boys and girls as Sena scrambled, finally able to sit up as the blood rushed back to her face.

"I'm ok!" she squeaked, not wanting to get Aya in trouble. The girl had already been through a lot and tattling on her would just make it worse. "Aya bested me. Knocked the wind out of me, that's all!"

Nibak tilted her visor toward Aya, letting the tension hang in the air, before shrugging slightly. "Be careful, Aya. You know that your vod is smaller than everyone else."

"I know, I'll be careful next time," Aya promised dolefully.

Nibak departed and the pairs split off again, Djarin turning away and grumbling quietly to himself. His wary visor kept glancing back, as if he were expecting Aya to make a second attempt to hurt Sena. With Ninak now watching with a hawk-like gaze, the lesson continued without any further issues. They were allowed their recess before moving onto academics. Whatever frustration Aya had wanted to vent had been allowed and Sena had covered her shebs by not saying anything. Again, she thought it would get better, that the girl had gotten her revenge, but found herself becoming the fixations of microaggressions.

From bumping into her desk, to pushing by her every chance she got, to even yanking on her braid once, Aya did not relent. How in kriff's name was this equal to being insulted? Sena hadn't intended on insulting Aya, so what was her problem? Come the end of the school day, she was grousing to herself, trying to walk it off and be the bigger person. Eventually, Aya would realize that she was being a brat and would leave her alone. If she were back in Genmaris, she would've punched Aya already, but she still felt bad for her. Aya was probably a nice person and was just going through a tough time, Sena could certainly relate.

"Hey," she stopped just a few houses down from the Vizsla home. Turning, she caught the glint of Djarin's silver helmet in the sun. "Why didn't you say anything? Aya has been torturing you all day."

"It's fine," Sena shrugged. "I know she's still echoy'la ."

"She choked you this morning," he reminded her flatly.

"Not difficult seeing how big I am," she brushed it off.

"What did you do?"

"I asked her if she wanted to join Xivi and I for our practice in the evening. She got rather upset, so I dropped it. She must've thought I was being contemptuous, but I just wanted to help her get her fitness up. We're all vod , we've got to help each other out," she explained, taken aback that Djarin was actually interested. This was the most he'd talked to her since she had arrived. Otherwise, they exchanged taunting rebuttals while trying to outpace one another in their exercises.

"And that warrants choking?" Din inquired dryly.

"I'm not upset. Just let it go. It's not a big deal. She'll probably go back to normal tomorrow."

"And if she doesn't?"

Sena paused, having not considered this option. What if she became Aya's punching bag to get out all those frustrations? Pursing her lips she let out a sigh, which crackled through the vocoder. "I'll deal with it. Thanks for the concern, but I'll still kick your shebs in the morning run tomorrow."

"Yeah right."

---

Also here's your translations!

Vod - Sibling/Comrade/Brother/Sister Jai'galaar - shriek hawk Buir - parent Vod'ika - little soldier/private Aliit - clan/family Su cuy'gar - You're still alive; greeting Su'cuy - Hi Sen'ori - big bird; respectful older sibling name for Senaar Elek - Yes Cin vhetin - blank slate Beskar'gam - armor Ori'vod - big sibling Alor - leader Karyai - living area/main area of Mandalorian home for eating and resting Ade - children Uj'alayi - dense, sweet Mandalorian cake Vor'e - Thanks Heturam - mouth burn; highly sought out in Mandalorian food and indicates VERY spicy food K'olar! - Come here! Get over here at once! Uur - Go Viniir - Run Shebs - butt; ass Shereshoy - lust for life that is Mandalorian Nayc - No Oya - Let's go! or lit. Let's Hunt! Dush'sebs - badass Kyramud - Assassin Laandur - weak; highly insulting Auretii - outsider Mandokar - the right stuff; for Mandalorians Vaar'ika - pipsqueak Gar mirsh solus - Your braincell is lonely Echoy'la - grieving, mourning

[nightwingshero]

Unwanted

Okay guys, so I’ve been working on two different stories for FC5: one that follows the game and the other is a burlesque/mafia au that I couldn’t get out of my head. This is the first piece of work I’ve posted for Wren and John, and its for the burlesque au. I’m going to be posting my work on AO3 soon, but I got really excited about this and wanted to share it! Trigger warning for some alcohol use and dark thoughts, so read at your own risk!

Her green, venomous eyes were taunting. She sneered at everything that came across her withering gaze, her hips swaying with a little extra effort to gain the attention from those around her. It was in vain, of course, with Rowan’s performance still in full swing. But that didn’t stop this woman from holding her head high as she looked down her nose to our dancers. We’ve had people in here before from the first class. Most of the time, they were pleasant, friends of Whitney or John. Some just stopping through to check out the club they’ve heard so much about, but that southern charm had never failed. Until now.

She flipped her platinum blonde hair, the curls catching the little light that created the ambiance. Her short emerald dress hugged her curves, showcasing her breasts perfectly. I was almost impressed. I shifted a bit, fidgeting with the material of the outfit I wore for my last performance. I was talking to John before he had ducked outside to take a call from a client. I stood there, waiting for his return, but as her gaze narrowed on me, I knew I was in for it.

“Where’s John?” she asked in a clipped voice. I would have thought her beautiful, if her personality had matched. I frowned at her.

“I’m sorry, he’s not available. May I ask who’s asking?” I asked in curiosity. John had people come in here and there, asking for his time. This wasn’t new. He would brush them off, telling us to make sure to ask who they were and why they wanted to see him. He was so allusive here, insistent that his business hours were always clearly communicated. If those expectations weren’t met, then too bad. He took his schedule seriously.

She sneered at me, her glossy lips shimmering with her teeth. “I’m his fiancée. Now, go tell him that I’m here.” My brows shot up in surprise as my heart stopped. Fiancée? He had never mentioned…

“I didn’t realize he was engaged.” I replied quietly, hoping to keep the disappointment hidden. I felt deflated, as if someone had poked a hole in me. I wanted to stay neutral, not give away how my heart sank to the pit of my stomach at the thought of it. But she smirked, her green eyes twinkling.

“Well, he is.” She let out a little laugh. “Its cute, you know? This little crush you have.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh please.” She snapped. “It’s so obvious. He probably already knows. You wear it on your sleeve. It’s disgusting and pathetic.” She clicked her tongue as she gave her a look of pity. “Let me guess, you’re some country girl from the middle of nowhere who is trying to make it in the big city. Am I right?” I don’t answer. I’m raging, the blatant rudeness wiggling under my skin. But I can’t seem to defend myself. My tongue feels heavy and the tears are coming. It only fuels her, knowing she is so close to making me collapse into myself like a house of cards.

“Oh honey, did you really think he would go for that? Some little girl playing dress up when she belongs back on the farm? You’re way out of your league.” She steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder as she squeezes with a false sense of reassurance. As if we were in this together, the two of us against the world. “Honestly, I’m doing you a favor. Saving you from the humiliation of rejection. John has standards, a particular taste darling. And this? This isn’t you. It’s not fitting in the slightest. Whore isn’t exactly on John’s radar. He prefers women of class, love. You’re beneath him. It’s time for you to understand that you’ll never be good enough for him.” She smiles again, before rubbing her hand on my cheek. Then with a slight smack against my skin, she’s gone, and my eyes are catching Whitney’s shocked ones.

The room spins as I lean against a chair for support as Whitney tries to call for me. Fight or flight is strong in my veins, roaring in my ears as my stomach twists and twists, creating something I don’t recognize within me. Reforming, as I stumble to the back, desperate for something I can cling to, something real I can put inside myself to make me real. I’m a ghost of something as I gather my things to leave. The breath in me is gone, forcing me to choke on the stale cigarette smoke Adelaide is supplying. I’m almost in a trance, and yet I feel some sort of clarity. The fantasy broken like a magic mirror, and suddenly I am seeing my true self in the broken pieces lying before me. I barely register Faith’s words, but I’m sure she’s asking if I’m alright. I smile, say yes, pretend that I’m still the same person on that stage. She’s not convinced and so I tell her I’m going home. My sleeve must be dirty from everything that shows there.

I leave quickly, feeling like a fool. Perhaps I should laugh, like most clowns do, pulling all those emotions out of my sleeve like a colorful handkerchief chain. That would require a voice, something I was lacking. A mime would be more fitting. My body the tool, invisible and locked inside a box I created for myself as I tried to put on a display. A vision no one had wanted, the piece of art that sat in the back unwanted. I forced a sob down as I entered my car, fumbling for the keys.

I wish I could say that I remembered getting to my apartment. Out of character for small town Wren, sweet little Wren. The box was closing in, my chest threatening to implode. I let go, the tears and sobs forcing my body curl into itself on my bed. The little moments were a mirage, something my naïve brain believed to be something more. How many times had he been there to protect me? His bullet wound had only just healed. How many times had he saved me? The disaster of a date with Detective Pratt merely weeks ago. I could still taste the fear on my tongue as Pratt plied me with glass after glass of wine. The gentleness in which John had handled me, almost caring. Like I was the most fragile thing in his world.

I scream them into my pillow, the broken pieces of my heart. Pieces of my soul shattering like the illusion of him, the illusion of what I thought we could have become. I breathe in deeply and that’s when I feel the shift, the steel resolve of my psyche overcoming me. It’s the numbness I notice first, turning my sobs into nothing. I rise, making my way to the kitchen like a vengeful spirit that is the one being haunted. The vase is crystal, a gift from Adelaide for the new place, but it’s the flowers I want. He had them sent to me, celebrating our big show only a few nights prior. I laughed to myself, remembering the rush I had felt. For the first time, I had felt high. Elated.

I swayed, humming to myself a bit as I made my way to the bathroom. Turning the chrome handle, I began to run the hot water, desperate to feel the burn against my skin to help me rid myself of her touch. To purge the gaze that had taken me in with such disdain, as if I was a stain upon this earth. Her tainting touch scorched my skin, leaving an invisible mark that only I could see. That I could feel. And with that, I ripped the soft petals from the stems, allowing them to sprinkle down into the water. They dance across the surface, a secret waltz that only they knew.

One by one, I light candle after candle, a dark ritual that was only just beginning. My hair is twisting up and up, piling elegantly on top of my head, and then I’m dipping into the water. The warm, baptizing water welcoming me, loving me as it takes me as I am. Scars and all, it holds me securely in it’s embrace. I could almost hear the shushing of its calming voice, almost feel the comforting fingers of my mother as she played with my hair. The ghost of her was almost enough, pushing me back to a time where I didn’t have to feel the weight of loss or rejection.

And suddenly, her ghost is gone. Blue eyes have taken over haunting me, her fingers replaced by his tattooed ones. He plays me like a harp, pulling my tight strings just so he could hear me sing, watch as I move with a simple flick. The hypnosis of his ocean eyes is deep and tempting, calling for my drowning. They wish to claim my last breath, the very last bit of my being. And I’m rising from the water, panic clawing my throat because I can feel the pull, feel his gaze as I felt hers. I fight off the tears that demand to be seen, that want the show they so rightfully deserve. It was only fair, my heart screams, but I laugh at it. Life is never fair.

I stand naked in the mirror, but I see her standing next to me. The blue bloods that own this city, the embodiment of the perfect Georgia peach. A woman I could see John taking by the waist with pride. Her red lips and dark lashes, the long neck and golden blonde hair on display for all to see. My body not nearly as lean or as striking. I imagined her in her castle as a child, the beautiful princess of Atlanta, ruling her kingdom with her head held high. My childhood filled with softball tournaments and the old beaten up acoustic guitar that slept in the corner, while she attended operas and orchestra concerts. A culture I had never dreamed of, a social circle that could never be touched by the likes of me.  

I dry my skin, the feeling of being paper thin is overwhelming. I laugh to myself, because I know what comes next. I know what I’m about to do. It’s silly, childish, and yet I glide to my dresser. Slowly, I pull out my favorite number, something I had always imagined wearing for him. Not on stage, no. This was something for him and him alone. I put on the bra, the black lace striking against my skin and suddenly I’m untouchable. Slipping on the lacey underwear to match, I turn to my closet, desperate for the last pieces. The silk ebony robe sending shivers down my spine as it caresses me, and it’s as if I’m being held in my lover’s arms. The heels are last, simple and elegant. Tall and black, two thin straps leaving my feet bare, the same shoes I had worn to my father’s funeral. I felt like death herself, all powerful and ready to take whatever she wanted. Provocative and demanding, a queen among men.

My hair is released, falling like a waterfall down my back. It felt good to pretend, to believe in this moment that I was like her, that I wasn’t me. That I was a woman that was cherished and wanted, an envy-worthy being. I reason with myself; I know I’ve gone mad. I had fallen off the deep end and taken flight, and it had never felt better. The feeling addicting, the need for more growing and growing. The heels clicked against the wood floor, fueling me. The righteousness they sang, the vengeance they demanded, it became a soothing lullaby.

The kitchen is dark, only the light above the stove and sink burned with life. I reached for the most expensive red wine I had, pouring a glass with a smile of satisfaction. The blood red liquid was all consuming, drawing me closer. The dark, bitter taste becoming my sanctuary, but I wasn’t done. No, far from it. And as I sat down at my small vanity back in the bathroom, I choke yet again on a sob, and force out a laugh instead. I had a plan, a traitorous plan against the tears that begged for the freedom they longed for. I knew how to trick the emotions into becoming wisps of smoke on the inside of my porcelain glass exterior. I had never been an artist, but I paint. The burgundy against my lips, the black liquid liner creating sharp edges that would dare touch without permission. The brush then creates a frame for the windows of my soul, residing in the blue green irises staring back at me. They’re heavy, sad even, but the mascara does its job and I finish with a flourish.

I’m suddenly beautiful, a perfect doll someone would love to have, to play with, and have on their arm. I wonder briefly which arm he would use to put around my own waist, and suddenly my vision swims. I scoff as I hold my head high and take a sip in victory, toasting myself for outsmarting the betrayal of my heart that suddenly matched the blue of his eyes. I was so strong, I told myself. I was better. But as I held the glass gently, it became comforting to me, whispering sweet nothings and promising me a numbness that kept me safe and sound. I knew I was lying to myself. I was far from better.

A sound pulls me from the calling, and I set the glass down as I rose. The noise led me to my bedroom window, finding a cat messing with some metal trashcans as it scavenged for its next meal. Then I hear the soft clicking of my front door, and I scoff while squeezing my eyes shut momentarily. I should have known. Rowan was the only other one with a key, and I could almost bet that Faith had sent her my way. The wine’s singing int the next room, creating an atrocity of noise in my head. Perhaps just one glass, just to get the noise to go away. To make everything quiet.

Rowan would wait patiently in the living room; she respected my privacy. She wouldn’t just wander around. No, she would sit on the couch or at the kitchen table, preparing for whatever conversation she had planned on having. “Rowan, I’ll be out in a moment.” I call out in a sigh, letting her know I was aware of her and wasn’t being ignored. “I hope your show ended well. Sorry I wasn’t there to see the grand finale.” Every word was an effort, taking energy away from me. I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

I give only a few more seconds as I come to my decision and began making my way back to my bathroom. I could down the glass quickly. Rowan gives no response, but I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter. But as I step into the bathroom, I freeze. The blood in my veins suddenly turn to ice and my breath hitches. The glass was missing, as if it were never there in the first place. Sad and confused, I approach the vanity. The red wine, that had matched my lips, was gone. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, I’m reminded that I could never be her, or any of them. The beautiful women that could seduce him with just a soft smirk, a glance in his direction as her finger curled, beckoning him closer. I cringe as I turn away. I didn’t need another reminder that I wasn’t good enough.

“Rowan, give it back. I’m fine. Let me finish my fucking wine.” I stomp down the fall, my heels screaming their wrath. That’s how I enter my kitchen, ready for war, but I stop as something catches my attention. I make my way to the sink in a daze as I reach for my empty glass, the stain from my former lipstick taunting me. The wine bottle is set down and I reach for it, not caring of the guest I had yet to acknowledge. The lightness of the glass bottle tells me exactly what I had been thinking, it had not been spared. Everything was empty, just like me.

I slam the bottle down as I clench my teeth, seething. I wanted to scream, to see the world burn with the rage I was feeling. “Rowan!” I snap and I begin to shake, but whether it was from anger or the lack of control, I wasn’t sure. “Are you fucking kidding me? I barely had any—”

I’m no longer yelling but choking on the gasp that rushes out as fingers caress my neck, a hand gripping my hip tightly. They tease at the base of my neck before tracing my collarbone. The hand on my hip is sliding and sliding until its entangled with the knot of my robe. I know this touch, this gentle melody against my skin. The same gentle caress that ran over my skin as he marked me, embedding his creation into my skin with his dark ink. A permanent work of art that would be displayed on me for the rest of my life, and then suddenly he grasps my neck, squeezing only slightly. I knew what this was. I knew that this was a punishment, his own way of showing his disappointment for my lapse. He wouldn’t hurt me, I trusted him, and I knew that concern was driving his anger. My head rests against his shoulder as his lips find my ear.

“Promise?” he asked, dead serious. His breath makes me shiver and I breath out slowly through my nose. “Promise me that that’s all you had, Wren. Do not lie to me.”

“I promise, John.” I whispered in shame. He knew, god he knew. I was usually good, drinking only in moderation and at social events. I was so careful. But he knew, in this moment, that I had no intention of stopping. I was so swept up in the hurt, in the insecurity and anxiety, that I hadn’t realized how quickly I was falling down the rabbit hole. I make a sound at the back of my throat, and I feel my armor began to fall, disintegrating into nothing as I’m fighting the tears that are coming back.

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to cry. His lips find the junction of my neck and I sigh. Rowan wouldn’t have taken that step, pouring everything I had down the sink. That just wasn’t how she was. She would have lectured, sure. Express disappointment? Absolutely. John wasn’t like that. John was bold, unafraid of anything that ever came his way. I let out a shaky breath as he pulled away, his hand leaving my neck as his finger gently turned my chin. His lips found mine and I couldn’t think.

How long had we skirted around this? How many times had we came this close, but never crossed the line? The stolen glances, the shameless flirting. The way he held me the night I was almost shot in the alley, and yet neither of us were willing to take it further. I could almost laugh, because I had thought for so long it was just me. I was crushing on someone way out of my league. I had believed the words that woman had said. And suddenly, I remembered exactly why I was in this situation. I’m his fiancée.

He pulled away as the tears fell, and I looked away from him. He wasn’t having it. Gripping the front of my robe, he jerks me around. It takes only a few seconds for him to see, and without missing a beat, his hands are on my thighs. He sets me up on the counter as a sob successfully, finally, escapes my lips. His hands cradle my face as his thumbs wipe the tears away. His eyes are soft and they’re pulling me in, a tug on my seams as I become undone. I tore my gaze away, trying to hide everything I was feeling.

“Look at me.” He whispers, his face close enough that I can feel his breath. I looked back, fear and hurt all over my face. “Listen to me and listen very closely. You are enough. Do you hear me? Wren, you are enough.”

“Enough for you?” I croaked as I cried. My hands twisted as the clung to his white button up shirt. I was creating wrinkles, but neither of us cared. His brow furrowed and his jaw ticked.

“Enough for me? God Wren, who gives a shit about me?” He gently pokes my chest, against my beating heart. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I think or what anyone else thinks for that matter. Anyone.” He sneered as a dark look swirled in his cerulean orbs. “All that matters, is that you’re enough for you. You matter, Wren. You come first.”

“But that woman said—”

“That woman is nothing. Her opinion is nothing. She will never touch you, or get close to you, do you understand? She’s a liar and a manipulator. A child throwing a tantrum for not getting what she wants.”

I shook my head, my insecurities still whispering doubts. “She’s so pretty, John. She’s so thin, and I’m nothing like her. I’m not like her.” I sobbed.

He chuckled, a soft smile gracing his lips and showing off his perfect teeth. The light gave him a heavenly glow, yellow highlighting his features that made him look warm. “No, you’re not. You’re nothing like her, Wren. But that’s one of the biggest things I love about you.” He gently pressed his thumb against my lips, helping silence my sobs as I hung onto every word. “Shhh. Don’t cry, darling. Do you not see? Do you not understand just how beautiful you are, inside and out? Do you not know what it is you do to me?”

“John—” I gasped, but he presses his lips softly against mine before pulling back.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? I’ve thought of little else since I’ve first laid eyes on you.” He whispers. “I get to watch you, Wren. I get to watch you every night when you perform, and I want nothing more than to devour you, to have you all to myself.” He tugged the robe loose, making it fall open and his eyes travelled down. My skin heated immediately from his attention, his finger returning to my chest as it teasingly traced the top of my breast. “I waited, bidding my time for the perfect moment. It never seemed to come, though, and I had to watch as that idiot detective circled you. But I protected you when you needed, listened to you when you needed the shoulder to cry on. I wanted you, craved you, but needed you to be happy, to be ready and unafraid. I wanted to take my time with you, but I can’t keep my fucking hands off you.”

I laughed and his smile broadened as he leaned back. “So…you’re not engaged?”

He scoffed. “Hell no. We used to be, but that was years ago. She’s nothing to me.” He placed a light kiss on my nose, before going for my lips, but I stopped him. He gave me a look and I smirked.

“Did you break into my apartment?” I asked, my brow raising, and he gave me a smirk in return.

“Oh darling, I plead the fifth.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“It is not. Need I remind you that I’m innocent until proven guilty?” he asked, a breathless laugh escaping him. He gave me a mischievous smirk, something dancing in his eyes that made my lower abdomen pull as I bit my lip. “I heard about what happened, Whitney told Rowan and I everything. Rowan was enraged, I believe she may or may not have taken a swing at our unwanted guest. I didn’t stay though, I needed to check on my girl.” He tilted my chin up gently, his lips brushing mine lightly. “And you are my girl, aren’t you darling?”

“Yes, John. I’m yours.” I breathed out and his lips crashed against mine once more. Everything forgotten as a sense of relief settled over me. My heart swelled as his hands caressed lovingly against my skin, holding me, and driving the last of my inner demons into the shadows as I fell into his sweet embrace.

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (3/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : General Audiences, no warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 3/? (2262 words)

Author’s notes : Eris starts to explore, and starts to understand castle and Count both hold some mysteries she is not sure she wants to resolve.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

My eyes fluttered open, and it took me a second to make sense of my surroundings. Sitting up with some difficulty, the soft mattress seemingly trying to keep me in, I set the covers aside, and threw my legs over the edge of the bed. The room was bathed in a strange light, almost green, and if the rain had stopped, the sky was still low with bulging clouds, threatening to burst open at any moment. The fire in the hearth had died out, only leaving a few red coals to shimmer softly.

I changed back into my new outfit. My usual clothes might have dried out overnight, but I had to admit I really loved the skirt. It had pockets, for hell’s sake. I had no idea what time it was, the dark skies making it impossible to assess the position of the sun. I figured if I were going to do anything, I might as well go check on the damage in my bag, which I decided to forget about last night. I left the room, trying to find my way back to the main hall. After a few hesitations and turnbacks, I finally found the main stairs, and reached my bag, still sitting near the door. As I feared, most of everything was soaked, even the food I’d taken with me. Had to throw that out, at some point. I found my phone, that I had miraculously put in a waterproof case. Still working, though on concerningly low battery, and had no signal. I sighed, and set it to extreme batter saver mode, hoping it would last until I could get back to civilisation.

I grabbed my remaining clothes to have them dry with the rest, and went to the dining room. There, the fire was still going strong, with a couple of fresh logs. At the end of the large banquet table, I was surprised to see a steaming pot of tea, and a plate of something close to scones, I believe. It was accompanied by a sheet of thick, high quality paper, folded in half to stand on its own, marked with my name in a neat, graceful handwriting.

“Dear Eris, I expect you had a pleasant sleep. I have left for the most of the day, and will certainly not return before dark. Please enjoy some breakfast, as you must surely be famished. Feel free to explore should you wish it, as I have left the keys for you along with this letter. I hope you will forgive me for my absence, and trust you will find the means for distraction. Your devoted host, Count Vlad Balaur.”

As I read the letter in a half hushed voice, warmth spread across my chest as I finished on his name. A glance at the table confirmed the presence of said keys. If I had to fumble through all of them every time I wanted to open a door, exploring just might take the whole day after all. I slipped them, along with the letter, in my pocket, and poured me a cup of tea. It was a different blend, black, yet flowery and soft. Perfectly well infused. The scones seemed to be fresh out of the oven, which made me wonder if he baked them himself, or had staff. I didn’t see anyone last night, but then again, it was late. If he was as rich as his house suggested, he just might. I figured I would look out for them. If anything, I had to compliment the chef. I don’t know if it was because I hadn’t eaten since yesterday at lunch, but eating these scones felt somewhat close to a religious experience.

After I became physically unable to eat any more, I decided to follow the Count’s idea, and explore. The castle was old, that much I could tell. I wasn’t an expert on architecture, but I was more or less convinced that the most ancient phase of construction had to be around the 13th, 14th century. The village probably built itself around it, so that would make some sense. Obviously, it had been updated, rebuilt, but the main structure was still visible. A lot of the rooms seemed almost… Stuck in time. A bit messy, crowded, as if the people who last left could come back any moment. Even so, the thick layer of dust dulling the colors made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.

I couldn’t help but feel some nostalgia. 15-year-old me would have been thrilled exploring a place like this. Not that I wasn’t, but at that time, I was so into urban exploration that I almost got dragged to the station a couple of times for tresspassing. My parents never knew, and just thinking of their reaction if they ever had had to go bail me out of jail for being a bastard goblin made me go into hysterics. Couldn’t help but picture my father, stilted up into some sad brown corduroy suit, mouth pinched in a lip-less line, having to pick up a ratty kid who just could not, would not, keep her grubby hands out of dangerous, rat infested abandonned houses. Or shut down psych wards, that one time. Pretty anti-climatic, that was. 

I stifled a laughter, and shut the door behind me. Most of the rooms were boudoirs, spare bedrooms and such. There was one large room, covered in hunting trophies and animal skeletons. This one interested me the most. Inside, I noticed it was close to a cabinet of curiosities. Glass and wood shelves hosted a variety of skeletons, egg and sea shells, fossils, even some weirdly misshapen baby animals, floating in yellowed jars. The taxidermied animals seemed almost real, and at any moment, I expected them to start moving around. One shelf, built along the whole length of a wall, was dedicated to various skulls, ranging from standard game, elks, boars and whatnot, to more exotic things. One in particular caught my eye. At first glance, I thought it might be human, but I was very quick to change my mind.

The skull seemed fine, strong jaw still attached to the cranium, even a bit of mummifies tissue still attached in some spaces. However, the teeth… The teeth made no sense. Too many, too sharp, like they had been filed into curved, pointy shapes you only see in great apes, or carnivorous animals. Reviewing every strange cultural rite that could explain such a bizarre thing, I started to feel more and more uneasy. I almost felt like it was staring at me from the shadows, behind the hollow eye sockets. Not necessarily wanting to linger any more, I slipped out of the room, and locked the door after a few tries. Just to be sure, you know.

I had visited most of the rooms, but still one was pinching my curiosity. If I understood right, I could see its windows from those of the corridor leading to the dining room. Tall windows, almost church-like. I passed its door a few times, but was never able to find the key that unlocked it. The mind works like it works, and by the thrid time, I was almost ready to find a way to pick the lock, or break it down. Frustrated as ever, I gave a kick to the frame, that made me repress a cry of pain.

“Well now, what has that poor door done to deserve this ?”

I nearly jumped at the sound of the Count’s voice. He was standing behind me, a manner which seemed to have become a habit on his part.

“It was resisting my best attempts to pierce it’s secrets, which is a grave offense in my book”, I replied.

“Ah, I am afraid it was entirely my fault”, he admitted, and produced a key from his pocket, twisting it between his long, slender fingers.

A mischievous smile playing on his lips, he unlocked the double doors, and pushed them open, dramatically turning back to face me, his coat flaring around him, arms open.

“Welcome to my library.”

The room was filled with the last rays of the sun, setting on the mountain ridge, under the clouds. It caught the dust the Count must have raised as he entered in golden specs, floating up all around him. Everywhere, bookshelves stretched out up to the high ceilings, accessible by ladders and small bridgeways. The floor was covered in richly woven carpets, and at every comfortable corner sat armchairs and reading tables, agremented with chandeliers. There had to be a lifetime’s worth of reading within these four walls, and for a moment, I was unable to even walk in.

As I finally regained control of my limbs, I stubled inside, jogging to the nearest shelf. Leather-bound books, stacks of rolled parchment, gilted, worn, intricate, small, large, I didn’t even know where to look first. There were so many different languages, I couldn’t even recognize half. I let my fingers trail along the backs of the volumes, deciding on which to pick first.

“Do you like it ?”, the Count softly asked, as if not to disturb my frantic search.

I turned towards him, unable to stop smiling. He looked almost surprised, almost moved. The sun caught his eyes, revealing their deep blue color. I noticed his hair was now dark as night, cascading on his shoulders. Not a single gray hair in sight. He looked almost exactly like his portrait in the dining room, now that I thought about it. He must have noticed my internal trouble.

“Is there something wrong ?”, he asked, stepping closer to me.

“Nothing”, I replied, shaking my head. “You seem to be… Well, for lack of better terms, younger than yesterday.”

“Ah, a bruise to my ego !”, he exclaimed as he carried a hand to his heart. “I know I have left my younger days behind, but I have yet to be an old man.”

It had been a dark, stormy night, and I figured that by candlelight, my mind could have played tricks on me. Maybe I had been expecting a lonely old man so much, that he appeared that way, in my slightly frostbitten mind. I decidedly turned my attention to the shelves, and picked a volume. A bit worn, but the dark green of the leather, and the tiny golden patterns still vivid on the spine. As I read the title, it had me laughing to myself. Ὀδύσσεια, Homer’s Odyssey, in the “original” speech.

“Do you read ancient greek ?”, the Count asked, now looking over my shoulder.

“I have had the misfortune of learning it. Since then, I fell out of practice, I think.”

I turned over the pages, the familiar words coming back to mind without having to really read them. It was with this story, and the Illiad, that my parents taught me. I knew them almost by heart at that point. His tall silhouette, behind me, felt almost protective. I was nearly tempted to let myself lean back against his chest. I could feel soft strands of hair brushing past my shoulder, making a shiver run down my spine.

“Are you cold ?”, he asked. “I am afraid these walls tend to not hold the heat very well. I could have a fire lit here, if you want.”

His tone was almost tender, concerned. I had no time to answer, before I heard the rustling of fabric, and felt the weight of his coat placed over my shoulders. His hands lightly slid down my arms, flattening the soft, tightly woven wool over me. The sudden warmth did nothing for my shivering, and I nervously turned another page. My finger slipped on the edge, which cut right through the soft skin.

I cursed under my breath, watching red bead at the cut, and run toward my palm. The hands of the Count, still over my shoulders, suddenly gripped them tight, almost enough to hurt me. I could swear I heard a growl from deep inside his chest. He took my hand in his, examining the wound. A slow stream of red came trickling down his own fingers. He was leaning closer to me, so much that I could feel his breathing on the nape of my neck, heavy, trembling.

“You should be more careful”, he told me, his voice barely more than a whisper, deep, and dark.

I turned back, freeing myself of his grip, and tried to step away. My back hit the shelves, my injured hand held up to my chest, the other still holding the book so tight my knuckles went white. He once again took my hand, this time holding a cloth to the cut, red slowly seeping into the white cotton. He kept his eyes riveted to the makeshift band-aid. They didn’t seem so blue anymore. He took a deep breath, which sounded almost like a snarl as he let it out. He whispered something in romanian I couldn’t make out, let go, and suddenly, he was gone. Leaving me breathless, confused, holding the now mostly red cotton square to my hand. The edges of the shelf dug into my back. I inhaled sharply, as if I’d been holding my breath the entire time, which could easily have been the case.

I closed the book, and slipped it back onto the shelf. The library was silent, if it weren’t for the faint sound of a crackling fire, in the hearth.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock

[idisofrohan]

Attraction, gender and me

Due largely to a piece of pan erasure turning up on my dashboard recently, I decided to write this little piece detailing why the terminology we use might have incredible importance to part of the community and should not be disregarded as having played out their role, or being erasure of other terminology used, without giving additional traffic to something that I vehemently disagree with. Also because long post is long.

I identify, as you might have noticed, as pansexual (and -romantic), something that I see as overlapping with, but separate from, bisexual - something I’m not. Worthy of mention here is that I, unlike some other pansexuals and pan allies, don’t see bisexual as something that inherently contains trans erasure, but accept attraction towards trans men, trans women and non binary people as a possibility for bisexuals, no questions asked.

Bisexuality, as I’ve come to understand it, is a duality, as inherent in the name. But it is not the duality of attraction to men and to women, but rather that of heterosexual and homosexual attraction and that means all the difference in the world. Heterosexual attraction would be an attraction towards different from you, and homosexual attraction would be an attraction towards same as you.

But different or same as you in what exactly? Here is where things start getting problematic. For most people it can’t be the innate feeling of gender, as a base level of attraction is usually met before you get to know a person on a deep enough level that they would be out with you if they were trans. Is it then that their presentation displays elements associated with the same or a different gender from those we display? Hardly, as this exclude the attractions of those of us who are trans but living closeted. Then perhaps a presentation with elements of the same or a different gender than how we’d like to present? Still not perfect as some people desire a presentation that does not match their gender. I suppose the only all-encompassing definition is where you perceive their gender as matching the same or a different gender from yours.

But how, you might ask, is this in any way problematic? Surely attraction towards the genders that aren’t yours and the one that is - as you perceive things - would be the same as an attraction to all genders? If you identify along the gender binary, that might be the case, but if you - like me - identify as non binary, things might get a bit foggier.

The big problem is that non binary isn’t one gender, but encompasses all gender identities that aren’t either 100% male or 100% female. That’s a lot of them, and they might not be even remotely similar to each other. These different genders have one thing in common though, they each represent a rather small subset of individuals who don’t identify with their agab, they are gender minorities. As such, they don’t possess any clearly defined gender roles or typical gendered expressions, with the possible exceptions of genders ancestral to a culture. With that in mind, you wouldn’t ever know to assume you found someone that shared your gender, and you might never even meet someone you share your gender with, even if you move in lgbtq+ circles.

So, as for me, who would be an homosexual attraction? Not only would they have to be non binary, they’d need to be the very same gender as I am - and confirmed so - a simply queer expression isn’t enough. But then we have additional problems, you see, my gender isn’t a stationary one. It, like my dysphoria, fluctuate. Sometimes certain aspects of my physical body give me low dysphoria, sometimes high, and sometimes certain aspects (but never all) stop giving me dysphoria at all. Will my current state of gender have to match with the one of the person of my attraction’s for it to be a homosexual attraction? If so, it certainly becomes narrow as a term for who I’m attracted to, hardly a functional tool to use.

And who would be a heterosexual attraction? Well, obviously that would be everyone else, i.e. virtually anyone. Be they male, female or a non binary gender. This obviously deviates from any standard perception of what heterosexuality is and doesn’t meaningfully deviate from bisexuality. If I was heterosexual instead of bisexual by these definitions, there might - if I meet a low probability - be one or two people I meet in my life that I don’t possess the ability to truly be attracted to and remain so after their coming out. And even so, these potential people might still fall outside my type anyway.

I don’t like using the term bisexual about myself because to me it states “I am without a doubt attracted to my own gender” and I simply have no way of knowing that. To this day, I haven’t met a person that I know identified equal to me. I am reasonably certain that there wouldn’t be anything inherent in my gender that stopped me from falling in love with them, but that little bit of uncertainty, that lack of knowledge, would give me gender dysphoria if I stated my sexuality as bi.

Pansexual, unlike bisexual, isn’t a comparative label. Pansexuality does not state my gender’s relation to the genders of the people I’m attracted to. It is a definitive label, stating that these are in fact the genders/gender expressions/perceived genders that I am attracted to. I am attracted to (some) people who have a masculine expression. I am attracted to (some) people who have a feminine expression. I am attracted to (some) people who have a queer expression. Stating this does not come with intrinsic problems. It is a complete list of who I might get attracted to, not containing uncertainties, that does not give misleading information about who I’m attracted to to anyone I share it with. Let me have my label and I’ll let you have yours.

I realise that I have alluded to my gender several times through this piece without actually disclosing what it is. Let this be the end of that. I am a demigirl(flux) reaching all the way down to agender, but never all the way up to female. I have elements of lower body primary characteristic dysphoria, i.e. dysphoria related to the functionality of (but not form of) my sexual organs, this is a constant. I get upper body dysphoria in waves, depending on where on the gender scale I currently fall. The same goes for the dysphoria connected to my voice. At times I’ve had dysphoria connected to my hair, both head and body. The body hair one I’ve successfully alleviated by changing my grooming habits, and the head one I try to manage by different styling. I use they/them as a pronoun all of the time and she/her only when I’m feeling more feminine, with a preference for she/her when I feel an extra high level of femininity.

You might notice I never specified which direction my dysphoria exist in, and this is rather deliberate. I’m not in hormonal replacement therapy, nor do I want to be, as I’m not sure whether the dysphoria that it would alleviate would be more or less than any possible new dysphoria I might get. I haven’t had any gender reaffirming surgeries, they’d be impossible to make work towards a dysphoria that changes around like mine does. As such, my agab is rather obvious for people who know me in real life, and I’d like to keep this a forum where most people won’t necessarily know which it was.

If you’ve looked at my profile, you might have seen that I am also polyamorous, and this might make some of you dislike me because you disagree with a polyamorous relationship style, if so I’ve nothing more to say to you. However, some of you might be inclined to dislike me because I practice polyamory while falling into a multisexual sexuality, thinking that I perpetuate negative stereotypes about people who fall for more than one gender. To you I’m saying stop the gatekeeping. Polyamory is not the same as being a slut, they can exist entirely separate from each other. I think very few people would consider a total of two sexual partners (though a few more romantic) ever as slutty, yet here I am. A fuck-ton of people, of pretty much every sexuality, are likely to have me beat through serial monogamy. Still, even if I was the sluttiest slut who ever slutted, that still shouldn’t exclude me.

There will always be people who conform to stereotypes, no matter the stereotype. Does that mean we should throw them under a buss just because? Of course not! They are a valuable part of our community, together we are strong but divided we fall. Our goal shouldn’t be to assimilate perfectly in every aspect into cishet society, but to be accepted as we are, no matter how we are. Remember that the people who say “I only accept you if you follow my norms” aren’t your friends, they’ve never lifted a finger to help you. Your lgbtq+ siblings who have fought for your rights shouldn’t be sacrificed on the altar of begrudging acceptance.

[asryakino]

Bowden’s Cure ch.3

"Confirm it." Captain Cassian's voice was icy. The trembling female was passed off like some sack of tubers to Jakar. The darker man was much more gentle with her but no less firm. He set her on her feet with a strong hand held to her small torso as support as he led her to medical. The Startear's medical bay contained some of the most advanced Terran and non-Terran medical technology as well as Mepha - one of its few non-Terran crewmembers. With walls of impressive-looking bioprinters, scanners, and various other production machines that whirred, beeped, and seemed to be in constant use despite the overall healthy nature of the current crew.

Confirmation was nothing but a way to keep messy, ugly things like paperwork in order. Cassian had no question of the identity of the escaped pincushion. She'd damn near cost him everything when she'd gotten out of containment. Five lost to direct contamination, a dozen more to quarantine, and the oversite board becoming increasingly persistent about their damned bureaucratic trocq. Cassian could still recall the fallout clearly, and the looming losses in the event of failure. Something he was not willing to accept.

-----------------

If an ancient Terran had dreamed up the Sera'phar'im no one would have questioned it. Though it eventually came out that the Sera had simply discovered the planet after becoming spaceborne themselves. Finding it primitive, full of rowdy, noisy apes who seemed to stare at the skies more than they observed their own world- they had no interest in leaving it alone. Before the Gaarth had arrived the Sera had left their mark on the developing cultures, going so far as to return over and over throughout the ages to see how their little stone-bound pets were developing. Their images dotted the entire planet in various forms becoming powerful symbols of everything from death, war, and destruction to love, devotion and purity. One extreme was slightly more true than the other. Tainted by the interference, Terrans, especially High Terrans, found themselves in awe of Sera'phar'im, often without a solid understanding of why the race created such primal reactions. But, when compared to the ancient texts concerning the Terran concept of 'angels', said reactions made more sense.

Stepping into Startear's medical bay was as good as stepping into another world. One filled with constant activity that the necessity of which could, and should, be questioned. Jakar didn't like the ships medical officer. Seras bothered him at the best of times and the one employed by Captain Cassian always unsettled him more than others of the species. That unsettled feeling was justified.

Mepha made a brilliant medical engineer. Boundless knowledge paired with incredibly sensitive senses allowed the being to diagnose various forms of illness and research biological medicine with ease. Meph themself had been on the Atlemarian project for as long as the Terran scientists had been. She had followed their interest and advancements and eventually took an interest in the unique prion disease and it's devastating effects on every organic species it came in contact with. It was an absolutely fascinating subject. Jakar stiffened his shoulders as he entered into the gleaming medical bay with his escorted guest. "Mepha. The captain wan-" The speed and sudden appearance of the massive wing-like appendages startled him as they surrounded the pale blue figure. He felt her get snatched out of his grasp, and the odd fluttering sound Mephas 'wings' made sent shivers down the helmsman's spine.

They wrapped around the smaller figure and a cooing, dual-toned voice emerged from within the flurry of activity. "My favourite little 'Maran has come home again. Oh I'd know that scent -anywhere-. You'd never hide it from me…" Mephas arms were just a little too long, her legs just a little uncannily slender. The wiry body held a terrifying air of strength and the Seras' features were just a little too wrong to be Terran. As if Mepha had been a Terran and had been poked, stretched, and adjusted here and there. Eyes that were too bright, too alert, and features that were too pretty to look at for long. But the wings… looking at them from a distance they were magnificent and impressive. Easily twice the size of her main body, gleaming and covered in what appeared to be white feathers. The reality was revealed every time the predatory species was on the hunt. The wings, which could be used for short gliding were actually covered in hundreds and thousands of sensitive sensory organs. Flaring them open revealed hundreds of larger light and chemical sensory organs that looked like disembodied eyes. The white 'feathers' were tactile sensory organs. The main body of Sera'phra'im seemed to exist to deceive other species by mimicry as the eyes were effectively blind to several wavelengths of light, limited even by Terran standards. "You reek of a dozen species and more. No one cared for your balanced needs." Mepha's dual-layered voice was irritated. "We will have to ensure you are properly decontaminated. I don't appreciate all the nasty, ugly things you've been putting in my body." She tugged the small Atlemarian around by her arms, yanking her somewhat violently from one machine to the next in some kind of unknowable dance. Each time the pair stopped at another machine, something would ping, ding, or beep. Several times the tiny female would yelp in what sounded like pain. The sounds chilled Jakar's core, but he was more relieved that the Sera wasn't interested in -him-. "So it's confirmed to be the escaped subject." "Yes yes! Fine, tell Cassian I've confirmed her identity. As if I couldn't have confirmed it from a klik away. Yes. Fine, now…" Mepha was quite suddenly across the room, one long arm outstretched and holding a vainly squirming female by the head against one of the scanner machined. The eyes that stared too long focused terrifyingly on the Terran. Her other hand planted against his chest, talon-like nails prickling at the skin under his uniform through the material. "Get. Out." She shoved, sending him off balance and having to quickly correct himself. The medical bay doors slammed shut, and a two-toned shriek could be heard just as they sealed. "So much to ge-" Jakar didn't wait around, he ran a hand through his mussed up hair to smooth it back down before returning to the Captain.

-------------------------

[ace-octo-pix]

This is... going to be a bit long. sorry, mobile users. The ocs are listed by team!

SPLATOON 1 TEAMS

ROKA/OLIVIA/AGENT 3. A bit of a lovable goof, with caring too much for her little inkling body. Fierce in battle. Yes, she gets the scar in the OE arc, but the OE arc goes a bit differently in the story due to... reasons? yeah, reasons. She goes missing for a full year and that’s when Akim takes up the Agent 4 handle.

MINT TEA/PAIVA. A bit of a gossip, but also a wall of support. Wants to cheer everybody up, but is hiding issues of her own. Close friends with Roka. A possible ship with roka, as well. She’s the second leader of the team, and the only one in contact with Roka, right up until her disappearance. Oops. Literally the only one with a picture like this.

GLASSES/HENRIETTA. I did not know that the splatoon manga glasses was known as glasses, and this is awkward. and also full moon is a thing and AGH. anyway glasses. Seems to be a sarcastic little piece of shit, but honestly it’s just a front to her inner core. Of someone who likes to snipe and have fun. Wonder what caused her to be like that? hm.

Bandanna/Daphyne. She exudes an aura of edge, an aura of Not Caring... but she really does care... a lot more than she lets on. Will Fight anybody who disses her pals. Honestly a teen girl at heart. Loves black.

RETRO/AKIM/AGENT 4. A bit of a prick, but the kind of prick you know doesn’t mean his words. He’s kind of skilled in battle with his roller, which makes this W O R SE !! a big fan of music, and gaming, and also being gay. he makes jokes about that a lot.

SPECS/MARK: you know the stereotypical nerd? stays in a bedroom most of the day, tinkering around with stuff? That’s Specs! He likes to play video games with Retro, and... oh, look at that, another ship. Wow. Analytical!

SUNNY/GWEN. Similar to another person, she appears to not care, while caring a lot. Apathetic seeming, but able to come out of her core to care. Probably has a lot of interests from her girlfriend...

RAINY/SARAH. She’s fueled by a firey passion most of the time, but it tends to fizzle out quickly, and that’s how she and Sunny met, basically. Not pictured is the Traditional Headband she wears. Yes, she and Sunny are girlfriends. yay matching outfits.

PAINT! Er, she looks... not like this as much? Her gloves cover her fingers, and her hairstyle is the enemy octo hairstyle! In the ‘first game’ aka the first arc, she actually wears the paintball mask which covers her whole face, and also mains chargers. She just switched to brella in the second game. Shy, kind of nervous, but willing to put her foot down when push comes to shove. Er, she also has to be pushed to that point. Poor girl.

FISHFRY. A super out-there kinda kid. sorry, some ocs don’t have much personality. He will Protecc Paint with his life. Probably does research and field expeditions for her.

PEAKS. Proud of her role in battle, and probably the first one Paint trusted with the secret of her being an octoling, and the one best fit to break the news.

VECTOR. Full Attacc mode. Fueled by battle, loves to battle. Whenever Paint is taken off guard, she’s probably the one there to back her up.

ZEKKO. Leader of the Marksmen. Sorry there isn’t much about him. he’s definitely gay tho? Loves bothering the other players with his gun.

PANEL. A bit of a nerd, though he hides it behind his huge blaster.

SQUIDMARK. Reclusive? shows little emotion, but its definitely there.

CHECK. Loves the feeling of his hair. Probably more muscly than you would gather from his shirt.

SATIN. Loves this style and doesn’t get why people laugh at her scuba mask. knows what she’s doing in battle, but... not much outside of it.

CANCEL. Tends to ignore the outside world for her daydreams, even in battles, and still does well?? how does this team function

Ah, this is how they function. PARKA. Aka the straight person- well, they’re nonbinary and are hiding their ponytail in that hat of theirs. The person who sets the team straight and directs them in the right direction. Beakons help.

Zink. Just as odd as the rest of his team. He says his headband helps him, when it very clearly doesn’t. Or maybe it does and its just a hidden condition. Who knows? He’s just a bit bizarre.

BERRY. Leader of her team, she’s Suspicious of everything, and fierce in battle. Loves being Warm....

Olive. Er, he has the wrong ink color, and his eyes are blinking. It’s better like this instead of the WRONG PIECE OF HEADGEAR. Suave and cool, and yet constantly bickers with Berry. Ah, sibling culture. Super strong. A bit of a brat, but he won’t press on Berry’s anxious triggers. That’s Just Rude.

JELLY. Sometimes called Baby because of just how precious she acts. Will kick people if she has to.

SHRIMP. AKA... well. You know that headcanon that Pearl, Emperor, and Prince are siblings? Well, Shrimp’s their cousin. He’s got the short genes. He tries to compensate for it by being loud, and is often jokingly called Pearl’s cousin. Likes telling tales. That are often mostly true.

SPLATOON 2 TEAMS

HOOK/ATA/AGENT 8. A soft and kind soul, friendly and loves to talk more than take action, but when she takes action... whooo. she knows how to take action. If she’s angry, you don’t want to be around. Mostly quiet. Another possible ship with Roka.

YAMAGIRI/ADRIAN. Confident, and a bit cocky, but it’s mostly only a bit of exaggeration: he loves to stick to his ideals, and truly believes himself to be carrying those out to the best of his ability. Stupidly loyal to his friends.

TOOTHPICK/NOELANI. Two words to describe her: mom friend. Caring, worrying for everybody that crosses her vision, analytical to a stupid degree. Strong, so she can help throw her friends into a food cart so they can EAT FOOD. 

OCEANIC/VICTOR. A soft-spoken octoling, but is willing to do whatever it takes for his friends to Remain Happy, happy to shoulder their burdens. Hides his emotions under his big ol’ hat, though if you look under it, he’s probably a blubbering mess. Whenever angered, his voice seems to drop octaves and inflection. That’s terrifying!

BLOCKER. Oh my god, he’s a party animal. Oh my god. He likes doing memes and tricks, and, you know who this should remind you of? Aloha. Anyway, Blocker’s well known for his tricks with his brella, and his excellent dance skills... which also aids him in battle!

FUGU. He has a Big Ol Crush on Blocker, and I don’t think Blocker’s noticed yet. Oof. Kind of quiet and likes to observe before hopping into things, useful for a blaster with such a short range...? Awkward, but he’s trying to get better.

SEA SLUG. Constantly on the go, constantly moving, she’s gotta Go Go Go!! Hyperactive, probably can be seen stimming. Has an attachment to her gun.

LEAF. Seemingly hard-boiled, constantly huffing about something or other. She’s- she’s a Rider Tsundere, that’s all I can describe her as. Her friendships with Blocker the Party Master and Sea Slug have definitely Lightened her up. Still a little bit of a grump?

ARROW. Dependable. You can depend on him to tell you when you’re doing some Bad Shit, Stop That.

HOTHOUSE. A... a bit of a flirt, and a good punster. two things that shouldn’t be combined into one girl.

TACKLE VISOR. Keeps their face hidden purposefully, which hides their non-standard hairstyle. Rough and tough, a sneaky little bastard. You know, despite the TACKLE VISOR on their head.

MATCHA. A silly little guy. The oblivious one that somehow still manages to cooperate with Hothouse’s jokes anyway. May be faking obliviousness...

HICKORY. Such a casual guy. Him and Blocker are probably pals. Party pals. Would drink your soda on accident and then apologize.

DO-RAG. oh my god, look, it’s a lesbian. She loves to show off, and is super strong. Could probably lift her teammates above her head. Actually can’t see much without her glasses, they’re made for her weird-ass eyes.

REDLEAF. He looks like the type of guy who hyperfocuses on everything and has to be told to back off, but he’s not trying to be creepy. Soft. Would memorize your food favorites and cook it for you.

CLAMS. He. he loves being super fancy. Not because he thinks he’s above others, he really, really loves the aesthetic of it! He and Do-Rag fight over which splatling is better sometimes. And then help each other score dates.

EGG. Super silly, has probably eaten a raw egg whole on a dare. Easily dared into things, though this means she’s very resilient. Can and Will say silly things just to confuse people.

CARROT. Helps out with Egg’s jokes. Has shoved an entire carrot down her gut before. Egg and her were actually friends before they both traveled to the surface. They are... bad influences on each other.

RAINBOW: He’s a casual gay. I- uh. He’s super fun in battles, and is often the one daring Egg and Carrot to do things because he loves putting it on whatever the octo media is. Loves sandals, hates his toes feeling constricted.

CANARY. Oh my god this is a swamp gremlin. You know the meme versions of agent 4? that, times like 100. Jesus. This team is crazy.

SEASHELL. Doesn’t use the deco because her teammates described what the burstbomb and carbon did to people and she doesn’t wish to cause people harm....

JADE. he’s blue ba due be- i mean. he’s a good singer, but still learning the ropes of his new weapon.

DEEPSEA. A friend. The dad friend. Will tell jokes to make you feel better, but always a shoulder to lean on. Always will wear silly clothes too.

FORGE. ..... a guy of few words.... kind of like skull. doesn’t really talk much, but evidently is a good prankster and loves spicy things. Will tuck you into bed and then doodle on your face.