#she felt somehow much easier to conceptualize

[gabiioartist]

Spectra concepts

[mikavlcs]

Static Patterns

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: Wednesday’s struggling to say those three special words, so she decides to instead show you how she feels.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday(!!!), reader’s kinda unserious, sorry

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: this was requested by @beauty-in-the-brkdwn​, hope you enjoy<3

Masterlist

Never in her life had Wednesday felt more stupid than she did now.

Mere months ago, she had faced and overcome unthinkable odds, defeating an undead pilgrim and saving the entirety of Nevermore from destruction. A feat she pulled off with moderate ease.

And now here she was being bested by something as trivial as words.

It was humiliating to think about, even conceptually. That she—an aspiring writer—was struggling with words. A communicative tool she had mastered using before the age of five. This was even worse when paired with the fact that what she was struggling to say was so torturously simple.

Three words. Eight letters.

A phrase that millions were able to say in passing and yet the thought of actually saying those words to you was somehow more daunting than the Hyde and Crackstone combined.

It shouldn’t have been, she knew that. Her candor was one of her defining features, a thing of pride even. But when combined with everything they symbolize, those three syllables suddenly weighed a thousand pounds on her tongue.

She tried and failed multiple times and as bitter as defeat tasted, she had no choice but to swallow it down and rethink her strategy.

Thus, a new, different approach was taken. After all, they did say that actions spoke louder than words. One of the most fundamental rules when writing was show don’t tell. So she settled for showing you how she felt rather than vocalizing it.

It started small with something as small and insignificant as breakfast. One morning she decided to procure a bowl of your favorite cereal and another, smaller bowl of assorted fruits.

You would always whine about how they were gone by the time you got there—which was entirely your fault, seeing as you arrived nearly ten minutes after everyone else did—so she figured this was a good place to start.

The excitement on your face as you took your place next to her told her she was correct.

From there it branched out slowly, like roots growing within soil.

She would take your books from you and carry them while she escorted you to your classes—even the ones she didn’t attend with you. It made your commutes much easier since nobody dared step into Wednesday’s way while she marched through the halls.

Stealing snacks for you from the kitchen became a daily occurrence. And with a few well-executed threats, she was able to take them free of charge. They were left in your locker, Wednesday feigning surprise when you found them, but you both knew the truth.

When you mournfully showed her the C+ you got on your Botany test she demanded politely offered to tutor you.

It even got to the point where she was willing to indulge in what she would consider blasphemy—physical touch.

This specific form of affection was something she vehemently avoided, its alleged pleasures something that eluded her. But you abstained for the sake of her comfort, so she would be willing to put forth an effort for the sake of yours.

It wasn’t much, but sometimes at lunch when she was absolutely sure no one was paying attention, she would tentatively cross her pinky with yours. And when you sat across from her at the Weathervane, she lightly rested her hand over yours.

She would admit—never aloud—that it wasn’t terrible.

You noticed the abrupt shift in her behavior, of course. The first few times you let it be, curious glances in her direction your only acknowledgment of the situation.

But eventually, the questions started, and Wednesday being always prepared, had her answers ready on her tongue.

“Your complaints about these being gone every morning are tiresome, so I got them for you since you can’t be bothered to show up on time.”

“Your feeble arms looked like they were struggling more than usual. The pitiful display has gotten rather boring.”

“These grades are not reflective of your limited intellectual abilities, it’s disappointing. I’ll fix that.”

Her snark never had much effect on you, so the excuses always earned an honest, if a bit bewildered chuckle from you (though she swore she could see fear in your eyes after that last one). But you didn’t question her further.

If she were to hazard a guess, she would say that you refused to inquire about her actions because you were afraid she would stop upon confrontation. And she knew you didn’t want that.

It was clear to her that you were enjoying her efforts. You were always a more inherently joyful person than her, but she had never seen as many smiles and blushes from you as she did these past few weeks. It was a pleasant thing to witness, she supposed.

And perhaps, somewhere deep down in the dark recesses of her mind, she was enjoying it as well.

-

You were late, like usual.

The Saturday study sessions she set up were scheduled to start at 12:30, meaning that you would arrive at 12:40. Your chronic tardiness was something that was so deeply ingrained that even she couldn’t correct it. She had long since given up trying.

She instead used the extra time to her advantage.

Opposite of you, she arrived every Saturday at 12:20 on the dot, preferring to be early so she could secure her favorite booth in the back of the café. The time before you arrived was used to plan out the lessons she would cover with you and color-coordinate her notes to make sure they were easy for you to understand.

The usual medium hot chocolate you ordered was placed on your side of the table, steam rising steadily from the top, but a new addition was the croissant she decided to order alongside it on a whim. You would appreciate it, she knew, you were always hungry.

At exactly 12:40, she heard the bell on the door chime and the familiar sound of your footsteps followed. She fought against the urge to straighten up and look back at you, gluing her eyes to the notes she was organizing.

There was movement in her peripherals as you slid into her sightline, the crooked grin on your face immediately identifiable, even out of focus. “Hey.”

“Hello,” she greeted evenly, sparing you only a glance as she pushed the pastry further over in your direction. Naturally, your eyes followed the movement and lit up comically once you spotted the food.

“For me?” you asked rather redundantly, the beginnings of a smile pulling at your lips.

Wednesday gave you a blank stare. “You’re the only other person at this table.”

That stupid, stunning smile only widened. You picked the croissant up and took a bite, never breaking eye contact with her. “Thanks, Wen.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, running her eyes over the expanse of your face. Then, “Now, open your textbook to page 274.”

Your face dropped but you obeyed.

Thirty minutes were spent taking notes and going over terms. A great use of the early afternoon in Wednesday’s opinion, though she knew your feelings would differ vastly.

You were focused on working for all of ten minutes before you started sending her long, blatantly obvious glances from across the table.

At the fifth consecutive look in a row, she decided to confront you. “If you have something to say then say it.”

You didn’t seem surprised to be called out, but you still took a minute to delve into your concerns. “What…is all of this?”

She paused her writing, glanced up briefly. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Yeah, sorry that was vague,” you apologized, lightly shaking your head. “I mean all of these things you’ve been doing for these past few weeks—carrying my books, getting me my favorite foods at school, helping me study, and now buying me things…I love it, really but I don’t want you to do this because you think you need to-“

“I don’t,” she interrupted. “I do nothing out of an abstract sense of obligation, you know this.”

She didn’t have to see you to know that you were smiling. “Yes, I do. I just want to make sure that you know you don’t have to do all of this if you don’t want to.”

You were giving her an out. An unnecessary one, but the thought managed to be both touching and offensive. That you would sacrifice something that you are clearly enjoying for her was…courteous.

But the fact that you could possibly that she—Wednesday Addams—was doing anything for someone else because she “felt as if she had to” was nauseating and it needed to be fixed immediately.

“I do. Want to,” she said, her normally seamless cadence stunted as she tried to phrase her thoughts in a way that wasn’t painfully embarrassing. “I’m attempting to express the depth of my…feelings toward you.”

“Feelings? And what exactly do you feel for me?” Your tone was sincere, but there was a hint of smugness in it. Like you already knew the answer to your question.

“Disdain, at the moment,” she deadpanned as her mind receded elsewhere.

If she were to stop talking now, she knew you would drop it and take the win for what it was, but, strangely, she didn’t want to stop. The repulsive desire to open up pulled at her and she couldn’t help but lament the devastating effects that these cursed feelings continued to have on her.

Wednesday accepted her fate, took a deep breath, and swallowed her pride.

“In all seriousness, I…don’t hate you,” she ground out. “At all. Quite the opposite actually. And I felt it was important to let you know that, even if it was only through small, inane gestures.”

There was a moment of silence. Then another, and another. Unable to resist, Wednesday lifted her eyes to you and found that you looked positively awestruck. Eyes wide, brows raised, and lips parted. Utterly speechless.

She drank in the admittedly rare sight.

Slowly, the astonishment abated, and a wide, unruly grin crept onto your face. She knew right then that you were about to make her regret her confession.

“Awww,” you cooed, and, to her horror, you moved forward to press a warm kiss to her cheek.

Wednesday grimaced and glanced around to make sure that there were no witnesses to your display of affection. 

Thankfully, it seemed that no one had seen or if they had, they made the smart decision to look away before she gauged their eyes out.

She turned back and glared at you with as much murderous intent as she could muster, trying to seem utterly disgusted with your behavior. But she knew the undeniable burning in her cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

Giggling, you sat back, reaching over to thread your fingers together with hers. Your smile tempered, softening around the edges until only tenderness and an emotion that she was becoming all too familiar with remained.

You leaned forward again, and this time, she was too enraptured to bother looking around.

“I love you too, Wednesday.”

[a-dragons-journal]

Hello again. This is the 5-part anon from earlier. I wrote a long response to your post and I think it’d be more convenient to dump the text in a pastebin than split it into asks. The link is going to expire in a few months, so I recommend copying the contents into its own post rather than posting the link: pastebin. com / 2r49iein

I had, sorry; you've just caught me in the lead-up to and midst of finals week, so I haven't been answering asks as quickly as usual, especially ones that will take a significant amount of time and energy xD (No worries about checking in, though, Tumblr does have a horrible habit of eating asks and it's good to check! And also my ADHD no-object-permanence ass will see an ask, go "I'll respond to that later," and then forget it exists sometimes with no Tumblr interference necessary, so good to check for that reason too xD)

Hello again. This is the 5-part anon from earlier. Thank you for your thoughtful answer. First off, I want to apologize to anyone who may have been hurt by my words on the topic of otherheartedness, copinglink, etc. I did not mean to in any way minimize the importance of these identities for others. Because I felt I didn’t have the "right" to claim a "full" otherkin identity, I felt like I had to settle for something that simply didn’t fit my experience, which led to my frustrated, generalized words.

With that out of the way, I’ve been giving what you said some thought. I have to admit I never really participated in otherkin communities, only watching from afar. It’s good to know that I "qualify" as otherkin, but I wonder if it’s such a good idea for me to identify that way. I have so few experiences in common with most otherkin that I would probably feel *more* alienated by calling myself that, not *less*. In my experience, forcing myself into an identifier that is technically correct but feels wrong/bad is not the way to go. At any rate, I’ll describe my feelings in more detail, just because I’m really curious to know if you’ve ever heard of anyone similar, or if this reminds you of anything. I apologize if some of it is repetitive or if it jumps from topic to topic without making much sense.

Some parts of otherkin… culture, I guess? Baffle me. For example, needing to narrow down one’s exact species or the cause/origin of one’s identification as nonhuman. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s not valid; just that I don’t personally see the point? All the rules about who gets to call themself otherkin feel constraining to me, because I guess there’s not really any other term that fits, but even that one doesn’t fit that well, so I’m kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place.

So I’m more inclined to just say, yeah, I’m a bird. Do I behave like a bird? Do I have bird instincts? Not really, but I’m still a bird. Adopting an otherkin identity throws a wrench in that, making me feel like a failed nonhuman, because it’s *hard* not to feel invalid when everyone else seems completely different from you. If anything, I feel more valid doing my own thing! I didn’t come to this bird identity because I felt like I was Different somehow and needed to find an explanation for it (been there, done that with the autism, lol). Instead I came to it because it felt good, and right, and it made me happy.

You say since I don’t know if I chose this or not, it’s unlikely to be voluntary. I guess I just… feel weird about this? I don’t really have words to describe it. Maybe it boils down to "does it matter?". And I know when it comes to the term "otherkin", it *does* matter, which is kind of one of my problems with it.

I looked at that daemonism post you reblogged and found myself relating to the way Rook described Tukuxa: "She lacks a shark’s instincts, fears and drives - but her core is still shark." I wouldn’t say I *lack* these things, just that I simply don’t have them. Do I have a human mind in a human brain? Sure, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a human, nor does it make me any less of a bird. It makes me happy to conceptualize myself as a bird, to design my own appearance as a bird with qualities that can’t physically exist in this world, to daydream of flight. Is that such an uncommon experience?

I have a headmate who is a dragon. She was born as a dragon, she looks like a dragon, she simply Is A Dragon. She’s not dragonkin, she’s not based on any fictional dragon, she just… is. (Not to say that dragonkin folks aren’t dragons, just that she doesn’t identify as dragonkin.) But she doesn’t have any of the typical dragon traits you might expect; like me she has a "human mind" in a "human brain", and yet she’s just a dragon. I guess it’s sorta the same with me.

I just feel like it’s better for me to say "I’m [X]" and keep the specifics to myself. Despite these asks, I have no intention of holding my identities up to the scrutiny of others. If I say I’m a thing, I could mean it in a number of ways. Total or partial identification as/with, or even just a passing attachment. Ultimately, it’s my business, and trying to define it beyond just "I am this thing" or "I relate to this thing" or "This thing is me" feels sort of obnoxious? (For context, I do have nonhuman identities other than a bird, I just used that one as an example/shorthand.)

I guess that about covers everything. What do you think? If your followers/anyone who sees this wants to chime in, I’ll be looking at the notes. Thanks again!

(Regarding the 'hearted/'linker stuff, I figured that wasn't what you meant in your previous asks; I just wanted to bring it up because it's a conflation that gets made a lot, accidentally or on purpose.)

Honestly, these are all incredibly valid points, and if you just want to call yourself nonhuman or bird but not otherkin/therian then that's entirely up to you. If the label doesn't work for you, then it doesn't work for you! You are not obligated to use every label that you technically fit under (gods know I don't), and I didn't mean to imply so - just to make it clear that it's available to you if you do want it. I can see now that I probably kind of missed the point in that response.

And you're right that frankly, even though there is a wide range of experiences under the otherkin umbrella, there's also a set of common experiences that almost everyone seems to share at least a few of, and when you don't share those I can imagine it makes it kind of hard to connect with others in the community. Unfortunately, like I said, I don't know that there's a way around that other than trying to host a platform for those atypical experiences to speak, which is a good idea but probably not very effective in practice because of the sheer numbers game.

So you've decided you're probably better off not trying to make the "otherkin" label or community fit, and that's entirely valid - I guess the question is, what now? If you're wanting to find others with similar experiences to you, you still need somewhere to look, and it seems like this isn't it.

You might want to look into other nonhuman terms - "nonhuman" and "transspecies" come to mind, and while neither of these might fit you, they do collect different subcultures that might be less alienating for you or easier to find others with similar experiences within. The broader "alterhuman" label may also be useful, though that can be a bit like trying to find a needle in a haystack just because of how many things are included in "alterhuman" and I don't know that you'd have any better luck than with "otherkin".

Or you might want to try older platforms, if you haven't already - forums, IRCs if they still exist. The community wasn't always as focused on some of the things you noted as it is now (pinning down a specific species, voluntary vs involuntary, etc.), and platforms with a population that trends toward people who've been around longer sometimes still have more of that culture than Tumblr and Discord tend to, though they come with their own problems of course.

Ultimately, if "I'm a bird" is the easiest way to communicate your experiences, then that's that on that. These words only exist because people find them useful - if you don't find them useful, don't feel like you have to use 'em. As far as finding community when so much of the otherkin community feels alienating to you, I'm afraid that's all I've got - y'all got anything for anon?

[genshinfanboy]

Memories

[ Request: Could I please request a oneshot with Childe x GN Reader who were enemies but Reader got injured in a fight and gained amnesia, and now has a completely different relationship with him? (sorry if this is oddly specific)]

| Hello everyone I am back with another Childe one-shot. I hope that I'm able to provide what you had in mind. No need to apologize the more specific something is the easier it is for me to conceptualize. I've also been unable to get the idea of Childe with freckles out of my head since the last request. I may end up drawing him and Xiao with freckles. As per usual please feel free to change the pronouns to fit your own. Please enjoy.

Childe x GN! Reader

Warning: violence.

----------------------------------------------------

(Y/N) couldn't trust Childe one bit. They didn't want to be alone with him. He seemed to feel the same way. They didn't want anything to do with the Fatui. They couldn't forgive then for what they did to Venti. They were upset at Childe for threatening Liyue. They were doing some commissions around Liyue harbor. It was a bit cloudy today so they decided with Paimon to go into a nearby cave just in case. Neither of them wanted to run at the moment. Childe had admire how strong (Y/N) was but he still disliked them. They were a threat to the Fatui. He knew that much. One day while he was sent out to deal with a few matters for the bank he noticed it started to pour. There wasn't much he could do in the rain so he decided to wait it out in a nearby cave. He heard two people talking. He brought out his bow just in case. He walked quietly and saw the two he definitely not wanting to stay in this cave anymore. He'd rather deal with getting soaked. There was a crashing sound and the exit he came in from got closed off. Lightning just had to hit this cave. He heard some running and clicked his tongue. His misfortune will make it seem as if he was the one trying to seal (Y/N) in here. He wondered if he had time to hide and just wait it out. "What are you doing here Childe?" (Y/N) asked with their sword drawn. They glared at him with their (E/C) eyes. Then they noticed the entrance of the cave sealed by rocks. "You came to trap us here." Their clenched their sword tighter. If they didn't have a past filled with bad will then the two of them may have gotten along. Childe didn't want to start a fight now. It could mean some issues for both of them. "Now now let's not rush things. I was trying to get out of the rain. I heard voices and went to investigate. When I saw you two I was ready to take my chances with the rain. It got sealed because of lightning. Why would I want to be suck in here with my enemy." Childe stated. He returned their glare. They didn't seem to believe him and charged. He got a smirk and formed his Hydro blades. "Guess we are solving this with violence. Fine by me." He said countering their attacks. During their battle with the Fatui member they were about to use their wind blade before they both lost balance for a moment because of some shaking. They heard a loud crashing sound. The cave made some rumbling sounds. There was a few small rocks that started falling down. (Y/N) reacted without a second thought when they saw a rather large rock about to hit Childe. They pushed him out of the way and got hit in the head. Everything around them went dark. "(Y/N)!" Paimon shouted rushing over them. Childe's eyes widened. Did that really just happened!?!? He rushed over as well to check their injury. As he looked the injury over he noticed their hands covering the weak points on their head. He looked at the rock it was a decent size. He didn't see that one falling which mean he wouldn't have time to react. It would've killed him if they didn't push him out if the way. It was bleeding a bit but wasn't fatal.

Childe brought out some bandages he always kept in his bag. They weren't for his own injuries but his younger siblings in case they ever got harmed. He quickly wrapped their head. He was getting annoyed at the flying companion's shouting to not hurt them. "Paimon be quiet! I'm not going to hurt them. They just saved me." He said looking at her irritated. Which seemed to shock her. She had became quiet. "See if you can find an exit so we can get out of here. I'll watch them." Childe said running a hand through his hair. He saw Paimon nod and went to look around the cave. After about 20 minutes she had came back. "Paimon found an exit but the storm has gotten worse. I don't think it's safe to go out." Paimon said. She looked at them. Childe started thinking. He saw some wood and ore. He looked around and noticed this wasn't a cave. It was an abandoned mine. He started forming a plan. He carefully picked (Y/N) up. He was careful to keep their head still. "Paimon lead us closer to the exit. I'm going to prop their head up and start a fire to keep them warm. There should be some flint and steel here still. This place was a mine." Childe explained. He wanted to repay them for saving him. They went closer to the exit. Childe set them down. He took off his scarf to use as a pillow. "Watch them. If they wake up don't let them move too much and keep them awake." He said before walking back to get some things. Since he grew up in a cold country he knew how to make a fire. He came back to the two and started a fire. "Paimon never knew you had a soft side Childe." Paimon said as they looked after (Y/N). Eventually they woke up. They blinked a couple of times looking around. They saw two strange people. They moved about to jump up and protect themself. The moment they sat up they were push back down by the male. "Don't move you might hurt yourself." He quickly said holding them down with one of his hands. "Who are you both and where is my sibling?" They asked looking panicked. The last thing they remembered was leaving the last world they visited with their sibling. "That's a not funny joke. Paimon knows you don't like Childe but there's no way you'd forget me." She said with a pout.

(Y/N) looked more confused their head hurting. "It's not a joke. I have no clue who either of you are. Where is my sibling?" They asked. Something was wrong their mind was racing with questions. They also weren't able to feel their powers. Were these people trying to harm them? "It seems like (Y/N) has amnesia." Childe said. He wondered if this means they might be able to start things over because of this. It was his fault they got injured. They also saved him so there's no way he could leave them alone. Paimon was giving him a wary look. "Your sibling was taken by a strange god. I'm Paimon. I've been helping you look for them." She said. "Wait how were they taken? What world am I stuck in?" They asked the strange flying girl. Childe perked up in surprise when he heard what they said. He knew they were strange but that implied other worlds. Paimon looked even more worried. "You're in Teyvat. A strange god stopped you and your sibling from going to the next world. You've been searching for them with me." Paimon explained. "Oh so they never apart of Teyvat to begin with." Childe said with interest. He decided to travel with them in order to learn more about (Y/N). Somehow the two grew quite close. Childe would have never seen this outcome with how their relationship was. After learning more about them he wanted to say by their side. He could tell that Paimon didn't like his company. He didn't care too much though. He realized that both of them were quite similar when it came to caring about their siblings. Somewhere along traveling with them Childe fell in love. He was unsure if he wanted them to get their memories back because of it.

(Y/N) had grown accustomed to having Childe by their side. They felt safe around him. They noticed how wary Paimon seemed of him. They slowly regained their memories as the three of them traveled. They tried keeping it a secret that they had regained their memories. Surely Childe and them would go back to disliking one another. They didn't want that. Everything changed when they started getting to know one another. They had at first thought of him as a good friend but eventually found themself looking his way and staring. Whenever he found out and teased them it would make their face go red. They had to talk to Paimon. "Hey Childe can I speak to Paimon alone for a moment?" They asked one day as the three walked around Liyue. "Of course. Though it makes me curious on what you're going to say." Childe said with a bunch of curiosity. "It's nothing bad. Just something I'm unsure about." They said with a smile. It made Childe's heart speed up. "I'll go get some food for us then." He said with a faint blush. He patted their head before disappearing in the crowd. He snuck around so he could hear what (Y/N) was going to say. "Paimon I remember everything but I think I managed to fall for Childe." They said with a frown. Paimon looked at them with wide eyes. "Are you crazy? You were the one that told Paimon not to trust him!" Paimon shouted. Childe felt a blush sneak up on him. Even after everything he did to them. They have been keeping their memories hidden from him. Why did they do that? He decided to confront them. He walked over. "Why did you hide you regaining your memories?" Childe asked. (Y/N) looked at him with wide eyes. Of course he eavesdropped. They blushed and looked at the ground. "I thought you'd leave if I told you I remembered everything. I like having you by my side Childe. It's comforting to know you had my back. I know you were staying to pay me back for saving you." They muttered. They felt a hand lift their chin up so they were looking at his ocean blue eyes. "I was honestly worried about you remembering because I've become fond of you. It's cute how shy you have become. Perhaps I should get back at you for making me worry about you." Childe said with a teasing tone. He leaned closer and press his lips against their's. Their reaction was completely worth it. He smirked as he saw them become extremely flustered. He wrapped an arm around their waist. "I promise to always stay by your side so long as you promise to stay by mine." He gave a smirk as they gave a small shy nod. "You being shy and bashful is certainly a sight to see. Makes me want to make you more flustered." He gave a light laugh.

| Thanks for reading.

[fallenrepublick]

Well, ok…I was going to not ask but since you asked us to…ask

What happened when Thrass came back in the Two Sides AU? Specifically, what happened between Thrass and Themis?

Take this wherever you please or ignore it if you would like but I am genuinely curious as to what transpired

Omg okay (I... did not expect legitimate interest in that au my god okay this is really exciting)

It was... a change, to say the least. Themis grew up fully knowing Thrass, or rather, the idea of him. You wouldn’t let your baby girl live her life unaware of her father or the legacy he carried, so while Thrawn took on a certain role-model figure for her, you made very, very clear where the differences lay.

“He was... so good...” you said often, a weakness in your voice as you held a photo of him to your chest, one you eventually handed to her when she was old enough to understand. “He... loved his family more than anything in the world, always did the right thing. He loved us, loved you...”

And Themis would frown, asking with genuine grief, as if he were only recently lost to her, “Then why did he leave?”

All you ever managed to say was, “He didn’t mean to.”

But as I’m sure you’re aware, such stories and memories can’t quite compare to someone who is there, especially to a child. It matters little how often you would take trips to find her father, who you promised her oh so often was still out there. For much of her growing years, her memories lay with Thrawn. Lessons, discussions, puzzles and most of all art, all constant presences in her head that she likely will never forget.

And yet he left all the same, frequent letters dwindling and finally stopping altogether. And in those years, she came to understand. A sudden silence, a desire to bring back someone who was never meant to be taken away. Mixed feelings swirled in her mind, a bitterness at being abandoned, fighting against her loss and vague hope that he might come back.

It’s a sudden return that Thrass makes, not altogether healed, but present enough that he’s conscious, that his stay in the hospital is less than it could have been. The worst was over, stray debris lodged in his body taken out, and he would, in time, be functional.

Themis was... skeptical. He looked... similar to the photo, but a touch paler, deep scabs that stretched up to his face distorted a bit of his features, an air of exhaustion that hung over him like a cloud and kept his eyelids low. what’s more... he is, after all, a stranger.

Her mind drifted back to Thrawn, though she felt a bit guilty about it. He is not Thrawn... he never will be. Thrawn had been there for her all her life, this man had not. And yet you sat at his side, your hands wrapped around his, pressing his knuckles to your lips, tears falling beside your smile. Despite his tired aura, he responds with much the same energy, every so often brushing your cheek or touching your hair. And there’s a bit of her that trusted him as she watched, the three of them together feeling right somehow.

But it wasn’t so easy. It never is. There was a disconnect for a time, months of strange interactions, where her instinct at being around someone unfamiliar caused her to clam up, to answer questions quietly or go find you instead of being around him. For both, it was disheartening. She wished he were something else, that he were more interesting, that he liked puzzles and art instead of books and pointless conversation. And he... well, he regretted everything.

There came days, though, when it seemed easier, when he would understand the way her mind worked, the imagination she had that went beyond solely analyzing art and finding the fastest way out of a maze. She created stories, ones she had kept to herself, but also ones he saw building in her head, the characters, the problems, the music, all of it. And they were the places she spent time in, the places she wished she lived in instead. He listened as she spoke, conceptualizing, imagining the way she would. No, it was not something he did. But it was something he understood. And no one else in her life, she realised, really listened the way he did.

She brought out her toy harp one day, and her toy piano another. Crudely pressing keys and plucking strings that every so often gave an unstable twang, she explained the “theme songs” that she thought of when certain things happened in her world. And Thrass’s hands fidgeted in his lap as he smiled. Her heart filled with pride at her years’ long work, and she held to her resolve to keep at it.

There will always be a degree of sadness when he looks at her, despite the fact that she’s grown more by now, having fully accepted him as her father, old enough to know that people can be different from each other. He missed her baby years, her time as a toddler. The teeth she lost, the first laughs and smiles, the languages she knows, the birthdays and every time her feet grew another shoe size. He works constantly to make up for it, even if he knows he never can.

But for now, she’s happy. Because you were right.

[notsowrites]

the heart i know

Alex misses Michael terribly while he's off on an roadtrip with his siblings.

This idea has been knocking around in my head for a while, and somehow ballooned into 6500 words.

(AO3 Link)

<3

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Despite living in a house with three brothers growing up, Alex had always felt alone. His time in the Air Force had never dissuaded him of that feeling, even as he was constantly surrounded by others. Part of him knew it was the secrets he'd kept, the parts he'd been unable to speak freely about, show the world his whole truth. Buying the house in Roswell after his accident, he'd dedicated time to trying to make it into a home.

But even as he filled it with music and books, and decorated the rooms exactly how he wanted for the first time in his life, he couldn't deny that it felt as though something was missing. An emptiness still lingered through the walls, and though Alex loved this place that was all his own, it wasn't quite home yet.

It wasn't until after - after he'd dated Forrest, after he and Michael had spent months carefully navigating a tentative friendship, after they'd slowly and carefully fallen back together, after Michael had begun to spend more nights sleeping next to Alex than not - that Alex started to truly enjoy the space he'd once carved out for himself.

In his study, against the wall opposite his own desk set up for days when he works from home, is a drafting table covered in sketch paper and notebooks filled with calculations. The sight never fails to make Alex smile, to fill him with a sense of pride for the way Michael's mind works, how he is able to conceptualize and design things, and turn them into a reality. The bookshelves in the room now hold more than just Alex's coding textbooks, and the random literary novels he's acquired when he's had free moments to read, but mathematics and physics, books on environmental science and agriculture that Alex would never have dreamed of owning or reading.

There's a black Stetson that regularly hangs from the hook in the hallway near the front door, a pair of well worn cowboy boots are usually nestled on the floor next to his own work boots. And though he'll never admit it out loud, opening the door to the hallway closet basks him in the familiar and comforting smell of rain that accompanies everything Michael owns.

Before, the most he'd ever left sitting out on the kitchen table had been his laptop, now there are notebooks full of Michael's handwriting that regularly disappear and reappear usually occupying the space at the far end.

In the living room, the blanket he'd kept meticulously folded on the back of the couch rarely ends up that way these days, instead thrown haphazardly after an impromptu nap. Though it's usually Michael who dozes on the couch because he'd been watching and listening to Alex play on the keyboard or trying to work out a new chord progression for a song. He wonders if it should bother him, the way Michael drifts off during those times, but it never does.

The kitchen remains immaculate, save for one new notebook shoved in between the cutting boards that sit neatly against the back splash - Michael's recipe book. Each time he finds some new dish to try, he scribbles the ingredients and the instructions down for reference, though Alex has never seen the notebook open while Michael is cooking. As if he's already committed the entire thing to memory.

But one of the best reminders in the entire house that shows Alex how much this isn't just where he lives and rested his head at night, but is a home he shares with the person he loves, is the modifications to the bathroom. When he'd bought the house, Alex had immediately installed a grab bar and purchased a cheap little bench he could sit on - enough to make do in the shower, but never anything more than functional of their intended purpose. It had been the renovations that Michael had undertaken, designing a more comfortable bench, and a much more accessible grab bar system, that allowed Alex to truly begin to enjoy taking showers, no longer feeling like they were just a necessary, but also something to relax him after a long tiring day on base.

He sits at the dining room table now, setting up the new computer he's purchased for Michael. Of course he'd been unable to stick to a budget, too concerned with making sure Michael had the best for the work he was going to be doing on it. Alex had asked, of course, after realizing that Michael was often just using the browser on his cell phone to search for things, and sticking to pen and paper for everything else. Michael had hemmed and hawed, claimed he didn't need one, and Alex had gotten him one morning, after they'd woken each other up with lazy blow jobs, to admit how much easier his own computer could make things.

Alex misses him terribly.

"I feel pathetic," he'd admitted to Maria three days into Michael's trip with Max, Isobel, and Liz.

"You wanna come over?" She'd asked, taking pity on him. "We can just cozy on the sofa and watch cheesy romcoms and gorge on junk food."

He appreciated the offer, and almost took her up on it. The problem was, the trip Michael had taken didn't have a defined timeline. It all hinged on what they found up in following some clues that led North regarding the UFO crash and it's survivors. Alex had tried to go with him, hadn't wanted to be so far away in case something went wrong, but when his PTO request was denied due to insufficient notice, he'd relented after Michael had convinced him he'd check in every day.

But now it’s been three days since the time they’d spoken, and Alex is starting to worry. He’d resisted during the first twelve hours, convincing himself Michael just hadn’t found a moment alone. The remaining twenty four had been agony, especially when there’s been no answer on anyone’s cell phone - Michael, Isobel, Liz, and Max’s all had gone to voicemail in the end.

"He'll call," Maria had said when he'd told her. "Perhaps there's no signal where they are."

He'd been surprised, given her own ancestral ties to the crash, that she'd elected to stay in Roswell. But Maria had gently reminded him that she was more concerned about Mimi than road trips with no definitive answers, and she had a business to run - sometimes personal trips just had to be sacrificed.

So he occupies himself with setting up the new programs on Michael's computer, making sure it all runs smoothly for when he returns, and buries himself in work projects to pass the time, and tries to not think something went wrong and that's why Michael hasn't gotten in touch.

"We're on our way back," Michael greets him in the first conversation they've had in thirty six hours. "We ran into some problems, so I can't talk long, but we're maybe four-"

"Six!" Alex hears Liz shout in the background.

"-hours away, and there's nothing stopping me from coming right to you."

Alex looks at the clock, and how it's after midnight now, which means it'll be well into the morning hours before Michael is walking through the front door.

"I know you'll probably be tired-"

Michael scoffs, laughing and it's the most wonderful sound Alex has heard in days.

"Tell those bastards you're going to be late."

Alex smiles. "I might not leave at all then."

It's tempting to think about, calling out to spend the entire day with Michael instead. But he has three meetings scheduled, none of which he can get out of short of being on a ventilator. But it will mean that when he gets home in the afternoon, Michael will be there.

He reluctantly falls asleep after that, curled up on Michael's side of the bed, face buried in the pillow that no matter how many times it gets washed, always smells exactly like Michael. It doesn't make Alex miss him any less, but it's been his only comfort these last couple days.

When his alarm goes off several hours later, Alex stubbornly doesn't think about how he woke up alone again. He takes his morning shower on autopilot, wanting to go through the motions enough so that he can just come home to Michael. Breakfast is coffee and cereal, same as it's been every day Michael has been gone, because while Alex is able to cook for himself when he has to - recipes are not that hard to follow - he prefers Michael's cooking. A voice in his head tells him it's just because it means he doesn't have to, but that's not it. He loves watching Michael experiment with things, adding spices or flavors that he never would have dreamed of, and everything still tasting delicious. He'd tried not to be too surprised the first time he’d watched Michael cook for him, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Did you learn from one of the people you lived with?*

Michael had shaken his head, concentrating on the vegetables he'd been chopping up.

"Sanders was the first one who took an interest. After I started working for him, sometimes I'd crash on his couch, and he'd cook me breakfast in the morning. First time someone didn't make me feel like I was an imposition."

Alex's heart always broke hearing about what it had been like for Michael growing up. To not have any memories of happier times, but believing they existed and surviving on that hope. He's often wondered since if there was a way to retrieve the memories that Max, Isobel, and Michael couldn't remember. Particularly after learning about Nora and Louise, and how hard they'd tried to protect their children. His own childhood hadn't always been bad, there had been some good moments, memories from before his mom left when it had felt like they had been something akin to a happy family. It was only after she left when things had changed.

It’s that fear now, of possibly turning into a monster like his father, that keeps Alex from entertaining the possibility of a family. Neither he or Michael have brought it up, and Alex wonders if it’s because they’re both too scared of repeating the unpleasantness of their childhoods. Part of him knows, believes, that he would never turn into the monster that his father was, but fear isn’t always rational, and it doesn’t always make sense, Alex knows that. Maybe one day he’ll believe it too.

Because deep down, he wants it. He wants to marry Michael some day. He's had part of a proposal written since he was seventeen, when he was younger and more naive. There's never been anyone else who made him fell so fast and hard, but Alex doesn't care.

He continues on autopilot as he goes about his day, making the commute to the base, attending his meetings, going over a project that's currently in development for the land the Air Force had purchased from the Foster's several years prior - delayed because of funding and approval issues. He skips lunch, trying to make it through the day faster, and spends most of his last meeting staring at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen.

The drive home is excruciating - it feels longer than it ever has before. There's no new text messages, no missed calls, no voicemails, and Alex tries not to think about how it's probably only because Michael was exhausted. Hopefully he fell asleep the moment he hit the bed, and that's where he's going to find Michael when he gets home.

It's just been two extremely long weeks.

He toes his boots off inside the front door, and drapes his jacket on the hook. There's a black duffel laying near one of the chairs at the dining table, and Alex lets out a sigh of relief. He wastes no time pushing open the bedroom door, greeted by darkness because Michael has all the curtains pulled tight to keep out the sun. He closes the door behind him and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it in the middle of the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom, flipping on a light. Inside, he partially closes the door and removes his pants, sitting down on the window seat to remove his prosthetic. There's a crutch leaning against the wall, one of the places Michael is always diligent in making sure to place one of his spares. The stress of the past several days has traveled all through his body, and Alex feels it acutely in his hip, and around his stump, which feels extra sensitive to pressure as he removes the liner. He debates the merits of drawing a bath, letting himself relax and let the tension melt away - but it would mean delaying being near, and getting to touch, Michael again for the first time in two weeks, and he decides against it.

Crutch nestled under his elbow, Alex makes his way back into the bedroom, naked except for his boxers, and crawls into bed, letting his crutch fall to the floor. He lets his hands sweep up Michael's legs, past his hips and stomach - a thrill traveling through his body that Michael had fallen asleep naked and ready for him - body following as Alex leans down to place feather light kisses to Michael's skin. He continues upward, pressing his face into Michael's neck, breathing in that familiar and comforting rain smell, his whole body relaxing in response. Alex presses a kiss to somewhere along Michael's jawline, before feeling Michael's arms move, wrapping around him, and pulling their bodies tightly together, indicating he’s awake too.

Without a word, just Michael pushing up to try and find his lips, kisses landing on his cheek, and neck, before finding his lips, Alex feels as he lets go of his hold, and Michael's hand brushes against him. He shifts a bit, so Michael doesn't have to try and squeeze his hand between their bodies, and reaches down, taking Michael in his hand. It's rough, just skin on skin, and Alex knows that friction can't feel good. He pauses, leaning back, and retrieving the bottle of lube from the nightstand where he'd left it during Michael's absence. Carefully he coats his hand, recapping the lid, and reaching back down, fingers wrapped around Michael again as he runs his thumb over the head, which makes Michael moan so so beautifully, and Alex wonders if he'd even touched himself at all during the trip, if he'd been alone long enough to. He jerks Michael off, keeping his face pressed against the side of Michael's neck until Michael is shifting, turning his head and pressing his open mouth against Alex's. He quickens the pace, sensing Michael is close, and pushes his other hand into Michael's curls, pulling at them slightly, but causing the desired effect as Michael thrusts up to meet his hand, and Alex slows his pace, letting him ride it out, pressing kisses to Michael's cheek as he settles back against the pillows.

"Welcome home," Alex whispers, nuzzling against Michael’s cheek, reveling in the contact.

“I told you I’d make it back.” 

Alex lets Michael press their lips together, before watching as he slides out from underneath him, pushing up off the bed and heading into the bathroom. Alex only moves as far enough to sit up, his eyes never leaving Michael, watching as he moves around, grabbing a washcloth from the closet, and running it under the hot water. 

Finally, thanks to the light of the bathroom, Alex gets a good look at Michael, and immediately sits up in bed, blinking hard at the sight. Michael’s body is covered in bruises -most of them are on his abdomen and back, and Alex is pretty sure there’s a cut on his cheek below his left eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Alex yells out, suddenly pissed off that Michael hadn’t said anything, Alex had put his hands on those bruises, they had to have hurt.

Michael pauses, looking down at himself like just realizing the bruises are there, before glancing back at Alex, shrugging his shoulders, and Alex tries to maintain his composure. It’s not going to do him any good to get angry at Michael.

“Turns out the people we were looking for were actually looking for Jones. They saw Max, and wouldn’t believe that he was someone else.” 

“And Liz and Isobel-”

“They’re fine - it’s only me and Max who get to look like this. The girls had stayed at the hotel the night this happened - or well, the two days we were missing afterward.”

“Missing?” Alex is seething now, understanding the reasoning behind the fact that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Michael or anyone else for several days. “Did you forget you have telekinetic powers?”

Michael smiles at him, making his way back into the bedroom, and leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. It doesn’t do anything to calm Alex down, but he appreciates that Michael knows he needs the physical contact of some kind in this moment.

“They had some sort of serum, something similar I’m guessing to what Helena Ortecho dosed me with when she wanted me to build the atomizer. Rendered me powerless for almost two days. Max too.” Michael slides back onto the bed, and Alex immediately leans forward, hands carefully running across the skin, careful to avoid all the places where Michael has bruises and cuts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Michael doesn’t reply, and turns away from him, running a hand through his curls, and Alex watches as they slowly fall back into place.

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You didn’t-”

Alex glares at him, and thankfully Michael doesn’t finish his sentence. 

“Because you would have stopped touching me, and I didn’t-” Michael sighs, reaching out and taking Alex’s hand. He lets him, adjusting so their fingers are intertwined, and watches as Michael presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “Because it’s been two weeks, and nothing these past two weeks has felt as good as your hands on me.”

“Michael.”

Alex takes a deep breath, and barely lets the idea form in his mind, knowing that he’ll overthink it and talk himself out of it if he does. He pushes himself up, maneuvering on the bed, until he’s straddling Michael’s lap, legs wrapped around his hips. Alex digs his hands into Michael’s hair, and pulls their lips together, foreheads gently knocking against one another. The feeling of them pressing together, only the thin layer of his own boxers in the way makes Alex grind down harder, needing the touch.

Michael flips them, so Alex is underneath him, but his legs still wrapped around Michael’s hips, pulling them close together, and Alex laughs into Michael’s chest as he leans over him and retrieves the bottle of lube from earlier. Alex watches, as patiently as he can, as Michael stands up, pulling his boxers down and squirting some onto his hand, coating his fingers, before reaching down and with one finger pressing into Alex. 

It has been too long as he pushes down into the contact, hands gripping into the sheets of the bed as Michael adds another finger, using just the tiniest bit of force to open him up. And Alex can’t look away, can’t stare at anything except Michael’s face, and the focus in his eyes in how he’s touching Alex. He feels Michael press in one more finger, and while he appreciates the care Michael is putting into making sure he’s ready, Alex finds that he doesn’t care, he just needs, needs-

Michael’s fingers slide out, and Alex groans at the loss, before Michael is lining himself up and pushing forward, and Alex wraps his legs around Michael’s hips again, urging him forward, filling him up. For a moment, they stay like that, Michael buried inside him, and Alex reaches up, grabbing hold of Michael’s shoulders, his neck, and finally his face, and pulling him down into a desperate crush of their lips before he feels Michael pull out, almost all the way but still inside him and holding him open, before thrusting back in. When Michael hits that spot inside him that sends him wild, Alex can’t do anything except bury his teeth into the junction where Michael’s neck meets his shoulder, the rain smell that is so very Michael all he can focus on, before he reaches down and takes himself in hand, leaning into the tightness he can feel forming, his orgasm inching closer now.

Michael’s orgasm hits first as he continues to thrust forward, dropping his head to Alex’s chest with a muffled groan, as Alex continues to jerk himself off, feeling his own orgasm grow, but the friction is too much, and it’s wrong, and as he slows down his movements, he feels Michael’s hand cover his own, and Alex pulls back, watching as Michael takes over. It doesn’t take long, Alex has spent too many nights dreaming about Michael’s hands on him, and it’s as Michael thumb brushes across the tip that Alex lets go, moaning out his own climax into the curls on top of Michael’s head, fingertips pressed into the skin of Michael’s back.

He pulls Michael down into him, their bodies pressed tight, and Alex keeps his legs wrapped tight around him, one hand digging into his curls as they both breath deep and heavy, coming down from their highs. 

It takes another couple minutes before Michael is pushing himself up, and pulling Alex with him, and Alex realizes too late, Michael is carrying him into the bathroom. He doesn’t protest as Michael carefully sets him down next to the shower, and Alex gracefully falls onto the bench, leaning forward and turning the water on, watching as Michael disappears back into the bedroom, returning moments later with his crutch. Alex uses this opportunity to clean himself up, removing the remaining evidence from his skin, letting his fingers dance across Michael’s skin as he watches him do the same.

They dry off, Michael double checking his crutch is within reach, before pressing their lips together one more time, and disappearing back out into the bedroom. He returns a moment later with boxers, and a t-shirt, leaving them on the sink for Alex to get to, and disappears again back into the bedroom again.

By the time Alex has put on the boxers, and pulled the t-shirt over his head, Michael is standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of black boxers, and his hair is towel dried enough that it’s wet, but not dripping onto the floor. 

“Dinner?” Michael asks, and all Alex can focus on is the cut next to Michael’s left eye. It’s already in the healing stages, clearly having been received several days earlier, but it’s entire presence makes Alex angry. “I wasn’t thinking anything too complicated, maybe fajitas? If we have the ingredients, since I’m sure you haven’t cooked anything while I’ve been gone.”

Alex scoffs at him. “I went shopping yesterday.”

He takes his time getting dressed, and fishing out one of Michael’s clean work shirts from the dresser, pushing him arms into the sleeves, pressing his nose into the fabric. He’s always amazed at how well the rain smell persists, but it’s comforting, and it makes him feel like he’s surrounded by Michael even in those moments he’s not. He stands in the middle of the bedroom, debating whether or not to put his prosthetic back on, eventually deciding against it - they’re not going anywhere else tonight, and the idea of wrangling with it when they’re just going to end up going back to bed in a few hours isn’t appealing to him at all.

By the time he makes it out into the main room, standing at the foot of the dining room table, Michael, who has slipped into Alex’s Air Force hoodie so he’s not walking around shirtless, has already spread out the necessary ingredients on the counter in the kitchen. There’s a pan on the stove, and Michael is concentrating on slicing the steak into strips, the vegetables from the crisper waiting to be cut up next. Alex doesn’t pay too much attention to the specifics of the cooking, and glances down at the table, only to notice Michael’s regular notebooks are missing, though the laptop that is his gift is exactly where he left it.

Alex watches, transfixed, as Michael scribbles something into one of those notebooks, and then retrieves his cooking notebook from it’s spot against the wall, writing something down in that as well. The way Michael moves, Alex can’t even begin to imagine what his thought process is like to be able to shift around constantly like he does, one idea after another flowing through his mind, needing to be captured and saved. 

As far as he can tell, Michael hasn’t seen him yet. Which is fine, because Alex is more than happy in this moment to enjoy watching him, reveling in how comfortable Michael looks. He thinks of the drafting table in the study, and two vehicles parked in the garage, and Michael’s clothes with their own space in the dressers, and in the closet, and can’t look away from Michael in the kitchen, cooking and looking very much like this is his home. And Alex thinks of every time Michael has told him about not belonging, about not feeling wanted, and about how often he’d been shuffled around the system, and something tightens in Alex’s chest.

Years ago, he’d seen this beautiful, handsome boy who made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and offered him a warm place to sleep at night. A boy who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had without hesitation put himself between Alex and danger time and time again. Who looked at Alex like he was the only person in the world that mattered, and Alex has always wondered if he’s worthy of that love, of that devotion. But Michael has never looked at him any other way, even in their worst moments, during the arguments and the fighting - Alex has never doubted that Michael loved him. Because while Alex knows he’s always had trouble verbalizing his feelings, Michael has always been one to stand tall and declare them in the most beautiful ways.

And Alex knows that, without a doubt, there is nowhere else he would rather be in this moment. 

“Michael,” he chokes out, because the words are clawing up his throat, and usually Alex is careful about what he says, and how he says it, and he’s never - at least he doesn’t think he has - truly told Michael how he feels. And standing here now, after being apart for two weeks, and the issues with keeping in touch during that time, and the fucking bruises, and it’s all too much for him to keep in now.

“I was thinking about my workshop, and how we can modify some space in the basement here if that’s-”

Alex doesn’t let him finish, can’t even process what Michael is talking about past agreeing with it because he's talking like he knows this is his space, and Alex can't help but feel happy and so fucking proud to see that Michael knows this is his home too.

“Michael,” he starts again, waiting until Michael is looking back at him. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

He was expecting a reaction of some kind, probably something akin to Michael just crossing the room and kissing him. What he certainly doesn’t expect is to hear the knife clatter to the floor, and Michael swear under his breath, and for him to turn the water in the sink on, shoving his hand underneath it.

It takes Alex’s brain a moment to come back online, wondering what just happened, before he realizes that Michael has sliced his hand open. But before he can move, Michael has grabbed a dishtowel, and wrapped it around his hand, as he rushes toward Alex, good hand reaching out and pulling their bodies together, kissing Alex. And Alex is helpless, he melts into Michael’s touch, his arms wrapping around Michael’s waist and pulling himself closer, and Alex faintly realizes his crutch has fallen to the floor.

“You’re such an idiot,” Alex says against Michael’s lips, but Michael just shakes his head, diving back in and kissing him again.

“I don’t care,” Michael replies against his lips, and Alex feels helpless to stop him. "I'm happy to be your idiot."

“We’re going to have to call Kyle now, and have him look at your hand-”

“It’s really not that bad-”

Alex grabs Michael’s wrist, pulling back far enough to get a better look at it, the towel wrapped tightly enough for now, and Alex knows the only reason he hasn’t immediately settled into worrying about an infection is because of Michael’s alien DNA and it’s resistance to human diseases and ailments.

“What if you need stitches?”

Michael smiles, leaning in again, and Alex doesn’t stop him.

"I'm gonna go put my prosthetic on, and then call Kyle, so please, no more accidents." Alex tugs at the dish towel, and Michael yanks his hand back.

In the bathroom, Alex collapses back on the window seat, and takes a deep breath, cursing the events of tonight. Well, not all of them because he'd never regret Michael - even through the good and bad between them, Alex has learned to take it all in stride. He just can't believe Michael's reaction to what he'd said had been to slice his hand open.

He calls Kyle first, leaning against the wall, and wondering if he should never had said anything at all. They're lucky - Kyle isn't working, and agrees to come over, but Alex can hear the apprehension in his voice and knows he's going to have to figure out a way to repay the favor.

By the time Alex has put his prosthetic back on, Kyle is letting himself in through the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but here - and Alex can't blame him for that. His status as Alien Doctor means he's the only one who can treat the aliens without fear of discovery.

“Do I even want to know?” Kyle asks, carefully pulling back the dishtowel, and inspecting the wound. Alex watches as Michael ignores the question, his good hand reaching toward the new laptop that's still sitting on the table.

“Guerin’s an idiot,” Alex supplies from where he’s standing in the kitchen heating up leftover pizza, since dinner was ruined, and Alex was done letting Michael near sharp objects for the evening. As Kyle sets about cleaning and bandaging Michael’s cut, including dropping a full bottle of nail polish remover on the table for Michael to drink, Alex moves around the kitchen, cleaning up the ruined dinner that Michael had planned for them, shaking his head at the half cut up meat and vegetables, and putting anything that can be saved back in the fridge. 

“Yeah,” Michael adds, not paying attention to Kyle, his gaze firmly settled on watching Alex in between sips of acetone. “But you love me.”

Alex watches Kyle stop what he’s doing, eyes moving up first to Michael’s, and then over to his own, as if asking if he needs to tell Michael to shut up before he starts telling Kyle things he definitely doesn’t need to, or want to, know.

“Did you just figure that out, Guerin?” Kyle replies instead, and Alex wonders if he thought that the safest option. “Cuz the rest of us had bets on how long it would take you two to figure your shit out.”

Alex glares at Kyle, remembering several conversations years ago, where Kyle had tried to nudge him into talking to Michael, insisting that it was the key to everything between them. It hadn’t been bad advice, it had been exactly what Alex had needed to hear. The problem was, like it had always been with them, timing. 

Timing had always been their enemy, even from the very beginning. Alex had thought they’d beaten it, after everything they’d been through where they’d all but given up on ever being together. He doesn’t like to dwell on it too much, on their crashing back together in the weeks following the reunion, or how fast he’d pulled away due to the threat of his father still lingering over them, choosing to protect Michael over being with him.

“Who won?” Michael asks, and Alex glances over to see Kyle bent over Michael’s hand, gauze pressed against the wound. He doesn’t want to know how far off their friends were, if he and Michael had spent too much time letting everything else get in the way instead of trying to work things out between them. But he’s already cleaned up the kitchen, and after all of this, Alex really just wants to eat dinner and take Michael to bed, and not wake up until the morning.

“Max.” That’s a surprising answer, Alex thinks. He’d expected it to be Maria or Isobel. Or even Kyle himself, who seemed to have picked up on what Guerin meant to him long before Alex was even willing to admit to himself that it could be obvious to anyone. “And even he was off by about four months. You two really did take forever.”

“I’m surprised Maria didn’t win.”

“She took herself out of the running, said it’d be cheating.”

Alex is thankful when the oven beeps, indicating the pizza is ready, and ignores the remaining conversation between Kyle and Michael. He removes the tray from the oven, and plates two slices each on plates for him and Michael, before wondering if Kyle is hungry. But as he turns around with the intention of asking, Kyle is standing up, backpack in hand, looking ready to leave.

“I don’t want to know what caused that cut, but for my sanity, please don’t do it again.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving the two of them alone again.

“Alex, what is this?” Michael asks, fingers running across the smooth top of the laptop.

“It’s yours,” he replies, matter of factly. He knows Michael is going to resist, going to insist he doesn’t need or want it.

“I didn’t ask-”

Alex takes a deep breath, because he knew the fight was coming. He knew that Michael would resist it, because that’s how Michael is. He gives and gives and gives, and Alex has watched him reject things people have done for him over and over again, thinking they were debts that needed to be repaid. 

“I know you didn’t, but with all your research and your designs - I thought this would make it easier.”

Michael doesn’t say anything to that, and Alex wonders if he’s not going to actually argue against it.Maybe it’s just the events of tonight, maybe Michael is going to save the bickering for another day, another evening. 

Instead, Michael shakes his head, eyeing the computer one more time, and pushing up off the chair, and walking into the kitchen. Alex tries to not focus on his injured hand, on the stark white bandage wrapped around reminding him of a different time in their lives, causing him to flinch away, picking up a plate and taking a bite of pizza.

He watches Michael lean against the counter across from him,  picking up a slice of pizza and testing if it’s cool enough to eat. It’s shit timing, but Alex needs to know something, needs to ask Michael about tonight.

“Did you not know?”

Michael pauses, pizza poised in front of his mouth, and frowns at him, before dropping the slice back onto the plate, and sliding it back onto the counter.

“Of course I knew.”

“Because I know I’m not good with words, I know that I don’t make those big grand declarations like you do that take my breath away and render me speechless.”

“Alex-”

“I just,” he pauses, leveraging himself across the linoleum until he’s standing in Michael’s space, fingers itching to reach out and make contact. “It felt important to tell you.”

He lets Michael crowd him against the cabinetry, pizza temporarily forgotten. Wraps his arms around Michael's neck, as Michael pulls him on with his hands settled on his hips, and Alex just loves this man. He's infuriating and he's beautiful, and more than anything else, Alex wouldn't trade anything in their past if it meant changing getting here.

"I told you a long time ago, I don't look away from you. I never could." Alex lets Michael lean in, foreheads pressed together, noses bumping, lips pressed together in smiles. "You're my home, Alex. You made me believe, when no one else did, that I didn't have to build a ship and leave. That I could have a family here too."

Alex thinks about home and Michael's plans for moving his workshop into the basement and kisses him again and again and again, feeling like he's that seventeen year old boy again who got nervous around the boy he liked. Except now they're grown up, they're men who have seen more and done more, and changed them. But one thing through it all has remained the same.

"You really want to move your workshop here?" Alex asks, knowing the answer, but needing Michael to understand that he's asking to make sure. He needs to hear it from Michael.

"Do you not-"

"No!" Alex immediately replies, and then catches himself, knowing how this has to sound. "Fuck. No, I want you to. I'm just - I'm making sure it's what you want."

Michael reaches behind him, and Alex twists his head to see it's one of his notebooks, and they pull away from each other just enough so Michael can flip through the pages to find something specific. Be holds it up so Alex can see and-

It's a design for a prosthetic for him.

Alex takes the notebook, staring at the pages, not understanding half the calculations and formulas scribbled in the margins, but not caring because he understands the design schematic.

"I just thought I could try and make you something that was lighter and easier to get on and off-"

Alex lunges forward, cutting Michael off, and wrapping his arms back around him, using Michael and the countertop for balance and leverage to stay upright. He kisses Michael over and over again, and thinks about everything Michael does for him.

"Say it again," Michael says, pulling back so they can look each other in the eye.

Alex buries his face in Michael's shoulder, pressing his lips against the skin of his neck, but he's smiling. He hasn't felt this happy, this excited, this in love since he was seventeen. He knows Michael is waiting for him, the ever patient partner that as a teenager he never dreamed of deserving, much less finding.

"I love you."

[leather-and-laces]

Stevie A. Nicks Biography × History Predating Stardust Crusaders

NOTE - This bio is a HUGE Work in Progress. Certain things may change, and other bits may seem rushed.

)▬▬ BASIC INFO ▬▬(

• Name: Stevie Annah Nicks

• Nicknames and Aliases: Anna, Savannah

• Species: Human

• Powers: Stand- Isis [Egyptian Goddess Stand]

• Alignment: True Neutral

• Date of Birth: December 13th

• Gender: Female

• Hometown: Tokyo, Japan

• Relatives: Unnamed Father [DECEASED; Died from Brain Cancer], Unnamed Mother [DECEASED; Murdered]

• Occupation: Shipping Company Owner [Former], Gambler [Currently]

• Equipment: Sewing Scissors and Thread

• Status: Alive

▪︎ Part 3 - Age : 33

▪︎ Part 4 - Age : 45

▪︎ Part 5 - Age : 47

▪︎ Part 6 - 56

• Stand Name - Isis

• Stand Power - Red String Manipulation: User can create, shape and manipulate the red string of fate, an invisible conceptual string that bonds souls together. They can create an limitless amount of red strings and extend them at any distance and the strings never tear apart, as it is practically indestructible. They can make the red strings become visible and touchable for others, and also choose to apply changes to anyone’s soul, and as well control the relationship of those bonded by the strings, or even completely remove their bond.

▪︎ Stand Stats

Power - D [Not “Attack” wise; This is catered to the effectiveness of Isis]

Speed - B

Range - A

Durability - D

Precision - A

Potential - B

▬▬ PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION ▬▬

• Height: 5’9’’

• Weight: 162 LBs

• Body Shape: Hourglass

• Natural Hair Color: Platinum Blonde

• Dyed Hair Color: N/A

• Eye Color: Blue

• Ethnicity: Japanese American

• Skin Tone: Porcelain

*TOLD IN FIRST PERSON POV ONLY FIR THIS PART.*

▬▬ Back Story ▬▬

My father was a respectable man. A archeologist. And I, a archeologists’ eldest daughter and heir of his company, his golden girl. He not only owned a shipping company, he was a close relative of a museum curator, and also cared for the museum in Alaska– where we were often stayed at in the summer. As his heir, I was expected to learn much and so, I had my own private tutor once I was able to be home schooled.

When summer came to pass, we went back Tokyo. In Tokyo, I saw paintings in an art exhibit. I fell in love with their design, and took up the hobby of painting. I practiced and practiced, giving father and mother small gifts every once in awhile. He made it clear that I should not interact with the outside world all too often, as he believed it’d distract me from my studies after mother had passed away from a hate related crime; I was mixed between Japanese and American, bad blood from the second world war still remained. I, unknowst to him, was using this as a means of coping with grief, with trauma that had sparked my abilities; I always wished to alter the past, to manipulate Fate itself [though I hadn’t known it was fate at that time] to save my mothers life. I was about 6 at the time I first noticed my abilities. All the same, my father would oftentimes sneak out my supplies, leaving my projects vastly unfinished.

He did however, notice I had begun training my eye for the paint right after passing through the store on multiple occasions, and dreading with his daughter would whip up next. I could see things you wouldn’t believe; Red strings connected to every little thing with little dates etched into them, peoples lives… For as long as I could remember, I could see everything of this nature just dangling freely for me and only me to observe. I treasured these moments the most, this innocence in my abilities. Most of my paintings reflected things I saw in people’s lives.

I can remember everything so vividly down to an exact date and exact time in which my marriage that lasted a month or so, was quick to fall apart. I had just gotten into the gambling scene heavily at 24 years old and, undoubtedly so, I had made friends as well as enemies. It was no secret I was a rich mans daughter and heir that simply had too much time and cash on their hands to blow it all so I became a center of attention. My true gambling addiction began to grow from the time I was 16, as my tutor had accumulated a massive debt, and was the man responsible for sparking my true talent. Gambling. What few had tried approaching me in hopes of romantic interest, did so in groups, only interested in my cash or my body; Everyone except for him, or so I thought.

He was charming, handsome even, and he was like a god in my eyes for he made me feel special and loved… So when he proposed, I thought nothing of it and accepted him into my heart immediately. He was eager and I was nervous.

The chapel was empty on my side, save for my old tutor and an old colleague of my fathers, so his friends had spread out evenly.

My body, it was on the floor and it was oh so limp. I could feel it, suffocation as blood clogged every airway possible. So limp, yet I mustered the strength to say one name in hope someone-anyone-would overhear, no matter how faint or weak I sounded.

“Ricardo…?”

“No one is going to find your body, my sweet.”

With that, that Italian bastard left me to die, gagging on my blood. And the fool had the audacity to step over me as I was in the process of dying in my own pool of blood on the floor in the bedroom, blood slipping between my fingers from the wounds peppering my stomach and face from the bat he used to beat me with. Before leaving through the door, he stoked a flame to a scented candle given to us on our wedding… and smiled down at me “Thanks for the inhe…..”

I can remember blacking out and, somehow, by some miracle, I was alive; My ribs were cracked, left hand fractured and I had various damage to my face from the bat which he had chosen to bludgeon me with but… I was alive. It stirred something in me, like I had cheated the inevitable when in actuality a friend of his hand stopped by to drop off a box of camping supplies…

He planned to break my bones and stuff me in a trunk to better hide me in the nearby woods easier.

)▬▬ Stardust Crusaders Biography ▬▬(

A single mother turned thrill seeker, the longtime gamblers travels had landed her in Egypt; She felt seemingly drawn in, called to even, in a casino up in Cario. As a matter of fact, her exploits in gambling her brought her to make an acquaintance of the Elder D'Arby brother. The pair were rivals in the beginning; Stevie aiming to collect his thread of life, and he aiming to collect her soul, the pair would often play various card games together. It was always rather intense, but there was no success in their battles for either party, oftentimes ending in a draw.

These games together brought the pair closer, additionally, causing the duo to pair up to play games against people of interest. This also sparked the interest of Lord DIO, particularly her abilities, involving the alteration of fate on a human soul with the exception of the past; Her abilities complimented the Elder D'Arbys abilities rather well. He offered her money for her efforts, but she merely stated that she was interested in the thrills that accompanied her gambling habits, in exchange that she gets her children tended to with no involvement in this lifestyle she leads. She would oftentimes accompany the Elder D'Arby for his gambling exploits, even if she herself do not play games with him at all times, she ended up using her abilities to compliment his abilities with the soul.

She ended up, eventually, having her fair run in with the Crusaders shortly after the defeat of the Elder D'Arby. With her employ to DIO and the defeat of her friend, she challenged them to her own game of fate, before she was defeated. In a last ditch effort, she attempted to utilize her threads to grab herself a hostage for she knew her failure would ultimately lead to her potential demise. However, Star Platinum was fast, making short work of the woman and shattering all ten of her fingers, rendering her stand completely useless as she has no mobility in her hands. Her fate is ambiguous after this last encounter, but she is to be credited for helping place Anubis on that familiar path in which Chaka acquired the famous sword. Her role is minor in the Glory Gods, and ultimately, apart from complimenting the Elder D'Arbys abilities or her alteration of fate bound to a soul, she has little impact on the grand scheme of things.

She lives her life in shame as much as isolation, having been unable to raise her months old daughter properly, she had to send her child away to a relative in America until her hands recovered from their previous injuries caused by Jotaros encounter.

[mc-critical]

Asking because I’ve seen you say it on here: What is it that you disliked about Mahifiruze and Aysë as characters (writing or otherwise?)

It's not a problem of sympathy alone, because while these characters have quite a few offputting qualities and have certainly done some heinous deeds, it would be unfair to judge them only by that. There are way worse people in the franchise, which turn me off way more, after all. (*cough* MCK Turhan *cough*) Sympathy-wise, I'm overally ambivalent towards both Ayşe and Mahfiruze and if we only take that into account, I can take or leave them. It's their writing, however, where things take a different turn. Almost everything went wrong there.

The critical problem I find with both of the characters is that they're engrained in one and the same character archetype the writers refuse to get them out of. That brings harm not only to their characterization and the way they're built up, but also to the sympathy we're supposed to feel for them, because, more often than not, it didn't have a ground to stand on. It's true that archetypes often risk to make a character bland and one-dimensional, but the way they went with it is strange and unfortunate, because this all could've been averted quickly.

Magnificent Century's character core is mostly built on archetypes of a soapy drama and Magnificent Century: Kösem seemed to be following that trend. I understand that choice, in a way, because well, it could've just been easier for them, they could've thought they would win their former MC audience once again, playing it "familiar" and "safe". Thing is, the whole franchise overally does pretty well with archetypes: they either subvert them, deconstruct them or break them entirely later, either (in the case of MCK where we saw many previously established MC archetypes) use them with some core conceptual changes and a different theme in mind, which, as far as writing goes, worked very well with many characters. (see: Dervish - Ibrahim; Dilruba - Mihrimah; Atike - Mihrimah; Davud - Rustem, etc.) The thing is though, the writers didn't give Ayşe and Mahfiruze any of that and their archetypes felt like they only were in the beggining line, going almost nowhere beyond that and making the characters feel very often as cardboard cutouts as a result. They're going with archetypes, but they somehow give only a single fraction of these archetypes to figures that play a relatively big role in the story.

Comparisons to other usages of the character archetype of Mahfiruze and Ayşe's help even less, because everything now not only turned out to be a bad concept, but and a shaky, underdeveloped attempt at something done way better before. Mahfiruze and Ayşe both fit in Mahidevran's early season 1 archetype - the rejected, jealous woman, previously valued and loved by the Sultan, which loses everything quickly, planning and ready to do anything to take the rival down, including petty sneers, irrational decisions and will for murder. But even at its worst, Mahidevran's characterization was balanced overall, having moments where we could sympathize or condemn her respectively and had character fleshing out come to the surface as often as the reducement to this one sole archetype, which was lacking severely in Ayşe and Mahfiruze. I'll talk about the similarities they share with Mahidevran only briefly when I analyze them, because I'm admittedly very biased when it comes to this (especially with the double standarts I encounter with the YT comments, where the same people judge Mahidevran and Ayşe by the exact same metric and yet, they love one and can trash the other all day, eh.) and I don't want that to take over the topic at hand so much.

Mahfiruze has the problems I listed above to a much lesser extent than Ayşe, but that doesn't mean they're not present at all. She has a very familiar character role and personality - she is a mother to the eldest heir of the throne and gives jabs and insults to her rival. And.. that's all there is. It's undeniable than Dilara Aksuek's Mahfiruze definetly had a tough act to follow, since the former Mahfiruz screamed potential and promise the latter character was expected to fulfill, but they did the barest possible minimum. (and I don't think Dilara's a bad actress by any means: she acted amazingly in the show Istambullu Gelin as Ipek, an arguably similar and much better written character.) It definitely felt as more of a regression than a progression, because Mahfiruze had no fleshing out or development at all. Her meanness to Kösem seemed central to her character, she barely had any interactions with the rest of the cast and what is worse, used her as a plot device for a plot-line with Ahmet's enemies and then when her role was fulfilled, they.. killed her off just like that without any warning or elaboration. She was the very definition of a one-dimensional obstacle to Kösem that seemed to exist only for the sake to be an obstacle to Kösem. It was as if she didn't matter. And when she did, it was only as a narrative instrument to stir the conflict between Kösem and Osman (which I find very interesting, but I feel it would've been way more impactful if Mahfiruze wasn't only... this.) It was as if the writers ran out of stuff to do with her, which is a very lazy copout for me, because she could've had interesting storylines, if only they just wished to "shake up" the traits of her archetype for a bit.

Ayşe's character is where this repetitive problem shines through the brightest. We can argue that the love triangle plot and Farya's Mary Sue stance ruined it all for her from the get go, but for me, the foundation of her character is what truly did. Ayşe wasn't used simply as a plot device as much, she wasn't even underutilized at all, she was put into an archetype which undermines how different she is as a character in practice and the greatly dissimilar circumstances she's under. They tried to fit Mahidevran's S01 archetype in an environment it would never do in the first place. It not only becomes a stagnant, more over exaggerated repetition of a concept and forces unnecessary drama to prop another character up, it way too often puts a sole angle of Ayşe's character into focus, making Farya the center of her writing. Not to mention that for long, we didn't have a cohesive reason to root for her, her early love for Murat being the thing that was the least fleshed out about her and could make her too obsessive and yandere at times. Her interactions are criminally underdeveloped, as well, and unlike Mahfiruze, that could honestly be cut shorter except for Osman, they were something Ayşe desperately needed. We got only hints of her relationship with Kösem, Silahtar and Gevherhan and that was far from enough. Most of her scenes were either with her maid or Farya. Her alliances with Gülbahar and Sinan respectively were... fine interarion-wise, to be honest, but writing-wise, they only enforced the fairly consistent endorsement of the soapy aspect of her character beyond any measure.

Now, I can't doubt the development in her later episodes, where the writing admittedly improved. I'll always love her scene before the death of Gevherhan and her message to Murat, because that's the Ayşe I wish I saw more often. The self-awareness she gained of how Murat screwed her over was amazing and something I wish happened more gradually and over the span of more episodes. But it was all somehow "too little, too late" for me and it didn't completely save her messy writing. And it's a crime, because Ayşe played a much bigger role than Mahfiruze in the narrative, she was basically a main character and she got robbed of a good, organic fleshing out and arc.

Ayşe was the most egregious example of the severe flawed writing of repetitive archetypes and catch me forever mad about it, because she could've been much more. It's a mistake that had no business being there at all. And it was anyway.

[shinneth]

Spill the tea on Stevinel (just because I saw one for conniverse) And yes, I'm not on Anonymous. Because I'm a proud stevinel shipper and no one's going to stop me from loving it, also your blog is cool

And you know what? That’s the right attitude to have! People should be free to express what they ship without shielding themselves with anonymity. I don’t blame the people that do these days - antis are fucking dangerous people - but goddamn, people. It’s fiction. 

So I commend you for shipping Stevinel openly and proudly! Hard to believe it’s actually considered a bold and brave move just to be open and honest about harmless preferences these days. 

That said, I’m sorry it took so long to get to this. I felt you deserved an epic, given how unexpectedly successful my tirade on why Connverse is a shit ship with an undeserved golden reputation was...

But the truth is, even though I’m very much a Stevinel shipper, it’s definitely not my OTP.

And it’s very tricky for me to figure out how to spill the tea on Stevinel in a way that’s distinct from me doing the same with Stevidot.

Because, well, let’s face it: these two ships, beyond being very similar in nature, have also endured identical hardships from the fandom.

All the death threats Stevinel fans get from the raging antis for daring to ship something so “problematic/immoral/wrong/not Connverse”? 

Stevidot fans have been treated that exact same way for years. And still are. For the exact same reasons.

Both Stevinel and Stevidot shippers are valid, but the fandom constantly turns a blind eye to Rebecca Sugar’s husband who also worked on the show outright saying gem x human ships are FAIR GAME.

And also turn a blind eye to the recent interview where Sugar herself stated that the gems are more like AI - a conclusion I and many others deduced ages ago just by how gems are portrayed in the show. 

But by god, they’ll hang on Matt Burnett’s word that “grown gems” are a thing even though canon itself explicitly states that GEMS DON’T GROW.

Just like how despite Maya Petersen outright admitting that Aroace!Peridot is just her headcanon, people treat it like the fucking gospel now.

(no offense to anyone who’s committed to that particular headcanon - I just don’t really see it with Peridot in particular and it’s really fucking stupid to claim it’s 100% canon when the source herself explicitly said it wasn’t)

Well, it’s canon that Spinel kissed Steven and he didn’t turn into dust. And Steven was already well on his way down the path of self-destruction at this point in time; he would’ve gone monster whether this happened or not. 

Also, how often does a character get the “heart eyes” expression for just a platonic love?

If there was ever a scene where Connie or Steven had heart eyes, no doubt most of the pricks would scream “YES!!!! UNDENIABLE PROOF THAT THEY’RE IN LOVE!!!”

But when it’s Spinel, suddenly it doesn’t count? Really?

How convenient.

There’s also the stupid idiots who saw the conceptual development of Spinel in that movie artbook and saw some vague color keys during a conceptual stage and claimed that Spinel was “family” to Steven - which of course must mean “related” and therefore must make Stevinel an incestuous relationship! 

Which is bull. Also shit. It’s already common knowledge that gems don’t work that way. She was the designated playmate for Steven’s mother. Nothing more.

Of course, most gems who come in Steven’s orbit end up being sort of a family to him. 

But everyone seems to have this impression that a gem being part of Steven’s family means they become additional surrogate mom figures.

And yeah no, that’s dumb and wrong. Garnet and Pearl are really the only ones I’d consider actual “mom figures”. Amethyst’s more of a big sister. Everyone else can vary depending on perspective, but I’ve never seen any of the other gems as anything close to a motherly figure for Steven. Any time I see shit about Lapis or Peridot being regarded as “gem moms” to Steven, I laugh my ass off. They are so not moms or any kind of authoritative figure for Steven. Bismuth at best is more of the fun-loving aunt.

There are more roles in a family than just a paternal/maternal substitute. In fact, I believe Steven has considered Connie to be part of his family well before they hooked up in canon.

(as a side-note, I love how people who are allegedly SO squicked out by age gap ships totally pardon Connverse - you guys realize Connie was 14 in Future, right? Possibly 15 depending on the time scale? There’s gonna be a point in the relative near future where Steven is 18 and Connie isn’t - why don’t I hear you assholes angst about that “atrocity”, huh?)

I honestly do consider the CG B-Team as part of Steven’s family, but more in a loose sense. But by that same token, I consider Connie as part of the family in a similar manner. 

Especially since Spinel was shoved off to live with the Diamonds after the movie - and the Diamonds themselves have a very fucked-up relationship among themselves to the point where I honestly hesitate to put a familial label on it at all - it’s extra stupid to try and paint Stevinel as something with incestuous overtones when it clearly doesn’t. 

Spinel does happen to be a perfect representative of how full of shit antis are about age gaps, though. 

While Peridot’s age has always been left vague, we know she can’t be 5K or older due to being an Era 2 gem. Due to her utter lack of knowledge of Era 1 events (or being completely sold on the Diamonds’ propaganda) and her general inexperience with her own equipment - as well as her ability to quickly adapt to Earth - I always headcanoned Peridot as being especially young. Like, younger-than-Steven young. 

Mostly because Peri’s attitude reeks of Gen Z - also because it’d be nice for a change to have a gem who isn’t thousands of years old like literally every other noteworthy gem in the show. We need a representative of gemkind who hasn’t been around for ages. 

Of course, Spinel’s backstory proves that even if they went the boring route and made Peridot thousands of years old just like everybody else, it wouldn’t really mean much of anything. She’d be no less of a valid romantic option for Steven regardless of age.

Spinel is several thousands of years old, and the movie explicitly shows us what exactly that amounts to for a gem.

As I mentioned earlier, Sugar sees the gems more like AI. Spinel remaining in one spot for several millennnia, not moving an inch, not speaking to anyone, not seeing anything other than a gradually-deteriorating garden... yeah, and somehow, despite all that, Spinel’s still very childlike per her design. She had literally no room to mature or accrue life experience: Pink Diamond basically hit the pause button on her entire life.

Even though she’s several thousands of years old, through no fault of her own, Spinel’s mindset remained unchanged. It wasn’t until Steven inadvertently came into her life that she became twisted - understandably so after finally realizing she’d been abandoned by Pink. 

But she still didn’t completely lose her true self. Spinel realized on her own that Steven didn’t deserve to suffer just because his mom was a negligent asshole. She also came to understand on her own that unlike Pink, Steven truly cared for her no matter what shit she threw his way. 

Steven could give Spinel the care and attention she always deserved; something Pink totally denied her while deceiving her into wasting away with her abandoned playground. He could be the one to give Spinel the love she always deserved but was either denied or manipulated into believing she got. 

Honestly, this is more than enough to warrant building something more between these two. 

The age gap is irrelevant. The two have chemistry. They aren’t related.

(and honestly, this is fiction - these details are largely irrelevant in fiction anyway. I’m only bringing it up because it doesn’t take much research to find that every label the antis put on Stevinel is complete inaccurate Diamond propaganda bullshit)

Stevinel is FINE. Let people ship it if they want to!

Um... is that good enough?

Honestly, I’m not gonna lie: Stevinel’s pretty goddamned popular; so much that I’m a bit jealous of it. I enjoy the ship a lot, but I’ve been keeping it at arms-length all this time. I’m looking forward to when I can write my own brand of Stevinel interaction when I get to introduce her in my series, but that’s still a while to go. 

Also, there’s almost zero Peridot/Spinel material, let alone my Peridot/Steven/Spinel OT3. And Stevidot material is still hard to come by; I’m noticing Stevinel’s still quite a bit easier to find by comparison. 

So in a way, I feel many other unpopular ships deserve some tea-spilling sooner than Stevinel because Stevinel at least still has a sizable fanbase. Same can’t really be said for a lot of similar ships here...

A lot of this can apply to other Steven x gem ships, honestly. 

But I guess I haven’t been showing Stevinel much proper love due to my devotion to my superior SU-AU. I can only hope I can soon reach a point where I can have GA Spinel react to Steven, since their dynamic will be significantly different.

(and then one day I’ll finally make the Peridot/Steven/Spinel OT3 fic!!)

Until then, I can only hope I did Stevinel some justice here!

[astronomicalterror]

NOTE - This bio is a HUGE Work in Progress. Certain things may change, and other bits may seem rushed.

)▬▬ BASIC INFO ▬▬(

• Name: Stevie Annah Nicks

• Nicknames and Aliases: Anna, Savannah

• Species: Human

• Powers: Stand- Isis [Egyptian Goddess Stand]

• Alignment: True Neutral

• Date of Birth: December 13th

• Gender: Female

• Hometown: Tokyo, Japan

• Relatives: Unnamed Father [DECEASED; Died from Brain Cancer], Unnamed Mother [DECEASED; Murdered]

• Occupation: Shipping Company Owner [Former], Gambler [Currently]

• Equipment: Sewing Scissors and Thread

• Status: Alive

▪︎ Part 3 - Age : 33

▪︎ Part 4 - Age : 45

▪︎ Part 5 - Age : 47

▪︎ Part 6 - 56

• Stand Name - Isis

• Stand Power - Red String Manipulation: User can create, shape and manipulate the red string of fate, an invisible conceptual string that bonds souls together. They can create an limitless amount of red strings and extend them at any distance and the strings never tear apart, as it is practically indestructible. They can make the red strings become visible and touchable for others, and also choose to apply changes to anyone’s soul, and as well control the relationship of those bonded by the strings, or even completely remove their bond.

▪︎ Stand Stats

Power - D [Not “Attack” wise; This is catered to the effectiveness of Isis]

Speed - B

Range - A

Durability - D

Precision - A

Potential - B

▬▬ PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION ▬▬

• Height: 5’9’’

• Weight: 162 LBs

• Body Shape: Hourglass

• Natural Hair Color: Platinum Blonde

• Dyed Hair Color: N/A

• Eye Color: Blue

• Ethnicity: Japanese American

• Skin Tone: Porcelain

*TOLD IN FIRST PERSON POV ONLY FIR THIS PART.*

▬▬ Back Story ▬▬

My father was a respectable man. A archeologist. And I, a archeologists’ eldest daughter and heir of his company, his golden girl. He not only owned a shipping company, he was a close relative of a museum curator, and also cared for the museum in Alaska– where we were often stayed at in the summer. As his heir, I was expected to learn much and so, I had my own private tutor once I was able to be home schooled.

When summer came to pass, we went back Tokyo. In Tokyo, I saw paintings in an art exhibit. I fell in love with their design, and took up the hobby of painting. I practiced and practiced, giving father and mother small gifts every once in awhile. He made it clear that I should not interact with the outside world all too often, as he believed it'd distract me from my studies after mother had passed away from a hate related crime; I was mixed between Japanese and American, bad blood from the second world war still remained. I, unknowst to him, was using this as a means of coping with grief, with trauma that had sparked my abilities; I always wished to alter the past, to manipulate Fate itself [though I hadn't known it was fate at that time] to save my mothers life. I was about 6 at the time I first noticed my abilities. All the same, my father would oftentimes sneak out my supplies, leaving my projects vastly unfinished.

He did however, notice I had begun training my eye for the paint right after passing through the store on multiple occasions, and dreading with his daughter would whip up next. I could see things you wouldn’t believe; Red strings connected to every little thing with little dates etched into them, peoples lives… For as long as I could remember, I could see everything of this nature just dangling freely for me and only me to observe. I treasured these moments the most, this innocence in my abilities. Most of my paintings reflected things I saw in people's lives.

I can remember everything so vividly down to an exact date and exact time in which my marriage that lasted a month or so, was quick to fall apart. I had just gotten into the gambling scene heavily at 24 years old and, undoubtedly so, I had made friends as well as enemies. It was no secret I was a rich mans daughter and heir that simply had too much time and cash on their hands to blow it all so I became a center of attention. My true gambling addiction began to grow from the time I was 16, as my tutor had accumulated a massive debt, and was the man responsible for sparking my true talent. Gambling. What few had tried approaching me in hopes of romantic interest, did so in groups, only interested in my cash or my body; Everyone except for him, or so I thought.

He was charming, handsome even, and he was like a god in my eyes for he made me feel special and loved… So when he proposed, I thought nothing of it and accepted him into my heart immediately. He was eager and I was nervous.

The chapel was empty on my side, save for my old tutor and an old colleague of my fathers, so his friends had spread out evenly.

My body, it was on the floor and it was oh so limp. I could feel it, suffocation as blood clogged every airway possible. So limp, yet I mustered the strength to say one name in hope someone-anyone-would overhear, no matter how faint or weak I sounded.

"Ricardo...?"

“No one is going to find your body, my sweet.”

With that, that Italian bastard left me to die, gagging on my blood. And the fool had the audacity to step over me as I was in the process of dying in my own pool of blood on the floor in the bedroom, blood slipping between my fingers from the wounds peppering my stomach and face from the bat he used to beat me with. Before leaving through the door, he stoked a flame to a scented candle given to us on our wedding… and smiled down at me “Thanks for the inhe…..”

I can remember blacking out and, somehow, by some miracle, I was alive; My ribs were cracked, left hand fractured and I had various damage to my face from the bat which he had chosen to bludgeon me with but… I was alive. It stirred something in me, like I had cheated the inevitable when in actuality a friend of his hand stopped by to drop off a box of camping supplies…

He planned to break my bones and stuff me in a trunk to better hide me in the nearby woods easier.

)▬▬ Stardust Crusaders Biography ▬▬(

A single mother turned thrill seeker, the longtime gamblers travels had landed her in Egypt; She felt seemingly drawn in, called to even, in a casino up in Cario. As a matter of fact, her exploits in gambling her brought her to make an acquaintance of the Elder D'Arby brother. The pair were rivals in the beginning; Stevie aiming to collect his thread of life, and he aiming to collect her soul, the pair would often play various card games together. It was always rather intense, but there was no success in their battles for either party, oftentimes ending in a draw.

These games together brought the pair closer, additionally, causing the duo to pair up to play games against people of interest. This also sparked the interest of Lord DIO, particularly her abilities, involving the alteration of fate on a human soul with the exception of the past; Her abilities complimented the Elder D'Arbys abilities rather well. He offered her money for her efforts, but she merely stated that she was interested in the thrills that accompanied her gambling habits, in exchange that she gets her children tended to with no involvement in this lifestyle she leads. She would oftentimes accompany the Elder D'Arby for his gambling exploits, even if she herself do not play games with him at all times, she ended up using her abilities to compliment his abilities with the soul.

She ended up, eventually, having her fair run in with the Crusaders shortly after the defeat of the Elder D'Arby. With her employ to DIO and the defeat of her friend, she challenged them to her own game of fate, before she was defeated. In a last ditch effort, she attempted to utilize her threads to grab herself a hostage for she knew her failure would ultimately lead to her potential demise. However, Star Platinum was fast, making short work of the woman and shattering all ten of her fingers, rendering her stand completely useless as she has no mobility in her hands. Her fate is ambiguous after this last encounter, but she is to be credited for helping place Anubis on that familiar path in which Chaka acquired the famous sword. Her role is minor in the Glory Gods, and ultimately, apart from complimenting the Elder D'Arbys abilities or her alteration of fate bound to a soul, she has little impact on the grand scheme of things.

She lives her life in shame as much as isolation, having been unable to raise her months old daughter properly, she had to send her children away to a relative in America.

[razorblade180]

Twin Snowflakes pt16:Royal Court

Flynt:Well look who it is!? Wasn’t expecting to be sent back to the past like this.

Veronica:Nice to see you too Mr. Smooth Criminal.

Flynt:I see your mom gave you her wittiness too.

Veronica:Hardly. If you hear me crack a pun then check to see if I have the flu or something.

Flynt:I meant Blake.

Veronica:Oh…not, not sure how I should take that.

Flynt:Don’t think about it too much. So you’re here to help set everything up? Well we sure don’t mind all the extra hands; more helpers mean more time for everyone to rest. Unless you’re a crazy person who doesn’t know how to rest.

Nick:Gee I didn’t realize Atlas became Shade. Always picking on me for the little things.

Flynt:All in good fun. Well Veronica, glad to have you. I won’t lie to you and say our school holds the most welcoming environment despite their reasons for being here, so don’t hesitate to come get me if anything serious happens.

Veronica:Thanks for the offer but I know how to handle myself and a few close minded simpletons.

Flynt:Somehow I have no doubt about that.

He grabbed a pin that said committee on his desk and put it on her shirt. Veronica bowed slightly before taking her leave. It was always interesting for Nick seeing the girl be so polite. The way she could flip between her manners with anyone so fast was always something she was good at. He once saw her go from shaking a man’s hand to punching them in the face in the blink of an eye.

Flynt:Is your sister here today?

Nick:I’ll hunt her down if she isn’t, why?

Flynt:Only asking. I know I tell you to let others handle their own workload but I advise you to keep an eye on Veronica just in case.

Nick:Trust me, Veronica might have a temper but she typically thinks things through; the school won’t get a bad-

Flynt:I don’t care about this place’s reputations, or my position for that matter. Your friend just looks like she’s nearing the end of her rope.

Nick:Really? What gives you that vibe?

Flynt:When you partner up with a cat faunus, you learn a thing or two. As far as tails go, it usually isn't good when they’re wrapped around the waist and all tense; almost like she’s hugging or bracing herself.

Nick:When does Neon do it.

Flynt:When she’s being defensive. Keep in mind I could be entirely wrong in Veronica’s case though. Just something to be aware of.

Nick:Hmm interesting. Thanks for the heads up.

Nicholas gave his principal a wave before heading out, his words taken to heart. ‘Maybe Yang was right to worry?’ He chewed on his bottom lip as he slowly caught up to the girl. ‘Right or wrong, getting her to eat couldn’t hurt.’

Nick:You know I think breakfast is still being served. I’m pretty hungry after looking for you and I bet running on rooftops made you peckish. Wanna grab a bite really quick? The school’s chicken bisc-

Veronica:Not interested, sorry. I would rather find where I’ll be working.

Nick: ‘Too direct’ Lunch isn’t for awhile. Working on an empty stomach-

Veronica stopped and opened her bag. Nick looked in it and saw several fruits and what was probably protein bars. He’d be impressed if prior knowledge didn’t make this seem like a yellow flag at best.

Veronica zipped back up her bag and continued walking, now a little faster. Her focus was derailed by Nick grabbing her wrist and making her jolt, spooking both of them. He didn’t comment on it and started guiding her down a different hallway.

Nick:You’re walking as if you know where to go. For future reference, wooden doors are regular classes and school stuff. Metal doors are combat related. You’ll work in the student council room; the creative arts hallway is to the right of it. They have plenty of time between classes for you to get whatever you need.

Veronica:Alright, easy enough to remember.

Nick:Fill free to explore the school if you want but don’t interrupt any classes and a lunch monitor will probably get on you if you go in there during different blocks.Summer has lunch at noon.

Veronica:And why would that matter to me?

Nick:So you don’t bump into her on accident, or if you need her for whatever reason. Do not, and I repeat, do not give her a hard time. She already hates school enough.

Veronica:Relax, I’ll play nice. Don’t expect me to sit with her at lunch or anything. That lunch room is probably loud as hell.

Nick:Summer eats on the roof, or the nurses office. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her at a lunch table. Then again, I don’t spend a lot of time there either.

For some reason that was interesting to learn. Veronica was sure those two would have taken the time to eat with each other or be around peers; even if it was for show. Nick seemed like he’d use lunch for studying so she guessed it wasn’t that surprising. ‘Knowing Summer she would go there if you did.’ Veronica thought.

They finally reached the committee room. Nick grabbed the door knob but didn’t get the chance to twist it before it already swung open with Eliza on the other side.

Eliza:I swear if this boiler room doesn’t get its shit togeth-

Nick:....Uh, hey. Busy morning?

Eliza:You would know if you got here early like the president this school believes you to be!

Nick:One, I’m usually here thirty minutes prior so don’t come at me. Two, a hello would be nice. Finally, the boiler room messing up again?

Eliza:One, hello. Two, I’m here an hour early, three, yes it’s taking too long to warm certain things if at all. Finally, where’s the person who knows how to fix it?

Nick:Haven’t seen Valerie and you definitely know I haven’t seen Winchester, that’s your headache.

Eliza:Ugh, I guess I’ll cheat and warm it up myself.

Nick:Don’t blow us up…

Eliza:Shut up, unlike you I’m cautious. Might’ve come in handy against that Paladin.

Nick:Like you would’ve said yes if I asked.

Eliza:Who knows? If you got on your knees I might’ve said yes instantly. Guess we’ll never know; why aren’t you in home room ?

Nick:Last time I checked, you want to be kept in the loop from now on. We have another person helping starting today.

Eliza directed her attention to Veronica and looked her up and down before looking at Nick annoyed.

Nick:Problem?

Eliza:Yeah, I would’ve called a short meeting if I had known earlier. Being kept in the loop doesn’t mean telling me something last second.

Veronica:This was a last second decision. Lucky me because I hate meetings. I’m-

Eliza:I know who you are Veronica Belladonna; I’ve read about you quite a bit actually. Quite a shame your work doesn’t have much to show for it.

Veronica:I could say the same thing about your tournament rankings. Third place gets such a tiny font in the papers.

Eliza:Hmph, kitty has claws alright. Looking forward to seeing what you contribute. Nick looks confident in you so I’m sure it’ll be fruitful. There’s a list of things that need to be done inside the room already. Don’t hesitate to make my life easier.

Eliza shot Nick a cold look as she walked out slowly. Nick couldn’t help but notice the girls slightly sluggish movements.

Veronica:I don’t like her.

Nick:You don’t like most people so what’s new? Eliza is a hard ass but she’s a good person. Definitely reliable, so don’t piss her off. She’s already gunning for me at the tournament and I don’t need anger behind her hits.

Veronica:This list of people I have to be chummy with is getting too long for my taste.

Nick:Vee, I’ve only named three people. Three good people at that. Well...two and a half. Anyways I gotta get to class so you’re on your own for now.

Veronica:Have fun with that. Don’t be surprised if I’m running this entire place by the end of the day.

Nick:That would mean dethroning me, a tall order.

Veronica:Who says we can’t rule together? You know, as king and queen?

A blush spread across his face before he heard Veronica chuckle, only making him redder. Nick turned away in embarrassment and headed to class. It never took much to get him flustered. Veronica felt a little bad; it was something his classmates probably didn’t know.

‘Try all you want Nick,I won’t let you keep your cool.’ Veronica thought, still chuckling to herself. She would’ve continued to do so if the bell didn’t snap her out of it and hurt her ears. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.

Vee went ahead inside the student council room. It was surprisingly spacious and barren. Mostly tables lined around it and a giant blackboard filled with words. Papers were spread around the desks. ‘Wow, disorganized much?’ She took a deep whiff of all the different scents in the room, recognizing a few.

Her eyes scanned the desks. ‘Nick, Valerie, Eliza, even Summer, and several more.’ One paper caught her nose in particular. ‘It wouldn’t be unusual for all the members to have held the list. So...this one?’ She picked up a thin stack that was stapled together. Bingo, the nose always knows.

Venue, light arrangement, stage size, schedule events, all of it was laid out in detail; even down to the estimated budget. One page was a map of the layout which really helped? But something was off. All of this might’ve been planned out it seemed...conceptual. Scatterbrained even. Like all the thoughts were together but going in different directions at the same time.

‘The room isn’t the only thing disorganized it looks like. This list is like a buffet when it should be a potluck. Divide the work, make sure there’s no repeats or clashing themes. If the fights are the main course…’ Veronica took a seat and grabbed a pencil along with fresh paper. ‘Then let’s make sure to give the people plenty of complimenting sides and palate cleanser.’

xxxx

“That's all you can do! Talk about slow!” Valerie shouted with gusto, her hands juggling her tomahawks in the middle of the arena ring.

“Shut up!” Cried her sword wielding opponent. They charged forward with their sword at the ready.

Valerie made no attempt to stop her juggling. Her eyes pierced right into her foe’s as they prepared for a thrust. Valerie shook her head in disappointment. “Sloppy”

The words reached the student and a dark blue glow washed over them. Suddenly their muscles felt heavy, air felt stingy, and their balance was off. The steel sword tipped too far forward and made them stumble, their body stopping at the perfect distance to receive a powerful roundhouse kick to the face that sent them flying out of the ring.

A buzzer rang right after and Valerie finally let her weapons hit the ground as she walked to the edge to see Harriet helping the dazed student.

Valerie:Their jaw okay?

Harriet:If you have to ask then that means you knew you were being too rough. You get a B- Valerie. Please remember restraint. Your semblance and strength can really hurt someone.

Valerie:Sorry…

Harriet:Don’t be sorry, be careful.

That was a line Valerie was familiar with. She watched Harriet help the student to their feet and guided them to the changing room before turning to the rest of the class.

Harriet:Well then, I say that’s enough for practical fights. Unless we have any volunteers, Summer?

Summer: Y-Yes!? I mean no! No, I’m fine. Training is all...covered and stuff.

Harriet:Fine then. Okay everyone knows the drill. Five laps around the track and then you are free from my charming voice. *claps hands* hop to it!

A collective groan came from the class before they started walking to the door. Summer waited for others to be ahead of her like usual and waited for Valerie to catch up.

Valerie:Enjoy the show?

Summer:Eh, felt like a rerun of most of your matches.

Valerie:What can I say? Being this good means I’m always a safe bet princess.

Summer:You won’t be if you call me that again.

Valerie:Ooo feisty today.

Harriet:You’re one to talk. *folds arms* Valerie, thirteen laps for you.

Valerie:What!? But I hate cardio!

Harriet:Good, I’m sure whatever aggression you have will burnout; Summer you have seven. A warning for all your absences.

Summer:Fair, but literally the day after? We’re still sore.

Harriet:Physically or mentally? Just kidding, I know it’s both. Now go before I add more laps.

Summer and Valerie:Yes ma’am…*runs off*

Harriet:Teenagers…

Valerie:Man this sucks! So I hit a little harder than I meant to, so what?

Summer:You’re gonna run out of breath before you start your laps.

Valerie:Maybe then I won’t overlap you.

Summer:Please, you’d need time dilation to do that with your speed. I’ll call you if I need to move some furniture, you lumberjack.

Valerie:Ouch, feisty. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?

Summer:No, but obviously you did. Seeing you in my bus seat this morning was pretty unexpected.

Valerie:Too sore to swallow. I figured-

Summer:That you wanted distance from Nick?

A pit in Valerie’s stomach dropped like a weight. She looked towards Summer to see neutral eyes examine her in great detail. She wondered what exactly it was that Summer was looking at. Color, sweat, hidden guilt, or fear?

Summer:Did you tell him about the bus? Actually, not fair, I don’t wanna know that. What I should be asking is...no, not that either. Sorry, I probably sound like I’m spouting craziness. What I’m getting at is I’m upset too, about my performance during the exam.

Valerie:You tr-

Summer:I swear if you say I tried my best then I’ll scream.

Valerie:....Sorry. You’re wrong though, about me being upset. Frankly I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling. Anxious, embarrassed maybe? I just know I don’t really want to deal with Nick right now. Nothing personal, honestly.

Summer:No offense but it’s entirely personal. I’m not gonna blame you for wanting alone time. Nick and his overwhelming nature is...overwhelming. Always butting in, worrying about everyone but himself and-

Valerie:Being absolutely sweet? It’s all out of kindness; which I don’t necessarily know if it makes it better. I think it does anyways.

Her eyes seemed to drift off thinking about it. He really was always there for anything. Good or bad, Valerie would see the idiot next to her. It was genuinely comforting, and scary. Scary for reasons that for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out.

She was thankful when Summer touched her arm and dispelled the mix of conflicting emotions. Val shook her head and cleared her throat.

Valerie:Enough about Nick! Let’s talk about something more progressive, like how to delete a video the entire school has seen.

Summer:No amount of money or power will erase it. Eliza really screwed us on this one.

Valerie:Wait, what!?

Summer:She’s the one who recorded the quality video. Not out of malice or anything but-

Valerie:I’m gonna fight her…

Summer:Ignoring me? That’s cool too.

Valerie:Oh I heard you, still pissed!

Summer:What happened to not being pissed?

Valerie:Okay, so I’m a little pissed. Ugh! Of all people. I hope she makes it far in the tournament. I don’t think I can take any more nosy people.

Summer:(Should I mention Veronica?)

Valerie:*cracking knuckles* I’m fired up now!

Summer:(Nope) Cool, start running then. Think of it as a head start.

Valerie:Fine, but if I finish my laps before you then I think that’s worth some sort of prize. Let’s say...a movie, just the two of us?

Summer:Hmmm, no deal. I sort of have this thing where I don’t go on dates with my brother’s crushes.

Valerie:We don’t have to call it a date. It would be two friends hanging out like buds.

Summer:.....

Valerie:Yeah, I didn’t believe myself either. Come on, what’s wrong with one simple date?

Summer:Nothing, if it were simple. One of these days you’ll figure it out.

Valerie:Figure what out?

Summer:Finish your laps first and I might tell you, if you beat me that is.

Valerie:You’re on!

Summer makes no effort to start running as Valerie takes off with renewed determination. No doubt it will carry her for at least three laps. Win or lose, Summer planned to keep her mouth shut. There were certain things that should be learned in time, instead of told outright. She had faith in Valerie.

Either way it would take time, almost like a cheesy romance novel. Slow burns never interested Summer. There was always a person who crossed a line. Good thing Nick and Valerie were way too smart to do anything that would endanger their friendship, right?

xxxx

Time seemed to be moving at a snail's pace today. At least it was for Veronica anyways. There was a small stack of paper near her now. Each one filled with edits that reorganized all the organized chaos from the council. ‘I hate to admit it, but this Eliza check really puts in work. They all do in some way; Valerie might look dense and lazy but I shouldn’t be surprised that she can handle work. Can’t say much for her creativity though. Still, Nick seems to stand above it all. Just like him to try without showing it. Tiny notes that build upon the others.’

Veronica grabbed the next sheet of paper and kept her pace. This was far easier than designing clothes. It was almost therapeutic in a way. The only thing that was distracting her from her growing agitation. Snacks, all gone. Hunger? So intense that it hurt everywhere. Bones, eyes, nerves, all of it. She wasn’t used to this pain, and she doubted she ever would be.

Calmly she felt her stomach grumble against her nails; which threatened to sharpen. It wouldn’t surprise her if her eyes looked more cat like right now. A wiser Veronica would’ve binged at a buffet before visiting Atlas. She could usually go longer without caving; maybe it was the boat ride? Veronica knew for a fact any instinctual push could potentially set her off. Too late for regrets. No way would she let people see her go feral. Not when they were already talking…

“Did you see that girl with Nick today? Haven’t seen her before.” Said someone in the hall. “You think that girl is rich or something? A girl said in a classroom. “Ha! How rich could a faunus get!?”

The chatter kept coming from every direction.

“That girl is pretty smoking.”

“Jungle fever much?”

“You know what they say about faunus girls.”

“Probably a charity project.”

“Never seen ears and a tail at once.”

“I think she’s ugly honestly”

“Pretty, for a faunus.”

“I think she’s a halfbreed.”

“Freak….”

Her pencil snapped. She basically shattered it to gain some sort of control, ignoring the splinters yet accepting the pain in full force as she kept her fist clenched tight. Veronica wished folding her ears down could be enough, that if she covered them tight she could finally get some quiet; that would be wishful thinking. Tactics like those never worked.

‘Different place, same people. So do what you were told Veronica.’ She told herself. A deep breath in, then out. Letting her eyes close and focus on the only thing that mattered. Herself. Her thoughts and opinions; long flowing hair, sun tanned skin, ears, tail, blood…

All little things that made her up she thought were just fine; not perfect, but not flawed either. They were simply her and that was glorious. As long as she believed that, as long as the people who mattered believed it, then who gives a fuck about what’s said outside?

“Hey princess, come to grace us with your presence?” Veronica heard, from what could possibly be the fakest happy voice in existence. accompanied by the frailest one she’s heard all her life.

xxxx

Summer:Ple-please le-leave-ah!

An arm brushes pass her head and slams into a locker directly behind her. Summer clenches her belongings close to her chest and stares up into the taller girl's brown eyes. Dark brown hair and brown skin really made her stand our. No doubt a cheerleader or head of a club. Combat school or not, beauty was the law of the land to an extent.

A small crowd started forming around them in curiosity because of the noise.

Jordan:What, Princess? Am I not worth your time? I just wanna catch up.

Summer:You’re...causing a scene.

Jordan:That a problem? Don’t you like all that attention and limelight; the personal benefits that somehow let you float above it all?

The girl put her fingers through Summer’s hair. Her eyes drilling into the girl with obvious hostile intent.

Jordan:You know, I’m getting really sick and tired of being overshadowed by someone who never lifts a finger. I miss a day and there’s hell to pay. You miss weeks before and yet your grades stay the same. What, got that fine brother of yours bending over backwards?

Summer:What? No I-

Jordan:I was really hoping you’d get what was coming to you yesterday but of course not. I will say it is hilarious letting people see how frail and useless you are. Maybe if you spent more time eating a sandwich instead of trying to do something with that useless voice of yours…

That insult hit a special spot.

Jordan:Then maybe you wouldn’t be such a lightweight. At least you finally know how to dress yourself. A blow to the head must’ve knocked some sense into you. Doesn’t change the fact you still have all those hideous scars. I bet your fans would love to see-

It was sudden, almost instantaneous. The girl had gone from trash talking one minute, then to holding her wrist right after a loud smack from another hand had invaded Summer and Jordan’s delightful conversation. Summer hadn’t even realized Veronica was watching, let alone standing next to her currently.

Murmurs started to grow louder as the students stared at this unfamiliar faunus that stood confidently, hands on her hips and a look that could kill. Veronica paid no attention to them or Summer for that matter. Instead she had her attention on the bully. A thin red whelp on the girl’s wrist made Veronica silently say “shit” to herself. Her nails must’ve grazed the skin; a genuine mistake.

She was already questioning why she showed up here in the first place. A fight was the last thing she needed or attention. So why intervene? Why prevent Summer from turning on the water works? Easy answer, basic people pissed her off

Veronica:Ever heard of personal space? I thought all Atlesians knew basic etiquette but apparently not.

Jordan:Umm who the hell are you supposed to be?

Veronica:It’s not polite to ask others their name without introducing yourself either, but I guess anyone would want to know the name of a person that threatens them. Then again, a school like this would be diligent in political topics.

Summer:You think the majority of kids here pay attention to the news or the bad part of history?

Veronica:I guess this is what passes for elite around here. How disappointing.

Jordan:Listen, apparently you don’t know things work around here new girl but I’m-

Veronica:Completely irrelevant to me, an afterthought when this is all over. I don’t know how popular you might be or who you might know. Keeping shooting your mouth off and this headache of mine isn’t going to go away. Find something more productive to do than play bully.

Jordan:Ha, so that’s what this is about!? Didn’t realize that good for nothing princess had any friends besides that idiot sports jockey.

Veronica:Please, I wouldn’t be this child’s friend even if she paid me. Her crying hurts my ears almost as much as your prissy voice.

‘Oooos’ came from the crowd of people. It didn’t matter what school you went to, kids craved this kind of back talk. Summer wasn’t sure how things suddenly got so hostile, but that jab at her irritated her.

Summer:Yeah well why would I ever want a friend like you?

Veronica:Crippling loneliness.

Summer:Oh, so I would have to be desperate? That sounds about right.

Veronica:Go jump in front of another robot arm or something, the big kids are talking. Or I’m talking, this chick is pouting.

Jordan:I will not be talked to like this! Not by some...some…

Veronica:Say it, call me anything that has to do with being a faunus and see how far it gets you.

Jordan:A flea bag like you doesn’t scare me you bitch.

Summer:Hey! D-

Jordan:Excuse you, why are you even talking still, or even here!? Do us all a favor and fucking disappear like the nothing you are. I mean honestly, why the hell are you even alive?

The crowd went absolutely silent, all eyes went on Summer. Her heartbeat felt like it nearly stopped entirely. Feeling small was something she was used to. Jordan hadn’t said anything Summer didn’t think of before and yet right now, in this moment, Summer felt like she had been shot right in the heart.

Why? Why couldn’t she say anything back? What made all these eyes so terrifying? The eyes that no doubt saw her on stage before where they didn’t mean a thing. The eyes that most likely laughed when they saw that stupid video. Summer could feel herself choking up and bit her lip.

‘Something, do something damnit! Anything is better than nothing!’ Her chest felt like fire and Jordan smiled as she knew what would happen next, only making Summer angrier. ‘Do anything but cry! Just-’

Her screaming thoughts were suddenly halted by the sting of Veronica flicking her arm. Her face showed severe annoyance at Summer.

Veronica:So what, you can fight with me all day but do nothing here? Could it be...you think I’m somehow beneath her!? The hell is up with that?

Jordan:The fact that you don’t realize that proves just how delusional-

Summer:Please, you’re way more insufferable Veronica. Jordan might as well be an ant with how basic she is- *covers mouth*

More “oooos” came from people chattering. That might’ve been the first time her classmates heard her say anything so...so rude. Jordan grit her teeth and clenched her first, definitely uncharted territory for Summer.

It might’ve been a good idea to leave, hell, maybe even apologize just to prevent further trouble, but the look Veronica gave her made it clear that wasn’t a choice. Not only wasn’t it smug, it pissed Summer off a little. Like hell she’d back down now!

Summer:I mean just look at her, all looks with no substance.

Veronica:I bet this bitch thinks she’s so smart. At least compared to you.

Summer:Hell no! I can sleep through half a test and still be ahead of her with her with how bad her grades are.

Veronica:Oh so she’s trying to get by on her looks? How pathetic.

Summer:Looks she bought too, or I should say her parents bought.

Jordan:Says who!?

Summer:You think no one would notice last year when you came back from spring break with a new nose? Or were you thinking everyone would focus on the boob job? Puberty doesn’t do all that in two weeks so you either found the gods, a ton of surgeons, or a godlike surgeon.

Jordan:*red* Like you’re one to talk about looks. Upset no amount of money could remove those hideous-

Veronica:So you admit to the surgery?

Jordan:Shut up bimbo!

Veronica:That sounds like hater talk.

Summer:Yeah at least Veronica is a natural beauty. I might wear a smidge of concealer but that’s nothing compared to you. Boring...

Veronica:You hate to see it, basic. Do you even fight? I don’t think I’ve ever read the name Jordan on any scoreboards. If pretty is your only trick then get a new one.

Jordan:Like someone like you is any better! Fighting or otherwise I bet I could-

“Lose.” A voice came from around the corner. Everyone turned their head to see Valerie still in her P.E. uniform and a little sweaty.

Her eyes focused on Veronica and immediately she was happy that running made her too tired to fight. That didn’t curve her attitude however, but it looked like that there was more than one annoying problem in this hallway.

Valerie:You’d lose Jordan. To me, to Summer, and most definitely Veronica Belladonna.

Veronica:Way to ruin my fun. I barely meet people stupid enough to be so racist to my face. It’s usually when they think I can’t hear them.

Multiple faces in the crowd looked a little uncomfortable after that statement.

Summer:Finish your laps finally?

Valerie:Hardy har. So, care to explain why not one but two insufferable bitches are causing a scene.

Veronica: “That bitch” you could at least calm me that instead of comparing me to that loser. Also shouldn’t you be showering, or home? You smell like the entire football team.

Valerie:Shouldn’t you be oceans away!? Why-

Veronica:*points to pin* Apparently the great kingdom of Atlas can’t organize events without spreading themselves too thin. I’m catching your slack. Nick is very grateful about it.

That sure ticked Valerie off. Maybe she wasn’t as tired as she thought. Veronica’s face was looking pretty punchable right now.

Valerie:Well good on you, being his little errand girl must make you feel like a winner huh?

Veronica:Keep talking shit and people won’t have to wait for a tournament to see you knocked on your ass.

Jordan:Umm-

“Shut up!” All three said sternly. Clearly Jordan had become nothing more than an afterthought. The crowd didn’t care who fought. Action was all that mattered.

Valerie wasn’t afraid to step up until her and Veronica were centimeters apart. Veronica showed no fear despite being the shorter girl. Giving into the impulse would be so easy right now. So...gratifying. Like an apex humbling what they saw as a beta. Veronica clenched her fist.

“HEY!” Another voice shouted, cutting through all the hostility of the hallway. The crowd split in half to show Eliza. Everyone could see embers and sparks twinkle around the girl, a clear sign she was ready to break up this altercation.

Eliza:Get.To.Class….or do you want to learn the difference between lightning dust and the real deal?

The crowd didn’t need to be told twice and scattered, even Jordan left. Valerie was given a dirty look that made her step away from Veronica while Summer found the nerve to the wall between Eliza and the other two.

Summer:Sorry! Things got out of hand because of me. I-

Eliza:I highly doubt that. Even if it’s true, our Vice President should learn how to keep the peace. And I expect a guest at our school to not cause any agitation in this already aggressive hornets nest.

Valerie:Pfft, she might as well be a baseball bat.

Veronica:I’ll swing a baseball bat upside your-

Eliza:Do you really want to keep arguing in front of me!? I swear if you three weren’t-ugh! Val, hit the showers. Summer if you aren’t going to lunch then I suggest you go over the numbers we need for the tournament.

Summer:I did that already.

Eliza:Yeah well I just went to our room and our guest has been reworking things so I would like our treasure to double check her work. It’s your money after all.

Summer:Alr-

Veronica:Ahem! aren’t you forgetting something?

Summer:...Right, I’ll get on that Eliza. Right after I get lunch, with milk.

Eliza:Ummm okay? As for you Ms. Belladonna… I’ll overlook this but remember Nick will be held somewhat accountable for everything you do. Good and bad, understand?

Veronica:..Crystal. And can you not call me that?

Eliza:As you wish. Now if you excuse me, I have practice to attend to.

As quickly as she showed up, Eliza left and took Valerie with her. Veronica let out a deep breath before turning to see Summer still standing around and looking right at her. All she could manage to do was give an awkward nod before heading to lunch. Obviously she wanted to say something but for some reason decided against it. A wise decision.

Veronica looked at the cuts in her own hands from clenching her fists to tight, her heart still pounding. Man, she really wanted a burger right now. Anything to sink her teeth in.

Part 15

[nyrator]

wondering what to make next still

5AM and just felt the need to vent again I guess

Just a very depressed day for no real reason, still brought down by how stagnant things are I suppose- My creativity, my situation, lots of things

Drew Lain fanart, got a nice group of people following me on twitter thanks to it. It’s silly to worry about things like follower count, but it’s sort of addictive at the same time- I feel like I know the ways to do it, if I wanted, but I guess I just don’t really want to just chase followers with fanart- Feels like Tsukumizu fanart’s the way to go after Lain if I did more fanart, but mann, even if I did, still wouldn’t know what to draw.

I admire artists, like that one Diva artist that draws nun arts, or that one Avogado artist, people who draw constantly, consistent themes, but also a form of ongoing narrative, or something. Not only drawing so often, but each piece being its own. Diva especially, the way there’s so much packed in every scene, with an ongoing narrative in each piece, it’s admirable.

I really want to draw- but I lack that story element. That writing ability. I used to have it, where I could brainstorm and write pages and pages of notes. But I’ve lost it, somehow, for years. Last time I remember doing it was when brainstorming the prewrite for Rotten Nyan and coming up with like seven or so chapters (and still haven’t finished one). I don’t know if I just gave up on my writing, or if I just don’t care, or what. Maybe it’s simply depression/anxiety issues that medication could fix.

I think I’m just going stir crazy- friends occasionally get me out of the house, at least, which is nice of them. But haven’t cleaned in forever, and the apartment’s becoming more and more of a mess I can’t find the energy to do anything about. Every day feels wasted and underutilized, and I still worry about things like blood clots or other health issues or something from how inactive I am. Feel bad for neglecting cats still, though finally got them new food to try to try to help them be healthier. Wish I wasn’t so allergic that I could let them into my room easier.

It’s really hard just sitting here, day after day, doing nothing and having no energy to do anything, and wondering how much of my life I’m going to waste doing this.

Still need to work on my social anxiety, too- lots of that from talking to people again. And I’m still worn out by the internet in general, spending too much time on it probably. Mainly twitter, I suppose, which is my own fault, but I’m too addicted to absorbing information. Sort of inspired me to write something new, but like I said earlier- I can’t write at all. Made two character designs and the broad strokes, but can’t lay out anything at all. Not even a single scene to draw. It’s a weird, self-serving story, that I’d probably make anonymously just to avoid feeling guilty about it. Basic premise is a depressed girl caught up in her simple problem(s?) while observing other characters and their more complex, hard to understand problems. The other main character is a boy with a strong sense of certain social issues to the point of fault, and the girl trying to make heads or tails of what’s right and what’s wrong. Maybe I should just make them two separate stories, though, since they don’t really mix well together, I think. If I even manage to make it at all.

Been trying to play Picross or read manga to escape, but as soon as its over, it hits hard. Today I decided to read that Fire Punch manga I hear a lot about, since a friend introduced me to that Chainsaw Man when I did that one group of six requests a while back, now that CSM is ending next week. Pretty good, bit all over the place, can appreciate how silly ridiculous it could be, though admittedly also felt lackluster to me in places like the ending, though I wouldn’t say the ending saga was bad either. Definitely an interesting manga, to say the least. Disliked the movie girl at first but she became pretty entertaining for the most part, then lost interest in them towards the end of their arc. I think I just wanted to see more of some of the characters they introduced in that part and felt a bit let down because tree things.

I think reading manga’s really the only hobby I consistently enjoy, it just requires finding a good one. Decided that I was going to buy myself a physical version of all the manga I’ve read that I enjoyed/don’t own, but then realized almost none of them have been localized, and the ones that have are the lower priority ones.

Also started playing FF9 again finally, just got to the Black Mage village. I’m also definitely not very good at video games. I’d like to want to play one again, but they’re very hard to get into, especially on my own- I usually just go with whatever other people want to play.

In a few days, it’ll be you&me’s 10 year conceptualization anniversary. Still no progress, and still can’t even feel the desire to draw or sprite something for it. A friend ignited a spark in me to work on it again, but it immediately blew out the next day. I think it’s an impossible dream- I’ve learned RPG Maker 2003 inside and out, and if I could make maps, I’d probably be set. But the fandom’s grown away from me, and it feels almost pointless to make at this point. Been way too worn out from hanging around people who criticize those kinds of games, I guess, myself included.

On a random note, laying down is weird for me, I’ve probably mentioned it before. I feel like I’ve been hallucinating a lot- like half dream, half thinking it’s real and blending with reality. Keep thinking my mother’s still alive, that the death thing was a misunderstanding. Or that my uncle wants me to live with him. I can’t even remember if that really happened or not. The house I dreamt wasn’t his, though. And yet, I’m not asleep when these things happen, I’m lying in bed thinking and aware of my surroundings, and of the fantasy at the same time, thinking of them like memories, or concurrently. My brain is weird. Not only that, but how easily I forget to do things- I’ve set up a reminder on my phone just to remind me to message someone every day, because I just can’t remember to after waking up.

I guess I just don’t want to sleep and be trapped in my thoughts again. But it’s 5:30 now, and I should sleep. I’m scared by how trapped I feel. Still need to find a way to see a therapist about it, but I’m not very proactive about that either.

Got my mother’s death certificates finally after three months. Now I need to contact the bank and stuff somehow. It’s intimidating. Apparently her cause of death was “aspiration pneumonitis possibly due to cerebellar atrophy”, believed to be over the course of months. I wonder what that entails, exactly, and if it could have been avoided in the nursing home she was put in. No sense thinking about that, I suppose, I just know my aunt’s interested in a lawsuit if we’re able, so we’ll see how things go.

People are kind, I get kind messages from people who read these. Even those that don’t message are still kind. Hopefully no one feels obligated to read these, but it is appreciated to be cared about. Thanks, everyone.

[thehardkandy]

starting to write was the best decision i ever made not because i dream of it ever being a career choice for me, just because... it’s therapeutic man. there’s a HUGE ramble below the cut

the same way im always writing text posts with no real function other than to put the words of my brain down and make them feel real, that’s what writing is all about for me.

like my brain has always prepared my thoughts narratively, or at least in the form of essays, sorta. very little of what i type or say out loud has not already been formed into coherent thoughts in my head at some point. ordered. made modular so that i can pick and choose the parts of my prepared essays for presentation for the world. and frequently i go back, revise, update the narratives of how i understand what’s happened to me, and what yet happen

the other night i spent approximately 50 minutes walking in a circle not because i was having a meltdown, but because of the opposite--ive been feeling so good! And it felt like the right time to fully re-conceptualize the last few years of my life.

it took 50 minutes! and actually I think i only covered since the beginning of 2019! i think my head my intended audience was some vague dr person to whom i was explaining the context of my mental health, since i almost always have an intended  audience whenever i have an internal dialogue. i anticipate questions, tangents. it very rarely covers everything that could be said, but for the time it covers as much as i can possibly imagine.

and then so writing is the flip side of that. it lets be re-conceptualize myself, but if i pluck myself out of this world and out of my history.

i put my virtues and my flaws into people who otherwise are not me. they are cis. they are non-human. they are train wrecks. they are heroes.

the more different lives i live and understand, the easier it gets for me to live this one.

i remember so vividly reading hunger games for the first time in grade 11. you know, katniss is deeply traumatized and in the centre of something impossible. and i just..... couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just choose to die--why the thought would barely even cross her mind! and i ran into that feeling for a hundred different books ive read

why do these people keep going. it’s not that i think any one of them in particular are examples of inhuman valour. they are just... people. people also written by people where that sort of thinking isn’t an option in their life.

i think that’s why ive always vibed with Lirael so hard man. like!!! holy shit!!! that’s a ya book but within the first few chapters, you see her suicidal. literally stand on the edge of the cliff, thinking about how there’s something wrong with her. it’s not the generic “UwU i’m not like other girls” it felt so deeply relatable to me.

that felt so lived and real, and so somehow me growing up felt like joining her growing up, eventually.

i remember being almost.... upset when i read Goldenhand not because I didn’t like the book, but because it felt like she grew past me. I was still stuck feeling alone at every level on my life, and her she was forming ever deeper relationships with people

it was so hard to deal with for me! i almost resented her. but then i eventually was like.... okay. there’s soemthing locked inside here. something in me... something in me that i still need to work on

that book came out when i was in 3rd year, so it had been 3 years since my last suicide attempt, but that year was also the one i tried dating for the first time since also 3 years prior. and it didnt go well. i felt hollow and at arms length from the person i was dating, despite genuinely liking them a lot and having an incredible time together

i think that all counts as sort of... tickles of the gender. at the end of Abhorsen, Lirael has done great things. Made new friends. but then we sorta fade to place. i didnt have to feel this weird... displacement of seeing her actually settle into having a place in the world, i simply saw her first step into it

and that was where i was at in third year. i was learning to truly love what i was doing at school, but i was still extremely dissociated, didnt feel close with any of my friends, and frankly did not hang out with anyone ever.

it showed me that a bit better. and it was hardly something i remedied then. i just sat there and knew i shoudlnt be mad or upset with her--or the writing, haha.

but now we’ve finally come out the other end. im actually settling into my place in the world. im actually staying in touch with the people i care about. im loving the things i love. im loving who i am

and i think this all got really far from what i was saying about why i like writing................ who’s to say what the point is

i think at the end of the day im just trying to make myself feel seen in the things that i write, in the ways ive felt seen in the books that ive read

and so sometimes im even scrabbling to see the things in myself ive barely even GLIMPSED

i scratch at the periphery of my understanding--like when you know there’s an itch, but if you look in the mirror you can’t point to where it is? you can only feel it. you can only rake your fingers over the area and hope one touches on it

thats what me trying to write sometimes is. raking my fingers over an area, trying to find where it is. trying to find why it is--is it a reaction, an infection? is it growth? is it all in my head?

im in love with writing and i never want to stop it, because ive now written so many words over so many years that i see myself written across page after page after page after page and it feels so good. even with none of these ever seeing the light of day

I remember my first ever book, Silhouettes in the Shadows (bad title, was kinda joke), where i had, of course, a dude who was selfish, suicidal, and yet placed his entire identity on this child he adopts after accidentally getting her parents killed. he would rather die, if he didnt feel responsible for her. i could psychoanalyze the SHIT out of that, from 2013

there’s another woman who shows up in the book. she’s kind of an ass to him, but she grows a little kinder. a little more understanding. a little more willing to meet her halfway. and then he kills her. and then he gets killed himself

it’s, uh, not a good book. just me putting all my fucked up self-hate onto the page.

but then after that... after that i think i write Two Halves Make a Whole, another shitty placeholder, which is set in a world in which magic can only be done in pairs. There’s a Conduit (I think?) and a Savant. The Conduit is the source of power, the Savant is the user of the power.

that book i was like... lets do some #gayrepresentation because im an english student now. its about a girl who goes to this magic school, and falls in love with this other girl. i remember distinctly trying not to think about the point when i cried in 2014 because i wrote this scene where she and this other girl just............ hold hands. nothing more intimate happens.

and so my main character is the Conduit, her love (which again is EXTREMELY guarded) is the Savant.

but.

some big war is brewing, and our mc decides she has to be involved. forces herself into a position where she cannot be denied. so the general is like, “okay, if you bond to my son.” and so she bonds to his son. and they get close, but not close like with the girl.

he’s a sweet little boy! which, naturally, means i kill him. halfway into the book my mc gets the first real taste of fighting, and when the boy is killed... it shatters their bond. unless one willing dissolves a bond--which takes over a week--it shattering leaves a part of the person stuck inside you forever, only allowing a Shallow bond with anyone after that

so she is... reunited with her love. they go on an adventure together but... they can never be as close as they once hoped together. they can spend a life together. but they can never actually be together, by the standards of this world because of the damage done to her by the previous bond

and again, i sure bet you could fuckin’ psychoanalyze that

i guess i wont go through all my books since this has gotten insanely long and im not getting more coherent--but this is why i said i walked for 50 minutes to create a cohesive narrative of my 2019-2020 life.

this is nonsense. and boy howdy, i should’ve just written instead of ramble all this LOL

[mazurah]

do you have any headcanons about alteration magic? i feel like due to game balancing limitations, it wasn't as powerful as it actually could have been in-universe. thoughts?

I’ve been sitting on this ask for more than a week trying to figure out how to answer. Yes I have Alteration magic headcanons, but a lot of them aren’t technically mine. 

First off, you’re absolutely right. Alteration is much more powerful in the lore than it is ingame. The Ayleids, who invented Alteration magic, could shapeshift.

There does, however, appear to be evidence that, just as the Psijics on the Isle of Artaeum developed Mysticism long before there was a name for it, the even more obscure Ayleids of southern Cyrodiil had developed what was to be known as the school of Alteration. It is not, after all, much of a stretch when one considers that other Ayleids at the time of Bravil’s conquering and even later were shapeshifters. The community of pre-Bravil could not turn into beasts and monsters, but they could alter their bodies to hide themselves away. 

⁠— Daughter of the Niben

The closest things we’ve ever seen to that kind of magic (not counting things which aren’t actually school-of-magic spells, such as the Wild Hunt, vampire transformations, and werewolves) are spells like oakflesh, which isn’t exactly what I would call shapeshifting. Shapeshifting implies that you’re actually changing your shape, not just changing the consistency of your skin, so I think it’s more likely that the Ayleids did things like make their limbs look like branches to blend in with forests. 

And then there’s that one NPC in Skyrim, the Face Sculptor, that will straight up let you open the character creation menu and change anything about your appearance except your race or sex. (What, no sex change option? Transphobic!) You can’t tell me there’s not Alteration magic involved in that somehow (although I would certainly listen to a case for Restoration.)

There’s also a spell (actually a greater power) that got cut from Skyrim called Polymorph Skeever which lets you turn yourself into a skeever. It was never implemented in the game, but it exists in the code, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s a valid piece of lore. Polymorph spells do exist! There’s even more of them in ESO.

So do I believe that a master Alterationist could potentially turn somebody into a chicken? It’s quite possible. Are we ever gonna be able to turn NPCs into chickens? Not without the Wabbajack. They gotta balance the game somehow.

To be honest, this is a limitation to magic in general, not just Alteration. If I was really a master healer, what’s to prevent me from healing somebody’s mouth closed? Or casting a spell that causes my enemy to have a heart attack? There’s all kinds of things I would love to be able to do with magic that I can’t because of game limitations, like casting a spell to send me to Oblivion so I can go exploring, or conjuring a Dremora or Winged Twilight to ask them about themselves (both of which exist in the lore.) Or using levitation in Skyrim. *sigh*

Back to Alteration though. If you want to know about Alteration in general, the lore book you should be reading is Reality and Other Falsehoods:

It is easy to confuse Illusion and Alteration. Both schools of magic attempt to create what is not there. The difference is in the rules of nature. Illusion is not bound by them, while Alteration is. This may seem to indicate that Alteration is the weaker of the two, but this is not true. Alteration creates a reality that is recognized by everyone. Illusion’s reality is only in the mind of the caster and the target.

To master Alteration, first accept that reality is a falsehood. There is no such thing. Our reality is a perception of greater forces impressed upon us for their amusement. Some say that these forces are the gods, other that they are something beyond the gods. For the wizard, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the appeal couched in a manner that cannot be denied. It must be insistent without being insulting.

To cast Alteration spells is to convince a greater power that it will be easier to change reality as requested than to leave it alone. Do not assume that these forces are sentient. Our best guess is that they are like wind and water. Persistent but not thoughtful. Just like directing the wind or water, diversions are easier than outright resistance. Express the spell as a subtle change and it is more likely to be successful.

⁠— Reality and Other Falsehoods

This is a great start, but it doesn’t help us understand what it would be like to use Alteration on a daily basis, and that’s where headcanon comes in. I headcanon that people have different ways of conceptualizing spells, and this can result in different teaching styles. Sometimes the differences are cultural. But ultimately, it comes down to how good you are at envisioning the changes you want, how much you believe the changes can/should/will happen, and how good you are at willing those changes into existence. How to Disappear Completely by @chameleonspell contains an excellent illustration of what it’s like to try to learn Alteration and navigate the cultural differences between teaching styles as a novice: 

Iriel had studied Alteration. Had, at one point, thought he might specialise in it. It had sounded so impressive, when he first attended lectures at the Crystal Tower: change the world! Bend the physical realm to your will - sorry - your Will! Then he had attended classes, and spent months learning about counter-aetheric force (the academic term for what ordinary people, who didn’t understand these things, called gravity) and formulas to calculate water pressure and wind resistance. Altmeri magical tradition demanded that students first master the theory. You had to learn the rules before you could break them. He might be allowed to actually alter things in a few years, if he studied hard and passed the exams.

Things were different when he transferred to Cyrodiil. There, the Professor of Alteration was a steely-eyed Imperial known to students as The Cliff, due to her threats to throw students off one, if their problems with levitation persisted. Necessity focused the mind, she said. Alteration was all about willpower and belief. She didn’t hold with teaching the physics of it. You are a mage, she would roar. You make your own physics! Your mind will do battle with the Aurbis, and if you are worthy, the Aurbis will bow before you!

She was rumoured to be working on a transmutation spell that would change lesser substances into gold. They said she spent her nights concentrating on a rock on her desk, glaring the resistance out of it, molecule by molecule. When she looked at him, Iriel could believe it. But, struggling to levitate a feather on his own desk, he hadn’t felt that engaging the universe in mental combat was ever going to be his forte. It was so much bigger, and more experienced than he was, so much more self-assured. There were thousands of years of inertia behind its processes, grinding like endless Dwemer machinery. His will, even capitalised, was too weak a spanner to jam into those works. A minor blip in the rhythm, at most, and it’d be crushed as the gears churned on.

He’d found himself returning to the equations he’d been forced to memorise at the Tower. He’d discovered, to his chagrin, that the Sapiarchs had been on to something, at least to his Altmeri-educated mind. If you wanted to change something, it helped to understand the thing you were trying to change. Staring at the feather, he had realised he didn’t need to do battle with the entire Aurbis, he only needed to fight the air immediately around the object he wanted to move, convince it that local relative masses were very slightly different. The Cliff had been right about one thing: it was about belief. And Iriel found it considerably easier to believe things if he could construct a veneer of logical process, however flimsy.

He’d balanced the feather on his finger. It barely weighed anything. Using the standard formula, it couldn’t be constrained by more than a quell of counter-aetheric force. He had repeated the incantation, but instead of trying to command physics as a whole, he’d merely suggested a minor adjustment to the relative densities of feathers and air, just within these few square inches.

The feather had shot upwards and lodged an inch into the plaster of the ceiling. He’d blinked, brushed the dust from his hair, and began recalculating the ratio. An hour later, he’d floated up to retrieve it himself.

⁠— How to Disappear Completely, Chapter 93: force by @chameleonspell ​

(That entire work is amazing and contains so many headcanons and extrapolations of lore I couldn’t possibly begin to summarize them if I tried. You should read it.)

The thing about Alteration, and to a lesser extent, all magic in general, is that to perform it, you must wrestle with the very nature of the universe. Alteration, at its essence, contains what could potentially be understood as the fundamental principle of magic: to perform it, you must impose your Will on the world around you. When you perform it, you change the world. 

This is not without consequences. I headcanon that the greater skill a mage has with Alteration, the more trouble they have with distinguishing what is real and what is not, and with maintaining control over the reality of their personal environment. This is a headcanon I garnered from reading the works of @troloputo2012, and to some extent, @chameleonspell.

The advanced alterationist starts with sensory issues, since they start being able to listen and see the mechanisms of this world (also the plane where spirits and magic roam, that occupies the same place as this Mundus, and being this over saturated with information can be overwhelming), and slowly, they start having trouble attaching to reality and they can’t go back to their normal life as before; many have grounding sensory “mechanisms” to wake up, but many don’t because sometimes nothing works … .

Many experts get tired of constantly wrestling with existing or fail because their will is not strong enough, just give up and vanish, or they get consumed into their own reality and are unable to follow the currents of the world and time … .

To be able to live correctly and master alteration, one must have considerable willpower, or it’ll consume you. You learned to use alteration to weaken reality for you, now you must use it to also reinforce reality (for you start to unconsciously exist in weakened reality you created for yourself) to live.

— Alteration is not as harmless as it seems. by @troloputo2012

So a master of Alteration who fails to have enough Willpower to maintain their own existence might even disappear completely (a concept very similar to the tenuously canonical concept of Zero Sum, wherein a person truly perceives the nature of the universe, sees that they are a figment of the Divine Dream, confronts the concept head on, and fails to assert that they still exist, thus ceasing to exist.) Sure, a master of Alteration can change reality to an amazing degree, but there is a danger; there is a price.

Finally, I have a headcanon (which I’m pretty sure isn’t actually my idea, but I’m not sure where I picked it up) that schools of magic are more like philosophical models for creating spells rather than rigid expressions of natural law. Ultimately, almost any spell could potentially be created using almost any school of magic, but depending on what the spell does, it may not be a very good spell. It might use too much magicka, or it might be insanely hard to cast, or it might take a really long time to conceptualize the spell in that school of magic so nobody bothered trying to make the spell in the first place.

This is an easier idea to apply to Alteration than it is to some other schools like Conjuration (like, what am I gonna do, conjure healthy body parts for a dying person?) but it can go a long way to explaining why some spells change schools between games. For example, there are a few Alteration spells (mostly resistance spells) that get moved to the Restoration school of magic between Morrowind and Oblivion. If you’re looking for an in-universe explanation for this, perhaps spell researchers developed more efficient spells using the philosophy of Restoration, and the magical community had come to accept them as the norm by the time Oblivion began.

So yeah, there’s a lot of overlap between schools. In fact, there are documented arguments between mages about the similarities and differences between schools:

The School of Alteration is a distinct and separate entity from the School of Destruction, and Bero’s argument that they should be merged into one is patently ludicrous. He insists — again, a man who knows nothing about the Schools of Alteration and Destruction, is the one insisting this — that “damage” is part of the changing of reality dealt with by the spells of Alteration. The implication is that Levitation, to list a spell of Alteration, is a close cousin of Shock Bolt, a spell of Destruction. It would make as much sense to say that the School of Alteration, being all about the actuality of change, should absorb the School of Illusion, being all about the appearance of change.

⁠— Response to Bero’s Speech

While I believe that Alteration is an insanely powerful school of magic in the right hands, it’s probably still easier to heal someone using the principles of Restoration than it is to do it using the principles of Alteration.

Feel free to add your own headcanons, I love having discussions like this!

[ittybittywordsmith]

loving you is so much harder than it seems

The home of Aleksey, Magdalina, and Maksim Ovechkin, on a cold day in October, 2007

The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily, the echo of such a small sound somehow feeling as cacophonous as crashing cymbals in the silence. The house was quiet. Of course, the house had always been quiet – even after Max had been born, the house had been meant for more than a family of three – but this was a different kind of quiet. It was stifling, and lonely, and heavy with anticipation. Alina thought perhaps she might suffocate in this silence, and maybe that would be all the better – it would save her from having to make her decisions, and from what would inevitably come next.

Alina sat, in this dreadfully silent house, on the couch, her knees tucked to her chest like she was curling into herself. She was alone here. She had sent Max to her sister’s hours ago, knowing that he would be endlessly entertained by his cousin’s antics. She almost regretted it – a part of her yearned for her baby, to hold him against her and brush his hair with her fingers and watch him fall asleep in her lap in picture perfect innocence – but no. No, it was better this way. She wanted him to be happy, and if he were here, he would be able to sense her disquiet, her inner turmoil, and even if he didn't understand, he would grow upset over it. And right now, Alina wouldn't have been able to calm him. She could barely even calm herself.

It was better that she be alone right now. Alone to process the events over the last few days. Alone to consider the decision that would affect their future.

Alina rested her chin on the tops of her knees, staring, as she had been for hours, at the papers lying inconspicuously on the coffee table. She made no move to pick them up and read them – she had asked her lawyer to draw them up, after all, and she knew what they said. But even though it was just paper, it felt magnanimous, with a presence so strong, it practically could have been another person in this lonely house. Alina almost wished it was. She would have appreciated someone else to push the blame onto. But it wasn't, and the only people Alina could find to blame for this mess were Aleksey, with his secrets and his schemes and his lies, and herself, for being so willfully naïve for so long.

Aleksey. It still left her breathless and dizzy, what the lawyers had told her. The number of charges against him were staggering, and even if they didn't have enough evidence to make the more serious accusations stick, he was still facing a decade of jail time, or more. A decade. Alina hadn't quite realized until that moment how much could happen in a decade. What would her son’s life be like? Max would start school by then. He would be talking, and he might have friends to play with. Their family might have grown, and he could have had siblings. And now . . . Alina struggled to conceptualize what it might be like, going ten years without her husband even being able to hold their son.

Well, her ex-husband, if the papers in front of her had anything to say about it.

They had offered to let her see him, to give them some time together before matters proceeded any further. Alina had declined. She had no idea what she would say, and even if she did – she couldn’t imagine it would be anything pleasant. There was a hard, tight knot of anger in her stomach that had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and if she came face to face with her husband right now, the chances were good that her bitterness would fly off her tongue to form furious accusations in tones not suitable for an audience. She told herself that seeing him right now could only hurt his future case – and it only made her all the angrier that they had somehow gotten to a point where she needed to consider that at all.

Alina’s anger wasn't new. It wasn't even unusual. Alina and Aleksey fought like they loved – often, and passionate, and borderline violent. Of course, Aleksey had never laid a hand on her when they fought, and never Alina on him – but glass and dishware had been known to explode with the crackling intensity of her magical energy whenever he made her particularly angry, and doors had been known to slam to the point of near breaking under his hand, and Alina had once thrown her wedding ring at his head hard enough for the sharp diamond to cut a thin line of blood across his cheek.

She had felt bad about that one. That specific instance, as with all the others, had been resolved later with quiet apologies and admissions to wrongdoing, a gathering of one another into each other’s arms, and murmured assurances of love that would last throughout the night and well into morning. It was easy, for their anger and resentment to slip over the thin dividing line to transform into love and comfort. The most natural thing in the world, it often felt like.

But not this time. Not anymore. Aleksey couldn't whisk away her anger in a breeze of lingering kisses and soft words. It was too big, too monumental, and her sense of betrayal cut too deeply. He could try to fix it, to promise the things he knew she wanted – change, and honesty, and simplicity – and it wouldn't matter. Because he had promised all those things already, and Alina had believed him then, only to be proved that he was incapable of following through on his word. And now it was too late. Aleksey, damn him, had landed himself in prison, and the marriage, the family, the life they had worked so hard to build – it was all broken.

For a long time, Alina had turned a blind eye to the things that Aleksey and his family did in the shadows. She had known, of course, Aleksey had told her – but it was . . . easier to pretend she didn't.

She had pretended not to know what the source of their seemingly unending wealth was, pretended not to see the way Aleksey and his goons would slip inconspicuously out of a room at the slightest nod, pretended to believe her husband’s job really took place in his office, with a desk and paperwork and conference calls. She didn't ask questions when Aleksey came home covered in the sort of grime that wouldn't have been found in any kind of office she knew about – she didn't even ask questions when he came home with his lip split wide open, bloody, like he'd been on the wrong end of an uppercut. She only admonished him for being careless, used a simple healing charm to knit the flesh cleanly back together, and kissed the small scar it left behind, telling herself all the while that it was better that she not know where that mark had come from.

Stupid, Alina thought now.

She should have owned up to her knowledge then, been more insistent on change, and perhaps they wouldn't be in this situation now. But she hadn't. Alina suspected Aleksey thought she kept quiet because of the kind of life it provided her – and that was true enough, to an extent. She loved the gallery she ran, purchased by her husband as an anniversary present, and she loved the gifts that he would bring her every few days – jeweled necklaces that he hung from her neck with a kiss pressed to her skin, or orchid bouquets he'd present her as soon he walked through the door, or soft, sensuous clothing he’d lay out on the bed for her in an unspoken hope that she would wear it for him – the evidence of his affection took her breath away, but they weren't the things that mattered, in the end.

Alina had kept quiet for much simpler reasons. She loved Aleksey, and when it came to choosing between him and anything else – even her own conscience, her own morality – Aleksey always won out.

Until he didn't.

It was Max. Having Max – it changed everything. It changed her, and for a while, she thought it had changed Aleksey too. Suddenly she found she was hyper aware of everything, and ignorance was no longer an option. How could it be, with the dangers that seeped from the shadowy underbelly of the world that her husband spent so much time in. Aleksey would have enemies – enemies who might, in order to get to him, decide to come after his son. And that thought alone was enough to make Alina stand her ground.

The fight that had resulted – it was like a hurricane, worse than any fight they had ever had before. They yelled and they cursed and they broke furniture with magic and kicks. And then, just like that, it was over.  Aleksey relented, and swore to change, to be different, to be better, for Max’s sake if not for their own – all because Alina had done something in this fight she had never done before. She had threatened to leave.

And it wasn't until later, as she was laying in their tangled, chaotic mess of sheets that always came as the aftermath of one of their fights, watching the rise and fall of Aleksey’s chest as he slept, that Alina knew with a steely, pained certainty in her gut – that she would have gone through with it, if she'd had to.

And now here she was. Staring at divorce papers in front of her and remembering Aleksey’s promises with bile in her throat. She had made herself believe him, when he made those promises. Had made herself believe that, if he wouldn't do it for himself, then he would at least do it for her, and for their son. Of all the things that her husband was, she had never thought him a liar – at least, not to her. But clearly that had been a naïve thought – Aleksey hadn't kept his word, maybe he hadn't even tried – and, if she was being honest with herself, maybe she'd never quite expected that he would. Because when the muggle investigators had practically stormed through her gallery without warning, seizing everything and declaring the entire building a crime scene to be used as evidence against her husband in a court of law, Alina couldn't even say she'd been all that surprised.

But that still left the decision to be made, and honestly, who was she kidding, trying to convince herself that there was any other decision she might come to? She meant it when she had told him she would leave, then and now, and Aleksey had made his choice regardless. Still, that didn't make it easy. A pen lay waiting beside the paper, taunting her – she felt like she was staring down at the last thirteen years of her life condensed to a few meaningless pages, and her dreams for the future were left to evaporate into the air, unwritten. She would just have to write new dreams for the future somewhere else, she supposed, her thoughts feeling distant and unattached – but one way or another, Aleksey wouldn't be in them. He had made sure of that, in more ways than one.

It was with a surge of bitterness that Alina finally sat up and snatched the pen, flipping through the pages quickly to sign and initial wherever was required of her. She signed with her maiden name, Kovak, instead of Ovechkin, and it had been so long since she had written the word that it felt clumsy and unnatural in her signature. Just for now, Alina thought determinedly. She would get used to it soon enough. When she was done, she straightened the pile of paper and stuffed it into the accompanying manila envelope. After a moment, she pulled off her wedding ring as well, and slipped that into the envelope too. It was no longer hers to keep, and besides, the paperwork would have to make its way to Aleksey at some point, and he would understand – the finality of it. That she was done.

She left the manila envelope on the table. She had made arrangements with the lawyer to come to her final decision by tomorrow - he would see the envelope as soon as he came through the door and understand. But as for Alina, well, she didn't plan on being here. Divorce or no, there had been no question of whether she would stay here without Aleksey. She had no desire to try to live her life while having to look over her shoulder for one of his family’s goons every day. No, Alina had other places she could go. Russia had never been her only home. And once she got things stable enough, she could send for Max. Alina had already briefed Yuliya on what the plan would be, if it came to this, and she knew her sister would take good care of Max for the weeks it might take Alina to prepare a new life for the two of them.

It was vaguely alarming, even to herself, that she had already had the framework of a plan in her mind by the time she understood what was happening. Maybe a part of her had always suspected this day might come.

With a deep breath, Alina stood up and waved a wand over a nearby suitcase she had already packed. She didn't want it to look like she was fleeing, in case any overly interested eyes were following her path – but luckily, as powerful as they might be, the Ovechkins were only a muggle family, with no real idea what she was capable of. Alina slipped the shrunken suitcase into her pocket, and strode away from the table with its terrible manila envelope. It was only when she reached the door that she hesitated, and she looked around, fully expecting that this would be the last time she would see the home she had once been planning on raising her son in.

She would miss this place, despite everything.

With a pang of heartache, Alina reached for the door and stepped out into the cold day, leaving the home to its lonely silence.

[adversaryproject-blog]

Flightless Birds - Chapter One

Summary: There was a man in the Trench today. His presence has stirred up confusion in the whole camp, including inside Clancy and his partner, Porter. Will they be able to discover the true nature behind the purpose of Dema and the Trench? Do they want to? East is up.

Warnings: This story will contain content of a serious nature. Including the following: deep personal fears, torture, and heavy emotions.

Want More? Try here: @yviegordon @marieporter @lillylincoln

Author’s Note: I had begun conceptualizing and writing this story before the most recent Clancy letter surfaced on dmaorg.info on 7/18, so please bear that in mind when reading this. I’m neck deep into this story and don’t have the emotional energy needed to alter it.

Word Count: 2,807

Enjoy!

Chapter One - I Am Cold

He stood on the edge of the cliff looking down at the body lying in the river. The rocky ledge hung out over the deep rift cut into the land like a long healed battle wound. The rich green of the forest stood in stark contrast to the crimson-robed bishop who turned his head and attention towards him. Even with his face covered, he felt a fathomless fear grip him tight. The same fear he had felt when he first arrived in the Trench and he would look to Dema in the distance. He knew the bishop couldn’t see his face and wouldn’t know who he was, but that deeply ingrained fear never really leaves.

He knew the man wouldn’t make it. As soon as the bishop was within sight and the man didn’t move, he was doomed. It takes drive to get away from Dema. You have to want to leave with every last bit of who you are. Even as they threw the petals over the side of the Trench offing a distraction as a last resort to save the man from the bishop’s grasp he had hesitated. It wasn’t until the end that the man had really fought, but it was too late.

So why? Why couldn’t he look away from him? What was it about him?

“Clancy,” her voice was barely above a whisper, “Clancy, we need to go.”

What was it about the man in the Trench that had called to Clancy? Everyone else had left. Why couldn’t he?

“Clancy, please.” She was being a good partner. She wouldn’t leave him behind and head to safety without him. But the waver in her voice gave away her fear.

“Sorry,” he muttered turning away from the ravine, “you’re right, we need to go.”

Her face was obscured by her hood, but the bright yellow tape on her shoulders and down her arms marked her identity for him. He followed her back into the tree line, out of sight of the edge of the Trench and away from the threat the lone bishop posed.

“I don’t understand,” she slowed her pace so he could catch up, “why didn’t he run? It seems like so many of them get caught because they don’t run.”

“I think,” he sighed and pulled his mask down around his neck. “Sometimes they don’t want to enough. Some people the bishops have such a hold on that they stop running. It’s all in their heads and they can’t escape their own minds, but sometimes to stay alive you’ve gotta kill your mind.”

“Makes sense,” she nodded. “I suppose we got lucky coming from Keons’ district.”

“It definitely made it easier,” he offered a small smile. “That and the fact that we left as a group.”

They continued onward, the trees grow denser as they traveled deeper into the forest. The only sound was their footfalls and the dead foliage crunching beneath their feet. The trees were so compact here that any light that managed to filtered down through the leaves became a soft green. He loved the green. It was everything Dema wasn’t. Alive, full of energy and movement. The only splattering of color in the tomb-like city was the crimson of the bishops and the punishments they served to deserving citizens.

His mind wandered back to the heavy cloaked bishop and the man he was standing over. Like many of the people from the Nico district, the man had failed to escape. Clancy had been out for almost a year and he had only met one person who had made it out of Nico’s control, Gordon. Something, besides the huge gash on her head, had been different about her escape, but she refused to talk about it. Her silence on her flight from her district wasn’t abnormal, many of their new group refused to talk about life before making it out, opting instead for codenames and a fresh start at being alive. Even his partner, Porter, had been reluctant to share her past with him despite their growing friendship. He found himself doing the same with those around him. It was an unspoken idea.

The less you know, the less you can give away if you are caught.

It seemed as though even out here, the Bishops held sway over their lives.

It wasn’t long before the smell of the fire burning in the center of their camp filled their senses. The burning metal frame from some unknown thing had become the focal point around which their tents had been built. It provided warmth during the cold evenings, a place to cook their food, and a beacon to those who got lost in the forest. There had been talk of leaving it as it could potentially call unwanted attention to the area, but ultimately they settled on staying as long as they could.

Porter’s pace slowed as she came to the edge of camp. She pulled her hood back, letting her shoulder-length auburn hair see the sunlight. Clancy adored her hair and often found himself staring at it when she wasn’t looking. It reflected the warmth of the forest around them and caused the feelings of home he had developed to flare in his chest. He loved it best at sunset.

“Based on everyone’s glum looks that whoever was in the Trench was smeared,” Sheridan’s voice jerked Clancy away from staring at his partner’s back.

“Yeah, uh,” he closed his eyes and shook his head, “Nico got him.”

“Ah,” Sheridan nodded in realization.

Sheridan, along with his partner Birch, had been liberated from Dema the longest out of their group. For three years the two of them lived in the forest near the Trench before anyone else joined them. After the group gained a few more members they moved away from the edge of the Trench, towards the ever burning metal frame. The pair was from the Lisden district, the district of mask-wearing - of hiding one’s true self, so it was only natural that they set the precedent for hiding your past once you left Dema. They had proven themselves capable leaders and did their best to care for newcomers. However, they seemed complacent in their place in the forest, uninterested in progression. This bothered Clancy.

Sheridan broke away from the pair, no doubt seeking out Birch to share the news.

Clancy turned back to where Porter had been to see her standing further away with two other women, Lincoln and Gordon. The partnered girls had been assigned to the tent next to Clancy and Porter, leading to a strong connection between the four.

“Clancy,” Porter’s brown eyes turned to meet his, “we’re all off duty tomorrow and Gordon suggested that we should go swimming.”

“Yeah,” his spirits lifted. It would be good to have a day to relax. “That sounds good.”

“I’m going to go help with cleaning dishes before the evening meal,” Porter smiled, “let me know if you decide to leave camp.” She made a fist and pressed it into his shoulder. “Stay alive.”

He nodded before she turned and walked away.

“What does she think you are going to do?” Gordon chuckled lightly, her hazel eyes flashing with the same amusement as her smile. “She’s always telling you that.”

“Oh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “it’s from when we first got here.”

“Now you have to tell us,” Lincoln smiled and threw her hands up.

Clancy sighed. “About a week after we arrived I went for a walk outside of camp on my own,” he pointed just beyond their tent, “everything was just so overwhelming and I wanted to clear my thoughts.”

“Yeah?” Gordon laughed, “don’t tell me… you’re the reason we can’t leave camp alone.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “that was a rule already, but I ignored it and headed into the forest on my own.”

“Something must have happened,” Lincoln put her hands on her hips, “there’s no way she would say something like that to you if nothing happened.”

“I twisted my ankle,” he laughed, “it took her almost two hours to find me.”

“Clancy!” Gordon’s mouth hung open, “a twisted ankle out in the forest alone is all it would take, man!”

“I know, I know,” he held his hands up, “she reminds me all the time not to leave alone.”

“Remind me how long you two have been partners,” Lincoln rubbed her nose, “I forget.”

“A year,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, “we were assigned to each other when we arrived.”

“I was in their tent with them until you got here and we were given our own,” Gordon smiled. “It was nice, but it was crowded with three people.”

“I imagine so,” Lincoln’s eyes were wide, “and you’ve been out… seven months total, right?”

“Yup, so I’ve been with you almost as long as I was with them,” she hugged her partner.

“And you’ve managed to keep your sanity somehow,” Lincoln laughed.

Clancy smiled. They were different from anyone he had ever met. He was surprised by how heavily a given district could impact a person’s personality. Like Porter, he had come from the Keon district and as such, they were both somewhat reserved and religious when it came to their duties and commitments. Lincoln had come from the Andre district and was quick to withdraw like the others from there. Gordon was the outlier. As the only person in the group from the Nico district, there were no others to compare her personality to. She was happy and bubbly most of the time, but quick to turn, it didn’t take much for her to shut down and push people away. But still, he enjoyed them. They were becoming part of his family, and he wouldn’t have them any other way.

“I’m going to go try to rest for a bit,” he motioned towards their tent, “if Porter asks, that’s where I’ll be.”

“Yeah man, rest up,” Lincoln waved as he walked away.

Clancy pushed back the canvas panel that acted as the door to their tented living space. There were two small bunks, one pushed to the left and one to the right, the gap between them no more than three feet wide. They were each provided with a crude shelving unit that sat against the foot of their respective bunks and they shared the trunk that rested between the heads.

Porter’s shelves were filled with odds and ends. Things she had collected from the Trench and the surrounding forest over the year they had been here. A rock shaped like a bird, a leaf that had stayed a beautiful burgundy color, and the dried remains of a flower he had given her to commemorate the year they had been free from Dema. The bottom shelf held her spare boots and jacket.

His shelves sat mostly bare save his extra jacket and a drawing Porter had done of him while sitting near the center fire. They were indicative of his time here. Porter tried to connect with people, to create a home for them while he had spent his time writing in his journal and trying to ignore the nagging feeling that something was missing.

His bunk creaked as he sat down on the side, the wooden frame giving slightly under his weight. He reached under the thin mattress and pulled out his beat-up journal and pencil. He turned to a blank page and began to writhe.

Today there was a man in the Trench…

He had tried to sleep. He really had, but thoughts of the man’s body lying in the stream at the bottom of the Trench wouldn’t let him. So he stared at the canvas roof and kept asking himself the same question, ‘who was the man in the Trench?’

The sudden opening of the tent’s flap startled him from his thoughts.

“It’s time for the evening gathering,” Porter pulled on the toe of his boot. “I’ll hold a spot for ya.”

The sun had finished dipping below the horizon, leaving the forest wrapped in a blanket of darkness. But still, the center fire burned. Its flames stretched high into the sky throwing sparks towards the stars.

“Today many of you witnessed the smearing of a fellow Bandito,” Sheridan’s voice was raised so all those sitting around the fire could hear him. “While we did not know him, or his name, we mourn his penance and the loss at his return to Dema.”

Clancy found his seat next to Porter who handed him a plate with the dinner he had missed.

“We offer up a moment of exaltation for him and his failed escape,” Sheridan pressed his lips together and began to hum softly. The single, extended note was joined by the hums of everyone else around the fire. Clancy joined. He reveled in the feeling of the vibrations that seemed to fill his being. Whenever the group offered a moment of exaltation for a lost member it seemed to fill the circle they sat in with the same life that the forest hummed with. It was an offering of life in the honor of one who had lost theirs.

The hum ended and after a short pause, Sheridan began again.

“We would like to take this moment to remind you all to stay with your partners when leaving the camp,” he was walking around the fire, trying to make eye contact with everyone he could. “With the runners getting further into the Trench, the Bishops are coming out further and further from Dema, and we don’t want anything to happen to any of you. Stay safe, stay alive.”

“Stay safe,” the group echoed the mantra, “stay alive.”

“Sleep well everyone,” Sheridan returned to sitting next to Birch.

Clancy finished his dinner and returned the plate to the mess area. Porter was already laying in her bunk when he got back to their tent. Her pants were folded neatly on top of her shelves and her boots tucked under her bed.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” he sat on the edge of his bunk and pulled off his shoes, “everything okay?”

“I can still hear him calling to us,” she mumbled, “he used words that only members of our group should know.”

Jumpsuit! Jumpsuit! Cover me!

The memory of the words sent a shiver down Clancy’s spine. There had been something deeply unnerving about the events in the Trench.

“He called to us and all we did was stand there and watch,” she rolled onto her side so she was facing his bunk. “Now he’s back in the Nico district, alone.”

Clancy dropped his pants unceremoniously on the floor by his boots. “I didn’t realize today bothered you so much.”

“It’s not that today bothered me,” her voice hitched in her throat.

“Then what is it?” he laid down under his covers, facing her. He could barely make out her features in the dark, the space between them beginning to feel like a cavern. “You can tell me anything, Porter. You know that.”

“I hate the idea of being alone,” she finally breathed, “when we lived in Keons I had a roommate. When I left Dema, I did so in the group. Since we have been assigned as partners…”

“We’ve never really been apart,” he realized. Aside from the one time he had ventured into the forest alone, she had always been around. Only in camp did she allow herself to stray from his side, and even then she was always with someone else.

“I fear isolation,” he could hear her struggling to hide her anxiety, “what if that had been you in the Trench?” Her voice was beginning to rise in pitch as she struggled to fight back the emotions that had been building all day. “What if you were gone and I was alone?”

“Hey, hey,” he stretched out an arm from under his covers, “take my hand.”

She sniffed and slowly began to reach towards him. As soon as her fingertips brushed his he grabbed her hand, holding in firmly wrapped in his.

“You’re not alone,” he gave her hand a squeeze, “you will never be alone. I am right here, and I will always be right here.”

“But-” she began.

He squeezed her hand again, “no buts, I will always be here. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded from under the pulled up covers.

“Now go to sleep,” she tried to withdraw her hand from his but he wouldn’t let her. “I’m keeping this for awhile, so you know I’m serious.”

She gave his hand a squeeze in return. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, it’s what I’m here for,” he ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Good night, Clancy,” she smiled softly.

“Night, Porter,” he returned her smile.

More to come! Stay street, stay alive!