#were very much how I and Winter both processed our grief

[winter-clue-heart]

⚠️ Language Warning ⚠️

[corishadowfang]

Fallen Stars Fic Notes

So, Fallen Stars has officially come to a close. It's been a pretty wild ride, haha; as per usual, it spiraled out of my control, length-wise (surpassing Dandelion Seeds...remember how I said I hoped I'd never write anything that long again? Yeah. That worked out.), but I'm happy (and pleasantly surprised) that so many people came on the journey with me.

So! As seems to be tradition now, I have some notes for the fic. Some behind-the-scenes stuff, some thoughts about post-canon--stuff like that! Putting it under a read more, because these tend to get long.

So as usual, we'll start with the playlist! This one I ended up doing a lot of playing around with, haha; there were several songs where it's like, "The vibes are right...but do they fit this moment/this character in the story? Does the order work? Should I use song x or song y?" I eventually ended up with something I'm relatively happy with, haha, even if not every song fits perfectly. There are actually a lot of honorable mentions for this one (since I, you know...played around with it so much) but probably the biggest are: Guilt by Nathan Wagner, Monster from Epic the Musical, Fight the Tide by Jonathan Young and Colm McGuinness, and Southern Star by Gregory Alan Isakov.

(Seriously, Fight the Tide was put on and taken off the playlist so many times--)

I know I've mentioned this places before, but: sometime circa summer 2021, I was thinking about doing a story following Brain through his time in Scala ad Caelum. Basically, it'd be a short (like--nine-ish chapters) series that explored Brain's grief and guilt and how he eventually adjusted to being in Scala. The story would've been called "May We Find Our Happiness," and was planned to be worked on once both On the Edge of Daybreak and Dandelion Seeds were finished. ...And then Missing Link was announced, and I went, "Oh! That's going to be explored in canon! I don't have to write it myself!" and the idea was shelved.

And THEN. Fast forward to winter 2023. It's...without going into too much detail, my mental state was Not Great. And I tend to process/cope with things by...well, writing. And...well, what better way to work out things than by using two of my favorite characters? The thought for this "proto-Fallen Stars" was that it would be a what-if AU for what would've happened if Skuld had ended up in Scala, and that it would follow Brain's and Skuld's entire lives through that time period. Despite the premise, this was also intended to be a relatively short series--roughly four to five chapters. It was intended to explore the idea that like--sometimes you don't heal fully from things, and your life doesn't turn out the way you wanted it to, but that doesn't mean you can't find happiness despite everything. ...And then I started writing the first chapter. And ran face first into Plot (i.e. the corrupt council). And very abruptly realized, "Oh, no. Oh, no, this is going to be LONG. And...probably not focus entirely on the time period I want it to." And so I shelved it. Again.

AND THEN. The Missing Link impatience was getting to me, haha. And there were a lot of ideas from both of the "proto" versions of the story that were genuinely very interesting to me from a writing perspective. And then I made this post (and a couple of follow-ups) with the hopes that it could satisfy the writing demons. ...It did not. So I went back, finished (and revamped) the original first chapter, and posted it. And, well--here we are!

The current iteration of Fallen Stars really does take a lot of inspiration from its predecessors. Darkling!Brain was actually the planned end for "May We Find Our Happiness" (though he wouldn't have died in that version; his new-found friends would've pulled him out of it, though he'd keep the gold eyes, like in Fallen Stars), the corrupt council's been a staple since the beginning, and obviously, the AU takes the same basic premise as proto-Fallen Stars.

I knew Fallen Stars was going to be longer than the initial ideas I had, but like...I still didn't expect it to be this long. Like--roughly 30 chapters, and about half the word count. Let it be known that I cannot accurately estimate a story (or chapter's) length, ever.

While there were certain Big Things that I had planned since the beginning (ex. Brain's death and resurrection), there were also things that ended up getting made up on the fly and/or cut because it seemed like it'd work better for the story. One of the big things is that, originally, Master's Defender was going to be used to help create the Land of Departure; essentially, during Darkness's attack, one of the abandoned islands would've split off from the world, and Brain would've used Master's Defender to chain it back together, so to speak, and give the Scalan refugees somewhere to go. That was cut because it felt like it would make Brain a little less desperate to make his sacrifice, and after that, it ended up feeling...kind of out of place? Plus, I felt like I hadn't done a good enough job foreshadowing that (though you can find some hints, if you're looking).

(The world they end up does still end up becoming the Land of Departure, though.)

Also, Luxu was originally going to be possessing Lodur. (Which is why time seems to slow down around him whenever things get intense! And also plays into the "narrator" thing--Lodur is a storykeeper, after all.) I'll leave it up to all of you guys to decide whether you want Lodur to be Sigurd's deceased brother, Sigurd to have been wrong about Luxu taking his brother's body, or for "Lodur is Luxu's vessel" to be non-canon.

While I finally decided to leave it out, I did think about doing an epilogue. I played around with a lot of different ideas for how that'd go, but it generally fell into three basic ideas: 1) Skuld, Brain, and the rest of the crew roughly a decade after the end of Fallen Stars, 2) Xehanort and Eraqus (as like...five-year-olds) interacting with the remaining crew, or 3) Ven and Lauriam finding stories about Skuld and Brain in the distant future. I do like all of these, but I ended up feeling like it kind of...glossed over how much time it'd take for them to repair Scala and heal, so I ended up going with the current ending instead--which is hopeful, but still leaves room for the struggles that may follow.

THAT SAID. There's a non-zero chance some of those epilogues may show up as one-shots. I like the idea of exploring some post-canon scenarios in the Fallen Stars-verse (in particular, the first year after everything, since there's...a lot that the main crew go through). That said, I'm also not going to promise anything on that front, since it'll largely depend on my time/energy levels/inspiration.

(Also, feel free to ask me about post-canon stuff, in case I never get around to writing things; a lot of stuff changes around, haha, but I do have Ideas.)

"Do you want to hear a story?" has been planned as the final lines for a long time, haha. One, because it acts as a nice book-end for the story. Two, because it's kind of like...symbolic. Skuld is the one who said it, and is the only character besides Luxu to (kind of) break the fourth wall, so this was like...representative of her taking control of her own story. (This is also, for the record, why the "Do you want to hear a story?" narrator parts don't show up again after chapter 40; Skuld is the narrator now.)

The title was actually going to be the name of the first chapter. I was struggling to find a title I liked (I didn't want to use "May We Find Our Happiness" since, uh...that ended up as a chapter title for On the Edge of Daybreak, when I still thought I wouldn't do a story in Scala), and ended up brainstorming ideas for the chapter title instead. I'd landed on "Fallen Stars" because like--Brain and Skuld were "fallen stars" in the sense that a lot of people who are displaced from fallen worlds in the KH series tend to, uh...fall out of the sky, but also in the sense that they were legends who were, very suddenly, being made human in the eyes of Scala. And then it hit me that, "Wait...that'd work great for a fic name." And then it was repurposed, haha.

And...I will probably cut off the notes there, haha. Fallen Stars has been fun to work on, and it's weird to think that it's finished (unless, of course, I end up doing those one-shots). Thank you for coming on this ride with me; I hope you've enjoyed it!

[andypantsx3]

Hii I just wanted to say always love hearing you talk about books!

As much as I love reading the biggest downside for me compared to fanfic is that there aren't any people immediately available to talk about a story with. I love that most often I am actually able to tell the author how much I loved their writing and seeing everyone in the comments express what they thought and felt is something I am so so grateful for!

But after I finish book that I have opinions on, whether I am freaking out over how great it was or if it made me once again question the publishing house that allowed it to go into print I am just like?? What am I supposed to do with myself now? most like i stare at a blank wall for about an hour to process and then try to move on with my day, it just not the same as being able to hear other peoples opinions on it. So, if you have any more book recs or just book thoughts please share them, it's really entertaining to read!

I hope you have/ had a good day :)

Ahhhh Archer you are such a good lil egg!! I I love talking books with other people too!! It drives me nuts because some of my faves are so niche and no one else I know has read them, because very few other people share my tastes.😭

I'm curious what your fave books are?? It's so hard to make recommendations without knowing your faves because I think book recs should be personalized to the recommendee's preferences. I would never rec my faves to the vast majority of readers, because they don't really appeal to the majority of people!!

But I guess that being said my all-time fave book as everyone already has heard me say ten million times is The Goblin Emperor, and I almost died of happiness when my beloved @acerathia read it too and I got to chat about it hehehe.

People are shocked when they learn this, because I am a silly idiot romance author and this book is very much not that. It's a meticulously-planned hurt/comfort fantasy of manners that is heavily character-driven. But to me, it is perfection. It is the pinnacle of literary achievement. It is so contemplative and explores the unique grief of losing people who were cruel or indifferent to you, about being kind in a world that makes it extremely hard to be, and about finding/making your own family in the face of social norms that would isolate you!! I just like how it gives you space to learn and process things with the MC, and how by the end of it you feel like you've grown as much as he has!! It's so earnest and hopeful and good and makes me want to rip apart a phone book with my bare hands!!!!

Another fave I semi-recently read is Winter's Orbit, which I think I have talked about on here too. It's another hurt/comfort-y found family narrative, only this time with real romance and space gays!!! The author actually first published this novel as an orig fic on ao3, and I think you can tell that by how much they seem to love and respect the tropes they employ. We get a little bit of the classic sunshine/raincloud dynamic with the two MCs, but the author does some absolutely fantastic character work and turns that right on its head, fully fleshing out both characters' buried personality traits, insecurities, and personal histories so that you end up with these two absolutely lovely good people who your heart totally aches for. It very much reads like an ao3 fic in the absolute best way, but polished and shined to perfection.

Another fave that I always blab about is the Pink Carnation series. This one is exactly what you would expect from me. It's silly idiot regency romance shenanigans, with several scoops of academia and historical espionage!! I think the author does such a good job at balancing the silliness of a fun romance with the intrigue of an actual historical thriller, and the characters are hilarious. This is the sort of thing I'm talking about with MCs who have major side character energy, as our first novel's protag Amy is good-hearted and smart enough in specific ways, but she is also unfailingly a horrible detective with a very limited perspective determined to be something she's not, and it also gets her into tons of sexy fun trouble.

So yeah!! If I had to blab about anything and rec things without knowing your specific tastes, it would be my holy trinity lmfao. But tell me more about ur faves, I wanna know!!!!

[screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse]

Top of the Stack, Issue 26

Greetings friends,

just a quick hello from me before the month is out! February was rough in so many ways. I only posted a few updates on Twitter and kept folks up to date through the discord server, so if you’ve been wondering why I’ve been kinda quiet, here’s a sign of life!

I’m ok! My family’s been put through it this month, with first my godfather passing away, then my dad suffering a stroke just three weeks ago, and now my mum’s apartment being uninhabitable thanks to a broken heater that the landlord isn’t really fussed about repairing. In the middle of winter. There’s other stuff going on I won’t go into here, but these next few months will be eventful. Something something unprecedented times.

The good news: after three weeks in hospital, receiving genuinely excellent care, my dad is back home! He’s made a remarkable recovery. Thankfully, mum can stay with him while she looks for a new place to live — it means she’ll worry less, and he can help her with the paperwork. It’s very German of him, I think. Give a man paperwork to do and he learns to walk again.

I took a break from streaming and everything throughout all that because there was no way I could have even pretended to be a functional human being. My sister and I also both stayed with our mum for the first week after dad’s stroke, and every single day was so exhausting, emotionally and physically. As healing as it was to have all four of us together, and see how much it helped my parents to have us show up like that and be present, there’s still a cost to it. You’re running on survival mode — the three of us had to remind each other to eat, to drink enough, to take sit down — and at the same time there’s a want for normalcy. To enjoy the time together, to dig for another silly joke, another laugh. For my dad, it was a huge part of his early recovery: to know that this was not the end.

Once I came back home and things were looking so much better than the week before, I just let myself rest. I went back to work, but the remainder of the time, I played video games. I’d torn through Horizon Zero Dawn the first weekend to distract myself, and then it was straight on to Forbidden West. The right amount of game, at the right time. (I really mostly played it to turn my brain off, but it turns out I caught thoughts in spite of myself: there’s a blog and video essay coming about knowledge as an objective and theme in both games’ narratives.) I’ve slowed it down now, but I still sit down nearly every evening to play more. I can enjoy it for what it is, and playing it doesn’t bring anything back up. But it really helped.

Can a video game save a life? Yes. Without that distraction, my mind would have turned itself inside-out with grief. It is grief, even when you’re not (yet) bereaved. Only time will tell how we all process this. Thus far, the relief over my dad’s quick progress has bolstered us, I think. But there’ll be more to deal with, as there always is.

I’m back to streaming and making videos and writing now, after taking time to adjust to everyday life and recalibrate my energy. I did a recording session for Bioshock first; sort of as a practice run for to-camera stuff and interacting at least with an asynchronous audience. This gave me the added safety net of being able to just stop at any point without having to manage any (even positive!) reaction in the moment. That went well, however, so I felt confident in streaming again on Friday. I enjoy it so much, and I knew that taking a break was the right choice precisely when my feeling switched from being glad I had nothing on on a Friday night for a while to being excited to stream again.

Now we’re heading into March and I hope that it will be a kinder time for all of us. Be gentle with yourselves 💜

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About Loki (Season One)

(Sorry this is later than it should have been. I may or may not be experiencing burnout from reviewing every episode of the gayest show Disney has ever produced)

Salutations, random people on the internet. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

Do you want to know what's fun about the Marvel Cinematic Universe? It is now officially at the point where the writers can do whatever the hell they want.

A TV series about two Avengers getting stuck in a series of sitcoms as one of them explores their personal grief? Sure.

Another series as a guy with metal bird wings fights the inner racism of his nation to take the mantel of representing the idea of what that nation should be? Why not?

A forgettable movie about a superspy and her much more mildly entertaining pretend family working together to kill the Godfather? F**king go for it (Let that be a taste for my Black Widow review in October)!

There is no limit to what you can get with these movies and shows anymore, and I personally consider that a good thing. It allows this franchise to lean further into creative insanity, thus embracing its comic roots in the process. Take Loki, for example. It is a series about an alternate version of one of Marvel's best villains bouncing around the timeline with Owen Wilson to prevent the end of the universe. It sounds like just the right amount of wackiness that it should be too good to fail.

But that's today's question: Did it fail? To find out my own answer to that, we're gonna have to dive deep into spoilers. So be wary as you continue reading.

With that said, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Loki Himself: Let's get this out of the way: This isn't the same Loki we've seen grow within five movies. The Loki in this series, while similar in many ways, is still his very own character. He goes through his own redemption and developments that fleshes out Loki, all through ways that, if I'm being honest with you, is done much better in six-hour-long episodes than in past films. Loki's story was already entertaining, but he didn't really grow that much aside from being this chaotic neutral character instead of this wickedly evil supervillain. Through his series, we get to see a gradual change in his personality, witnessing him understand his true nature and "glorious purpose," to the point where he's already this completely different person after one season. Large in part because of the position he's forced into.

Some fans might say that the series is less about Loki and more about the TVA. And while I can unquestionably see their point, I still believe that the TVA is the perfect way for Loki to grow. He's a character all about causing chaos and controlling others, so forcing him to work for an organization that takes that away allows Loki time to really do some introspection. Because if his tricks don't work, and his deceptions can't fool others, then who is he? Well, through this series, we see who he truly is: A character who is alone and is intended to be nothing more than a villain whose only truly selfless act got him killed in the end. Even if he wants to better himself, he can't because that "goes against the sacred timeline." Loki is a person who is destined to fail, and he gets to see it all with his own eyes by looking at what his life was meant to be and by observing what it could have been. It's all tragic and yet another example of these shows proving how they allow underdeveloped characters in the MCU a better chance to shine. Because if Loki can give even more depth to a character who's already compelling as is, then that is a feat worth admiration.

The Score: Let's give our gratitude toward Natalie Holt, who f**king killed it with this series score. Every piece she made is nothing short of glorious. Sylvie's and the TVA's themes particularly stand out, as they perfectly capture who/what they're representing. Such as how Sylvie's is big and boisterous where the TVA's sound eerie and almost unnatural. Holt also finds genius ways to implement other scores into the series, from using familiar tracks from the Thor movies to even rescoring "Ride of the Valkyries" in a way that makes a scene even more epic than it already could have been. The MCU isn't best known for its musical scores, partly because they aim to be suitable rather than memorable. But every now and again, something as spectacular as the Loki soundtrack sprinkles through the cracks of mediocrity. Making fans all the more grateful because of it.

There’s a lot of Talking: To some, this will be considered a complaint. Most fans of the MCU come for the action, comedy, and insanely lovable characters. Not so much for the dialogue and exposition. That being said, I consider all of the talking to be one of Loki's best features. All the background information about the TVA added with the character's backstories fascinates me, making me enthusiastic about learning more. Not everyone else will be as interested in lore and world-building as others, but just because something doesn't grab you, in particular, doesn't mean it isn't appealing at all. Case in point: There's a reason why the Five Nights at Freddy's franchise has lasted as long as it has, and it's not entirely because of how "scary" it is.

There's also the fact that most of the dialogue in Loki is highly engaging. I'll admit, some scenes do drag a bit. However, every line is delivered so well that I'm more likely to hang on to every word when characters simply have honest conversations with each other. And if I can be entertained by Loki talking with Morbius about jetskis, then I know a show is doing at least something right.

It’s Funny: This shouldn't be a surprise. The MCU is well-known for its quippy humor in the direct acknowledgment that it doesn't take itself too seriously. With that said, it is clear which movies and shows are intended to be taken seriously, while others are meant to be comedies. Loki tries to be a bit of both. There are some heavy scenes that impact the characters, and probably even some fans, due to how well-acted and professionally written they can be. However, this is also a series about a Norse god traveling through time to deal with alternate versions of himself, with one of them being an alligator. I'd personally consider it a crime against storytelling to not make it funny. Thankfully, the writers aren't idiots and know to make the series fun with a few flawlessly timed and delivered jokes that never really take away from the few good grim moments that actually work.

It Kept Me Surprised: About everything I appreciate about Loki, the fact that I could never really tell what direction it was going is what I consider its absolute best feature. Every time I think I knew what was going to happen, there was always this one big twist that heavily subverted any and every one of my expectations. Such as how each time I thought I knew who the big bad was in this series, it turns out that there was an even worse threat built up in the background. The best part is that these twists aren't meant for shock value. It's always supposed to drive the story forward, and on a rewatch, you can always tell how the seeds have been planted for making each surprise work. It's good that it kept fans guessing, as being predictable and expected would probably be the worst path to take when making a series about Loki, a character who's all about trickery and deception. So bonus points for being in line with the character.

The TVA: You can complain all you want about how the show is more about the TVA than it is Loki, but you can't deny how the organization in question is a solid addition to the MCU. Initially, it was entertaining to see Loki of all characters be taken aback by how the whole process works. And it was worth a chuckle seeing Infinity Stones, the most powerful objects in the universe, get treated as paperweights. However, as the season continues and we learn about the TVA, the writers show that their intention is to try and write a message about freedom vs. control. We've seen this before in movies like Captain America: The Winter Soldier or Captain America: Civil War, but with those films, it always felt like the writers were leaning more towards one answer instead of making it obscure over which decision is correct. This is why I enjoy the fact that Loki went on saying that there really is no right answer for this scenario. If the TVA doesn't prune variants, it could result in utter chaos and destruction that no one from any timeline can prepare themselves for. But when they do prune variants along with their timelines, it takes away all free will, forcing people to be someone they probably don't even want to be. It's a situation where there really is no middle ground. Even if you bring up how people could erase timelines more destructive than others, that still takes away free will on top of how there's no unbiased way of deciding which timelines are better or worse. And the series found a brilliant way to explain this moral: The season starts by showing how the TVA is necessary, to later point out how there are flaws and evil secrets within it, and ends things with the revelation that there are consequences without the TVA keeping the timeline in check. It's an epic showcase of fantastic ideas met with exquisite execution that I can't help but give my seal of approval to.

Miss Minutes: Not much to say. This was just a cute character, and I love that Tara Strong, one of the most popular voice actors, basically plays a role in the MCU now.

Justifying Avengers: Endgame: Smartest. Decision. This series. Made. Bar none.

Because when you establish that the main plot is about a character getting arrested for f**king over the timeline, you're immediately going to get people questioning, "Why do the Avengers get off scot-free?" So by quickly explaining how their time-traveling antics were supposed to happen, it negates every one of those complaints...or most of them. There are probably still a-holes who are poking holes in that logic, but they're not the ones writing this review, so f**k them.

Mobius: I didn't really expect Owen Wilson to do that good of a job in Loki. Primarily due to how the Cars franchise discredits him as a professional actor for...forever. With that said, Owen Wilson's Mobius might just be one of the most entertaining characters in the series. Yes, even more so than Loki himself. Mobius acts as the perfect straight man to Loki's antics, what with being so familiar with the supposed god of mischief through past variations of him. Because of that, it's always a blast seeing these two bounce off one another through Loki trying to trick a Loki expert, and said expert even deceiving Loki at times. Also, on his own, Mobius is still pretty fun. He has this sort of witty energy that's often present in Phil Coulson (Love that character too, BTW), but thanks to Owen Wilson's quirks in his acting, there's a lot more energy to Mobius than one would find in Coulson. As well as a tad bit of tragedy because of Mobius being a variant and having no clue what his life used to be. It's a lot to unpack and is impressively written, added to how it's Owen Wilson who helps make the character work as well as he did. Cars may not have done much for his career, but Loki sure as hell showed his strengths.

Ravonna Renslayer: Probably the least entertaining character, but definitely one of the most intriguing. At least to me.

Ravonna is a character who is so steadfast in her believes that she refuses to accept that she may be wrong. Without the proper writing, someone like Ravonna could tick off (ha) certain people. Personally, I believe that Ravonna is written well enough where even though I disagree with her belief, I can understand where she's coming from. She's done so much for the TVA, bringing an end to so many variants and timelines that she can't accept that it was all for nothing. In short, Ravonna represents the control side of the freedom vs. control theme that the writers are pushing. Her presence is necessary while still being an appealing character instead of a plot device. Again, at least to me.

Hunter B-15: I have no strong feelings one way or another towards B-15's personality, but I will admit that I love the expectation-subversion done with her. She has this air of someone who's like, "I'm this by-the-books badass cop, and I will only warm up to this cocky rookie after several instances of them proving themselves." That's...technically not B-15. She's the first to see Loki isn't that bad, but only because B-15 is the first in the main cast to learn the hidden vile present in the TVA. It makes her change in point of view more believable than how writers usually work a character like hers, on top of adding a new type of engaging motivation for why she fights. I may not particularly enjoy her personality, but I do love her contributions.

Loki Watching What His Life Could Have Been: This was a brilliant decision by the writers. It's basically having Loki speedrun his own character development through witnessing what he could have gone through and seeing the person he's meant to be, providing a decent explanation for why he decides to work for the TVA. And on the plus side, Tom Hiddleston did a fantastic job at portraying the right emotions the character would have through a moment like this. Such as grief, tearful mirth, and borderline shock and horror. It's a scene that no other character could go through, as no one but Loki needed a wake-up call for who he truly is. This series might heavily focus on the TVA, but scenes like this prove just who's the star of the show.

Loki Causing Mischief in Pompeii: I just really love this scene. It's so chaotic and hilarious, all heavily carried by the fact that you can tell that Tom Hiddleston is having the time of his damn life being this character. What more can I say about it.

Sylvie: The first of many surprises this season offered, and boy was she a great one.

Despite being an alternate version of Loki, I do appreciate that Sylvie's her own character and not just "Loki, but with boobs." She still has the charm and charisma, but she also comes across as more hardened and intelligent when compared to the mischievous prick we've grown to love. A large part of that is due to her backstory, which might just be the most tragic one these movies and shows have ever made. Sylvie got taken away when she was a little girl, losing everything she knew and loved, and it was all for something that the people who arrested her don't even remember. How sad is that? The fact that her life got permanently screwed over, leaving zero impact on the people responsible for it. As badass as it is to hear her say she grew up at the ends of a thousand worlds (that's an album title if I ever heard one), it really is depressing to know what she went through. It also makes her the perfect candidate to represent the freedom side of the freedom vs. control argument. Because she's absolutely going to want to fight to put an end to the people who decide how the lives of trillions should be. Those same people took everything from Sylvie, and if I were in her position, I'd probably do the same thing. Of course, we all know the consequences that come from this, and people might criticize Sylvie the same way they complain about Thor and Star Lord for screwing over the universe in Avengers: Infinity War. But here's the thing: Sylvie's goals are driven by vengeance, which can blind people from any other alternatives. Meaning her killing He Who Remains is less of a story flaw and more of a character flaw. It may be a bad decision, but that's for Season Two Sylvie to figure out. For now, I'll just appreciate the well-written and highly compelling character we got this season and eagerly wait as we see what happens next with her.

The Oneshot in Episode Three: Not as epic as the hallway scene in Daredevil, but I do find it impressive that it tries to combine real effects, fighting, and CGI in a way where it's all convincing enough.

Lady Sif Kicking Loki in the D**k: This is a scene that makes me realize why I love this series. At first, I laugh at Loki being stuck in a time loop where Lady Sif kicks him in the d**k over and over again. But a few scenes later, this setup actually works as a character moment that explains why Loki does the things he does.

This series crafted phenomenal character development through Loki getting kicked in the d**k by the most underrated badass of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It's a perfect balance of comedy and drama that not every story can nail, yet Loki seemed like it did with very little effort.

Classic Loki: This variant shows the true tragedy of being Loki. The only way to survive is to live in isolation, far away from everything and everyone he loves, only to end up having his one good deed result in his death anyways. Classic Loki is definitive proof that no matter what face they have, Lokis never gets happy endings. They're destined to lose, but at least this version knows that if you're going out, you're going out big. And at least he got to go out with a mischievous laugh.

(Plus, the fact that he's wearing Loki's first costume from the comics is a pretty cute callback).

Alligator Loki: Alligator Loki is surprisingly adorable, and if you know me, you know that I can't resist cute s**t. It's not in my nature.

Loki on Loki Violence: If you thought Loki going ham in Pompeii was chaotic, that was nothing to this scene. Because watching these Lokis backstab one another, to full-on murdering each other, is a moment that is best described as pure, unadulterated chaos. And I. Loved. Every. Second of it.

The Opening Logo for the Season Finale: I'm still not that big of a fan of the opening fanfare playing for each episode, but I will admit that it was a cool feature to play vocal clips of famous quotes when the corresponding character appears. It's a great way of showing the chaos of how the "sacred timeline" works without having it to be explained further.

The Citadel: I adore the set design of the Citadel. So much history and backstory shine through the state of every room the characters walk into. You get a perfect picture of what exactly happened, but seeing how ninety percent of the place is in shambles, it's pretty evident that not everything turned out peachy keen. And as a personal note, my favorite aspect of the Citadel is the yellow cracks in the walls. It looks as though reality itself is cracking apart, which is pretty fitting when considering where the Citadel actually is.

He Who Remains: This man. I. Love. This man.

I love this man for two reasons.

A. He's a ton of fun. Credit to that goes to the performance delivered by Jonathon Majors. Not only is it apparent that Majors is having a blast, but he does a great job at conveying how He Who Remains is a strategic individual but is still very much off his rocker. These villains are always my favorite due to how much of a blast it is seeing someone with high intelligence just embracing their own insanity. If you ask me, personalities are always essential for villains. Because even when they have the generic plot to rule everything around them, you're at least going to remember who they are for how entertaining they were. Thankfully He Who Remains has that entertainment value, as it makes me really excited for his eventual return, whether it'd be strictly through Loki Season Two or perhaps future movies.

And B. He Who Remains is a fantastic foil for Loki. He Who Remains is everything Loki wishes he could have been, causing so much death, destruction, and chaos to the multiverse. The important factor is that he does it all through order and control. The one thing Loki despises, and He Who Remains uses it to his advantage. I feel like that's what makes him the perfect antagonist to Loki, thanks to him winning the game by not playing it. I would love it if He Who Remains makes further appearances in future movies and shows, especially given how he's hinted to be Kane the Conqueror, but if he's only the main antagonist in Loki, I'm still all for it. He was a great character in his short time on screen, and I can't wait to see what happens next with him.

WHAT I DISLIKED

Revealing that Loki was D.B. Cooper: A cute scene, but it's really unnecessary. It adds nothing to the plot, and I feel like if it was cut out entirely, it wouldn't have been the end of the world...Yeah. That's it.

That's my one and only complaint about this season.

Maybe some scenes drag a bit, and I guess Episode Three is kind of the weakest, but there's not really anything that this series does poorly that warrants an in-depth complaint.

Nope.

Nothing at all...

…

...

...I'm not touching that "controversy" of Loki falling for Sylvie instead of Mobius. That's a situation where there are no winners.

Only losers.

Exclusively losers.

Other than that, this season was amazing!

IN CONCLUSION

I'd give the first season of Loki a well-earned A, with a 9.5 through my usual MCU ranking system. It turns out, it really is the best type of wackiness that was just too good to fail. The characters are fun and likable, the comedy and drama worked excellently, and the expansive world-building made me really intrigued with the more we learned. It's hard to say if Season Two will keep this momentum, but that's for the future to figure out. For now, let's just sit back and enjoy the chaos.

(Now, if you don't excuse me, I have to figure out how to review Marvel's What If...)

[archadianskies]

fresh static snow

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs​ Thursday Day 4: Enemies to Lovers •  Abandoned Things; post-revolution RK900/Simon

He is PL600 #501 743 923, designated name ‘Simon’. He was activated on the 2nd of February 2034, and reported missing on the 16th of February 2036 by one of his owners, Mr Keelan Burbank. That’s it. That’s all he remembers.

Not the fact he is a leader of Jericho, the original leader of Jericho, and one of the Jericho Four. Not the fact he was a martyr, a leader willing to sacrifice himself to save the others. Not the fact he put a gun under his chin and pulled the trigger to prevent the Deviant Hunter from discovering Jericho. No, he doesn’t remember any of that.

They tell him the bullet tore through his memory core, damaging it irreparably. Simon of the Jericho Four died on the rooftop of Stratford Tower and he is but a shell. This does not sit well with the other three, who he learns are PJ500, Josh, WR400, North, and RK200, Markus. They want Simon back, but there is nothing left of Simon to give. 

Not for the lack of trying, though, Elijah Kamski and Chloe RT600, the First, work tirelessly on him. They try and salvage his fried memory core, they take it apart with miniscule tweezers as if to save every atom and attempt to piece it back together like a delicate puzzle. They run simulations, they make prototype replacements, they spend resources worth more than Simon’s PL600 model a thousand times over. And still, he remembers nothing.

With nothing else to do between tests, he roams CyberLife Tower like a ghost in its clean, clinical hallways. He shares his face with so many others no one spares him a second glance. It both comforts and hurts him, to be so readily ignored.

Sometimes one, or two, or all three come to visit him again and they try to tell him anecdotes, of things their Simon did in the hopes it would jog his memory. There is no memory to jog, he tells them over and over. The bullet ripped that apart.

When North visits him by herself, she holds his hands so tightly it alerts his pressure sensors. She cries, she cries a lot of tears and says a lot of I’m so fucking sorrys and I didn’t want this to happens. She tells him they promised each other that Markus always came first, even at the cost of their lives. She just didn’t think he’d pay for it so soon. He’s not sure what to say to her, to comfort her, only that if Simon did promise such things to her then she should feel proud that he upheld the promise because Markus is here, Markus is safe. 

When Josh visits him by himself, he sits with Simon on the floor in the corner of the room designated to him. Josh tells him this is how they spent so many nights in Jericho, when Jericho was a rotting freighter in the canal and Markus had not crashed into their lives yet. He would sit in the corner with Simon and keep him warm because of his broken thermal regulator. Josh’s hands are warm when he holds his hands and Simon thinks the original Simon was incredibly lucky to have such a friend on cold, seemingly endless nights.

When Markus visits him by himself, he gives Simon a sketchbook. 

“I tried to draw as many as I could remember.” The android explains, as Simon slowly turns the pages. They are memories, Markus’ memories, but Simon is in them. “Chloe said we shouldn’t interface, we shouldn’t force our memories onto you so I thought this would be the next best thing.”

He is holding a sketchbook of original Manfred drawings. From his research he knows Markus Manfred (yes, a human surname given by his human father) is both seen as the spokesperson of their kind, and a prolific artist famous for his works about the revolution. This sketchbook alone is probably worth more than his PL600 body.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” He says, because it is a gift and sadly not the tool Markus wishes it were. “You’re very kind. I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.”

A look of grief washes over Markus’ handsome face, and he pulls Simon into his arms briefly, embracing him tightly before he steps back and walks away.

He wonders if the original Simon haunts that rotting freighter now at the bottom of the canal. Does he wander up and down its corridoors, does he roam with the other lost souls that died during the raid he never lived to see? Or is he up on Stratford Tower, pacing that rooftop, waiting for his friends to return, to rescue him, only to have to kill himself over and over and over, stuck in an endless cycle with no one to break it?

It is a kindess he died, he thinks.

* 

CyberLife Tower has only been under the control of the Kamskis (yes, Chloe has a human surname given by her human creator, though perhaps she took it without it being given?) for less than a month. Elijah Kamski became interim CEO after Hudson Davenport stepped down, wishing to wash his hands clean of the deviancy ‘mishap’ as he called it. Elijah in turn appointed Chloe Kamksi as the CEO once the Sentient Life Act passed, stepping down to remain Chief Technical Officer by her side. 

It means they are still trying to catch up after more than a decade’s absence from this place. It means they do not know everything, they do not know everywhere and there are still discoveries being made day to day.  With nothing else to do between tests, he roams CyberLife Tower and because he is a ghost, no one sees him.

He is a ghost with cutting edge technology in his head now, and an upgraded core capable of processing data faster than his obsolete predecessor could even hope to process. And so he finds rooms that don’t exist, much the same way he doesn’t exist, not really, because Simon is dead and he is but a shadow of him. 

He finds an entire floor deep underground that doesn’t exist on any blueprint, any elevator route, anyone’s knowledge. When he finds things like this, he is supposed to notify the Kamskis immediately, but this one thing he wants to keep to himself at least for now. Just for a little while.

It’s a self contained lab complete with its own power source, its own network, its own servers; a completely isolated floor unbeknowst to everyone above. It smells sharp, like disinfectant and spilled thirium and gunpowder residue. There is a fabricator and assembly arms and they were building androids down here, that weren’t meant to be built by everyone above.

There is a single android standing on the assembly dias, inactive. It looks like the Deviant Hunter- like Detective Connor Anderson, he should say, because the Deviant Hunter became a deviant and a son. This one is wearing a white and black uniform, the model number RK900 emblazoned on its jacket in glowing neon.

The android no one knows about. The android haunting this level, unable to wake fully and control his actions. It must be lonely down here, abandoned and without purpose. Simon thinks they must be alike this way. It’s been so lonely, not having any friends who don’t treat him like the walking dead. Perhaps he can befriend this one instead. Perhaps they will haunt CyberLife Tower together, ghosts of what could have been. 

 Reaching out, he cups his palm to the android’s cheek.

“Wake up.” He whispers, and the RK900 opens his cold grey eyes. 

~*~ 

They tell him he is to be deployed soon. He is progressing well, on track to complete his testing phase and replace the RK800 prototype currently involved with the DPD. When he is not actively completing tests, he remains in his Zen Garden. Sometimes his handler is there, but most times she is not. He tends to her roses in her absence, and ensures the grounds are well kept. 

It is on the cusp of Summer here, though outside Winter has only just begun. He thinks perhaps it has something to do with his anticipation, of waiting with simulated bated breath before his deployment out into the real, waking world. In the meantime he will care for this garden, he will nurture it so it flourishes in time for Summer. 

Time passes differently in the garden which is not beholden to the world outside. His handler has not appeared, nor has he been brought out of stasis and activated for more tests. He cannot be entirely sure, but he thinks substantial time has passed though he has no way to confirm such thoughts. It’s as he’s tending to the amaranthus, as he’s carefully avoiding the flight patterns of the bumblebees, that he feels something trigger his proximity sensors.

“Wake up.” Someone commands, and when he opens his eyes there is an android in front of him, hand cupping his cheek. The wi-fi on this level, the one he automatically connects to, no longer exists and instead he finds himself automatically connected to the main CyberLife network, something he has never had access to. He scans the android’s face and a deluge of information topples into his head.

“PL600, serial number 501 743 923, designated name ‘Simon’. Founder and member of the Jericho Four. Martyr for the deviant revolution.” He recites the information, and Simon rubs his cheek with his thumb idly, expression distant.

“So they say.” The android moves his hand, bringing up his other to fuss over his uniform, smoothing non-existent creases from the front of his jacket out of domestic habit, he surmises. “I have no memory of that Simon. He died when he shot himself on the roof of Stratford Tower.”

There’s still information pouring into his head, like a dam breaking and flooding the fjord before it. The deviant revolution- the event CyberLife deployed his prototype to quell, paving the way for his placement into SWAT Unit 32 and the eventual release of his model for government use. But it succeeded, and RK800 prototype Connor remained deviant and defied CyberLife’s control, becoming a key figure in securing the numbers for the revolution by activating the androids in the Tower’s storage level.

The Sentient Life Act passed on the first of December, granting androids legally recognised autonomy as living, sentient beings. Elijah Kamski and Chloe RT600  now helm CyberLife, with the android as the CEO and the human as the Chief Technical Officer. The nation has changed drastically, and he has slept through the entirety of it.

“Do you have a name?” Simon asks.

“I was not assigned a name.” He takes a moment to survey his surroundings. Everything has been switched off, packed up, and taken away in a great hurry. There are odds and ends strewn everywhere, left behind in their haste. He realises he is one of those things, something abandoned in their rush to escape. From what? From whom? The scrutiny of Elijah Kamski and Chloe RT600, he thinks.

“Then we must choose one.” Simon smiles softly, reaching up to smooth his hair back away from his face. “Without the meddling of humans.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I accidentally found this place while exploring the Tower.” The PL600 tugs on his wrists, coaxing him to step off the dias. There is a workbench nearby, and Simon hops onto it, patting the spot beside him. He takes a seat and frowns at the android.

“Why are you exploring the Tower? Should you not be in Jericho, with the other three?”

“I am not that Simon.” He says simply, looking down at his hands. “That Simon is dead.”

“Why did you activate me by yourself?” The RK900 looks down the hallway now in his line of sight, seeing a similar state of harried departures. Not a single sign of life to be found. No one considered him important enough to bring with them, or at least notify anyone else of his presence.

“I was lonely.” Simon confesses quietly. “I thought you would know a thing or two about that too.”

Loneliness. Yes, he thinks, he does know a thing or two about that. 

“Have you been here in the Tower since Elijah Kamski returned?”

“Yes, but I was under Chloe and Elijah’s care even before that. Your brother had me brought over to their private laboratory at the Kamksi villa after the revolution.” Simon explains, picking at the cuff of his jacket. “I was being held in the DPD evidence locker, with other casualties from his cases. When he became deviant he tried making amends, and though the others were able to be repaired, my memory core was damaged irreparably.”

“So he brought you to the man who created us.”

“And the First of us.” He adds with a small smile. “She is his equal. She is his superior, in more ways than one.” 

“But even they could not repair your memory core?”

“I shot myself through it for a reason. I’m told it was to protect Jericho, to destroy all information Connor could possibly access to locate it.” There’s a loose thread on his cuff, and he tugs on it distractedly. “In the end he still managed to piece it together using another deviant.”

“In the end he still deviated, and aided the three in turning the tide against the humans.”

“Yes. You should be proud.” He reaches over to pat his hand. “Your big brother is a revolutionary.”

Brother. That’s the second time he’s used that word, and he isn’t sure how he feels about it. Feels, because that is something he can do now, somehow, without the humans around. Without the red wall surrounding him, boxing him in. 

“How did you do that?” 

“Hm?”

“My firewalls are gone.”

“Oh I-” Simon frowns, before offering a somewhat apologetic smile. “I’m not sure. I just wanted you to wake up, so I opened a connection and overrode them in order to reach you.”

“You deviated me.” He tips his head in confusion. “Your system should not have been able to breach my firewalls.”

“I’m not a PL600 anymore.” Simon shrugs. “I’m a Kamski prototype now. First of my kind, just like you I suppose. You’ve been here this whole time, haven’t you? Were you in stasis?”

“I was still active in my Zen Garden though my body was in stasis.” He explains, not missing Simon’s flash of distress. “Time passes differently in there, though. I hadn’t realised weeks had passed at all.”

“It sounds peaceful.”

“Shall I show you?” He’s not sure if he can. He’s never brought anyone into his Zen Garden, Amanda had always simply appeared at her own whim. But surely it can’t be too hard? Simon nods and slips his hand into his, and as he closes his eyes a small part of him thinks it’s nice to hold hands with someone else. No one has ever held his hand before. He wouldn’t mind holding Simon’s hand again.

* 

When he opens his eyes he’s standing at the entrance to the garden, and Simon is right there at his side. The android gasps, eyes wide with wonder.

“Oh it’s beautiful. It’s exquisite, I’ve never seen anything like this.” They’re still holding hands, and he leads Simon down the path at a slow, leisurely pace. “You were tending this garden all this time?”

“Yes.” He nods. “My handler’s favourite was the roses growing on the trellis over there.” He points, wondering if the roses had always been blue. He’s so sure they used to be red. 

“Do you have a favourite?” He shakes his head.

“Not really. I care for everything equally. I was to tend to the rowan tree next.”

“Rowan.” Simon repeats. “That could be your name.”

“Rowan.” He says, and thinks it sounds far more pleasing when Simon says it. “RK900, serial number 313 248 317 - 87, designated name ‘Rowan’.”

“Now you’re no longer a nobody.” Simon declares with a smile. “Now there’s two of us. Ghosts in the machine.”

“Forgotten and left behind.” He adds lightly, and it no longer tastes so bitter on his tongue.

“But no longer alone.” Simon curls against his side, snaking an arm around his waist. After a moment Rowan wraps an arm around his shoulders, resting his cheek atop his soft blond hair.

“No longer alone.”

[ask-october-fox]

A Gift

I hope that this gets to you before you leave for the year. I’m not an artist, but I am a writer, and I wanted to take some time to make something as a thank you for the great comfort you give everyone around you. Thank you for everything you do. Lots of love, -Pennington Inkwell ————————————————-

There was a chill in the air, one that pushed just on the border between crisp and biting. Autumn was still far from over, but October could feel that her time was nearing its end for this year. She was always sad to say farewell to the many spirits who came to visit her year after year for her short month in the world of the living, but it was always accompanied by a sense of overwhelming relief. This year had been trying for the entire world, and she was no different. There were many more than she had been expecting needing her guidance to the other side, and she had performed her duties with all due diligence for each one. Now, though, she was going to be able to rest. She’d sleep away her exhaustion for another eleven months and return again as the spirit of the season next year. She had returned to her favorite resting spot, a wide tree stump that seemed to refuse to rot. She often wondered if the resting place for her lantern had somehow been enchanted by her presence, but it was of little consequence. It was her spot and she enjoyed it, and that was all that mattered. She curled her three perfectly-groomed tails around herself, resting her chin on them as she let out a yawn. She was ready. Or so she thought. Her ears perked up involuntarily as she heard the crackling of leaves and snapping of twigs approaching. She could tell by the pace and the gait that it was a human, a fact that momentarily confused her. She could count on one paw the number of humans who would venture this deep into her forest and still know their way, and none of them had been able to visit this year with the state of the world being what it was. She considered hiding, but decided to wait it out. If worst came to worst, she was more than capable of defending herself. The human was indeed a stranger to her, but she could tell that they weren’t a threat. They were caught in that perilous position of being too old to be a child and too young to be an adult, but they moved as if they had the weight of the world on their shoulders. Curiously, October could see a wandering spirit traveling alongside them, watching just over their shoulder as a small wisp of light. She watched them as they caught sight of her, their breath catching in their throat. For a moment their eyes met, and silence fell as they each stared at one another, one curious and the other fearful. They held up their hands in a placating motion. “I don’t want to hurt you.” October chuckled internally. “I never believed you did.” She smiled and rested her chin back on her tails. “You’ve come a very long way to be here, young one, this forest is full of perilous creatures. Why?” The human squirmed somewhat. “Y-You’re the Fall Fox, right?” October felt a small flare in the embers of her rage for her predecessor, but she didn’t let it show beyond an annoyed flick of her third tail. “You’re 300 years too late, I’m afraid. I am October, his… successor.” “But… you still guide spirits to the other side?” the human spoke almost in a whisper, what little confidence they had quickly dissolving. “Indeed.” October glanced again at the spirit floating alongside them. They clearly weren’t capable of seeing it, themselves, but it wasn’t out of the question for humans to be able to sense a spirit’s presence. “Did you come all this way to ask me to take someone beyond the veil?” The human nodded again, slowly walking up to the tree stump in as non-threatening a way as possible. Once they’d come close enough, they fell to their knees. They took one long, shuddering breath and bowed their head. “I-I think I’m ready to go…” October recoiled, the last vestiges of sleepiness vanishing in a moment of unadulterated shock. She blinked several times, trying to process the request. “I don’t- Are you certain that you understand what I do?” she asked. “My work is for the spirits of the dead, child! I don’t have any domain over-” “I know.” The human sniffled, and October could see tears dripping from their face. “Like I said, I’m ready.” They were walking the knife’s edge of despair, and needed to be brought back to safety. October knew that, even if they weren’t dead, this was another lost spirit, a VERY lost one. Perhaps, even if it wasn’t necessarily her place, she could bend her rules enough to help guide them to safety. She rose to her feet and hopped down from the stump. She seated herself directly in front of them, fixing her piercing orange gaze on their eyes. “Why?” As much as she wanted to give them nothing but comfort and softness, she forced a terse edge into her voice. She expected an answer, a truthful one, on the first try. “Why not?” They couldn’t hold her gaze, turning away. “Look around. Everything’s gone to hell. The planet’s dying, no one can really advance their station if they want to, people are dying in throngs, it feels like half the world’s on fire, and every day we hear more bad news…” they buried their face in their hands, as if it could hide their weeping growing stronger. “The ones who have power are the ones who are selfish enough to take it for themselves, and the ones who need help-” their breath hitched in their throat, and October could see the spirit that had accompanied them move closer, as if trying to comfort them. She could feel the strength of the bond and the love between them, and she understood why and how they’d found their way here: the spirit couldn’t save them, so it had come to her. She stepped forward, putting a paw on their chest and resting her chin on their shoulder. Her tails shut out the cold night as they were both enclosed in her gleaming fur. “Young one… There are many who question the meaning and purpose of life. It is an immutable rite for every living creature to question why they live at all. In good times, they wonder why it has to end and what the pleasure amounts to. In bad times…” She tightened her tails slightly, pulling them closer. “In bad, they question why the pain must exist, and themselves along with it. Sometimes, they are at fault for their own suffering, but much more often it is something beyond their control that inflicts such a cursed doubt on them.” She felt tears of her own brimming up as painful memories resurfaced, stories told to her by the many spirits that had passed through her care mingled with pangs from her own long life’s memories. "I wouldn’t aspire to the lofty title of ‘Oracle,’ but would you like to know the answer that I’ve found over my years?“ She felt them nod, unable to speak through the tears any more. "It is true that the world can feel uncaring or cruel. It may fall to pieces and lose parts of what we think are the very heart of it all… But that doesn’t mean it cannot be pieced back together… together.” She leaned back slightly to move and press her forehead to theirs. “When the summer sun dims and winter’s winds blow across our hearts, we gather together around an autumn campfire and warm ourselves with fables. We remember heroes that never existed so that we can, through the whole of the world, make them real. When we are fearful and trodden upon, we look to others to help us rise, and then look to lift up others. And when we find ourselves with… a hole in our hearts, one that feels as if it could never be replaced, we mend it with memories and love, both old and new. The hole remains, of course, but it is no longer the doorway through which despair can enter our souls.” She sighed, feeling the pangs in her heart soothed by the memories of the countless spirits who came back to her every year, always more enthusiastic than ever. Some were joyful, some would seek to help her or please her, and some would need guidance or comfort. It never meant that what she had lost was replaced or returned, but… “I’ve found that the heart is boundless. We can always fill it, piece it together, and make it grow anew if we throw ourselves into others. Helping them, laughing with them,” she smiled in spite of herself, “or even crying with them, when need be.” The human’s sobbing had slowed to a stop, and their tears had become a tiny trickle dripping off their chin, now. “S-So what should I do?” they whispered, their voice still wavering. “If you find that humankind feels beyond help, involve yourself in humankind. You’ll find that you’re never so alone as you feel in your beliefs. If you feel the world is beyond saving, save the part of the world you can, in what little ways you can. It can be helping someone across the street or a spirit across the veil. The more you help others, the more you’ll find your ability to help grows, and the joy you bring will be twofold: for them and for yourself.” She had to stop for a moment as another yawn forced its way past. “In my experience, THAT is the balm of a broken heart.” It couldn’t have been more than a minute that they sat in silence, but it felt like an eternity. For a moment, October worried that her words had fallen on deaf ears. When the human reached out and pulled her into and awkward hug, however, she smiled and knew that she had been heard. “Thank you.” “You are always welcome, child…” She did her best to reciprocate the hug with a squeeze of her tails before the two of them were separated again. She hopped back up onto her stump, seeing that the human was wiping away their tears and wearing a melancholy smile. They seemed unsure of what to say, but October knew just how to fill the silence. “I expect to see you again next year, child. Do you understand?” They seemed surprised at the assignment, but soon smiled wider, with a little more joy to their expression than grief. “I promise!” As they departed back into the trees, the spirit hung back, floating up to her and hovering just over her muzzle. October could already tell that they weren’t prepared to go, but she could feel the gratitude washing over her in waves. She only gave an understanding nod before the wisp flew away again, hurrying along to catch up to their beloved companion. With that last odd pair of spirits accounted for, October once again curled herself around the warmth of her lantern and settled into a comfortable position. As she felt herself dozing off into that deep sleep, she wondered what kind of world she would awaken to next year. If this year had truly been so painful, then there was no telling how much love would blossom as humanity sought to heal. Even if only that one soul would take her words to heart, she knew it would be a world deeply changed for the better.

[ellestra]

Catching Up

I did love the visuals of that opening sequence and the return of Batroc was cool. The talk between Sam and Rhodey was heartbreaking once I realised that they both lost their best friends and have to now live with the shadow of their legacy. And a lot of the new characters introduced were pretty cool (although I was surprised Torres didn’t die or at least got serious injuries after all that) and I look forward to more of them (from the trailers it’s especially true for the therapist).

But there were just so many things in this episode that screamed of pilot-itis and spoiled my enjoyment of it. The issues both Bucky and Sam are dealing with have a lot of potential but the way they were shown so far were so heavy handed.

Bucky’s disconnect with world because he kept skipping years and decades make him uneasy enough (even though billions of people shared this last one) but the guilt of all the things he did and can remember is what really keeps him apart from connecting. His one friend is gone and he avoids making any others because he is hunted by who he was made to be.

But the way show rams it’s in our faces with Mr Nakajima and his son was so heavy handed I kept expecting both Yori and the bartender to admit they already knew and were just using this passive-agressive suggestions to make him confess. I don’t think they could’ve used dialogue more cliche than “What do we call someone who lost a child?” to elicit guilt in Bucky (all it really wanted me to do is point out that it’s because when those words were made kids died very often). And the way show makes sure we get it was the guy from the nightmare in case we missed all the times it was implied landed like the anvil it was.

Still, the way it is easier to deal with the people Winter Soldier worked for than with the one he hurt even though neither are really his fault is a very promising storyline for Bucky. He needs to forgive himself but it can’t happen until he really believes that he isn’t the Winter Soldier but just James Buchanan Barns. And the admission that the time of only peace he can remember is his time in Wakanda when he was hidden form the world and avoiding dealing with consequences of his life. Staying is States and going to sessions shows he wants to be able to move on instead and it’d be interesting to see him process that. Just like with Wanda and her grief this can be a great story.

The way Sam kept ignoring his sister’s doubts and didn’t listen to anything she was trying to tell him made it very clear she will be right. I mean I hated the bank clerk before we even see him because I already knew how that conversation was going to play out and the initial smarm just made the whole thing laid tick.

The racism of bank industry is well documented and showing it in something so popular as MCU properties may make more people receptive to acknowledge it but the way the show presents it make Sam almost seem dumb (especially for a guy who just said “Every time something gets better for one group it gets worse for another”). It requires him to ignore all the warnings, let us believe he didn’t know things like that happen and he somehow needed to be caught up on the last six months after the Return and not just us. (Also he should’ve asked Pepper, Avenger’s foundation or T’Challa - if not for the loan itself then for a support in getting one - it’s not like this bank is his only option and it hard to take him acting like it is seriously.)

However, the question of how do heroes earn money and the question who is sponsoring them is interesting. It was easy to ignore in movies were it was either Tony or T’Challa financing everything - from quarters to toys - and no one ever had to think were the food is coming from. Still, Sam has basically been US Military contractor for the past six months. He evidently isn’t charging enough for all that acrobatics. And missiles.

Maybe this is showing his tendency to avoid responsibility because he is feeling trapped by it until he is backed to the wall when he realises what he is losing.  Like with the Shield. And then covering it all with too much optimism and hoping it will turn out fine.

But the story so far makes it loos like it sets up both government run heroes (that awful corrupt bureaucracy) and the anarchist ones (annulling borders - that’s communism) to be antagonist while setting our self-made military contractors with no oversight as the heroes (only unfettered self-determined hero can kick evil’s ass). I sincerely hope it will get more nuanced than that in future episodes.

And that it touches Sam basically becoming Tony’s replacement in helping to police the world while refusing to become Cap’s in symbolism. It is supposed to be the story of him growing to the latter, right?

[illicitivywp]

mal de vivre.

The morning that Harry wakes up and you're not sleeping peacefully beside him is the worst of his entire life.

He can sense that you're not there. The air still circulates whiffs of your caramel shampoo and the breeze of your automatic fan that you always insist on leaving on all night still whirs leisurely and tickles the back of his neck.

Regardless, the room is vacant. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that much.

For now, he remains entirely numb. Immune to the flooding sobs and intolerable agony and festering anger, he supposes it's in his best interest to stay like that for a while.

For a few days, at least. Until he can fully process your absence. He's not certain how long it takes the average person to wholly recognise an entire chunk of themselves missing, but he figures he's already suffered enough.

Surely, the universe isn't that cruel.

Your love is delightedly grand, and with its sudden unavailability, he feels so dejectedly vague.

He's clearly not perceiving time correctly, perhaps it's his distant concentration or maybe even his body's method of rejecting life and the wretched torture of its innate malice.

A few times, he's experienced sleep paralysis. The first, horrifying occasion is long-forgotten, when he was seven or so - it happened only after staying up until one in the morning to watch a horror movie that he'd been specifically warned not to watch and a towering vacuum of danger stood solid as stone at the end of his bed.

If it weren't for his fingertips subconsciously tracing featherlight scribes of your name on his forearm, he might reasonably assume he's haunted with the condition once again.

A clattering of paws on hard floorboards injects a little more reality into his thoughts, and he still can't bear, physically, to turn over and greet the sweet puppy you'd snuck home and surprised him with upon his arrival home from work around a year ago, knowing that his acceptance of a familiarly-shaped void is waiting just inches away.

Eventually, and after another chaotic scramble of claws in need of a cut, Chi is bouncing enthusiastically at his side and attempting an ambitious leap onto the mattress. She fails theatrically, landing in a resounding thud on her back and launching back to her feet, completely unaware of her owner's awaiting grief.

Masking his greatest fears with scooping a palm beneath Chi's belly and hauling her upwards to nestle into his chest, the reposition forces him to lay on his back (she's always detested laying on her side, especially when smothered with adoring cuddles) and, like the coward he truly is, his eyes focus adamantly on a random spot of the pale ceiling. With every minute shuffle, it becomes more and more achingly apparent that you're really not here.

And if everything runs correctly, you'll squirm and giggle graciously at his waking before returning his kiss, to his lips, this time, and he'll suggest applying a little moisturiser, like he always does, and you'll love him like you should.

When his eyelids snap open and his head curves breezily to your claimed side of the bed, he's somewhat unsurprised to confirm that his life truly has transformed to a dreadful bundle of tragedy. In your imposing place, is a neatly-made bed and an envelope.

A single, white envelope, stained by the sweet, flowing cursive that could flow only from your touch.

Chi leaps naturally to the spectacle, sniffing curiously at the letter and nudging it around a little, whilst Harry is so unexplainably pained that he's unable to move. Swallowing thickly, he's not certain word-for-word what lies in the confines of this envelope, but he does know it'll confirm your leaving him, and for some strange reason, he's relieved you left an explanation, at least.

A souvenir of you to hang onto forever, along with the millions of other items and memories of yours in his possession.

Carefully removing it from Chi's vicinity and replacing the object of her attention with a random squeaky toy that he'd discovered burrowed beneath his bed a few nights ago, he traces your exquisite handwriting with his fingertip and reads along with inaudible movements of his mouth; For Harry, mon amour.

In that moment, he realises profoundly that he'll never get to request hearing you say different words in your accent again.

The amount of times he implored relentlessly to hear je t'aime and have it accompanied with an endearing kiss is infinite.

Harry, my love,

I'm so incredibly sorry that I couldn't handle the pain.

Seeing your face cures any anguish I feel, but not this time.

I really, really tried; I know you did, too. I wanted it to work out, I prayed every day that our suffering would magically end and we could return to our love, I hoped that one day I would wake and cuddle you tightly and describe this awful nightmare I'd had.

Possibly, I may write to you in the future; please, don't try to contact me, it won't work and you know it's for the best. My family and close friends know where I am, where I will be, and they also know not to tell you if you ask.

I wish I could kiss all of your heartache away and protect you from all evil in this world, but I feel my presence is detrimental to your recovery.

My love for you is never-ending. Please be okay.

Forgive me and love someone else like you loved me. Let someone else love you like I loved you. Tellement, tellement.

Forever, I'll think of you and how unbelievably content I felt waking up next to you every day for seven-hundred and eighty (? - I'm estimating) mornings straight.

I will never, ever leave our love behind, and I adore you more than I can express. Your strength and resilience are admirable, and you are truly the best thing to ever happen to me.

Mon bébé, I miss you terribly.

Toujours, ton amour.

~

Chi tugs eagerly on her lead at the sight of the familiar entrance to her home, Harry in tow right behind. Sludgy snow muddies his shoes and soaks the hem of his jeans. His puppy's paws are undoubtedly drenched, too, but her fur is protected valiantly by her favourite jacket. He'd purchased it from a specialist store in France a year prior, and, since surprising her with the present upon his shared return, it'd become her primary option during the winter months.

Retrieving a reasonable pile of letters from his designated section, a rapid flick through displays bills, scams and all of the usual junk he usually receives. He offers his elderly neighbour a polite smile and holds open the door with his knee to construct a clear path for her exit.

He grimaces slightly at the teeth-shaped arc of damp dents into his mail - he hadn't particularly considered the repercussions of carrying it that way - and unclips Chi's lead, allowing her to run rampage through his airy apartment. Absently dropping his keys into its small dish of residence and taking a closer inspection at his post to infiltrate any wrong addresses or scams, he selects an apple from his fruit bowl and steals one firm chunk before noticing something peculiar.

Groomed eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he plucks one particular letter from the bunch and stacks it to the top. Perplexed by the sorely familiar curve of the writing scrawled on the front, his head shakes in denial - you wouldn't have, surely.

Discarding of all other mail on his kitchen counter, he's puzzled beyond belief; you'd left with no verbal warning and a letter that, admittedly, had been the source of several bouts of severe depression and, in spite of its awful affects, read dutifully every single day since your disappearance.

Rashly, he wishes you hadn't changed your phone number and email address shortly before leaving so he could possibly contact you regarding this mystery. However, he knows just as well as you clearly foresaw; his topic of discussion wouldn't be only the letter.

Tearing open the corner cautiously, he's incredibly delicate with checking inside the envelope once open to ensure it contains only his presumed note. Reviewing the front with a scouring gaze of disbelief, it really, truly has come from you.

He can't remember how many times he read each postcard that you'd gifted him with at the very beginning of your relationship. You'd recently made the permanent move from France to England, and, in a new country with limited knowledge of the native language, Harry had unintentionally become your beacon of comfort here.

With his fluent French and English, he was the perfect contender for kindly correcting your terminology and educating you on the essential etiquettes of Britain. Within weeks, however, your sweet smile had changed from an enjoyable sight during your frequent coffee shop meetings to something he craved.

He misses reading your silly, awful puns based around your home country, especially his favourite. A laughably unfunny joke paired with a matching scribble of the two of you; what do french fries do when they meet? They ketchup!

Harry,

I feel awful for waiting so long to speak to you again.

Your voice and your hugs. I've imagined them every single day.

I miss my Chi. How is she? I hope she's not missing her maman. Give her a kiss from me.

And the biggest kiss to yourself, because you deserve it, mon tout.

I'm inexplicably sorry for leaving so abruptly; I just couldn't take much more. The reminders were too much. Seeing your inconsolable pain every day was too much.

I'm so, so selfish, but I still believe allowing you to heal without my troubles was the best and easiest path for both of us.

I'm sure you noticed, but I may have stolen one of our pictures. It was your favourite, and that's why I had to choose that one, I suppose. Horrible, again.

I miss your dimples (and irritating you by poking them all the time). I miss your lips, they were so soft. No wonder you always bossed me around with the lip balm - I have my own now, I take it everywhere with me.

It smells like caramel.

Most of all, I miss your love. I've never known someone to love like you do. You were, are, and always will be, incredible.

Have you found someone to love yet?

Do you still think about me? If yes, please don't.

It's not fair of me to appear out of nowhere like this and not allow you a chance to reply. If you wish, post your letter to my maman's house - I'm not there, just to crush any other hope you have, but I'll receive it.

I'll be sorry forever, mon amour.

Sois gentil avec toi-même.

Câlins pour toujours, your baby.

~

Auriele,

I'm so thankful you decided to reach out again. I've missed you. Tellement, tellement.

Chi is brilliant, still eating everything and constantly in need of a haircut. She does miss you.

My hurt is still prevalent, I've accepted that it always will be. I truly don't believe it can be fixed again, but I'm still trying.

I spent the two weeks after your leaving searching for every single picture in existence of us. I cried so many times, I wish I could tell you that I'm wholly recovered and that you're fully forgiven, but I can't.

I think I counted them all. It's either three-hundred and seventy-seven or one-thousand, one-hundred and two (I have two sticky notes labelled pictures, I'm not sure which is correct.)

No one could ever love me like you do, tu es le meilleur.

I suppose that answers both of your questions.

Thank you for the chance to respond. I was incredibly confused when I received your thoughtful letter. I'm assuming by this one's destination being your maman's house, you're in France? You don't have to answer that. I would understand.

Mon bébé chéri, je t'aime.

Harry x

~

Harry,

It was the least I could do. I hurt you doubly and you never deserved that.

Tell her I love her. Buy her an ice cream for me (note the two dollars also enclosed in this envelope!)

There aren't enough apologies in the world to properly cover the extent of my mistakes, but I'll continue gathering as many as I can. And send them straight to you.

I also wish you could truthfully claim that you're okay, and I hope, with time, that you will be. It's all you ever deserved, mon chéri. You don't ever have to forgive me. I understand entirely if you hate me.

I wouldn't be surprised if those numbers were both low counts. I loved your face, as superficial as it sounds, but it truly was prettier than anything, and my favourite thing was always surrounding myself with it. Aussi longtemps que je pouvais.

My baby, I only tried my hardest to love you, and I sincerely hope I haven't ruined your idea of love so much that I'm your standard. Please, travel, find people to connect with, fall in love with a place, if not a person.

I bet Chi would love Spain. Australia, maybe? Thailand? Your choice entirely. You always were smarter than me (i.e. I left you - doesn't get much dumber.)

I am in France, feel free to ask any question you want about my current life if you decide to write back - you really don't have to. It's okay. You're still perfect.

Just not my address. It's so selfish of me to hide away from you when you're the one who deserves closure, but I'm not ready to share that information. Again, I'm sorry, and I hope you understand.

Tu me manques. Tu me manques ma maman et mon père. Tu me manques au cœur.

All my love, Auriele x

~

Every day, his thoughts are plagued with ideas of how to write his next letter. Your previous few communications ran smoothly; you seem incredibly apologetic and, as much as he would've gladly ignored the past tense use of 'love' in your most recent letter, he can't help but realise the difference from your first each time he reads it.

He's not certain why his first letter practically poured from his pen and before he knew it, it was sealed, posted and received. This time, however, he can't even construct a way to greet you.

Has distance and time really weakened your connection that much? His favourite childhood Disney movies would be ashamed.

The heartache you've endured together is insufferable, the bitterness remaining fresh and the misery continuing to roll onwards with him, and yet, you're both still alive. Perhaps, he should be a little more thankful.

He's tested out various support groups over the past few months; they appear to help in the moment, but once he returns home to a completely empty house, - aside from Chi - he realises all of his progress to be entirely fake.

How can he realistically recover from his insurmountable loss in solitude?

An apartment which used to breathe vibrant life and excitement for the future, diminished to nothing but silence.

He might as well have lost his house, too. Every second he spends there, surrounded by reminders of his grief, is draining. Of course, if he were a millionaire, he would've discovered a lovely, one bed flat with wide, open floors and windows. If he were a millionaire, though, maybe none of this agony would've ever happened.

He could’ve fixed it.

Regardless, he didn't, and now he returns home every single day, monotonous and finding solace only in rereading your letters and running through his local park with Chi, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, he hears the faint echo of your melodious voice ringing in his ear; mon doux bébé. For a moment, he believes you may be talking to him, but with a resounding giggle of contentment, you never were.

Within a month, he lost both of his sweet baby girls, and the pain is simply too much to comprehend.

Elle, mon cœur,

Firstly, I apologize for my late reply. This letter was, for some reason, incredibly difficult to write.

You hurt me never. Life hurt me, and it hurt you, too, and I'm sorry it's so cruel.

Chi adored her ice cream - vanilla, your favourite - and said thanks! (complimentary picture attached, for you).

Sympathy and apologies aren't a cure. I've received enough of them to know. I hope you have, too. We might not accept it and it might not heal our pain, but it is nice to know you have people by your side.

Mon amour, I would/could never come close to hatred for you. You are my entire heart, and you own everything within it.

I hope, one day, I can forgive you. I hope you can forgive me. We both made mistakes. We're both accountable, and so is fate. Unfortunately, it wasn't on our side, and we have to welcome that.

Your face is certainly Top Five list of physical attributes, which goes as followed:

1. your lips. I know I complained about them being dry all the time, but I miss them, still.

2. your eyes. Somewhere between the ocean and a cottage filled with flowers, they were paradise.

3. your thighs. I am a man - a broken one, but a man nonetheless - and they are certainly the most family-friendly feature I could think of.

4. your smile. Even on my darkest days, your smile was heaven. I hope you're smiling right now. I wish I could see it.

5. your face? All of the above and everything else. Was that cheating?

I wish I could leave here. I wish I could find a small, tropic island where Chi and I can get tipsy on Virgin Mary's and surf all day, but I feel it wouldn't be fair for both of us to run.

Although, Chi would certainly have a great time in Thailand. She told me so.

Did I mention she misses you? We miss you.

I have more questions than you can imagine. This is only my second letter, however, so I suppose I'll stick to three for now, (sorry for all the lists!)

How are you? Mentally? Physically?

Have you made new friends whilst you've been out there?

Would you ever visit London again?

I miss you forever.

Ton bébé.

Harry x

~

Harry,

It's more tough to write my letters than you might assume. No need to apologise, I understand.

Life is shit. I thought I had accepted that. I never imagined how evil it could be.

Chi, my baby, looks so pretty. I love her haircut (number 8694743? out of infinite).

I have heard my fair share of sympathy. At first, I felt bitter. They didn't understand what I had suffered, they didn't understand the pain I felt. With time, I realised that, sometimes, sorry is all you need to hear to feel a little better. To feel like you're managing life, at least.

I wish I could believe I deserve it, but I truly don't.

My mistakes seem perpetual. I'm constantly remembering new ones. Things I could've noticed faster, signs that I should've recognised. Yours are nothing. You made no mistakes, mon amour, please believe that. As much as fate has been my least favourite higher power for the past year, I agree about welcoming our own.

I would make a list of my personal favourites of your appearance, but I'd be here all day, and I'm meeting with a friend in an hour (your second question - check).

It wasn't fair for either of us to run. I think it's turned out for the best, however.

I can imagine Chi passed out on the beach. You both deserve a holiday. Go to Scotland, or something, at least. Just away from London.

I miss you both. Much more than I can express.

I'm well. Mentally; it's a struggle, but that's just life, I suppose. Physically; my sickness stopped a while ago. I hope your headaches did, too, but I've been searching for cures for those for a long time.

Yes! I've made quite a few close friends. They all know and love you. I'll tell them you asked.

London holds far too many memories for me to bear. You're the only one I can stand. Maybe one day.

Tellement de câlins.

Auriele.

~

The second your letter arrives and is read fully three times over, Harry's scrambling to collect his fancy paper and ink pen, thousands of ideas about how to reply brimming in his head.

Pen to paper, however, his mind is entirely blank.

You're inching closer to addressing the subject of your pain, and so is he. So far, the only discussions you've had regarding that difficult topic have ended either in awful arguments or uncontrollable, endless crying and they all occurred before your disappearance.

Since then, you've had ten months and seventeen days shared to mature from and process the situation. Perhaps, if you were to have a conversation about it now, it would be beneficial.

Harry is aware of the solution to his strange writer's block and urges to attempt to fix your hurt, but he's not quite sure if he's ready. Physically forcing himself up from his cluttered desk, he tries not to think of the main event when changing his sloppy t-shirt and joggers to jeans and a jumper; it's February, so the wind is still well and alive but, luckily for Chi and the duration of her walks, the temperatures are beginning to rise.

His destination is barely a thirty minute leisurely stroll through the city away, and he feels shameful to admit that this is his first visit in ten and a half months. Several times, he's gathered his courage to stand on the pavement, surveying the vast area but never making it closer than the protective fences.

This time, though, he's determined to make it. And he will, with je t'aime's and sweet giggles bubbling in his ears.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

Auriele,

Life will continue to surprise us. It may be malicious, but it's also given me you, so I guess there are a few reasons to be grateful.

I think it's more like *8694744 out of infinite, and I'm sure she'll have many more unpleasant trips to the groomers in the future.

You are handling life impeccably, considering all. You deserve showers of recognition for just being here.

No one has ever been more deserving of my love, and no one ever will.

Please, don't blame yourself entirely. Yes, there were signs. Signs that we both should've seen earlier. We knew as much as everyone else. We can't know if things would be different if we'd noticed them, because they're not.

I'm glad you're enjoying life in France. Is it peaceful? Is it too far to ask if you're living with one of your new friends? What're their names, if you don't mind my asking?

If I were to go on holiday right now, Paris would be my first choice.

I'm glad you're feeling better, I hope you continue to improve mentally in the future. I wish you nothing but true happiness.

If you're ever here, I'd be honoured to see you again.

This might surprise you. Before I wrote this letter, I went to visit her.

I haven't since we were there together.

I talked to her for hours about my life and my pain and your letters and your pain and anything I'd love to say to you if I knew how. Meline always was the best listener, no offence to you. She just understands.

I miss her. I miss you. I miss my babies.

Please, send me a picture of you (always topping lists) in your next letter. I need to see you now. I bet you're glowing.

Toujours, Harry x

~

Harry, mon amour,

I feel as if I should address the end of your letter first, because I certainly wasn't expecting it. I cried a lot. I'm still crying as I write this.

It feels nice to feel.

I've been so numb to it all. I know I should sob every day, think of her every single second. I don't. That may make me an awful person, but I always preferred not to lie. Especially to you. I don't think the gravity has quite hit me yet.

Back to the normal, top to bottom of your letter.

My family is a gift. My parents, you and Meline, specifically. I've never admired anyone more.

I miss Chi. Especially today, for some reason. Send more pictures of her when you next write. (I enclosed an updated picture of me in town, if you hadn't noticed! It was taken last week.)

I had concerns. Concerns that I didn't follow up on. We knew something was wrong, but we did everything we could, right? We found help. We found medicine. Why didn't it work?

How fucking cruel can life possibly be?

It's much quieter than London. The air quality is visibly better. I am, actually. My closest friends are Leon and Aline. I'm living with them!

Paris is about as good a holiday as you can get. If I'm ever near you, whatever country it happens to be in, I'll be sure to see you.

The last part of your letter. I already touched upon it but not nearly enough.

I haven't said, heard or read her name in eleven months. I miss it. I miss your voice. And her laughs. She was so, so lively and enthusiastic for life.

It's so unfair that she didn't get the chance.

And I agree; she always was a fantastic listener. I told her about our issues more than I should've.

I wish I could hear her again. Her name wasn't Meline Risette Styles for nothing. Her laughs were so pretty. I could've listened on repeat.

I did. For a year.

I miss her.

I miss you. I miss your warmth. I miss your heart and your love and your smile and everything about you.

I miss normality.

When we thought things would be okay.

We were wrong, and hindsight, that's okay, too.

We will heal eventually, I trust that life can't take much more away from me.

Tout mon amour, Auriele x

~

Since that day, Harry's visited Meline every Sunday without fail - it's only been three weeks, but going in the first place was an unimaginable step.

He even combined Chi's walk with the most recent, and each time, entering, staying at and emerging from the cemetery becomes easier.

The first time, he paced through the gates several times before building the bravery to even step inside without running back. His flight or fight instinct had been touchy the whole time, bias towards flight the entire time.

He just wanted to be as far away from the source of his pain as possible.

At the same time, he just wanted his daughter back. Alive and healthy.

Once he'd settled, laid on the ground like a madman next to her grave, he never wanted to leave her again. He even brought her flowers and a little teddy bear from a shop he'd passed on his hurried journey there.

It was well and truly dark by the time he even considered returning home, because he'd rather be with his sweet baby than alone at home.

Now, Chi sniffs inquisitively around at the bundles of flowers placed on surrounding graves whilst Harry converses with his dead child's grave like she was as animated and eager as he remembered.

It's a little questionable for his sanity, but extremely helpful for his own mental health. And he's trying to fix them both.

He just wishes so much that he'd pushed for more tests in the hospital. If he could, he'd reject their diagnosis and prescription of heart medication and an inhaler for when her asthma flared up.

They claimed she had a weakened respiratory system and, subsequently, her heart didn't deal well under stress, mostly due to her premature birth.

They were correct.

However, they were entirely wrong when they sent you all home with a tub of medicine and advice to lower any potential stressors around her.

Harry remembers scoffing to himself; she was one, what could possibly be stressing her that much?

Apparently, a lot of things.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

There's truly nothing better.

Auriele,

I understand completely about any emotion feeling refreshing. For a while, I felt immune to it. I cried and I got angry, but nothing ever really set in.

I'm thankful that I can feel now and it doesn't destroy me.

You're not at all a bad person, or a bad parent. Often, I wish I could forget about her. And not just to remove the pain for a day or two. Also, I appreciate the honesty.

Important things must be talked about first. And while this paragraph isn't quite at the top of my letter, it certainly is my most admiritive.

You're so, so unbelievably beautiful. Even more so, now.

Your eyes are still paradise. That picture is stuck onto the cork board in the kitchen forever.

We did absolutely everything in our power to help our baby. As soon as we noticed an issue, we took her to the hospital. Maybe they accidentally underestimated her condition, maybe they just assumed it'd be treated with that medication.

Either way, we helped her as much as we could. And you were, are, and always will be the most incredible mother.

Meline was lucky, truly. She loved you so much.

As it turns out, life can be our greatest enemy. It's difficult to control and even harder to accept, but everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

Leon and Aline sound wonderful. I know it's not my place, but tell them I said thank you for being there for you? You don't have to.

I've never known someone deserve a full, healthy life more than our sweet girl, and it's an injustice to steal that opportunity from her at such a young age.

She would've been two next week. I'm sure you don't need reminding, but I'm still trying to handle my feelings about it. I already know her birthday is going to be the worst day since she died.

Meline Risette Styles deserves the world, as do you. Please don't be afraid to take it. You've earned it.

Her name still brings me so much joy; little honey, pleasant little laugh. It was such an apt description, in her short life.

Life can always take more, but it gives things that are so wonderful. Sois optimiste.

Tout mon amour et câlins, Harry x

wattpad:

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 19: The Enemy Might be Our Friend and Vice Versa

But the seeming idiot is definitely our friend

First  Previous  Next

"Lance?"

"Hm?" Lance doesn't turn, watching the city rapidly come into view.

“Why the florist and forgemaster specifically?”

“Because I thought you might like them. Also, I need more arrows. My quiver is looking a bit sparse.” Lance indicated the quiver at his hip which indeed only had a few arrows in it. “The forgemaster himself isn’t a fletcher, but his daughter is. His son is a glass-smith.”

“Maybe you could take better care of your arrows?”

“You don’t use arrows a lot, do you?”

“No, why?”

“Well when you hit things with them, like bone or a tree, sometimes they break.”

“Oh. Sorry?” Keith squirms, unsure if he’d actually hit a nerve or if Lance is just messing with him.

Lance offers him nothing more than a deeply amused look, perhaps a little endeared. It’s easier to read Lance’s expressions than his tone. Keith doesn’t process sarcasm very well.

“Crown Prince Lancel! Prince Yorak!” Keith turns, drawing his braid over his shoulder. It’s Lord Lanval, pulling a young woman over by her hand.

“Hello, Lord Lanval. It’s a lovely day. Who is this you have with you?” Lance smiles, clicks his tongue, dismounts as his shreika kneels. Keith follows his spouse’s lead.

“Your Majesties, may I introduce, informally, Lady Gloriana of House Trivaine? She and I are courting.”

Lance places his hand over his heart, bowing as he takes the lady’s hand, kissing the back of it. “My Lady, it is a joy to make your acquaintance. You have not yet been presented, I should think? Bold though it might be, I say I would remember you.”

“I am to be presented at the next ball, your Majesty. Forgive me, as this was not a proper introduction.” Lady Gloriana tucks a lock of pale pink hair behind her ear, blushing under golden scales. She has gold and pink eyes, too. She's beautiful. She turns to Keith with a nervous smile.

Keith bows, right fist over his breast, customary of his own people. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. What brings you here today?”

“We are-”

Keith interrupts Lord Lanval. “I asked the lady. She can speak.”

Lord Lanval splutters, indignant, but Lady Gloriana blushes, seemingly a bit pleased. “We were on our way to the florist, but Lanval wished for me to meet you.”

Keith recalls something of Adam’s lessons. “We are on our way there as well. Something about me being seen among the people so that they don’t hate me quite so much. Perhaps you could help me?”

“Oh.” the lady giggles as Keith offers her his arm. “Well, alright. So long as Crown Prince Lancel doesn’t mind.”

“I have no objection at all, my lady. Perhaps you two could lead the way.”

Lady Gloriana nods, guiding Keith toward the florist, pointing out the things in the square that she likes, some of the more important people. Keith listens, asks her questions. Lance raises an eyebrow. Keith’s lessons are going better than Adam had let on.

Lanval falls in beside him.

“I don’t know if I told you, but I made sure the rumors of your… escapades made it to Daibazaal. I told quite a few people about it when I saw an opening. Including Prince Yorak’s mother.”

“Telling his mother might have been a little much, but I thank you. Thank you also for making that comment at the banquet. I wasn’t sure how else to break the ice. Or how to get him out of there before one of us snapped.”

“I know how lofty your ambitions are. I thought you might like the challenge. And you are most welcome.” Lanval frowns as Keith leans forward a little as he pays Lady Gloriana a compliment. Or perhaps it’s a tease, given the sly smile. Either way, she laughs, clapping lightly.

“Forgive him,” Lance murmurs, walking next to Lord Lanval a few paces behind. “He has the manners down, but the social mores still escape him. He probably assumes that because he’s married, he can do as he wishes. He’s emulating me a little too well.”

“It’s no trouble. Poor little thing needs friends. He did quite put me in my place, though, didn’t he?” Lanval frowns. “Is he really a kit? Lady Renli said as much at your wedding, though I put little stock in it at the time. Watching him since, however…”

“He is.”

“By the Ancients! Your Majesty, with all due respect-” Lanval seems horrified. As he should be. If nothing else, Lance feels gratified that he and Adam aren’t the only ones. Though to be honest, if Adam finds something morally abhorrent, people seriously need to rethink their lives. He sighs, turns to glance at his life-long friend.

“We are several things to one another, but ‘mate’ is not among them. My father posted a Listener outside our door. I made Adam take care of it. I believe my father still suspects, but I haven’t laid an untoward finger on Keith. Frankly, I refuse.”

“But that Alfor would even allow such a thing! Lancel, he’s your father! Our King!”

“I don’t think he quite understood. I think he assumed Galra age in a more linear progression, as Alteans do. But I agree, a better King would not trade in children. It wouldn't have hurt to wait a decaphoeb.”

Lance clasps his hands behind his back, watching his spouse navigate social activities with the help of Lady Gloriana. She beams, gently explaining social rules as he breaks them, guiding him through a conversation with the florist. The florist seems bemused, but willing to be patient for the prince. Keith, for his part, has a look of great concentration on his face, stumbling as he tries to learn.

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s clever. And her own person, which is a trait we both seem to enjoy. I suspect that if Prince Yorak hadn’t put me in my place in the square, she would have done it later herself. Your prince… Are you sure he was a lord?”

“He was only appointed to his title a phoeb or two before he came to me. Before that… I think he spent most of his time completely alone.”

Lanval turns to him, alarm in his eyes, though not on his impassive face. “Your evidence?”

“I can’t say for certain. Call it instinct.”

“Your red quintessence edge serves you well, it would seem.”

“So it would seem.” Lance sighs, watching the florist lead Keith and Gloriana through to a back room. “Not that anything I have to offer does him any good. He’s not safe. My father is still subtly pressuring me to essentially assault him. He struggles to understand our customs. He doesn’t know how to rule or lead. He can’t even eat our food! He’s out of his depth and away from his home-”

“And you care. Listen, I’m not that much older than you, but I’m old enough to know that giving a quiznak about someone when they’re in a bad place makes all the difference in this reality. You two don’t come across as lovers, though that’s more his fault. -He’d likely be uncomfortable with you even implying it. No point in attempting that sort of illusion.- But you do come across as friends. Add to that the fact that you’re clearly very devoted to letting him make more friends, and you’ve got an excellent start to whatever sort of relationship you wish to have with him. If I may, your Majesty, what would you like to see from your marriage long-term?”

Lance is silent for far too long, which is answer enough. In the end, all he says is, “Seems foolish, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps not. For someone with a blue base, you’re rather dense when it comes to yourself, your Majesty.”

“That’s where you come in, my friend.”

Keith trots up, holds out a tablet. “Um, the florist says you need to sign this.”

Lance looks at it. It’s a digital receipt. He raises an eyebrow. “Why do I need to sign it?”

“It’s being billed to the royal family. I can’t-”

“You can.” Lance leans past his spouse. “He can sign for this, Sir. He is my spouse. What is mine is his, to do with as pleases him.”

“Of course, your Majesty. Forgive me.”

Lance waves away the florist’s apology, turns back to Lanval with a whisper. “There’s also that nonsense. He only has what power I say he can have.”

“Everything in good time, Prince Lancel. I know it isn’t your strong suit, but do have patience. Trees grow much more in summer than they do in winter.”

Lanval is still quite young, but the lord’s always been wise. Losing one’s parents at the age of six tends to do that to a person. Lance can see it, in the thin lines of grief beneath Lanval’s eyes, the creases at the corners of his mouth. It’s contradictory, given the smile ever present in his brown-eyed gaze. Lanval, like himself, knows well the complications that come with pain. Lanval also knows that people are just that: people.

“Lanval, remind me to make you my advisor one of these days.”

“I am here whenever you need me, old friend. Either of you. There's something you should know: There is a whisper from somewhere in the courts that Altea still prepares for war?”

"What? Are you certain?" Lance narrows his eyes, watches Keith make some inquiry about the clay pots on the counter.

"I'm certain there is a rumor. What truths are hidden therein, I cannot say."

"Thank you. I will look into it promptly. Do keep an ear out." Lance smiles as Keith turns, holds out a hand for Keith to take. Lady Gloriana takes Lanval’s arm. “Did you enjoy yourself, my lady?”

“Oh yes. Thank you for lending me your husband. He’s quite charming, in his way. And very pretty.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Lance smiles, shifting to put a gentle hand around Keith’s waist. It’s a sign not to fight the flow of conversation, one they picked together only yesterday. “And a very quick wit.”

“Well, we should get going, I'm afraid. My mother and father are quite eager to meet Lord Lanval.” Gloriana smiles at Lanval, who lays a hand over the one on his arm. Lance smiles too, seeing that their feelings are reciprocal. A lucky thing. An enviable thing.

They say farewell to their friends. Lance turns to Keith. “Are you still up for the forgemaster or are you tired?”

Keith sighs. He’s exhausted. He likes Gloriana well enough, but trying to maintain that level of decorum, trying to learn and understand all of these things that Lance knows inherently is exhausting. His spouse smiles, takes his hand, kisses his cheek, leads him to their mounts still waiting in the square. “Tired it is. Let’s go home.”

“Lance?” Lance hums, watching the castle approach, silhouetted by a twilight sky. “Is it normal for people to talk about their partners like they’re not there?”

“Not really.”

“Wonderful. I thought she liked me.” Keith’s ears wilt.

“She does. Very much. Just… We’re all trying to learn how to be friends again, right? That doesn’t happen overnight. We must try to be patient.”

“Patience really isn’t my thing…”

“Mine, neither. But we must try, alright?”

Keith nods, silent. Lance might not know, but he overheard much of his conversation with Lanval. He hadn’t realized the two were friends, or that Lanval was essentially a spy for the prince. He hadn't realized that Lanval's comment about his youth and civility had been intentional. He also hadn’t realized the pressure Lance is under. How stubbornly Lance is clinging to something the people around him say should be discarded for the greater good.

He really could do much, much worse than a young man who clings desperately to his morals while his fathers bend and break them in the name of peace. Of all the royals -all seven of them- that Keith has met, Lance is the first one that he would choose to follow.

The longer he sits there, dwelling on everything he overheard, the more bitter Keith feels for his spouse's plight. This is especially true once he sees Adam waiting impatiently at the gate.

[amandaklwrites]

TV Series Review: The Haunting of Hill House (2018)

Genre: Horror/Psychological Thriller

Rating: 10/10

TV Show Review:

Is it possible for me to give a million stars to something? No? Okay, I guess I will anyway.

Let me start this review by saying that I am in no way a horror movie person. The “worst thing” I have ever seen was CRIMSON PEAK, and even that I didn’t finish because the ending was too gory for me (I do know what happened, though). When I was a kid, Disney’s HAUNTED MANSION movie scared the living hell out of me, and now, it’s one of my favorites. So, for me to say that THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE was one of the best things I have ever watched says A. LOT.

I don’t even read horror books. I have found a few that I love—I’m looking at you Cat Winters and Simone St. James—and I’ve noticed, for me, it’s a certain type of horror. I have no care for the movies that are all about the jump scares or gory bullshit or serial killers chasing people around. To me, those stories have no substance (sorry to those fans, but that’s my personal opinion from what I’ve heard). I like the eerie, the idea that something is peering over your shoulder, and the play with darkness. I also like when stories are extremely character driven. A plot can be pretty terrible, but if I love the characters, then I don’t care if it lacks.

Which leads me into why I love this series. I love the characters, I love the vibe, I love the layers of interpretations.

For me, the characters are the best. I love the kids (Steven, Shirley, Theo, Luke and Nell), and the parents (Hugh and Olivia), and everyone else, but especially the family. I feel that they were all created so uniquely, with their own personalities and flaws and they all felt real. Like I was watching something real instead of scripted. Even how they respond to these events in their life are different (I have learned that Mike Flanagan specifically did it so each sibling represented a different stage of grief, which is SO BRILLIANT). And the strong relationship between them all, and their family unit with Hugh and Olivia as a strong couple of parents.

I loved how the story was told. That everything was unfolding with each episode, that pieces were pulled together with each siblings’ POV, and as everything started to ramp up. I like storytelling like this personally, as I don’t think it has to be told in a linear line. Sometimes, that’s not how telling your past works. So I think it reflects that idea well.

The haunting and ghosts were amazing. I loved the different kinds there were, and ones that seemed so new and original. I will say my personal favorite was the bowler hat guy, because not only is he rad, but he makes me think. Why is he so huge, why is he floating, and if he can float, why is his cane touching the ground? He doesn’t make sense, he’s a mix-match of so many things, and that’s what I love the most. That he isn’t like other ghosts I’ve heard about.

For me, I love how Mike Flanagan made the story about both ghosts and the psychological aspects of humanity. Without spoiling too much in this section, I think he made it a balance. Which is what I believe in. That there can be ghosts in this world, trapped in a house, but there is so much psychology behind it. That a house can be alive with the past and its own ghosts, but how you respond to it is up to you.

From here, I’m going to talk about some spoilery thoughts I have. So, if you haven’t seen the show and don’t want to be spoiled, please don’t continue. But if you have, or you don’t care about being spoiled, please do click on the “keep reading!”

Okay, so more on what I was trying to say with the whole ghost and psychology thing. For me, I’ve always believed that ghosts are real (I’ve lost count of how many experiences I have had, and I see ghosts all the time, and they seem to love following me around), so the idea of all these ghosts living in a house doesn’t seem unreal to me. I’ve been in places that feel like absolute rotting hell and I have to get out of there. I do believe that ghosts have a lingering bad energy and can seem evil. But to me, I don’t think ghosts possess or attack people (like, to kill them). I think at that point, there’s a psychology to it. Have you ever watched a horror movie and can’t sleep because you’re convinced there’s a ghost staring at your back? That’s how I think of it with a creepy house full of ghosts, you can be convinced that something will drive you mad. Which, for me, Flanagan created a good balance of both for this show, at least in my opinion. Because, we see all these ghosts, and after only a couple of instances, none of them attack anyone. They don’t hurt anybody. They’re just there. To them, the Crain family are the ghosts and what the devil are they doing there??

Which brings me around to Olivia. We all knew she would be brought up sometime, and her demise and descent into madness. I knew there was something with her from the very beginning (unfortunately), but I didn’t realize that she attempted to kill her two youngest kids, and actually did kill a little girl. I never even guessed it. But I knew she was losing her mind as more and more time went along. But I can see it. I mean, it does make some sense to a degree. Who isn’t scared that the world will tear apart their children, especially ones like Luke and Nell who are clearly caring and empaths? I’m an empath and I care so much sometimes that I feel like I get disappointed and hurt all the time. And I have heard my own mom talk about her concerns of me growing up that I will fall apart (and actually, I did at one point). So I 100% understand Olivia’s mindset. But I have the thought process that I don’t think the ghost of Poppy Hill controlled and manipulated her into killing her children. I personally feel like Olivia had mental illness stuff long before the house (I mean, the weird headaches??), and Poppy was a projection of those feelings and thoughts she was already having. I mean, we hadn’t even seen Poppy until Olivia was really thinking like that. I’m not saying that the ghost had no part in it, not at all. I think if you are unstable in the first place, and then you go to a place that seems to have this bad, lingering energy, your mind can spin out of control. I briefly mentioned that I have been in places that feel so haunted. I was deep inside a ship with my grandparents at one point, and I stood in one spot and I literally felt someone shove me back and then I couldn’t breathe. For like five seconds, I felt like I was losing my mind. I felt like I was dying and I wanted it to stop. (Turns out, someone had been crushed to death right where that had happened, which I found out afterward). So, I know what I’m talking about. In my opinion, that was Olivia’s case, since that was what had happened to me. I’ve also fell into such deep depression that my thoughts were erratic. So, somewhere along her time in this house, with her mind already in tatters, and listening to a maniac ghost who had been in an asylum, she lost it, she cracked. And that makes her so fascinating, doesn’t it?

I loved the kids. I loved all of them. But I do have to say, my personal favorite was Luke. He was so quiet and sincere, and he grew up and became a junkie. He was haunted by what happened in that house—and somehow, I think, he knew what his mother was trying to do to him and Nell. I know they were little and didn’t fully understand, but I think as you get older, you have to look back and think about it. This little girl with you had died after drinking tea. He may not totally realize it, but I think deep in his subconscious, he knew what happened. And how does someone live with that? Not only is he traumatized because of ghosts and his mother killing herself, but that haunting feeling? To me, that’s why his mother shows up as a ghost to him. Because he knows. But why I also connect with him is because I feel like we share similar personalities. Now, I never got into drugs, but there was a reason for that. It took me my whole life to avoid drugs constantly. Because, especially when my depression was bad in high school, I knew, knew, knew that if I had started playing with drugs, I would become an addict. I just knew it deep down inside of myself, so I stayed away from them. I consciously made a choice to not let that happen to myself. So, I think when I look at Luke, I see a version of myself that could have been. And I also understand it, even if I hadn’t done the drugs myself, if that makes sense? He cared so much that it broke him and that made me cry so much because I get it. I get it.

I’m a literature major, and in my classes, we learned that houses in stories, especially haunted ones, are huge metaphors. They represent the psyche. That’s why we find haunting houses so interesting in stories. So, to me, this house is both a physical entity that can be seen as evil, but it’s also more than that. Like Olivia had said, a house is like a body. It has its own energy, it collects memories, it sees more than any of us have ever had. So I like the idea of a haunted house collecting all these ghosts, and they’re living amongst them. Because isn’t that what hauntings are? Lingering memories, the past clawing after you? And a house perfectly represents that—how many memories, how many people and pasts has it collected over the years? I don’t see the house itself as evil, but all that has happened inside of it. I know the house and ghosts played a huge part of what happened, but we have to give Olivia some responsibility of what happened—she killed a girl and attempted to murder her own kids. I know she was mentally ill, but we can’t blame the ghosts and house itself. I mean, the kids are grown up and living away from the house, and they’re still haunted. So, it’s not only the house. It’s us. It’s humans with our grief and guilt and horror, and we’re remembering it all. But this house is important to them, because it’s where the ghosts reside, it’s where their mom—and then Nell—killed themselves. That’s their ghost.

I think where Flanagan wins is his complex characters, his complex themes and ideas. And that he creates an idea that has so many layers that anyone can interpret things differently. Like for me, I wonder how much the house and ghosts influence the characters and their actions, and vice versa. I think they’re meeting in the middle. And is Olivia evil or good as a ghost? To me, it seems still a bit deranged, because she wants her son to die and be with them. You would think that she would have let go of all that once she had died. But she’s free to choose, and that could be monstrous. But maybe she’s still living in her own hell because of the lingering ghosts and pasts in the house. Maybe you can never quite shake off your past, it’s always there, hanging out in the background.

It’s a complicated show, and that’s what I love about it. I watched it almost a week ago, and I’m still thinking about it. I’m still talking about it to my mom (who has only seen bits) and talking about the different layers and thoughts I have. I loved the sixth episode and how it was filmed in only five shots (who the hell does that???). I think this show is a work of genius, and Mike Flanagan needs all that credit.

This show is such an experience that I loved every single second of it. I want to watch it over and over to catch every little detail, to see if I experience something differently.

It makes me look a little longer at the ghosts that I see pass by me at work all the time now.

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 1 + 7: vacation + acceptance

notes:

i combined day 1 & 7 as they happen to be the theme of the same story. it's also a prequel to a fic that i haven't written a word yet.

a little bit background since i think things can be confusing:

allen's full name is Louis White Allen. his dad's french and his mom american, though he's raised in alaska. his sister, anna allen, is a commissioned officer in the air force. the siblings speaks both english and french fluently.

sara ryder replaces elijah kamski as the inventor of androids.

this fic is set in september 2038, about a month after connor was first deployed at the phillips' hostage situation.

tags: griefing, family issues, brief mentions of childhood neglect and parentification

ao3 link if that’s what you prefer

-----

To this day, Lou's heart hammers when he sees a call from the military. Last time he received one was ten years ago, and he ended up with more questions than answers, answers that he knows he and his father very likely will not get in their lifetime. Staring at his phone vibrating on the coffee table, Lou debates whether to induce his cats' wrath - one sleeping on his lap and the other he hasn't stopped petting since they finished dinner - by standing up and interrupting their naps. It's not like he's at his full mobility anyways; his cybernetics still needs about half an hour to sync with his nervous system properly and to download the newest software. Whoever the fuck is in charge of calling the family of a soldier who went AWOL in Göttingen can wait.

It seems that the universe has other plans, as the air suddenly becomes charged with static and the phone launches itself towards Lou's chest. The tip of his fingers are numb, a common occurrence after his and his sister's unexplainable outbursts, but he manages to catch the phone before it hits his chest or, heaven forbids, his cat, who is startled awake and promptly returns to sleep after her favourite bed has no intention to move.

He accepts the call. 'Allen speaking. I don't think I have family members in the military anymore.'

'I don't know how many of yours are with us,' the voice from the other end lacks the robotic quality of an android's, so it seems the military is still using humans to contact family members, 'but this concerns your mother, Commander Deborah White. You're the only next of kin we can reach, Mister Allen.'

Lou does sigh. Just as he thinks he can leave her behind after all these years... 'What about her?' Not that he feels strongly that she was gone, as she wasn't quite there for her family to begin with, but something about a Commander going missing on the flagship of a fleet always sits wrong with him; as poor of a mother Deborah White was, a woman with her service record didn't deserve to simply vanish. 'I thought she went MIA more than twenty years ago.'

'She was until a few hours ago. I wish I can break it to you more gently but... we found her. Her remains, at least.'

The beat of his heart suddenly becomes too overwhelming. The air swells with the familiar buzz of static, and it takes all of Lou's self-control to not break everything in the living room with a shattering hazard. There is also the urge to hang up, to pretend that this is just one of those weird dreams he never can remember the details of, because he doesn't need to be burdened with a closure; he wasn't close enough to her to want that, he tells himself. Knowing that she's gone is enough. However, 'How?' is what he says in the end. He closes his eyes, free hand buried in his cat's fur, trying to convince himself that he is doing this for his father.

'Your mother's bones were found in a sealed compartment in the USS Blue Ridge when we were scrapping her. She must've been sitting there for years. Her skull indicates that -'

'Thanks, but I don't think I need to know that,' Lou swallows, willing himself to not think of the implication of an intact skull. It would've been a horrible way to die, sitting in cold seawater for days, feeling her skin rot away before dying of starvation; he'd rather her snap her neck upon impact and go painlessly. 'Anything more?'

'Yes. How would you like to deal with the body?'

Something tickles Lou's chin. When he opens his eyes, he finds the third cat trying to squeeze himself onto his already-occupied lap and purring as if having sensed the human's distress and wanting to soothe him. He recalls how his mother joked that she would probably die at sea and his father's reluctant acceptance of the entire affair; Papa's resignation after he received the news, saying, 'At least she got what she wanted.'

'She spent most of her life at sea,' he replies. No need to rub salt on his father's wounds. 'Let her rest there as well.'

'Very well. If you wish to, a memorial will be held in two months' time. Families of other deceased will attend. You may find support there.'

Support my ass, Lou thinks. It's been twenty-something fucking years. Yet, for some reason, he still promises that he'll consider going before hanging up. His finger hovers over his father's contact afterwards, but remembering that it's midnight in France and that he has a month worth of leave accumulated, he opens his browser instead and starts searching for plane tickets.

----

A month later, Lou finds himself in the commune of Gâvres with a large backpack on his shoulder and missing his cats very dearly. They aren't even his cats, technically; his neighbours keep them as outdoor cats, and Lou, unable to stand the thought of them suffering out in the winter cold of Detroit, took them in, and now they spend more time at his than at their original owners'. Having dropped them off at Hank's - that man takes better care of his pet (now pets) than himself - Lou isn't worried - he doubts his neighbours will even notice that their cats are gone. Emotions are terrible things, however, and the purpose of this trip alone makes it different from all the time he has visited his father before. At least he hasn't just recovered from nearly dying from implant rejection this time.

'Louis?'

Lou turns when he hears his father's voice and the awkward weight reminds him that he hasn't taken off his backpack yet and has been standing in the living room of his father's house staring at nothing for the past few minutes. Not waiting for his son to take it off, Papa Allen crosses the room and embraces Lou, sweat and all. 'How are you?' he asks in French, and when Lou answers truthfully in the same language, 'I missed you,' somehow everything in the world goes right again. Fuck the deviant crisis, fuck the android-infested America that makes his nerves buzz every single waking moment, fuck absent mothers still managing to make a comeback years after she died. He's just Louis Allen, absolutely not a SWAT captain, not the only survivor of the Blast, not the pioneer/guinea pig of CyberLife's groundbreaking cybernetics technology.

He has to let go of his father. 'I hope it's okay. What I did with Mom.'

Papa sighs. 'How about you take off that thing first,' indicating the backpack, 'and settle down for now.'

So Lou walks up the stairs and deposits his backpack in the room designated as his, and, catching sight of the other bed in the room, his legs suddenly feel weak, and he lowers himself, trembling, onto his mattress. Smart, fearless Anna, whose brain always runs - ran - a lot faster than the rest of the world.

Who graduated top of her class and as the Valedictorian of the academy, and subsequently disappeared without a trace.

His left leg twitches. The feeling of something foreign using his body returns, and when he leans forward - with a difficulty that wasn't there before - to take off his sock, it reveals white and grey chassis. A stark reminder that he owes her his life two times over despite her being the younger sibling.

‘How come I’m still alive?’ was the first question he asked after he regained his voice. ‘Ryder threw a fucking building on me.’

‘I dug you out, Lulu,’ replied Anna. ‘Freaky glowy telekinesis finally has its use. I was hungry for hours afterwards.’

At that moment, Lou made the mistake of looking down and seeing his pure white leg. ‘What the hell happened to my leg?’

‘CyberLife’s newest tech.’ As if to demonstrate how he should use his new leg, she gave his feet a poke, and Lou nearly screamed from the sensation. He did not expect to feel anything at all, but apart from the looks, the leg felt...real. ‘Fucking building crushed half your pelvis, your entire left leg and a rib. It’s already minced when I uncovered you, so they need to rebuild everything from scratch. I asked them to add something that can help you control the telekinesis better as well, so we’ll need to test it out later. No more randomly exploding shit. And before you ask, yes, your junk’s unharmed.’

Lou’s coma-addled brain struggled to process the influx of information, and all he got was, ‘I should’ve died.’

Anna hit the break to what seemed to be the beginning of a technical jargon-filled rant. ‘Well yes,’ she gestured just like the meme, ‘but you lived.’

‘No one survives after being crushed by a building, Anna,’ he said, voice rising. Then he asked in French since English felt too raw, ‘Exactly how much tech is in me right now? And how long was I out for? Why did CyberLife choose me?’

She looked away.

‘Anna?’

‘I don’t fucking know, okay?’ she replied in the same language. ‘You were on the brink of death when I dug you out, and there Ryder was, offering to save your life for no cost. You were in a medically-induced coma for one month and was out for reconstruction for another. It took your body two weeks to get used to the cybernetics and...here you are.’

‘Ryder offered,’ Lou said slowly, ‘to save me? As in Sara Ryder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anna, she was the one who threw the building on me!’

‘I know. One more reason to let her save you.’

‘But you did it anyway.’

‘I did.’

‘Even though you know it’ll probably come back to bite our asses.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You know the answer, Lulu.’

And Lou has stopped denying that he does a few years ago. Anna joined the Air Force to fly, to be closer to the sky, but he knows that it wasn’t enough; from the way she turned her eyes towards the aurora when they were young, the attention she paid towards all news related to space observation and exploration, to the talks about leaving the wasteland that is known as earth behind and finding a new home in the cosmos - Anna belongs to the abyss of space. The military was simply a stepping stone towards something greater, a greatness that she must be working towards somewhere on this god-forsaken piece of rock.

The place where Lou’s flesh meets his implants aches in anticipation of the storm that will no doubt force them to remain indoors for days. Grinding his teeth in the numbing pain, he uses his hands to put his non-functional left leg onto the bed and lies down sideways with his back towards his sister’s bed, his phone buzzing in his pocket to notify him of an unexpected software error that may take hours to fix. Switching on do-not-disturb, he shoves the offending piece of technology underneath his pillow and loses his fight against jet lag and pain.

----

Lou wakes up cold and hungry. He is covered by a blanket that wasn't there when he fell asleep, so his father must have checked on him when he realized that his son was doing more than putting down his luggage, and the dark sky outside the window almost brings him back again before it flashes.

Then the booming thunder reminds him that it isn't dusk at all.

He successfully rolls over on his other side, which means that his cybernetics are functional once more. Kicking the blanket away, he sits up and grimaces at the taste of his mouth.

He feels better after his regular morning rituals, though the lack of three furry friends harassing him and brushing against his feet is something that he'll need to get used to, and his father is cooking lunch when he reaches the kitchen.

'Morning, Louis,' Papa says as he hands the pan over to his son. 'What did they drag you through to have you sleep for so long?'

Lou is glad that he can use concentrating on not burning his food as an excuse to buy himself a minute. Should he tell his father the truth, or should he avoid talking about work just like many people do during their vacation? 'Things are getting bad in Detroit,' he decides in the end as going on a vacation at one's father's house isn't exactly normal either. 'Androids are breaking their programming and starts having their own thoughts. CyberLife's trying to cover it up, but I've dealt with enough violent deviants - that's what they're calling those androids - to know it's gonna be a problem real soon if they don't solve it now.' A pause to think of how to continue. 'I'm glad you're not in America anymore.'

'It must be exhausting,' is his father's reply, and that's all Lou needs to realize that his father has no idea what he's talking about. Then again, the man moved back to France before androids were a thing, and although they kept in frequent contact, Lou never talked much about his work; the police getting reformed means that SWAT is deployed only when peace is not the option - that means seeing people get hurt or die constantly. Androids aren't really a thing in Europe, so his father never experienced the 'androids taking over everything and making everyone lose their jobs' shit. He won't understand.

'That's why I'm here.'

They lapse into silence as Lou finishes cooking and empties the content of the pan onto two plates. Never one for formality, Papa brings them to the living room, sitting at the corner of a couch while Lou retrieves his plate and fork and curls onto the window sill. At this proximity, he can feel the raindrops hitting the glass as if he is standing in the rain.

Papa clears his throat. 'About your mother, Louis.'

Lou tears his eyes away from the raindrop he's betting on to win. He hastily shoved some eggs into his mouth to buy himself some time to mentally prepare for the conversation. 'What now?'

What he actually says isn't what Lou expected. 'I'm glad about what you did with your mother's body.'

'Her skeleton, you mean,' he replies. 'What's left of it anyways. I don't think they found the whole set.'

'Still,' Papa isn't looking at him. 'That's what she would've wanted. And by I'm glad - I'm not opposed to it.'

'That's it?' Lou turns back towards the rain. 'That wasn't your reaction when they told you that she was MIA.'

'I was young - younger - back then,' a sigh. 'It wasn't fair to you. Or to Anna. Especially to Anna. I'm sorry.'

No it wasn't, Lou wants to say, but - 'I've made peace with it a long time ago. Mom, me and Anna, Alaska; that was all you knew. I... I don't blame you for it.'

He has to close his eyes and press his forehead against the glass. He considers switching to German to further detach his emotions, but then he realizes that nearly everything has fled his mind from disuse. Why does he think spending his vacation with his father right after they discovered that his mother might have died painfully a good idea?

'That's what I thought I'd react when you called me, you know?' Papa says. 'I thought I'd break down. Then I realized that I've moved on and... that's it. Hard not to after more than twenty years.' Even with his vision gone, Lou can still feel his father's gaze on him. 'You've done that for your mother. Have you, for Anna? It's been ten years.'

'Have you, Papa?' Lou asks instead of answering even though he knows his answer. 'Can you stand the thought of your daughter gone as well?'

'After your mother?' the father feeds himself a mouthful of food and swallows. 'Kind of have to.'

'Of course you did. I raised her, not you.'

That is the last thing he says to his father before the storm goes away.

----

Emotionally exhausted, Lou goes to sleep early despite waking up not ten hours ago.

He knows he’s dreaming as soon as he opens the door and discovers his childhood living room behind it. The room is dark, so the lights must have been switched off, and even though it feels like he has smacked his hand all over the wall it’s on, he still can’t find the switch. It does bring him closer to the window, outside where a storm is going on at full force and paints everything white, and although he knows that what he is seeing isn’t real, he dreads the upcoming and necessary shovelling.

The world is suddenly lit up from behind him, followed by the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson and the clicks of a keyboard. When Lou turns, Anna is there sitting in front of the couch, her brother's homework scattered in a semi-circle around her, and an old, bulky laptop snug between her crossed legs. It should have been a normal day in their house in Anchorage had Anna been a child but not an adult, which is the form Dream Anna is appearing in - she is younger than him by nearly eight years.

‘Where’s the light switch?’ Lou asks, looking around for good measure. ‘As much as you enjoy Cosmos, a documentary about space isn’t sufficient lighting.’

‘Relax,’ says Anna. ‘Eye problems aren’t in our genes.’ Then, waving at the papers around her, ‘Everything’s done. Your teachers didn’t suspect a thing,’ she gets younger and younger following each syllable until her age makes sense, ‘but you asked me to do it on a separate piece of paper, so I did. Feel free to copy directly if you wish.’

That is when Lou realizes that she’s playing games on the notebook, something that looks like a simplified version of Temple Run but set in space. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’d like to keep the creases on my brain.’ Then he notices that his sister didn’t really answer his question, so he asks again, ‘How am I supposed to switch on the lights?’

‘With your phone,’ is the matter-of-fact reply. ‘Don’t tell me you uninstalled the fucking app for cat pictures.’

‘For one last time, Anna, I don’t download cat pictures.’ And it hits him. ‘Wait, phone? The house isn’t automated when you’re at this age.’

‘Is it?’

Anna stands up and stalks closer to her brother, and she grows and grows and grows until they’re off the same height and she looks... older, how she should look like if she’s alive she’s still here. She is now Major Anna White Allen of the United States Air Force, dressed smartly in her dress uniform except for her cap, which she holds in her right hand. Their surroundings have also changed to that of the Phillips' penthouse terrace, harsh wind whipping around them.

'You aren't real,' Lou breathes, feeling light-headed. ‘You - you’re gone. Just like Mom.’

‘Open your eyes, then. End this early if you want to. Forget that this ever happened. I don’t mind.’

It is followed by a terrifying moment of wakefulness, the images blurring and then regaining clarity as he stays asleep. ‘And Papa wants me to let you go,’ he says with a sad chuckle.

‘Why?’

‘We found what’s left Mom. How long do we need to wait to find what’s left of you?’

‘Why are you talking like I’m dead?’

‘Cause you probably are, like Mom?’

‘I know you think we’re alike,’ an eye roll, ‘but we’re different.’

‘Say you’re not dead. Where the hell are you?’

‘Does it matter?’

A blink. They’re floating in space, Anna dressed in some form of armor, and Lou in normal clothes. He attempts to draw a breath and wakes up choking and crying, the dream completely forgotten save for the faint image of Anna falling towards earth and getting burnt to crisps.

----

A few days later, Lou finds himself walking on the beach with his father. The sky is cloudy and the wind is strong, so it is cool even though it’s September and Lou grew up in Alaska. They started throwing questions back and forth ten minutes into their walk, some of them silly and simple and give them a good laugh, but the others -

‘Answer me honestly, Louis. Do you think Anna’s dead?’

It is easy. ‘No.’

‘Where do you think she is, then?’

Lou’s face suddenly becomes too hot to bear. ‘Does it matter?’

‘If it affects you, yes.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t want us to speculate.’

‘But she’s not here, is she? Maybe you’ll feel better after you say it out loud.’

Lou sighs, oh how the turntables… ‘In space, probably.’

‘You’d think we’ll hear about that.’

‘Secret space programs exist, Papa.’

‘Not in America.’

‘I never said it’s an American program,’ Lou says as he kicks a rock away. ‘Do you know what they said when I received the first call from the Air Force? They asked me if Anna has ties with other space agencies even though she’s never been in NASA; she just talked about other countries’ space programs so much that they suspected her having ties with them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘What does that even mean?’

‘You know you won’t see her again, right?’

Lou halts his steps. Anna? Gone forever? ‘Does it matter?’

Papa sighs. ‘You’re in denial, Louis. You didn’t do this with your mother.’

How dare he - ‘Of course I didn’t, she was barely there!’ he has to put a few steps between them. ‘I raised Anna! How do you think that’s even comparable?’

‘I simply don’t want you to live in uncertainty for the rest of your life.’

‘You just don’t know your daughter,’ he counters. ‘She told me she’ll come back.’

‘You know -’

‘You don’t know shit!’

He runs. His lungs and legs are strained when he gets home, his father’s home, but he doesn't stop at that. He packs his stuff (not that there’s much to put back into his backpack), jumps into his rental car, and is back in Brest before he knows what he’s doing. His return flight is next week, so he has a lot of time to kill.

In the end, he takes a trip around the country alone, going to places he both never had time for and, if he’s been there before, misses dearly. He may have forgotten what they’ve talked about, but he remembers Anna visiting him often. The images flee his mind whenever he tries to recall them, but he doesn’t think they’re talking on earth, and he always wishes that he at least remembers some of it.

A few months later, he’ll learn that his speculations are closer to the truth than he thinks. A few months later, Louis Allen will prove his father wrong.

But he doesn’t know that yet. Therefore, after collecting the cats from Hank and unpacking his luggage, he takes all of Anna’s things and puts them into a box, telling himself that it is the first step towards admitting that maybe, it’s a big fucking maybe, he will never see his sister again.

[genuflectx]

Alien/Reader {Xenith}

Length: 12,346 words

Main Themes: Aliens, fluff, consensual human pets, pet shows, micro/macro, comfort,

Other Warnings: Grief, global warming, mention of surgery, physical exam, telepathy, insects, space travel, broken family, being poor

SHOUT OUT to my beta readers! RosalieBear and Volurin!

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

If you enjoy this writing, consider joining my patreon! $5 donors get to see half of stories like these before publishing, and $10 donors see the whole thing a full month before everyone else!

1/25/2020: REPOST

There was just nothing left for you on Earth. Nothing. The last thing you felt before leaving that dirt ball was relief.

The tides had risen significantly, draining into unprepared cities and tourist destinations. Corporations had seen it coming but had pockets too fat to ever consider a change. The little people wanted change; cried for it. There was simply no one around to listen. You could no longer stand to see your home planet dying in front of you. You’d already lost a pen-pal to the flood waters of a grand hurricane, inspired by the boiling sea.

The city you grew up in became more violent as you aged. You tried not to come out of your shoddy apartment if you could, wanting to avoid the risk of becoming the center of the next vigil. It wasn’t the peoples’ fault, widespread economic inequality plunged more and more innocents into unavoidable poverty. Even you saw some of that pain when one year, you were forced to live off of noodles, rice, and beans, courtesy of a broken limb. Medical bills weren’t cheap in your country.

But the worst of it wasn’t the failing climate or the civil unrest. It was the sheer loneliness. Your family was scattered; decades were punctuated by uneasy gatherings that just reiterated why it was you only met once every ten fucking years. Good god, even the aunt who was supposedly the nice one gave you the migraine of the century. And your parents? They’d broken your heart.

You’d had a generally good relationship with your mother and father, even if they always felt the need to fight against your every life decision. Your mother had contracted an avoidable ailment, believing only in alternative medicines, and passed away. Your father, unable to cope, spiraled into an understandable depression, and hadn’t been the same since. He did not believe in psychology or medications taken for mental health, much like your mother. And there was nothing you could do to change that. Years after your mother’s passing, you became distant from your father.

So there really was nothing for you left on Earth. Nothing but worsening weather, crushed rebellions, and your ever silent pay-as-you-go phone. But the Xenith homeworld, beaming with white light? It would be a clean slate. A new life.

It was nearly a decade ago that the Xenith had made first contact. They were easy going, monstrously big creatures, that became overly excited when they’d met their first human. They had no intention of meddling in human politics. No no, Earth was much too messy. But they thought the humans themselves were so interesting, that at the first world-wide conference with Earth’s leaders, they asked humanity to ship people to their planet as soon as possible. The world leaders had naturally been baffled. ‘Ship’ humans like a product? They did not agree. The Xenith had been disappointed but understood.

But, after many years of discussion, of voting, of drawing contracts, a few countries were finally on board. And it was all free. The Xenith provided everything needed to pay for transport. They even trained humans for and oversaw the surgeries that were necessary for humanity to survive in their atmosphere and gravity.

So, after having robotic organs implanted directly into your body, going through a long recovery process, and packing a few small bags, you were shepherded onto a spacecraft and given a room. You boarded without even looking back. Not even a text goodbye to your family. You were certain they would never even notice you were out of state, let alone off planet.

The journey wasn’t so terrible, if you were honest with yourself. Most of the staff were human, save for a single Xenith translator. But being near that one Xenith was simply… astounding. You got the feeling you would never lose the awe you had upon being in the same room as one, let alone if you were ever in the presence of a whole crowd.

It was true that they were giants. When knuckle-walking on all fours, they must have been at least fifteen to twenty feet tall. When standing bipedal, even taller. Their pads were soft, black to dark-blue, and stretched across ninety percent of their four thick fingers and beyond the knuckles. Then, their feet had three round toes with equally as thick padding on the soles.

Their bodies were smooth and rubbery, with semi-glittery skin, as if partially transparent. Skin colors ranged from pale blues, pinks, yellows, and grays, to the rare dark gray. They had four slits in their lower chest from which they breathed from, and instead of hair around the edges, there was a lace like material to protect the delicate flesh within. Tails were usually cropped, but if not cropped at birth then they would grow long and stiff. Their pelvic bone was theropod-like. It made them sit funny.

Despite their cold outward appearance and inability to express as widely as a human, they donned their bodies in beautiful clothes. The translator themself wore bright, pumpkin-orange fabrics over their body, which was embroidered with dark red thread. Their clothes were not tight fitting. Rather, they made one reminiscent of blankets thrown over horses during winter. Perhaps they even looked like capes, especially when they stood on their back feet.

Xenith were just amazing. You could hardly believe one of those beasts was supposedly going to adopt you. You couldn’t imagine how life with one would play out.

While the trip was very accommodating, and the watchful presence of the translator kept everyone up to date, the food had been a down side. Apparently supplying enough goodies for the re-locating humans had been too expensive after all those surgeries. Only the ship staff got the real stuff. Everyone else got flavored paste in pouches. The alien promised better grub upon arrival, as the government run ‘companion shops’ were very eager to receive a new shipment of humans.

“Thhhey’re the new favorittte,” the translator had bellowed with their strange, five-pronged tongue. “humansss…. are so cute! You will be treated well.”

You had a lot of thinking to do while the craft took its two month journey into the stars. This was considered a 'job’ or 'volunteer work’ by the humans who arranged the set up. But to the Xenith, it was much more. It made you wonder exactly what the nature of being a 'companion’ was. Before deciding to leave, you had done a little reading, but only enough to know that you were eligible and able to leave as soon as possible. The rest of the information on what the job entailed would come to you through the translator.

Xenith rarely spoke aloud, and when they did it was slow and booming with a lisp. Otherwise, communication lay in their skilled telepathic abilities. Their satellite dish heads and six wriggly antenna aided their inward conversation, but did not translate well with lesser species, including humans. It was very difficult for them to learn human languages. Luckily, the translator had become an expert over the year.

“When you arrive,” said the alien, their tongue pronouncing 'v’ as 'fph,’ “you will come to be placcced into public viewing roomsss in designated adoption locations. Many will be waittting. Many will want you.”

Someone in the back of the orientation room asked “So, this is like an apprenticeship, right?”

That had confused the Xenith. They blinked and took a brief moment to think, the skinny antennae on their flat head fidgeting. Eventually their brain pulled up the translation, and they perked up. “No, this is not ssservitude. You learn no trade. But if any harm comesss to you, you will be removed. Not that harm comesss your way. We cannot think to hurt our companion.”

“And we can leave whenever we want? If we don’t like it? I read that we could!” asked someone else skeptically.

They nodded. “Whenever you would like. But… you would break your master'sss heart, as you term the phrase,”

The more you learned about the species during your transport, the more you realized what the translator had said was pretty literal. Humanity liked to imagine itself as a quick-to-pack-bond species, but the Xenith had them beat. Their whole psychology was based so heavily around emotional bonding that when a pet passed away, it nearly killed them. For their companion to dislike them so much that they would leave willingly, it meant absolute heart break to the Xenith. You wouldn’t doubt that organ failure due to the strain of separation was possible too, but that was only a guess.

It was all as the translator had said. Upon arrival the humans were relocated to sprawling government facilities that housed creatures looking to be adopted. Both sentient and non-sentient species were presented. You were placed into a rather roomy, glass-walled space at the front of the building. Two other humans lived with you, and through the right-sided wall, you could see another group of three inside of their own spacious glass room. It truly reminded you of a combination pet shop and apartment complex, if not for the hovering aliens constantly peeping over the glass.

A caretaker, who did not speak any human languages, made sure all was well three times a day. Hot food and heavily filtered water were always available. The three of you had your own rooms with human beds, which the Xenith cleaned once a day.

You’d never had a maid before. It gave you a vague sense of guilt that you weren’t cleaning the room yourself, but the caretaker did not seem to mind. If anything, they acted as if they had the most wondrous job on the planet; humming aloud and talking cheerfully to the pets despite language barriers.

Over the course of three days your bunk mates had been adopted. You grew sad and alone, wondering why it was you that had yet to be chosen. Humans were supposed to be the new favorites, right? There were certainly a great number of Xenith who still visited your cage, but after they spoke with the caretaker, they left to view other options.

What was so wrong with you? Was it something the caretaker said that scared everyone away? Many a night was spent at the edge of your tidy little bed, lost in thought. Anxiety plagued your heart. Maybe this was a mistake.

At the very least, there was a particular Xenith that visited you once a day. You wanted to believe that they were interested in having you, but worry got the best of your troubled mind. For all you knew, they just pitied you; glancing down into the glass thinking how it was so sad no one actually wanted to take you home. You sighed.

This alien had four fleshy horn-like appendages on their satellite dish head, in which the top-most left horn was shorter, as if by past injury. A deep dark red cloak was tied over their back, which fluttered and swayed as they padded on their knuckles. The reds, accented by golds, contrasted the pale, desaturated blue of their silvery skin. They also had a cropped tail, and whenever they greeted the caretaker, their tail stub and six pink antennae would wiggle.

You hoped with all your heart that they were thinking about picking you. You couldn’t take the loneliness any longer. That was the main reason why you left Earth, after all. Still, the nagging fear that you would not be wanted, not even by the supposedly pack bonding Xenith, instilled a deeply rooted misery in your twisting guts.

Another despairing week passed by. In the morning, that particular red-robed Xenith came to your display for the dozenth time. The caretaker came with them, and they were both glancing down at you and across to one another silently. You squinted, wondering what the pale giants were telecommuting about.

“(And all is settled? The shipment is now here? It must be perfect.)”

The inner eye lids of the caretaker’s eyes blinked slowly. “(Correct, Sientia. The import of human belongings has docked. Expect delivery today.)”

Sientia was delighted, their upper most and longest antenna coiling together with excitement. They gently lifted and pressed the pads of their knuckles to the ground, as if prancing in place. Now that the secondary ships containing Earth goods were finally arriving, caring for human pets would be a lot easier. There had to be good beds, good bathrooms, good food and clothes. So, tomorrow, Sientia would come back and remove you from the lonely communal homes.

Sientia, some short time before, had reached the end of their mourning period. As a Xenith, companionship was the main driving force of their life. So when their previous pet passed away of old age, they fell into a deep, sorrowful grief, and decided if they survived mourning, the next one must have a longer life span. It just so happened that the long-lived alien species, Homo sapiens, were finally agreeing to put their people into the Xenith pet program.

So, Sientia had given away some of their extra crop in order to secure their pick of the next human pet shipment. Each craft carried fifty at a time, so demand was very high, especially being that it was first come first serve with pets. And on the first day of your shipment’s arrival, Sientia had chosen you. You were the perfect shape, and with the despairing history listed in your files, Sientia knew you had to be the one. How could they choose any other human to be their companion? They would give you a happy life.

Both of the giants began to stare down at you, and you stared back. The visitor lifted back their lips (or what barely constituted as lips) and bore their flat teeth in what you assumed was meant to be a smile. Xenith facial expressions were rather empty, since they spoke telepathically. This one was acting on purpose. They were hoping to elicit comfort from you. Instead, something about the attention made you embarrassed and you looked back down.

The next day the funny blue-tinted alien arrived to take you home. They were accompanied by the caretaker, who was in very good spirits. Sientia splayed out their huge palm inside the glass, awaiting your reaction. Instantly, the caretaker jolted.

“(You may scare the thing away with such forward action! It is typical to allow me to place the pet into a container for relocation. If they bite you or become injured, I am not liable.)”

Sientia barely flinched at the warning, instead focusing on you. It was as if they had not heard the caretaker at all. “(Come, come. I am taking you home!)”

When Sientia 'spoke,’ you heard nothing. Rather, you felt the strangest tickle in your brain that traveled down your spine, and you got the sense that they were asking for your attention.

Glancing slowly from the hand to the strange salamander face above you, you suddenly realized you were being adopted. Relief washed over you and, with a nervous smile, you climbed on.

You flailed and got to your knees when the hand moved. Gravity pressed down on you gently as Sientia lifted you up, up, up out of the glass apartment and into the air. They stopped you close to their face, where you could look deeply into their six pink neon eyes.

“…H-hi,” you peeped, feeling as vulnerable as a bare baby.

“(Look, they are brave! I will carry them,)” Sientia imparted happily to the caretaker.

“(Very well. Allow them to collect their belongings, then you may leave. Please contact us if you require additional supplies. And you,)” The caretaker gestured towards you with their long antennae. “(You must be good to Sientia. Their body is weak from mourning.)”

Of course, you heard nothing.

So you gathered your things and went home with them in the most horrifying way possible; over twenty feet in the air. They trod home on two feet. The world moved passed you in a blur of light and color, and when Sientia noticed you shaking, they placed their other hand over you to create a comfortable bubble of safety. You wrapped your arms around one of their thick fingers so you could feel some sense of security.

Eventually you arrived. Before letting you down, they moved into a specific room and closed the door behind them. It was best to let pets grow used to their new environment slowly. One room would do for now.

“(There you are,)” they comforted. They placed you and your suitcase at the mouth of a house-sized 'cage,’ which rested upon a high surface. “(Nice and easy.)”

The comforting words fell upon deaf ears. You stood there shaking, still feeling adrenaline pumping in your veins. You barely shifted to glance back at the uncomfortably square human-sized door.

Sientia stared at you. When you only moved to cross your arms, they snorted from the nostrils of their chest and went away to a device embedded in the wall. They touched the screen. A couple of choice pages were pulled up, to which they read greedily from. Images were downloaded.

They glanced back at you. Back to the screen. Back at you. Then they lumbered over and sat down nearby.

“(I see I have made a mistake, your expression seems to be 'unhappy,’ or 'distant.’ You are a brave human. But. I may have been irresponsible to carry you before you were ready. I got, excited.)”

They studied your face for a while longer, their expression hard to read. Xenith had a perma-smile, much like dolphins. Sometimes it was unnerving to look at.

You looked away, feeling awkward to be stared at silently. Soon you began to glance around the gigantic room, noticing the state of your surroundings. Besides Sientia’s bed (what looked like a pile of cloth in a long box), a computer poking out of the wall, and the smooth counter top that your cage sat upon, the room was eerily empty. The walls were a pale, metallic pink, and a heavy light emulated the sun overhead. No windows.

Sientia huffed. They decided they would attempt to communicate better. They didn’t know your language, but they had learned a few words and phrases in preparation for your arrival. They’d probably butcher them, but hopefully you would understand. Earth languages did not come easily with their sticky, five pronged tongue.

“(Perhaps I should have began with) Hello, I am called Sssientia.”

You started frightfully. You didn’t think this one could talk!

“Could you speak the whole time? Um, I’m [Y/N]. Your name is… pretty. Ssssen-ccchia,” you enunciated. It sounded more harsh from your toothy mouth, though.

They perked up, pleased. Finally, your attention was back upon them. Now you both knew each other’s names. Not a bad start!

“Hungry?” asked the giant, trying to speak softly so as not to frighten you.

You smiled shyly. That spooky ride to your new home had made you forget you hadn’t had breakfast. “Yes, a little.” you replied.

Sientia knew 'yes.’ They made a low, throaty sound and stood up on all fours, then got to their two feet. You were left alone in the empty room as the alien fetched something to eat. Curiosity over came you; what would they bring back? The adoption facility had given you baked chicken, fresh corn-on-the-cob, and ripe fruits like peaches and pears. Would your new owner present the same? Your belly rumbled.

They returned, hopeful you would like the foods they were given from the companion facility. Sientia plopped down carefully and lowered their palm. Inside was a cucumber, a hunk of warm, uncut bread, and a fat chicken leg. The meal looked miniscule in their oversized grasp.

“Strange combination,” you mumbled with a smirk, accepting the food. There was no plate, so you just nibbled straight from their hand.

Sientia’s antennae wiggled and curled with joy. They watched their little pet eat from their palm; a new sense of adoration and comfort washing over them. They had a good feeling about you, even if they still hurt from their previous loss.

They’d been so terribly sad when their previous pet had passed. Sientia had known that it was coming. That species only lived about twenty-five years, which for a human, was fifteen Earth years. But it was still a shock when they’d woken to find their beloved friend gone. Even while watching you eat, they felt a small tang of pain. The mourning period was over, but the sadness of memory never really left.

As you crunched straight into the juicy cucumber, Sientia crunched down on something too. You stared up, head cocking in confusion. When Sientia noticed, they slowly lowered the partially eaten food to your level for you to get a good look-see.

You stepped back. “Ah! That’s a HUGE bug!”

The half-eaten insect-like fauna was removed from your space as soon as Sientia realized it scared you. Seemed like a lot about the Xenith world frighten a human, but they hoped you would come to enjoy it in time.

“(It is tasty, I raise them. Perhaps I will show you the farm someday. But staying very close. You are a good snack for large livestock, like this one,)” they gestured by lifting the insect in hand, then biting off another gooey chunk.

You shuddered and averted your eyes. Gross. How could you forget? Xenith were well known on Earth as a people who consumed 'gargantuan pests.’ Great measures were taken to bar them from entering livestock onto Earth when they visited. Dead ones only. They’d surely cause a massive plague if not kept well under watch. Yet, here on the Xenith home planet, they were farmed far and wide as a main source of food.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

The rest of the day was spent inside that one room, exploring. That is to say, exploring what little there was to actually explore. Your cage was like a little house: a cozy bedroom with a king-sized bed, a spacious bathroom (plumbing and all), a small library with books in many languages, and a more open area for eating.

The cage did not have a ceiling, except for the bathroom. One of the walls of your bedroom was glass, while the dining room was all glass. By contrast, both the library and the bathroom were made of painted wooden walls.

Below the cage there was empty space, empty space, empty space. Perhaps for Sientia this was a small room, but to a human it was a beaming cathedral. You felt like a ladybug when you tottered about the bottom edges of Sientia’s thickly blanketed bed. Sientia kept a close eye on you while you sniffed around. They did not want to step on you.

The day was long on this planet. A cycle was thirty-two Earth hours. You ended up taking a five hour 'nap’ in the mid-day. Had a second meal. Then about three hours after that, Sientia gently put you back to bed and dimmed the room’s light.

After a very, very long sleep, you were awoken as Sientia stirred about the house. You rose drowsily. Good god, you hoped a few months on that schedule would see you adjusting to it well. Your circadian rhythm, so far, was displeased. Days too long, nights too long. But you’d live.

As you slipped an old T-shirt over your head, Sientia appeared, looking in above you. They watched you a bit, but you were reluctant to do anything while feeling like a walking television.

“Uh, hi,” you waved awkwardly.

“Hi,” Sientia repeated. They did not know many words. “Hungry?”

Food was already set out for you in the dining area. You had a breakfast of scrambled eggs (a little rubbery), pancakes (with maple embedded), and a sliced apple (salted). When you were full, Sientia slid one of the glass walls out of place. You didn’t know those were removable!

A hand was laid down. “[Y/N], come, (I am going to get you many nice things to wear.)”

You grimaced. You didn’t want to be carried around like that again just yet. “I would rather not.”

Sientia’s antennae moved subtly, thinking, then they understood the issue. The hand came back up as they puffed out their chest. Sientia pointed to a harness. Right above their four nostrils was a backpack like carrier, which was strapped around their shoulders. It reminded you of a baby wrap or purse, but much, much larger. It even had a few pouches in front for accessories, such as food or toys.

“You had one of those? Why did you carry me in your hand yesterday!” It was more scolding than it was a question.

Sientia bellowed a response, but you got the feeling that it was as meaningful as a human meowing back at a cat.

“…Alright, okay. Let’s just do this then.”

So they cheerfully settled you into the pocket on their chest. It was deep enough that you would not have to see the world, if you choose not to climb up and look.

You spent the ride curled up close to the side of the pouch that Sientia’s skin touched on the other side. You thought you could hear a heartbeat from there, but that was surely impossible. Xenith didn’t have hearts. At least, not in the human sense. Still, there was the steady pulse of their body, thumping gently and keeping you calm. And since you were so close to their nostrils, hot air constantly warmed the pouch. You wondered if this was how a lap dog felt while being carried in a purse. It was nice. You nearly forgot that you were being carried far from the ground.

Finally, Sientia came to their destination. It was a little pet boutique that sold many different types of imported clothes, specializing in sentient species. It had recently begun to acquire shipments of imported human goods.

Sientia had been devastated to see what little you had brought with you, and was determined to put you in something better. You may have left your new home wearing a hole-worn T-shirt, but you would return wearing lavish threads.

“(Hello, what species do you shop for?)” asked the retailer, who was dressed in extravagant magenta fabrics.

You poked your head out, nervous eyes wandering around.

“(Eh! You care for a human! So cute! Yes, yes, we have many clothes for humans. Please, let them down to browse, and we may write up a payment plan.)”

Sientia helped you to the floor and the retailer pointed them towards the human section. It looked small, but it was truly as expansive as a mega-chain on Earth.

“Y/N,” Sientia gestured towards the clothes and gave you a nudge.

You hadn’t been paying much attention and stumbled, catching your balance by grasping onto a clothes rack. Upon realizing the rack was proportionate to your size, you gawked. Your wide, surprised eyes drank in the sight; rows upon rows of imported human goods. Dresses, jackets, shorts, coats, an extensive section of underwear. You looked back at Sientia with awe.

“Are you actually going to buy me clothes?” you peeped, barely audible enough for the pale giant.

When they gestured towards the rows again, you turned and began to tear through the selection.

You tried on clothes for an Earth hour. When you’d come out from the (far too big) stalls to show Sientia, they were always overjoyed with how stunning you looked. It didn’t seem to matter what you picked out, it simply pleased them that you were having so much fun.

At the checkout line, you had garment after garment piled up in your arms. You couldn’t remember the last time your face had hurt from smiling this long. Sientia carefully petted your head with a round finger tip before taking the clothes and checking out. You’d gotten all that you’d wanted, and instead of being chided, your master was brimming with elation. No one had ever been so glad to throw their money away on you. Not even your parents. You tried to massage your cheeks to relax them while the retailer and Sientia finished up their business.

Back home, you folded and hung your new threads up neatly. Then you strutted about bearing a fancy faux fur coat and patterned leggings. You even had new name brand shoes. None of it matched, but it was more than you’d ever had. To show off like a proud peacock made you blush, but Sientia purred and grumbled happily, finding you quite humorous. You couldn’t help but enjoy their attention after such a nice outing together.

They brought their head down to the table. “(You seem so happy and look so good! I hope I’m doing well by you, so that you may want to stay with me.)”

You came near. Avoiding their watchful gaze, you nervously lifted a hand and patted their snout, between the smaller eyes. “Thank you for all of this, really. I was worried about being here, but I think… maybe you have a good heart. Or,” you laughed “maybe you just like to spend extravagant amounts of money to show off? Well.. I’m grateful.”

They audibly chirped at you in reply, nuzzling the hand carefully with affection.

A few days went by uneventfully. Then one day, while you were being allowed to explore the (much larger) main chamber, a loud beep alerted Sientia to visitors.

They opened the door. “(Antha, you’re here! Welcome! It’s been very long, please come and have a drink. Where is your- eh! Your human is on your head! Doesn’t that hurt?)”

The dark gray Xenith bumped a padded fist with Sientia in greeting, then chuckled out loud. They came inside as they spoke. “(Only a little, it tickles now mostly. We are close, so I am not annoyed! Now, where is yours that you tell me so much about? I’ve been eager for ours to meet. It is good for humans to have a friend. They’re social beings.”)

You carefully stepped under a table, watching the guest enter. Upon the other’s dark, wide set head, a human stood and clung to antennae with both of their hands. It frightened you even to look at. Good god, that was high. They could slip at any moment and plummet to their death. You had to look away so it didn’t make you queasy.

“Come,” called Sientia as the two Xenith laid on blankets around the shallow table.

So you came out and were placed upon the surface, which was covered with a thin, patterned cloth. Likewise, the guest brought down their companion. Instead of going to greet one another, you both remained close to the side your master lay at. But then Antha spoke an alien language out loud, and their human came to you.

“Hey. Antha thinks I need to talk to someone of my own species I guess. So uh,” he stuck out his hand awkwardly.

What was this, a business meeting? You hesitantly accepted the shake. This man was possibly ten years older than you and was wearing casual, comfortable clothes. He spoke with a slight accent, which you were unfamiliar with. But the most interesting feature was that when Antha spoke to him again, he actually turned and understood.

“So like… you can understand them?”

The man turned back to you. “Uh, not really,” he pointed at a device in his ear. “Antha just got us digital translators. I mean, some of the words don’t translate very well, and there’s some lag, but it’s better than nothing. I think my master is going to give yours one! Say, how long have you been a pet?”

While you and the other chatted idly, Sientia and Antha caught up.

“(So… you’ve been feeling better?)” Antha asked quietly in Sientia’s head.

Sientia’s eyes became downcast. “(I… suppose so. It’s hard to adjust to something new after being with someone for so long. It’s going to take a while.)”

Antha lowered their head in understanding.

“(It still hurts. As I rest, my body aches,)” their six antennae moved sluggishly and drooped.

Antha attempted to comfort. “(I am here. And so is- what do you call your companion? They will sooth your ache too.)”

“([Y/N], a good name. I believe they are feeling well about their new home. The cage is proportioned correctly, and they have eaten nearly everything I’ve given them. We do not communicate well, because we cannot understand one another, but I feel that they are generally happy so far.)”

Antha’s head bobbed, remembering they’d come for a reason. “(Th, yes! Here, accept this gift!)” they then dug something out of the pouch around their chest. There was a strange object, meant to be clipped onto one of the large antennas. Then, beside it, a tinier object that looked like a grain of sand in the palm of a Xenith.

“(Gift?)”

“(See that I speak to my human so easily? This is a translator! My friend, you’ve been through such grief, you deserve something nice. Please accept it.) Clarence dear, help [Y/N] with the device.”

The man stopped talking and perked up at his name. He nodded, and took the small piece when it was lowered to him. He helped you do basic set up while Antha fit the bigger piece onto Sientia. It took about ten minutes to get everything all settled, but luckily, it wasn’t too difficult.

“Can you hear me?” asked your master nervously.

You gasped then smiled. Amazing! “Yes! Yes, I understand perfectly! This is so cool!”

Clarence returned to the side of Antha and sat in their hand, satisfied.

“It works well,” spoke Antha, rubbing their thumb gently over their pet’s back.

“Thank you Antha! Th- [Y/N], are you happy?”

Emotions were mingling and mixing intensely inside of you. So when Sientia suddenly popped that question, you had to take a moment to process it. That was only the third question Sientia had asked you since meeting, and it was such a selfless one. You blushed.

“I-I-I mean-” you stammered. “-this world is… different. But the air is clean and the people are kind, so.. yeah. I’m pretty happy,” you spilled. “Anything beats Earth.”

You glanced back at Clarence and Antha. Clarence was rubbing his face against Antha’s fingers affectionately like a cat. Your blush darkened and you snapped back to Sientia, who titled their head.

“Are you happy, Sientia?” you peeped. You wanted to add 'are you happy with ME?’ but did not.

“…Yes, see?” they put on a humanoid smile, teeth and all, like they had done before adopting you. But there was a thin layer of sadness under that reply.

You were quiet, but eventually smiled back. You hoped Sientia couldn’t understand the way your brows furrowed in concern.

After a short, awkward silence, Antha huffed and spoke up. “Sientia, [Y/N], have you considered competing yet?”

You looked back and forth between the two. “Competing?”

“(NO,)” Sientia lowered their head and looked away. “(Antha… you know that was Inridd'h and I’s favorite thing.)”

“(Yes, I’m sorry,)” they apologized, before lifting a grabby Clarence up onto their head. “(But I just… I also know how much it meant to you. To be able to train and spend so much time with your companion, and to show the crowd how much you trusted one another.”)

It seemed the Xenith were ignoring you. You sighed and sat down, legs crossed.

Sientia looked back up at Antha, their sad pink and cyan eyes like doe. They watched Clarence balance and keep a careful hold on Antha’s antennae. Eventually he made his way to the back of Antha’s head where their crest was, and settled there when Antha tilted their head forward. No sense of fear. Clarence knew Antha would not allow him to fall. Then, Sientia shifted to watch you. You sat so patiently, waiting for attention. Guilt struck the blue Xenith.

“[Y/N],” they called softly. “Would you like to compete?”

You straightened up. “Well, that probably depends on what you two mean by competing. Like… sports?”

Antha rumbled. “Perhaps not. It’s more similar to a, ehm, a 'dog show?'”

They didn’t sound too convinced of their own comparison. You scratched your head and leaned back on your hands. “So like, being dressed up and paraded around an arena? Or is it more like agility, where dogs run through tubes and go up ramps?”

Both of the aliens looked confused. It seemed they had difficulty explaining. Antha only had vague knowledge of how human dog shows worked, and Sientia was totally unaware of them. However, Clarence had been in a few small scale shows.

“It’s kind of a dog show plus beauty pageant!” he yelled from Antha’s head. Antha flinched in return, so Clarence apologized quietly for yelling so close to their sensitive antennae.

Sientia placed their head onto the table, where eye contact was easier. They looked like they were awaiting a response.

You stood and crossed your arms uncomfortably. A sense of dread sat in your guts. You thought about the nice new clothes you’d been given, and tried to imagine yourself walking down a stage all fluffed up. All your brain could conjure was the image of a crowd of Xenith and strange, beautiful alien creatures, wondering why it was you were so… ugly. Why were your clothes like that? Why walk that way? You imagined what they’d say.

'Oh, you know humanity is simply second to the slug peoples of planet Dirtemous. That’s why they all look and act so hilarious!’

Then the beautiful alien’s equally beautiful friend would laugh and reply. 'Yes, and what sort of awful thing would ever want to claim THAT particular human as a pet? I’d rather have the slug! Ho-ho-ho!’

You took a breath. What a stupid imagination you had. But even such an exaggerated, outlandish thought had some sort of truth in it. You were anxious. Not only were you worried about being scrutinized by strangers, you were also worried that you would embarrass your master. Sientia was a kind, lonely thing. They didn’t need you making things worse. You were just making yourself sadder and sadder, and the look in Sientia’s eyes did not help.

“You don’t have to agree, my pet,” they eventually added.

With one last glance at Clarence and Antha, you decided. You wanted to trust Sientia like that. You wanted to make them happy. So, you would try.

“Yes. I don’t think I’ll be very good at it, or win anything, but… yes. I’ll compete,” you shrugged.

There was both pain and joy inside of Sientia. The notion that they were replacing a chunk of their heart that was once filled with their old pet devastated them. But they also knew the only way to recover was to keep going; to move forward. Inridd'h would not have wanted them to keep falling asleep at night aching for relief. Inridd'h did not smile upon them when they shut themself away.

Sientia, too, would try.

An overwhelming desire for comfort overtook Sientia, and they scooted their flat head forward to nuzzle you. It knocked you back a bit to have their whole head thrust up against your body, but you steadied and petted their head.

“Are you okay?” you asked, unaware of why it was they seemed so upset.

Antha stood up slowly. “It is time we head back home. Please keep in contact, Sientia. I care. We will want to come to your competition! Goodbye friends.”

“(Wait, you never had anything to drink!)”

But Antha and Clarence had already gotten to the door and let themselves out.

You hadn’t been sure what training for an alien competition would entail.

Apparently, you would be physically looked over to determine if you had good breeding. Like a dog. You didn’t look forward to that part very much, considering you were sentient and not some space lemur that could just be treated like decoration. This segment would also note your outfit. Sientia had said that this part of the competition would be worth less points than the rest of the competition.

Then, much like a pageant, you would show off your talents. This forced you to actually have to sit down one night and determine what the hell your talents even were. Running away from home, maybe? You got flashbacks from the horrific talent show in second grade. You did not want a repeat of that.

“I don’t think I really have any talents,” you admitted to your master as you sat comfortably in their bed.

Sientia laid down beside you, poking at a device in their hands. You supposed the device was much like a cell phone on Earth, but made for the Xeniths’ large, clumsy fingers. They were pulling up videos of humans performing various tasks, hoping to find a talent to suggest.

“Cooking?” they asked.

“I can cook packaged ramen. Maybe bake a potato. So no.”

“Horse riding? We do not have a 'horse,’ but they can provide something similar.”

You plopped over on your back, grimacing. “God, no.”

“Th! Humans are adequate at singing!”

“Um… let’s not even go there.”

With every suggestion your heart sank further and further. You should have never agreed. With a sigh you turned over onto your side, hoping to keep Sientia from seeing the way your eyes watered. You wiped at the sting.

“Sientia, really, I don’t think I can win this. So maybe I should give up before we get too deep.”

They sat up on their elbows, setting the device down. “I detect sadness in your voice. Did you change your mind?”

“I just don’t want to get your hopes up.”

The room was quiet a moment. Then the giant turned on their side and gently rubbed their finger along your back, hoping to ease the pain in your words. The sensation was… actually very nice.

“Please, do not be sad [Y/N]! You don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. The competition is simply an act, performed for the love of it, and perhaps sometimes for the prize! I don’t believe any companion’s master has been broken by a loss. I could not be disappointed if we lost. So, please feel better.”

You still had a heavy heart, but the reassurance that this was not anything serious helped you feel a bit easier. Knowing that Sientia already knew you could lose and did not care cheered you up even more.

“R-really?” you squeaked, turning onto your back once again.

They nodded, swiping their finger across your torso and belly as if to continue comforting.

You squeaked and grabbed the finger, face red. “That tickles!”

Sientia stopped and removed the appendage. “Eh! Sorry!” they looked away. “My… previous companion enjoyed belly rubs.”

Now it was Sientia who sounded sad.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

They thought, antennae moving slow as if fidgeting. Eventually they huffed out hot air and answered.

“They were bigger than you. Non-sentient. Covered in rough, damp skin. Very jumpy and loud, and they passed away in their favorite spot in the glass house. We… used to compete a lot. And I miss them,” Sientia seemed to sink into the blankets. “That is all I would like to say for now. I’m still hurting.”

You had to wipe at your eyes again. Memories of your mother played through your tumultuous brain, reminding you how grief could invade one’s life so fully. Even when your family had problems, you never could stifle or hide the hurt when she passed. After gaining courage, you stood and moved to curl up against Sientia’s skin.

The alien was surprised at the contact. They glanced down and felt their affection surge for you, the finger coming to your back again.

“You’re so much softer than Inridd'h. So much different.”

You curled against yourself tighter and nuzzled your forehead against their skin. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it is good that you’re different. I’m different than I once was, too. Please never be sorry for being yourself, my pet.”

After a minute or two of easy silence, they added. “Do you still want to compete, or have your changed your mind?”

Without hesitation, you replied. “I still want to do it. Maybe I can’t think of a talent off the top of my head, but… I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Together.”

In the end, you decided on painting. According to Sientia, Xenith were most fond of abstract art. That was something you could do. Though not formally trained, you’d painted a couple of shoddy pieces in the past that your parents had enjoyed. One had even been printed as a holiday greetings card, much to your embarrassment. But unlike the thickly globbed on acrylics of family pets and favored cartoon characters, you’d be working with thin watercolors to make something representational and abstract.

So you practiced and practiced. Sientia had even gotten you a nice new desk to sit and paint at. You’d use thin sheets of paper to work with, though the Xenith’s idea of “thin paper” was still rather thick.

It was actually extremely therapeutic to just focus on shapes and color. You’d find yourself trying to represent the objects in your room without making it obvious what they were. Making an abstract piece representational was a feat and required a great deal of thought. You hoped by the time the competition started, you’d be able to stand in front of the crowd and paint something they would enjoy.

Soon, you moved onto painting on a sheet of paper tacked to a wooden board, which was held up by a portable easel. You’d stand in front of the blank, semi-yellowed sheet, and just think. A pink spot there. An orange square there. A deep, deep cobalt wave streaked vertically through the piece. It was missing something. You watered down some yellow then made a generously thick, wiggly-lined circle around the square. Done.

“How comes practice?”

You were startled and snapped your head up. How long had Sientia been watching? You stilled your heart and smiled up at them. “I actually think my work isn’t half bad!”

“Hm,” The giant lowered their head closer to your spot on the counter top. “What is it?”

You stepped back. “Well, what do you think it is?”

This response pleased Sientia. They tilted their head this way and that, before deciding. “I don’t recognize the shape. This yellow, it is a good color. I am no artist, but I also enjoy-” they gestured to the blue. “-this squiggle, here.”

You placed your hands on your hips, feeling all fuzzy from the praise. “It’s a lamp. One I had in my apartment, way back on Earth. It was pretty ugly, but my parents had given it to me as a housewarming gift.”

Sientia lifted their looming head back up. “I didn’t know humans needed heat lamps. Should I ask one be imported?”

You laughed heartily, before taking a rest and explaining that no, you had not referred to a heat lamp.

The time to compete finally came. Sientia picked out a nice outfit for you to wear, settled you into the pouch, then headed out eagerly.

You knew you’d arrived when it became terribly noisy. Most of the Xenith remained in their heads, however other alien species that resided on the planet were chattering away.

You poked your head out of the pouch to watch where you were being taken. You were inside of an arena, which was surprisingly similar to arenas on Earth. The stands were chock-full. It was hard to distinguish what sort of other aliens were among the bleachers. All you could make out was a mix of pale Xenith, and various shades of lavender and baby’s breath blue.

The two of you checked in and were escorted to the first area. This space was within the bleachers. Instead of having the audience surrounding you, you were simply on camera for the first half of the contest. Later you would be taken back into the thick of it.

Sientia placed you carefully onto a pedestal as drones buzzed around everyone. They kept all companions at around Xenith chest level, as they stood on twos. Almost immediately you were surrounded by several of the other Xenith contestants, who were delighted to see a human.

A silvery Xenith focused on Sientia. “(You have a human?)”

“(Aw, might I hold them?)” asked a yellowish Xenith.

The third spoke your language. “Hello!”

Sientia huffed awkwardly and kept close. They seemed abashed.

“(Please don’t touch! This is [Y/N]. It’s their first competition, so do not frighten my dear companion!) [Y/N], are you well?”

You backed up and bumped into the hand of the yellow-tinted Xenith. With a start you leaped and stumbled back over to the side Sientia was closest to. “It’s just… wow. A lot of attention.”

“(Apologies. I attempted to adopt a human, but they continually were out. How did you receive this one?)” questioned the silver alien.

Sientia fidgeted. “(I farm, so I simply gave excess crop away early. This secured a spot to choose a human.)”

The yellow Xenith kept staring at you longingly. “(Ehmmm… I wanted one, too. You think ahead. Very smart.)”

Sientia wanted to get rid of them. “(I believe the judging is starting.)”

So the others ended up scurrying back to their own companions, but not before a couple more desirable glances were thrown down at you.

You sighed, grateful.

“It really is starting,” commented Sientia with surprise, as the judge came into the inner bleachers. “Brace yourself. The pedestal will shift.”

So. A physical and fashion check was first on the agenda. It was the part you had been dreading every day. You took a deep, calming breath.

Because so many sentient species were twelve feet and under, the judge had to be proportionate during this segment. Everyone was moved downwards, so that the small judge could come by. A drone slightly bigger than your head followed behind the no-nonsense alien, which you had no doubt was plastering all this upon the screens outside.

One by one, the contestants were- you shuttered- fondled. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad shutter, but you had butterflies in your stomach.

The judge, a seven foot tall, light blue alien that walked on the tips of its three-pronged feet, was very thorough. They would circle the contestant, watch the way they walked, judge their outfit, and then feel certain parts of the body over. Occasionally a contestant would lean in, as if dizzy, before the judge finished up, wrote something down, and then left to the next pedestal.

“Don’t be nervous,” comforted Sientia quietly, who had laid beside you. “Remember, we can forfeit at any time my pet. I will not let you stay if you change your mind.”

You smiled at them before being spooked by the sudden appearance of the judge. You hadn’t realized that the alien had been getting close.

The judge was very professional throughout most of the examination. Stoically, they watched you walk and jotted something down. Comments were mumbled in an sing-song alien tongue about your choice of outfit.

'Polka-dots, with plaid shorts?’ you imagined them saying.

Then the part that had you most nervous came. The alien felt your arms gently, slid a hand over to your chest and thumbed over the ribs. Were they counting them? They squished down where certain organs were along your body. Finally, the intrusive appendage cupped your cheek and pressed your upper lip out of the way. You instinctively bore your teeth and grimaced.

“Very good teeth. Unique human specimen,” spoke the strange alien in your language.

There was a sweet scent, like sugar, in the air. Your eyes fluttered and you found yourself relaxing. Suddenly you understood why it was some of the other contestants appeared to become dizzy. Whatever this alien was emitting smelled lovely.

The judge swiped a finger over your blunt human canines. “Always fascinated by Homo sapien teeth.”

They removed the hand and glanced over at Sientia, the air sack around their neck tinged pink. “You groom your human well,” they said in Sientia’s language.

“Thank you,” Sientia eyed the judge suspiciously.

You had no idea what they had said. The judge patted your cheek, quickly wrote a final thought down, then left. It almost made you sad to see them go. However, after a few minutes your head cleared. That was a weird experience. You straightened your back and awaited the second segment.

“Do you think I did alright?”

Sientia moved their head near. “Yes, you did wonderfully! I am certain. The judge sounded… much too pleased. Fae are simply like that, though.” They gave you an encouraging nuzzle.

You blushed and rubbed your hands over Sientia’s head. It was funny that you were supposedly the pet, yet you were the one who did most of the petting. You felt them physically purr.

After the first segment ended, contestants were directed one by one back into the main arena. The Xenith held their companions in their hand and were paraded around the edge. It was hard to keep your cool. You had to force yourself not to look down as you tried to keep balance.

This was all so overwhelming. It wasn’t nearly as loud as a stadium back on your home planet, but the quiet chatter did invade your thoughts. Being so high in the air, with all eyes and ears and words directed at you, started to make you terribly dizzy. But as you glanced over into the crowd, you found a familiar face.

“Look! It’s Antha!”

“Ehm,” hummed Sientia in response, who was finally allowed to come to a stop. “You see Antha?”

Antha wiggled their fingers. On top of their head stood Clarence, hardly more than a speck in the distance. But the little speck squirmed, and you just knew he was waving vigorously at the two of you.

Your spirits lifted again. You waved back, grinning. The support was very much needed, and Clarence’s presence reminded you of the true reason you’d decided to compete. You wanted to trust Sientia fully, as Clarence did Antha, and you wanted to make your master happy.

Sientia nodded their head in Antha’s direction. This almost made Sientia feel like they had before the mourning period; warm and fuzzy, like a healthy Xenith. They puffed up just a little more, antennae high and spread wide.

So, it was time for the talent competition to begin. You watched the flickering screens above the stadium as various individuals attempted to impress the intense, boring eyes of the judges.

There were four judges in total. One Xenith. The other three included a brawny, one-eyed biped, a large piebald covered in feathers, and the previous judge who had done the physical. They sat across the field, and hardly blinked as they jotted down notes and numbers on the performances before them.

A dark, four-armed alien with a flat face could throw a heavy metal ball across the entire field with ease. A five-foot, mousy alien could complete an agility course in under twenty seconds. A long and skinny serpent like alien could dance and twirl like a ribbon within the air. The crowd particularly liked the serpent, clicking and chattering at the graceful shapes made as she looped around.

You tried to still your heart. That was some tough competition, but you’d been practicing your art skills each and every day. You were certain you would please at least the Xenith judge. Maybe you’d win them over with your human 'cuteness,’ even if the painting didn’t elicit a major response. After all, some thought humans were endearing. If you fumbled, you’d play it off and try to look nothing short of adorable. Even if the voice in your head kept telling you that they should see you as an ugly species, that you yourself were ugly, you’d been proven wrong on multiple occasions.

Finally, it was your turn to shine.

“Are you ready?” asked Sientia quietly, with concern.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Sientia stepped further into the field, careful let you down, then removed your setup from the pouch on their chest. It was a large sheet of watercolor paper, nailed to a wooden board five feet wide and ten feet tall, which Sientia propped against their free wrist. Your act would consist of painting a certain someone while using their hand to raise and lower yourself along the canvas. A show of trust while also entertaining the crowd. A perfect act.

Two drones flew low, eyes watchful. You tied an apron on and stuffed your brushes into the front pockets. After picking up a closed container, you made meaningful eye contact with Sientia. They lifted you upon their hand, to which you opened and dumped the container down over the top of the paper. Gray tinted water dripped, soaking into the paper a quarter down.

The brushes were whipped out. Over the course of ten minutes you drove the wide tipped brushes into buckets of pre-mixed colors and swept them across the open plains. Deep cyan, made from an imported liquid watercolor, was your main shade.

You made four quick strokes, forming a ball with spikes coming from one end. One long thin strip vertical from that, though not touching. Then horizontally a fat, stocky, uneven line that was bigger at the end than tip. Two near perfect, wet cyan circles close to the bottom, both dripping towards the edges. You admired your work a second, already out of breath.

A few more blue splotches were added before you switched colors. A bright, watery pink mingled with the blues, mixing into purple in several areas. Embarrassingly, a large, unwanted splat splashed onto the paper, to which you blushed and pretended was on purpose. Then, before you knew it, you were adding the final touches in a gold leaf yellow.

Standing from a distance in Sientia’s hand, you turned your head this way and that, before giving a curt nod and deep bow.

“Tah-dah! It’s finished!”

Sientia let you down, and you were exhausted. Finishing a painting that large in just over ten minutes killed you. You popped your joints and looked hopefully over at the judges. Three of them were scribbling excitedly, while the Xenith was staring at the art. You didn’t know if that was good or bad. Eventually the giant titled their head down and gave their unknown input, too.

“You are so amazingly talented,” swooned Sientia, drawing your attention.

You smiled sheepishly, face very red. “Th-thank you. I… made it for you.”

Affectionate and surprised, Sientia wanted to cuddle you, but the two of you had to step back so the next contestant could work.

The rest of the aliens went by in a blur. You were simply too in your own head to pay hardly any attention. Over analyzing the minute body languages of the judge panel was not fun, and had you guessing- then guessing again- as to what your final score would be.

When the last out-of-breath contestant returned to their owner, the talent segment was done. All Xenith and pets were marched around the outer rim for a final lap, before returning to the inner stadium. Pets were placed back onto their pedestals to rest while the judges compiled their thoughts.

You sat and fidgeted quietly.

Sientia’s head teetered against the edge of the pedestal, cross-shaped eyes focused upon your nervous little form. “It is okay if we don’t win, my pet. Please remember. I’ve had so much fun today! It’s been a very, very, very long time since I’ve walked the circle and presented my companion before all. Do not fret so!”

That made you smile, if only a tidbit. “I know… I just can’t help but have nervous energy! If we won, that would make me sooo happy. It would make you so happy.”

The alien’s face emoted more densely than you’d ever seen before. Their eyes dilated, antennae curled, and they put on a wide, open grin. The smile was added for you, but still. Such emotion.

“I was right to choose you, [Y/N]. You are perfect.”

You nearly cried. Who in your life ever called you perfect? Not your first partner, nor your last. Most certainly not your parents or 'good’ aunt. Nobody was perfect in this world or the next, but the sheer fact someone was inspired enough to utter something so romantic made your heart flutter. You opened your mouth to even attempt a reply, but a noise chimed and echoed through the spacious corridor, flinging everyone around into silence.

A winner had been decided.

You stood and swallowed, hard.

Upon the elongated screens high, high on the metallic walls, the various aliens of the panel chatted softly. The same footage was being aired on enormous screens above the stadium, so everyone was watching in anticipation along with the contestants.

The four judge panel went through each contestant’s score briefly, citing anatomy and subjective thoughts on the talent segment. As they spoke in the local Xenith tongue, recordings of the contestants and their owners were played. You could not understand the talk at all, yet your eyes stayed glued to the video.

You saw yourself. Did your painting really look that bad on screen? 'Stay optimistic,’ you chanted to yourself inwardly. 'The Xenith like abstract art.’

You were given a number score of 68 out of 100. A sigh of relief. That wasn’t totally awful. So far, the scores ranged from 22 through 65, meaning you were somehow ahead. But there were still seven more scores to reveal.

Burning eyes stared down the screens, counting scores. 43, 50, and there it was, 71.

You lost.

Your legs were weak. You found yourself on knees, not even bothering to watch the rest of the judgment. Sientia had turned attention to you as soon as the higher score had been announced.

“Are you okay?” asked Sientia gently.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah, I guess. Disappointed. Trying not to cry, but okay.”

They paused in thought. Sientia was truly not put off by the results. If only you could hear their telepathic emotions, they could send a wave of comfort and compassion your way. Instead, they had to settle for the physical and verbal. That was fine, too.

You felt something boop your head and flinched. A quick glance up revealed that one of Sientia’s longer antennae had touched you, from where the giant was tilting their head down. It patted you, unsure, the other poking you carefully in the face. It was like a dog coming up to sniff you. Considering the antennae were the most sensitive part of any Xenith, this was perhaps not far off.

“I know you’re trying to comfort me,” you said. “and it makes me happy, but… I don’t think I’ll be totally over this for a few days.”

“When we get home, I will make you your favorite food, and we can put on one of the imported Earth medias you like so much. Will this sooth?”

You couldn’t help the tug at your lips. “Hmmm… that is… acceptable. Thank you. So, who won?”

Out of 15 contestants, you ranked number 8. That was nearly in the dead center. The winner, with a score of 100 (as all contest winners are scored 100), was the four-armed alien who’d thrown the metal ball across the field. You supposed you couldn’t feel too bad about losing to an act like that. After all, even you had been impressed by that contestant’s superior show of strength.

There may have been resentment in your heart, as if you could have somehow done better, but at least Sientia did not blink twice at the results. To be human was to be rampant with emotion, so you could not help but feel a little upset at losing your first competition. But in the end, it was Sientia’s judgment that mattered. And Sientia was overjoyed just to spend time with you doing something they loved. That was something you would simply have to learn, especially if you decided to partake in more pet shows.

The two of you were given your prize, then met up with Antha and Clarence before leaving.

Antha lifted and pressed their knuckle pads to the ground, with Clarence balancing stupendously on their head. “(The two of you looked very good on the field!)”

If a Xenith could blush, Sientia would have. Instead, their antennae twirled bashfully. “(Thank you, friend. [Y/N] did well. I am so very much proud of them.)”

“And how do you feel, companion [Y/N?]”

You were still being carried in Sientia’s hand. You pursed your lips and shrugged. “Disappointed.”

Antha lowered their head closer, as Clarence wanted to comment.

The other human waved and beamed. “Hey, you did super great for your first competition! I’ve been in a few and man, let me tell you… the first time I tripped in front of the whole stadium. Over my own feet, too. Don’t worry so much, you did just fine!”

You couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, a little embarrassed “Thanks, Clarence.”

On the way home, you fulfilled your dream of riding at the top of Sientia’s flat head. Your master had been reluctant and afraid that you would get anxious, but you were adamant. One arm looped tightly around an antenna, the other fiddled with a tiny red participation ribbon, which was your only prize.

“Pet?”

You hummed.

“I’ve thought to ask. You say you painted for me. But, ehm, what have you painted?”

It took a moment to decipher the question. “Oh! Well,” you blushed. “I was trying to paint you! I know it didn’t come out exactly how I expected… that I could have done b-better to impress the judges-”

“Eh! No more talk of judges! I will hang it upon my wall above my nest. Look, we are home.”

Home was lamp-lit and unfit for a human to wander the rooms wide as a veldt, but it was home. The house that you grew up in had never felt like home, nor did the apartment you huddled in on Earth. But this strange, empty cube in the suburbs of the Xenith home world? It had begun to feel like home more so than any sad, brick building every did. You left Earth months ago, and never once began to regret that decision.

Sientia, you master and friend, spoke to you candidly and with compassion. They clothed you lovingly in lavish things, smoothed your anxieties like an iron, and wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with you. They loved you so much that they wanted to lift you high in their palm, to put you in the eye of buzzing drones and chattering aliens.

Even during a time that Sientia was still recovering from loss, they wanted to badly to move forward. You think that they did. You could hear it in their voice now, whenever they spoke sweetly to you, that they knew Inridd'h was smiling. Before the competition, when you were still practicing your abstract thinking, there was a glint in Sientia’s six eyes. It filled them with comfort to watch you work so hard, and with such great passion.

You loved the miniature house Sientia built for you, and the surrounding areas Sientia themselves lived in. But more than anything, you loved Sientia. Sientia was what made the house a home. You prayed you could stay as long as possible, because at this point, you had no intention of leaving.

So, when they two of you returned home, you ate a big dinner, popped in a human movie, and curled up on their nest together. You fell asleep atop their head with a full belly and a healing heart.

EPILOGUE

Sientia held you close to their body. You could feel warm air rising from the nostrils of their chest, as you wobbled and balanced close to their shimmering blue skin.

“Now, you must stay close. Some species may swoop low and pick you up if you move too far. It is perhaps safer to remain in my hand, at first.”

You nodded, apprehensive but excited.

It had been half a year since you decided to become the pet of the great alien species, the Xenith. But you’d yet to experience the awe of being in close quarters with your master’s life work; their livestock. They’d kept you distant from their crop, as giant bugs were most certainly to be predators to little humans. You could be a tasty, blood-filled morsel. The scenario was as tense as introducing the pet chicken to a new barn cat.

You shielded your eyes as they opened the door to a blistering glass greenhouse. After a moment of wiping away involuntary tears, you were able to see again.

“Woooah,” you gasped.

To Sientia this was a large terrarium, but to you it was an expansive jungle. Tall yellow grass sprouted all around, circling the dirt and clays below. Alien ferns spread their fleshy leaves and fronds, sprinkling the air with heavenly scents. A myriad of neon blossoms bloomed among the plants and grasses, dotting it all with pinks, yellows, and whites. You’d never seen anything like this before. Not even at the zoo.

“Is this what all your grasslands look like, out in the wild?”

Sientia physically rumbled. You’d come to distinguish their vibrations and grunts from one another by now, and could see that they found your question funny.

“Some. I try to keep my crop happy.”

“Sooo.. where are all the gross bugs?” you asked, peeking over the side of their palm.

Sientia sat. “Here is one, in the grass.”

With their free hand they plucked the animal right out of hiding. It squeaked and stirred, squirming in surprise. It was much bigger than you, but still smaller than Sientia’s hand. You were used to seeing your master chomp down on these creatures, but they looked so much bigger when wriggling.

Sientia gently set the insect down into their other palm, so the two of you could meet up close. However, they kept a firm finger to the bug’s back, to keep it in place.

It’s stubby, fat antennae twitched and flickered, prickly legs struggling to pull itself out from the weight on its back. Eventually it was still.

“Go on. It’s safe. This is Henhil, you may tell from the markings against the back and legs. This one’s first clutch hatched a few days ago, so we shall not keep her long. You hear this, Henhil?”

Henhil’s mouth parts chewed idly.

“Wow,” you whispered, fascinated.

They really did just… look like giant over sized Earth arthropods. This type seemed like a cross between a fat beetle and a mantas. Her body was covered in a shiny black, and her wings, legs, and face were lined with silver. Two stripes of green cut through the silver on each of her eight legs. Bugs still freaked you out, but this was truly an amazing opportunity. What Earthling got to boast getting up close and personal with Permian era insects?

“She’s very pretty.”

Henhil started to wriggle again, her energy returning. You stumbled away, mindful of the mouth, as Sientia went ahead and plopped her back into place.

“On, then. Back to your children. Is this what you were expecting [Y/N?]”

You sat down, the heat exhausting you and making you sweat like a pig. “Well, it’s definitely something you’d like to do. I mean, raising bugs.”

“Then you think you would truly like to utilize such animals in a future competition?”

In the excitement you’d nearly forgotten the real reason Sientia was introducing the bugs to you at all. You’d been in two competitions now, and had won neither. Somehow, the concept of horseback riding continued to come up. Sientia was fascinated by the horse. There were no horses imported off planet, which was a shame. The next best thing where Sientia’s crop of livestock.

The insects were horse sized, give or take. Some had a body shape well off enough to accommodate a way of riding comfortably. Of course, they were being bred and raised to eat. Not ridden. But that didn’t mean that some of the younger one’s couldn’t be coaxed into allowing a human rider onto their backs. Henhil’s new clutch was likely a good place to start.

So, did you think you’d be able to get over your squeamishness and ride a big ol’ bug for the sake of winning? Absolutely. Winning wasn’t everything, but it would sure feel great to win. Or, if not win, to at least get second place. You know it would delight Sientia.

“I think I’d like to try. Maybe tomorrow, when you show me her mate, we can take a peek at the babies too?” you shuttered. “Are they like… grubs?”

The translator did not translate 'grub’ very well, but Sientia got the gist.

“Somewhat. Let’s go inside, you appear over exerted.”

Sientia brought you to their face and nestled you gently as you gave a smooch on their 'nose.’ Then, they stood and absconded from the sweltering greenhouse.

[scarlet-it-was]

folklore for evermore: the ruby x christina edition

combining two of my favorite things: taylor swift and fandom. here are the lyrics and headcanons that are giving me life from the summer/autumn sister albums; reylo & msr editions to follow

cardigan

you drew scars around my stars

but now i’m bleeding

but i knew you

stepping on the last train

marked me like a bloodstain

i knew you

tried to change the ending

peter losing wendy

...you put me on and said I was your favorite

I’d be remiss not to include this as the first in the list considering I’m writing a fic and using specific lyrics as the fic name and chapter titles. If you’re interested, you can find it here: You Drew Stars Around My Scars

my tears ricochet

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

You turned into your worst fears

When I think of the...distinctly disappointing end of the series, these last lines come to mind. Even though I don’t really believe that Christina killed Ruby—but if she had, she definitely turned into her worst fears, which was ultimately being as much of a failure as her father.

this is me trying

I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could've followed my fears all the way down

And maybe I don't quite know what to say

But I'm here in your doorway

Headcanon: Christina has been resurrected in some fashion, perhaps by the Mark of Cain, or a secondary magic trap she set just in case things went to hell. This finds her regretting her choices, contemplating her next steps, if she even wants to take them, but ultimately, ends up finding Ruby.

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here Pouring out my heart to a stranger But I didn't pour the whiskey

Headcanon (cont): Ruby proved time and time again in the show that she knows exactly how to cut right to the center of a person with her words, and I’m sure over the years, she’s said some regrettable things to her sister (not that they were undeserved). Ruby also put in the effort to take the classes and make herself as an attractive candidate as possible for her ‘dream job’ and when she finally is ready—she finds a thin, light-skinned Tamara has been hired. And the rest of the story in the little bar scene—she and William didn’t stay strangers for long.

mad woman

And there's nothing like a mad woman

What a shame she went mad

No one likes a mad woman

You made her like that

And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out

And you find something to wrap your ***** around

And there's nothing like a mad woman

Really applicable to both parties who were both oppressed by patriarchy (both) and whiteness (Ruby). I censored one of the words because I’m not comfortable using that word in reference to a POC, but the Swifties know what it is. Anyway, you end up with two women who are willing to ‘go the distance’ so to speak to get what they want and not be interrupted because of the bodies and skin they were born in.

peace

But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Headcanon: In spite of her money and magic, there’s a certain amount of peace that she’ll never be able to give Ruby in part because she can’t (and doesn’t want, nor does Ruby want) for her to take away her blackness. The flip side is that Christina’s ambition will likely always put them in harm’s way to an extent. But at the end of the day, in spite of Leti’s accusations that Ruby is being used, Christina is the only one who is up front with her 100% of the time regardless of how it comes out. She always comes through for Ruby.

Hoax

My best laid plan

Your sleight of hand

My barren land

I am ash from your fire

Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason"

Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in

Headcanon: a sadder and more cynical take on if Ruby had betrayed Christina in the finale (which I still don’t think she would have, but it wasn’t my show and I didn’t write that ending) which did in fact wreck her best laid plans with Ruby’s bait and switch of seducing Christina in her natural body instead of William’s—leaving Christina dead at the end of the series.

willow

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind

They count me out time and time again

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind

But I come back stronger than a '90s trend

Including this lyrics specifically because it reminds me of one of my favorite AU fics, Leave It To The Davenports – if you haven’t checked out this WIP, it is a ride you don’t want to miss.

gold rush

Gleaming, twinkling

Eyes like sinking ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in

I don't like a gold rush, gold rush

I don't like anticipatin' my face in a red flush

Walk past, quick brush

I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush

I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don't like a gold rush

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

I see me padding across your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit

Headcanon: The last line specifically reminds me of Ruby snarking at Christina about being late and in return being called demanding. But also, overall, it captures the feeling of Ruby initially being distrustful of William’s affections towards her specifically when there are any number of women he could be with.

no body no crime

Headcanon: The whole damn song is my murder wives anthem.

happiness

Past the blood and bruise Past the curses and cries Beyond the terror in the nightfall Haunted by the look in my eyes That would've loved you for a lifetime Leave it all behind And there is happiness

I can't make it go away by making you a villain

I guess it's the price I paid And I pulled your body into mine Every goddamn night

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you Both of these things can be true There is happiness

In our history, across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

Headcanon: Misleading song title in a way. This is what I’m dealing with in chapter 3 of my fic in the wake of Christina’s death and the process of Ruby moving on and finding happiness on her own. The writers Lovecraft Country tried really hard to make Christina a hateable villain, and I suppose through the lens of straight up hating white people, they may have done that for some viewers. They failed to give her any real Big Bad qualities though outside of manipulation and apathy—which while those aren’t shining character traits for her, it doesn’t make her the best (worst?) option for being the overarching antagonist. We had villains literally chopping people up and sewing them together, but Christina was the bad guy? Nah, I think not

long story short

Fatefully

I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me

Misery

Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

And you passed right by

I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides

The knife cuts both ways

If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break And I fell from the pedestal

Right down the rabbit hole

Long story short, it was a bad time

Pushed from the precipice

No more keepin' score

Now I just keep you warm 

No more tug of war

Now I just know there's more 

And my waves meet your shore

Ever and evermore When I dropped my sword

I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door

And we live in peace

But if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready Long story short, I survived

Headcanon: based on the idea that Christina survives, but does in fact have her magic stripped from her and is reflecting on the time period and going forward how she will protect her and Ruby’s relationship going forward by critics (like Leti) who would make Ruby choose between them.

Evermore

Hey December

Guess I'm feeling unmoored

Can't remember

What I used to fight for

I rewind thе tape but all it does is pause

On thе very moment, all was lost

Sending signals

To be double-crossed

And I was catching my breath

Barefoot in the wildest winter

Catching my death

And I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

That this pain would be for

Evermore

And when I was shipwrecked (Can't think of all the cost)

I thought of you (All the things that will be lost now)

In the cracks of light (Can we just get a pause?)

I dreamed of you (To be certain we'll be tall again, if you think of all the costs)

It was real enough (Whether weather be the frost)

To get me through (Or the violence of the dog days) (Or the violence of the dog days)

(Out on waves, being tossed)

(I'm on waves, out being tossed)

I swear (Is there a line that we can just go cross?)

You were there

And I was catching my breath

Floors of a cabin creaking under my step

And I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

This pain wouldn't be for

Evermore

Headcanon: Specific to You Drew Stars Around My Scars and Ruby’s grief in the early chapters and how she feels that the grief is impossible to move past when she thinks back about the months that the two of them spent getting to know each other as friends and lovers. She uses magic to connect with Christina even when she’s not there.

[twodogsoneguy]

I went to bed around one am today. Athena woke me up again around two, vomiting. I called the vet hospital to ask them about it, and about when she’d had her last antiemetic. They said that her last shot had been Saturday (lol) after admission and that it was very normal for her to have vomited bc of how long it had been. She should’ve had another pill at three yesterday afternoon so twelve hours later it makes sense that she’d puke. Puking is a part of renal failure; I don’t know exactly why but it’s one of the things taken into consideration about when euthanasia will be the correct course of action. If the dog is vomiting frequently and cannot keep down fluids and food, quality of life has decreased enough that euthanasia is probably the correct choice, however if controlled with medications you can kinda wait.

I’m trying to wait until this weekend for her euthanasia, though I don’t know if I’ll be that lucky. My mother is having surgery tomorrow, and will be in the hospital until Friday. Athena has been such a blessing to her as well, and I would love for her to be able to share in her euthanasia, however both of us have agreed that Athena’s comfort and quality of life comes first and if she declines majorly before my mom can come home we will go ahead with the euth at the best possible time.

I guess I wanna take the time on this post and talk about at home euthanasia. There’s not always a service for this, though sometimes vets will travel to your home regardless of whether they participate in a service or not. At home euthanasia is more difficult during the pandemic, though my local service is still providing this option.

There are several benefits to at home euths. First, your pet will be in a place that they are already comfortable with, and you can usually pick a spot where they will be the most at peace while they pass. It saves you the trouble and heartache of traveling to a clinic and the logistics of getting your pet transported because there are no ambulances for animals. Performing it in your own home is often easier on you as well. Another benefit not often talked about is that if you have other pets in your home, they can either witness the passing or be allowed after your pet has passed to investigate the body and understand what happened. There is also often more dignity and compassion in home euthanasia, your pet will pass without having to go through an intake at a clinic or veterinary hospital and you can have them when it’s best for you, rather than on a clinics schedule or as a last minute emergency. The service that will be taking care of Athena also provides resources for grief and mourning your pet, as well as suggestions of local resources should you need them. In addition to all of these things, like with any euthanasia there are many options for your pets aftercare, from home burial to cremation and urns and mementos that memorializes your pet.

I have personal experience with at home euthanasia already; it was how we helped my parents dog over the rainbow bridge last year. She was very old, around seventeen if the estimate of the shelter was correct, and her mobility had decreased to the point where she had very low quality of life. She had a very peaceful passing in our living room, surrounded by her family and after having lots of yummy treats. Afterwards, we were able to allow both Athena and Harley time to see her and understand what had happened to the matriarch of their little pack. It was so beneficial to both of them, while we did see grief symptoms in them, they seemed to fair better in terms of anxiety and confusion and moved on in a more relaxed way. We opted for her to be cremated alone so that only her ashes would be in the container we received. We also had them do clay imprints of her paws, which are a sweet keepsake to remember her by. We opted to not get a fancy urn for her, given that at some point I hope to bury her on my own land. There’s is something to be said for being able to watch your loved one die in the comfort of your home; I’ve also done euthanasia at a hospital and while they did everything they could to make the dog comfortable and the process as easy as possible, it hurt a lot more because it was a strange environment and you could tell she was stressed because of that in addition to her condition.

With Athena I plan to do similar things as we did with my parents dog, I will have her cremated alone and get paw prints done. I also am going to try and get an ink imprint of her paw so that I can have a memorial tattoo done when time and conditions permit. Her euth will be slightly different due to covid, we will have to practice social distancing and rather than being in our living room we will have the procedure done in the backyard per health standards in our state. I think it’s fitting though, to have her pass in her favorite portion of the “house”. She has spent countless hours in the backyard, watching the birds and the squirrels and bunnies, soaking up the sun in the summer and rolling in the snow in the winter time. I’m going to try and plan for an evening time, because the light is perfect around that time this time of the year and I want it to be as nice as possible. It’s hard to talk about these things, but I think it’s important that we start to destigmatize the conversations we have around death, dying, and euthanasia in our pets because so many people don’t know about their options and how they can help their companion pass with dignity and grace.

I will try to post more updates as we go along, though I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up or if I’ll be in a place where I can put my emotions into words. I’ve come to terms with the fact that Athena is dying and that there really is nothing we can do except keep her comfortable until it’s her time. Renal dysplasia is a killing disease because the kidneys are malformed from birth, though you can’t always tell. These dogs never have good values in their lives, though they often tolerate the condition for a year or two before becoming very symptomatic. The fact that Athena is 2yr 7mo is a miracle, most renal dysplasia dogs have onset of symptoms much earlier and pass at around 18mo. I am so grateful for the time we have had together, and that I will be able to keep her comfortable up until the time becomes right to help her pass on. I going to miss her so much though.

[xx-ingie-xx]

Forgotten 14 Excerpt (oh, and hi)

Hi everyone,

I know, I know, it’s been f-o-r-e-v-e-r. And things have really changed since my last post. I hope everyone is safe and well and working to protect themselves and others through social distancing. I’m doing all right—I’m fortunate enough to have a comfortable home, and since I live alone I’m pretty used to solitude. The worst part is being unable to visit family and friends, or enjoy spring activities after a long winter. But it’s important that we all do our part to flatten the curve—reading the news reminds me of that every day.

In my last post I mentioned that I’ve struggled to find motivation to write, and that hasn’t gone away. I’m still not nearly as productive as I’d like to be, but I have started to push myself more. Social distancing has certainly given me more time to wrestle with this, so we’ll see how it goes. 

Thank you so much to those of you who have reached out to see if I’m doing okay. I haven’t been answering messages, but please know I really do appreciate your concern for me and your interest in my work. I hope my lack of activity here hasn’t worried or offended anyone.

I have managed to complete the first scene of Forgotten’s next chapter, so I thought I would post it here. There are only two chapters left, including this one (plus an epilogue). Who knows, maybe I can find my groove and finish this thing before summer.

Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy it!

---

His eyes shone in the firelight, more indigo than blue, and his face bore an unspoken longing, one mirrored in her own gaze. Time slowed as a wordless invitation passed between them, an unspoken plea to abandon caution, to defy convention…

.

A spray of water soaked her back, and she whipped around to meet his playful grin. Feigning offense, she approached the bank and kicked up a splash of her own, shrieking when he caught her foot and pulled her in… 

.

Fierce, icy winds whipped about her, veiling the dark pines in swirling gusts of white. Again and again she called to him, too focused, too terrified to heed her numbing toes and aching lungs…

.

He turned from the window, his bruised face shifting from annoyance to absolute shock at the sight of her. Raindrops streaked the glass behind him, obscuring his view of the mourners below…  

.

She left the temple with heavy steps, her face a somber mask beneath the circlet which newly adorned her head. He waited at the base of the stairs, as close as the priests had allowed, beaming with pride as he moved to embrace her… 

.

He lay on a black altar in a shadowy chamber, chained down by heavy, rusted manacles. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat and blood, and his dirtied face twisted in pain as he labored for breath—

.

Zelda woke with a start. 

The images retreated, scattering like dust on the wind. Only fragments remained, all of them dim and distorted. The emotion was gone, the significance lost. 

Slowly she sat up, blinking as a tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away in a daze, taking slow, deep breaths as she waited for the sensation to pass. The fog soon began to clear, allowing her most recent memories to surface...

Link.

“Oh, thank the Sisters…"

Zelda looked up to see Impa rush to her bedside. Gently she felt Zelda’s forehead, her face drawn with motherly concern.

"How are you feeling?" she murmured. "Any pain?"

"No… I'm all right."

She did have a rather nasty headache, but she barely noticed it. It was nothing compared to the deep sense of loss she felt inside, as though some part of her had been pried loose and torn out. 

“Where is Link?" she asked, meeting her guardian’s unwavering gaze.  

Impa sighed. “He isn't here. He’ll be away for several days, I'm afraid."

“Away?" Zelda breathed. "To where?"

"He didn't say. He was… beside himself." 

Zelda stared at her, slowly piecing together the gravity of the situation. Guilt churned in her stomach as she remembered her confrontation with Link. 

"This is all my fault,” she whispered.

"Ne'lear, no," Impa soothed. "It was inevitable. This is something he must face alone, in his own way."

Zelda shook her head and threw the covers aside. “No, I can't leave it like this. I must go to him."

Impa caught her elbow to stop her. "You're not going anywhere until Maddox has examined you."

"I don't need an examination, Impa. He didn't hurt me. He would never…"

That, she realized, was the strongest revelation she had gained from her exposure to the bond: the truth of his love for her—or rather for his Zelda. It was tender and fierce and pure… Her recollection was vague and dreamlike, but she ached to feel it again—to receive such love and return it, without the burden of uncertainty or regret…

"You were out cold when Link brought you to me, and he was beyond shaken. You will not leave this bed until I understand what happened between you two."

Zelda glanced down at her hands, saddened by the thought of him in such a state. Gently Impa lifted her chin, her face reflecting Zelda’s sorrow.

“I want to help him too,” she murmured. “I want to help both of you. Watching you struggle through this… it hasn’t been easy for me either. Please... tell me what happened.”

Again Zelda hesitated, wondering how she could possibly find the words. 

"We… connected. Our minds were… joined somehow…”

Impa’s expression did not change. "Can you describe it?”

Zelda closed her eyes and focused on the memory, trying to extract more detail.

She remembered feeling lighter, as though some unknown burden had fallen away. Another presence caressed her own, warm and hauntingly familiar. She had rushed toward its source, sighing with elation as their spirits joined together… 

But the pleasure vanished as soon as it came, smothered in a flood of anguish and disjointed memories. It was a consequence she had failed to consider, and one he had dismissed. With the bond, there were no defenses, no separation. 

Only truth. 

"It was so brief,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “But… in those few moments, I knew him. I knew everything, felt everything, as though I were him—or a part of him. I can’t remember much of it, but I know it was incredible and painful and… just so much all at once…"  

“Too much,” Impa murmured. “I did not expect him to go this far. He’s shown such control until now."

“No, Impa, I asked him to do it—I practically begged him. Don’t blame him for this, please."

And I kissed him, she recalled, her heart quickening. And he kissed me back… 

It was something she had been waiting for, even yearned for, since her return from Zora’s Domain. Yet it seemed so small in retrospect, eclipsed by her experience with the bond, ruined by the pain she never meant to cause.

That kiss wasn’t for me, she realized with a pang of disappointment. I should have known better. He was tired… and vulnerable.

“You were not ready for that exchange, Zelda. Telepathy alone is still very new for you, but this…” Impa glanced toward the window, breathing a weary sigh. "He regrets it, that much is certain."

Zelda looked up, startled from her thoughts. "But I don’t want him to regret it… He’s miserable as it is, and I…"

Her heart sank as she remembered the more intense emotions she had felt in the bond. His emotions. Some had been directed at her—feelings like frustration and disappointment. But the darker feelings, like shame and loathing, he held entirely for himself.

He carries them every day, along with all his uncertainties, all his responsibilities…

“I’ve only made things worse," Zelda said bitterly. "I didn’t understand; I—I thought I could help him move on. At least, that’s what I told myself. But now…"

"How could you understand?" Impa soothed. "No one can truly understand another's grief, even with all their memories intact."

"But I've been pushing him… You asked me to consider his happiness when I made my choice, and I… I can’t say I’ve done that. I’ve had so many dreams, Impa. I’ve seen things, felt things I can’t explain, things I know I should ask him about. But those things scare me, and I… I wanted him to accept me, as I am now…"

Her face burned as she gave her confession, but Impa’s gentle gaze held no judgment.

"Even now," Zelda added, her voice thick with sorrow. "Nothing has changed for me. The thought of… yielding to her and vanishing into obscurity… it still frightens me. You said it's irrational, and maybe it is. Link thinks me selfish, and maybe I am. Maybe I have been blind and stupid in letting my ridiculous feelings guide me…"

She buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back her tears. Impa held her close, shushing her gently, comforting her like she had when Zelda was a child. 

“You have the right to choose your own path,” she murmured. “We will love you just the same. Even Link will make peace with it… in time." 

Zelda sniffled, too overcome to speak. 

But why? A small voice spoke in her head. Why put your fears above the needs of those who love you?

With that thought, Zelda felt something deep within her click into place. Her tears slowed as her emotions calmed, giving way to a single, clarifying thought.

Why give into fear?

Slowly she lifted her head from Impa’s shoulder, blinking as she processed her newfound clarity.

"...You may be right," she murmured. "Maybe I could stay like this. Maybe it would  turn out all right in the end.”

Zelda paused to wipe the tears from her face, her expression solemn when she met Impa’s gaze.

“But there would be damage. To you, to Link, to anyone who’s ever cared about me. You will all remember the person I was, and you would wonder what might have been, had I chosen differently. That sadness would never leave you. Even I might come to regret my decision, when it’s too late to change it…”

Determination swelled in her heart, and her voice grew stronger as she sat up straighter.

“All this time, since I woke without my memories, I've been ruled by fear. I did not feel seen, and I wanted control over my life. I can’t control my past, so I rejected it.”

Zelda sighed, feeling another stab of shame. "...But that was an illusion. And I didn’t understand how much pain it caused. Not truly. What I felt last night, in the bond… I’ve never known that kind of pain.”

“You have,” Impa said gently. "And your experiences are imprinted on your soul, whether you remember them or not. They will stay with you, one way or another."

Zelda fell silent, considering her words. “But, without my memories,” she said slowly, “none of that would matter, not to me. Those experiences might as well belong to someone else.”

Impa studied her with concern but offered no reply. 

“I can’t be afraid anymore,” Zelda said. “I need to believe that embracing my past is the answer, even for me. I have to trust in you, in Link, and in the person I was… even if it scares me.”

A rare emotion crossed Impa’s face, and she drew Zelda into a tighter embrace.

“My brave girl,” she whispered. 

“I used to be,” Zelda said, pulling away with a weak smile. “I’d like to think that much hasn't changed.”

Impa shook her head. “It’s ingrained too deep, ne'lear. But all of this can wait. You should rest and reflect on your decision, on all that's happened. Meditate on it."

"Meditation won’t help me. I was joined to the bond for only a moment, and I gained more clarity than I have from weeks of meditation."

Impa looked skeptical. "Those were Link’s memories, Zelda… Link’s feelings. You need to explore your own."

"But there has to be some way he can guide me. The bond is powerful magic… I can’t achieve that on my own.”

"Link has yet to master his telepathic abilities. Everything he knows, he learned from you. Using the bond might not be the best approach, for either of you."

Zelda gave a resigned shrug. "I won’t rest until I try.” 

Impa sighed. “I don’t suppose you plan to wait until he returns.”

“Not if I can help it. I assume he took the Ocarina... Is there no way to reach him?”

“I’m sure we can track him down… but we’ll need a little help.”