#the tragedy of rose/pink thinking so little of herself and it leading to.. everything. will probably always make me foam at the mouth

[angstandhappiness]

DUDE

as far as i'm concerned, the SU q&a didnt tell me anything surprising. i already thought (and i think it was even in an interview) that pink presumed she wasn't that important to spinel - because that was her general presumption about people. that mindset informed a lot of her worst decisions. so spinel would be no exception. a lot of pink's carelessness is rooted in thinking she didn't have that much of an effect on people, at least not in a way that made them care about her.

[soyforramen]

Daffodils and Hyacinths

Or that Beronica Flower Shop/Tattoo Shop AU no one asked for.  (Cross posted on Ao3)

The second to last thing Veronica expected when she moved to the sleepy town of Riverdale was for the shop owner across the street to show up with homemade cookies.  It was such a quaint and nostalgic image that she had to suppress a laugh least she offend the women.  Instead she thanked her and wrote the whole incident off.  Even if they were neighbors of a sort that didn’t mean they’d ever mean anything to each other.  In New York Veronica hadn’t been able to name a single one of her neighbors.  Why should this town be any different?

-

It only took a few glasses of wine after the local town meeting, and Veronica found herself leading Betty through the flower shop.  Her neighbor’s quirky arrival last week with a basket of cookies, initially seen as a power play to prove to the town how kind and benevolent Betty was, had turned into a tense sort of friendship.  Veronica was cool every time Betty had made a point of waving good afternoon.  And the few times they’d run into each other at the only grocer in town, Betty had made a genuine effort in asking how Veronica was adjusting to life in the small town.

Veronica, a consummate city girl, did her best to rebuff Betty’s attempts at friendship - an indifference borne largely to bearing the Lodge name for so long - but it didn’t take much for her resolve to break down.  Betty, it turned out, was one of the rarest people in the world - someone who didn’t try to act like someone they weren’t.

And thus an odd friendship was struck up, one that was set in stone tonight as they both stood against the ridiculous zoning ordinances balefully aimed at the lower income neighborhoods in this ticky-tacky town.

Both bemoaned the tragedy of white gentrification afterwards between shots of tequila and three bottles of wine.  Unwilling for the night to end, Veronica asked Betty to join her at the flower shop.  A simple, innocent question that nonetheless brought a pretty rose blush to her cheeks that climbed downward through the night.  

They raced through the shadows of the shop, hands clasped together like narcissus and chinodoxa blooms in spring.  Giggling at the strange shapes the grow lights cast along the walls, Veronica lead her to the office door.

“I keep a bottle of rum in my desk,” she said breathlessly.  As she stepped through the door, her fingers automatically reached towards the leaves of her own personal plants.  “My grandmother’s secret recipe.”

“So much color,” Betty murmured.  She slipped off her jacket and set it on a chair as the hothouse humidity took its toll.  “I never realized orchids came in so many different colors.”

“One for each of my exes,” Veronica said as she pulled out the bottle of rum.  She gazed lovingly at each and set two shot glasses on the desk.  “They love the grow lamps.”

She held out a shot glass and felt a tremor when Betty’s fingers grazed hers.  Veronica watched as Betty threw back the shot, the muscles in her long throat working against the sharp flavor.  

“What is that?”

“Cardamom,” Veronica said as she sat on the corner of her desk.  She sipped at her own rum and let the flavor roll around her tongue.  

“Why flowers?” Betty asked as she reached for the rum bottle.

The question made Veronica pause.  It was a question she’d never been asked; a question she’d never thought to ask herself.  After all, flowers were one of the few ways her mother showed genuine affection.  Perhaps it was even how she showed love.  Almost before she could walk, Veronica knew that flowers meant different things.  Lilies for purity; blood red poppies for refusal.  Lavender for admiration; buttercups for childish ingratitude.  Veronica had been around flowers and plants her entire life, reading their meanings was as easy as breathing.  The thought that she could ever live without them was anathema.

The language of flowers was the one gift from her mother that really had any meaning in the long run.  It was a practice that Veronica had lost herself in many times, one that no one seemed to understand.  

But to tell Betty all of that, to open up to that kind of vulnerability?  As much as she might like her, as much as she might trust her, Veronica was not ready for that sort of confession.

“Why tattoo’s?” came her response.

Betty chewed on her lip and stared with unfocused eyes at the long-out-of-season Bird of Paradise - Veronica’s daily reminder that she was in this tiny town because she valued her freedom above all else.   At first, Veronica wondered if she’d committed a faux pas; perhaps she wasn’t the only one who had trust issues.  But after a while, she came to realize that Betty was also weighing how honest, how vulnerable she wanted to be.

“I like the pain,” Betty finally admitted.

She gazed at Veronica, already defensive against any sort of judgment or condemnation.  When Betty didn’t find it, she continued, her voice relieved.

“I was always the good kid.  My sister was wild, and when she ran away the whole family fell apart.  Dad moved away, Mom joined a cult.  My brother went to live halfway across the country.  In less than a year I lost my whole family, and I was just so angry.  Both my parents hated tattoos; they said they were trashy and vulgar.  So…”

Betty tugged at the neck of her sweater, and Veronica eyed the soft skin.  In soft, looping script along Betty’s collarbone read, “my life is my own.”

“My senior year of high school I lived with the one person who meant the world to me.  But he’d gotten into Yale and I hadn’t, so we got matching tattoo’s.”   Her fingers caressed the space over her heart, and Veronica longed to know what lay under all those layers.  It was one more puzzle piece to the enigma that was Betty Cooper.  But just as Veronica had her secrets to keep, so, too, did Betty.

“After that, it just became an addiction.  The steady pain of the needle, the infusion of ink.”  Betty rolled up her sleeve and set her arm on Veronica’s lap.  Veronica traced the delicate lines along the snow globe that depicted the sleepy town.  From the town square to Pop’s Diner, it seemed the only thing missing was Betty’s own tattoo parlor.

“My grandfather helped build Riverdale, and when he passed my mother gave away everything to the cult.  So I got this instead of his snow globe collection,” Betty said, sadness etched in her eyes.  She laughed despite it.  “You can only imagine how my mother took it when I showed up to his funeral in a sleeveless dress.”

Veronica’s lips quirked into a smile, her fingers dancing across Betty’s skin.  Carefully, Veronica raised Betty’s tattooed arm to her lips and pressed her lips against the skin of her wrist.  The faint aroma of rosewater greeted her.  When she glanced up, Betty drew a sharp breath, but that rose pink flush at the base of her neck was back.  Encouraged, Veronica leaned forward to press a kiss along Betty’s collarbone, then another at the base of her neck.  

Betty pulled away, only to meet Veronica’s lips with her own.

-

Riding a wave of romanticism - one that had started with a hothouse tryst a few weeks ago and seemingly had no end in sight - Veronica picked up dinner from the only decent restaurant in town.  She knew Betty’s schedule was tight, but fifteen minutes together was enough to make her day.  Besides, Veronica had become accustomed to idling in the tattoo shop while Betty worked, the soothing pastels and new art calm enough to make Veronica forget about the barrage of legal notices in her mail box.  And if that wasn’t enough, Betty always kept a  stash of rotating pulp mysteries beneath the register.

But when she walked into the shop, Veronica’s stomach dropped.  A pink-haired woman sat far too close to Betty to be anything but a customer.  She leaned forward to whisper something, and Betty let out a peal of laughter.  Veronica set the food down and watched, irritation rising climbing like ivy in her throat.

When the woman finally left, Veronica made her way over to Betty’s station as casually as she could manage.  She knew she was being unreasonable; after all, Betty was allowed to have friends Veronica didn’t know about.  It wasn’t as if they were dating.

“Who was that?” Veronica asked, her eyes locked on a photo of the old Riverdale rail station.

“An old friend,” Betty said.  She wiped down the station, seemingly unaware of Veronica’s frustration.  “I think you’d like Toni, you two are a lot alike.”

That turn of phrase sparked a fuse and Veronica couldn’t help but grip the pearls at her throat.  Despite the innocent, entirely plausible explanation - and Veronica’s bone deep conviction that Betty wasn’t that kind of person - the afterimage sat at the forefront of her mind.  The pair were too casual, too close emotionally, for Veronica’s demons not to flare up.

“What’s up?” Betty prompted.  “I thought we were going to meet at the Wyrm later tonight.”

Veronica shrugged, still playing at nonchalance, and walked towards the waiting area.  She picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages to keep her hands still. On every page, Toni’s smiling face, inches from Betty’s, stared back at her.  They’d been dating a few weeks, and yet Veronica had never felt that sort of closeness with Betty.

It was the realization that Veronica wanted that sort of connection was frightening.  She was a Lodge, after all, and love was never an option.  Not unless it came with strings and attachments, political and social gains otherwise closed off to her family.  As a Lodge, hers was a morbid, skeptical view of love.  And how could it not be, after all the role models she’d had in her life?

And yet, what she had with Betty felt more solid, more real.  It was a mutually beneficial relationship where Betty expected nothing more than a little of Veronica’s time.

“I closed up early,” Veronica finally said.  She dropped the magazine on the table and forced as much carelessness into her voice as she could manage.  “I thought we might eat in tonight.  I didn’t realize you had company.”

Betty grimaced - apparently Veronica’s attempt at nonchalance had fallen flatter than a late May rain garden.  A pang of guilt went through Veronica; yet she couldn’t help but twist the knife.  It was the only other hobby her mother had shared with her.

“V, you know I’m booked solid -“

Veronica waved her off and pulled on her jacket.  “It’s fine.  I’ve got things to take care of.  Enjoy dinner.”

She stormed out of the door, ignoring Betty’s call.  Something broke against the wall and Veronica forced herself to keep moving.  

Whatever this was had taken root deep within her very cells, but a few days in New York would be more than enough to uproot it.

-

It had taken a week before Betty showed up in the flower shop.  The look on her face told Veronica not to try and pretend they weren’t anything more than neighbors.  Despite Veronica’s refusal to take any texts, calls, or dms from Betty, it seemed the stubborn blonde worked on an entirely different plane.

“What’s going on?” Betty asked, ignoring the customer Veronica was helping.

Veronica finished setting the baby’s breath among the white roses - a strange, uninspiring choice for a get well bouquet - before acknowledging her, a move that only served to irritate Betty further.

Thankfully, Betty waited until they were alone to round on her.

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

Veronica lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.  A coy move, meant to signify her own feigned indifference.  Betty crossed her arms and fixed her with a stare.

With a sigh, Veronica said, “I don’t know.”

“Seriously?”

“Look, this isn’t easy for me,” Veronica snapped.  She picked at the left over cuttings. Idly she arranged and rearranged them into strange shapes that seemed to reflect her own indecision.  “I’ve never had… I’ve never …”

Somehow, despite all her own musings on the subject, the words about why Betty affected her so much wouldn’t come.  

“Who was she?”

Betty quirked an eyebrow.  “Who?”

“That woman with the pink hair.”

“Is that what this is about?” Betty sighed and walked towards a nearby plant stand that held a range of hyacinths.  Her hand grazed over the yellow petals as she regarded Veronica.  “Toni and I grew up together.  Now she’s engaged to my cousin.”

The air went out of the room and Veronica sagged against the table.  She felt as foolish, as silly as she knew she was being.

“Oh.”

“Veronica,” Betty began, her hands still grasping the flowers, “if we’re going to make this work -“

The world shifted, and suddenly all Veronica could see and hear was Betty.  It couldn’t possibly be this simple.  It never was.  Betty was after something, and now that Veronica had misstepped it would finally come to light.

“-you have to talk to me about these things.  I don’t want to lose you over something as stupid as jealously.”

“That’s it?”

Betty gave her a sharp, bewildered look that sent waves of guilt through Veronica.  Veronica dropped her eyes to the cuttings in front of her.  It was strange, truly, how much she wanted Betty to understand.  They both came with familial baggage; the only question was whether that baggage would match in the long run.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica said with a wince.  “It’s just… everyone’s always had these … expectations of me.  There was always something they wanted.  Comes with my father’s legacy I suppose,” she scoffed.

When she looked up, she was startled to find Betty standing in front of her.  With a gentle smile, Betty took up Veronica’s hands in hers.  

“The only thing I want from you is a little of your time,” Betty said.  With a sly grin, she added, “And maybe that yellow flower over there.”

Veronica huffed out a laugh.  “The hyacinth?”  

Betty nodded.

“No, not that one,” Veronica said.  She slipped her hands from Betty’s and walked to the far aisle.  It was easy to know what she was looking for, even though she knew the meaning would be lost.  

When she set the plant in front of Betty, Veronica’s heart fluttered at her smile.  

“It’s gorgeous,” Betty murmured.  Her fingers toyed with the long yellow leaves.  “A daffodil, right?”

Veronica nodded.

“What does it mean?” Betty asked.

“New beginnings.”  Veronica bit her lip, oddly shy.  “And forgiveness.”

Betty grinned and leaned over the counter to press a kiss to Veronica’s forehead.  “You won’t always be able to buy me off with flowers.  And you promise to talk these things through with me in the future.”

“I promise, so long as you give me a chance.”

-

Late one evening, as the neon lights cast a blue and red glow across Betty’s bare skin, Veronica lay her head on Betty’s chest, her breath heavy and her skin still flush with sweat.  The sound of her heartbeat lulled Veronica into a meditative state as a contented drowsiness began to take hold.

“I’ve got issues,” Veronica breathed.  Her confession, honest and vulnerable, slipped out of her without a second thought.

Betty’s chuckle was laced with sleep.  She wrapped an arm around Veronica’s shoulder, her long fingers tracing patterns along the skin.  “We all have issues V.”

Veronica raised up on her elbows.  Betty’s hair fanned out around her, a pink halo in the neon light, with her eyes half closed in satiety.  

“Give me yours, then,” Veronica said with a sudden protectiveness.

“Only if you give me yours,” came the swift reply.  

Veronica held up her pink, and Betty grasped it with her own.  Sealed with a kiss, Veronica settled back against Betty for the long haul.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Soft Tunes, Warm Hugs - Worick Arcangelo

(( I hope you enjoy this little thingy with this cute dork, @ittokan​ <3 ))

Nobody knew, and truthfully, nobody even had to know what they were going through. It was none of their business, was it? It was their life, their tragedies, their problems and everything that they had to deal with, so nobody truly knew what was going on behind those cheerfully playful and mischievous facades of theirs.

Y/N knew Worick since before he called himself that...She knew him from his days as the Young Master Wallace Arcangelo. Ah, such grim days...Days that she curses every time she had the occasion whenever she somehow has the misfortune to remember, by some unknown and unexpected means.

It wasn’t fair...It wasn’t humane...None of it was.

They were just children back then.

Her, Worick, Nicolas...

They were just children.

They deserved better.

But that’s the dark world that they live in, and nobody can really change that.

Such a cruel world they had to grow up in...And why...? Because adults made it that way for them. Instead of witnessing all the beauty of the world, they had to be locked up and forced to succumb to a darkness completely void of anything. They were empty. They were just shells of their former selves.

They went on their own ways as soon as they were able to escape that hell. Worick became a Gigolo, Nicolas was a hitman, while Y/N managed to get out of the town to earn herself a proper medical degree.

By the end of it, when she got back in that town, at least she was happy she managed to accomplish something for the first time in her life. Something that was her  doing, that she did on her own, without anyone else on her back.

She was finally proud of herself.

When she started exploring the town again, she realised that barely anything actually changed, and that he absence of 10 years was most likely not even noticed by anyone.

That’s what she thought, at least, not realising how much the platinum haired man was yearning for her, to see her again, to have her next to him again, to hear her voice again.

Worick didn’t realise how much she cared for Y/N until she was no longer there with him every day and every night. It was weird...So weird. So unusual, no unexpected.

But Worick had to earn money, had to build up his reputation around the town, as Benriya, along with his associate, Nic, so his days as Gigolo weren’t over even now, in his 30s, although they were vastly diminished.

Every girl he put his hands on, he imagined her. Every pair of eyes he was gazing on from above, he could only see hers. Every time he would hear his name being called by a woman, he’d turn around, hoping to see her.

But all of these were his bittersweet daydreams going on. He was, at least happy, knowing that she escaped this terrible place and hopefully, managed to find herself a nice guy to treat her like a jewel and can live a decent life, at least.

Sometimes, he wished he would have nightmares, since they were always about his childhood days, when she was present as well.

But who would have thought that one normal day, when nothing was out of the ordinary and he was just walking around the city, he would hear his name being called, and when he returned, he would see a woman looking so much like the girl he once knew.

She had the same hair colour, but the length was much longer than the girl he once knew. She had the same eye shade, but her eyes were sparkling with life and glee, unlike the dull eyes of the girl he knew, whose eyes only sparkled with tears. Her voice was calming and melodic, as if she was speaking honey, unlike the timid voice of the girl that was too afraid to speak. Her smile was dazzling, twinkling like the stars, unlike the little girl who would bite her lips until she drew blood. She wore a beautiful flow-y sundress, showing off just enough of her flawless skin, unlike the girl who would cover all her skin, ashamed of the bruises, scars and wounds she was plastered with. And she...She was radiating...She was glowing...She was happy...Unlike the little girl who resembled a mouse hiding in a corner, afraid to get abused again.

Who was this angel, calling out his name so beautifully, looking at him as if she knew him? She couldn’t possibly be one of the girls he’d hook up with, he’d definitely remember her. So...Who...?

“Worick? You’ve been staring at me for the past 5 minutes or so. Are you okay? Is the heat getting to your head?” she blinked in surprise, leaning closer to his face, her hand gingerly put on his forehead to feel his temperature. “Who are you, miss?” his voice was betraying all his emotions. “Oh...You don’t remember me, do you? Well, a lot of years passed, and I...I guess I changed a lot, huh? You changed a lot too, you know? But your eyes are not something to forget.” she chuckled, a tint of disappointment in her voice. “No...You can’t be Y/N. She’s in a better city, living a better life.” he muttered, looking away, almost as if he didn’t want to believe his eyes. “Wait, so you knew it was me, but couldn’t believe it? Aww, aren’t you adorable...Wally?” she giggled, teasing the man in front of her. “W-Wally...?! Y/N, come on, don’t use that nickname with me! I’m not a kid anymore!” he whined childishly, his fair cheeks becoming the same colour as the pink roses that bloomed. “There we go, that’s the cutie I know! Get here and give me a hug, big guy! You grew up so much, Worick, you’re literally towering over me!” she laughed without a single care in the world, something that filled his heart with so much joy that he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her into a tight embrace. “I missed you a lot, Y/Nickname. You have no idea.” he muttered softly into her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “I missed you too, Worick. I couldn’t stay forever without you and Nic around me, that much was pretty easy to figure out. You are like some really nice kind of parasites, that are always on your mind and heart, you know?” she chuckled, looking up at him fondly. “I’m not sure how I feel, being compared to a parasite, y’know?” he laughed mirthfully, ruffling her hair, like they used to, when they were young. “Wanna see my new apartment? I just finished fully furnishing it, I’m very proud of it.” she pulled out of the embrace, hooking her arm to his. “Lead the way, my lady.” he flashed her a charming smirk, which he wasn’t sure worked in any way, but the smile on her face was worth everything.

It was great reuniting with Worick and Nicolas, even with little Theo, who also became a doctor, and everything was really nice, there were no more worries, no more problems, no more regrets.

Well, almost everything was nice.

The nightmares were not something from the past’s domain, unfortunately, for either of them, and yet, they were too afraid and ashamed to lean on each other for emotional support, despite the fact that they both knew what the other went through the best.

Neither of them wanted to burden the other with more sorrow than needed.

They tried to be strong, like they’ve always been, but one night it was just too much, and the girl couldn’t sleep at night for a few nights, and the exhaustion was beginning to take a toll on her to the point that she couldn’t focus on anything, and she was becoming weak...Not to mention the headaches were atrocious.

That cold night, the girl left her apartment in only her oversized Tshirt, shorts and a pair of slippers, making her way on foot to the Benriya’s apartment, hurrying and trying to stop herself from thinking, letting her legs go to the set location by themselves.

She already had a spare key, so she got in the house, locking it, and made a beeline to Worick’s bedroom, opening the light and crouching next to him on the bed, poking his cheek and softly calling out his name to wake him up.

As soon as the man opened his eyes, he screamed in shock, being met with another pair of eyes so close to his face, and he used the blanket to shield his body from being exposed.

“Wh-What are you doing here, Y/N?” he asked, confused and surprised. “...Can I sleep with you tonight?” she muttered, standing up. “What happened, Y/N? Are you okay?” he asked, his face washed with worry. “I’ve been having nightmares for years and I thought I was used to them...But these days it’s gotten so bad that I can’t sleep...I look like a zombie, I feel even worse...But I’m afraid to go to sleep because of another nightmare. I guess I didn’t want to be alone, you get me?” she tried to explain herself, but Worick needed no explanation - He understood her so much that it hurt. “Let me get proper sleeping clothes and-” he began, but the girl already turned off the light and got in bed with him. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor, I had to see more genitals than I know how to count...And trust me, that’s not the best thing in the world.” she snorted, making herself comfortable in his embrace. “Okay, you got me. Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” he asked, playing with her hair soothingly. “No...I just want to sleep. Besides, it’s nothing that you don’t already know.” she sighed, burying her face in the crook of his neck, already feeling drowsy from his body heat. “I understand. I wish you sweet dreams, my dear Y/Nickname.” he planted a soft kiss on the top of her head, praying for at least her to have a restless night.

---

And that’s how many of their nights were spent, either Y/N sleeping over at theirs, or Worick sleeping at her place, having no inhibitions and no shame to get in each other’s room, just to ask for a hug or to cuddle to sleep.

Years passed quicker than imagined, and while they never spoke out to being together, everybody knew there was nothing that could pull them apart - Not his part-job as a Gigolo and neither her being busy most of the time with the clinic.

It was more confusing for poor new comer, Alex, a former prostitute that Worick and Nic saved from her abusive pimp. Ah, she was so confused about everything, obviously because of the pills, and because she never had anyone behaving with her normally and treating her like a normal human being, so she mistook some of the signs, believing that she was in love.

That was until one day when she found Y/N and Worick coming out of the same room and she freaked out, not having any idea how she managed to get there without her knowing. Well- Not that it was difficult to go past Alex, since she was a heavy sleeper...

But Nic having to explain that Y/N and Worick have been together since childhood was... An outright shock for her, who knew Worick for being a carefree Gigolo who doesn’t let emotional bonds get the best of him.

Even so, she found them cute together, and could see, at least hypothetically, how they lasted so long together.

At least in theory, since she doesn’t actually know that their feelings strings are unbreakable.

---

One night in particular was extremely bad for Worick, and he couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t even something that happened -  It was something based on a trauma he experienced, but much darker and more gruesome. Worick was shaken to the core.

Just like usual, he hurried to Y/N’s apartment and went to her bedroom, and upon entering, his mind almost seemed to forget every bit of agony he experienced, as her soft sleeping expression vanished everything in his mind.

Almost, but not quite.

The blue eyed man gently woke her up, kissing her forehead, caressing her face and calling her name until she fluttered her eyes open, which was pretty fast, considering she was a light sleeper.

She needed no explanation, she already knew what was going on.

She got up, gesturing to him to get in bed, undressed as usual, since that’s how he would sleep most comfortably, and taking out a music player and some scented candles, she played some soft jazz tunes, letting the aroma of vanilla and cinnamon sooth their senses.

Y/N took off her shirt, knowing how he needed body heat to be able to calm down and relax, and got in bed, hugging his head close to her chest, playing with his long, gorgeous hair, to help him fall asleep easier, while his arms were pulling her to him, caging her in a warm embrace.

“Thank you, Y/N. These damn nightmares are sure something else...” he muttered with a tint of annoyance in his voice. “I know, darling...I know...But I’m here for you. I’ll fight them for you.” she kissed his forehead once again, making him chuckle. “Well...At least one thing’s not bad from all this. I get to feel your soft chest...Ahhh, it’s like a cloud.” he giggled like a school boy, making the girl sigh, but grin nonetheless. “You’re such a dork, Wally.” she used her free hand to softly caress his arm and side, putting the blanket around their waist and back, so they won’t get a cold. “Admit it, you can’t resist this lovable dork.” he sniggered, making her hum in amusement. “I suppose that’s true. I love you, Wally.” she tightened his grip around him, and he did the same. “I love you too, Y/Nickname. I’m really happy that you came back.” he spoke in a voice, barely above a whisper. “So am I, Wally. So am I.”

Letting the music settle a peaceful atmosphere around the room, she unconsciously hummed a soft tune, along the music, as she played with the man’s hair until she herself fell asleep.

It wasn’t much that they did, but for them, every little thing meant the world.

[beingevil]

if there be thorns, Guardian Yang AU

title: if there be thorns 

pairing: none here 

Rating and warnings: Gen

author’s notes: In honour of a very special day, for Neon’s Guardian Yang AU. You can read it on Ao3 here!

summary:  Annerose POV,  set largely after Yang goes missing.

 So it is now, months away from Reinhard’s arrest, that she recognises the look in Reinhard’s eyes as he descends from the carriage. She has known her brother from the day he was born, she knows his hundred different tells better than anyone else: 

wordcount: 1690 words 

Even the Kaiser’s palace walls cannot keep the whispers out.

When Reinhard was taken into custody after the attempted assassination, Friedrich kept that knowledge from her, whether out of a misguided sense of kindness, or to keep her sweet and compliant – she did not know, and it made little difference either way.

 His court had no such reservations.

 It is Benemunde who first springs the knowledge on her like a steel trap, gleefully detailing how Reinhard had been taken away in chains, fighting the guards like a mad dog.

 It had taken much to listen with a pleasant, detached interest, to nod and smile, to thank Benemunde for telling her how Reinhard was getting along.

 Perhaps if it appeared she did not care, she would be less of a weapon against Reinhard.

 There is little enough she can do in the Kaiser’s grasp, but she can do her utmost not to be turned into a weapon against her brother.

 Life under her father’s hand had taught her all too well not to show weakness, and here in the Kaiser’s court of vipers she knows she needs every lesson she learned and more.

 She finds a quiet joy in Benemunde’s dissatisfaction, knowing she had denied the Marquise her satisfaction, as the other woman storms off, loudly calling her a disgrace.

 After all, she learned long ago never to act as if the names hurt her.

So it is now, months away from Reinhard’s arrest, that she recognises the look in Reinhard’s eyes as he descends from the carriage. She has known her brother from the day he was born, she knows his hundred different tells better than anyone else: the haunted circles around his fever-bright eyes, the rigid set of his mouth before he shapes it into a brittle smile for her and everyone watching.

 It seems he has dressed today with little care for how he looks. His blue coat seems carelessly rumpled, and the edges of his cuffs appear to have been worried at.

She knows why. His life has been transformed since they last met. 

The Kaiser’s walls had not kept those rumours out either.

The cravat around his neck is at odds with his ensemble, its cut a little too old. It must have been cream-coloured, once, but time has turned it off-white and its best days are clearly far behind it.

 Her musings on Reinhard’s odd sartorial choices on this day is interrupted by his approach.

 She puts her arms around him as he nears her. “I’m sorry,” she whispers into his ear, hidden from the guards by the crook of her arm and the curve of his shoulder. When his arms close convulsively around her, she has never more wished to be able to speak freely to her brother. But they are ever under the gaze of the Kaiser’s men, and both of them know to be careful.

 Yang had been good for him, Reinhard’s complaining about his strange ways and fussiness notwithstanding. It had been good fortune that Annerose had learned long ago not to expect for either of them.

 She had thought that the savage wildness in Reinhard calmed, however momentarily, during his time with Yang. At their last meeting, she had smiled to herself as her wilful brother poured Yang tea as if he had done it a thousand times, even as he complained to her about how Yang couldn’t do a thing for himself, not even getting up in the morning.

 Then Reinhard had reached out and adjusted Yang’s cravat over Yang’s feeble protests – it had gone askew somehow – all the while deploring his choice in clothing and chiding him for not paying heed to Reinhard’s suggestions for suitable palace fashion.

 She had liked him, the quiet unassuming man whom court politics had unexpectedly thrust into their lives. She too knows what it is like to be plucked from the world you knew and thrown in the midst of a court where every smile could hide a dagger. She liked that Yang never made it seem like he expected anything of her or Reinhard, not even conversation, for even silence was comfortable around him.

 Above all, she appreciated that Yang was a safe pair of hands for her brother. It did not escape her that Reinhard, in his own way, turned towards Yang like a flower to the sun. She had thought it was good that finally, Reinhard had an adult in his life that he could trust.

 But Yang is gone now.

 And in her brother’s place is a wild creature that looks out at Annerose from behind his fevered blue eyes.

 She leads Reinhard to the conservatory, where heliotrope blooms in dreamy violet clouds. Deep magenta fuchsia hang their heavy lantern blossoms from the trellises, vivid petals tumbling down the conservatory walls. Hydrangeas unfurl their storied petals here, and honeysuckle trumpets grace the air with their sweet fragrance.

 Over and under it all, the scent of the Kaiser’s prized roses perfume the air. Summer is approaching its peak and so are they, petals of the deepest crimson, the palest pink, the purest white all unfolding to the air.

 Reinhard barely seems to notice. He is standing right next to her, but he might as well be a thousand miles away.

 In a way, he is.

 Never has she more regretted that they cannot speak freely here.

 She pours him tea, amber liquid swirling in its gilded cup. He glances once at it and not again, and she knows then who he must be thinking of.  

 Under the table, she reaches out and takes his hand.

 His nails are ragged to the touch, and there are healing scars scattered across the back and sides of his hand, recalling to her the destructive rages he would fly into as a child. How many fragile things already been consigned to his rages?

 How much more could he bear before he too would shatter?

 He rests his cheek on his hand, the very picture of an indolent, spoiled noble.

 “The weather is so very hot recently,” he says. “Sister, I do think that the next two or three weeks would be a perfect time for a sojourn into the mountains. I hear Freuden would be a wonderful place.”

 The question is in her eyes as she smiles at him, wondering what game he intends to play this time.

 “Did you not summer there last year?” He continues, without waiting for her answer, “If you go, I may join you there too.”

 Under the table, his hand tightens almost convulsively on hers.

 She laughs gently to give herself time to respond.

 “Dear Reinhard, whatever it is you wish, I shall certainly endeavour.”

 “Do,” he says, and his fingers once again close, painfully tight, around hers.

 She knows for certain then that he has no intention of joining her there.

 When he takes his leave from her, he rests her head on her shoulder for a moment, and he is her brother Reinhard once again, running into her arms with skinned knees and bruised knuckles from yet another fight.

 But her brother fights different battles now, far beyond the schoolyards of their childhood years.

 This time he is wounded with hurts she cannot heal.

 She would like to believe that he can draw strength from her presence like this.

 She embraces him and strokes his hair gently. Briefly, his shoulders shake as she holds him.

 It is all the emotion he allows himself in her presence that day.

 “Be well,” she says, reluctantly releasing him.  

 “Always,” he answers, smiling.

 There is a strange fey light burning in his eyes, one she knows too well.  

 He takes his leave, striding to his carriage without looking back.

 Never once has Yang’s name crossed their lips.

 She wonders what her brother has become, what new creature birthed in tragedy and resolve now loosed upon Odin, planning his vengeance.

 It is then that she remembers where she had last seen the cravat around Reinhard’s neck.

 It had been around Yang’s neck.

 They had laughed, all three of them together, on that day a lifetime ago.

 She sleeps poorly that night. Soon after midnight, she wakes to watch the moon traverse the sky until the dawn greets her weary eyes.  

A week later, as Reinhard has asked – no sooner, so as not to arouse suspicion – she seeks the Kaiser’s leave to holiday in the Freuden mountains, away from the summer heat.

The Kaiser grants her request, of course. She asks him for so little, after all.

 Here, where mountain ranges cradle her villa, alpine springs feed the lush green gardens and their wildflowers.

 Though she has been here before with the Kaiser, the silence feels different this, portentous as it weighs on her shoulders. There is bite in the cool winds as they tug at her skirts and echo through the ravines.

 She waits for news, but never expected it to come on wings this swift.

 Even guarded in the heart of the mountain fastness, the news reaches her, through the newspapers and the whispers from the villa’s servants.

 The capital has been plagued by a sudden rash of unexplained accidents and deaths – odd, for their frequency and occurrence, amongst the mid-ranking military and minor nobles. Stabbed, shot, poisoned – they meet their end through means as varied as their victims.

 Annerose is not naïve enough to fail to see Reinhard’s hand in this – the timing, the coincidence, fits all too well.

 A mysterious letter arrives at Neue Sanssouci which evidently threatens her safety, the Kaiser has her guard doubled as a result and asks her to be watchful. He has decided she is safer in the mountains than she is in the palace, a decision she knows Reinhard arrived at weeks ago.

 Her heart aches for her brother even as she wonders about his purpose – are all these deaths to lay at a dead man’s feet? Yang would never have wanted this for him.

 One day a letter from Reinhard arrives, and in its wake, when she returns to the heart of Odin, everything has changed.

[fly-pow-bye]

What’s Airing On Cartoon Network? (December 2019)

Some surprises here, including some new episodes of Steven Universe, and the return of some LEGO related shows! Listings will be put after the break.

The Amazing World of Gumball: Darwin’s Yearbook

Didn’t think clip shows needed to exist in a world of streaming? If that was true, they didn’t tell Darwin.

December 14th:

Darwin's Yearbook - Banana Joe - When Principal Brown sets Darwin the task of making the school yearbook, Darwin starts by asking class clown Banana Joe for a simple selfie to put on the cover. But with Banana Joe, things are never that simple. Featuring hilarious clips from the first six seasons of 'The Amazing World of Gumball'. (10:00 AM)

Darwin's Yearbook - Clayton - Darwin needs to find a photo of Clayton to put on the cover of the school yearbook - but he makes the mistake of seeking help from Tobias, who has his eye on the cover spot himself! Featuring hilarious clips from the first six seasons of 'The Amazing World of Gumball'. (10:15 AM)

December 21st:

Darwin's Yearbook - Carrie - Darwin sets out to find a photo of Carrie for the cover of the school yearbook - but they end up reminiscing about all their past spooky shenanigans. Featuring hilarious clips from the first six seasons of 'The Amazing World of Gumball'. (10:00 AM)

Darwin's Yearbook - Alan - Darwin wants to put Alan on the cover of the school yearbook - but Alan's apparent modesty gets in the way. Featuring hilarious clips from the first six seasons of 'The Amazing World of Gumball'. (10:15 AM)

December 28th:

Darwin's Yearbook - Sarah - Darwin asks Sarah for a photo to put on the cover of the school yearbook. But when Sarah tries to help, things get a little sticky. Featuring hilarious clips from the first six seasons of 'The Amazing World of Gumball'. (10:00 AM)

Darwin's Yearbook - Teachers - When Darwin asks his friends which teacher deserves to be on the yearbook cover, they struggle to find a single worthy candidate! Featuring hilarious clips from the first six seasons of 'The Amazing World of Gumball'. (10:15 AM)

Apple & Onion

December 7th:

Positive Attitude Theory - Apple and Onion spend a day in Falafel's shoes and use their positive attitude to prove he shouldn't be so grumpy. (9:30 AM)

Follow Your Dreams - Apple and Onion need to find a dream to follow, so that their lives don't head nowhere. (9:45 AM)

Bakugan Battle Planet

December 1st:

Girl Power/Return to the Fold - Girl Power: When Lia battles with China Riot, they eventually come to an understanding as China finally realizes she’s been set up by Benton/Tiko./Return to the Fold: On the run and with options dwindling, the AO turn to Shun’s father, Ichiro Kazami, for help. (7:00 AM)

December 8th:

Kazami Family Feud/Greatest of the Kazami - Kazami Family Feud: Masato attacks, but the AO soon realize that Ichiro is keeping a Golden Bakugan captive, forcing them to choose between the lesser of two evils!/Greatest of the Kazami: Shun makes an impassioned plea to Ichiro, but it is too late as the Kazami compound is overrun by Bakuzon and the Visvus Cell is lost. (7:00 AM)

December 15th:

Our Ugly Selves/Thryno Lives! - Our Ugly Selves: Abandoned in the Vestroia Labyrinth, the AO must deal with their personal losses and, worse, the Bakuzoned Awful Ones!/Trhyno Lives!: When the AO and Magnus form an alliance to free the Golden Bakugan, their differences lead to a horrible sacrifice for Dan and Lia. (7:00 AM)

December 22nd

The Healing Challenge/The Golden Drome - The Healing Challenge: As the AO struggle to hold together, a discovery is made involving the Golden Bakugan, a Golden Drome, and curing of a Bakuzoned Gorthion./The Golden Drome: While Dan and Drago enter the Golden Drome to heal Trhyno, the rest of the AO defend the Golden Drome from a militia of human hunters. (7:00 AM)

December 29th:

The Golden Forge/A Deep Hibernation - The Golden Forge: As Dan and Drago battle to free Trhyno from Tiko's infection, they learn the history of Vestroia and the nature of Golden Bakugan./A Deep Hibernation: Trhyno must give Dan and Drago the power they need if they are to have any chance in stopping Tiko from destroying both Vestroia and Earth. (7:00 AM)

DC Super Hero Girls

Cartoon Network decided to put two episodes on the last day of November the last minute. It is so last minute that no form of guide has a description for them.

November 30th:

#Abracadabrapalooza - (No description yet) (11:00 AM)

#RageCat - (No description yet) (11:15 AM)

December 16th:

#TheGoodTheBadAndTheBizarre - Everything is going well for Kara Danvers, both as a teen and a superhero, until she starts taking the blame for things she didn't do, and the emergence of a new supervillain threatens to destroy Supergirl's hard-earned reputation. (12:00 PM)

December 17th:

#BackInAFlash - After an embarrassing incident ruins Barbara Gordon's reputation, rather than owning it and moving on, she decides it's easier to harness The Flash's newly discovered ability to travel back in time and alter the space-time continuum. (12:00 PM)

December 18th:

#PowerSurge - When Supergirl is presumed dead after a battle with Livewire, Kara Danvers decides to reinvent herself with a new look, a new personality, and a new name, Power Girl. (12:00 PM)

December 19th:

#ScrambledEggs - Thanks to a home economics assignment, the students are paired up and given an egg to "care for" over a weekend. But when tragedy befalls egg after egg, what should be an easy assignment escalates into a madcap romp with super-high stakes! (12:00 PM)

December 20th:

#DramaQueen - Oliver Queen must face off against his greatest rival yet, Mortimer Drake, while Green Arrow also finds himself up against a new foe, The Cavalier. (12:00 PM)

Ninjago: Masters of Spinjitsu

December 14th:

The Never-Realm -The ninja arrive in the Never-Realm where they quickly find themselves overwhelmed. Luckily, they are taken in by a tribe of Ice Fishers who tell them Zane has been imprisoned by the evil Ice Emperor. (12:30 PM)

Fire Maker - The Ice Emperor learns of the ninja’s arrival and sends his Blizzard Samurai warriors to destroy them and the villagers who sheltered them. (12:45 PM)

December 21st:

An Unlikely Ally - Lloyd runs afoul of the Ice Emperor’s Blizzard Samurai but is rescued by a strange wolf with whom an unlikely friendship develops. (12:30 PM)

The Absolute Worst! - Back in Ninjago City, three criminals learn of the ninja’s absence and stage a breakout of Kryptarium Prison, telling tall tales of how they were captured as they go. (12:45 PM)

December 28th:

The Message - Lloyd and his wolf-companion find a cave with the mech inside and a message from Zane that provides a clue to his fate. (12:30 PM)

The Traveler’s Tree - Guilt-ridden over having lost the Traveler’s Tea, Cole embarks on a dangerous quest to the top of a nearby mountain in hopes of finding the legendary Traveler’s Tree - a tree which is supposedly guarded by a fearsome beast. (12:45 PM)

Steven Universe Future

Steven Universe Future begins in December, with a full hour on the 7th, and two episodes every week after that.

December 7th:

Little Homeschool - Welcome to Little Homeschool, a place on earth where Gems from all over the universe can come learn how to live together peacefully! But there's one Gem who refuses to attend. (8:00 PM)

Guidance - Amethyst has been helping Little Homeschool Gems find jobs on the boardwalk, but Steven isn't sure about her approach. (8:15 PM)

Rose Buds - Steven gets a surprise visit from some old friends, and an even more surprising introduction to some new ones. (8:30 PM)

Volleyball - Steven is determined to help Pink Diamond's original Pearl heal the scar on her face. (8:45 PM)

December 14th:

Bluebird - Steven questions the motives of a mysterious fusion that suddenly shows up at his house. (8:00 PM)

A Very Special Episode - Rainbow Quartz 2.0 promised to hang out with Onion the same day Sunstone scheduled a home safety Geminar! How can Steven be in two places, and two fusions, at once? (8:15 PM)

December 21st:

Snow Day - Steven and the Crystal Gems get a chance to catch up when they're all snowed in together. (8:00 PM)

Why So Blue? - Steven has heard rumors of a pair of Gems that are still destroying worlds. If he can't stop them, maybe Lapis can. (8:15 PM)

December 28th:

Little Graduation - Steven and the Gems celebrate Little Homeschool's first graduating class. (8:00 PM)

Prickly Pair - After leaving Little Homeschool, Steven has found a new hobby, plants. (8:15 PM)

Teen Titans Go!

Gotta have those Christmas episodes.

December 21st:

Beast Boy on a Shelf - Santa Claus forces Beast Boy to become a spy and report on the Titans' naughty behavior. (10:30 AM)

Christmas Crusaders - Santa Claus and Robin must stop the nefarious Coal Miner. (10:45 AM)

ThunderCats Roar

...is definitely not going to air in 2019.

Transformers Cyberverse

December 7th:

Party Down - An Autobot party turns into an uncontrollable brawl that could destroy them all! (6:30 AM)

December 14th:

Wiped Out - Hotrod takes Bumblebee and Cheetor spaceboarding through an asteroid field where they encounter Sharkticons.

December 21st:

Ghost Town - The mission to save Cybertron is threatened when Windblade steals the Allspark and flees to a mysterious planet.

December 28th:

Perfect Storm - Grimlock and Arcee look for adventure and find more than they expected.

Unikitty!

If you had “new episodes of Unikitty” on your Christmas wishlist, Cartoon Network’s Christmas spirit has you covered. Cartoon Network is dumping a ton of episodes on December 24th, starting at 6 AM.

December 24th:

Late Night Talky Time - The moon is bored of taking the nightshift, since everyone's always asleep. So Unikitty leads the gang in putting on an over-the-top late night talk show to keep the moon occupied. (6:00 AM)

Welcome to the Unikingdom - After Unikitty finds out that tourism is down, she recruits the gang to make a tourism video to inspire people to visit the kingdom. But after calamities come one after another, Unikitty begins to think the video is going to be a disaster. (6:15 AM)

Time Capsule - The gang puts their favorite items in a Time Capsule to send 100 years in the future, but they get stuck inside right before the door seals. (6:30 AM)

Music Videos - Unikitty hosts a live music video countdown show for the kingdom, presenting the ecstatic audience with the top 4 music videos in the Unikingdom, featuring our favorite characters. (6:45 AM)

Brock Most Wanted - When Master Frown starts ruining parties to earn a promotion from his bosses, the Doom Lords, Brock accidentally gets blamed for the calamity. (7:00 AM)

Bedtime Stories - When Puppycorn can't fall asleep, Dr. Fox uses an invention to bring classic bedtime stories to life. But the gang's presence leads to some surprising twists in these popular tales. (7:15 AM)

Grown Up Stuff - Puppycorn doesn't want to grow up. To ease his woes, Unikitty spends the day teaching him all the fun things about being an adult. (7:30 AM)

Stop the Presses - Richard's newspapers aren't selling, so his friends pull out all the stops to put the printed word back on top. (7:45 AM)

Castles and Kitties - Score Creeper traps the gang in a fantasy role playing game where they must follow a complex set of rules to win their freedom. (8:00 AM)

Brain Trust - Dr. Fox accidentally transports the gang inside her brain, where they must control her movements to complete a dangerous experiment. (8:15 AM)

P.L.O.T. Device 2: Beyond the Bored Dome - Dr. Fox reprograms the P.L.O.T. Device to only generate boring events, but the gang can't help but add drama and excitement to every scenario. (8:30 AM)

Sick Day - Dr. Fox catches a "common cold" and does everything in her power to cure herself, ignoring the gang's pleas that she takes the day off and rest. (8:45 AM)

Borrowed - Richard discovers his library books have been borrowed by Master Frown and sets off on a crazed mission to return the books before they're overdue. (9:00 AM)

Best Best Friends - Master Frown and Brock attend a friendship-themed competition intending to ruin it for everyone else, but soon discover their own friendship in need of repair. (9:15 AM)

The Escape Room of Doom - The gang infiltrate an escape room game center to thwart Score Creeper, but their former foe claims he only works there to pay the bills. (9:30 AM)

The Unikingdom Awards - Unikitty throws an elaborate award show for everyone in the Unikingdom, including Master Frown and Brock, but tensions rise when Frown fails to win an award. (9:45 AM)

Stay tuned.

[adiabolikpastelrp]

Unnamed Role Play

This is a role play between @remnants-of-tragedy and myself. It features her OCs Zion (daughter of Ruki and Hisoka) with my OC Kanaye (son of Kanato and Yuuki).

Status: Ongoing(?)

Word Count: –

ღ Warning: that this may contain content that may be unsuitable for some readers such as mature themes, strong language, adult situations, and sexual content

Quick note - This takes place in that 2 year gap between You Get It And One Final Push. So Kanaye is single, and is in kind of a rough place. ღ

♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧ ♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧ ♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧ ♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧

Kanaye sat in the food court at the local mall. It was pretty busy considering it was a week night. Typically throughout the work and school days, not many humans came out.

For some reason or another, tonight was different and there were humans all around. Disappointing. He wanted to find someone easy and do all he needed to in the mall but, given the circumstances, plans may change.

It had been a few weeks since he’d been back in the human world. A good practice in keeping oneself a mystery to the locals. As a vampire Kanaye did not age the same. Human would notice if he was around too often.

With a deep sigh, Kanaye decides tonight the mall was not going to be successful. Just as he rose to leave, a scent catches his attention. A Mukami, Juliet perhaps? It did smell slightly like her. He decides to search out this scent, if it was her than some company may be nice.

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Zion Mukami was beyond pissed.

A red dress under a black buttoned sweater, a pair of white high heels with straps around the ankles, and a long, curly, high ponytail wig.

It’s bad enough to be cross dressed as a girl by his sadist of a sister; But it’s even worse knowing that this is actually a necessity.

Recently, a female actress has fallen terribly ill, and cannot be able to perform her part; Thus the role was given to the human boy, which means he had to play out two different roles; Luckily, neither roles have a scene together as the female role was only a minor character with very few lines where his role was a bigger part. But it didn’t make him feel better that he had to learn to get used to wearing women’s clothing for the part.

This suggestion was brought up by his older sister, Juliet, who learned about this and forced him into wearing these clothes and put on this long wig that’s color perfectly matched his hair. Zion knew that his sister also forced their brother to cross dress in the past, he can only shudder at the thought of his poor older brother having to submit to it. And now that his older siblings were vampires, Zion can’t really imagine what would happen if he defied his sister; He had a feeling he would be forced to submit by Juliet, even if she was still human at this point in time.

“This sucks…” Zion mumbles to himself as he walked with bags in hand. They were supplies for the production. Once Zion volunteered to get them, the rest of the club members were grateful. But the praise became too much for the boy, which made him fluster and shrug it off with the excuse that it was only because he had nothing else left to do.

He begins to recall what his sister has told him when he started to complain about it.

“Your name gets mistaken as ‘Shion’, your voice is like a little tomboy’s, your face can pass off as a girl’s, and you’re already bitching like one too; So get over it already.”

“Damn it, Sis-“ Getting distracted, Zion trips on his heels and accidentally falling on his knees, dropping some of the things he bought. “Ow, ow, ow..!”

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As Kanaye walked through the crowed halls, the similar smell faded. Perhaps there were too many humans around. He could still catch small doses of the Mukami, but not much.

Not particularly taking the search seriously, Kanaye notices a young girl trip and drop her purchases. Without a second though Kanaye moved swiftly to her side and knelt down to pick up her belongings.

“Are you all right? Heels can be quite a bothersome accessory.”

He’d smile down at the much smaller female and offer her a hand. She was cute no doubt, but also seemed far too young for him. Even if in reality he was much older than anyone here.

“Might I help you up? I do hope your dress isn’t ruined.”

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Looking up to see the smile of the stranger, Zion sensed the hand offers to him belonged to a vampire’s from its aura. Making him jump back a bit and give the young man a look of distrust. From what he learned, you can’t act too casually with vampires; Especially ones you’ve just encountered for the first time.

‘Honestly I wish the dress was ruined, so I don’t have to wear it…’ He commented to himself. But he knew if he did, Juliet would force him into a short skirt since it was a dress she bought for herself but had him wear for ‘training’.

“I-I’m fine, thanks..” Zion commented, he got back up on his own, patting the dirt off the dress. He looked down and noticed the material were dropped, “O-oh no!” Kneeling down, The boy frantically checked the conditions of the materials to see if they were alright. He just got them, he didn’t want to damage them; They were for the production after all. Every shows in the drama club are very important to him!

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Kanaye was a bit confused why the girl rejected his hand. Normally women blush and accept the gesture. Before he could think on it too hard she was back on the ground.

“Would you like some help? Is anything damaged?”

It was simply his upbringing talking at this point. He was a gentleman after all. A young girl by herself could use a hand right?

“I could help you carry them. Are you here alone?”

Kanaye starts picking up some of the smaller objects. There were sewing supplies kind of all over the place.

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“Is there a problem with me being alone?” Zion questioned, puffing out his cheeks in frustration; He stopped when he noticed the vampire helping him, and gave a questioning look. ‘What was he doing?’ He thought, ‘What is he trying to gain out of this?’ This caused him to blush a bit.

“H-Hey Idiot.. you don’t have to help me, you know…” Zion assured, “I can carry everything myself.” He was always used to doing things himself, so why was this guy helping him? They don’t even know each other.

“…. What do you have to gain out of this?” Zion questioned bluntly, “Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.” It was really weird for him. But this sudden act of kindness was just strange to the human boy.

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“When someone is in need, you help them.”

Kanaye answers warmly, offering the girl a smile. She must be used to doing things alone. A common trait that Kanaye often found in women in this age.

In the demon world, women act a bit differently. Those of Royal blood demand to be treated as such, even those not of it have some sense of entitlement. Human woman were always so different.

“Don’t worry so much about it. I’m not trying anything, simply helping.”

He stands up with a couple of bags in his hands. There were a couple for her to carry as well, he didn’t want to completely take over. Women who don’t normally receive help tend to not like doing no work.

“Lead the way, mistress.”

Kanaye says in a teasing tone and bows slightly. This girl was far too young for his taste, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t treat her as a princess. After all, young girls like that sort of thing right?

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“M-Mistress..?!” Zion gasped as his blush turned from light pink to red. Did.. Did this guy seriously believe he was a girl? ‘ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!!!!!!!!’ He exclaimed mentally. This actually hurt his pride as a man.

But in a way, it’s good? That also meant that he can pull off that female role without a problem, which is beneficial if they were short on female roles…

‘Wait! This isn’t the time for this!!!’ As much as Zion wanted to yell that he was a boy, it could also cause a scene. And plus, this guy might think the boy was into that kind of stuff. Maybe it was best not roll along with it? They weren’t going to meet again anyways.

“F-fine.. do whatever you want…” Zion turned away to hide his red face and started to walk once he carried the bags in hand, “But don’t call me that; It only reminds me of someone I know, and being reminded of them now only irritates me to no end.”

The person mentioned was none other than the one that forced him to do this. The She-devil sadist herself. His older sister. Once he got reminded of her, He could imagine her infamous devilish smirk. It made him shudder. ‘That damn sadist… How was Bro even able to deal with the likes of her?’

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Kanaye smiled at the young girls embarrassment. It was adorable really, why his own sister couldn’t be more like this was beyond him. Actually, it wasn’t really, he knew why. Their family was full of dark secrets, of this he knew all too well. His sister was the product of her upbringing, just as he and their brother.

Part of him as sad that his sister wasn’t more like this. He could use her to meet women for one thing. On the other- more appropriate hand- she could be a normal little girl. Like the one before him. He walked behind her silently for a while, before the silence grew too boring.

“What is all this for, might I ask? It’s a lot of sewing equipment yes?”

Perhaps she was into making costumes, after all, the one she was wearing was not exactly normal. Or an… what was the word again? He knew of human that enjoy dressing up as fictional characters, though the name escaped him.

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“They are supplies for the drama club in my school,” Zion answered, “There’s an actress that was suppose to play a role in our upcoming production, but she got really sick and is unable to perform her role; Since sizing is going to be an issue since her and I are obviously different in size; But we ran out of supplies and I had nothing better to do, so the responsibility in getting them was given to me.”

The human boy looked down to the dress he was wearing and glared as his cheeks flushed from embarrassment and pouted.

“So now I have to perform two roles; That girl’s role is a minor but I’m the only one whose role isn’t shared with her character’s, so I had no choice.” He sighed in irritation before he started to rant, “Now I have to wear this stupid, girly dress, so I can get used to that role, because a certain SOMEONE thought it would be funny to force me into it when they found out, only to watch me suffer and crush my pride for their own amusement.”

At this point, the human was only ranting, forgetting that the vampire helping him thought Zion was a girl. He was just so irritated that his pride as a man was being crumbled by not only this new role, but also by his own sister.

It was all just a nuisance!

Why him?!

WHY?! HIM?!

Finally, when he was done ranting, Zion breathed heavily.

He is just… so done…

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Well that was quite the rant, seemed the little princess had a temper. Still, he could understand being forced to do something one didn’t want to do.

“You should see it as a complement.”

They reached the exist and Kanaye stepped in front of the girl. He would never meet her again, so what was the point in wasting the opertunity to have a little fun.

“They must think highly of you, to trust you with two roles. I do not think it is so bad to have others put faith in you. Although, perhaps it is a lesson learned with years…”

He offers her bags back to her. She was cute but staying in the company of a young girl didn’t exactly help his situation of needing companionship. Her parents must be near or whomever drove to this location.

“Try not to dwell on the inconvience of it all.”

Smiling Kanaye kneels down to her heigh once more. It was fun to tease someone who reacted so cutely. Surely the small girl will grow into quite the looker, when that happens… well there were advantages to not aging like a human does.

“Good luck in your play, my lady.”

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Huh…?

Wha..?

Why was his heart beating fast the way it was right now?

Zion blushes from this and looked away after taking his bags back, “T-thanks… um…” At this point, he realized the boy realized he did not get his name, “S-sorry, I didn’t get—“

Almost as if it was the right moment, Juliet walked. “Well, well, well~ This is unexpected~” She smirked as the Now former human spotted quite the sight.

Seeing his sister unexpectedly, Zion blushed crimson red and glared, “W-WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!!!!” He busted out. But this didn’t stop the raven-haired girl from smirking wider. “Mother and Father asked me to pick you up and take you home.” She explained before turning her eyes to Kanaye, “Kanaye, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“W-wait…” Zion was now beyond confused, “Y-You know him?” He questioned further. “I met him while I was still human; He’s the brother of that bastard I told you about that I hate, but unlike him, Kanaye is way more tolerable.” Juliet answered before walking over behind Zion, placing a hand on his head with her smirk still in place.

“I see, you’ve finally met my little brother.” Juliet said, “Zion was a tough one to deal with, he tends to run hot-and-cold.”

Zion froze.

His mind was blank.

But once he was able to come to, the only thought that came to mind was:

‘SHE DID THAT ON FUCKING PURPOSE, THAT DAMN—!!!!!!!!!!’

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Well this was unforeseen, though the scent from before now made sense. So this girl was the source of the scent. A new sibling to this Muakmi clan, Juliet’s younger brother. Wait…

“Your… brother..?”

Kanaye looked at the girl before him. The same girl he had been helping, was actually a boy?! Now that he was looking closely, there were boyish features about her. Feeling embarrassed beyond all reason, Kanaye stands up, a light blush on his face.

“I see… Forgive me. This entire time I’d been treating you in such a way.”

He glances over at Juliet, no doubt this was the person the young boy spoke of in a rage.

“Juliet Mukami, I take it you are responsible for placing your brother in this situation? Young Zion Mukami, please forget what I said before. Your sister truly does have a strange sense of humor.”

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“He wouldn’t really have much of a choice, if you think about it.” Juliet retorted, with her stoic expression returned, “He was going to play the role of a girl; His name, his features, even his personalities is similar to a girl’s; I figured it would be good practice for him to get used to wearing girl clothes for the role, if he wants to make the show a success.”

Zion was just utterly embarrassed. If it was Leon, he would’ve not embarrass him like this. ‘BUT IT JUST HAD TO BE THE SHE-DEVIL HERSELF!!!!’

“But at least it was able to fool you, right Kanaye Sakamaki? You looked rather flustered upon realizing Zion was actually a boy.” Juliet smirked once again, “I would say I am quite proud of my work.”

“S-shut up…! L-Let’s just go home already, you damn sadist!” Zion cursed, before glancing to Kanaye and stuttered, “S-so..s-s-sorry…”

“Also, strange sense of humor? I beg to differ on that remark.” The raven-haired Vampire gave the Sakamaki a questioning look, “By the way, what are you doing here?”

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Kanaye attempts to keep his embarrassment un-noticed. Leave it to Juliet Mukami to point it out. Although, she did have a point, the young Mukami boy did look quite adorable. Poor thing, his pride must be all but shattered at this point, he certainly didn’t help by acting as though he were a girl.

“I was in the mood to eat, when I caught your scent. Appeared to be your sibling instead. He needed assistance so, that is what I was currently doing.”

He glances down at the smaller Mukami. This one was human as well, how fascinating it must be, to be human in a world full of vampires.

“I offer my apologies, Zion Mukami. Your attire is most convincing, although that must not feel like a compliment.”  

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“Ah, that’s because the dress Zion’s wearing is actually mine.” Juliet explained as she continued to look at him blankly, “It was either that dress or a mini-skirt; See, I was nice enough to give him a choice.”

‘It was definitely NOT a choice at all!!!’ Zion facepalmed before mumbling out, “It doesn’t feel like one..” Ignoring her brother for a moment, the raven-haired vampire suggested, “Well, if you’re still kind of bored, I’ve got nothing better to do later after dropping little Zion off; So if you’re up for it, after I drop him off, We can hang out. It’s been a while since I’ve been out anyways, and I don’t mind keeping you company.”

As the human boy heard this, he can confirm it was quite true. After becoming a vampire and standing beside Thomas, her husband, Juliet has been spending most of her time together in the castle and has been dedicating her time taking care of her new responsibilities as Queen; This must be one of the rare times she can be out like this.

The more he thought about that, the more he began to think how hard it must’ve been for both his older brother and sister as they now have lives of their own, and cannot spend time together as much as they used to after growing up together as close as two peas in a pod.

“Hey Juliet, I’m ready to go when you are. I want to get out of this stupid dress already.” Zion said, before stealing glances to Kanaye.

Seriously? Why was his heart pounding? What did this weirdo do to him?!

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Kanaye looks the dress over again. Juliet… owned and possibly wore something like this? The actual thought of it almost made him shiver. It did not suite her, then again, it was hard to see Juliet Mukami as a female.

“I wouldn’t mind accompanying you. Do we have to get in one of those… vehicles?”

He was not a fan of cars. It was something that the Demon World did not have. In this world however, they are everywhere.

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“You’re saying that as if I’m a bad driver.” Juliet cocked her head to the side before assuring the male vampire, “I’m actually a pretty good driver; I was taught by Father and I was the one that helped teach Leon, so don’t worry about it.”

Her blue orbs looked to Zion and noticed the glances her little brother took of Kanaye, and her eyes narrowed. “Are you ready?” She questioned. “Y-yeah.. I want to get out of this damn thing already..” he mumbled. “Alright perfect; Now you sit in the back like a good, little princess.” She smirked as her brother’s face turned bright red in anger and embarrassment.

“S-shut up…!” He just can’t wait to go home. This was the most embarrassing thing in his entire life. His own sister crushed his pride as a man. In front of someone he just met. ‘I wanna die already..!’

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Kanaye laughed a bit watching the two of them. Siblings always proved to be entertaining. He could not see his own siblings behaving as such, nor himself. As different as they maybe to most, Kanaye believed his family fit the way it was meant to.

“No insult meant, I simply detest vehicles.”

Kanaye followed Juliet with Zion do her car, and helped load the bags inside. Since Juliet had instructed her brother to the back, that left him in the front.

“I beg of you to prove that statement from before.”

It was not as if he was afraid of crashing. A car crash would not kill a vampire, it was more the whole moving aspect. It tended to weigh on his stomach, and it was not a feeling Kanaye enjoyed.

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“If you want, I can keep your mind off the road by telling you all the embarrassing stuff about Zion.” Juliet smirked. “That isn’t helping anyone!” The human boy growled. “I’m helping Sakamaki Kanaye; You’re not the one that’s isn’t comfortable with cars, so you be quiet.” Juliet bluntly stated, making Zion silent.

“But like I said, I’m an expert driver. You don’t have to worry about anything; When it comes to driving, you can actually trust me.” Juliet stated as she got in the black car with her brother going in the back, before starting up the car itself. “This is my baby. It is a 2017 Toyota Prius; It was a gift and I’m not allowing anyone else to drive it.” Juliet proudly said.

Zion sweat dropped, “So you don’t even let Aniki drive it?” He questioned. “Whenever I have him the offer, he declines; And he was right to always decline.” His sister answered. “Hey Kanaye, did you know, despite how girly he looks, Zion always gets the main roles in the productions he always auditions for? There was one role he played well at and it reminded me of you for some reason.”

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Kanaye couldn’t help smiling. Just as he found Spencer and his siblings amusing, Juliet Mukami and hers were just as entertaining. The bond of true siblings, must be nice.

“Remind you of me? Now why would a character do something like that?”

To be honest, Kanaye appreciated the attempt to calm his nerves. Auto mobile were truly nerve wrecking.

♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧ To Be Continued ♬° ✧❥✧¸.•*¨*✧♡✧  

[elevenspond]

it’s absolutely staggering how many people insist amy pond and clara oswald are nothing more than idealized caricatures while in the same breath claim rose tyler and donna noble are the most relatable companions in doctor who. if you ask me, amy and clara are two of the most realistic female characters i’ve ever seen in fiction.

let’s start with amy. in season 5, one of the central difficulties she has to overcome is her fear of commitment to rory and her initial reluctance to get married. a fear of commitment in fiction is usually portrayed in male characters despite it being common in reality across all genders, and it doesn’t come from a lack of love for the other person. amy experiences a fear of devoting herself fully to someone after all of the abandonment she suffered throughout her childhood (parents that were mysteriously never around, the doctor leaving her waiting, etc). but she overcomes this fear after being confronted directly with the loss of rory and finishes the season happily wedded to him. she faces realistic, internal challenges in her life and conquers them over the course of her own character arc. amy does this again in season 6, when she has to face the fact that the doctor is not the fairytale hero she’s seen him as ever since she was a child; that he won’t always be able to save her, and that he is as imperfect and vain as anyone else. and although it’s heartbreaking, amy accepts this about him and moves on from her own idolization of him. this arc of her character represents the moment we all experience when we stop seeing the world through the eyes of our childhood selves and realize its imperfections, as well as the moment when we learn to accept those imperfections for what they are. after this, in season 7, amy is ready to move on from a life of adventuring with the doctor to a life of normalcy with her husband. an ordinary lifestyle may not seem appealing to many of us, but to most people on this earth, it’s all we will ever have, and amy’s development into someone who can leave behind her childhood fairytale in order to live out normal days with the person she loves--- it’s so applicable to real life, and quite frankly, so inspirational.

now, on to clara, whose arcs are a bit in the reverse order of amy’s. when we first meet clara oswald in season 7, she’s an ordinary young woman who is swept away into adventures across time and space with the doctor. she’s witty, clever, bossy, confident, and wholly unique as an individual, and despite all of that, so much of clara remains ordinary. in season 8, she works as a school teacher, one of the most mundane (yet extremely important) jobs in the world, and she falls in love with a fellow teacher. she balances a life of traveling with the doctor with an exceedingly ordinary life. “normal is overrated” she says, but the fact remains that she’s still an ordinary woman even while being so clever and brilliant, and her arc in season 8 is about clara accepting that she can do ordinary things while still being extraordinary, which is honestly so inspirational.  then comes season 9, and therein lies the tragedy of her character. clara has suffered a personal loss of incredible magnitude in danny pink’s death, severing the strongest tie to her ordinary life, and in attempting to move on from her grief, she throws herself fully into her travels with the doctor. she becomes more reckless, more unafraid, more confident in her own dangerous choices and actions. it’s such a realistic way of dealing with, or in this case, suppressing immeasurable grief. not everyone reacts to loss this way, but many do, and for many, the reckless lifestyle they embrace in order to forget the pain is more destructive than the pain itself. and this is exactly what happens with clara. she continuously takes risks throughout season 9, always confident in her own ability to calculate the odds and pull through, until her overconfidence leads her to a risk that proves fatal. clara oswald is killed by the self-destructive way she dealt with her own grief. this is unbelievably realistic and tragic. it’s also something that, like amy’s fear of commitment, is an arc that’s usually only written for male characters. although the doctor manages to bring her back with a time stream loophole, her fate is sealed, and she’s forever destined to die in that moment of time. so she goes off into the universe in her own tardis, traveling through time and space, always running from her own fate, from her grief, from everything that will ever hurt, plunging herself into the ultimate distraction from all things ordinary, just like the doctor does. it’s a bittersweet ending for her arc, and it echoes something that is very real in a lot of people’s lives.

tldr: amy is relatable in the childlike wonder she retains and the way it’s consistently challenged; in the fear she feels toward devoting herself to others that is rooted in issues of abandonment; clara is relatable in the absolute normalcy of her life outside of the doctor; in the overwhelming grief she experiences over a loss and how she avoids that grief. they aren’t mere idealized caricatures. they are flawed, and they face distinct challenges in their own personal outlooks with arcs that give them proper resolutions, whether happy or sad, to these challenges.

now, let’s look at rose tyler and donna noble, the two companions people most often relate to.

rose is a completely regular teenage girl. her school grades were consistently average, she has no particular talents to speak of, she works in a shop, she has no future prospects for a better job or higher education, and nothing special has ever happened in her entire life. rose is the absolute peak of ordinary, which is why so many people relate to her. we could all easily fit ourselves into her shoes. i also like eating chips and am bored 24/7. but then the doctor whisks her away, and her life begins to revolve solely around him. this is where the relatability nose dives for me. we’re all searching for the escape that will let us ignore how boring or awful the world around us is for a little while, whether that’s music, books, a new fandom, anything at all. traveling with the doctor is rose’s permanent escape from her world. the thing is, this is never portrayed as anything but a good thing. the doctor is rose’s whole new life. she occasionally visits home, but it’s only a visit, nothing to indicate that life on earth is something she’ll ever want to dabble in again. she’s been completely liberated from all the troubles she once faced. i can’t relate to this at all, because there will never be anything that will whisk me away from needing a job, needing money, or needing an education. what rose experiences is a full blown pipe dream. yes, it’s fun to watch, and think about, and wish for, but it isn’t exactly relatable. rose is never portrayed as a character who is avoiding the challenges of regular life--- she’s just having a great time. even when she’s trapped in a parallel world, she doesn’t have to return to the mundane life she once knew. she works with torchwood and continues on in that same vein of alien threats, time and space, alternate dimensions, etc., where her brand new true potential thrives. she gets to focus on reuniting with the doctor, and the only challenge she faces is the actual act of crossing worlds, not any kind of personal challenge. one might say she has to deal with the difficulty of living on with a meta crisis clone of the doctor instead of the real doctor, but that’s a different rant. rose simply never had an overarching character development in which she could confront her own personal flaws, which is something that made amy and clara so relatable. she simply had a great time with a handsome doctor she fell in love with, and then circumstance pulled them apart.

now, for donna. i do love donna. i love the friendship she has with the doctor, but the foundation of her character is very similar to rose’s. donna is an incredibly average woman who has worked a series of temporary jobs, never feeling important, but always wanting more. it’s another character template we can all easily fit ourselves into. donna does have an arc where she confronts her own lack of self worth over the course of season 4, an arc that is met with her being told that she is the most important woman in all of creation. every companion has a title associated with them: amy is the girl who waited, clara is the impossible girl, martha is the woman who walked the earth, and donna noble is the most important woman in the universe. donna’s struggle with self worth is met with the fact that she is the most important woman in creation because she's the woman who saves all of reality from davros and the daleks, however this is where this arc still loses all trace of relatability for me. donna doesn’t become the most important woman in all of creation in light of her own ordinary qualities--- she only becomes this by becoming part time lord and, in her own words, by gaining “the mind” of the doctor. donna as herself already had great potential, but her arc of dealing with her own self worth is resolved by giving her the attributes of someone else, and only by happenstance. it’s played off as destiny or fate, but all she had to do was touch the hand and the meta crisis happened on its own. and yes, the narrative insists that it’s donna’s human traits that make her even more intelligent than the doctor when she’s part time lord, but the fact still remains that she required part of him to reach that potential at all. like rose being liberated entirely from her own boring life, this just isn’t realistic, and therefore isn’t relatable.

donna and rose are both people who need the doctor in their lives, and without him, they feel either worthless or as if their life has no meaning. contrarily, amy and clara develop themselves as characters who are able to exist separately from the doctor, who have their own personal conflicts apart from him and who forge lives outside of him. amy and clara are both involved in the overall stories that are led by the doctor, but they also both have internal struggles that are independent of him and are resolved as part of their own development, sometimes with his help but never because of him.

maybe someone out there reading this disagrees with me. but this is my observation after seeing so many people claim that amy pond and clara oswald are worse, less likable, and less relatable than rose tyler and donna noble.

(and if anyone is wondering why i didn’t talk about martha or bill, it’s because i don’t see anyone calling them either relatable or unrelatable. in fact i don’t see people really talk about them at all, which is an entire problem in and of itself, and is why i didn’t include that problem in this rant)

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 101: Earthlings

“Earth is a prison.”

Beta was a difficult episode to write about on its own, because it’s the first half of a story without the resolution. Earthlings makes up for it by being the most definitive resolution in the series until Change Your Mind.

It might seem odd to choose such a negative header quote for such a positive episode, but Jasper’s baggage is responsible for the culmination of four, count ‘em, four Act II (Seasons 2-3) character arcs. And her response to Peridot’s earnest defense of the planet begins a final speech that sets the tone for Act III (Seasons 4-5). Love her or hate her, Jasper is the most important character in this story, and even though things go great for our three heroes, her story is a tragedy.

I’m not here to say that Jasper is just misunderstood, because she remains monstrous at the start of Earthlings, taunting her Corrupted prisoners and going further than ever to extol her hatred of weaker Gems. But at last, her bullying attitude is given an ethos: it’s been clear from the start that she’s a classic believer in Might Makes Right and a loyal Homeworlder, but watching her explain the values behind these virtues is both disturbing and illuminating. Bismuth, the most hardcore Crystal Gem soldier we’ve seen, radically defends the ability for Gems to choose their own paths. So it holds that Jasper, the most hardcore Homeworld soldier we’ve seen, believes the exact opposite with equal fervor.

Jasper is a bigot, and like all bigots she believes her views are backed by “facts” about the worth of other lives relative to her own. Unlike humans, Gems are made for specific purposes, so there’s slightly more merit to her beliefs than those of real world bigots. But like humans, Gems are capable of free will, and by imposing the oppressive power structure of Homeworld, Jasper becomes the ideal nemesis for characters whose identity crises are the result of this oppression. Meaning all of the Crystal Gems, really, but specifically Amethyst and Peridot given Jasper’s focus on physicality.

Still, for all the work done to set Jasper and Amethyst up as rivals, we should take a step back and remember that Amethyst cares way more about Jasper than vice versa. The lopsided fight means everything to our scrappy Crystal Gem, and Jasper indulges and belittles her from time to time, but it’s clear that she has another Gem on her mind, and it isn’t Peridot.

It’s a fascinating choice (and the right one, because otherwise the episode’s focus is right out the window) to have Lapis Lazuli sit this fight out, considering she’s the reason any of this is happening. Jasper’s arc has almost nothing to do with Amethyst: it’s about an emotionally stunted savant who has no idea how to handle a bad breakup, and doubles down on the one thing she does well instead of seeking alternative solutions. Unfortunately for all involved, Jasper’s single area of expertise is violence.

Our first impression of Jasper is a brutal Gem who looks down on fusion, but decides to fuse the second the going gets tough. She’s prideful, but cares more about winning than her pride, so she takes a pragmatic approach to besting the Crystal Gems after losing a fight to a fusion. However, Malachite only brings Jasper more misery, and not just because her abuse of Lapis is soon met in kind: that taste of power is stripped from her, then her ex rejects her, and now she’s wandering her home planet, a planet she despises, alone. She could have ruled the oceans forever, but instead she’s stuck in the desert where she was born.

The tragedy of Jasper is that she tried to branch out and explore something that we know is good, but she did it for the wrong reasons, it didn’t work, and it kills the small part of her that was willing to look beyond her myopic worldview. Here she becomes desperate enough to fuse with a monster, and even the monster rejects her, and the only thing she has left is her convictions. And at her lowest point, in the face of her own demise, she refuses to betray them again. She said from the beginning that she respected Rose’s tactics, but now we know she’ll never accept her help, and is too stubborn to fathom that a Gem could be so capable of transformation that Steven is a different person. So Jasper loses her mind, and it never would have happened if she’d been able to change it instead.

It’s fitting, then, that the three Gems she faces are the ones who have transformed the most over the course of the series: Steven and Peridot through character growth, and Amethyst as the character who has literally transformed more than anyone else.

The end of Jasper’s arc is tragic, but the end of Amethyst’s is triumphant. The mismatched battle between Amethyst and Jasper is tough to watch, but important: so many kid’s shows have heroes who beat impossible odds through sheer willpower, and while it’s a great message to try your best, it doesn’t account for the fights we can’t win. If the media you consume keeps telling you that you can do anything if you try hard enough, some part of you is gonna blame yourself for not doing the impossible when you meet impossible challenges in real life. Amethyst’s arc was never about beating Jasper alone: it’s about accepting that her inability to beat Jasper alone doesn’t make her any less wonderful. It’s okay to be vulnerable and rely on your friends and family when the going gets tough, and that’s exactly what saves the day.

It’s a hell of a thing for the culmination of a character arc to be a new fusion, but what better way to show that Amethyst has accepted teamwork again? Smoky Quartz is the perfect design of a fusion made from two friends who are finally okay with their flaws: their brown mop of hair clashes with their skin color, and they have that gross extra forearm instead of the symmetrical bonus limbs we’re used to, but they’re just so pumped to be here. Their theme is a jubilant blend of Steven’s chiptunes and Amethyst’s drumkit, and Natasha Lyonne, herself no stranger to turmoil, imbues just a hint of her typically snarky delivery (see: Orange is the New Black, Russian Doll) to make Smoky a goofball with an edge. They aren’t bubbly because they’re naive or stupid, they’re bubbly because they’re on the other side of a tumultuous personal struggle.

We once again get a clever-as-hell fusion of our heroes’ weapons, combining Amethyst’s whip and Steven’s shield to make a yoyo. And while they do best Jasper in a fight, the more important thing is that they’re having fun instead of obsessing over a jerk. They crack puns, they cheer themselves on, and they even let dramatic developments like Jasper’s fusion with a Corrupted Gem slide right off. Yes, Amethyst is technically winning a fight in an arc about how it’s okay that she’s not gonna win the fight, but she does it with Steven, and even though we see her bubble a Gem’s gem for the first time, she doesn’t earn the final blow.

Peridot may have hit a major milestone in her character development upon joining the Crystal Gems, but if we’re talking about the story of her becoming an earthling, this is the actual culmination. As with her encounter with Yellow Diamond, she shines when contrasted with a former superior, standing up for herself and her adopted home when it matters most. She’s still a ham, spending most of the episode struggling to show off her metal powers, but her signature hubris is now tempered with a healthier form of self-confidence: she doesn’t hesitate to defend her dignity or lifestyle, and beautifully ends an arc that began by thanking Steven all the way back in When It Rains with a simple “You’re welcome!”

So Jasper’s arc, Amethyst’s arc, and Peridot’s arc all come to a close at the same time. Who are we missing...

Oh right.

This may not be the finale, but it’s the climax of Steven’s Act II character arc, meaning it’s the end of an era for the series that shares his name. There are many ways to read our lead protagonist’s character development for the original show’s three acts, but I see it as a sort of hierarchy of needs: from the beginning, he needs to become a Crystal Gem, live up to his mother’s legacy, and become a hero in his own right, and at the end of every act he checks off one of these goals. He correctly declares himself a true Crystal Gem at the end of Act I, and manages to find himself after his connection with Rose is forever changed in Act III, but Act II is a less obvious story about where he’s going in life, because his life is relatively stable throughout the second and third seasons. It’s everyone else whose lives are in flux: the other Crystal Gems have clear stages of growth and the Week of Sardonyx to deal with, Peridot and Lapis switch sides, Connie becomes a sword fighter, even Greg gains comical wealth, but Steven seems to stick to the status quo. 

I mentioned it in Steven vs. Amethyst, but it bears repeating that this act begins with Steven baring his heart and saying he’s not sure whether or not he’s his mom, and ends with him baring his heart and saying definitively that he’s not Rose Quartz, a sentiment he repeats here. The first two acts are about Steven trying to fill the void his mother left behind, but this goal shifts as he learns additional information. He’s uncertain in Act I because he knows very little about her, so he’s just trying to be a Crystal Gem. He then learns she was an alien invader who chose to protect Earth instead, so he spends Act II trying to live up to this expectation. The two stories may seem similar, especially compared to how different things are upon hearing that Rose shattered Pink Diamond, but I think the distinction is most easily found in the midpoint of each act.

Midway through Act I, Steven gains his mother’s healing abilities, learns that the Gems are aliens with opposing sides, and immediately loses his mother’s healing abilities. He’s in over his head, sporadic with the skills he inherited from Rose and clueless about her origins. Midway through Act II, Steven recruits a new ally, saves the planet from a Homeworld weapon, and immediately recruits another ally. He knows now that Rose was a defender of Earth and a friend to all outcast Gems, and is choosing to continue these traditions.

Act II is the part of the story where Steven helplessly watches the Crystal Gems struggle through a serious personal rift, then learns to help each of them overcome their inner demons. He mediates, he inspires, and he grows his “army” by being a good friend to Connie, Peridot, and Lapis. Unlike Act I, he’s competently and intentionally following the footsteps of the Rose we’ve heard about for the entire series. But still, he questions his worthiness.

Steven’s second arc ends with him helping Amethyst, but failing to help Jasper, and it’s just the sort of bittersweet victory that fits a story about trying to personify an idealistic version of a flawed figure. He gets a lot of things right, and looking up to the concept of a perfect Rose is responsible for a lot of good in his life, but it also leads to self-doubt when he can’t possibly live up to this illusion of a standard. And when he tries to keep fulfilling that legacy by using her healing powers to help Jasper, Rose’s other legacy is what gets in his way. Jasper gets a tragedy, Amethyst and Peridot get triumphs, but Steven gets something in the middle: he wins the day, and he becomes stronger in the real way over the course of two seasons, but he fails to become just like Rose because not even Rose was just like the Rose he thought he knew.

For all its resolutions, Earthlings is still an episode that sets the table for a finale that opens a floodgate instead of closing the door. We see the crest of the Diamond Authority more clearly than ever as Jasper exposits about the intended purpose of Gems, and given the slow trickle of lore we’ve gotten so far, this could’ve been it. But then, after a bevy of hints throughout the series that something is up with the diamond on the bottom of the crest, we finally hear Pink Diamond’s name.

That story is about to get a lot more complicated, and I appreciate that we aren’t teased about what Rose did to her Diamond for long. But thanks to Kimberly Brooks (who kills it in an episode that gives her plenty to do), this inherently compelling name drop is given additional weight by the anguish in Jasper’s voice. We’ve seen her down before, and she sounds more defeated than ever when bemoaning her bad luck with fusion partners, but Jasper’s last words are a chilling blend of her signature rage with despair. This is someone bent on Gems fulfilling their intended purpose, and thousands of years later, she’s still devastated that she couldn’t fulfill her own. She wasn’t just made to fight, she was made to win a single war, and she lost.

The table is also set by another cliffhanger, because this may be the end for four huge stories all at once, but it’s not the end of Act II. Strap in, folks, it’s time for Steven’s third arc to begin.

Future Vision!

I mean, it’s a short turnaround, but Eyeball had better get used to being bubbled alive.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Keeping It Together just got back into the top list, and back down it goes. Sorry! But Earthlings is an incredible all-around episode. Terrific character work that coincides with terrific big picture storytelling, lore galore, great music, great action, a new fusion, and a tentative sense that everything’s gonna be alright that leaves us nice and warm until the other shoe drops. The scary thing is that this would be even higher if it and Beta were aired as a single entity.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

When It Rains

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

No Thanks!

     5. Horror Club      4. Fusion Cuisine      3. House Guest      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

(No promo art for this second half of an episode, so instead we’ll go with HeavenSevenEleven’s gorgeous depiction of Jasper. Not used to that much color up there!)

[janeofcakes]

Chapter 112

**This chapter is pretty long, but it’s lovely. So very lovely.**

(A perfect autumn evening, just at sunset. The garden is full of turning leaves and vibrant flowers. Amber Chandler, licensed celebrant, stands under the trellis with a smile on her face, ready to preside over the ceremony. She has become very well acquainted with John and Sherlock over the last few weeks. She likes to know as much as she can about the people she marries and, as a result, asked them to meet with her six times at regular intervals leading up to the wedding. John had agreed straight away, no doubt expecting such a request. Sherlock had glowered immediately, eyeing her and then John in turn.)

S: Will this be considered premarital counseling?

AC: If you like.

S: (curling his lip in disapproval) I do not believe we are in need of such counseling.

J: (quietly) Sherlock.

AC: (unfazed) Then don’t think of it that way.

S: (cocking a brow) I fail to see its relevance.

AC: Fair enough. I’d really like to get to know you both a little before I bind you together.

(Sherlock looked at John triumphantly and John had face palmed. They had obviously discussed this at length prior to the meeting.)

S: So you can inform us we were not meant to be.

AC: No. (laughing) So I can tailor the ceremony to your specific relationship and personalities. (The suspicious detective narrowed his eyes and studied her intently. She just smirked, already liking this cantankerous character.) It’s not a trick, I promise. If I do say something that seems like counseling, it isn’t going to be anything you don’t already know and you don’t have to listen. You don’t have to care. Fair enough?

S: (still very skeptical) Acceptable.

AC: Great. When are you both free next? Couple days? Afternoon work? And don’t worry. (winking at Sherlock) The ropes don’t chafe.

(It all proceeded from there. Amber learned a great deal about both men in that first conversation and every meeting after also provided a wealth of information. She liked to think the two men learned more about one another too, but never expected it of any couple she married. She truly did not lie when she told Sherlock he didn’t have to care about a word she said.)

(Amber smiles to herself as she looks out at the small crowd of people seated before her. A diverse group to be sure. Friends from the surgery, a handful from John’s army days, and a few of the Yarders. Sally Donovan being one of the most animated, judging by the grin on her face. Sarah, her husband, and their daughter Madeleine are all seated close by, beaming from ear to ear. Billy Wiggins and a small troupe of Sherlock’s homeless network, who blend in quite well with everyone else, are at hand too.

Amber’s grin broadens as her eyes hover over the guests in the front rows. Each of them holds a special place in John and Sherlock’s hearts. They are the family on which these men depend, whether they admit it or not.)

(Bertrum Smythe, Sherlock’s tailor, a man who has known him since he first moved to London and has loved him like a son from the beginning.

Mrs. Martha Hudson, the matriarch, who essentially adopted Sherlock when he moved into 221B and who did the same with John when he joined the detective. She is secretly credited with bringing them together, leading them in the right direction with her hints and suggestions, both subtle and obvious.

Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother and general pain in his ass. While Mycroft certainly takes pleasure in annoying the younger Holmes, he honestly does do it because he worries constantly. He has considered Sherlock his responsibility and not simply his brother since the day their parents died.

Molly Hooper, friend and colleague to both men, and Mycroft’s wife. How such a sweet woman came to know these men so well is still a mystery to Amber, despite the explanations she has received. Molly’s effect on each of them speaks volumes to her quiet strength.

A short laugh slips past Amber’s lips as her eyes rest on the best men. Standing before her, nervously smiling at one another, are Greg Lestrade and Mike Stamford. Each a long-time friend to one of the grooms and both overjoyed.

Mike stands to Amber’s left. Bursting with excited energy, he can’t stay still and shuffles his feet this way and that, a grin plastered across his face. Greg, on the other hand, stands stalk still to Amber’s right. His eyes are wide, but unseeing. His face is a paper-white mask of panic.)

AC: (whispering) Greg.

(He snaps immediately from his stupor, eyes focusing on her. She leans forward a skosh and motions him over with a quick snap of her chin. He takes a step closer and leans in, an uneasy look on his face.)

AC: What is it? You lose the ring?

G: What? No. (hand settling over his chest with a gentle pat, breast pocket lying beneath) I have it.

AC: Then relax. (She smiles sweetly.) This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let’s not bicker and argue about who killed who.

(A quiet laugh pops from his lips. Her smile broadens and she taps his shoulder lightly.)

AC: There ya go. (pausing) Look, relax. You don’t even have to do anything.

G: Right. (exhaling slowly) Right.

(Greg steps back again and relaxes his shoulders. Amber huffs a short giggle as the music changes to signal that the ceremony will start soon. Greg’s body stiffens again, brown eyes darting to Amber. She just continues smiling and shakes her head, thoroughly amused.

Jane Eaglen’s “The Dreame” drifts across the garden, elegant stringed instruments augmenting her perfectly clear soprano.

Or scorne, or pity on me take,

I must the true relation make.

I am undone tonight;

Love in a subtle dreame disguised

Hath both my heart and me surprised.

(From her seat in the front row, Molly smiles brightly and looks around wistfully. Her acute examiner’s eyes take in every detail of the scene. The full blooms on the trellis in radiant fall colors, the crimson rose petals scattered throughout the grass, the wade pool with blood orange flowers floating delicately on its waters. Sighing happily, she turns her head toward her husband, intending to kiss his lips lightly, but her brows furrow ever so slightly and head tilts in question when she sees his thoughtful frown. Taking her hand in his, he puts voice to his concerns before she can.)

M: You regret not having this. That we were married in secret.

MH: (smiling at him, love and honesty in her eyes) I regret nothing about that day. Or about you, love.

(Mycroft’s worried expression gives way to pure adoration and he squeezes her hand. She tips forward to press her lips briefly against his smile and then leans close, their arms touching.)

AC: Will you all please rise?

(Everyone stands and turns to face the isle cutting through the center of the crowd. The music changes again to a recording of Sherlock playing an abbreviated version of a piece he composed for John. The perfect notes swell victoriously and drop down to near silence, telling the very soul of their story with its glory and tragedy.)

(After a full minute, the two grooms appear in the glass doors that lead into the house. The doors flutter open as if by magic and the men step out into the garden, arm in arm. They walk slowly down the short isle, beaming at each of their friends as they pass. Bertie sniffs quietly and brushes a wet eye when Sherlock’s gaze meets his. Mrs. Hudson has been misty since “The Dreame” began and she smiles softly as her boys walk by.

When they reach the front, John and Sherlock take their places in between the best men and unlatch their arms. Everyone has turned and all eyes face Amber. She smiles kindly and begins as the music fades away.)

AC: Please be seated. (The crowd complies. She looks at the four men standing before her.) Not you, I’m afraid. You all have to tough it out.

(Mike chuckles, Greg just tries to breathe, and Sherlock rolls his eyes. John keeps smiling and exhales deeply, letting everything sink in.)

AC: When I first met John and Sherlock, I had certain expectations. I read John’s blog. We all do, whether or not we choose to admit it. (glancing at Mycroft) I like to think I had some idea of their personalities going in, and that first meeting did not prove me wrong.

Sherlock was rude and suspicious and studied me with such intensity that I felt stripped of all secrets and pretenses. Defenseless to the onslaught of deduction that was surely coming. I immediately knew that if I were to hire him for a case, I would receive nothing but the best work and a speedy conclusion.

John was stern and calm and quick to laugh. Very polite, but with a temper lurking beneath. A good soldier and a good doctor. I immediately knew I would receive only the best care, far better than even my expectations, if I was his patient.

Now, we all know these two men work well together and they are clearly best friends. The proof of both is in the blog. But what would draw them together into something more? Two men who seem polar opposites. They’ll drive each other mad, I thought. Why aren’t they insane already? It must be the sex.

(The smiles and quiet chuckles in the garden give way to real laughter when Mrs. Hudson, of all people, lets out a burst of jocularity at that. She glances around at the other guests, a hint of pink on her cheeks, but with no other indication of embarrassment.)

Mrs. H: They are quite noisy.

(Everyone laughs heartily. John tucks his chin to his chest and smiles, his cheeks crimson. Sherlock bites his lip to keep from grinning and angles his face to catch a glimpse of his groom.)

M: (in a low mischievous tone) Allow me to sound proof the building, Mrs. Hudson.

(More laughter fills the air. The grooms catch each other’s eye and smile shyly. Right after Sherlock rolls his eyes, that is.)

AC: And then something happened. (reigning everyone in again) I almost didn’t notice it. It was the smallest of movements. They were sitting together on a sofa and, while he was talking, without the slightest giveaway, John slowly angled his leg until his knee touched Sherlock’s.

I could see the warmth spiraling from that single point, filling both men with comfort. At that moment, the meeting changed. John and Sherlock both eased back into the sofa and relaxed. Sherlock was still pretty skeptical, but he was willing to listen and talk.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. John’s always keeping the peace, making sure Sherlock behaves himself, (Sherlock lifts his chin and gives her a haughty look) but it’s more than that. John brings Sherlock peace. And Sherlock does the same for John.

The more I met with them, the more I realized that they were both restless and incomplete before they met one another. Neither was happy. Something was missing. After every solved case, after every battle or patient, something was always missing.

And then, one touch, one look changed everything. ‘May I borrow your mobile?’ … ‘Here, use mine.’

(Mike can’t help but puff up with pride.)

AC: Both minds stopped. Quiet at last. John and Sherlock have both referred to that moment as the beginning. The moment each knew he could find what he’d always been missing. And as time went on, they each began to realize there was more than friendship between them. A thousand looks while their backs were turned, lingering just a little too close for a little too long, and finally…that first kiss.

(Amber pauses. The silence is broken only by quiet sniffling. Molly rivals Mrs. Hudson for the wettest eyes.)

AC: I wish I could say it has all been smooth sailing from that moment on, but it has not. What it has been is life, and one that John and Sherlock would never exchange. One that they are overjoyed. Ecstatic. To live together.

(Sherlock and John meet eyes, both nearly giddy. The detective reaches for his blogger’s hand and squeezes it warm with his fingers. A quiet giggle passes through John’s lips. Sherlock’s silver eyes sparkle at the sound.)

AC: Gentleman, please face each other and join hand. (Sherlock glances at her with a cock of his brow and she smirks.) Well, what do you expect? You’re always one step ahead.

(There are a few giggles as Sherlock faces John fully and accepts John’s hand when he reaches for him. John straightens his shoulders, grinning at his detective. A shiver runs down his spine. His whole body is tingling with anticipation. In mere minutes, Sherlock will be his husband. He will be Sherlock’s husband. He will be Dr. John Holmes Watson.)

J: Sherlock, I’ve been thinking.

(Sherlock narrows his eyes, honing in on his fiance.)

S: John, I will not let you see my vows and it is not because I haven’t yet written them.

J: (pausing) You haven’t written your vows yet?

(The taller man straightens his spine and looks away stubbornly.)

S: I’m not going to write them down. I know what I want to say. (looking at John and pursing his lips) I have thought about it a great deal.

(John blinks slowly and exhales loudly. John Watson Number 10: The ‘What the fuck’ face.)

J: Fine. Forget it. I was actually talking about my name.

S: Your name?

J: Yes, I’d like to change my name once we’re married.

S: To something other than John? No. I do not approve. I will still call you John.

J: Not my first name, you git. Hamish. I want to change Hamish. (he pauses and his tone softens) I want to change it to Holmes.

(Sherlock’s defiant expression melts into one of shock. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he can finally find the words.)

S: John Holmes Watson. You want to take my name?

J: Yes. (He wipes a tear from Sherlock’s cheek and looks into his shining eyes.) It’s ironic, don’t you think? That my middle name already begins with an H.

S: It is. More than you know. (clearing his throat) I intended on changing William to Watson.

J: (huffing a short laugh) Watson Sherlock Scott Holmes?

S: (sighing) I will also alter its position.

J: (laughing and pecking Sherlock’s delicious lips playfully) Sherlock Watson Holmes… I like it.

AC: At this time, our grooms would like to exchange vows before all of you, their family and friends.

(Amber nods to Sherlock. He smiles and looks at John, meeting his deep blue eyes. When he begins to speak, his rich baritone wavers, but quickly evens out without losing any of its sincerity.)

S: John, when I first met you, I thought you were like everyone else. As easy to read as a book with no cover. You moved into the flat. We worked our first case. And you did what no one has done. You surprised me. As I sat in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in that infernal orange blanket, I watched you. I met your eyes and knew at that moment that I must learn everything about this miraculous man called John Watson.

I knew I cared for you almost immediately, but did not realize just how much until you and Sarah were taken during The Blind Banker. It quickly became clear to me that, in spite of myself, my feelings ran deeper than friendship. Much deeper. And I was terrified. I had spent my life ignoring, suppressing, denying my emotions in favor of what I thought was a higher level of existence. One devoid of sentiment and the difficulties that come with it. I tried to push it down, hide my feelings away until they faded completely. But they didn’t fade at all. They grew stronger.

Then that night by the pool… (shaking his head and stepping closer) When I tore off that coat and the Semtex, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to hold you in my arms and feel our bodies touch over every inch. I wanted so much to tell you everything. Every thought, every feeling, everything I suddenly knew I could never suppress again. (shrugging) But I couldn’t find the words. Sherlock Holmes, who knows all, sees all, who misses nothing, had not the words to express his deepest emotions.

So I hid it from you. I watched you date, sabotaged your relationships, wondered with mind-numbing curiosity when you stopped dating, not daring to hope it was because you felt something for me. It wasn’t until Scandal in  Belgravia that I even knew what to call my feelings, and then I hadn’t the voice. She threw it in our faces again and again, challenging me. But I walked away. I could not bring myself to say the words for fear of failure, or disappointing you…losing you. Even after you confessed your feelings for me, even now, I avoid saying it in the presence of others. So, I say it now.

I love you. I love you. I love you. (By the third time, every muscle in his body that was tense has relaxed. His face is peaceful and a smile dances across his lips.)

I love you more than the universe is wide - 100,000 light years side to side. (Stunned, John looks at his groom with surprised eyes. His jaw drops, the corners of his mouth curling.) It bulges in the middle, 16,000 light years thick. It’s 3000 light years wide by the Earth. I know it all now. The universe, our solar system. I memorized it for you, John. I’m still uncertain why this knowledge is so necessary to you, but what is important to you is of the utmost importance to me. (flashing a grin, his brows rising) You, it’s always been you. You keep me right.

You, John Watson, are my sun, my conductor of light, and I will orbit you for all time.

(The garden is dead silent, as if even the wildlife stopped to listen. A tear rolls down John’s cheek and drips off his chin when he smiles up at Sherlock adoringly. A breathless Sherlock watches, quietly marveling at his beautiful John, memorizing every detail of the doctor’s face in this moment.

Amber smiles at the detective and then nods the go-ahead for John. He inhales deeply and swallows hard. Sherlock can tell what he’s thinking as if he were saying it to him. How can I possibly follow that?The detective smiles tenderly and squeezes John’s hands. The doctor meets his eyes. Don’t worry. It will be perfect. John smiles and wets his lips, inhaling deeply once again before he begins.)

J: Sherlock, you amaze me. Although, (he grins mischievously, eyes bright) after our first few words, I might have thought amazingly rude. (Quiet titters float about the garden and even Sherlock cannot help the grin that spreads over his own lips. How different they were then.) And then you said Afghanistan or Iraq, and I was hooked. (John shrugs his shoulders and affects John Watson Number 202: adorable, honest, vulnerable, content.)

You see everything. You know everything about everyone in a single look and I thought, after that first case, that there was absolutely no way you didn’t see right through me. Every look, every movement, every stolen glance. (still grinning, but looking sheepish) I tried to be…subtle about it because I knew I’d never be able to stop and I was afraid to hear your opinion on it, your deduction. I’d even look at your ass when your back was turned, for Christ sake. (more chuckles, tutting from a teary Mrs. Hudson) But I could never keep my eyes off your lips. And I couldn’t even hope to hide it.

(John pauses and his eyes drop before he can stop them. Both men wet their lips without thinking, looking into the other’s eyes.)

Amazing. In my mind, there was no way you didn’t know and no chance you had any interest. Not in an ordinary, broken army doctor like me. Also something I learned during that first case - that you were married to your work.

So I dated and I denied. If I’m honest, I wasn’t annoyed that people thought we were a couple as much as I was that we weren’t. I wanted so badly to be everything to you, but knew I never would be. As the years passed, so much happened between us and…I gave up. (Sherlock cocks a brow, so John clarifies.) I gave up dating. I wanted you, and only you. I’d grown to love you so completely. And I thought, it’s fine. It’s fine if he doesn’t want me, as long as he’s in my life.

(John dips his chin, embarrassed once again, and raises his eyes to gaze at the taller man.) I didn’t know what to do after New Year’s Eve. Our first kiss. I can still feel your lips on mine - gentle, tentative. It was the first time I dared to think you might feel the same. That maybe I could be more than your best friend.

S: (in his silky baritone) And then, the dinner.

J: (smiling) Yes, dinner. You were prodding me about spending so much time with Mycroft, like you were jealous, and…and I just said it. (His hand raises to cup the detective’s cheek lightly) God, I love you, Sherlock. You give of yourself so fully, so completely. And not just to me. To everyone you care about, whether it’s easy or the hardest thing to do.

(biting at his lip) It has been hard for us. But every time I’ve been so frightened and empty, you’ve brought me back. You take me in your arms and hold me tightly to your warmth, your life. Just like you did when we met. (John meets Sherlock’s silver eyes and swallows down a sob. Tears pricking at the corners of his own, even as he blinks to hold them back.) I was so alone and you gave me so much. Time and time again. Now, I… (his voice hitches, but he presses on) I will spend my life giving you all I have. Everything I have in my heart, everything you deserve. I’ll hold nothing back. Not anymore. You are a good man. The best man. And I will do my best to be worthy of you..

(A tear falls from John’s sparkling, deep blue eyes. He suddenly feels Sherlock’s hand at his nape, bowing his head, their foreheads pressing together. John closes his eyes and more tears fall. He tries to slow his rapid breaths and steady his heart. Sherlock sighs and then inhales John’s scent deeply, whispering gentle words to him alone.)

S: You are, John. You are.

(Sherlock raises his head and kisses the smaller man’s forehead. They take a step back from one another and lock eyes. Sherlock has never seen John so vulnerable. He shivers, even as John does the same, seeing the same expression on Sherlock’s face. Their hands slip away from necks and cheeks until they find one another again, long and short fingers holding tight. A small smile sparks on Sherlock’s lips. A wide grin plays across John’s in response.

Amber clears her throat and steps closer to the couple.)

AC: Sherlock Holmes, do you take John Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.

S: I do.

AC: John Watson, do you take Sherlock Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband. To give him your whole heart and keep his for the whole of your lives, and as long as your souls live beyond.

J: God, yes. I do.

(John raises a brow when Sherlock visibly shivers. The taller man does not break eye contact, nor does he acknowledge that anything unusual happened at all. John’s lips begin to curl, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which momentarily lose their focus. He has the oddest feeling of deja vu, as if he and Sherlock have done this before, not once but many times. The words ‘I do’ falling from his lips. A shiver running through Sherlock’s slender body.

The sound of Amber clearing her throat draws John’s attention, his eyes focusing on Sherlock once again. He wears a quizzical expression, a hint of concern in his silver eyes. John’s mouth curves upward in reassurance and comfort. It seems his message is received when Sherlock returns the smile.)

AC: At this time, John and Sherlock have chosen to exchange rings as a symbol of their love and commitment to one another. Greg, Mike, if you please.

(Mike and Greg each step up and place a wedding ring on the small, purple notebook she holds in her hands. She nods at them in turn with a broadening smile at Greg, mouthing ‘All done’ at him. He beams back at her.)

AC: Thank you. (looking to John and Sherlock) Gentlemen, please take these rings.

(Both men pick up a ring and then return gazing at one another. Their bodies are tingling. John actually feels like his lips might be numb. He tips up onto his toes for a second and drops back down again. Sherlock’s brows shoot up and down, and he grins at his groom like a complete idiot.)

AC: Sherlock, if you please.

(Sherlock lifts John’s left hand and begins sliding the textured platinum ring onto his finger as he speaks, his words rising into the air like a prayer.)

S: When I was young, my mother used to tell me that at a very few times in life, if I was lucky, I might meet someone who is exactly right for me. Not because he is perfect, or because I am, (his eyes lift slowly to meet John’s) but because our combined flaws are arranged in a way that allows two separate beings to hinge together. I have, for the first time, found what I can truly love. I have found you.

AC: (looking to the misty-eyed doctor) John, if you please.

(John sniffles quietly and gently raises Sherlock’s left hand. He speaks in a hushed voice as he glides the smooth band of tungsten carbide he revealed to Sherlock only moments ago on his long finger.)

J: You are sunlight falling through trees. You are laughter that breaks through my sadness. You are a cool breeze on a day that is too warm. You are clarity in the midst of confusion. You are all that is good in the world, my world. If love was a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. And we would be in the center of them all.

(Amber takes a step back and nods. The two men join hands, each noticing as the other’s ring brushes against his skin. Silver and blue meet across a short expanse and the grooms whisper together reverently.)

S & J: With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.

AC: (triumphantly) May what has been declared here today last for all time and may no man put asunder. John Holmes Watson, Sherlock Scott Watson Holmes… You. Are. Married.

(Spontaneous applause fills the garden and echoes over the meadows. Amber leans in and taps Sherlock’s arm, catching the hyper-observant man’s attention immediately.)

AC: Kiss your husband.

(Sherlock doesn’t need to be told twice. Without even blinking, he drops John’s hands and closes the distance between them, pressing his body solidly against the shorter man and enveloping him in his long arms. Sherlock’s lips cover John’s swiftly. He takes full advantage of his height, and John’s surprise, tipping his new husband’s head back and twisting his tongue around John’s. In spite of himself, the doctor tilts his head back even more and dances his own tongue along Sherlock’s, reveling in the way they fit perfectly.

The garden erupts in applause again, along with cat calls and whistles led by Greg and Wiggins. It does not let up when their lips part. They look into one another’s wide eyes, warm breath against their parted lips, everyone else falls away.

Breathless and a little dizzy, John senses Sherlock’s thumb delicately brushing away a tear he was unaware he had shed. The corners of his mouth curl.)

S: (whispering) Don’t cry…husband. (sighing and cupping John’s face in his big hands) I have waited to call you husband for so long.

J: (hands on that slim waist) Wait no longer. Husband.

(Grins break over both of their faces and they kiss again. Chaste and quicker this time, but with no less passion.

Amber holds up her arms to quiet everyone as she speaks loudly.)

AC: (playfully) All right, all right. We still have a few things to tend to, so save it. (to the crowd) It is now my honor and privilege to congratulate Sherlock and John, husbands at last.

(Another cheer rises up. Mrs. Hudson and Bertie rush forward, each embracing one of the men in a bone crushing hug. They quickly swap places before Sherlock or John can escape and only let the other guests have a go when they are satisfied that all the stuffing has been squeezed from both men.

The rest of the crowd gathers around, bestowing more hugs and claps on the back. Words of congratulations and well wishes float through the air and, although John and Sherlock hear them all, they aren’t entirely focused on the people around them. Their eyes constantly come back to one another, full of excitement each time. That is, until about ten minutes have passed and John notices the strain on Sherlock’s face. He steps through the crowd to his husband and turns to them all, beaming from ear to ear.)

J: Why don’t we all go through the trellis to the reception. Come on, everyone.

MS: Capitol idea, John. Come! Let’s all take our seats and start the celebration. Cake to eat, speeches to give. Eh, Greg?

(Everyone laughs at Greg’s nervous nod and begins heading for the trellis. John moves to the side and pulls Sherlock over with him. The man looks restless, brimming with anxiety. John slowly strokes his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s hand.)

S: How long must we wait before making them all leave?

J: Just calm down, babe. It’s only a wedding reception and all these people are our friends.

S: How long do they typically last?

J: Um…four or five hours, maybe.

(Sherlock stares at John, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. John just grins and gives him that look that says ‘you really are so precious’.)

S: (incredulous and seething) Five hours?? Intolerable.

J: Okay, okay.

(He presses a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s lips. It’s a longer kiss than John might normally do in the presence of others, but the calming effect of his nibbles is more on his mind than embarrassment over public displays of affection.

He can feel the tension melting out of his husband’s muscles the longer he plays with his lips. A hand resting instinctively on Sherlock’s waist gives him a little squeeze. John opens his eyes as he pulls away, still feeling Sherlock’s warm breath on his mouth.)

J: You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the whole time. (Sherlock frowns with those delectably full lips and John sighs.) I promise we’ll stay in for a whole week if you want. And turn away anyone who comes to visit.

S: Anyone?

J: Anyone.

(Sherlock’s hands glide up and down John’s back. His eyes momentarily drop to John’s lips hungrily and then rise up again innocently.)

S: And if I want to spend the week in our bedroom?

J: (laughing) Then that is where we will be.

S: Promise?

J: Yes, I promise.

(Sherlock studies him for a moment in mock suspicion and then kisses him softly.)

S: (smiling against his lips) Shall we then? It is our reception, after all.

(John returns the kiss and leads his new husband under the trellis into the applause of their friends patiently waiting on the other side.)

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

That was supposed to crack everything open and show that there was something really strange about Rose’s motivations. And that Bismuth got a raw deal. That Bismuth was this tragedy swept up in something that suddenly becomes very confusing.

[...]

The main thing, and this is something that we never really get to show, but it’s hinted, it’s even in the game (which is canon). Bismuth loved Rose. Really looked up to Rose. And the thing to know about Rose is that Rose was saying awful things about the Diamonds, especially Pink Diamond, a hundred percent of the time. The reason that Bismuth considers herself to be like this ultimate Crystal Gem is because she was following Rose’s vitriol more to the letter than anybody else. Which is why she got so confused. Because she was like... hey, everything you’re saying leads to this very, very logical conclusion, which is that we have to do this, I have to be your ultimate champion in this - and then all of a sudden she gets struck down. 

[...]

We write her kind of like a soldier who is trying to figure out that the war is over, who has been put through a lot and has this way of thinking that was given to her, and now she’s at loose ends and it makes things tough for her.

She’s a champion for this cause and the person who betrayed her, which is complicated. Ultimately Bismuth’s thing is that she cares about her friends more than anyone. She cares about protecting and defending and fighting for these people that she loves - including Rose, which is why the whole thing was so confusing. And now that she’s back she can defend them again.

Some Bismuth insights from the latest episode of the SU podcast. Ties nicely into the last podcast episode that dealt with Bismuth (and Rose!), where they brought up how with the Breaking Point she thought she was presenting Rose with everything Rose seemed to want (aka an actual way to get rid of the Diamonds - Pink in particular - which we’ve seen now is a pretty tall order), only to get very confusingly denied, and then “screwed over” - by being imprisoned and isolated in a very extreme way from her friends and comrades for whom she cares so deeply and for whose sake she is so passionate about fighting. It’s very much a core thing for her, as is highlighted in that astral projection bit in Reunited - her main fear during the fight against the Diamonds is losing everyone just when she’d managed to get at least some of them back. Or this entire scene in Made of Honor. So yeah, that tearfully broken “You didn’t even tell them.” has some very... “personal hell” vibes. And being denied that 5000 year period of adjustment to relative peacetime certainly isn’t helping.

And if anyone was wondering, looks like there really is a giant almost finished lovingly carved statue of Rose Quartz in the backroom of the Forge, that Bismuth was working on just before she got the ol’ pink sword through the torso special. “At least if I were in pieces, I wouldn't have to know how little I mattered to you.” gets more painful by the day, doesn’t it?

Also just… everything in this post, honestly.

[granny-snek-7673]

The Ballad of Passion and Fury

Summary: Fable and her two best friends move into the quaint town of HavensView in Maine to start their new lives. The people they meet there seem nice enough, but everyone has their secrets; some are just darker than others.

Chapter 1

I know indeed what evil I intend to do, but stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury, fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils.

           It was dark outside, the thick storm clouds blocking the moon and the stars, heavy rain pouring down like God himself had tipped over a bucked filled with all the water from the ocean. I couldn’t see anything and my body was so wet and cold that I could hardly feel my bare feet hit the ground at my breakneck pace as I ran through the woods. I didn’t need to see where I was going, it was instinct leading the way. But I wasn’t running from something, I was running toward it; it being someone. Through the woods was the fastest way to get there; it was the fastest way to get to her. I needed to see her. I had to tell her something. It was important. She had to know. This changed everything.

           Fable woke with a start and groaned. She was back in the passenger seat of her best friend’s car, tired, thirsty, sore, and extremely hungover. The slate gray 2009 Subaru Forester hummed softly as they drove. Sunlight streamed in through the window, assaulting her vision and worsening her alcohol induced headache like a pickaxe on a stone. “Figures,” she thought, sullenly, referring to the familiar nightmare. She sighed softly, her dark thoughts getting the best of her. All Fable wished was that a nightmare was all that it had been. Instead, it was a memory of the worst night of her life. She glanced to her left and corrected herself; it was the worst night of their lives. But what was worse was that she couldn’t remember what she had discovered that had set off the chain reaction of tragedy that night.

           Fable groaned and stretched her sore extremities as best as she could with her body strapped into the passenger seat of the car by her seatbelt. Her bones creaked and cracked like she was an eighty year old woman and her muscles screamed in protest. After a minute of stretching that slowly morphed to something more akin to writhing in pain, snickering from the driver’s seat drew Fable’s blurry vision to her best friend.

           Pearle Serafin was smiling and trying to hold back her laughter. She brushed her waist length straight silky silver tresses back from her angular face and glanced over at Fable with her golden flaked brown eyes. “Did you have a nice nap, lady-drinks-a-lot?” she snickered.

           “Well I can’t say much for the comfort of these seats,” Fable grunted, adjusting herself. She wasn’t exactly wrong about the seats; the car was an older model.

           Pearle laughed and shook her head. “You know, it’s a good thing Carson is leading the way because I don’t think you would have made a very good navigator after that going away party last night,” she said.

           “Not to mention an even worse driver,” Fable quipped.

           Pearle laughed again and nodded her agreement. “Well, we’re here anyway,” she added, pointing to the sign that read ‘Welcome to HavensView’ as they sped past it on the road.

           “Thank God,” Fable snorted. Pearle rolled her eyes in response.

           As they followed Carson, who lead the way in his 2015 Toyota Tundra pickup truck that pulled the full moving trailer down a winding dirt road, Fable studied her friend. To Fable, Pearle had always seemed to be a creature not of this earth. Her lithe figure, angular features, and rose kissed pale skin always reminded Fable of the elves from fairy tales. Even the dress she wore, a full length pale blue sweetheart cut sundress with pale pink and yellow flowers printed on it, seemed to support Fable’s idea that Pearle had been a princess in another life. Pearle’s thin pink lips were turned up in a smile and the nostrils of her petite nose flared as she inhaled the scent of the forest trees through the rolled down window.

           Fable was a stark contrast to her friend, both in appearance and temperament. Fable stared at her own reflection in the passenger side mirror. Intense ice blue eyes laced with thick black lashes stared back at her, set into a heart shaped face with a slightly upturned nose and full, supple pink lips. Fable’s wild, untamed ringlets fell past her lower back in rebellion, looking like the flames of a fire; the roots a dark wine auburn, which faded to a copper orange, which then faded to gold at the ends. Her skin was tan and freckled from the sun, covered with tattoos and spotted with scars. Her 5’6” frame sported toned muscles that could rival those of some men, but she had what most would consider a curvy build. She glanced back at Pearle. If Pearle was an elven princess, then Fable was a dwarven warrior.

           Where Pearle was soft and moldable, Fable was hard and unyielding. Where Pearle was pretty and lenient, Fable was plain and rough. Where Pearle was reasonable, Fable was not. Where Pearle used diplomacy, Fable used force. When Pearle forgave and sought compromise, Fable held grudges and sought revenge. It had been that way for as long as Fable could remember; two sides of the same coin. The only thing that they could truly agree on was compassion for those in need and punishment for those who truly deserved it.

           Fable remembered the day that she, Pearle, and Carson became friends. She smiled when she pictured five year old Pearle on the playground, tears streaming down her cheeks, a true damsel in distress if there ever was one. Not a great way to start the first day of kindergarten, Fable mused. What had prompted Pearle’s tears was, in fact, Carson, who had taken Pearle’s purple ribbon right from her hair. Whether he did it out of malice or out of an attempt to get her to chase him, the friends still didn’t know to this day. Fable couldn’t remember what had come over her tiny self, but little Fable had marched right up to little Carson, kicked him in the shin, smacked him in the face, and pulled his hair until he dropped the ribbon and ran away. Fable was a fighter, Carson was not. Fable then returned the ribbon to Pearle, who from that moment on never left her side. Obviously, Carson had tattled and when everyone’s parent’s got involved, apologies were made, and mandatory get-along-or-else playdates were arranged. But somehow, the trio had become more than ordinary best friends in that time of forced companionship in their hometown of Chesapeake City, Maryland. And that more than ordinary friendship continued through school and college and into their careers and adult lives. Fable’s smile brightened a bit more when she realized that the purple ribbon that had started it all was still wound around Pearle’s willowy wrist.

           That event was what Fable had pinpointed as the start of her desire to become a police officer. Fable had always wanted to right wrongs and protect the weak; she wanted to use her strength to serve others. And that’s exactly what she did. Fable had gone to the Police academy right out of high school and had a job on the force within the year. Fable couldn’t imagine a more perfect occupation for herself.

           While Fable was at the academy and on the force, Pearle and Carson had gone to college together. Carson got his teaching degree with an emphasis on English Education and Pearle got her degree in Theatre and Arts. Those five and a half years were what the friends often called the lost years; the years that none of them felt like themselves, the years that they were apart.  

           When the winding road finally came to an end, Fable and Pearle both gasped in delight as their new home came into view. They drove past an old dilapidated sign with chipped paint that once read ‘The BrookeMoore Estate’, but the paint was so faded and flaked that only the ‘B’ from ‘BrookeMoore’ was actually recognizable. The dirt road ended in a circle drive in front of a two story farmhouse with a wrap-around porch. To the west, there was an old barn that had been converted to a large garage. The front yard had two impressive flower beds and space for a vegetable garden. Carson pulled his truck and trailer into the circle drive in front of the house and Pearle pulled her car into the driveway in front of the converted four car garage. Run down as the place was, it was quaint and suited their needs perfectly. Besides, with their combined effort, Fable was sure that it would be in prime shape within the year. Even so, Fable could still hardly believe it was theirs.

           When Pearle parked the car, Fable quickly extricated herself from the seatbelt and bailed out the door, her stiff legs barely supporting her as she stood and stretched more thoroughly, every muscle and joint groaning in protest. She took a moment to survey her surroundings and quickly concluded that she had her work cut out for her with the weeding and landscaping. And just about every fence and exterior wall could really use a fresh coat of paint. Then she closed her eyes and took in the soft sounds of nature that surrounded her; the wind in the trees and the grass, the soft singing of the birds, rushing water from somewhere nearby. The house was far enough from town that it was quiet, but it only took about twenty minutes to get to the police department in town where she would start work as a detective next week. She’d been promoted to detective just before she’d requested transfer to HavensView. Peace seemed to settle over Fable as her anxiety and anticipation about the move and starting a new life quickly turned to excitement.

           Fable was wrenched from her thoughts when muscular arms wrapped her up in a suffocating hug and lifted her feet from the ground. Fable grunted and squirmed, trying to extract herself from Carson’s purposefully painful embrace. She poked and prodded and kicked and when her voice was reduced to a wheeze, finally managed to push away from her friend. She landed on her feet, but only remained so because Carson steadied her with strong hands on her shoulders. Fable glared up at Carson, who stood nearly a foot taller than her, his jade green eyes shining with mischief, his whole face smiling. He ran a hand through his golden blond hair and he laughed his deep, whole-body laugh.

           “I’m surprised you didn’t die of alcohol poisoning on the drive here,” he chuckled. “I half expected you to still be passed out cold when we arrived. I had a plan to dump water on you and everything.”

           Fable stared up at Carson, pretending to be annoyed with his honest nature. She was able to keep it up for nearly three minutes and saw Carson become visibly anxious, sweat beading on his forehead. Finally, a roar of laughter boiled over and escaped Fable’s lips. “It’s going to take a lot more liquor than that to kill me!” she managed to gasp out between bouts of laughter. Carson laughed with her, at ease once again.

           Pearle, who decidedly did not ever under any circumstances consume alcohol of any kind, rolled her eyes; but the smile didn’t disappear from her lips. “Can we maybe not try to find that limit?” she asked, always the voice of reason. “I really do like it when you’re both alive.” She winked.  

           Fable and Carson shrugged, pretending to weigh their options, but when Pearle’s eyes narrowed, they both quickly raised their hands in surrender.

           “Alright,” Pearle said, “enough joking around. Let’s get all the boxes inside so Carson can call the moving company and arrange for them to pick up the trailer tomorrow.”

           Before the unpacking could begin, the three friends did a quick walkthrough and cleaning of their new home. Fable noted how new the inside appeared in contrast to the slowly decaying exterior. She wondered if the people who had lived there before them had moved out before completing the renovations or if it was a purposeful and stylistic decision on their part. She shrugged and helped sweep and dust, exploring as she went.

           The front door was solid oak painted white and led into the living and dining room. Hooks were hung on the wall between the door and one of the windows to hang coats and shelves were built into the walls for shoes. The kitchen was to the left through the dining room and the living room was to the right.

           The kitchen was spacious with a large island, a deep farmhouse sink, and stainless steel appliances. The counters were gray granite and the cabinets, some of which looked like framed glass windows, were painted white with stainless steel knobs with etchings. The island had a smaller, more traditional sink and there was a rack above it that functioned as a light fixture and a place to hang pots and pans. There was a fair sized breakfast nook to the far side of the kitchen next to the side door.

           The dining room was right next to the kitchen, no walls separating them. It was a surprisingly open concept for an old farmhouse. The space was plenty big enough for their large table with three chairs on one side, chairs at the end, and a bench on the other side. To the right of the dining room on the right side of the front door was the open concept living room. It had a built in entertainment system cabinet on the far wall and some shelving units. In the corner, there was a large river stone fireplace.

           Straight through the front door, there was a hallway that led to the back of the house on the left and a staircase that led to the second floor on the right. Halfway down the hallway, there was a half bathroom and just past it was the laundry room and mudroom, complete with a washer, dryer, and folding table. Across from the laundry/mudroom was the utility room, which housed the water heater and other household essentials. At the end of the hallway, there was the back door, which led out onto the wrap around porch and the expansive unfenced backyard that faded to forest trees.

           Up the stairs on the second level, directly to the left there was the master bedroom that was complete with its own master bathroom. To the right, there was a hallway that led to two fair sized bedrooms that shared a bathroom between them. The shared bathroom had a double vanity with plenty of storage space, a claw foot tub, and a glass shower.

           Once all the cleaning was finished, the trio set to the task of moving in and unpacking efficiently. Carson, always the muscle of any operation, carried the boxes two at a time to the front porch, though he admittedly had some trouble with Fable’s boxes of books. Fable then sorted them by their labels and began to take them inside and deposit them in the appropriate rooms. Pearle, as always, supervised and directed the other two. Once all the boxes were in the right rooms, Fable and Carson moved all the furniture inside to their proper places, moving each piece around as Pearle saw fit. However, whether or not Carson and Fable heeded Pearle’s advice depended entirely on the situation. Once all the boxes were out of the trailer, Carson unhitched it, pulled the truck into the driveway in front of the old barn turned parking structure, and pulled out the ramp to get Fable’s current mode of transportation out of the bed of the truck. Carson helped Fable roll her all black and chrome 1959 Harley Cruiser motorcycle down the ramp and into its own place in the garage. When they made their way back into the house, Pearle was already at work in the kitchen going through each box and putting things in their rightful places. Minutiae had always been her strong point.

           Carson and Fable left Pearle to do her work and moved to the living room to fight with the TV, DVD player, and various video game consoles. Fable scanned the user’s manuals, as she usually did, to try to get it right the first time. Carson dove right in, his square cut jaw set in determination, but after fighting with cords for nearly thirty minutes, handed control over to Fable, who got it right with the help of the printed instructions. Pearle, now finished sorting out all the dishes and appliances and other kitchen things, called for Carson’s help with various pieces of furniture. This left Fable to go up to her room on the second floor to unpack her personal belongings in her bedroom.

           Fable and Pearle opted for the bedrooms that shared the bathroom because neither would ever wish the mess of Carson’s bathroom habits on the other. Carson agreed to this happily. Fable spent nearly three hours unpacking her belongings, twice having to ask Carson to help her move the many bookcases that lined one of the walls. But when the task was finally completed, she ventured back downstairs to find Carson and Pearle lounging on the couch in the living room. They had managed to unpack the majority of the boxes and put things in their proper places. Fable plopped down onto the old, plush couch cushion between them.

           “I’m starving,” Fable groaned.

           “Then make something to eat,” Carson suggested, laughing.

           “We just moved in,” Fable retorted, “there’s no food here yet, dumbass.”

           “Sounds like someone’s a little hangry,” Pearle laughed. “There’s bread and peanut butter in the cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

           “I want real food,” Fable whined.

           “She’s hangry and hungover,” Carson agreed, “She drank almost half her body weight in booze last night and finished like four fights. She’s not craving carbs. She’s craving grease.”

           “Notice that I didn’t start the fights. I get points for that,” Fable added.

           “Doesn’t mean you get a free pass to be a bitch,” Pearle replied, nudging and winking at Fable playfully.

           “If I say please, will one of you drive me to dinner?” Fable asked.

           Carson laughed and shook his head. “You need to find a real car,” he suggested, “Adults with real jobs don’t ride motorcycles.”

           Fable laughed. “Fine. If I say please and promise to start looking for a responsible adult car tomorrow, will one of you drive me to town for food?” she asked. Both Pearle and Carson nodded. Fable sighed, “I promise to look for a real car starting tomorrow so will one of you PLEASE drive me to town to get dinner?”

           “I’ll drive,” Pearle replied.

           “I’ll buy,” Carson added.

           All three friends laughed and walked out to Pearle’s car where Carson and Fable fought for the front seat. After Carson tossed Fable over his shoulder and physically threw her into the back seat, he got into the passenger seat and Pearle drove them into town. Pearle parked on the street on the southwest side of town where most of the restaurants were as indicated by Carson’s phone GPS. The trio walked around, weighing their options and trying to decide where to eat. At one point, Carson took pity on Fable and carried her piggy-back style, her hunger driving her to complain pitifully, whale mating calls seemingly originating from her abdomen. After walking around for somewhere between thirty and forty minutes, the trio settled on a restaurant called Remi’s Bar and Grill.

           Luckily, it was a Tuesday night, so there weren’t too many people there and they got a table right away. Carson ordered a steak with mashed potatoes, Pearle a grilled salmon salad, and Fable a double bacon cheeseburger with fries. As they waited for their food, they talked quietly about various things, the conversation flowing as it usually did. As was the norm, Fable excused herself to wash her hands before the food arrived and went in search of the bathroom. She found it at the end of a dimly lit hallway near the back of the establishment and thoroughly washed her hands, as living with her clean freak mother had conditioned her to do. Once she was satisfied that her hands were clean, she opened the door with her foot and tossed the used paper towel in the bin before leaving the bathroom. Fable was a pro at getting out of bathrooms without using her hands.  

           As she made her way back down the hallway, she was taken by surprise as a door swung open and nearly hit Fable in the face. In a split second, she noticed the sign that read ‘Manager/Proprietor/Owner’ and quickly jumped back to avoid having her nose kiss the door. Two men walked out of the manager’s office, one of them walking back out into the restaurant, his gait and posture reflecting anger, and the other stood staring after him for a moment before turning to face Fable.

           The man was tall—6’3” at the least—and sported a very muscled and toned frame with broad shoulders. He had fair tanned skin and his sandy brown/blond hair was cut shorter on the sides but left longer on the top and worked into a peak with soft mousse. He had a soft face with a square jaw and chin, full lips, a large yet proportionate angular nose, thick furrowed brows, and deep brooding green eyes. Fable had to clear her throat and look away to recover her dignity after staring at him with her mouth open for several moments. She silently scolded herself for acting so skittish as though she hadn’t spent six years on the job as a cop. But the man didn’t say anything; he just stood and stared at her, Fable acutely aware of his gaze on her. She felt a blush work its way onto her face as the silence between them extended.

           “I’m so sorry,” the man finally said, “I hope he didn’t hit you with the door.” His voice was deep and melodic but there was a rough edge to it. Fable detected a subdued confidence in the cadence of his words.

           “Just missed me,” Fable replied quietly, “I’m pretty quick on my feet. It’s all good. No worries.” She glanced back up at him and nearly jumped back again at the intensity of his gaze. She admonished herself again. He wasn’t the first man to stare at her like that, so why was it making her so nervous? In a lame attempt to bring the encounter to a civil end and rescue her first impression to him, Fable smiled and said, “You must be Remi.”

           The man laughed. “Excuse me?” he queried.

           “The sign on your door,” Fable explained, pointing, “it says Manager/Proprietor/Owner. And since this is Remi’s Bar and Grill, you’re either Remi or a liar.” She grinned.

           The man laughed again, his deep voce ringing in Fable’s ears. “Very clever,” he replied, “but Remi is actually in reference to my family’s surname; Remington.”

           “Like the firearm?” Fable asked. He nodded, a soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Well then, Mr. Remington, I’d best get back to my family. They might eat my food if I give them the chance,” she continued.

           “My name is Wesley,” he replied, “You can call me Wesley.”

           “Nice to meet you, Wesley,” Fable replied, “I’m Fable. Fable Ballard.” She held her hand out for him to shake.

           Wesley took her hand and shook it gently. “Nice to meet you, Fable,” he said softly, “I hope you and your family enjoy your meal.”

           “Thank you,” Fable said, smiling. Then she dropped his hand and moved past him in the hallway to walk back to the table where Carson and Pearle were talking and laughing as they waited for their meal. She returned to her seat and easily joined the conversation. The food arrived soon after Fable had gotten back from the bathroom and silence fell over the trio as they quickly consumed their meals, though afterward Carson remarked that Fable had looked like a feral beast eating the first meal in many months. Once they were all finished, Carson settled the bill and they ventured back to their car. Carson drove home and Pearle and Fable fell asleep together in the back seat; food coma. Carson gently woke the girls when they got back to their new home and they all bid each other goodnight before retreating to their own rooms. Fable dug her poker chip out of her pocket and set it on the bedside table. Then she brushed her teeth, put her pajamas on, a pair of green and gray flannel pants with a long sleeved gray shirt, pulled her hair back into twin French twists, and crawled into bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Confrontation - Kaitlyn

Summary: After much thinking, Emily decides that it is time to face the past. She will meet ten people who were and are a part of her life. Is she going to find what she is looking for? Or all she will achieve is more heartbreak?

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: Hello, everybody! Thanks for joining me for yet another chapter of Confrontation. We’re nearing the end, having only three more chapters ahead of us. Without further delay, here it is!

After a good night sleep, she left Illinois, heading south, to Texas. Emily was very much surprised Kaitlyn would go back home after her music career was finished, especially because her home was Dallas of all places, but there she was, and there Emily would go.

She always thought Dallas was the place lesbian punk rockers fled from, not retired at.

Her conversation with Zack made her rethink this whole exercise. After Texas, she had only one more stop in her cross-country trip, and then she would return to Northbridge, free of the heavy weight of her past.

But would she? “I don’t know what you told James, but it really did a turn on his head” was a phrase that circled Emily’s mind for good part of the last twenty-four hours. When she convinced herself into doing this tour, she told herself she wasn’t doing it only for her sake, but also of her former friends. She didn’t want to be forgiven, necessarily, she wanted to be forgotten, in a sense. To be a memory from a distant past.

With Chris and Becca, she achieved her goal, and she was still on the fence about Zack, but James seemed to be a resounding failure.

True, her approach had to be distinct from what she had used with Becca, Chris and Zack, and she felt that James had committed a much graver crime than any of the other three, but making the man fear his own shadow was also far from her initial goal.

What made matters worse is that, if James has done a grander offence, Kaitlyn took the cake. If Emily’s life was a tragic opera, James is the playwright and Kaitlyn is both the composer and the villain.

After a shameful defeat for Natasha’s Loose Pins at the Battle of Bands on their Sophomore year, Kaitlyn’s band fell apart. Partially because Amara moved to Great Britain, but also because the Asian girl was able to alienate her other bandmates with her single-minded determination to destroy Natasha and Emily herself.

With the defeat and the abandonment, Kaitlyn decided that if she couldn’t beat Natasha, she would join her, and entered Loose Pins as a songwriter and frontwoman. As a supreme marriage of their combined hatred for Emily, their first single was unsurprisingly a vilipend song, unapologetically called “Treacherous Cunt”.

Despite its unsavory title, and perhaps because of it, the song was a hit thorough America and overseas. The Loose Pins arose to immediate fame and fortune, and like it was usual on those occasions, its members decayed in debauchery. There wasn’t a single day on her senior year Emily wouldn’t hear or read about something either Kaitlyn or Natasha had done which was illegal or otherwise immoral.

And they kept at it, even after the debacle they had operated on Emily on her graduation night. They kept at it until, two years ago, disaster struck.

Rachel, who had followed Kaitlyn into the Loose Pins, died of overdose. No-one knew what kind of drug it was, but Emily had a hunch it was something heavy and virtually unknown.

After what happened, the Loose Pins broke apart. While Natasha kept touring as a solo performer, the other musicians at the band, Kaitlyn included, retired into a quiet life, away from the spotlights.

A quiet life indeed. In fact, Kaitlyn was the hardest amongst their former roommates to find. Emily had to enlist Sebastian’s help to have any leads, and it took him over three months to be able to coax out of Madison and Becca anything useful.

As the pilot’s voice announces they would be landing in Dallas within minutes, Emily decided it was best not to dwell much on what-could-be’s. Her flight to California was six hours away, it would be best if she went to hear what Kaitlyn had to say and be done with it.

Reclaiming her small-sized baggage, she rushed her way through the Arrivals lobby and jumped into a cab. Emily was anxious, and the best way to deal with that emotion was to just jump into it and leave little time for thinking.

The address provided was of a coffee shop in downtown Fort Worth, by the Water Garden. She paid the cabby and walked over to the door.

The place was rather small, but cozy. The decoration was done in a light brown, the color of café au lait. The barista stood at the far back of the place, while the rest of the salon was dotted with wooden tables and mismatched armchairs and sofas.

It is after ten o’clock, the morning rush was gone, and it was yet too soon for lunch. The shop was empty, save for a rustling under the barista counter. Emily approached it, but the person made no movement as in to acknowledge her presence.

There is a bell by the register, which Emily supposed it was for that exact same purpose, so she rung it.

The person who rose to her feet was exactly who Emily was expecting, but, judging from her face, the feeling was not mutual.

“You!” She said, terrified. “What are you doing here?!”

“Hello, Kaitlyn.” She responded. “I supposed I couldn’t expect a warm welcoming, since last time we’ve met you ripped my hair with your bare hands, but that’s really pushing it.”

The Asian woman, however, seemed not to be listening a single word she said. Her breath has shallow, and she seemed to be hyperventilating. “This isn’t happening! It cannot be!”

Zack hadn’t prepared her to the possibility Kaitlyn would become a nutcase. The ruckus seemed to startle some employees back at the kitchen, as soon enough someone emerged from there to attend to the ailing woman.

“Kaitlyn! Are you alright?” She said, frantic, kneeling over to the crying Asian on the floor.

“Annisa!” Emily recognized the other employee. “What are you doing here?”

“Emily!” She seemed stupefied to see her. “Oh my God. Wait here, please. I’ll take Kaitlyn inside for a minute.”

About half an hour later, Emily sat on a chair by the front window of the coffeeshop. The blinds were folded, as the store had to be closed. Annisa emerged from the kitchen with a tray and two cups.

She offered her a cup. “She’ll be out in a second.”

Emily took one. “Thanks.” She breathed out and took a sip. “What… What happened here?”

“Kaitlyn’s been troubled since Rachel’s death.” Annisa said, softly. “About everything that happened, since you and then Natasha’s craziness, it all worked a number in her head. She improved a lot since then, but I guess seeing you in person is still a trigger.”

“That’s concerning to hear…” Emily mumbled, thoughtful.

“Excuse me for asking, but why are you here?” The brunette asks, in a low, apologetic tone. “I know you aren’t hellbent on revenge or something like that, but why? And why now?”

The redhead really didn’t want to answer this question, but she supposed that it was better to tell Annisa rather than to tell Kaitlyn in her fraught state of mind.

She slipped a pink envelope through the table. “I addressed it to Kaitlyn, but I suppose she wouldn’t be able to take the news. You can have it, and you can tell her whenever you feel she’s ready.”

Annisa looked warily at Emily and at the rosy paper on the table. “Okay… I’ll see to it.”

She, then, picked up her purse. “I better leave. I won’t be getting what I want from Kaitlyn, and I suppose that I already done what I came here for.”

“Are you sure, Emily?” The young woman asked, with pleading shiny eyes.

The redhead smiled sweetly at her. “I am, Annisa. Thank you for having me, I’m sorry for disturbing your work day.” She breathed out. “Thank you for taking care of her. You’re a loyal friend.”

“Good-bye, Emily.” She responded, with a brilliant smile of her own. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Said woman then left the store and hailed a cab back to the airport. When she was far away enough, that she was reassure anyone but the taciturn driver could either see or hear her, Emily cried.

She cried for Kaitlyn, who was impaired. She cried for her former friends, all with their own personal tragedies. She cried because she didn’t know whether she was opening old wounds or healing them. But, most of all, she cried for herself.

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Confrontation - Masterlist

[stellarumlapsus-rp]

AMELIA BONES, aka THE PRODIGY is 26 years old and a HALF-BLOOD alumni of house RAVENCLAW. Her allegiance is NEUTRAL, and she is currently OPEN. Suggested faceclaims include Candice Patton, Aja Naomi King, Ajiona Alexus.

AESTHETICS

a pen tapping against a table, the sound of shoes clicking against the sidewalk, power suits, tightly secured buns, methodical sketches, silk pillowcases, grey skies, competitive studying, marble floors, tight smiles, baby pink nails, silver jewelry, the sound of rain, healing baths, balancing on a tightrope, unyielding, rose water, the power of neutrals, metal rimmed glasses, geometric shapes

DEFINING MOMENTS

Even at eleven, Amelia started making a name for herself at Hogwarts. Her grades were the top in her year and she had a competitive streak a mile long. Most of her competition was with herself, but she still wanted to be the best. Amelia was a natural born leader, despite the fact that she was the middle child in her family. She had a presence about her that made people listen and a temperament that made people respect her. It was a skill she cultivated further throughout her life because even at eleven, she understood that diplomacy was what solved problems. 

The summer before she goes back to Hogwarts for her second year, tragedy bestows her family. It was an innocent game of hide and seek, one that was meant to fill her sister with good memories whilst she was away at school. However, it all went wrong when she heard her sister scream with a ferocity she had never quite experienced. Without thinking, she was running towards the noise and it wasn’t long before she was in sync with her older brother. By the time they get there, Olivia is alone with nothing but a vicious bite mark to show for her pain. Edgar goes to pick her up and Amelia sprints ahead, knowing that her parents need to be informed and ready when they’re back. Her heart is in her throat, and even at eleven she knows that her little sister’s life is changed forever. 

When she’s seventeen, she has to decide what she wants her fate to be. Amelia wants to stand by her little sister. She wants her to know that she’s always going to fight for her and that she believes that she deserves just as many rights as everyone else. However, Amelia isn’t a soldier, and despite the fact that she supports the Order, she knows she can better help them from inside the Ministry than from the streets. Amelia knows she wants to go into law making, and she knows that she can change things from the inside out by playing neutrality to get what she wants. Seventeen and Amelia decides to chase after her career, knowing damn well that it will lead to her making real change. 

Twenty six and she finally has a seat at the table. Taking up a position in Wizengamot gave her the authority to start writing and suggesting laws that she thought ought to be in place. She had a voice and a vote on which ones shouldn’t, and Amelia was able to start putting her persuasive skills to the test. The leader in her wanted to change the world over night, but she was patient and she knew how to best play her cards right. Amelia knows that now that she’s gotten this position, it means everything she’s worked for is going to pay off. She’ll do whatever she has to do to keep her career on the right track, and create the change she desperately wants to see.

MEMORABLE TRAITS

Judicious

Diplomatic

Prudent

Unwavering

Machiavellian

Ethical

THE ONES THAT MATTER

FRANK: Out of all of her classmates, Frank was the one that got under her skin the most. He walked around as though he was above all the rules, and later all the laws. Amelia wasn’t someone that typically went running to a teacher when she caught someone breaking the rules, but with Frank she wanted nothing more than to watch him reap all that he sewed. She firmly believed that his reproachable behavior would come back to bite him in the arse one day, and given the chance, she’d be the first to have a hand in it. 

ALEXANDER: Even in school, there was a friendly competition between them that just never truly died out. They brought out the best in one another and constantly pushed each other to be better. Amelia had never considered herself to be someone that needed a best friend, and yet, Alexander was undoubtably the closest thing to that. She would have his back no matter what the situation called for. 

OLIVIA: The strength of her younger sister never ceased to amaze her. The hardships that Liv has endured is something that she can never properly understand, but that doesn’t stop her from consistently being on her sister’s side. She listens to her plights and despite taking a different approach to the war, she’s fighting for her sister none the less. Amelia refuses to live in a world that doesn’t welcome Olivia as well. 

EDGAR: Despite being the younger of the two, Amelia has always felt like the leader of their siblings. Edgar never wanted to be in the spotlight and he constantly lifted her up so that she could shine enough for the both of them. He always had a way of encouraging her and Olivia while comfortably stepping back to give them room to speak up. Edgar was undoubtably her best friend and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for him. 

[artificialqueens]

just the two of us (hogwarts au) part eleven - shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - i’d like to apologize for the wait, things have been crazy and as ive said 83675345 times, I’m moving house (on friday!! yikes) so im very busy. however, i finished!! <3

i want to formally dedicate this chapter (and any others) to the heartbreaking anon who told me this fantasy world helped them escape their real life tragedy with their mother. whoever you are, my heart goes out to you and i hope that you enjoy this. <3 <3 <3

Thankfully, Alaska’s stay in the infirmary was short lived. According to what Dela had told her, she’d passed out for twenty four hours, during which time the purple hue of her skin had faded back into her usual rosy pink complexion. The antidote had done wonders for her, meaning she wasn’t going to be stuck with a slight sensation of nausea or dizziness unlike the other champions. She’d stayed overnight, passed out, and would be out in just a short while, whereas Phi Phi and poor Kim were going to be sick for a little while longer.

“-she was never out of this place yesterday, I swear sometimes I had to push her right through the doors to make sure she left. She was definitely determined that you didn’t wake up alone.” Dela was saying, bustling around the room as she chatted away to Alaska. “She’ll be upset that she missed you waking up. Dedicated, that one.”

Alaska craned her neck to look at the sheer amount of gifts surrounding her. They weren’t all from Sharon, obviously – some were from Willam, Courtney, Jinkx, and even just a few random admirers from the school wanting to congratulate her on her win. Perhaps it was a little self-centred of her, but Alaska wouldn’t have minded waking up every day to flowers, chocolate, and little novelty magic gifts.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Back again, Needles?”

Alaska sat up as Sharon entered the room, delighting in how her girlfriend’s face lit up at the sight of her awake. Despite looking messy – her robe was slipping off of her shoulders, her skirt was rucked up, exposing some of her pale white thigh, and her hair was completely dishevelled – the huge smile that entered her face upon spotting Alaska made her look impossibly beautiful. As quickly as she could, she drew up beside Alaska and took her hand in her own.

“I’m so glad you’re not purple anymore!” She greeted, her cheeks flushed as she tried to catch her breath. “I was beginning to think I’d have a purple girlfriend forever, and whilst purple is a pretty colour I prefer you when you’re your normal beautiful self.”

She paused, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “I’ve just ran from Care of Magical Creatures, it was – it was chaotic.”

Alaska grinned, using her thumb to clean a smudge of mud from Sharon’s cheek. “Oh yeah? Anything exciting happen?”

“Of course!” Sharon enthused. “We’ve had this huge influx of Blast-Ended Skrewts and they’re so fun – I may have burnt my wrist handling one of them but they’re kind of ugly cute? I don’t know. But we had so much fun learning about their care and getting hands on! It’s been – it’s been so good.”

Alaska couldn’t help giggling. “Babe, slow down. I’m not going anywhere, you can breathe. Did you take care of your burn?”

Sharon shrugged. “Burns aren’t important. I’ll tell you what is important, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You!” Sharon was practically bouncing. “You won the first task! I knew you could do it, I told everyone you could. I’m so proud of you! Come here, get here now.”

Alaska swung her legs out of bed, springing to her feet so that she could meet Sharon’s lips and wrap her arms around her. Although she was still a bit weak, she simply clung to Sharon and allowed her strength to keep the two of them upright as they embraced. She was fairly certain that Sharon’s arms were the only reason she was still on her feet as she felt herself melt a little into the familiar touch.

“Listen, listen.” Sharon began, holding Alaska at arm’s length and forcing her to look up at her. “You and I are going on a proper date. I’m taking you out. Got it?”

Alaska nodded, smiling so hard her cheeks started to ache.

“And I mean a proper date.” Sharon continued. “I’m not going to break any rules to get us there, I won’t get drunk and fight anybody – it’s gonna be you and me, doll. You and me.”

If Alaska had been weak before, she was positively helpless now. Her heart felt swollen, thudding in the centre of her chest and threatening to burst right through her ribcage. A real date? What would that entail? Despite not knowing, the thought still sent her reeling with excitement. The idea of having Sharon to herself – not to be interrupted by Phi Phi, or Professor Visage, or any of their friends – was beyond belief.

“When?” She found herself asking, almost without realizing. “Soon?”

Sharon’s eyes were sparkling. “Tonight.” She breathed. “They’re opening up Hogsmeade so all the new kids can explore, and I’ve heard of this cute little place we can go. You down?”

“Are you kidding?” Alaska said. “Of course I am!”

The smile that made its way onto Sharon’s face was positively electrifying. Just like before, her whole face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy; an expression Alaska had missed seeing. It suited her more than she’d ever know. Alaska lifted a hand to brush a curl of displaced white hair away from Sharon’s face, her eyes zeroing in on the exposed gap in her front teeth.

“You’re so cute,” She murmured, her fingers threading through Sharon’s hair as her free hand pulled the Slytherin even closer. “Have I ever told you that?”

Sharon hummed appreciatively. “I don’t know… remind me again?”

“You’re so cute,” Alaska repeated. “You better hurry up and kiss me before I lose my mind.”

“As you wish, pumpkin.”

Sharon happily obliged, meeting Alaska’s lips first with a smile before actually kissing her. As always, they didn’t have long before they were interrupted yet again.

“Uh, ladies? I have patients here, you might want to stop doing that for a hot minute.” Dela chimed in, bouncing towards them with her usually bubbly attitude.

Alaska grinned. “Does that mean I can go?”

Dela considered her for a moment, before nodding. “Yes, I don’t see why not. Unless you’re wanting some safe sex pamphlets from me, I don’t expect I’ll be seeing either of you in here for a while.”

“Dela!” Sharon exclaimed, her pale cheeks colouring. “Oh my – okay, we’re leaving. Let’s go.”

Alaska couldn’t see her own face, but Sharon’s had turned a beautiful shade of flaming ketchup, the colour accented by her contrasting black and white hair. She began to gather up some of the gifts Alaska had been given, incanting some of them reversibly smaller so that they could be carried easily. Within minutes, the pair had gathered up everything and made their way out of the infirmary, Alaska noting with a hint of amusement that Sharon’s face was still scarlet.

Stepping out of the infirmary was like stepping back into reality – a quick transition from the warmth and quiet to the chatter and chaos of the school environment. Most of the students were on their way to dormitories or common rooms, or just meeting friends somewhere on the grounds, with lessons having finished half an hour or so ago. Alaska was glad to have escaped the between-lesson rush, despite now being one of the older ones with strength and status enough to push through the crowd of first and second years. It was a little quieter than she’d expected, but still loud and full of energy as always.

Sharon led the way through most of the students – they tended to part when they saw her – clearing a neat little path leading inside the castle walls. The biting autumnal wind ceased as they came inside, as did a lot of the noise. The quiet made it easier to converse.

“So… when are you taking me out?” Alaska flirted, batting her eyelashes and dragging out the end of each word unnecessarily.

Sharon laughed, her cheeks still flushed. “I was thinking at dinnertime? Whilst everyone else is eating, we’ll be able to go out and get ahead of the traffic.”

“I like it.” Alaska replied. “This is exciting. I feel like a real couple now.”

“Only the best for my champion.” Sharon smiled proudly. “Okay, bleugh, that was disgustingly cheesy. But you get it.”

Alaska nudged her elbow gently, careful not to knock anything she was carrying, and blew a kiss. In truth, it still hadn’t sunk in yet. Alaska – slightly scared of heights, so-called dumb blonde, terrible at potions, clumsier than a newborn deer, more unsteady on a broom than a drunken fifth year – had managed to win in the first Triwizard task. It didn’t seem real. Part of her was still convinced she had dreamt it all, and she’d wake up in her dorm after imagining it all, but the thumping in her chest was very much real. The feeling of the wind through her hair, the crowd screaming below. That was very, very real. It was pure elation.

Alaska was lifted out of her thoughts by Professor Visage, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and materialized in front of the pair. Thankfully, she didn’t look angry or serious, so Alaska was fairly sure that Sharon wasn’t in trouble, but then again she never knew with Sharon. If she wasn’t in trouble, there was still a chance she’d find a way to get herself into it. It was a polyamorous relationship – Alaska, Sharon, and Trouble with a capital T.

“Sharon! Just the witch I’ve been looking for.” Professor Visage greeted, rather cheerfully.

Sharon’s eyebrows rose. “I love hearing that. Makes my day, it really does.”

“Alright, Miss Sass, tone it down. Anyway, I was sent to come get you by Professor Ru, you’ve got a meeting with the two of us and Professor Lake.”

Next to Alaska, Sharon visibly deflated. “Well, shit. How long is it gonna take? I kinda have dinner plans tonight.”

Professor Visage thought for a moment. “Probably only half an hour, max. You’ll be out by four at the latest. That okay with you?”

Sharon nodded. “That’s perfect. Alaska, are you okay with carrying all this on your own?”

It took a few minutes to reshuffle everything so that Alaska could accommodate it, and with a few helpful charms from Professor Visage she ended up enchanting some of the gifts so they would follow her up to her dorm. Sharon pressed a fleeting kiss to Alaska’s cheek before following Professor Visage to the office she’d practically been living in, and Alaska continued on her way up to her dorm.

The common room was full of people when she made her way in, obscuring her face with all her gifts to avoid having to converse with anyone. Of course, she knew that many congratulations were in order and pretty soon everyone would want to say something to her, but if she could just dump everything in her room then she’d be more than willing to bask in the attention. Thankfully, the students seemed to notice this, and she made it up the stairs and into her room without any interruption.

She threw everything down on the bed, totally haphazard, and flung herself down next to it all. She’d have to sort through it all later – she could see flowers, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, and dozens of other tiny gifts. Despite lacking the energy to actually move and open anything, there were still a few cards she could reach and have a read through.

Alaska, I couldn’t be more proud of you. Now I get to brag that my girlfriend is beautiful, funny and champion of a world-renowned magic competition. I knew you could do it, pumpkin. I can’t wait to watch you snatch that trophy. I’ll be there cheering for you the way you’ve always cheered for me. Lots of love and kisses, Sharon.

Alaska hugged the card to her chest, fully aware of how stupid she must have looked. Sharon’s handwriting was impeccably neat, an almost traditional-looking script with short letters and high tails. Was it weird to even love somebody’s handwriting? Had Alaska really fallen that hard? It was disgusting.

To Alaska – you won some shit.                From Willam.

Short, sweet, succinct. If anything could sum up the Pureblood, it was that card, paired with her no-nonsense, printed lettering.

Willam’s card is stupid! Well done, girl!!! We were all rooting for you 100% and we’re so happy for you!!!! Keep it up babe!!!!!! Love from Courtney!

Another one perfectly encapsulating the essence of her friend. Courtney, little petite Courtney, practically was a human exclamation mark. It was no wonder every sentence ended with one – it only served to make Alaska read the words in her shrill Aussie voice.

You’ve made your school proud. I knew you would. Good job, Alaska. From Professor Visage.

There were so many – ones from Jinkx, from other students she didn’t know, even a few more teachers. Each one was touching, even if most of them were just insincere messages scribbled onto a piece of paper. The fact that people had gone through and made the effort to even give her a card meant a lot.

Forcing herself up from the bed, lest she got drowsy and dozed off again, Alaska sprang upwards after a couple of minutes and headed back out into the Ravenclaw common room, looking around for someone who could act as a distraction. Before she could find anyone, she felt a hand tap her elbow and a loud voice squawked at her from behind.

“Lasky! What’s up, girl?!”

It was Detox, the girl from Beauxbaton who she’d been paired with in Potions. Her makeup was almost obscenely colourful - a whirlwind of neon - but nevertheless it seemed to work with her larger-than-life personality and overall look. Alaska smiled brightly and turned to face her properly.

“Hey Detox! I’m good, I’m good, you?”

Detox nodded. “I’m great… Phi Phi is still in your infirmary so I haven’t had to deal with her rage yet. Can’t wait for that.”

Alaska winced. “Oh, Divine. She fought hard, though. It could’ve been anyone’s game.”

“True, true.” Detox mused. “Still, you’ve seen her temper. I’d avoid her, if I were you. I know she’ll try and seek out a fight.”

“Good call. I’m pretty sure Sharon would flip her shit if Phi Phi was anywhere near me anyway.”

She smiled at the memory, of how fiercely Sharon had defended her, both in her presence at the Three Broomsticks and in her Defence Against The Dark Arts class. It had only been a short while since those encounters; it was early November, and any last shred of summer had shrivelled up along with the leaves scattered around the grounds that crunched underfoot. Even so, it felt like they’d come a long way.

After all, that night in the bar was the night they made it official. Alaska cringed internally at their stupid declarations, but at the time it had been the perfect mixture of kitsch and camp and fun that the two shared. Nothing had made her happier than finally having a proper label on what had been uncertain for quite a few months.

For the last few months of their fifth year, just a little while after coming out, Alaska had become a little more daring. Flirty, if you will. When she noticed Sharon looking, she winked. Anytime Sharon made her laugh, she clung on that little bit tighter to her arm, and of course it had the desired effect. Things progressed, with Alaska excitedly updating Willam and Courtney at every turn, but it never quite got where she wanted to. They had kissed, sure – not like how they kissed after the Three Broomsticks, but still – and they were exclusive, but it wasn’t a relationship. They were both kind of suspended. Waiting for something.

“That’s probably a good thing!” Detox responded, zapping Alaska back into reality. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Phi Phi, at least you have someone to defend you. She was never that angry before she came here.”

Alaska frowned. Weird. “Maybe it’s just the stress of being in a whole new place and competing.”

“Probably.” Detox shrugged. “Anyway, she’d kill me if she knew I was saying this, but congrats on your win. You celebrating at all?”

“Going out for dinner with… Oh, there she is.” Alaska grinned, spotting Sharon’s head amongst the sea of Ravenclaws. Her green tie and distinctive hair made her stick out like a sore thumb.

She’d freshened up a little, that much was clear. Her hair had been brushed out and untangled, and her makeup reapplied – it always tended to come off during Care of Magical Creatures. Although she hadn’t changed out of her uniform, Alaska could tell she’d made an effort to smarten it up a little bit other than the rolled-up sleeves. In all fairness, it wasn’t like Alaska could expect full uniform compliance from Sharon this late in the game.

“Hey, you’re not allowed in here, Needles!” A voice yelled, indistinguishable from the mass of heads.

Sharon looked around a little, trying to spot who it was. “Do I look bothered?” She shot back, before shaking her head and moving towards Alaska. “There you are. Oh, who’s this?”

There was a dangerous edge to Sharon’s voice as she eyed Detox with suspicion. The Beauxbaton girl looked a little bit uncomfortable at the interrogation, and rightly so. Sharon’s words were innocent enough, but her tone was cold and her eyes were piercing.

For a fleeting second, she looked just like Lady Needles.

Alaska was quick to dispel the tension. “This is Detox. Don’t scare her away; she’s nice, I promise.”

Just like that, the fierce expression on Sharon’s face was gone. “If you say so. Detox, do you mind if I steal Alaska from you?”

Detox shrugged, still slightly put-out but doing her best not to show it. “You’re not really asking, are you? I don’t have a choice here, do I?”

Sharon laughed appreciatively. “No, you don’t. I’m afraid she’s mine and I have to take her, but if you have any complaints you can probably find me in detention.”

Detox cackled, and with that, Sharon took Alaska’s hand and began to lead her out of the Ravenclaw common room. The Slytherin was practically running, dragging Alaska behind her as she weaved through corridors and in and out of random hallways. It took a little while for Alaska to realize where they were headed, but soon enough she began to recognise her surroundings as the entrance to the Slytherin common room, leading up the dorms. Alaska hadn’t actually ever seen Sharon’s dorm room; she knew of the girls in it, but had never been aside. When they were younger, the group had always hung out in the Ravenclaw dorm, and in recent times Sharon had taken to staying in there rather than her own whenever she could get away with it. Maybe it was silly for her to feel that way, but Alaska was a little bit excited.

“I have someone I want you to meet properly.” Sharon told her, before stopping outside a tall black door. With some caution, she poked her head round, then flung the door wide open as she saw it was empty. “Come on in.”

The room was identical to Alaska’s, with the exception of the green bedding, which was a slight disappointment. Regardless, Alaska took it all in, noting that Sharon’s bed had the curtains drawn all the way around it, obscuring her small living area from the rest of the room. In one swift motion, Sharon parted the curtains and was instantly knocked to the floor by the same gigantic mound of fluff that had interrupted Alaska’s Ancient Runes lesson a short while ago.

“Sharon!” Alaska cried out, almost instinctively. The panic faded, however, when she heard Sharon half-laughing, half-groaning.

“Cerrone, must you always greet me like this?” She grumbled, stroking the black-and-white fur awkwardly with one hand. “Fat cat. Someone’s been feeding you too much. Alright, get off.”

She sat up and beamed cheerily in Alaska’s direction. “This is Cerrone, you saw him in the Pensieve. He’s fatter and older and stupider now.”

Alaska got onto her knees, joining Sharon on the floor to coo over Cerrone, who had flopped onto the rug and stretched himself out. He purred contently as Alaska started to stroke his side, smoothing some of the matted fur down.

“He’s such an attention whore.” Sharon said, distinctively proud. “Look at him. Purebred Kneazle, about eight years old. I’ve had him for five years now.”

Alaska smiled. “You rescued him, right?” She asked, watching as her girlfriend scratched her pet lovingly behind his ears.

“Yeah, I did.” Sharon sounded vaguely nostalgic. “You saw that he was pretty banged up when I found him. He was the only one I found that was alive. I had to save him somehow.”

It was admirable. Alaska couldn’t forget the image of Sharon she’d seen in the Pensieve – wide eyed, her clothes and skinny fingers stained with blood, clutching Cerrone to her chest like a lifeline. She’d been so young to be so courageous, standing up in front of so many people like that just for the life of one creature. It made sense now why Sharon had chosen Care of Magical Creatures as part of her options two years prior, even if it hadn’t at the time. Alaska remembered Willam cocking an eyebrow and saying, “you want to play in a fucking pig pen for an hour and get qualifications for it?!”

Of course, back when they were fourteen they didn’t have any ideas as to why she’d pick a subject like that, other than how much she enjoyed the outdoors. The knowledge suddenly dawning on her, Alaska smiled to herself as she continued stroking Cerrone.

“He’s saved me more times than I could ever save him.” Sharon broke the silence, gazing down tenderly at the overgrown cat. “Kneazles, they… they can detect dangerous people. People you can’t trust, people who might be evil. They get aggressive when they sense those kind of people, and protect their owner.”

She looked up at Alaska. “I can’t tell you the amount of times he’s lashed out at my mother. I owe him.”

Sharon went quiet for a minute, seemingly realizing the weight of her words, before lightening up a little bit. “That’s why I let him have so many treats. I guess it’s my fault he’s spoilt and lazy.”

Alaska grinned, leaning down to rest her head against Cerrone’s side. “I could just go to sleep here. I wouldn’t even complain if he clawed my face off.”

“Are you kidding?” Sharon laughed. “He loves you! He has good taste, this one. I approve.”

They spent a while on the floor with Cerrone, laughing and making obscene jokes of sore knees and old age. The whole situation, despite being completely new, felt familiar and strangely normal to Alaska. It felt like a domestic routine that she could easily fall into, and the thought made her heart flutter and break all at the same time.

Domesticity. It felt so natural with Sharon, yet the Slytherin girl had never experienced it before. She didn’t know what it was like to live amongst parents who loved one another, children who played together, a family that felt safe and secure. Alaska’s childhood had been so starkly different to Sharon’s. More than anything, she just wanted to bundle Sharon up in her arms and take her home.

She imagined introducing Sharon to her family. Willam and Courtney had met her family, and they’d all gotten along well, but she and Sharon had never really gotten to that stage. They were just friends, and then they were at an odd crossroads of flirting, and then they’d started dating and somehow Alaska had never found the time.

How would her family react to such an enigma of a person? Her mom would love Sharon, naturally. She was easily pleased with charm and good manners, and it wouldn’t take her long to get past her unconventional look. Then again, it was impossible to guess how anyone would react to Sharon. She was unpredictable like that.

It was around half past five when Alaska finally left, making her way back to her own dormitory as quickly as she could so she could change in time for her date. As she walked, her mind tried to mentally replicate her wardrobe and pick out what she could wear. As ever, her memory failed her and she couldn’t even conjure up a picture of a single thing she owned.

“Alaska!”

Both Willam and Courtney trilled her name in unison, springing up from Courtney’s bed where they were sat to smother her in a hug. Alaska laughed as her face was buried in a mass of blonde hair, clinging tight to her friends before managing to fight them off.

“I don’t have long, please don’t ruin my hair,” She teased, scrunching the mass on top of her head and starting towards her wardrobe. As expected, both blondes gave her the same expression; eyes wide, eyebrows raised, mouths open.

“Ooh, bitch!” Willam called out. “Got somewhere to be?”

Alaska grinned. “Sharon’s taking me out for dinner. Like, a real date.” She turned around, considering a few options in her wardrobe before pulling one out. “Does this say ‘classy girlfriend going on a dinner date’ to you?”

She wasn’t exactly sure why she was asking Courtney and Willam, of all people – Willam was the exact opposite of classy in her look and behaviour, and Courtney being part-Veela made anything and everything look classy, effortlessly. Between them they were absolutely useless.

“I like it. Doesn’t show off nearly enough body, but I guess that’s the point.” Willam mused, looking at the dress thoughtfully.

Courtney swatted at her. “Shut up! It’s really pretty, you should wear it.”

In all honesty, Alaska had forgotten that the little blue dress existed. She had maybe worn it once for some fancy party and then stowed it back on the wardrobe on the hanger, never to emerge again. It reached just above her knees, and was mostly plain aside from a few tasteful sparkling embellishments around the neckline. Sharon would like it – Sharon liked nearly everything she owned. After some scrutiny, she decided it was date-worthy and took it into the bathroom to change.

“ARE YOU HIDING HICKEYS FROM US IN THERE?!” Willam yelled indignantly as Alaska disappeared from the room. “IS THAT WHY YOU’RE IN THE BATHROOM?!”

Alaska laughed, banging her fist on the door to shock them both. “It’s called privacy, you voyeuristic slut!”

“Ooh, she’s got you there!” came Courtney’s response, before she emitted a yelp that indicated Willam had physically retaliated to the remark.

It took a minute for Alaska to get herself into the dress, contorting her body into unnatural positions to try and reach the zipper, but finally she managed. After that it was just a case of throwing on a touch of makeup and fixing her hair, and she was ready to go.

“Classy girlfriend going on a dinner date?” Alaska asked again, emerging nervously from the bathroom and presenting herself to her friends.

The reactions were somewhat mixed, but definitely positive. Courtney’s mouth dropped open, and Willam wolf-whistled appreciatively before nodding her approval. Alaska continued to post, rolling her hand to gesture for more in-depth feedback.

“I’ll bite. It’s hot.” Willam grinned wolfishly. “Trying to get laid or something?”

Alaska flashed her middle finger. “Bitch! You’re not even the first person to suggest that today.”

Instantly, the blonde’s eyes lit up, as if she were about to ask for more details she could inevitably taunt Alaska with. Thankfully, Courtney cut in before she could, exclaiming, “More like classy wife going on a dinner date! She’s gonna wanna marry you after this!”

-

On time for the first time in her life, Alaska met Sharon by the beginning of the walk into Hogsmeade at six thirty, the time they agreed on. Sharon must’ve come early, and was stood waiting for Alaska as she approached. Slowing down a little, Alaska allowed herself to appreciate the effort that it was clear Sharon had put in. Her hair was teased and fluffed up a little, swept over one shoulder, and her black dress was long, with a deep V-neck and full length sleeves. Her jacket was draped over one shoulder. As she got closer, she could see that Sharon was either wearing blush, or her cheeks were just pink, but regardless of which one it was, the little pop of colour made her look strangely cute. Alaska resisted the urge to pinch her cheeks.

“Well don’t you just look the Daily Prophet’s Witch of the Year,” She greeted her girlfriend, entwining their fingers and pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead.

Sharon leaned into her touch and smiled. “More like a page three witch with this neckline. I had no idea it was this low, I’m so sorry. You look absolutely breathtaking.”

“Please,” Alaska told her. “If you think I’m bothered about a low neckline, you don’t know me at all.”

Sharon swatted at her arm playfully before offering her hand, beginning the walk along the road to Hogsmeade.

“I almost never come this way,” Sharon commented. “I always use tunnels and passages. This way is so pretty.”

It wasn’t like she was wrong – the rapid approach of autumn had given the village an entirely new, warm aura. Fragrant leaves crunched under their feet, and bare vines curled along walls and archways, clinging like earth-borne snakes seeking warmth. Everything was awash in gold and orange and brown, the setting sun heightening the enthralling glow of the area. There was a slight chill in the air, as came with the threat of winter resting in the frosted laurels at the tips of the trees, but overall the atmosphere was soft and tinted with romance.

Noticing her slight shivering, Sharon stopped walking and took her jacket from her shoulder. “Put this on, you’re freezing. Come here.”

Smiling gratefully, Alaska slipped her arms into the warm leather, embracing the familiar scent of smoke and perfume that permeated the material. Like most of Sharon’s clothes, it fit Alaska perfectly. Touched by such a small gesture, Alaska squeezed her girlfriend’s hand and kept walking, soaking up as much as the evening as she could.

“It’s just through here,” Sharon pushed some brambles aside, moving out of the way so Alaska could go through first. “I know this bit is a dump, but the place is gorgeous, I promise.”

By now they had moved out of the area that was usually frequented by students – the shops, taverns, bars and the Shrieking Shack having long since been passed – and had moved more into the residential area, where many witches and wizards had chosen to isolate themselves from the muggle world and create their own community. It was only a few minutes further that they had to walk before a building began to unfold in front of them, the fancy scripting on the front reading The Artemisia.

“Sharon, this is… It’s beautiful.” Alaska murmured, staring around as she stepped inside. “How did you afford this place? How did you find this place?”

Sharon bit her lip, smiling. “Pumpkin, my surname is Needles… I can get us anywhere. And you’ll have to thank Raja for the recommendation, she told me about this place. Only the best for my champion. See, I did it again and I didn’t make any vomit noises. This is a real date.”

Alaska laughed. “You’re so stupid…” She leaned in for a kiss, softly pecking Sharon’s warm lips. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it.” Sharon responded, before smiling up at a waiter who had appeared before them.

“Sharon Needles?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. Sharon nodded. “Wonderful. We have your table all set up, if you can just follow me.”

Alaska shot Sharon an excited look, squeezing her hand a few times as they walked behind the waiter towards a privately laid-out table. Even the napkins looked as though they were more expensive than everything Alaska owned put together. Gold trimming? How was it possible for everything in this place to have gold trimming? It was luscious and a little bit ludicrous.

“And here we are,” The waiter spoke up again, pulling the chairs out for each witch to sit down and presenting two full glasses with his wand. “The Butterbeer is on the house. We hope you have a splendid evening.”

Sharon waited until the waiter had left the table before starting to giggle. Her efforts to hide it went amiss; the hands clapped over her mouth did nothing to subdue the shaking of her shoulders. Thoroughly amused just by the sight of her, Alaska reached across the table to grab one of Sharon’s hands as she started to laugh herself.

“I’m sorry,” Sharon managed, her shoulders still bouncing with suppressed giggles. “I just… splendid. We’re going to have a splendid evening.”

She managed to steel herself by avoiding Alaska’s gaze. “Splendid. What a great word. God, I haven’t drank Butterbeer in a while.”

Alaska watched as she took and sip and then pulled a face. “Shit. That’s sweeter than I remember. Is this shit made of sugar?”

The waiter returned moments later with two menus, Alaska running her nails along the thick leather cover before looking inside. Although trivial, Alaska thought it was actually kind of thrilling to be sat inside a restaurant like this, debating meals with Sharon and enjoying the atmosphere. For the second time that day, it hit her that Sharon probably didn’t do this very often, if at all. Alaska and her family went out for dinner a lot, especially around occasions such as Christmas and birthdays. Sharon, obviously, wouldn’t.

After having their orders taken, Alaska settled back into her seat, regarding her girlfriend with a grin. “So, is this where you take all your girls?”

Sharon laughed, the joke clearly taking her by surprise. “Oh, yeah. All my girls come here. This is where I bring all my hoes.”

“Are you calling me a hoe?!” Alaska exclaimed, mock offended.

Sharon shrugged. “Maybe. Why, you wanna act like one? Dress like one? Can’t say I’d mind.”

She stopped to fan herself with the menu. “We’re way too flirty this evening. Here was me thinking we’d have a nice celebratory date, and look what we’ve turned it into.”

“You started it.”

“You’re such a liar!”

“As if! You know you started it!”

“I didn’t start anything!”

“Yes you did!”

“Shut up or I’ll kiss you.”

“Shut up or I won’t kiss you.”

Alaska smirked, knowing she’d gotten the last laugh. Glancing up at Sharon, she saw the Slytherin had bitten back her lips in an attempt to visually draw attention to her silence, and was blinking innocently behind her lashes. The facade was anything but believable – maybe due to the fact that Alaska knew Sharon too well, and could identify the mischievous twinkle beneath her eyes – and she laughed at the idea that she’d fall for it.

“Okay, I’m already bored. You can talk now. Open your big mouth again.”

To her surprise, Sharon simply shook her head, remaining silent as she tapped her cheek with one finger. Alaska recognised her gesture and rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t realise it before, but you are a toddler.” She stated, leaning across the table to press a kiss to the spot she’d been tapping. Satisfied, Sharon’s face split into a grin and her cheeks went pink.

“And now I can talk. Honestly, I wish real curses were like that. Our curses are like,” She picked up her knife, waving it around as though it were a wand, “Extreme pain! Manipulation! Death!”

Alaska chuckled as she continued. “And then, in the old fucking Disney stories, it’s like,” This time she dropped the knife, simply pointing with her finger, “Sleep for a long time and get woken up by a kiss. True love will solve this one! A candle is your friend!”

Sharon pulled a face. “Anyway. I’m getting off track, aren’t I? I didn’t bring us here to sit and talk about fucking Disney curses. Some punk I am.”

“Who’d have thought it?” Alaska joked. “Sharon Needles, notoriously badly-behaved Slytherin – total Disney slut.”

“Oh, you bitch.” Sharon grinned. “I’ve never even seen a Disney movie.”

Alaska let her mouth drop open, widening her eyes to exaggerate her reaction. “You haven’t – but I – and you – Sharon! You’ve never seen a Disney movie?!”

“Alaska, when the fuck do you think I had time to sit down on a couch and watch fucking Disney movies?” Sharon asked, her voice light. “I spent my childhood rescuing a magical cat and hiding from evil parents. Which I suppose is ironically Disney-esque.”

Alaska shook her head in disbelief. “Okay, remind me that we’re watching Disney movies at some point. We’re gonna work our way through them. Your delayed childhood begins now.”

Sharon winced. “Oh, boy. I’m thinking of breaking my no-alcohol rule already. Goddammit, Alaska.”

“What happened to ‘my champion’, huh?”

Blue eyes met mocking green ones. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

The Cost of Living - 10/Rose Fic

I wrote this story years ago, but it’s been on my mind a lot lately and I don’t think I’ve shared it here. Find it on: FanFiction.

Summary: The TARDIS lands in the midst of a worldwide tragedy, triggering wartime memories for the Doctor. Rose helps him through one of the most difficult times of his life: remembering Gallifrey's fallen children. Pre "Army of Ghosts." Mostly hurt/comfort and friendship. K+

Word Count: 4,000  |   Warnings: Discussion of genocide; military attack

The Doctor was fretting over the console, analyzing scans on the monitor and adjusting knobs, when Rose took hold of the handle that would lead them to their next adventure. By the time he began muttering no-n-n-n-no-No-NO, the left door was already cracked.

"Rose! Don't!"

His warning shout came entirely too late; the TARDIS doors stood fully open.

Instead of a grassy knoll or a perch overlooking a glamorous city; instead of a high-tech hospital in need of a shop or the Roman Forum at its height; instead of someplace serene or flashy or quaint, Rose's eyes met with carnage and smoldering debris - destruction like she had never seen.

It resembled the middle of a war zone, except there was no overt military presence: no tanks, no gunfire, no soldiers. Everything was ash or splinters. Pieces that had escaped catching fire blanketed the treeless landscape like mulch. Rose couldn't make out one building or home that had withstood the decimating blast that had consumed the city and spit out bits of timber and concrete like bones.

There were people - bodies - scattered randomly throughout the debris. Though charred and disfigured, some buried beneath matchstick rubble, she could still identify their outlines. Most were small; even the figures she believed to be adults were slight of frame. These were the remains of children and their mothers, their aunts, their grandparents. . .

Rose clung to the wooden lip of the doorway at the unsettling realization. Her stomach heaved, wanting to purge her system of the stimulus that had made her suddenly ill.

Whatever glitch they'd encountered in the materialization process must have completely reset their course, dropping them in the epicenter of an event so tragic that it was only spoken of in hushed tones by the people of her time, if at all. Though it had taken her mind a moment to match the scene outside to the black and white photos in her old history textbooks, she'd finally recognized where - and when - they were.

Surely he would never bring me here intentionally, the young woman thought, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she attempted to compose herself. Not to this place, this date. He wouldn't do that.

Or would he?

Once, when he had worn a dark leather jacket and harbored a cynical streak as long as the Thames, he'd made her watch the literal end of her world as an almost-invited guest. While she'd passed his test of emotional endurance - or, perhaps, to see how far she was willing to go to escape the life of a shop girl - she'd only been a bystander at the event.

Viewing the planet ignite in flames from hundreds of thousands of miles away, with a plate of thick glass between her and the destruction, wasn't anything compared to the scene outside of the timeship now. Five billion years into the future, she hadn't smelled the fires, or coughed on smoke that was mixed with the ashes of buildings. . .and the ashes of those buildings' occupants. While she'd nearly died along with the Earth that day, the Doctor had managed to save her.

Here - where death perfumed the air and saturated the soil with toxins that would linger for generations to come - at ground zero of the nuclear devastation, there was nothing left to save.

A movement among the piles of wood and concrete distracted her from her sickness. Rose thought she saw the head of one of the smaller victims twist minutely. Everything else in the universe dropped away as she focused on the child's head. Her foot was on the edge of the TARDIS' step, ready to run and investigate, when the Doctor's firm grip on her elbow stayed her action, intervening with her instinctive desire to help.

When had he appeared beside her? More importantly, why wasn't he out there already, searching for survivors?

She glanced up at his clenched jaw and serious expression. "Can't we do something?"

He shook his head once. "The bombing is time-locked." His voice was tight. "We shouldn't be here at all."

Unsatisfied, Rose returned her gaze to the head. It was definitely moving.

"But we are here," she observed softly. Maybe fate or some other cosmic force had led the TARDIS and her wayward travelers here for a reason.

Once again, she attempted to step forward, but the Doctor held tight, not allowing her to set one foot outside of the ship. His grip was almost painful.

How could he stand by and watch a child suffer? Angry and hurt, she opened her mouth to accuse him of being heartless, despite having two, but stopped when she saw that his gaze was fixated on the child as well. Tears glossed his sorrowful, old eyes.

"The radiation levels outside the TARDIS are enough to kickstart my next regeneration," he explained delicately. "It would kill you in a matter of minutes."

"So we're just going to watch? We're not going to do anything?"

"We're leaving," he informed her resolutely.

His tone was much too detached, as though he was capable of shutting out all the suffering and destruction. But Rose knew the Doctor's true emotions ran deeper than expressions and intonation. His forced indifference was a sign of how greatly this tragedy upset him.

Pulling her fully inside the ship, the Doctor shut the TARDIS doors and locked them with the sonic for extra assurance his companion wouldn't try wandering off. Once secured, he turned without giving Rose half a glance and strode back to the console to enter new coordinates. His fingers punched at the keys. With a roar, he threw up the main throttle lever, sending the TARDIS up into the atmosphere. The ship creaked and groaned as it pushed through Earth's troposphere, stratosphere, mesosphere, and finally rocketed into space.

Silence fell over the both of them. Unable to process the shock of all she had seen, Rose soundlessly slouched against the closed doors at her back, wiping private, unobserved tears on the cuff of her track jacket. Black smudges from her mascara marred the pink fabric and made her rub more earnestly underneath her eyes to conceal the evidence.

Of all the mis-landings they'd survived during their travels - the kind where they ended up miles or centuries away from their intended destination - this was the most heartbreaking. It was one thing to land in the middle of a battle or step out of the blue box just in time to foil a scheme to end the human race; it was a different thing entirely to show up after the action had happened, when it was too late to do anything but watch the dancing flames.

The Doctor didn't do aftermath. Hopelessness and desolation and damage were things he avoided.

Rose stood unsteadily, leaning against the wooden doors behind her for support, then shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. Even sandwiched between fabric, she could feel them tremble. More tears welled in her eyes, but she sniffed them back.

Over the rumbling engines, she tried to verbalize the horrific detail that gnawed at her view of humanity. War was one thing, but the scene outside had been nothing short of the undue slaughter of innocents.

"All those children. . ." she whispered, "dead."

The Doctor visibly flinched, but carried on with his furious piloting, as if in a desperate rush to escape the topic.

Had she been a little more collected, Rose may not have continued to press the subject; however, in her current state of distress she sought a way to digest one of the biggest travesties in history. She turned to the one man who usually had the answers.

"How could someone do this, Doctor, knowing the lives they were taking?"

Her question seemed to be ignored, blocked out by the deafening rage that exuded from his tense shoulders and stiff stance. It was as though he'd slipped inside himself, fighting a battle within his mind - a penchant of his previous incarnation that reminded Rose she was only viewing one side of a single decagon. Regardless of the face he wore, the Doctor internalized his griefs and anger in the same way.

The obliterated Japanese city had struck them both to the core, though the Doctor's reaction went beyond Rose's initial shock and following disgust. Something had been triggered inside him: something dark, something secret. A fierce, almost inhuman scowl burrowed within the creased lines on his forehead and around his lips. He seemed primed to strike out at the smallest disturbance. Rose had to turn away, feeling that she was - at least in part - responsible for his foul mood.

When the engines thrummed a steady, tenor cadence, she knew they were in orbit around the planet. Only then did Rose dare to turn back. Though she expected to see him bent over the main console, brooding and moody, the Doctor was no longer at the controls. He'd managed to slip away unseen and unheard.

Then, below the central deck, came a storm of sound. His shouts were mostly incoherent noise, but they weren't pointless; the Doctor was yelling phrases in another language, one the ship wouldn't translate into English for her benefit: Gallifreyan. After a moment, Rose realized the verbal beratement was directed at the unseen, yet ever present, conscience of the TARDIS.

"Why today?" he asked in English while throwing metal bits and bobs around to punctuate his frustrated cries.

Rose didn't have a clue why today held such significance to him. Perhaps it was an anniversary of something unpleasant, though she'd always thought - being a Time Lord and all - things like specific dates would get somewhat jumbled. When she'd worked at the shop, she'd lost track of days of the week; there were only 'on' days and 'off' days. Of course, the Doctor was the Doctor. If she ever bothered to ask him for the time, he'd be able to rattle it off down to the millisecond.

"Isn't two hundred years long enough to watch me suffer?"

Two hundred years since. . .? Oh. Rose slowly closed hers eyes as everything clicked. How didn't I realize before?

It wasn't the TARDIS' fault that he was teetering along the brink between fury and despair; it was hers. She'd reacted without thinking and let unfiltered thoughts slip past her tongue to strike him. She knew about the Time War and the Doctor's actions on that fateful day, that he had sacrificed his own people in order to defeat the Daleks to keep countless other races across the universe from falling. There had to have been children on Gallifrey - thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.

All those children. . .dead. In her detestation of those responsible for the murder of an entire city, she'd vilified him as well. How could I have said such a terrible thing?

Rose inched closer to the stairs while he continued to curse the ship unjustly. When he ran out of stray objects to toss about, he took hold of his hair with both hands and pulled in opposite directions as though yanking a painful memory from his thoughts.

She couldn't let this go on any longer. She cared for him too much to watch him wallow in the pain of his past, to let what he'd done lifetimes ago drag him back to the darker days by making him relive the end of the War. There had to be some way to bring him back into the light.

From the top of the landing, she called down to him, "It's not the same."

He stilled abruptly, as though just realizing he had an audience. Dropping his hands from his hair - a grown man guilty of throwing a fit and getting caught - he peered up at her through the grating. Two people stared back at her: one, a lost and lonely young boy, the second, a stubborn and unforgiving old man.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

Extracting her hands from her pockets, Rose gripped the banister in front of her instead, attempting to focus her nervousness into the cold metal. To go head to head with the last of the Time Lords would take all her courage.

"I wasn't making a comparison," she insisted. "I didn't mean it that way."

Slackjawed, he ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth once, testing the taste of her statement. He didn't like it. "Doesn't matter. Still holds true."

"You saved the universe," she stressed. Does that count for nothing in his mind?

"At too great a cost," he rebutted morosely.

She descended the stairs to level her eyes with his. Maybe he would be able to glimpse the truth through her point of view. "You had no choice."

The Doctor held her gaze for a few seconds, then tore himself away. "I chose to ignore them: the children I sacrificed in the name of peace. I made their deaths unimportant; turned them into collateral."

"I don't believe that." Rose was vehement in her denial, though her voice was soft. "Not for a minute."

"I never counted. I didn't want to know." Collecting himself with a shredded breath, he continued in a stronger voice: "I'm no better than the refuse who planned and executed the attack outside. I'm worse."

"No, you're - "

He cut her off with a frustrated growl: "How thick are you? The reality of what I did is staring you in the face, yet you still deny it!"

Rose did her best to hide the stricken look that flashed red on both cheeks - his hurtful words stemmed from self-hatred, not from her refusal to see him in the monstrous light he was attempting to cast upon himself. Even so, she couldn't bounce back from his comment rapidly enough, and he slunk further away from her, deflated from his hasty insult, yet stoically unapologetic. His silence suggested she keep her distance.

But Rose would not surrender to his glowers and contempt. She was going to prove to the Doctor that, regardless of his past decisions, he was still the savior of worlds and the peoples' champion. He was the hero of children's stories, not the villain.

She approached him with caution and spoke to him as though talking to a wounded soldier. Her tone was firm, yet understanding. "You're wrong, Doctor," she told him, watching him closely. "You know how many children were on Gallifrey that day."

"I don't," he insisted.

She bristled over his continued denial. "Stop lying."

He did that at times: lied. It was what he did to hide a painful truth or to protect others from learning information that would put them in danger. But, in this case, he wasn't only lying to her; he was deceiving himself.

"Rose, I -"

It was her turn to cut him off. There wasn't any stopping her now. "The number is in your head, Doctor. You're not the sort to make decisions without understanding the consequences. You wouldn't have ended the Time War the way you did unless you knew what it would cost."

He braced himself against the stem supporting the console platform and shut his eyes over her words. For a long moment he remained silent. The only sign of his struggle to rein in the pain and anguish seeping from him was a long tendon stretched taut along the column of his throat. When he finally spoke, his words were drenched in the cold sweat of self-disgust.

"They had faces," he began, his voice heated, yet his tone icy. "They had hopes and dreams and disappointments. They had lives to look forward to, and I stole them. I stole them all from existence."

"And you saved the rest of us," she pointed out once again, steadfast in her belief. "Without you, endless species across the universe would have been exterminated or never had the chance to begin. Think about it: without you, I wouldn't exist. Mum. Mickey. None of us. We're here because of you."

"That doesn't excuse my ignorance."

"Or your bullheadedness," Rose mumbled, adding, "Maybe you pushed the tally from your thoughts to cope with what happened, but when you chose to save the universe, you knew that number. And, somewhere in that brilliant mind of yours, you still do."

Rose held his gaze, challenging him to argue with her again. Eventually - after much huffing and frowning - he gave into her will.

He closed his eyes and laid two fingers against his left temple. It looked as though he was trying to concentrate on a memory - one buried deep in the catacombs of his mind, where he'd tried to keep it hidden, but it lurked about, waiting for the chance to resurface. His breathing became labored over the task, but Rose stayed absolutely still, her eyes never blinking.

Finally, a number: "Two. . .point four seven bil-billion."

Staggered by the figure, she could only nod at first. She'd expected a high number, but she never imagined it would equate to over a third of the Earth's total population by comparison. "Say that again?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and locked his gaze on hers again. "Two point four seven billion," he repeated without stumbling. "That's how many children were on Gallifrey the day I set it ablaze."

Motionless - her mind trying to digest the magnitude of the what he'd done to end the Time War - she didn't know what to say. What could she say?

The Doctor crossed the lower deck to the stairs, sinking down under a weary weight that would never be fully lifted from his shoulders. He threaded his fingers through the hopeless disarray of hair standing in all directions and reiterated his exhausted point: "I'm no better than the men responsible for this bombing. Do you see that now?"

The sheer amount of lives lost was tragic, yet the fact that the Doctor had acted alone and was the sole survivor of his race was even more heartbreaking. Rose decided to refocus her energies to helping him move on from the mental rut into which he'd fallen. She lowered herself down next to him and released a small sigh.

"Maybe not," she allowed, though her tone lacked the barest hint of conviction. "But, what you did doesn't change the way I see you, Doctor."

Rose felt his body shift, turning toward her. Before he could start in again on how he was a child murderer, she shot him a sharp look through her lashes and said, "I can forgive you."

The honest statement appeared to derail his formulating speech. His mouth hung slightly ajar. Rose took the opportunity to give him what she thought he really needed. Snaking first one arm across the broad span of his back, then wrapping the other around his front, she tugged until they were pressed together. From where her head rested awkwardly against his chest - given their side-by-side position on the stairs - she could feel his shock slowly release and dissipate.

For a few moments all Rose could hear was the drumming of his hearts. The Doctor didn't move, but Rose was not discouraged by his unresponsiveness. It made her hold on to him even tighter. She wouldn't let go until he pulled away. Her mother - though not the most openly affectionate parental figure - had once imparted some solid wisdom: when you hug somebody you love, you should never be the first to let go.

So, Rose clung to the Doctor with all the strength she had.

"I do forgive you, Doctor," she whispered underneath his chin, "but only if you promise to never forget the children of Gallifrey."

His hands inched up her back until they were cupping her shoulder blades. Then he squeezed, and Rose felt like crying all over again with relief. She'd finally gotten through to him.

"I promise," he vowed softly, embracing her a few moments longer. When he pulled back, he did not disengage entirely. His hands gripped her forearms, thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of her jacket. He looked at her with shining eyes. "What do I do now, Rose? How do I live with myself?"

Much to her surprise, the words rolled off her tongue as easily as if they were ingrained in her DNA. "S'pose you have to do what the rest of us do: carry on. Day after day, year after year. You carry on and keep living. And remember, Doctor."

His response was a slight nod and a quiet admission. "You're too good to me."

Then, in another heartbeat, he jumped to his feet and started scaling the stairs back to the main console two at a time, a smile lighting up his whole face.

It was a most bizarre, drastic mood shift, even for the Doctor. Rose struggled to change gears in order to keep pace with him. Eventually, she chased him up the stairs and stood on the opposite side of the TARDIS console. He glanced up from the switchboard and smiled a genuine smile that caught Rose off guard more than anything else. If he intended to disregard the last half hour and return to his normal, wonderful self, she supposed it was best to follow his lead.

Sometimes it was almost too easy to slip back into the happy, adventure-awaits-mindset with him.

"Of course I'm too good for you. Which is why you won't say 'no' when I ask you for a favor," she added with a characteristic cheeky grin.

"Anything. Name it. Just so long as it's not -"

Rose raised one of her dark eyebrows, as if to ask, Didn't you just say anything? Her mind was already set on what she wanted, and she had a feeling that the Doctor knew what it was as well.

It must have been an expression he was used to, because he exclaimed, "Must we? We just dropped in on her!"

"Weeks ago!" Rose countered in mock exasperation. "I need clean clothes. All these spare rooms and no place for laundry. How do you expect a girl to get by like that?"

He gave in with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I'm not staying for supper." After a moment of typing coordinates and time-ordinates into the TARDIS, he added in a more solemn voice that gave her more comfort than the phony exchange about going to see her mum: "I'm so sorry, Rose. I never wanted you to see this."

She wasn't sure if, by 'this,' he meant the carnage outside, or his ensuing meltdown. Either way, she had seen. "I'm glad I was here," she told him in the same soft, reverent tone. "You shouldn't be alone to face a day like today."

His answering smile was appreciative, yet sad - real. Now she began to wonder if all his previous smirks and laughter weren't just covering up the guilt and hurt he'd suffered all these years. Rose longed to hug him again, but there wasn't time.

"I don't know what I'll do without you, Rose Tyler."

His mumbled words were almost lost in the open space between them, but it never failed to register with her that the Doctor avoided responding to her sentiments of being his companion forever.

"Well," she corrected gently, "you'll never have to find out."

A brief flash of something - a stinging look that branded her as human and perishable - glimmered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with his usual mischievous grin. With a flip of a yellow switch, the TARDIS jerked to life and began her materialization cycle. They both gripped the edges of the main counsel as the Doctor called out, "Jackie Tyler, here we come!"

[vicjrcajilig]

The Color of Grief: A Brother’s Reminiscence and Unsaid Eulogy

Disclaimer: This post contains more than 2,000 American English words, making it a five-page read. If you get bored easily with reading, feel free to discontinue. This is nothing like the stuff you see on Facebook that uncomplicatedly tickles your fancy. This is of somewhat eulogistic nature.

It must be one of the deepest cuts made by pain, if not the deepest and worst, to have ever known by the human body. It’s not the kind of sadness you will ever want to feel one more time for the strange, selfish purpose of just feeling something. It’s not the spur-of-the-moment kind of sadness or that sadness you get on Sundays because it’s Monday the next day. It’s worse than disappointments or goodbyes leading to long distance relationships. As a matter of fact, to my surprise, it feels dark. I’m not sure how dark feels like but it’s the best way I can describe it, if I were to, from how my senses translate. It’s too dark of a feeling I can’t even cite a shade or color to resemble its darkness. You can’t say it’s grey, though grey denotes gloom, but it’s still too bright for me; never dark, never gloomy. If there had ever been a shade darker than Cimmerian or ebony or pitch-black, it must be it. But there’s none; black is the darkest. So it has to be black—nothing else. Maybe that’s why mourners wear black to mean they’re grieving. Maybe that’s why death is always visualized in black.

My friends, meet Grief. I’m talking about grief, that deep cut inflicted by pain itself; that feeling of blackness.

What do I know about pain and sadness, anyway? How was I able to know which sadness is worse? How dare I? Well, trust me; I have known them… until I met grief. And so far, it’s not nice meeting Grief. It’s the darkest, darker than vengeance or romantic heartbreak or have them combined. Ultimately, it’s grief at the peak of the pyramid. It’s too dark you can’t even grope yourself, let alone grope for support while in it. The feeling of getting lost and emptiness has never been so true.

All of this is unprecedented. I never saw bereavement until this. It’s a personal life record. I was born without grandparents hovering and playing strict and overprotective around me like how yours do or did around you. I’ve known the concept of funerals but I wouldn’t know how it felt like for those in loss. I’ve seen a few burials and it was not quite a sight to see (and hear). And twelve days ago, life’s roulette stopped at us—we sent our eldest to her grave. Oh what a black, black picture to look at.

Funny how I’d found it a little inhuman when Casey Affleck’s character in “Manchester by the Sea” reacted to his older brother’s passing. It was a phone call. He never shed a tear; neither was shocked nor seen in pain. But just like him, I got to shrug it off. Casey Affleck won Best Actor here so I ought to trust his emotional interpretation and I was also taking into consideration that maybe it was some typical American behavior or accustomed manifestation of machismo because even the son of the dead brother was never taken grieving and despondent. I’d carried on, ending up loving the movie anyway. Then, one Tuesday noon, it was a phone call too. An unregistered number rang me up to tell me that our eldest sister was found dead, that she apparently took her own life (as what was also impetuously blazoned on social media for the intention of gossiping and for the self-gratification from gaining likes which by the way reached one of my then unknowing brothers. Just one of the many reasons why I’ve loathed Facebook. It’s brimming with fake news and thirsty users. Dude, if you’re reading this shit, hope you rang up your purpose!). I was shocked, yes. I was clueless and in utter disbelief, too. I felt my body temperature rose like fever but maybe much worse. It was one typical, sweltering day but whatever temperature upsurge I felt was no way caused by it. I was stuttering throughout the call, too shaken to ask my hows and whys. I managed to do so but I couldn’t seem to absorb every excruciating fact the caller had to say. I felt no imminent tear to complete the mood, though. “Manchester by the Sea” was nothing less than emotionally accurate, I accordingly conclude. It was not something only Americans could pull off. To hear it first before anyone from my siblings was something I would never ask for; to hear real-life tragedy from my ear through my head and heart to imbibe was, however, something I would never want. Who would, anyway? I’d finally cried before that unforgettable Tuesday ended.

Ate Eng died alone. She died alone and probably in pain. She died on the floor behind a locked door, alone. She died ALONE that one night and wasn’t found until the sun was fully lit up in the sky. Her heart stopped while mine kept beating. I woke up that following morning; she did not. She wasn’t at least rushed to the hospital for the hope of performing anything medically useful for the chance to make her breathe the same air I breathe now and that she freely used to. These truths will forever wound my heart. This will forever be torturing. This will forever be haunting. Ate Eng, how I wish I were there with you that night. But if that was incontestably your last night, well at least you did not die alone… at least you were found earlier than noon.

Or you could have at least gasped my name.

I would love to blame myself just for the sake of putting the blame, but this was clearly nobody’s doing. And from the bottom of my heart, from the littlest string of it to each of its beating, I am still thankful to those who found you. I could only imagine their anguish finding you. There. Alone.

Ate “Eng,” born Florvic, was our eldest sister. Her demeanor and tone might’ve stricken you for someone of strong personality but she was fundamentally sweet and generous; to others, helpful and cheerful. If you’d ask me what can possibly be her impalpable legacy, it’s her cooking, for she was the best cook in the family, even way better than Mama. It must be her twists to typical dishes and the span of her culinary skills. I remember how she’d used to love cuddles in bed when I was still small enough for her tight embrace; when she’d loved clothing me with OshKosh B’Gosh; how she’d mashed Libby’s Vienna sausage to mix with my rice then loved it so much I could have the same thing thrice a day; when she’d cleaned my ears with “Baby JR,” as she called the Q-tips (cotton buds); when she’d supported me in my childhood Teletubbies collection and the BeyBlade frenzy; when she’d gifted me so much Ragnarok Online merchandise on my high school graduation that unexaggeratedly filled a big bed; when we’d used to hang out in Glorietta, her favorite mall, at Timezone when we were kids and watch movies and pig out when we grew older. These times will additionally remind me how she’d used to require sticking either of my hands into her jeans’ back pocket to keep me close through crowded malls; when she’d gone with us and paid for our school supplies; when she would intone, “So sad!” under so sad situations. And more little things such as her snorts, her sneezes, her loud laughter, her teenage fondness for Looney Tunes and Mickey and Minnie Mouse, her premium taste in shoe wear, flip flops, and smartphones; and the mosquito nets customized to serve as her blankets. She was a sweet sister to me from my Baby JR years even until I’ve outgrown the cuddles she loved and the OshKosh I didn’t really like. She was the reason behind my most coveted Canon, most significantly. It’s a material thing but, mind you, because of it, I will be forever indebted for making me believe that dreams can still come true.

She was not invariably the ideal flawlessly sweet sister though, because she was ill-tempered at the most part. She was temperamental, choleric. Scolding my twin brothers had been a common scene among them like how she used to do with me when I was their age. As she aged and so did all of us, her string of patience towards us seemed to have never been any lengthier. Maybe that was one way she was aging. The same sweetness we grew up with lingered nonetheless; she would always be the sweet sister, as sweet as the bars of chocolates she would hand us as peace offering after getting herself at the top of her lungs. Now, in return, I wish I could hand her anything more than the beauty and fragrance of pink flowers and the wisps of smoke from candles or even this writing.  Little did she know we are not big fans of chocolates. But I would love to let her know that we will forever be a fan of her sweetness, untainted throughout the years.

Death is real, so I have realized. I know people naturally die but you will never understand until it’s right there at your face. Losing someone for good is real. I’ve never seen my father cry before nor seen my mother in so much misery as I kept her in my arms (just imagine their pain sending their child—their eldest to the grave). Hence, death. We’ll never see her on her pink scooter again. Hence, death. We’ll never smell her perfume or her hair shampoo or her body lotion again. Hence, death. We’ll never hear her laughing again that everyone but our family will remind them of her. Hence, death. We’ll never taste her Java Rice, baked mac & cheese, lasagna, crab omelet, panna cotta, and well-spiced sunny side-up again. Hence, death. We, the seven children, will never be seen seven again. Hence, death. We can see her smiling again only in pictures and see her alive on videos (how I wish I had more pictures and videos with her!). Death, so now I’ve realized, is real. And it pains to think about it. It pains worse to accept it.

What hurts me even more is that everything about her is now was. Everything about her is now in past tense. She’s now was.

In this ordeal, I have found out that strength of one’s soul is also real, that the soul has to be taken care of for the sake of holding up well. You don’t simply hold up, you have to hold up well. You have to keep your soul intact. You have to keep sane (what kept us sane was our first ever nephew. Without Allen, this could’ve been more of a struggle. Without him, we could hold up, yes, but could never hold up fast and well). Lastly, you have to be strong for the people around you who need strength. Strength is contagious and in fact absorbable. Trust me; it’s true. The first week was the worst for me. Well, of course. I couldn’t stand being alone in one room. I consistently longed for another human presence, particularly of another family member. I couldn’t listen to sad songs (much less danceable and happy ones) or play Ragnarok or read George R.R. Martin to at least divert my attention even for a short while. And my appetite was fucked up. My system was all down and out, seemingly too tired to normally function. It just happened that I have a bunch of brothers and an irresistible nephew, so I am pretty lucky. I’ve never felt guilty of walking at the mall while there she lay in her casket (because I had thought I could distract myself that way).I've never felt guilty of delighting in good food while there she lay in her casket, probably starving. I’ve never felt guilty of wearing bright colors while there she lay in her casket (though I would love to be clad in black every day, only I ran out of black t-shirts shortly the second day). I felt like I didn’t deserve happiness and enjoyment in any way while she lay there in her casket. Oh fuck—the thought of her lying like a log, breathless in a rectangular container so-called “casket” was too true to accept as true… until I saw her that night. There. In a beautiful white and gold casket beneath a white canopy of lacy textile and the crucifix. There I looked down at her for the first time since her death with all-out agony and sympathy. There she lay, looking like Mama. Stiff. Lifeless. Nestled in the mergence of scents of death and candle and pink rose and white daisy and dahlia. A scent that is now imprinted in me as the scent of death and grief, and nobody’s but only hers.  White… Can grief be as pure as white?

Just like that, she’s now dead and gone. And she’s only 35. She never had the chance of bearing a child, of playing the part with motherhood. Of being a wife, she will never walk the altar in white (I couldn’t imagine her in traditional wedding dress, though! I just can’t hahaha). She could have done more things in life, especially plans for their future. But along with her, that future withered away. But I can say she was at least happy, thanks to her partner Kuya Marvin. She did not take her own life, by the way, as clinically  affirmed. She might have been ill-tempered and anxious at times but she was a woman of hope and strength. The strength of her soul had always been unswerving and she was surrounded with love (as shown by the number of people who went to her 14-day wake until the pre-burial mass). Suicide is the last thing she could’ve ever had in mind.

I wrote this down not for owning up my regrets, for there’s nothing I’ve regretted. I had better memories with Ate Eng. All I want to say, however, is I’m certainly going to miss her every single day as long as I live. Her presence may be gone, her body may have been buried six feet down the ground, but she will forever be in our hearts, never for a second be forgotten. I can light a candle every day for her if I could. I will make sure it’s pink, too—hold up now, can’t it be pink? Can pink resemble this grief? It’s her favorite color anyway. No?

So, this is how grief feels like. Now I know. And it’s been empty and dark, like you’re the one buried. For those who are putting up with this darkness, be strong. It substantially means you should keep eating and keep sane. Then take time to grieve—cry away. It’s okay. Get as much hugs as possible. I know it’s not going to be a walk in the park. I should know. I know it’s black and dark but light will cut through as you heal over time. Don’t let its blackness discolor your soul all over. Just remember that there’s no sadness in this short, borrowed life that will stay ubiquitous and can remain tender forever. There’s no such thing as incurable unhappiness where the cure is not something you take orally but can only be wrung from the strength of the soul with what and who surround us. Hugs and crying also help.

I told you, it’s really black. I was born colorblind but I know what black is. It’s in fact my all-time favorite color and I bet Ate Eng knew it. I was born color deficit but I know how black feels now. It’s more than a color or a shade now. Now that I know what grief is, I don’t want to feel it over again. It cuts too deep.

Black will do, but just in case you find a shade darker than black, oh please let me know. Help a colorblind. Help a grieving colorblind. Help someone who’s been feeling black.

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” ― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

I will miss you every single day of my life, big sister. Every. Single. Day.

-Baby JR

20 October 1981 - 23 May 2017