#when even the universe is having a laugh or two ar your expense

[krautundkimchi]

Sensible, savvy, and on top of everything...

at this point even the universe is giggling at his loserism and can't wait for more!

[maandarinee]

what are all the podcasts you listen to?

anon I'm so glad you asked

Since it is a pretty long list including synopses (stolen from the podcast feed or website because I'm Bad at summaries and in some cases it's been a while since I listened) I'm going to put it under a cut.

I've separated the list into "Complete" (either finished or cancelled) and "Ongoing" podcasts. Some have additional comments by me. Current favorites are marked orange. My eternal beloved are Our Fair City and Wolf 359.

Complete

ars PARADOXICA: "When an experiment in a time much like our own goes horribly awry, Dr. Sally Grissom finds herself stranded in the past and entrenched in the activities of a clandestine branch of the US government. Grissom and her team quickly learn that there's no safety net when toying with the fundamental logic of the universe."

Blackwood: "Five years ago, Molly Weaver, Bryan Anderson, and Nathan Howell started a podcast focused on the local legend of a monster called The Blackwood Bugman. Quickly, the investigation grew out of their control, as they discovered that, not only are the legends seemingly true, many people in Blackwood have turned up dead or disappeared without a trace." --> [this feels like the Blair With Project, but as a podcast. Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

Dreamboy: "Dane, a spun-out musician spending the winter in Cleveland, Ohio, has two main goals: keeping his job at the Pepper Heights Zoo and trying not to waste all his time on Grindr. What he doesn’t expect is to get swept into a story about dreams, about forevers, about flickering lights, about unexplained deaths, about relentless change, and about the parts of ourselves that we wish other people knew to look for. Oh, and also a murderous zebra." --> [very NSFW; does cool things with music! Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

King Fall AM: "...centers on a lonely little mountain town's late-night AM talk radio show and its paranormal, peculiar happenings and inhabitants." --> [cancelled after 100 episodes, ends on a huge cliffhanger]

Our Fair City: "A campy, post-apocalyptic audio drama." --> [I know the description sounds like nothing but just trust me, I love it so much]

Steal the Stars: "...is a gripping noir science fiction thriller in 14 episodes: Forbidden love, a crashed UFO, an alien body, and an impossible heist unlike any ever attempted."

Stellar Firma: "...a weekly Science Fiction, Comedy podcast following the misadventures of Stellar Firma Ltd.'s highest born but lowest achieving planetary designer Trexel Geistman and his bewildered clone assistant David 7. Join them each episode as they attempt to take listener submissions and craft them into the galaxy's most luxurious, most expensive and most questionably designed bespoke planets. However, with Trexel's corporate shark of a line manager Hartro Piltz breathing down their necks and I.M.O.G.E.N., the station's omnipresent and omniinvasive stationwide A.I. monitoring those necks to within 3 decimal places, they'll be lucky to make it a week before being slurried and recycled into raw human resources." --> [semi-improvised, I thought I'd have a problem with the improv bit because that's not usually my thing, but no, I absolutely devoured this]

TANIS: "...is a serialized docudrama about a fascinating and surprising mystery: the myth of Tanis. Tanis is an exploration of the nature of truth, conspiracy, and information. Tanis is what happens when the lines of science and fiction start to blur." [+ spinoff The Last Movie] --> [I have no clue what the hell is going on here]

The Black Tapes: "...is a serialized docudrama about one journalist's searc for truth, her enigmatic subject's mysterious past, and the literal and figurative ghosts that haunt them both."

The Magnus Archives: "...is a weekly horror fiction anthology podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join new head archivist Jonathan Sims as he attempts to bring a seemingly neglected collection of supernatural statements up to date, converting them to audio and supplementing them with follow-up work from his small but dedicated team. Individually, they are unsettling. Together they begin to form a picture that is truly horrifying because as they look into the depths of the archives, something starts to look back…"

Time:Bombs: "...a new audio drama podcast about the hilarious world of bomb disposal. Ride along with EOD technician Simon Teller on the busiest night of the year for him and his team - when business is, quite literally, booming."

Wolf 359: "Life's not easy for Doug Eiffel, the communications officer for the U.S.S. Hephaestus Research Station, currently on Day 448 of its orbit around red dwarf star Wolf 359. He's stuck on a scientific survey mission of indeterminate length, 7.8 light years from Earth. His only company on board the station are stern mission chief Minkowski, insane science officer Hilbert, and Hephaestus Station's sentient, often malfunctioning operating system Hera. He doesn't have much to do for his job other than monitoring static and intercepting the occasional decades-old radio broadcast from Earth, so he spends most of his time creating extensive audio logs about the ordinary, day-to-day happenings within the station. But the Hephaestus is an odd place, and life in extremely isolated, zero gravity conditions has a way of doing funny things to people's minds. Even the simplest of tasks can turn into a gargantuan struggle, and the most ordinary-seeming things have a way of turning into anything but that." --> [starts funny, turns very intense]

Ongoing

Alba Salix, Roya Physician (+ The Axe & Crown): "A witch, her apprentice, and her fairy herbalist treat the ills of a fairy-tale kingdom." + "Gubbin the troll tavernkeeper deals with his clueless new landlord, his shady niece, and some new competition."

Archive 81: "A found footage horror podcast about ritual, stories, and sound."

Arden: "A (fictional) true crime podcast about cold cases and the reporter and detective who try to solve them."

Brimstone Valley Mall: "The year is 1999. Lurking somewhere between Hot Topic and the food court, five misfit demons from Hell kill time inciting sin in a suburban shopping mall. When the lead singer of their band goes mysteriously missing, the demons only have two weeks to find him before they play the biggest gig of the millennium - or face the wrath of Satan herself."

CARAVAN: "First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary." --> [also pretty NSFW and horny in general]

Death by Dying: "The Obituary Writer of Crestfall, Idaho finds himself deeply in over his head as he investigates a series of strange and mysterious deaths… when he is supposed to simply be writing obituaries. Along the way he encounters murderous farmers, man-eating cats, haunted bicycles, and a healthy dose of ominous shadows." --> [I had to stop listening to this in public because it kept making me undignified laugh and snort noises]

Desperado: "Blood magic, Voodoo magic, old gods, new gods: We've got it all! Follow the story of misfits from all over the world, as they try to survive and protect their heritage from modern-day crusaders."

EOS 10: "Doctors in space, a deposed alien prince, a super gay space pirate and a fiery nurse who'll help you win your bar fight."

Girl In Space: "Abandoned on a dying ship in the farthest reaches of known space, a young scientist fights for survival (and patience with the on-board A.I.). Who is she? No one knows. But a lot of dangerous entities really want to find out. Listen as the story unfolds for science, guns, trust, anti-matter, truth, beauty, inner turmoil, and delicious cheeses. It’s all here. In space."

Janus Descending: "...follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place. Told from two alternating perspectives, Janus Descending is an experience of crossing timelines, as one character describes the nightmare from end to beginning, and the other, from beginning to the end." --> [absolutely harrowing horror]

Love and Luck: "...is a fictional radio play podcast, told via voicemails and set in present day Melbourne, Australia. A slice of life queer romance story with a touch of magic, it follows the relationship between two men, Jason and Kane, as their love grows both for each other and their community." --> [soft and gay, feels like a warm hug]

Potterless: "Join Mike Schubert, a grown man reading the Harry Potter series for the first time, as he sits down with HP fanatics to poke fun at plot holes, make painfully incorrect predictions, and bask in the sassiness of the characters." --> [the only non-fiction podcast on the list]

Primordial Deep: "When a long extinct sea creature washes up on the shores of Coney Island, marine biologist Dr. Marella Morgan is contacted by a secret organization to investigate the origins of the creature’s sudden and unnatural resurgence. Soon, she and a team of experts find themselves living on the research station The Tiamat, traveling along the abyssal plains as they search for answers far below the waves. But there are dangers in these ancient waters. Reawakened, prehistoric monsters are rising from the deep -- jaws wide and waiting, and in the darkness, something is stirring."

Red Valley: "No one at Overhead Industries wants to talk about defunct research station Red Valley, and account man Warren Godby is out of his depth. When he meets Gordon Porlock, a disgruntled archivist with a bag of tapes from the station’s last known occupant, they will begin a journey to the limits of experimental science, confront horror and trauma from the past, present and future, and try to remember the cheat codes from Sonic the Hedgehog 2."

Rusty Quill Gaming: "An actual play podcast following a mixed ability group of comedians, improvisers, gamers, and writers as they play through the extended, tabletop roleplaying campaign Erasing the Line, an original game world of the GM’s crafting." --> [took me a while to get into because I have trouble focusing on non-scripted things, but eventually I got really hooked on the plot and attached to the characters. This podcast is really fucked up at times if you think about it]

SAYER: "A narrative fiction podcast set on Earth’s man-made second moon, Typhon. The eponymous SAYER is a highly advanced, self-aware AI created to help acclimate new residents to their new lives, and their new employment with Ærolith Dynamics." --> [feels like Welcome to Night Vale but narrated by GLaDOS from Portal]

StarTripper!!: "Join Feston Pyxis on a road-trip through the cosmos, as he leaves behind his old life in search of the best and wildest experiences the galaxy has to offer!"

The Amelia Project: "...is a secret agency that fakes its clients' deaths, then lets them reappear with a brand new identity! A black comedy full of secrets, twists... and cocoa."

The Big Loop: "...a biweekly anthology series. Each episode is a self-contained narrative exploring the strange, the wonderful, the terrifying, and the heartbreaking. Stories of finite beings in an infinite universe." --> [I don't like anthologies, except this one]

The Bright Sessions: "Dr. Bright provides therapy for the strange and unusual; their sessions have been recorded for research purposes." --> [think X-Men, but with therapy instead of a school]

The Deca Tapes: "Recordings have surfaced of ten people that are locked into the same space together. We don’t know where they are, or if they'll get out. But the answers must be somewhere on these tapes."

The Silt Verses: "Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories."

The White Vault: "Follow the collected records of a repair team sent to Outpost Fristed in the vast white wastes of Svalbard and unravel what lies waiting in the ice below."

Tides: "...is the story of Dr. Winifred Eurus, a xenobiologist trapped on an unfamiliar planet with hostile tidal forces. She must use her wits, sarcasm and intellectual curiosity to survive long enough to be rescued. But there might be more to life on this planet than she expected." --> [think The Martian, but on a water planet]

Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery: "Lillian Harper moves to the small town of Mt. Absalom, Ohio, to care for her estranged mother Dorothy after an injury. Living in the town's boarding house which has been run by her family for generations, she discovers conspiracies, ghosts, and a new family in the house's strange assortment of residents."

VAST Horizon: "Nolira is an agronomist tasked with establishing agriculture in a new solar system, but when she wakes up on a now- empty colony ship, the whole of her plan disappears. The ship has been set adrift, with numerous mission-critical problems requiring immediate attendance outside of her area of expertise. Nolira is aided by the ship’s malfunctioning AI, which acts as her confidant and companion during the fight for survival."

Victoriocity: "Even Greater London, 1887. In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions."

We Fix Space Junk: "...follows seasoned smuggler Kilner and reluctant fugitive Samantha as they travel the galaxy, dodging bullets and meeting strange and wonderful beings as they carry out odd jobs on the fringes of the law."

Welcome to Night Vale: "Twice-monthly community updates for the small desert town of Night Vale, where every conspiracy theory is true. Turn on your radio and hide."

Within the Wires: "Stories told through found audio from an alternate universe."

Wooden Overcoats: "Rudyard Funn and his equally miserable sister Antigone run their family's failing funeral parlour, where they get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But one day they find everyone enjoying themselves at the funerals of a new competitor - the impossibly perfect Eric Chapman! With their dogsbody Georgie, and a mouse called Madeleine, the Funns are taking drastic steps to stay in the business…" --> [one of THE funniest podcasts I have ever listened to]

[apothecarinomicon]

Spring week 4 part 3

After my hectic experience with the marshbloom, I decided to take a day for myself. Greenmoor isn’t anywhere near the ocean, but Meltwater Loch is big enough that I figured a day spent there could be considered a beach day. And after the couple of weeks I’d had, boy did I need a beach day.

But anyone who’s read this far ought to be familiar with my luck by now. There’s a lot to record, but I’ll try to get it down in order.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

It was a beautiful day—clear blue sky, warm air, and (at least when I first arrived) no one around at Meltwater Loch. I spread out a towel on the beach and laid down for a good session of sunbathing. I’ve never been one for tanning, but  simply laying doing nothing while being warmed by the sun and cooled by the breeze felt absolutely decadent.

After a while of simply existing, I became aware of the sound of a bird calling above me. I cracked my eyes open and recognized the large forms of a pair of gull-drakes flying overhead. Gull-drakes are a strange hybrid, both reptilian and avian. Their torsos and wings are feathered, while their heads, tails, and talons are scaled. They do have beaks like gulls, but their tails are prehensile like their alleged draconic ancestors’. I say ‘alleged’ because no one knows how the hybrid gull-drake came into being. The sheer anatomy and scale discrepancy between the average seagull and the average dragon fossil (they were much larger in ancient times than the pocket-sized lizards we have today) seems to rule out any cross-breeding. Additionally, the typical combination of traits displayed by gull-drakes is too awkward and ungainly to be the result of natural selection. And yet, there have been records of the gull-drake’s existence for just about as long as there have been records—the third-oldest surviving written document, in fact, is a bestiary which includes them along dozens of other species, most of which are now extinct.

Nature is a strange thing.

Digressions aside, there was a reason this caught my attention. Gull-drakes are scavengers, and have been known to leave catches uneaten while they go out to hunt for more. It’s just an evolutionary quirk—they prefer to feast only once per day. This means that, as they leave their nests unattended, some other opportunistic creature could come by and steal their catch. 

It’s easy to identify a gull-drake nest, too—they tend to be very large, and are often positioned balanced atop large, pointy rocks. If a gull-drake catches you stealing, though, it’ll chase you and squawk at you and try to peck you until you drop the stolen goods and flee. They’re not too smart, though, so hiding in nearby foliage (say, a patch of large ferns) will fool them easily.

All of this to say, I managed to get myself a shock fish without a rod, all while only getting chased a little ways by a jealous, stupid bird.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

As I returned to my towel, I heard an unusual sound—the put-put-put of a motor. Machinery of that kind is a fairly new invention, and unless you know how to make it, very expensive.

The woman driving the boat certainly looked like she knew how to make a motor. She was dwarven, with russet hair and a long beard, both held in thick braids. She was (as dwarves are) rather short—I'd estimate maybe one-and-a-fifth meters tall, and nearly as wide—with large hands and feet, and limbs thickly corded with muscle. She wore dark green coveralls and had a fairly heavy-duty fishing rod held in one hand so that it rested on her shoulder.

She shut the motor off as she neared and called out to me, asking if I was the village witch. I said that I was, and she told me that she was friends with my crocodilian patient. She thanked me for helping him, and said he would have been a goner without my potion-making skills. I demurred just a bit, saying I wasn't the only healer who helped him that day. She scoffed and dismissed my humility outright, saying that I might as well have been the only one—that without my care the village doctor wouldn't have been able to do anything.

She introduced herself as Janneth Hillhorn, and I told her my name in turn. She asked what I was doing out by Meltwater Loch and I told her I was taking a day off. She let me know that her cottage was just around the other side of the lake, near Glimmerwood Grove and right on the border of Blastfire Bog, and that I should feel free to stop in any time. I thanked her.

At this point, there was a tremor in the water. It couldn't have been an earthquake because the land wasn't shaking, but the water abruptly became much more active. Ocean-like waves crashed into the shore and Janneth held tight onto the sides of her boat, doing her best not to capsize. I would have been quite alarmed in her situation, but Janneth barely seemed preturbed. I asked something along the lines of "what the blight is going on?!" As the water settled, Janneth told me that this was a common occurence on Meltwater Loch, a quirk that—many said—was due to the emotions of its guardian sea-dragon, Bàs Bàta. I found this explanation rather silly, reminiscent of an old wives' tale. I'd never heard of a sea-dragon before, and given that the name ‘Bàs Bàta’ directly translated to "boat death," I figured it was just a local story told to frighten children and dismissed it out of hand.

Astute readers should be growing worried for me right about now.

Janneth offered to give me one of the fish she'd caught as a thanks for helping her friend. I initially refused, but she insisted. She looked through her basket and pulled out a dentist crab. The gel their claws produce is good for the mouth and plenty else besides, so I accepted and thanked her. She thanked me right back and said (perhaps jokingly?) not to run afoul of Bàs Bàta while I was out by the loch. I forced a laugh as she sped away.

Once she was out of sight, I collected some claw gel from the dentist crab and released it back into the water.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

There was another rumbling as I made my way back to the beach, and as it abated I saw something bob up to the surface of the water close to the shore. It presented itself, et cetera et cetera, I waded in to see what it was.

I scooped it out of the water and found myself holding a glass bottle, like the kind that rum or sweet wine would come in, sealed with a cork and containing a rolled-up sheet of paper. Of course, I opened it immediately. I found that the sheet inside wasn’t quite *paper,* but something more slippery—maybe made of seaweed? It did have writing on it, though. As I unfurled it, a few things that looked like pebbles fell out. I barely managed to catch them before they hit the surface of the water. I put them in my pocket for safe keeping.

The writing on the note was as follows, with no spelling changes by me:

Let it be known that I fink this whole exercise is stupid. And pointless. And probly meant as some kind of sick, twisted punishment. No one but little kids believe in terrafolk, so I don’t know why the instructress is making us do this.

Even if anyfing could live above the water, there’s no way its advanced enough to read. How would it get all the minerals it needs wivout processing the water?

But anyway. I guess I ave to fulfill the prompt. 

Me name is Genoveva, I live in the I.S.A.C.S. (that's short for 'Isolated Sovereign Aquatic City-State, but we all just pronounce it like 'Isax") and I’m in the fifth year of me education. I hate me name. I wish I could ave somefing exotic like a John or a Steve or a Sarah, but I’m stuck wiv boring old Genoveva. If you’re somehow able to read this, that must mean you ave schools on the surface, too. Wat ar they like? Ar they as boring up there? We all ave to sit in a circle and listen to the instructress drone on and on and on.

I live wiv me merma and me perpa and me two baby brothers. Do you ave family? I've got loads of cousins too.

On the rubric it says I ave to include a small gift, so I'm putting some fossil fish scales in wiv this letter. I found em on me way to school this morning and there not of use to me, but I figure you probly don't ave fish on land so maybe scales ar valuable up there.

If you're inclined to write back (no pressure), you can just pop your note in the bottle and put it back into the water. It'll find its way to me—there's magic all around, don't you know.

Signed,

Genoveva Galbrait, 5th year

[An accessible version of this letter can be found here.]

The letter obviously has some pretty complex implications. An entire society under the surface of Meltwater Loch, entirely unaware of the world above the surface beyond fairy stories? What must life be like down there? What kind of society must they have? How do they supply food? Get rid of waste?

What resources might be available there that can't be found on the surface?

I decided that somehow I was going to find a way to visit ISACS, and learn everything I could about it. I bet that would impress the University of Arcbridge. I wasn't sure how I would breathe under the water for long enough, but I was determined to find a way.

Take your final guesses now what happened next.

That water-quaking started up again, this time stronger than before. Waves crashed against the beach where I stood, and I felt a great vibration in my chest and in my head. 

And then, it broke the surface of the water.

Giant and blue-green and serpentine, Bàs Bàta rose up before me. A blighting sea-dragon, it stood straight up in the air at least twice as tall as my cottage—and that was just the part of its body I could see. Its head was shaped like the tip of an arrow, with three great spikes sprouting out of the back (the outer two longer than the middle one). It let loose another deep roar, dousing me in spittle. It thrashed about, causing great waves to crash onto the shore, and through my shock I realized its movements might be less characteristic of anger than of pain.

My suspicions were confirmed when it roared again: one of the fangs right near the front of its mouth was missing a chip, and had a great crack running nearly all the way up to the root. That had to hurt. I'd never treated a non-humanoid  before—or, for that matter, a cracked tooth—but I realized even past the moral obligation to help, there was no way I could access the underwater city-state without calming Bàs Bàta down.

I found out later, after I'd scrambled away from the lake and sprinted back to the cottage, after wiping the saliva off of me and getting at least some of it in a bottle for potion use, that the saliva was actually a really useful ingredient in treating shattered teeth. As it turns out, it's a pretty strong painkiller. Unfortunately, I knew I'd need more than just that to make a cure, and with the sheer size of Bàs Bàta, I suspected I'd need to make more than one potion.

That will have to be a longer term project, then, because the events of my relaxation day have worn me out. I've got to get to bed. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

⇦●〇●⇨

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Sweet Pea//Pretty Girl

Request: I’ve never been able to read anything with someone who has the same condition as me and you don’t have to do this by any means it may be difficult but plus size reader with hiadradenitis supperativa x sweet pea where like he just chills with them when they are in pain or like maybe when she tells him and he’s like hey it’s okay I don’t see you any different or soemthing

“Babe?” Your boyfriend’s familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts and you quickly looked around the mess of your room. You caught your appearance in the mirror and silently cursed, your eyes were red, your face was blotchy and people from the next town over could tell that you’d been crying. Quickly, you wiped the tears from your face and stood up. Pulling the baggy shirt and pants so they were more comfortable. 

“Sweet Pea?” You forced a smile. “What are you doing here?” You asked. 

“I came to see my girl.” He kissed you sweetly and you smiled softly. “You’re mom let me in, she said you hadn’t come out your room in a few days, and if anybody was gonna cheer you up, it would be the best boyfriend in the world. Aka...me.” He pointed to himself before jumping on your bed. “Soooooo, why have you been hiding away in your bedroom. We all miss you.” 

“Oh ya know.” You shrugged and sat beside him, wincing slightly. “Just been busy with homework and stuff.” 

“We have no homework, its summer!” He said excitedly. “Oh, speaking of summer, Cheryl and Toni are planning ar pool party soon, so get your bathing suit ready.” 

“Ohhhhhh.” You said anxiously. “I don’t think I can go to that.” 

“You don’t know when it is.” He said. 

“I know.” You nodded. Think woman, think. Why can’t you go to the pool party other than the fact that everybody is either gonna laugh and you or think your gross. “I can’t go because...I can’t...swim?” 

“Yes you can.” He laughed. “I’ve seen the little certificates you get when you learn to swim. On the Southside we just get chucked in the river when we’re 9 by the older Serpents and we have to figure out how to get ourselves out. We do get a little certificate but its more a little piece of paper saying ‘done’ that we have to carry around so we don’t get thrown in again. 9 times out of 10 you do get thrown in again.” He said casually and you looked at him, unsure of what to say. 

“Erm. Its nice that they give you a piece of paper.” You replied and he nodded. 

“I suppose so. So why can’t you go really. And please don’t lie to me.” He said seriously and you could feel the tears coming again. “You’ve already been avoiding me, and now you’re lying to me. Have I done something? Are you cheating on me? Is that you’re not going to the party, are you gonna spend the day with some other guy?” He rambled. 

“No Sweet Pea.” You shook your head. “I’m not cheating on you.” You reassured him. “I’m surprised one guy wants me let alone two.” 

“What?” He asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“What’s all that stuff?” He asked and pointed to the dozens of bottle/boxes on the drawers in the corner of your room.

“Oh, just some medication.” You replied as casually as possible. “I have a little cold.” 

“Its the middle of summer.” He said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I know. How me to get a cold in the middle of summer.” You tried to play it off. Please drop it, you pleaded in your head. 

“But do you really need this much?” He asked and stood up, walking towards them. Please sit down, please sit down. “Half of this stuff I’ve never heard of. Doxy-doxyc-yeah, I can’t even pronounce that one.” 

“Doxycycline.” You said. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “And all of these bandages.” 

“Gauze.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Out of everything on there I would have thought you’d know what gauze is.” 

“Why?” He asked confused.

“Because of all the injuries you get.” You replied. 

“Oh yeah.” He laughed a little and you shook your head. He may be an idiot sometimes but at least he isn’t talking about whats up anymore. 

“Sooo, are you gonna tell me what these are for? Because I know for a fact you don’t need gauze for a cold.” 

Maybe you spoke too soon.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You mumbled and he walked quickly to you. 

“What babe? Why?” He asked and sat beside you. 

“I just don’t.” You started to sob and he stared at you confused for a few seconds. 

“Okay.” He nodded and wrapped his arms around you. “We don’t have to.” He told you, squeezing you, making you cry in pain quietly. “What?!” He pulled away from you. “What did I do.” 

“Nothing babe.” You shook your head. “I’m fine.” 

“Are...are you sure?” 

“Kinda.” You nodded. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. Sweet Pea’s hands were squeezing yours reassuringly, and he was whispering sweet things in your ear while you quietly sobbed. “I have Hidradenitis suppurativa.” Your mouth had spoken before your brain had had a chance to realize what it was doing, and you quickly pulled away from him, looking at your bedding instead of your boyfriend. 

“Is that bad?” He asked sadly, moving towards you. 

“Kinda, but not really. I’m not dying if thats what your worried about.” You mumbled. 

“Okay. Well, thats something.” He said awkwardly and in true Sweet Pea fashion. He grabbed your hands again, stopping them from playing with the loose strings from your duvet. “Tell me what it is then. I’m listening.” He said and smiled reassuringly at you. You looked at him for a few seconds, his smile making you feel slightly more at ease. 

“Well, its a skin condition. Do you know how you can see a few of my scars when I wear certain clothing?” You asked. 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, I wasn’t a clumsy kid. I mean I kinda was but not that bad. There from what I have. They basically start as like spot type things that are 10x worse than actual pimples and they burst and stuff. Its kinda gross.” You sighed. 

“Its not gross.” He shook his head. “Not at all.” He added and tilted your chin with his finger. “You’re beautiful. No matter what.”  

“Whatever. You’ve never even seen them.” 

“I don’t have to see them. I know you’re beautiful. Why do you think I’m dating you? I’m a very shallow person you know.” He tried to lighten the mood at the end and you giggled a little. “See, that smile alone makes you the most beautiful person in the entire universe. I don’t care if you have these. Well I do, because you know, I can imagine they hur-” 

“Big time.” You interrupted. 

“Yeah, they hurt and I don’t like anything that hurts you. I would punch it if I could bu-I’m getting off track. What I’m trying to say is that I think you’re pretty no matter, even if you do have this. And I’m gonna look after you for as long as you have the-” 

“There’s no cure. Its a permanent thing.” You said sadly. 

“Well then you’re stuck with me forever. I’m not gonna let anybody else look after my girl.” 

“Sweets.” You sighed. “You don’t have to. I understand if you wanna be with someone else. Someone you can show off.” 

“Why can’t I show you off? You are way out of my league, just try and stop me. Plus, I don’t want anybody else, I want you. And I’m gonna help you. Tell me everything.” 

“Are you sure.” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Now tell me.” He nudged you softly. “Wait!” He stopped you from talking. “Can I hug you?” He asked. 

“Yes Sweet Pea, you can hug me. But please don’t squeeze.” 

“Got it.” He nodded and held his arms out open for you to cuddle in to. “No squeezing. I’ll have to squeeze Fangs from now on.” 

“You can still squeeze me Sweets. Just not right now, they’ve been quite bad because of summer and the heat and stuff.” 

“Understandable. When I go home I’m gonna google ways to keep you cool so they don’t hurt you anymore than they already do.” 

“Sweets.” You laughed. 

“Come on. Tell me everything I need to know. When did you find out?” 

“I was properly diagnosed a few years ago, they are usually kinda manageable, but they’ve been super bad this past week so I kinda just hid away. Sometimes when they get really bad I just hide in my room for a few days.” 

“Thats why you’ve been avoiding me.” 

“Yeahhh.” 

“I feel like an ass. I’m sorry.” 

“Its fine.” You laughed softly. “You didn’t know.” You shrugged. “There also kind of embarrassing. They are in all of the parts of me that are supposed to be sexy, like my boobs and my thighs and my you know...” You trailed off and he nodded. 

“I’ve seen all of those things and I think they are so sexy. Even thinking about them is turning me on.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you laughed loudly. 

“Ewww.” You hit him playfully and he laughed louder. 

“What else?” He asked after recovering from his laughter. 

“They’re expensive to deal with. You have to buy the gauze and stuff.” 

“I’ll do more jobs for the Serpents to help you pay.” 

“They bleed sometimes. And I can only have dark sheets.” 

“I’ll change my bedding.” 

“Sometimes it hurts to lie down or sit.” 

“I’ll find a really comfortable mattress/cushion.” 

“I don’t think thats how that works” You replied. 

“Well then I’ll think of something.” He replied. 

“There’s no cause for it.” 

“I’ll find one.” He shrugged. 

“What? You’re gonna become a scientist to find a cause for it?” You asked sarcastically. 

“Yep. A cause and cure for it.” He replied. 

“You’re just being silly now.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m never silly. I’m Sweet Pea remember. I’ll do literally anything to help you. Even if that does mean becoming scientist.” 

“I appreciate the offer but I’d much rather you just support me.” 

“Anything.” He smiled brightly at you before kissing you. 

“And maybe calling me pretty every so often.” You mumbled against his lips. 

“Done.” He replied and the both of you laughed softly. “I’m here for you no matter what, pretty girl.” 

[victoodles]

Nicknames and Late Night Dances

Hey! It’s my first RDR2 story! I’m working on more but I hope you like this one. I don’t know how this works but if you like my work and wanna send me requests, I’m down for pretty much everything. Xoxo gossip girl! Find it here on AO3

Warnings: Nada :)

The gang’s hoots and hollers could be heard from Valentine all the way to Saint Denis. A celebration with no rhyme or reason, but still just as spirited. With the uncertainty that there would ever be a sunrise to come, everyone partied as if heaven’s gates would be waiting for them bright and early the following morn.

Drinks were plentiful as generous portions of booze were passed from one hand to the next; leave no cup high and dry. Arthur nursed his beer slowly as he observed his ragtag family, mentally preparing for the shenanigans that would soon follow-the ever dutiful guardian.

Everyone was up to something, rambunctious as always. Sean made pitiful, lecherous passes to a drunk Karen, who responded in kind due to her excessive inebriation. Dutch was sitting with Molly, a familiar grip on her thigh as they sipped on finer liquor together; Miss O’Shea was too highbrow for whatever the commoners drank. Lenny and Hosea recklessly played “five-finger fillet”, which to no one's surprise, ended with sliced hands and hearty laughs at their blatant stupidity.

Javier sat by the fire, casually playing his guitar as people sang-some slurring-dirty songs in tandem with his strumming. Amongst the jovial crowd was you, cheeks pink from one drink too many and your voice louder and prouder than the rest.

Color Arthur surprised that a usually dignified lady such as yourself was bellowing filthy tunes with the likes of Uncle and Swanson. He quickly found a familiar tint adorning his cheeks, similar to yours, and he couldn’t pin the blame on the alcohol this time around.

Arthur was constantly enamored by you but seeing you like this, unrestricted by the commonalities of a society you had long abandoned, he found you even more captivating than before. With a lopsided grin and the fire casting delicate shadows upon the contours of your face, Arthur committed the image to memory so he could immortalize it in his journal later that night.

He hadn’t even realized he was starring, something he was usually hyper aware of, but with the flames emitting such an enchanting glow that continued to envelope you, he felt himself spellbound.

As if starlight had come to life, was the first thought that came to mind; he mentally reprimanded himself for sounding like such a lovestruck fool. Although despite that, he found no shame in admitting to himself that all those pretty poems you and Mary-Beth tittered about could never hold a candle to your beauty.

Too lost in his own head, Arthur hadn’t realized that you had looked up to meet his lingering gaze. Now exposed, heat quickly crept up the back of his neck as your smile widened and you proceeded to eagerly wave him over to the campfire. His feet acted before his mind could catch up and he started in your direction, not before taking an excessive swig of his drink in a sad attempt to calm his nerves.

While Arthur lacked the liquid courage, you on the other hand had enough of it for the both of you. The whiskey you’d been sampling had sent a warmth blooming through your entire body, weakening the shyness that usually reared its ugly head around Arthur. You were a well-spoken, educated woman but your feelings for a certain Mr. Morgan had reduced you to a blushing, bumbling mess.

“My lady,” Arthur said affectionately and he tipped his hat to you, “everyone,” he acknowledged the rest of the group with considerably less enthusiasm. The men responded in kind, grunting their hellos.

Almost as soon as he arrived, you had hopped up from the log you were perched on to meet Arthur, beaming at him even more now that you were in his presence.

Having your inhibitions assuaged thanks to a healthy dose of Uncle’s personal booze supply, you wrapped your arms snugly around Arthur’s sturdy shoulders, catching the usually stoic outlaw off guard.

“Ar-tie,” you singsonged, rather loudly; you had no idea where this newfound nickname had come from but your drunk alter ego seemed to enjoy throwing all formalities to the wind. Arthur’s eyes widened, his blush clearly visible as he found himself in your warm embrace.

A universal silence fell over the circle, Charles and John trying to contain their snickers as they eagerly awaited for the rest of this sickeningly saccharine scenario to play out.

Arthur sputtered pathetically as he tried to process the entirety of this overwhelming situation that he quickly found himself in.

You were so close to him, a distance he previously would’ve considered improper especially with a lady of your caliber. But now, with alcohol fueling both of your systems, he wasn’t so sure he could bring himself to care.

He could faintly make out the scent of wildflowers in your hair-a mix of lavender and honeysuckle. How could someone who lived amongst criminals and was constantly surrounded by depravity smell so sweet?

Your hypnotic aroma was almost enough to make him forget about your ridiculous shortening of his name-almost.

“Artie?” he asked incredulously. He was a hardened criminal, the secondhand gun and leading enforcer of the Van der Linde gang. A bad man. And here you were, drunk and without a care in the world, calling him something not even Jack had thought to come up with. You pulled back from him, much to his dismay, with a faux-pout pursing your lips.

“Yes, that’s,” you paused to lightly bop him on the nose with your index finger, “you.” The rest of the gang had abandoned any form of subtly as unrepressed chortles could be heard from practically everyone around the campfire.

Little ol’ you was making the infamous Arthur Morgan, a man with a bounty of over five thousand dollars, more flustered than a common schoolgirl. They weren’t naive to his feelings towards you, keeping to themselves lest they want to meet the business end of his wrath. But this was too hysterical to ignore, and they felt safe making jests at Arthur’s expense with you in tow.

“Artie why don’t you sit down with us,” Javier offered cooly, the smirk tugging at the edge of his lips practically giving away his teasing undertones. Arthur was about to retort when he was cut off by Uncle’s loudmouthed interjection.

“Yeah Artie, my boy, you look a lil’ red in the face! Take a load off and enjoy the company of the fine mistress called whiskey,” he whooped, slapping his knee as he keeled over from a fit of laughter due to his own witticism.

Completely oblivious, you laughed alongside the other men as you linked arms with a disgruntled Arthur. He scoffed in response to this incessant mocking, quickly tossing back the rest of his beer to alleviate his rapidly increasing heart rate as you continued to move closer to his side.

Your attention soon diverted from the conversation to Dutch’s gramophone, a gentle melody emitting from it and drifting up to the moon above. Excitement took ahold of your heart and in turn you took ahold of Arthur’s hands, the joy radiating from you almost palpable.

“Artie,” you chirped, earning another wave of sniggers, “dance with me!” It wasn’t so much a request as it was a demand, as you already started tugging him towards the music’s origin.

“D-dance?” he stuttered. He wasn’t known for his charm and grace and yet despite that, you were asking this of him anyway. And who was he to deny you of anything you wanted?

But at the risk of making an even bigger idiot of himself in front of you, he couldn't help but hesitate. You noticed his apprehension and turned towards him, hands on your hips in a stern fashion similar to Abigail before she’s about to scold Jack for misbehaving.

“Yes dance, silly,” you chided, resuming your place around his arm before softening your expression again. “Do you not want to dance with me, Artie?” you said sullenly; the sad look you gave Arthur was irresistible and almost impossible to refuse.

He sighed heavily, shooting daggers at the men ogling the two of you from around the fire and then returning his attention back solely to you, ready to concede to your wishes.

“As my lady commands” he said, ushering you closer to Dutch’s tent by the small of your back-always the gentleman. The two of you stood next to the gramophone, the record idly spinning as it produced a pleasant rhythm.

Arthur extended his hand and you excitedly gave yours in turn, not expecting such a soft kiss from his chapped lips to grace your senses. Your flush was amplified by his chivalry and you bowed your head in response, like a true lady of high society.

His arm found a comfortable place around your waist and the two of you began swaying in an almost perfect tempo to a song unknown to the both of you.

With the entire camp peering at this tender moment between you, the only audience you two acknowledged were the stars twinkling faintly above.

Arthur surprised you with an elegance and poise that could be expected of a Saint Denis socialite, but still making it an experience that was uniquely him. You giggled as Arthur clumsily twirled you around before bringing you back towards him, your chests mere inches apart. He cocked an eyebrow at you in mock accusation at your sudden outburst.

“You are full of surprises, Sir Artie,” to which Arthur let out his own hearty chuckle for the first time that night.

“I’m no sir, my dear lady. Just trying to please.”

“And you are doing a fine job, cowboy,” you purred, putting extra emphasis on your last word and catching his attention for yet another time that same evening. It seemed to be a talent of yours and he had no qualms about your skills. A nickname, so suitable for him, sounded absolutely perfect coming from you.

“No more Artie?” he questioned with a humorous tone, giving you another spin. He was never one for dancing, but with you, it came as simple as breathing. You smiled at him mischievously, daring to lean in closer. He didn’t object.

“I was just teasin’, didn’t mean to make you sweat cus’ of it,” you admitted.

To be perfectly honest, you didn’t take into account the backlash from the rest of the gang that would result from your drunken roguery. But you were tired of letting your lack of confidence get in the way of pursuing a man who you held such a deep level of admiration for. Right now, you had absolutely no regrets about any of your actions.

Arthur laughed again, a lovely yet rare occurrence. “Well no offense taken darlin’, despite those buffoons I’d say this evening ended quite pleasantly.”

With that, he dipped you gracefully as the music gave one last bombastic crescendo before its grand finale. A majority of the gang awarded the two of you with a hearty round of applause, but Arthur paid them no mind.

Gently, he pulled you back to him as you both regained your composure. He looked down at you fondly, brushing strands of hair that came loose during your dance back behind your ear. Even disheveled, you were still a marvel to behold in his eyes.

Your gazes were locked to one another, fingers still intertwined. Arthur, bless his heart, was unsure of how to end this beautifully intimate encounter. He had already taken so many risks tonight, and if said risks weren’t related to some sort of gang heist, then it meant he truly was taking a leap of faith outside of his realm of expertise.

You could practically feel his frantic heartbeat thrumming against your own chest. Feeling bold, a hand found its way up to his neck and you stood on your tiptoes to place a single kiss on his cheek yet dangerously close to the corner of his lips.

As quickly as you gave it, you retreated in hopes of seeing his earnest reaction and you were not disappointed. Almost baffled, his free hand lingered where you had kissed in an attempt to reaffirm he wasn’t dreaming. You placed your hand over his, and gave him a loving smile that almost knocked him off his feet.

“You know where to find me later,” was all you said as you sauntered away, his line of sight following your form as you leisurely strolled back to your tent.

Another moonlight dance was definitely in store.

[rotzaprachim]

марсианка (KOS The Martian AU)

This started with me thinking SPACE PIRATE NIKOLAI, and then not wanting to have to google a bunch of Star Wars shit to write that AU, and then remembering Mark Watney Space Pirate, and then writing that convo out, and then this whole mess grew from that one scene, and it’s almost 2000 words. So: Space Pirate Zoya. 

I know nothing about space or space agencies. I apologise so much.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714387 - AO3 link

----

He talks to her in Russian, over the coms. English is the main language of communication with Earth; it’s what she leaves her logs in, it’s what she got her climatology doctorate in even if, for the most elemental things, she looks out at the night sky and thinks, כוכב, kochav, before she hears the English. نجم, звезда, those come easily, too. And তারকা, she reminds herself. Najim, zvezda, tārakā. You play such games with your mind to keep from losing your grasp on earth, all the way up here.

Russian, though, it’s what her aunt spoke to her in, after she saved her life, in a tiny flat in a smoggy bloc of Petah Tikvah. The current pulls her home.

“Nazyalenskaya,” he drawls over the fritzy connection system, “I want to kill Rietveld.”

She quirks a smile at that; everyone has wanted to kill Rietveld. She would give a lot to want to kill Rietveld right now.

“I think you can spare him another day. If only for all the Van Halen tapes he left behind. And the ridiculous quantity of Indonesian rap.”

“I’m never going to forget about that.”

“Hmmmm, I’d be careful about talking, considering the number of romance novels I’ve found on the system, downloaded by one N. Lantsov.”

- 

“In the face of oblivion,” she tells the crew of the Терешко́ва, “the only course of action left is to science the shit out of this.”

-

How does it feel to be the dying goddess of your own planet?

Sometimes, that’s what she feels like, when she pulls water from Rocket fuel. No one around to hear her swear.

It may be on Mars, but growing potatoes in a literal field of shit pulls her from that revery, into some kind of ancestral, rain-soaked Russian field.

She wonders, absentmindedly and only half-jokingly, if she’s gonna be here long enough that attempting to distil some vodka for the pain would be worth it.

No. She’ll pull herself out of this on pure spite alone, if she has to. It’s gotten her out of other tough places. She’ll pull herself out of this mess, and above a dust clogged atmosphere to the sky above, and all the way home. She’ll buy a cheap- no, an expensive one, it’s what Earth owes her- an expensive bottle of wine from a corner store and uncork it with her eyes out to the sea and she’ll drink life down to the dregs.

I am not going to die here.

-

Look at the stars she tells herself, and try not to feel the fear.

The first English poem she memorised through to the end. Sarah Williams, the full version, not the one chopped to a fridge-magnet length quote. Reach me down my Tycho Brahe, -- I would know him when we meet. Considering that in its entirety it’s about a scientist comprehending his own imminent mortality, it is perhaps not the best choice of reading material. You may tell the German college that their honour comes too./But they must not waste repentance on the grizzled savant’s fate; Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”

She was a girl, once, and she wanted to get away and leave her old life in flames behind her, and she did. She ran and ran and ran, past national borders and past agencies with long acronyms and past the fiery bounds of earth herself. She ran until, quite literally, she could go no further, until she was a woman in a duct-taped house in a place no thing can live, like some kind of mid 21st century Slavic witch.

-

           “Not only am I the best meterologist on earth, I’m the best fucking botanist on this planet. Best surgeon, best cook, best-” she isn’t one to lighten the mood, usually, but what else is there- “best lover.”

-

She points up, through the palm branches of the sukkah’s roof and to the night sky above.

“You can see Mars, right there? See, you can see me. It’s not that far away.”

Lada doesn’t seem convinced.

“You might not come back-”

“You think a few million kilometers is gonna stop me from getting back to my best research partner? Huh. Thought you knew me better than that.”

“A few million?”

“Closer than the nearest bus stop.”

“It’s gonna be years.”

“And so? I’ll expect you to be a proper scientist, when I get back. Or a proper poet, or painter, or chicken farmer.”

“But you’ll come back?”

“There’s nothing that can stop me.”

-

“Nazyalenskaya,” he asks, and in her name is the universe. “How are you?” is not the question to ask a lone crew member stranded literally on Mars. “We got a letter from your family. Gonna patch it through to you.”

“What do you suppose the requirements for building a sukkah on Mars are?”

Not that there’s much of a rule book for this kind of thing, but it’s something she thinks about. Humans, they look at the void and the unlivable planet, and they make it theirs. Genya’s calculations for the direction to face Mecca. The whole crew’s World Cup fervor. The solid week she and Rietveld spent in a subtle face off with the rest of the crew about using the big screen to keep up with Eurovision. The constant, unending, awkwardness of Ghafa and Rietveld, though both were far too professional to act on it.

-

“Red wire to the green and-”

“Lotta fucking duct tape, I know.”

Repairing the rover- that’s a lot of fun. She never really learned how to fix cars, back home. But it gives her something to do, something active, besides staring at potato plants.

She opens another one of her precious rovers for the parts. A weather probe. Says a silent prayer for the death of science.

It’s a long way to Schiaparelli crater. Zoya’s hated road trips for as long as she can remember, both in the environmentalist, fume-hating way, and also in the traffic-hating kind of way. So, she tells herself. Channel that spite into doing what scares you.

-

“Nazyalenskaya,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about the international implications of what you’re trying to do.”

“Mhmm” she says

“First off, I’d like to thank you for being possibly the most diplomatically complicated climatologist alive. Got Roscosmos, ISRO, and the ISA all breathing down my necks.”

“Good. Use it. Play ‘em against each other. This is either the biggest propaganda win or worst failure of their fucking lives.”

“The other thing is law on Mars. There’s an international treaty saying no country can claim anything that’s not on earth. By another treaty, if you’re not in any country’s territory, maritime law applies. So, Mars is international waters.”

Treaties, red tape, diplomatic stuff- that was never her job. Her job was making sure that six other people could breathe in space. Maintaining, linking the systems of the Hab to be survivable.

The storms, though, that was why she was really there. Or at least, that’s what pulled her from earth. The kinds of weather this galaxy had, beyond the limits of earth.

(Once upon a time, Mars had a viable atmosphere. Once upon a time. She looks out at the orange hellscape and wonders: will this be us?)

And then a storm had been her death. She was just biding her time until it happened.

Pessimism. What else was left?

“So?”

“So, Nazyalenskaya, the Hab’s a tripartite effort. ESA, Roscosmos, CNSA. Non-military, but you know as well as I do there’s enough earth-based bitching about who owns it. The second you walk outside, though, you’re in international waters. Soon-”

“No-”

“Soon you’re gonna leave it for the Schiaparelli crater, and you’re gonna commandeer the Ares lV lander. No one on earth gave you explicit permission to do this, and they can’t until you’re back with us on Терешко́ва .”

She realises where this is going. “Fucking hell, Lantsov, not more with the-”

“So you’re going to be taking a craft into international waters without permission, which by definition makes you a pirate. “

Even she cracks a smile.

“DOCTOR ZOYA NAZYALENSKAYA, SPACE PIRATE!”

She can feel the excitement down the line.

“I better get an eye patch at the end of all this.”

“Nothing less for the best meteorologist on the planet.”

“A ship. Commandeered Spanish galleon.”

“Of course.”

“Crate full of gold bullion.”

“I promise you. I think the rest of the crew’s been planning their first meal back on earth for the last year.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re not the ones living off potatoes and protein bars.” She’d found a few secreted-away bottles of kecap manis and a jar of sambal oelek in Rietveld’s luggage, which- completely against regulations for cargo by weight, but it’s inadvertently the best thing he’s ever done for her. At least when she eats her dwindling space rations, she can burn her fucking tongue off, due to Rietveld’s stubborn Dutch insistance to never listen to any rules, ever. 

“Yes, but. We’ve heard all the drafts of the epic-length poem Yul-Bataar’s written to herald you with on your return.”

“Almost makes me want to die alone on Mars.”

“Hush up. We’ve already had to watch your funeral once. I even wrote a speech.”

“I better get a recording of that when I get back,” she says. “You better have cried. You better have wept over the untimely demise of Earth’s best meteorologist.”

“You better believe it was a speech for the ages. Wait, i can find a draft and read it-”

“Save it. I want to savour my death, after I know I’m gonna live.”

“This is next level Slav gallows humour. How many people get to watch their own funerals?”

Zoya Nazyalenskaya does not giggle, but the thought of all those puffed-up world leaders saying things about her importance, her intelligence, her beauty. (Will men see anything else?)  Shedding a few tears about a brown, Jewish, Russo-Bengali meteorologist who’d they’d barely cared to listen to in her life, but here, dead, she’s the ultimate pawn in their games. . . .

It might make her laugh. Slightly.

           And then she thinks about Aunt Liliyana and Lada sitting shiva for her in that flat in Haifa. The first thing she’d bought with her earnings after the ESA had taken her on was a nicer flat for the two of them, in walking distance to the sea.

“Lantsov,” she says, although it feels like exposing some part of herself she doesn’t want to recognise. “Lantsov, keep talking. Please.”

“Of course. What about?” “The crew’s first meal. Back on earth. What is it?”

“Zenik said red-velvet waffles with, quote, “a fuckton of whipped cream. An entire can of whipped cream.” Andreyev like a good Moldovan says it’s gotta be sarmale, and I swore Rietveld lives off coffee and the destruction of his enemies but I know he’s got a thing for nasi goreng and. . ..”

-

This is a dumbass long-shot solution that will probably get them all killed.

It takes a certain kind of long-shot nihilistic self-destruction to enter the airless murder void in the first place, but this is. ..

“The only thing that might work.”

Bo nods and then glares at him to shut up.

The ship’s got a big whiteboard, and Bo’s hands move almost as fast as his mouth does as he sketches, scribbles, draws, talks. They’ve got a direct, illegal, verboten, unknown, lifesaving link through to the CNSA, and as Kuwei’s the only native Mandarin speaker aboard, he’s the main one doing the talking. He’s a chemist, though, - Ghafa’s the pilot, Zhabin’s the chief navigator, and it’s a controlled frenzy of different langauges and disciplines as the crew hashes out the most wild rescue plan in human history.

“How do we know-”

“He’s the best astrodynamacist alive. Also, my dad, but-”

He, Zhabin, Ghafa and Rietveld all independently run the calculations.

Да, Да, हाँ, Ja.

“Who’s ready to go against the explicit instructions of five space agencies to bring the best space pirate alive back home?”

It was never even a choice.

-

“Zoya,” he says, over the link. “We’ll get you home.”

[ragtag-writer]

WIP Extracts: Prophecy Prawns

Hello, I’m not dead!

I thought I’d shove a quick thing I pieced together on here, just to keep it up and running until I can truly get around to it. University really be like that, huh!

Like I said, I kinda threw this together from some of the bits and pieces I had laying around in my files, so it’s not a masterpiece just yet, haha! If you have any feedback or questions don’t hesitate to let me know!

Lawrence hadn’t expected much trouble being a fishmonger. All he wanted to do was give people their kippers and try not to think about how much he was disappointing his parents. However, his boss had rather skipped the lesson on what to do if the king prawns started declaring themselves Prophets of Armageddon to the Sunday morning customers.

The day had started perfectly normally, with him gutting out the latest shipment of haddock from Lowport, handing Mrs Jones her weekly order of cod and setting up the front stall. It had all started when he had gotten himself into the back room and was attempting to remove the head from a particularly unwieldy salmon.

“AND LOW, TERRIBLE PAIN SHALL SPREAD ACROSS THE LAND!”

Lawrence jolted up from his stool as a booming voice echoed from the front parlour. He hurriedly stepped back from his desk and shoved through the beaded curtains to see Mrs Alderton frozen in the middle of the room.

Lawrence shuffled his way past the counters as he watched the elderly lady looking back at him in shock.

“Mrs Alderton, we’ve talked about this kind of thing not being allowed in the shop anymo-“

“IT IS NIGH, THE END, THE GREAT WINTER IS UPON US,”

Lawrence paused looking down at the lady next to him

“That wasn’t you...was it?” He asked slowly

The lady shook her head with a scowl played across her lips

“This is demons, I bet it is, can’t even go and buy your groceries without em being all over the place,” She muttered, pulling out a small vial. The same one she waved at the bakers two streets down because she thought there were trolls hiding in the bread baskets. He couldn’t blame her, the apprentices they had hired recently really were shocking.

“You know I’m right! Bet it those things from last Thursday like I said it’d be!”

“Mrs Alderton, for the last time those were scallops not demon eggs,” He sighed, wiping his hands down his apron

“Now, can I get you anything? We have a great offer on sea bass at the mome-,”

“THE DARKNESS HAS ARRIVED FOR US ALL, REPENT, REPENT!”

Lawrence froze as the voice boomed once again from behind him, filling the room. Mrs Aldertone reached into her purse again, pulling out a large hairpin.

“Oh they aren’t taking me today! Come on you bastards!” She yelled out into the room, waving her hairpin around erratically,

“There watching us! I can feel it! Demons I say, demons!” She spat out at the ceiling,

Lawrence could feel it too. Eyes, all beadily trained on the back of his neck. He slowly turned and looked downwards at the cabinet before him.

They stared up at him expectantly

Lawrence gulped, rubbing the back of his neck

“YOU SEE US, BUTCHER,”

He nodded, terror seizing him

“H-hello, can I help you?”

The eyes didn’t stray from him

“WE LIVE AGAIN.”

“I can see that yes,” He laughed awkwardly as Mrs Aldertone swang her purse towards him, clattering the back of his head

“OW!” He yelled, wincing and drawing away from her furious stare

“Didn’t they teach you not to talk to strangers!” She shouted

“I gutted them this morning, I think that makes us at least acquaintances!” Lawrence said indignantly “and what do you have in there a brick!” He winced

She looked at him haughtily

“A priest is needed here boy, and exorcists, demonologists, investigators!” She muttered, hurrying towards the door, tossing the small vial to him

“Distract them until I get back here!” She called out, the door slamming behind her. So much for not talking to demons

He turned back to the cabinet

“WE LIVE AGAIN.” They stated

He nodded

“Uh, yes, um, lovely weather for it?” He said shakily, tentatively backing away from the cases.

“WE REQUIRE WATER,”

Lawrence nodded hastily

“Yes, yes that would be for the best wouldn’t it,” He stammered, turning and facing the shop. A fishmonger, whilst very good at keeping fish around, wasn’t so much in the business of keeping them alive.

Eventually he managed to grab a bucket from under the counter that he usually deposited fish innards into. Running to the tap he hastily filled it up and placed it in front of the cabinet,

He hesitated slightly before dashing into the back room, grabbing a box of salt that his boss had bought to make the salt lines by the window after the second incident. Running back into the main room he began to tip the salt into the bucket. From what Lawrence could remember of his year 7 biology class, he was pretty sure shrimp were salt water based. Pretty sure.

“If I unlock this, you’re not going to smite me or something are you?” He said suspiciously, hand hovering over the handle to the cabinet.

“WE ARE MEARLY THE CRIERS OF WHAT IS TO PASS,”

Laurence hummed

“Do criers bite or anything?”

“WE DO NOT CURRENTLY POSSES TEETH,”

He shrugged, flipping the handle and pushing the casing up,

“I mean you’ve got to be talking with something right?”

The prawns seemed to process this for a second

“WE ARE NOT…FAMILIAR WITH THIS MODE OF COMMUNICATION,”

Lawrence finally was looking at the prawns huddled together into the ice that he had rested them on not a few hours earlier.

“You guys talk to each other? How come I’ve never heard you before?”

“BEING DEAD HAS A TENDANCY TO MAKE ONE LOSE THEIR VOICE.”

Lawrence winced

“Ok, I guess, but how are you speaking English?” He said reaching into the cabinet. One of the prawns scuttled forward and onto his hand. The rest of the watched cautiously from the ice. Gently moving his hand back, he lifted them out of the cabinet.

“WE ARE MERELY CHANNELING OUR TRUTHS INTO THE UNIVERSE, IT HAS NO BARRIER OF LANGUAGE.” It blinked from the palm of his hand.

Laurence scoffed

“Yeah? Tell that to my French teacher,” He muttered darkly, placing the prawn into the bucket

“Better?” He asked

“MUCH, THANK YOU,”

“No problem. Do you always have to yell like that?” Lawrence questioned, placing his arm back into the cabinet, the rest of the prawns hastily scrambling onto his arm, as he deposited 5 more into the bucket.

“WE FEEL IT HELPS PUNCTUATE OUR WARNINGS,”

“Yes, but it is rather loud isn’t it?”

“Sorry. It’s rather hard being taken seriously these days, it helps get the message across,”

“Which is?”

“THE ARMAGEDDON IS NIGH, YOUR GODS STAND UNWATCHING. THEY ARE COMING.”

“Huh” Laurence looked down at the bucket

“So, what happened to you guys then? The last time I looked at you, you were all very dead,”

He thought he had made sure of that.

“We are…unsure. We can only see what is yet to pass. We have been modified for purpose,”

Lawrence nodded, sitting himself down in front of the bucket. He rubbed his head slightly, leaning back against the counter. It made sense. From what he could remember, prawns couldn’t walk on land. He couldn’t exactly sell them in this state either, he wasn’t sure what the food standards laws said about demonic possessions but it at the very least fell under cross contamination.

He sighed. Mrs Aldertone had probably gotten her hands on a priest or the like by now. The last time this had happened his boss was very clear on how expensive an exorcism is and how the next one would be coming out of his pay check if he let it happen again.

The prawns looked at him curiously as he stood up

“Well, I suppose I should be letting you guys get on your way then, starting the apocalypse and such,”

“We are merely predicting it’s forthco-“

He waved a hand dismissively

“Whatever, listen, you should really be getting going, there’s a very God fearing woman about to get back here and I hear she’s got an extremely good paella recipe-“

“The human digestive tract is not strong enough to hinder u-“

“Well I don’t care! I don’t get paid enough to deal with demons this regularly! Do you know what minimum wage is? Rent? Do you know how difficult it is to get the money together for a deposit with Balthazar sticking his head out of my freezer twice a week!” He grumbled, grabbing the handle of the bucket

“We are not demons, we ar-“

“I said I didn’t care! Look, there’s a tropical fish store just down the street, I’m sure they’ll take you if you wave your claws in sync or something.”

He tugged the bucket into the backroom, the prawns clicking in protest

“WE SHALL NOT BE TREATED AS MERE PETS” They yelled back as the bucket sloshed water onto the floor. A few pincers reached over the edge of the bucket, snipping at his hands

Lawrence yelped, stumbling back

“Paella it is!” He growled, rolling up his sleeves, reaching towards bucket.

A small ding rang out from the front of the store, and he and the bucket froze.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” A female voice called from the front room.

Laurence sighed. It looked like this would have to wait. Putting on his best customer service face, he left the bucket of flailing pincers on the ground and hurried out to the front desk.

As he pushed through the beaded curtain, he was met with the face of a young woman scanning the front room. She wore a thick green winter coat, a woollen hat with stands of brown hair peeking out over her forehead, and a large brown leather satchel slung over her shoulder.

He smiled at her graciously, stepping behind the counter

“Good morning! Can I help you today? We have a great offer on sea bass this week!” He rattled off, smile twitching slightly

The woman smiled back, waving her hand

“Oh no I’m fine, I heard a woman on the street mentioning demons at the fishmongers, could I speak to them please?” She said brightly, rummaging around in her satchel and pulling out a flashy green notepad

Lawrence gritted his teeth to keep his smile in place as he mentally cursed Mrs Aldertone.

“I’m so sorry, it would go against several workplace policies of supernatural-“

“I’ll pay you,” She countered, holding up an envelope

Waving his arm back he ushered her behind him

“Right this way Miss,”

[kevinpolowy]

How 'Thor: Ragnarok' screenwriter (and former pizza guy) Eric Pearson became Marvel's go-to script doctor

Chris Hemsworth in Thor: Ragnarok (Photo: Marvel Studios)

He was just about to give up the dream.

It was 2010, and Eric Pearson had spent the past eight years working menial gig after menial gig — from pizza delivery guy to messenger to ticket-taker at an arthouse theater in West Hollywood, the closest the aspiring screenwriter could get to the film industry. He’d just turned 30, and he was about to leave Los Angeles, tail tucked firmly between his legs, for a flight of shame back to his native Boston.

“It was close, man,” Pearson told Yahoo Entertainment last week at a coffee shop in Beverly Hills, on the day Thor: Ragnarok, the first movie for which he’s been the central writer, opened across the world. “I bet I could’ve floated for another three to six months, but I was on the verge of the embarrassing move home to the parents. It was just so hard. It’s expensive to live out here, and there’s only so long you can hide your credit-card debts.”

Pearson, who’d already given up his dream of becoming an actor (“I was just bad, I know it now, too, and I probably even knew it then,” he laughed) and studied screenwriting at New York University’s Tisch School for the Arts, had one last shot to escape the unsustainable clutches of the minimum wage. He had applied to the Marvel Writer’s Program, the elite training workshop that the burgeoning movie studio, fresh off Phase One megahits like Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk, created in 2009 to groom in-house talent.

It was an exhaustive process. First, applicants had to choose one of three “lower-tier” Marvel Comics characters and pitch a movie around them. His options were Eternals, Cloak and Dagger, and Ares (Marvel’s version of the god of war). “And I tried to overcompensate. I was like, ‘I’ve got two!’ I built one for Ares and one for Cloak and Dagger. And they’re like, ‘You’re misunderstanding how to impress us. Just give us one good thing.'”

So Pearson zeroed in on Cloak and Dagger, formulated his premise, and then pitched … and pitched … and pitched. “It took forever,” he said. Or, precisely, seven meetings before he got into a room with Kevin Feige, Marvel’s ballcap-sporting studio boss and the architect of the studio’s $12-billion blockbuster machine. An hour later, he was offered a slot in the program.

Pearson will tell you he’s not even the most fervent of fanboys. He can tell you where he fell in love with comics (Newbury Comics) and the first ones he bought (an Iron Man with War Machine on the cover, and two Thors — including, coincidentally, a “mega-spectacular” for $4.50 that opened with Loki pretending to be Odin on the throne and Thor locked in hell with Mephisto, a premise that will sound familiar to anyone who’s seen Ragnarok). But he admits he had a Phase None in high school, when he opted to spend his cash on gas instead, before reengaging with splash pages in his twenties as Watchmen and The Dark Knight Returns hit stands. (Now he’s very particular about what he follows, but begs you not to sleep on Saga and Sex Criminals.)

Suddenly, he was a hired gun on the Marvel payroll, doing anything the studio asked of him — and doing it on overdrive. “I think because I had struggled for so long and was so broke, I think my attitude was to just put my head down and work really hard on anything I did,” he recalled. “I think a lot people might have said, ‘Oh, I’m in this, now I’ll talk to my agent about parlaying this into what the next thing might be.'”

Instead, Pearson begged for more work, and was eventually asked to script a series of Marvel One Shot webisodes, including The Consultant, Item 47, and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Thor’s Hammer.

Even though the shoots were only two or three days long, they gave him practical experience and got him noticed. “You’ve got all the toys and the bells and the whistles there, and great actors.” It also helped that two of the One Shots he wrote were directed by the studio’s co-president, Louis D’Esposito. Pearson could feel himself becoming part of the family, and his stature within it was growing: “I was kind of like the little cousin for a long time, and then it was like, ‘Oh, no, we can trust Eric to know the world, and supply a lot of material, too.” When he heard they might do another One Shot, he came into the office with five eight-page scripts for other characters they could produce a short around.

He eventually became a writer and story editor for Marvel Television’s Agent Carter, where he stayed for two years. In 2014, he was brought on to do rewrites on Ant-Man, during difficult times for both Marvel and Pearson. Marvel was in the process of breaking up with writer-director Edgar Wright (who was ultimately replaced by Peyton Reed), and Pearson was in the process of breaking up with his girlfriend. “It was a good time to be in Marvel 12 to 14 hours a day and be focused on work,” he said. “There were a bunch of notes that needed to be done, and they said do them all. … I think I reminded them that I could get them 30 pages in a day … when they’re in an emergency situation.”

Pearson’s favorite contributions to Ant-Man include the scene in the strip club and Stan Lee’s “Crazy stupid fine” cameo. “And I also love taking credit for shrinking the guy who doesn’t support him and flushing down the toilet,” he said. “My mom hates that, and I love it.”

In retrospect, Pearson looks at Ant-Man as an audition for the threequel Thor: Ragnarok, which he took over from screenwriting duo Craig Kyle and Christopher Yost and engineered what was essentially a Page 1 rewrite. He spent most of the production of Ragnarok on the ground in Australia, where he met his future wife, Kate, and has since chipped in with uncredited pre-production and post-production work on Spider-Man: Homecoming, Avengers: Infinity War, and the untitled fourth Avengers clash.

It took only seven years — which could still feel like an eternity if you’re living in a high-priced metropolis with a low-paying job and no semblance of a career — but with Ragnarok on its way to blockbuster status, Pearson is clearly making good company among Marvel’s most prized wordsmiths.

In other words, he won’t ever have to deliver pizza again.

Thor: Ragnarok is currently in theaters.

Watch: Mark Ruffalo on how he gave voice, and body, to Hulk in ‘Ragnarok’:

Read more from Yahoo Entertainment:

‘Thor: Ragnarok’: Your ultimate guide to Easter eggs, callbacks, and in-jokes

Mark Ruffalo explains how he gave voice, and action, to the Hulk in ‘Thor: Ragnarok’

‘Thor: Ragnarok’: Jaimie Alexander explains why Lady Sif is MIA

Throwback Thor’s day: Let’s revisit the first live-action battle between Hulk and Thor

[ladywolfmd]

Ars Longa Vita Brevis

Summary: "The Art is long. Life is Short." - Hippocrates Jon is a fresh board certified Trauma Surgeon, attending conventions and workshops in between looking for a hospitals and moonlighting to start on a real practice. On one convention hosted by The Emergency Medicine Department of Casterly Rock Metropolitan Hospital, he chances upon seeing Dr. Sansa Stark, a fifth year Neurosurgery Resident. The last time Jon saw Sansa, she was a first year med student while he was a third year and were both attending a summer suturing workshop in Highgarden.

(You can read this in AO3 too: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11545893

"Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. We are just about to touch down at Lannisport Airport in about 10 minutes, and we are on time. The weather around Lannisport is clear and sunny and will remain throughout this summer solstice. Thank you for flying with us today."

Jon had just woken up with a start, the weight of sleepless nights after taking on extra shifts from two hospitals he was moonlighting in at Storm's End, still weighed heavy on his lids. Ever since he passed the oral boards - the final frontier before he could officially call himself a licensed Trauma Surgeon - five months ago, he's been busy scouting hospitals that would take him on so he could start his practice. So in between applications and waiting, and of course, after a well-deserved, long overdue vacation he took, (He went sandboarding in Dorne, with his co-residents, Ed and Ned. Namely, Edric Storm, and Edric Dayne), he was moonlighting in different ERs, joining medical missions, and of course, attending many conventions and workshops to keep sharp.

And this time, he would be going to a postgraduate course in Casterly Rock.

While waiting for the plane to land, he lazily looked out his window and marveled when he saw the outline of the famous Rock come to view even from still high up. The massive stone hill was the second tallest structure in Westeros, second only to the Hightower Castle in Oldtown, while The Wall rounded up the three as the third highest.

The unmistakeable rock indeed looked like a lion staring up the sun, and much as I wasn't a fan of the Lannisters in general (because frankly who is?), the Rock was indeed looking beautiful the closer we approach. Jon thought. Especially the ostentatious castle, which looked like a golden beacon on top of the hill - like an offering to the gods.

As the plane descended, Jon watched as even the waters of the Sunset Sea gleamed ochre, proving its namessake with the sun setting over it while red sails with golden lions dotting over the bay, signaling that they were now approaching the famous docks of Lannisport.

As more of the walled city showed itself, more reds, golds and lions as adorned by the uniforms of the men of the City Watch were everywhere,  making Jon fight the urge to roll his eyes.

At least you had to hand it to the Lannisters. Spare no expense indeed and this will only get more grand and obnoxious in  an in-your-face-you-are-in-Lannister-territory obnoxious, the closer we enter the lion's den.

Jon suddenly thought of his uncle Viserys and aunt Dany - and this time he didn't hold back from rolling his eyes.

Dragonstone wasn't better. He shook his head and chuckled, the view of the runway coming closer and closer as they approached.

Dragons and Lions and too bold colors. He shook his head again.

I prefer Direwolves.

This time he smiled more genuinely.

Once they landed in LanX, Jon was impressed with the service, for indeed, it was truly one of the world's best, never mind that Jon has never seen as many blondes in his life and he was just at the airport.

It only took Jon barely ten minutes through luggage and the checks when he was already on a shuttle to his hotel in Casterly.

The twenty minute ride went without issue. Jon was thanking the old gods that his cabbie wasn't chatty so he was able to enjoy the view of the Sunset Sea as it stretched out from up the skyway.

He took a moment to pull out the brochure and program souvenir they mailed him after he registered.

"The Emergency Medicine Department of Casterly Rock Metropolitan Hospital, welcomes you to its 78th Annual Postgraduate Course with this year's topic: "Breaking Brains and Bones" An Update on Head Traumas and Fractures, Approaches in the E.R."

Venue: The Lann Regency Hotel

July 12-13, 2012

The course was open to all specialties and even general practitioners and all allied health professionals but most of those who were going were, of course, Emergency Medicine specialists, General Surgeons, Trauma Surgeons - like me -  Internists, and of course, with the topic, Neurologists, Neurosurgeons, and Orthopedic Surgeons.

Neurology was always a waterloo of Jon since medschool and since he won't be able to avoid head and spine traumas in the E.R., he quickly grabbed the opportunity to attend when Rhaenys, his older sister by his father, showed the ad for it when she visited him in Storm's End while she was attending an Obstetrics convention held there.

"Try and explore The Rock while you're there. For all the pride the Lannisters have, it's well founded there. It's honestly beautiful once you get past the sea of blondes," Rhaenys chuckled. "Anyway, you'll see Dr. Tyrion there and maybe Sarella."

Jon smiled. Dr. Tyrion Lannister was one of his favorite professors at Dragonstone University where he studied. He was a Neurophysiologist but was more famous for being a Bioethicists. He was also scheduled to do a lecture for the course and he'd be sure to attend.

Sarella Martell, however, was his sibling's cousins from their mother.  She was an Anesthesiologist who specialized in Orthopedic cases as well as a Toxicologist like her father, Dr. Oberyn Maryell.

His thoughts were broken his phone rang. Dany. Daenerys Targaryen, Jon's aunt.

"Hello?"

"Jon! Are you in Casterly already?" came his aunt's cheerful voice.

"Almost. Still in the cab. How'd you know?"

"Drogo saw your name on the listings. He's asking if you're also staying at the Regency."

Drogo was Aunt Dany's husband. They met when she was assigned as a diplomat in Pentos. Drogo, in turn, was an Ortho jock there and it was no surprise that he would also be attending. Why didn't I think of this earlier?

"I'm staying at the Regency. Give me his number, I'll call and maybe we'll get drinks later," Jon always liked Drogo. Sure he could easily murder an army with his bare hands, but he was actually a decent guy - and putty in Dany's tiny hands. He smirked.

"Great! I'll send it. We've actually been there before so he could show you around. Tomorrow's the start of your thing, right?"

"Aye,"

"Perfect. I"ll tell him. Enjoy your time there - but not too much! Remember, dragons are better than puny lions," she giggled. "And you are still a dragon no matter what."

He snorted. "Okay." I changed my name, okay! Move on.

"The next responsible thing to do is to tell you to go meet a girl while you're there but I don't think I could stomach you bringing a Lannister to join our bloodline," she gagged. "Soooo... the compromise is to say, have fun and don't forget to use protection!"

Jon hung up, embarrassed, before he could hear her cackling on the other line.

Trust Dany to take a jab at my on-again, off-again relationship with Ygritte Ryder, an EMT I met in Skagos where she lived. Sure we weren't labeled or constant, but long-distance would do that to you. She's still my first love or infatuation or whatever worked and we talked and met up as we could, but we both knew that we were just each others 'in-betweens' until 'the one' comes along. I was nothing but fond of her and we did try more seriously but we both knew there was something that was amiss.

Before Jon could think further, the cabbie alerted him.

"We're here sir."

Jon stepped out the cab, grabbed his bags, and paid the driver before turning around and facing the entrance of the hotel.

The entrace of the Lann Regency was just as lavish as most everything was at Casterly. It was fronted by a giant fountain with the bottom filled with golden coins as part of the decoration, while the red tinted double glass doors were framed with a pair of pouncing lion statues made of gold of course.

Cars and shuttles and even limousines with flags came and went, with people, some in business suits, some in more casual travel ones, mostly went up looking to check in. Like Jon, most of the doctors opted to fly in a day or night earlier.

With one last look behind him, Jon started walking up.

"Here we go."

Day 1

After two of three sessions in the morning, they were given a fifteen minute coffee break. And breaks like these usually meant making the rounds on the different booths of the sponsors, set outside the plenary halls which included, for the majority, the different pharmaceutical and medical equipment companies, promoting and selling old and new products.

Jon was looking at one booth that sold surgical instruments from the brand he favored. While he was comparing the different pocket minor sets, Drogo came up behind him holding two black coffees.

Jon accepted one and thanked the hulking doctor with the long pony tail to match his long beard. "Thanks."

Drogo nodded. "Minor sets?" He looked at the table Jon was examining.

"Aye. Can't have enough of them," Jon half-smiled.

Drogo answered with a nod again, moving towards the drills and rods. Like Jon, he wasn't  much of a talker - well, a sober Drogo anyway. Jon almost smirked at the memory of Drogo slurring along last night and drunk calling Dany. Almost because he also remembered his wake up call this morning with Dany telling him off for not keeping Drogo in check.

He looked him over and was impressed that there was not a trace of drinking on him. "So, Dany woke me up this morning."

Drogo leaned back as he laughed boomingly, his ponytail almost knocking out a guy behind him. He slapped Jon's back a little too hard then that if it weren't for all those long hours in basic army training he had, he'd have flown across the room.

Jon glared at him but Drogo just shrugged at him sheepishly. "The moon of my life is a woman of many words."

Just then we heard a girly voice. "Jon! Drogo!"

The two of them turned around and saw a short young woman with olive skin, dark curly hair and equally dark eyes. Sarella. She grinned when she finally reached them. "Hi."

"Hi Sarella."

Drogo, again, just nodded but at least he was smiling.

"Rhaenys told me you two would be here. I was just talking to Tyrion when his bitchy aunt Genna cut me off and shooed me away," she grumbled.

Dr. Genna Lannister was another famous Lannister, and like all Lannisters who were doctors, her field was neurologic as well. She was a Pediatric Neurologist and like most Pedia Neuros, she was a cutthroat bitch.

"Where are they now?"

Sarella's eyes brightened then. "Oh! I saw them going to the Research presentations from the Neurosurgery residents in Hall B." She eyed me then. "You should come, Jon. I saw your cousin's poster presentation, and she's one of the presenters - also the highly favored to win at that."

Cousin?

She noticed my confusion and exchanged a glance at Drogo who just shrugged at her. "Your cousin, Jon? Sansa Stark?"

Sansa - Sansa Stark...

She sighed impatiently. "You know. Tall. Very Pretty. Blue eyes. Red hair."

Oh.

"Seven hells, right, right. Of course. She's on her," Jon paused and did a mental math, "Fifth year?" How could I forget?

Sarella threw her hands up. "Finally! Yes. Honestly Jon, and to think that Rhaenys told me you were more Stark than Targaryen. You forgot your own cousin."

Jon felt a little guilty then. But among his Stark cousins, he wasn't particularly close to Sansa even though she was the only one who joined the medical field among them. He knew her as the pretty one or the doctor one. Between her attending boarding school at Highgarden and training at Oldtown, they really didn't get to meet each other often enough. Just a couple of times and mostly never went beyond polite greetings. Frankly, Jon didn't know how to talk to her.

"Come on, lets show our support!" Sarella all but linked one arm each with Jon and Drogo.

Drogo looked amused as Sarella, petite as she was, was leading two broody men to the hall.

Sansa.

Jon tried to remember the last time he saw her. And then he felt even more guilty when he remembered it was roughly nine years ago. But to his credit, he practically lived in the hospital ever since he started his residency and he was sure it was the same for Sansa. Residency meant missing family occasions, social gatherings - everything that entailed you have a life, basically.

He knew that, he swore he did. He knew she was on a neurosurgery residency at the Citadel Hospital. If there was one thing he remembered at the top of his head, it was this one because her entering the program drew attention. First because everyone assumed that she was going to Plastics with her delicate almost invisible stitching skills or maybe even Dermatologic Surgery for her natural beauty and genius-level IQ. But no. She wanted Neurosurgery. The "top of the totem pole" in the surgical elite - Jon rolled his eyes muttering 'god complexes' - but also the specialty that was sexist, continuing to be the most male-dominated field. Robb, her brother though, cleared that up after he told Jon that she was doing it for their brother Bran who was crippled at an early age after a freak accident near The Wall.

Nine years though.

July 2003

Jon was practicing his knot tying when he heard a frustrated huff from the table next to his on his right.

He looked to his side and saw a girl with red hair tied in one long braid, who was also practicing her knot tying - her brows were drawn together in concentration as she started undoing the knot she made - a clear indication that she did it wrong because a good knot was one that held but could easily be undone with one strategic pull or cut.

He looked around and he wasn't surprised that there were no other people who are practicing. After the morning session, most were still out for lunch. They were in a two-day basic suturing workshop at Ashford.

After another sigh, Jon worked up the courage to walk up to the girl who, from the looks of it, was definitely younger than him, but somehow was oddly familiar though he couldn't place her. He was lucky that he already mastered knot tying last year when he was still a second year medical student. But that took many frustrating moments such as what she was experiencing now. He was only able to master it because he looked for someone to teach him better and figured maybe that's what she needed too.

"Um, excuse me," he tried to smile through his nerves.

She looked up at him then and Jon saw the bluest eyes he's ever seen, rendering him mute for a moment.

Seven hells, a pretty girl. What am I doing?

But the girl blinked and looked at him as if she was trying to place him too but she didn't say anything and that was when he remembered that she was probably waiting for him to proceed.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck nervously and tried to smile. "Hi. I'm sorry. I - I, uh, doyouneedhelp?"

Her cheeks colored as she looked down, biting her lip, muttering an embarrassed and slightly defiant, "I'm good. Thanks."

Jon was tempted to go back to his seat but something pushed at him to keep talking to her. Struggling for words, he looked down instead to her knot tying kit and guessed where she was having trouble. On the dummy was one perfect square knot. His guess would be she was having problems with tying the second knot.

"One hand or two?" Jon tried again.

She reddened some more and sighed before looking up at him and admitting in a small voice. "Both actually."

Jon smiled kindly then. "The second knot is always the hardest. Especially if you have two left hands," he tried to joke. Cursing himself right after for how corny it was but her reaction encouraged him to continue.

A corner of her lips turned up and her eyes were warmer, never mind that there was a raised brow at that. "You know how to do it then?"

Jon nodded. "I know how to do it...I can teach you, if you want."

She smiled at him more genuinely then and motioned for the seat beside her.

Jon took his own set and placed it beside hers. "Okay, I'll show you how to do it first and then we'll do it together, sounds good?"

She nodded. "Sounds good."

"We'll start with one hand," he said as he started on tying the first knot. "Now for the second," he made the mistake of looking at her to see if she was watching and saw that indeed she was. She was watching alright, and watching very very closely, he could feel her breath on him.

Her eyes met his then and she frowned. "Why'd you stop? Go on."

Jon's neck turned pink and he swallowed before showing her how to do the second knot. "See? The trick is to know the position of the thumb. Wanna try it now?"

She nodded and quickly went to her own kit, while waiting for Jon to undo the knots. Step by step, Jon taught her while she mirrored perfectly on her own and after a couple of doing it on her own she beamed up at Jon.

"See? It wasn't that hard," Jon laughed nervously but felt some pride that he made her smile happily. She was a quick study, this student of his. He was right in thinking she just needed better instructions and to be honest - the instructions for this workshop was too complicated.

"Thank you," She grinned at him.

He blushed. "You're welcome. It's Jon by the way."

Her smile fell a little and Jon panicked.

She eyed him curiously before breaking into a smirk. "You don't remember me at all, do you? I mean, we met just once before but still."

Jon's eyes bulged and he wracked his brain but came up blank. He was sure he'd remember someone as beautiful as her.

She giggled then and arched a brow. "I'll give you a clue since you were kind enough to help me. My name is Sansa. Sansa...Stark." She grinned and Jon cursed.

"Fuck. Of course! Seven hells, you're one of Robb's little sisters." Red hair. Blue eyes. She could pass as Robb's twin and she looked like Aunt Catelyn. Was this really the prissy little girl in pigtails?

She giggled again. "Took you long enough. But to be fair to you, we never really 'met' met, did we?"

He smiled sheepishly. "I guess not, but still, I should've known. I'm sorry."

She chuckled. "It's okay. Between boarding school and starting right away at Citadel, I wasn't home much, more so with my parent's functions." She shrugged. "We're not allowed to have lives, remember?" She winked conspiratorially.

He laughed back and nodded. "We don't have lives so we can save yours, and all."

She blinked at him then and grinned. "I want that tattooed on my body!"

"Sorry, but I already got you beat on that," he winked.

She pouted.

"I'm kidding," Jon grinned.

"Then we'll get a matching set when we both pass the MLE. Do you promise?" She held up her pinky.

"That means I'd have to wait - When do you start med anyway?"

"I'll be a freshman come September,"  she said proudly.

His forehead crinkled. "Aren't you in college still?"

"I skipped two grades and I went for the straight program, just like you," she said smugly.

"Oh! So you're the Know-it-all-Stark!"

She smacked him then. "That's Bran but I'm pretty smart too."

He rubbed his arm. "Right. Sorry. First year huh? Isn't it too early to learn suturing?"

She raised a brow again and her smile fell. "Too early?"

Great, I insulted her. "I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I - they teach you that on your second year."

That seemed to placate her. "You're studying in Storm's End, right? So you're...a third year?"

"Incoming," I nodded.

"Any sage advice then?" she leaned closer.

Jon thought for a moment before answering with a smile. "Take as many vacations as you can. Better yet, don't waste anymore of this summer. After tomorrow, fly off somewhere - anywhere. Start medschool when you start medschool. Either way, no matter how hard you prepare, at the beginning, you know nothing."

Her forehead puckered. "Really?"

Jon regarded her, and remembered being as excited as she was when he was finally going to medschool but quickly got a dose of cold water over how very unglamorous it was. It was a sleep when you're dead situation every day. "Well...not to ruin your excitement and all but... I mean, I love it despite how hard it is but... I just - I would've appreciated it if someone told me how hard it really is, you know? Not put it up in a pedestal and such. Everywhere there is a hierarchy even in the smallest way. Fuck - I'm sorry. Don't listen to me, I'm just rambling," he tried to backpedal when he saw the light in her eyes dimming.

He stopped when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up and Sansa was smiling at him warmly. "It's okay...Jon. I kind of get what you're saying. I mean, I had an idea it's going to be tough but I had no idea it's like that. I mean, I was only worried about lack of sleep and missing out on family occasions but that's not all I'm in for, is it?"

He examined her. "You want the whole truth?"

She looked at him pleadingly and felt a squeeze on his arm - a reminder that she hadn't taken off her hand from him then. "Please. I...I'm not exactly from a family of doctors. Well...you're my only hope as my only medical relative, it falls to you then."

Shit. Right. Both of us would be the first Stark to be doctors. Well, more her than me anyway. "Okay. Why don't we get lunch first?"

She started beaming at him then. "Sounds great - so you know all these stuff already?"

Jon nodded uneasily. "Uh, somewhat. I want to be a surgeon."

"Yay! That means you are the best teacher! I want to be a surgeon too. Teach me when I get stuck again?" She asked looking up at him hopefully.

"I'll do my best," Jon agreed. As if anyone can say no to that look. Was this what Robb was telling me about? Bambi eyes? Or was that his youngest brother?

Once she was comfortable enough, Sansa talked Jon's ear off halfway through their lunch at a nearby diner they went to and he did his best to keep up and true to his promise, gave her all the tips he could think of to help Sansa adjust once she starts formal medschool while Sansa soaked it all up and asked many questions and hung on to his every word.

Jon thought her smart and witty, a fast learner, and of course, stubborn like the rest of the Starks, but she was also very passionate.

As he watched her wave goodbye at him before driving off the following day, Jon thought that Sansa would be fine.

As long as she holds on to that passion, she'll be a great doctor.

Jon blinked back at the memory of that one summer he got to know Sansa a little bit and wondered why that was the last they saw each other in person. Well, last that they actually interacted face to face anyway.

Sure he got the occasional messages - mostly her asking him about some subjects and topics and yes, he'd check in on her - he was, after all, her only relative in the field and he took that role seriously, well at first.

At first because, their medical lives really did get in the way. He couldn't check on her as much as he could - he could barely even take care of himself!

And he really believed that she was doing more than well and would only need him on her first year tops and barely even. At most, they'd message each other on holidays and occasions, asking if one was as stuck as the other - wishing each other a happy hospital/school holiday. But that stopped too by Sansa's third year - Jon's internship year. And from then on, nothing from both ends.

Robb always talked about her proudly, especially Uncle Ned. I only heard good things about her, surely she was doing fine - more than fine. I heard she graduated from Citadel at the top of her class and she did get into their Neurosurgery program - one of the toughest to get into.

Surely, she'd still be the bright-eyed go-getter girl she met that summer right?

Jon couldn't be any more wrong.

The Sansa that he saw was no longer the slow to warm, shy at first girl with her long red braids, curious blue eyes, and always with a ready smile girl he met that summer - filled with dreams and brimming with excitement for starting those dreams.

The first thing that he noticed was the hair.

Her long wavy hair that curled at the ends and shone with the prettiest shade of red he's ever seen (yes even better than Ygritte's and gods knew how much he liked hers too) was now cut so short, the back looked cropped - shaved even and though the tips still curled, they barely went past her ears.

Jon couldn't understand why but seeing Sansa's hair like that really took him back. But he shook that off and tried to see - hoped to see if that was the only thing that she'd have to change. But it wasn't.

Her hair only made her features sharper, her high cheek bones were more pronounced, and higher - her eyes - her eyes that were so warm and honest before, looked impassive, cold and firm just like the rest of her.

She was sitting with all the poise of a queen with ankles tucked into each other at the side instead of legs crossed, and her hands were primly set on top of her lap while she kept her chin slightly lifted as she watched the current presenter silently.

The only sign of hope for the girl he met was that underneath her long white coat - a requirement for some residents to wear to presentations like these so they could show their hospital logos - she was wearing a dress the same color as her eyes.

"Wow, Jon. Your cousin is gorgeous!" Sarella elbowed me. "But... oh her hair! She had such beautiful long hair then but she can pull this  pixie cut too."

Jon nodded dumbly, unable to tear his eyes off of her. She was still beautiful. Even more to be honest. She'd be bald and still be beautiful. And Sarella noticed the change because she was three years Sansa's senior in Citadel U where she went too before going back to Dorne for her residency, he briefly remembered.

"Tough. She looks like she's ready to fight," Drogo added. "Fierce eyes."

I couldn't agree more. Jon nodded again. There was a toughness in her that screamed intimidation despite the cool and calm exterior.

And when she stood to take her turn at the stage, Jon started to understand quickly how the change came about.

A hush went over the crowd as she was introduced and remained while she walked towards the podium. She walked - no - almost floated so gracefully yet there was a confidence in her Jon hadn't seen before.

It was there that he heard the voices - all from guys while the moderator continued listing off Sansa's credentials.

"Oh she's up."

"Yes. The Ice Princess is next."

"More like frigid snob."

Jon's brow ticked and he was about to turn around and beat up whoever the voices belonged to when he felt a hand gripping his arm and saw Sarella shaking her head then giving the same look to Drogo whose jaw was clenched so tightly.

"I don't care how smart she is. I still don't think she's a good fit for the program," continued the airy voice. "There's only so far book-smart can get you. I mean, sure, she has skills yes, but if one has to work double time - give that much effort to do the job then maybe that extra effort would be better off in a...less critical field."

"He's only saying that because she was praised and he was scolded on one of Dr. Jaime Lannister's ORs they were both assisting in," the other voice pointed out.

A snort, probably from the arrogant one. "Please. Everyone knows he's only being sweet on her to get access to that ass."

Jon's jaw clenched while Sarella held back a disgusted sniff and Drogo was starting to get scarily silent more than usual.

"And now, he's just saying that because he tried and failed in tapping that ass too."

The assholes chuckled.

"I'm just saying that a woman is not cut out to belong in Neurosurgery."

"Shhhhhh!" Jon craned his neck at the direction of the angry shushing and saw a tall bearded guy with long red hair glaring at them. "Will you cunts shut up? We all came to listen to her not to you pricks gossiping like hens with cocks." A Northern accent. Jon smiled. Northern loyalty right there. He then glanced Jon's way and noted their tight expressions and glared back at the rude men. "Shut up, listen, and clap for your co-resident or get the fook out. Fooking cunts."

Who are you and can we shake your hand or give you a medal? Wait. Co-residents?

Jon looked behind then and saw that the seats two rows behind them were occupied by residents - Citadel Hospital Neurosurgery embroidered with the lighthouse logo on their coats. That only served to tick him off more.

Sansa was presenting for them! I mean, I knew neurosurgery was competitive as fuck but with each other and at home base at least! Not in fucking contests like these. Jon bristled.

Thanks to the redhead, they finally shut up and remained that way like good residents did when reprimanded by an attending and great timing too because Sansa was just about to start on her presentation. Still Jon couldn't get over it.

"Stop it," Sarella hissed. "It's just the jealousy talking - that and being threatened by a woman nonetheless," Sarella hissed in his ear. "Sexist pigs."

"Fine." Jon focused instead on the girl he thought to have a crush on that two-day summer they had and saw the woman she'd become the more he watched her speak.

"Good morning doctors. I'm here to present to you my research entitled: Invasive versus Non-invasive approach to treating CPSP or Central Post-stroke Pain, a Meta-analytic review..."

Jon couldn't believe the transformation. Sansa exuded a quiet confidence that was the right amount of pride and grace. Her presentation was clear, to the point, and though there were many technical stuff she discussed that he wasn't familiar with, she was able to present it in a way that anyone, no matter what specialty, could get unlike the first who didn't care about the audience as he kept dropping flashy jargons simply said to impress. Sansa didn't need any embellishments. Her topic alone was attention worthy. Neuropathic pain or nerve pain was the hardest pain to treat.

And this was also where Jon saw some of the old Sansa he met. When he realized that Sansa didn't just present a case to win, she was presenting a topic that she resonated with and something she wants to both educate and call more attention from for its importance and impact not just for her colleagues, but across the different specialties. It was the sincerity in her voice and the thorough research she put in that would win this for her and true enough, at the end of this event, she did.

As she received her certificate and the ten thousand dragon check for her department's choice of charity foundation, all three of them stood up and applauded her first before everyone else joined in.

Her eyes found Jon then and she grinned briefly before settling into a simpler and humbler close lipped smile.

She was still in there. Jon grinned in relief. They haven't transformed her truly yet.

He looked back to gloat at her less than supportive co-residents who were clapping either half-heartedly or just simply politely. Well, at least, half of them. Some were clapping more enthusiastically with actual pride in their eyes. There was hope for them too.

"She won. As if there was anyone else," Sarella said loudly while she nudged at me.

Jon puffed out his chest and agreed loudly too. "It was hardly a competition."

Drogo grinned wickedly directly at the residents.

"Now you see, you fooking greenboys. That's how it's done," came the redhead.

Drogo called him over and they grabbed each other's hands and pulled themselves together for the manliest hug Jon's ever seen. Somehow I'm not that surprised that they know each other.

"Drogo, you shite, how've you been? Heard you got yourself whipped by a woman," the redhead bellowed before taking note of Sarella. "So are you the woman who finally whipped the Khal's giant horse arse?"

Sarella only laughed and shook her head. "That's my aunt you're talking about and she does hold the whip for this one," she poked Drogo who didn't look one bit ashamed as he shrugged. Sarella offered her hand then. "Sarella Martell, by the way. Anes and Tox for Dorne." He shook her hand and introduced himself. "Tormund Giantsbane - don't ask. Trauma surg in Eastwatch Veterans." He leaned down then and whispered loudly while looking at Drogo. "And I'll only believe he's whipped when I see it," he winked, making her laugh and Drogo roll his eyes.

He then looked at Jon and offered his hand to him too. Jon took it and gave Tormund a firm shake. "Jon Snow. Trauma too, no affiliations yet."

"Ah. Fresh off the boards? Wanna consider taking it up North?"

Jon was about to say that he was in fact, looking to work in the Northern peninsula where he could be far away from being the political son in King's Landing - also, the same reasoning for changing his last name, when Sarella interrupted.

"He's also the cousin of the presenter you defended," she piped up.

Tormund grumbled then. "Couldn't let them get away with that. Where I'm from, women and men don't matter. As long as you can do the job, then by all  means, do it. Besides, Northerners stick together and I wasn't about to let them badmouth a fellow redhead." He then punched Drogo and Jon. "Just as we bearded men need to stick together."

Jon  winced a bit as Tormund belly laughed while Drogo raised his brows and crossed his arms before he looked at me. "Shouldn't you go to her?"

He reddened. "I - yes. Of course."

Sarella flashed a knowing smile at Jon that Tormund caught. "Why don't you go on ahead?" she suggested.

"Yeah, go try and steal her away from the horde," he grinned wickedly for someone Jon just met. "Little miss here needs to show me a picture of the woman whose got Drogo's balls in her hand."

Sarella's eyes lit up. "Ooh wait!"

Drogo gave Jon a knowing smirk before he whipped out his phone and showed Tormund pictures of Rhaego, his and Dany's two-year old son. "This is the Stallion that will mount the world," he said proudly.

"Good pecker on that one. Nice job, for Khal Drogo," Tormund looked up at Drogo impressed.

Shit, I didn't even ask about Rhaego and he's a cousin too. Wait - cousin. Right.

Jon scanned the hall and found her talking to his great-uncle Aemon who was a Neuropsychiatrist.

He gathered his courage and started walking over to them. It was his uncle who saw him first. "Ah, Sansa, have you met with my great-nephew, and if memory serves me correctly, your cousin?"

She turned around then and gave Jon a bright but shy smile. She's even prettier up close. "Jon," she said, his name a soft whisper on her lips.

Jon chuckled nervously. "Sansa, hey." Should I go for a hug? Wait, we haven't done that before, have we?

Sansa stepped closer but hesitated like Jon did before she finally went in for a brief hug. She smells great. Jon's first thought before remembering to hug her back. They pulled away quickly, looking at each other awkwardly with Sansa tucking her hair behind her ear twice and Jon rubbing at his neck.

Man up, Jon. "Congratulations, Sansa. You were great up there."

She smiled shyly. "Thank you Jon."

He cleared his throat. "You look great. I mean, how are you?" He cursed inwardly.

Sansa's corner lip quirked but she didn't call him out. "Thanks and oh you know. Alive and surviving," she lifted a shoulder yet Jon caught something briefly in her eyes but before he could say anything, she shifted the topic to him. "I however am unforgivably late with my congratulations. I saw you in the top ten for your specialty boards. Congratulations, Jon." She reached up and gave Jon a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling away and giving an apologetic smile.  "Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he immediately answered.

She pouted. "Well, forgive me for not keeping contact since - it's been too long and I've been rude."

He shook his head. "It's okay, for that I'm equally to blame. But how are you - really? You're almost at the finish line."

She blinked then and tried to give a too bright smile. "It won't be long now, yes."

We heard a cough behind us and to Jon's horror he forgot his great-uncle was still there and Sansa looked equally ashamed too. "So I take it you've met then."

"Of course. Jon helped me adjust for my first year in med school and he taught me how to stitch my first suture," she recovered quickly while Jon shifted uneasy with praise.

"I hardly helped. She would've done great with or without me," he shrugged.

Sansa was about to protest when we saw her co-residents approaching. Immediately, Sansa's demeanor shifted.

Her back stiffened and her face smoothened into her neutral mask.

There were five of them, all with closely cropped or completely shaven heads that was the signature of most neurosurgery residents across most programs - a sign of solidarity for their patients that they'd have to shave as part of the OR preparations as they say, but really it was just one more form of soft hazing. It didn't apply to female residents but Jon guessed Sansa parted with her long locks to prove a point. One of them was always flanked, moving ahead of their assembly like geese in the air - another show of hierarchy.

That one, had unfeeling violet eyes he trained at Sansa. "Congratulations, Dr. Stark," he managed but Jon couldn't see the sincerity and he also recognized that voice as being the arrogant one. Finally a face for the voice.

Sansa gave a nod and a small smile. "Thank you Dr. Dayne." Finally a name for the face.

She then turned to Jon and Dr. Aemon and introduced them. "Dr. Aemon, Jon, these are my seniors. This is Dr. Gerold Dayne, our chief resident," she motioned to the leader. "And this is Dr. Humfrey Hightower the deputy chief, Dr. Lyman Darry, and Dr. Horas Redwyne. Doctors, of course, you know Dr. Aemon. And this is Dr. Jon T-Jon Snow, Trauma Surgeon and my cousin." She almost slipped on Jon's name but it touched him all the same that even without communication, she was updated making him feel doubly guilty.

They of course, greeted Dr. Aemon readily and only politely regarded Jon who didn't really mind. Dr. Aemon excused himself and that was when Dr. Dayne started on Sansa.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything important, but I have need of you Dr. Stark," he raised a brow at her and Jon once again felt his brow twitching.

"Of course, Dr. Dayne," she nodded at him and shot me the subtlest apologetic look. "I - " she started.

Jon cut her off and smiled kindly. "Go. I'll see you around later or tomorrow. Sarella and Drogo said to say congratulations too but they're busy over there."

She looked where I pointed and for a moment Jon could see the look of longing in her eyes but was quickly gone when her seniors started leaving. With a final wave and a quick smile, she went and followed them. "Tell them thanks and I hope to see them too."  

"I will." There wasn't much Jon could do. It was an unfair world but Sansa had to follow an order from her senior.

Groveling, kissing ass, humiliation, unfair hours, and underpaid work - that was residency.

There were stages and there were steps in medical hierarchy. It gets better eventually on the way up but the way up is often dark and full of terrors.

There was nothing to do but just stick it out because like all ladders, eventually you get to the top.

Jon found Sansa later that night at the rooftop.

The rooftop of the Regency as converted to a VIP rooftop bar which was open for the delegates these two nights though they closed the bar at exactly midnight. By quarter, the staff would lead the guests down the VIP lounge instead where it was open all day and night citing that it was unseemly to catch guests falling asleep or getting drunk at the rooftop - safety reasons as well as snobbish pursuits. But guests may still stay as long as they are not inebriated and remain awake.

Drogo, Tormund, and Sarella went ahead while Jon chose to stay and enjoyed the quiet.

It was half past one and he was leaning on a rail, puffing on a cigarette while he watched the view of the still lit docks of Lannisport they could still see from this high up the Rock.

He thought he was alone when he saw a flash of red from the shadows.

He snuffed out his stick and threw it before walking over to investigate and almost jumped when he saw it was Sansa.

She had her back to him while she sat on top of her coat on the floor, still in her dress with her legs pressed together and tucked to the side, typing away on her laptop while she leaned against the wall.

"Sansa?"

She jumped - almost dropping her laptop but she failed in catching the glasses she was wearing when she surged forward. She recovered quickly while I crouched down, picked up her glasses that I've never seen her wear before, and handed it to her.

"Jon!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm as surprised as you are," offering her glasses once more.

Even in the dark Jon could tell she was blushing. She took the glasses from him and wore it back but she didn't look up at him muttering an embarrassed thanks.

Jon thought she looked cute with her silver frames. He bet it made her eyes looked bigger, if only she'd look at him.

"Working late, I see," Jon said before sitting down next to her.

"Yes - but, oh Jon, you don't have to sit down. You'll get your pants dirty!" she frowned.

Jon chuckled. "Says the girl sitting on her white coat."

She pressed her palms to her forehead, dislodging her glasses a bit. "I know. It's gross but can I get a pass tonight?" she tried to say cheerfully but Jon could tell she was exhausted.

"Anytime. Why aren't you in your room?"

She frowned again. "My bosses are on the same floor and I need the peace and quiet or I'll never finish," she sighed.

"What floor is that?"

"45th."

"Mine is at the 50th. You're welcome to stay there."

Sansa gave him a wry smile. "At least buy me dinner first."

It was Jon's turn to flush not realizing how he sounded. "I didn't mean - I

Sansa waved him off and chuckled. "A joke, Jon. I am still capable of it."

Jon ran a hand down his face and shook his head. "You're mean and here I was doing a -

Sansa cut him off with a kiss to his cheek. "Sorry. Thanks for the offer Jon, but I'm good here. I'm actually just polishing the report I have to hand over bright and early today," she rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," Jon could only offer.

She shrugged. "S'not you're fault. It's whoever invented hierarchy," she shivered and that was when Jon noticed that she was just in a short sleeved dress that only came down to just a little below her knees. It was a little longer than what he usually saw women wear but it only made Sansa look even more lady-like which suited her just as well in Jon's opinion.  

He didn't ask just took off his coat and handed it to her wordlessly.

When she tried to protest, he raised his brow in challenge while she shivered again, causing her to bite her lip and accept it graciously.

While she shrugged it on, he walked over to the bar area and took a table cloth - the cleanest one and when he went back, he draped it over her legs before settling back beside her.

Sansa looked at him gratefully then. "Thanks Jon." She reached out and gave his arm a squeeze - like she did years ago. He smiled at her fondly then.

She dropped her smile. "You should head back and sleep."

"So should you."

She sighed. "I want to but I really need to finish this."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Do you know anything about deep nerve electrostimulation for sheep versus monkeys?"

"Uh..."

Sansa quirked her lip. "Thought so. Go on, seriously, I'll be okay. I promise I won't tell Robb you left me alone if that's what you're concerned with."

"Didn't think about him. Though that is a good reason to keep staying with you, threat of your brother and the whole Northern army," he grinned.

She sighed. "Fine, suit yourself. I might take another hour."

"Go ahead, take your time. I don't mind. it's nice up here. 60th floor and all."

"I won't be chatty until I finish," she warned.

"Shutting up now," Jon made a show of zipping his lips causing Sansa to laugh once before shaking her head and retrieving her laptop.

Jon tried not to watch her as she worked, briefly contemplating if he should get her something warm to drink since she was going to be stubborn about this.

Eventually after ten minutes, he excused himself to do just that, only earning a half-committed nod.

He came back up after fifteen minutes with two styrofoam cups filled with hot water and a takeaway bag filled with tea packets, condiments, and lemon bars (they were the only ones good to go) he bought from the lounge.

Sansa looked up at him surprised and adorable looking in his too-large coat and those damn glasses.

Jon sat beside her and pushed the bag of lemon bars at her while he took out the tea stuff. "Are you an Earl Grey or a Chamomile person?"

Sansa still looked at him stunned and possibly close to tears that Jon almost panicked. He didn't know a thing about comforting a woman in tears. He coughed and repeated his question.

Sansa looked down and played with the lid of the bag she was still holding, blushing. "E-earl Grey."

"Ear Grey it is," He started making her tea and was about to ask if she took it with sugar or honey when he saw her looking inside the bag with tears silently pouring down her face.

"S-Sansa what - "

Sansa quickly wiped her face but failed to stop the tears. She tried to smile wanly. "Sorry Jon...I don't know what came over me - it's just... it's lemon bars. I love lemon bars."

She started wiping at her face more furiously then looking annoyed at herself. "Ugh. Sorry. I'm okay, I promise. I just - I'm fine - this is stupid."

Jon understood what she's going through. She was tired, she was overworked and likely faced one form of humiliation today despite her win and now someone was being nice to her. He's been there too. Any kindness, no matter how small felt like water in a desert.

So he stopped what he was doing and crouched in front of her, gently taking her glasses off, setting them safely, then he took her hands in his before bringing her to his chest slowly, wordlessly just holding her still. Experience taught him that rubbing the back or stroking the hair only brought more hysterical tears - more less words.

Sansa stiffened at first until finally she relaxed and crumpled into his chest, just the touch of her cheek to his collar and nothing else.

This kind of crying, he knew well. It was the frustrated and tired one. It didn't need the sobbing or the hiccupping - that'll only tire you out more.

Sometimes, you just needed a good cry - just the right amount of silent tears to release some of the tension. Just enough to calm down.

After a solid five minutes, Sansa raised her head, wiped her eyes one last time and took a deep breath.

Jon released her slowly and gently but kept close in case she needed another minute. "Better?" he risked.

She smiled at him then and nodded. "Yes," she laughed nervously. "Thanks Jon. I needed that. Sorry I ruined your shirt."

Jon just shrugged. "A small sacrifice you can make up to me once you become rich and famous. My small contribution to your future success."

She laughed again, for real this time. "I'll add that to the list."

"You do that," Jon smiled. "So, ready to get back to work?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Good," he reached out and placed her glasses on her. "So. Sugar? honey?"

Sansa blushed and Jon almost did too at her reaction but he managed a smirk. "For your tea."

"Oh. Just h-honey," he heard her utter a tiny fuck that he'll let slip now.

"Honey, it is," he teased while he added it to her tea.

"You're mean."

"Sorry. Tea for apology?" He handed her the cup.

"Thanks. Apology accepted. How'd you know about the lemon bars?"

"Honestly, they were the only ones I could get fast. A lucky move then," Jon admitted sheepishly.

"Well, according to the Alchemist, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it. It must be my lucky break," she grinned while taking a bite.

Or mine. Jon thought and was quickly embarrassed for even thinking it.

What followed was companionable silence as Sansa worked. Before Jon knew it, he had dozed off.

He woke an hour and a half after with a light shake from Sansa. For a moment he forgot where he was but then he quickly adjusted when he felt his back.

"Hey, sorry to wake you but I'm actually done," she was whispering and cradling her laptop, her coat was draped in one arm, while a hand stayed on hid shoulder and from this angle he was able to take her all in better.  

Jon just blinked, too caught up in her eyes that looked midnight blue in the dark.

She bit her lip and looked apologetic. "Sorry to wake you from what I saw was a peaceful sleep but you'd probably be more comfortable in your bed than here."

Jon snapped out of it and rubbed his eyes while he stood up. "You're right. Are you really done?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yup. All done and I even cleaned up too."

Jon frowned as he took in everything. "You didn't have to do that."

She rolled her eyes. "Too late. Come on, let's get back."

They started walking back when Sansa stopped for a moment.

"What is it?"

She blinked and smiled again. "Nothing. You go back ahead. I think...I want to look at the port for a little while. I'll follow and sleep, I promise."

Jon eyed her then before holding out his hand.

Sansa looked at it and then his eyes confused.

He changed and offered his arm instead. "Come on. Let's look at the view for a moment."

Likely knowing Jon won't give up, she just smiled wider and held on to his offered arm and followed when he lead her to the view he was looking at earlier.

After watching the water break against the rocks below Sansa wrapped her arms around Jon. "Thanks for tonight, Jon. It's been a while since I've been treated like a human being."

Jon returned her hug. "Sure. Though you won't be thanking me for the many times I wanted to punch your chief today."

She looked up at him then and frowned. "You heard him and the others say nasty things about me."

"Sexist pigs," he spat Sarella's earlier comment.

Sansa chuckled then. "They're just threatened by me."

"The seven hells they should. You're brilliant and tough. Drogo thinks so too."

She grinned. "Yeah?"

"Fierce eyes, I quote."

She grinned.

"It's tough and unfair, but I have faith in you," Jon tucked a strand of her short hair, feeling mad again that she had to cut it just to prove a point.

Sansa noticed but let it slip, closing her eyes instead at the feel of Jon's fingers. "I know. I'm pretty tough too."

Jon chuckled. "I know. I was almost afraid that they've transformed you for good."

She tilted her head then. "Almost?"

"For one, you're still wearing the most lady-like dress ever, and another was your passion resonating with your research presentation," he ended with a shrug.

Sansa shook her head. "The passion, yes. I do love it - every little thing about this even the times I want to kill myself or murder them instead because why should I die when they should instead moments."

"You would've covered that up easy."

"But the dress? Really Jon?"

"Uh, I figured that was another way to prove a point. That they may take away your hair and call you mean things just because you're a woman in their sick man's world they've built up, but you showed them that you can do their jobs better in a skirt and heels too," he said proudly. "That and the fact that you're two years their junior to boot."

"Wow."

"Well, wow to you first. And I'm really glad you didn't transform into a heartless gunner," he said lightly but his eyes were sincere.

"Well the summer before freshman year of med, an incoming junior taught me more than just sewing sutures and tying knots. He told me that entering the medical world was going to be tough and unfair that I must be tougher but fairer and it stuck to me all these years," she eyed Jon impishly.

Jon couldn't hide an embarrassed grin. "Wise friend."

"Mhm," Sansa nodded. "But really, the true lesson was that, he showed me what truly made a difference between a good doctor from the rest."

"And what's that?"

Sansa took his hand and and squeezed. "Kindness," she said so softly.

Jon just looked at her with his mouth open, clearly not expecting that.

Sansa started tugging at his hand. "I'm beat. Come on."

Jon shook his head, and followed, with his heart impossibly full, and a smile he couldn't wipe off from the compliment.

Kindness.

He does know some things after all.

Day 2

When Jon woke up he decided to take a risk and ask her out when the opportunity comes within the day.

He felt that something that summer years ago but thought it was more on her adoring her excitement and zest for medicine. He figured this time, he won't wait nine years to realize it and give it a go.

But unfortunately for him, the opportunity never came.

Jon didn't see her all day and he finally found out where she was from Sarella when he met up with her in the afternoon sessions.

"Sorry Jon. I saw her earlier and she told me that she had to fly back to Oldtown right away according to the shithead boss of hers. No wonder the Daynes all but cut him off the family. Her boyfriend picked her up though and they rode his family's private jet. But before she left, she asked to give this to you," she pushed a small box at Jon's hands before he could process what she was saying.

He broke it down.

One, Sansa was on a flight back to Oldtown.

Two, she was flying with her boyfriend on her boyfriend's family's jet. How did he miss that?

And lastly, there was something in his hand.

"I don't - boyfriend?"

Sarella's eyes narrowed before widening with realization. "Oh shit."

Jon looked to her for answers.

She took his arm and sat him down. "Okay, calm down. Relax."

He didn't.

She rolled her eyes and gave up. "Apparently, it's still new. He works at Citadel Hospital too. He's Dr. Willas Tyrell, one of the Radiologists. I called my dad after I recognized him when Sansa introduced us quickly." Oberyn Martell was also an Anesthesiologist as well as an Acupuncturist among other things and he was friends with Garlan Tyrell, Willas's older brother. Jon tried to absorb as Sarella explained. "Dad said that Garlan was happy that his younger brother was finally dating."

Jon's heart dropped. "Is he...is he decent?" He didn't bother to ask about looks because he knew the Tyrells were generally good looking.

Sarella smiled sadly. "He's smart, charming, handsome, well-mannered, and kind."

Kind.

Jon felt crushed.

"But it's all still new like it's only been a month and they hardly go out with her schedule. They're probably still getting to know each other - "

But all Jon heard was kind. If he was truly kind, then it won't take long at all.

I was nine years too late.

Jon stood up then and sighed, before mustering up a smile and thanking Sarella.

"Wait! Before you go broody, she did leave you something," she pointed to the box I was still clutching.

Jon opened it then and inside was a note and something wrapped in a golden tissue-like paper.

He read the note first.

Jon,

I can't thank you enough for more than tonight. I won't forget it just as I never forgot the kind guy who took pity on me when I couldn't tie my knots. You taught me more than that though, if you recall. You told me that the sign of a good knot was for

1) how it held firmly and

2) how it could be undone by just one strategic pull only the surgeon who made it knows as well as the teacher who taught it

I didn't tell you but I kept the tie I used and stole yours when you weren't looking ;)

Now I'm giving it back attached to something that would always remind me of your knot pulling last night. (I used two handed knot tying!)

Good luck with your next step Jon! Sorry I had to go again.

Until the next time we meet then (Under better circumstances I hope)

Sansa

Jon unwrapped the other gift and held it up.

He smiled when he saw a golden replica keychain of the hotel with the blue practice tie, knotted in a perfect surgical knot twice on the chain.

"See? There's hope still. They're not married yet," Sarella grinned.

Jon rolled his eyes and shushed her when Dr. Tyrion Lannister started talking.

"Okay. Last session for this course, I hope you are still awake and alive. I shall try to make this as short and as entertaining as I can. In short, all my visual aids will be anatomically perfect for everyone and I've spiked the next batch of coffee," he grinned. "Alright, I have your attention now? Well if not at least even before I speak my topic I already have your money in my pocket so we're all good here."

Laughter.

"Let me start with a favorite anecdote especially since I see a lot of residents from all over here with eyebags darker than the balls of an elephant and I could pick out the fresh board passers from the crowd easy as pie. Okay, are you ready?"

Ars longa,

vita brevis,

occasio praceps,

experimentum periculosum,

lucidum difficile

"Hippocrates, our father of Medicine said, 'The art is long, life is short, opportunity fleeting, experiment dangerous, and judgment difficult.'" He paused. "It's a tough challenge, we chose to pursue for a living. And it never ends for we keep on learning. It's hard, and more often than not, as much as we want to save lives, we want to kill our fellow doctors just as much too," he paused again but this time from the laughter that erupted from the crowd.

He raised his hand for silence before he continued. "But in the end, it's still the life we chose and thus we have no choice but to keep on living it for as long as we can. We have failures, we have triumphs, but most of all we keep on trying. But also remember, not to forget the third line. 'Occasio praceps.'

"Some opportunities come once in a lifetime. In the occasion that you miss it once, and it presents itself again, don't be a dumbass and grab it by the balls, tie it up, and never let go."

Jon swallowed and clutched the keychain in his pocket.

"Now then, I can begin."

As Dr. Tyrion went on his lecture, Jon was only half-listening.

As much as he wants Sansa happy and he truly does even if it's with someone else, he'll still hold on and hope.

They were still young.

They still had time.

"Art is long, after all," he muttered as he glanced down at the knot Sansa gave him.

[leaguerpg]

an abridged application for cyrus alexander sloane; 

friends call him Kai* ; Even though most people in Capetown speak English, the Afrikaans version of his name is Kores. He’s been using Kai as a diminuitive ever since.

................it’s not the name his mother gave him but that’s kinda the point, am i right?

&&& INTERVIEW

What part of Verona does he love the most?

Oh, how can he choose? She is nothing but his murderess of a Mother and, regardless of what she has done, he still loves her entire—and it sickens him.

“Verona?” he laughs, “this place?”

When he was younger, no doubt, it had been the cathedral (cattedrale, he still calls it in his head). But the last time he had stood outside the door now, he found it nearly impossible to enter. 

“All are welcome here,” a Sister had said to him once, “Even sinners. We all have much to confess.”

Once, he had taken those words as a blessing, sought out the Cathedral for refuge. But then that had been many years ago. He had learned better since.

The corner of his mouth tilts up a little further, “I don’t even know the best place to get coffee. Want to change that?”

What does your typical day look like?

“Why?” he leans over the coffee table in between you, “you want to make more plans?”

He is still stirring the drink in his cup, though it should be well-stirred by now. Other a tentative initial sip, he hasn’t drunk any of it.

There’s something oddly endearing about the way he sweeps his hair out of his eyes, clearly styled, but still tousled, and the way he adjusts his collar, on an impeccable, no doubt expensive shirt.

“I guess it looks like this,” he says finally, “I let the wind carry me wherever it wants. And I don’t complain about it.”

He pushes the cup away from him, “And I think it’s blowing us- that way.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

He throws his head back and laughs as if he is sharing an inside joke with the universe. He is nothing but a silhouette against the twilight sky, but you want so badly to know what he is sharing with the stars. You’re almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him when he stills.

“You really want to know what I think?” he asks suddenly, before raking a hand through his hair, “God, I’m so drunk. I think I’m actually going to tell you.”

He’s quiet for a while before he says anything, and, even then, he still seems in good spirits.

“I think that what everyone says is true. That one bad turn deserves another, maybe even two. And that everything that goes around-- comes back. Tell that to the Capulets, okay? Tell that to the Montagues. Tell that to whoever told you to ask me that,” his smile glitters in the low light and he shrugs good-naturedly, before he quiets, “The only thing I want is peace. For both sides. And I want it to be fair. Because Verona is our--- home. And if we do not stamp out the fire soon, it’ll burn us all down.”

He collects himself, stands up, brushes himself off. 

There’s a moment of awkward silence where he looks upwards at the stars and sighs. He rubs his eyes, suddenly groggy. You wonder errantly when the last time he got a good night’s sleep was.

“And with that... thanks for the good night, huh? I’ll call you a minibus home,” he holds up his hand, catching himself, “You call it taxi here, yeah? Sorry, sometimes, I just-“

His back is towards her already, he is walking down the hill. The end of his sentence trails off into the wind, “I just forget where I am.”

He is a master of pretense, of evasion. When he finds himself in the streets again, he looks at the lights and stares. If there is a war between the Capulets and the Montagues, then he does not care for it. War is the same no matter where you go. It takes and takes and rapes and ruins and rots the victim while the victor gets all the spoils. 

He should know. He has been on both sides. 

This time, he will win. There is no other option. 

&&& HEADCANONS

 He is fair. His cruelty, when present, is unforgiving but exact.

There is no point in hurting the innocent. There are few situations in which a child should ever be hurt. 

(ain’t no lie, he’s bi bi bi  ;;; damn son where’s aufidius at;;;)  He is biromantic and bisexual and he has never been in love with anyone, not even himself.

His greatest fear is becoming a father.

If nothing else, Vivianne had raised him to be a good Catholic boy. And he knows what is given must be taken and every sin must be paid for in penance.But he cannot bring himself to kneel in earnest front of anyone else, not even God, no matter if He is forgiving or unmerciful.

Kai cannot force himself to be subservient when he has made himself, chiseled every part of his life out of marble, bled himself a bath and washed it off with his own tears.  Every sin he commits, he knows he will pay for it and he will accept the equal punishment. But when he stares into judgment, he will still smile and bat his eyes. For God himself would not deny that he was a beautiful boy that did not deserve the things that came his way. 

He speaks English, Italian, Afrikaans, Spanish and a little bit of Xhosa. One of his hobbies is his ongoing pursuit to learn more. 

Language is the one thing that unites people. Having been an outsider his whole life, he uses his natural aptitude for language to create common ground. 

Part of his rise in South Africa was due to partnership with the influx of Nigerian immigrants. Both outsiders in town, they found common ground whilst establishing themselves in the underworld.

Despite being 20, he drinks a fair amount of alcohol. He smokes as well. It’s not like he expects himself to live that long. And if he does--- there’s no use in not taking pleasure where he can find it.

He has spent his time in libraries and art museums, but there is no beauty in them. He can talk the Greeks with the best, lecture about Odysseus and Lycaon and Aeneas, but he cares not for them. Statues are too familiar to him, after all. He sees his stilled chest in every one of them.

Youth is wasted on the young--- and he is the epitome of that. Though he might think of himself differently, and though he portrays himself otherwise, he is spoiled rotten. He does as he pleases and he will not hear out what you have to say. With a smile, though, you forget you ever had to say anything at all. 

Like any good emissary in Verona, he just wants peace. But not for the city. For himself. He has come to get revenge on all who has ever mistreated him. Whether by crown or catastrophe, he cares not.

He doesn’t know it, but all he has ever wanted is- a home. 

&&& IN CHARACTER PARA

They sit at the dinner table, silence stretching out like taffy in between them.

She looks like she did when he first met her, unchanged by age. He remembers seeing her walk past the alley he had been lurking in and remembers the way her blonde hair had gleamed like a beacon. A saving grace.

“You haven’t touched your food,” she says, her eyebrows furrowed, ignoring his request, “I worry about you-”

“I’m not very hungry, Dana,” he grins elfishly at his guardian, “But for you-“

This is the way Cyrus’ smile has always been, it makes people humble, it brings them to their knees, breaks through their defenses. For a moment, it is just them in the world. As his pink cheeks and blue eyes flash innocence at her, his heartbeat pounds in her neck. For as long as she is under his spell, he knows that he can ask the world of her and expect it tenfold.

“You know you are our angel and that we would do anything for you,” she says, “but-”

His fork cleaves off an infinitesimally small edge from the tart and he slips the tines in between his lips, pausing to look up at her.

“You’ll do it for me, won’t you?” the metal of the fork presses down into his tongue as he says it and she smiles reassuringly.

Whatever she is about to say is useless to him. He already knows she will.

-

 “I told you, no kids,” he says, grabbing the man by his collar, hissing in his face, “What part of no kids, do you not understand?”

The man grabs Kai’s hands and tries to pull it away from his neck, “I told you the truth, Sloane. He was hiding. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And what about if he confesses what he saw?”

“He won’t.”

“And if he does?”

“Then we’ll buy off the police. You know how these things go, don’t you? You shouldn’t be asking these questions. Maybe you are too young-” the man’s voice turns into a hiss, taunting him.

Cyrus only tightens his grip on the man’s collar and yanks him closer, “Idiot-”

“What?” the tightness in the man’s jaw disappears, replaced by something that looks an awful lot like fear.

There is no kindness when he replies. “Our continued patronage to the police force is what keeps you safe and your children fed. The only thing I worry about is what they say,” he sticks his index finger in between his lips before holding it up to the air, “the wind whispers things, you know. And outside this city, who knows might hear the wrong thing.”

“Believe me, I know how things go,” Cyrus smiles, “And I know the correct course of action to take when a subordinate not only disobeys his directive but questions it.”

 -

He looks off to the side, suddenly bashful.

The boy laughs, “Kai- what are you thinking about.”

Something flashes in his eyes and Cyrus reaches out to intertwines his fingers with the other boy’s, “About you.”

Delight dances in the other boy’s eyes, “Shut up and come here-”

There’s a laugh and Cyrus gets yanked into the other boy’s lap. Wrenching his hand free, Cyrus picks up a pillow and whacks his companion’s head lightly.

When their lips meet, he closes his eyes.

“I wish it could be like this forever,” the other boy says afterwards, sweeping Cyrus’ dark hair out his blue eyes, “just you and me.”

Cyrus smiles halfheartedly. In between the sheets, their skin looks like endless twisting ribbons, pink and flushed. His skin is so pale next to anyone else’s, he notes, even the stark white of the comforter washes him out.  

His companion’s voice interrupts his thoughts, surprisingly forceful. The arm slung around Cyrus’ chest suddenly feels like a constraint, the fingers in between his own- a vice grip.  “Do you have to go to- that city? Stay here, Kai. Where you are loved- and needed-”

Cyrus breaks the makeshift embrace without any preamble, standing up and grabbing his things, all modesty left behind.

“Don’t,” he shakes his head, no emotion on his face, “We have work to do.”

 -

 “You know what you did,” he says quietly, his eyes open, wide and watery, “And I get it. You couldn’t love me. That’s fine. But in God’s name, why- just why did you have to love everyone else?”

He is not crying. If he blinks, perhaps, he will be, but he is not quite yet. It is a failure all the same.

Part of him is always here, at the brink of wanting and weakness, and he feels disgust rise to the top of his throat. He doesn’t even know what he yearns for from her. He couldn’t even put it into words.

Something unreadable crosses her face and he shakes his head. He will not be made a fool of here. Not again.

“I didn’t,” she says at last, “You are my son and nothing will be able to change-”

“Oh come on, Mother,” he says slowly, interrupting her, “If you wanted to get me on your side, you’re aiming in the wrong place.”

He thuds a fist against his chest, spits the words as he turns away, “I have no heart. You should know at least that.  I inherited it from you.”

 -

 The plume of smoke hovers in the car and Cyrus fans it away from him, wrinkling his nose.

“God, I need a cigarette,” he says, before coughing, “but not like this.”

Lifting himself from the seat, he bends his knees to avoid scraping the top of his head on the upholsltery of the car. With one hand, he maneuvers himself to find the handle of the sunroof.

“Cy, baby—be fucking careful,” the closest girl squeals as he stands up taller, “the car is moving and you’re going burn someone, probably yourself.”

He laughs, places the cigarette between his teeth, and waves his newly-freed hands at her.

“Look ma,” he teases, “no hands. I’ll be fine.”

When he gets no response, he laughs, the cigarette wagging in his lips, “Oh, come on, Bee.”

“At least, put it out,” she says harshly, before softening, “I swear to God, you’re going to set this whole car on fire.”

There’s a pregnant pause, before the corner of his lips tilt upwards and the girl lunges forward, trying to stop him from what he’s about to do next. He ducks her grasp and works his fingers once more into the handles of sunroof, shoving it open and pushing aside the mesh barrier between him and the outside, before poking his head into the night sky. He lets out a shout, but the wind whips all the noise away. At this speed, it hurts to open his eyes too much and his perfectly-coiffed hair will be ruined, but he only rises, straightening his legs and hoisting himself higher.

“Let it burn, then. I don’t care,” he shouts to the car as he flings his arms open to the night.

The wind catches his jacket and, from somewhere below him, he can hear someone laugh and feel someone pulling at his side, telling him to come down. Instead, he only brings the cigarette to his lips and gets one long drag in before it flies off into the road, forgotten. For a moment, he closes his eyes and clenches down on his jaw, his cheeks hollowing as his thoughts get lost in the wind.

At peace.

In front of him, Verona looks like a blur of lightning bugs, each half-lit window in the darkness flitting around as if possessed by some sacred fervor. He could stay up here forever, he thinks, feeling the harsh wind through his hair, the biting chill on his skin.  

When he ducks back down into the car, he is smiling.

“Come up here with me,” he beams glibly at the girl, pulling her up to the top of the roof, “And come look at the city that is soon to be ours.”

It is a lie, of course. Tomorrow, perhaps, she will be gone. Tomorrow, perhaps, he will not even remember her. People go and leave and change—the only thing that stays constant is this city and him.

&&& EXTRA

On one hand, he is lucky; save one thing, he has always gotten everything he has ever wanted.

On the other, the only thing he has ever truly wanted was the one thing that was denied him.  

In South Africa, the Xhosa gangs underestimated him. The Afrikaners did not understand.

U m f a n a   u k u m k a n i—they had called him at first, mistaking his recklessness as privilege and entitlement as privilege. The beloved  b o y   k i n g, they had crowned him mockingly, before he made those words a prophecy.

((( You see, for every person who had ever said it with malice, he had made them pay. He carved himself a place into the landscape in Capetown, and he trapped them all beneath his feet. )))

He had it all:  POWER, GLORY, ADORATION - but he wasn’t satisfied. He would never be, so long as Verona still ran in his veins.

Yes, a part of him died in Verona, but it was  S H E who taught him to rule. He has long since buried that indigent innocence that made him hers, but the dirt under his fingertips still claim him, the blood on his lips still tie him to her. As long as he is a Sloane and a King, then he is Verona’s.

AND SO HE HAS DECIDED THAT SHE WILL BE HIS.

He is her one true heir and he has come to take back everything that had ever been denied to him as a child.

After all, he has already given so much to this city. He is owed his dues. He has had nothing before, you see, and if he will have nothing again, then so be it. No matter what, he will take what is rightfully his, no matter the cost.

It is a shame that everyone puts so much weight on words these days. Breath is breath- his is sugar-soaked sweet nothings, gilded little platitudes, rose petals and forget-me-nots – but nothing compares to the language of b o d y and b l o o d and b o n e. If you could see his empty chest, you would know his heart lies in the ground here. You would know who he truly is.

                                                                                  ( a little boy, a selfish selfish little boy)

But it is not his fault. He is not hiding it. He says it with that careless grin. He lets you know every time he bats his eyes.

IF HE DOES NOT GET WHAT HE WANTS, 

                                                         THEN HE WILL MAKE SURE NO ONE CAN

(maybe then, when Verona is nothing but smoke and ash and he is rising from it, he will no longer feel the darkness weigh in his heart and the rot which follows. Maybe then, when he goes back to being King, he can finally be free.)

* before coriolanus was coriolanus (a title given to him), he was ‘caius martius’*. bc i’m uncultured,  there are two ways to pronounce that. one is “kai” as in high “us”. this is such a reach but i just really like the name kai. 

so you can call him cyrus. in fact lots probably do. but there’s a divide between cyrus and kai and coriolanus and whoever he really is on the inside. they’re all acts. 

** so if you’re going to go this far huh why isn’t kai’s middle name martin aka martius instead of alexander. good question. i just- there are no excuses. i like the name alexander.

[sglabs]

Visit with a Veep- Harley Baldwin

Harley Baldwin is the vice president of design for Schell Games. Harley is responsible for mentoring, managing and cultivating the design culture, collaborating with clients and guiding the vision for exciting, pioneering experiences for players and guests.

How did you start your path to getting a job in the video game industry?

I went to University of New Mexico and when I was starting my senior year, I discovered that there were people making video games for a living. I decided that’s what I wanted to do. Keep in mind that this was over 25 years ago, and there was no such thing as a degree in video game design or anything like that, so I had to make it up as I went along.

You mentioned you had a couple of jobs before college and prior to your start in game design. What kind of jobs did you have?

One summer, I washed dogs for a living, so every day I would come home just soaked, and smelling of dogs.The job is more intense than you’d think. The washer has to find and pick the ticks off the dog, and...things like that. It gave me appreciation for people who take on the less pleasant parts of life. 

While I was in college, I worked in the library as a shelver. When I was supposed to be shelving books, I’d find and read books that were interesting to me in a corner somewhere. It was very luxurious and naughty.

Very cool.

Yes! I also worked retail for a long time, mostly as a cashier. I was good at the money aspect of retail, not so much the stacking and the folding.

Out of those experiences, were there any takeaways or lessons learned that still affect you today?

Sure, I can immediately think of two. I am one of the few people I know who can properly bathe a cat. You’re laughing, but it is a lot harder than it sounds. I can do it in a way that both the cat and the person stay safe. But that’s not really what you asked…

No, but that’s hilarious.

You asked me what I learned about work, or about craft, from those experiences. I learned that we have a mental hierarchy in our society about what type of work we think is important. That mental hierarchy doesn’t value the effort people put forth in doing the work. That concept has very much stuck with me. I learned how fast our society would crumble if what we thought of as “service jobs” would stop. Our society would just stop working. I don’t think a lot of people are aware of that. Also, the amount of care that you bring to your work- no matter what it is that you’re doing- has an enormous effect on the outcome. It can be hard to care about something; not everything is fun. Not everything in game design is fun. If you can find a way to bring your best skill, mindset, and craft to the task, the outcome is going to improve. And it doesn’t matter if you’re designing systems, or folding towels.

From college, how did you get into the games industry?

 At UNM I was a photography major, and I had all this expensive photography equipment. If I wasn’t playing games, I was spending the rest of my time walking around and taking pictures. The idea was for me to graduate and move to New York City to be a high-end photo printer for fashion photographers and others. I wanted to print advertising collateral. The summer before my senior year my apartment was broken into and they stole all my photography equipment. Even now, the amount of equipment they stole would be difficult to replace. But back then, as a college student on work-study and Pell grants, it was devastating.

Absolutely!

There was no way I could finish the senior thesis I had planned. So, I had to quickly scramble to see what exactly I was going to do. A friend of mine said that she was going to interview at this software development company with a guy who attended our high school. She heard my plight and told me to come along. I went, and it turns out the job was making video games. I got really excited. Then I got the idea that I was going to earn as much money as I could, so by the end of summer I would have the money to buy whatever equipment I needed for my senior thesis. But by the end of summer, I didn’t care about photography anymore. I was completely into game development. Thankfully the lessons I learned from photography were applicable to game design in some ways. I had trained my eye to see, if you will. I decided to stay with the company and build games. 

Very nice.

The first game I worked on was called Mad Dog McCree. It was a western where the player had to only shoot the people in the black hats, not any bystanders, or people wearing white hats. I sat there watching each frame of the video and drew boxes around the people, indicating whether or not this was a person who should be shot. Throughout that time, I started asking questions like, ‘couldn’t we write a script for this to happen?’ ‘Could we make these tools easier to use?’ For the first couple of years I was a technical artist, asking a lot of the questions about improving the process of making the game. I liked the idea of rapid iteration of the content we were creating. Then I started asking questions like, ‘what should the player be doing?’ and ‘how does the player know what to do?’ and I found myself becoming a designer pretty quickly.

Cool. What do you like about Schell Games?

I’ve spent over twenty years on the west coast in the AAA console, shooter, sometimes adventure world. I think of it as a very heady time. We were working with big budgets, working on $20 million dollar games with a $20 million dollar marketing budget, and it was very exciting. The trade-off was that we were actually a lot more creatively-constrained.

How so?

There are a couple of reasons. With that kind of budget, it is important to ameliorate risk as much as possible. The number one way of ameliorating risk is to make sure that the game is something that people will like and buy. That means it is really hard to innovate. There are times that the AAAs would take one #1 hit, and try to mash it up with another #1 hit, in order to create something new. Other times, we had conversations ending with “we can’t do that because we don’t know if people will like it.” And that may sound surprising to some in the industry because they think the AAAs are pushing the envelope, but really that part of the industry is polishing what is already known to work.

So what I like about Schell Games is that we have enormous creative freedom. Not just with our internal IP, but the type of clients we attract are looking for a studio that is not afraid to innovate, to look at things with a different lens, or try new technology to see what it can do.That is super valuable to me. 

Also we put a high value on the quality of life of our people. Our people are our value. If they are grinding themselves into dust, we know that it doesn’t help them stay, do their best work, or cooperate in a team to solve the hard problems of innovation and new technologies. We spend a lot of time and energy making sure that their quality of life is good. I like that very much.

I also love the emphasis on continuous improvement we have in the studio. We take continuous looks at our processes, the way we do projects- just everything- and try to figure out ways to improve them. There is much less of the “that’s just the way we do it here” culture. That sense of looking to optimize everything is what drew me into the industry, whether it’s creativity, technology or whatever issue we’re trying to tackle.

Where do you see the video games industry in five years?

What the hardware manufacturers want to do is to find the ‘killer app’ for VR/AR/MR. Somebody is going to figure out a way for a player to stay in VR to a point that it feels totally worth the value of the hardware. Once that happens, everything will flow from there. From playing a lot of games and watching the industry, seeing how our teams are solving these problems, I am starting to see glimmers of that. I’m trying to figure it out myself.

It will change everything in the way free-to-play games changed mobile gaming. The industry is still trying to figure out what kind of VR experience consumers will want to spend money- and time- on.

True.

If you go on Reddit, you’ll see that people think that the VR industry right now is just a sea of demos. We know that isn’t really the case, but that’s what people think. VR content is super expensive to make, and publishers have to be convinced to throw money behind it. The “gadget” industry is getting saturated, so the VR/AR space is really exciting, because it is new and different.

What’s unique about being on a leadership team in a game studio?

Never in my career thus far, have I had more opportunity to affect how much risk we take on. There’s a fine line when it comes to risk. I believe that in order to be creative and innovative, there is some risk involved. But taking on too much risk has its own issues. In the place we’re at, we can have good conversations about the opportunities in front of us, and the risks associated. It’s something that we think about a lot.

The kind of relationships that you get to make with the amazing developers we have here, and some of the clients we have here, is really unique for me. Getting a chance to work with people from companies that I deeply admire and asking them about creative projects that they’d like to see happen is awesome and satisfying for me.

As vice president of design for Schell Games, you get very busy. How do you stay on top of your craft and discipline?

I try to do it in several ways. In the studio, I play every single game we’ve made on a regular cadence. I play the game with the project teams, and we discuss exactly what it is they are trying to do. In a lot of cases, I am an early playtester for the teams to see if they are succeeding or not in what they’re trying to do. I tell them what experiences I liked in the game, and what I thought was challenging. I try to use those opportunities to connect teams who have solved similar problems or challenges, and to make sure that whatever insight they need is what we talk about.

In terms of staying on top of ‘game design’ as a craft, the main thing is to try to play a variety of different games frequently. It isn’t possible anymore with the size of the industry and number of releases to play every big game that comes out. Right now, since we as a studio have been focusing on VR, I’ve been focusing on playing VR games. I write up a “5 minute critique” of each game I play as a way to keep my thoughts organized. I write down my overall thoughts about the game, how it addressed certain design aspects (i.e. in VR, embodiment and presence) and what we, as a design team, can learn from that experience.

How does that process translate to your leadership of the design team?

I get the chance to have conversations about what the team is interested in making, what games are out there that they think are interesting, and what ground-breaking concept they think we can tackle. Playing all these games and having these conversations gives me more context on what I’d like to explore.

With Schell Games having such a large design team, there must be quite a spectrum of what individual team members like or think is interesting.

Absolutely. We do say that ‘diversity makes us strong’ when it comes to hiring, to the clients we work with, and to the type of work we do, and it is also true when it comes to the interests that our teams have. When I’m looking at a potential new team member, I try to see if this person is bringing a new perspective, background, or skill, different from our other designers.

What advice would you give to a person trying to get into the game industry?

I think Schell Games is a little different than other full-service game studios because we prioritize the ability to collaborate and work well with others. Flexibility is also a huge factor. We do so many different projects that it is necessary for you to be flexible. We also like it if you have multiple areas of expertise, so you can serve your teams in multiple ways if the project demands it. But that’s particular to Schell Games. For design, having expertise in different backgrounds or coming from a different industry puts you in a position to inform. It places you at an advantage.

(For more about the hiring characteristics for Schell Games, read the interview with general counsel Chris Arnold.)

For the games industry in general, for many years we have said that it is important for you to make games and to show that you have made games. So we encouraged people to go to game jams, and learn game engines, and things like that. And it is still important. But I do not think it is the single point of breaking into the industry anymore. I think games are an increasingly sophisticated medium. As the games industry matures, we need people who can evaluate content and the experiences provided in the medium, and speak clearly and succinctly about what they can improve, and how they would do that. Developing a standard or a habit for critique is very valuable. Games are not created in a vacuum- games have budgets, timelines, teams- so having a strategy or process is important.

Interesting.

Also, learn to code. An understanding of what computers are good at and what they are not will make working with you much more attractive.  

Where do you see Schell Games in five years?

I think we will have shifted more of our work to our internal IP (original games). By then, we will have launched a very successful game, and I think that we will be working on the second phase of it, whatever that may look like. We will have grown, not extensively, but bigger than we are now. I do see us being a major player and influencer at the intersection of VR and learning, along with new technology.

(Internal IP: I Expect You To Die, Happy Atoms, and SuperChem VR)

What is one thing about leadership that you have learned on the job?

The hardest and most important one was learning to trust my team. When I was first promoted to a design lead, I was leading ten designers. I was conducting a brainstorm session, but trying to control the brainstorm to lead them to conclusions that I thought we should make. I was afraid that the team wouldn’t get to the right answers unless I led them. During one of the days of the brainstorm, I got so sick - to the point that I shouldn’t have gone to work - and I asked someone else to lead the brainstorm. I sat in the back room and watched my team. For the first 45 minutes, I was terrified. But they ended up designing something really cool, and came up with really good questions to continue answering. I knew and trusted them as good designers, but I had to learn to put my money where my mouth was, and trust them more with some of the high-level design questions. I needed to have them steer me, not me steering them. When I follow that lesson, I see my teams create and represent ideas and concepts on a much bigger scale than what I can do on my own. The best ideas come from teams that were given the opportunity and responsibility to build them from the start.

What’s your favorite video game?

Oh, how funny you ask. When I’m interviewing a candidate, and after I ask all the hard and scary questions and the candidate is about to walk out the door, I ask them what they think the best game of all time is.

Really?

Yes! And you would not believe how many people choke on that question. They think there is a right or wrong answer, or that the game they think is the best will be deemed a bad game by other people. When I ask that question, I’m not looking for a particular game, I want to see how the candidate reasons why they think it’s the best game of all time. Is there an emotional connection? Did the game make you feel smart? What did the experience do for you that made it the best game?

For me right now, my favorite game is Portal 2, specifically with the co-op mode. I love how important communication is in the game, and how smart the game is. Before Portal 2 I liked Portal, and before that I really enjoyed Quake II.

What in your opinion, makes the leadership team at Schell Games click?

We work together often, and we trust each other to do what we all do well. It is something that Jesse [Schell] has consciously built into the team and the studio. He is always looking for ways for us to communicate better; whether it is among us, or across disciplines, or studio-wide. He actively encourages us to communicate forthrightly and sensitively. There’s really no politics in the leadership team. We try to be accountable to one another.

Given unlimited resources, no timeline, and an unlimited budget, what type of experience would you like to see Schell Games create?

Two things I’ve always had a soft spot for are imaginary worlds and emergent systems. With those kinds of resources, I’d want to make a fantastical imaginary VR world - - like those gorgeous science fiction / fantasy book covers -- with lots of emergent systems -- and of course, complex social interactions as well. Imagine if the kinds of emergent systems that illuminate Skyrim and Breath of the Wild worked in social interactions with real players. And or course, I also would want to slay - or ride - or breed - dragons.

But also! After thinking about this question for much longer than I should have, I want to say that I think it’s an unfair question. First, designers never work with unlimited anything, and even if they did, we’d have limited player attention to vie for. Secondly, if this thing really existed, the game would never be made - because there’s always more polish you can add, more features, a better on-ramping experience, a new take of a voice-over, an obscure bug that makes you re-think your assumptions… it’s a recipe for an endless ouroboros of game development. People would get disheartened and leave, new ones would take their place, re-think core game concepts, and off they’d go, tilting at another impossibly perfect windmill. Real game design isn’t the process of adding cool things until the game is this behemoth experience. It’s the process of testing and refining your assumptions, of cutting and then polishing until what you have is nigh perfect, and that’s not possible without limits to push against. I don’t want to claim that it’s a capital “A” Art (some of it is) but we can learn from the greats -- when someone asked Michelangelo how to sculpt a horse he said “Take away everything that isn’t a horse.” That’s a contemporary lesson for Game Design.