#why NOT let Arkady come into his own

[isthemedia]

I really feel that out of Logan’s OG iconic adversaries-Arkady has the most potential.

Victor has shown he’s unwilling to change and stay changed. He rather embrace the beast in all its glory and for all its terror and harm it does. He will not and cannot change because he does not want too. He cannot escape his dependency on being better than Logan and wanting to make Logan embrace the beast again.

Yuriko falls more into this self-fulfilling adversary routine. Much like Victor whenever she takes a step forward in breaking a chain from Logan and her father’s ideology, she always ends up taking two steps back because she cannot escape her connection to Logan.

Arkady on the other hand managed to do what they couldn’t-break from the reliance on Logan for his character. In fact he never needed it. He also has gone through some HUGE shakeups in recent years and surprisingly they’ve stuck!

Arkady IS PROOF KRAKOA COULD BE SUCCESSFUL. Sure he’s one of the ONLY positive things to come out of Krakoa but it’s still pretty dang huge.

There’s also the fact that his lore as a whole DEFINITELY needs cleaning up since parts of it have been removed or were never ACTUALLY confirmed (a lot was character confirmation bias).

Like Marvel-nobody wanted to read Sentinels and the only reason why issue 1 even places 38th in the top 50 comics for it’s release month WAS CAUSE WE WERE TOLD AKARDY’S STORY WAS GOING TO CONTINUE!!

The man STILL MOVES COMICS! USE THAT!

X-Men: From the Ashes #12

get this mf out of greymalkin and into therapy !!

[psychooomind]

Mixed Signals - 3

Severus Snape x reader

Summary: Set between 1989 and 1998, Severus Snape and Katya Borislova attend the European Potioneers' Assemblies, where they meet and begin a pen pal friendship that confuses them both.

This is a prequel to another of my Harry Potter fanfics, The New Founders.

A multi-entry, slow-burn, colleagues to lovers, smut

Chapter 1. Chapter 2, You can also read it at AO3 here.

July 1, 1993 – Day 2 of the European Potioneers Assembly, Vienna

The next day, Katya was startled awake by the sound of the telephone ringing in her hotel room. With her eyes half-closed and still groggy, she picked up the receiver.

“Yes?” she asked sleepily.

“Good morning, Miss Borislova,” said a nervous female voice on the other end of the line. “A professor is here to see you.”

Katya glanced at the clock on the bedside table and silently cursed. She had completely forgotten about her breakfast appointment with Arkady.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she replied quickly before hanging up and shooting out of bed.

She had gone to bed late the night before, with too many things swirling around in her mind. But most of all, her thoughts constantly circled around him. As she had lain in bed, she wondered why Severus kept his distance from her, coming close only to pull away again, as though torn between two worlds. The thought that there might be someone else in his life had tormented her all night. She couldn’t bear being the other woman. That thought had kept her awake until she finally drifted off, crying. Insecurities consumed her: What if they’re right? What if I can never have anything good in my life? she thought bitterly.

As she dressed hurriedly, Katya heard a soft tapping at the window. Rov, her father’s two-headed eagle, was there, carrying a letter. At the sight of the bird, she paled. She knew no good ever came with those messages. She rushed to open the window and quickly ushered Inna, her own harpy eagle, into the room, fearing Rov might start a fight. Rov had a tendency to be aggressive with other animals—a trait that had always reminded her of her father.

Ignored, Rov began pecking impatiently at the window with his beak. Katya let out an exasperated huff.

“Khvatit, idi otsyuda,” she snapped at the bird, which stared at her with its four red eyes, unrelenting.

Resigned, Katya opened the window and took the letter from Rov’s claws. But as soon as she did, the eagle jabbed her hand forcefully with its beak, causing a wound that began to bleed immediately. Cursing under her breath, she shoved the bird toward the edge of the balcony. Rov flapped its two heads irritably and flew off in slow circles before vanishing into the sky.

Frustrated, Katya rummaged in her bag for a handkerchief and wrapped it tightly around her bleeding hand. She looked at her father’s letter with disdain but decided to ignore it completely. She wasn’t in the mood for bad news that morning. Grabbing her purse, she hurried downstairs for breakfast, not even bothering to open the letter.

In the lift, as she adjusted the handkerchief, she mentally prepared herself for Arkady’s arrival. She knew he would surely ask about the injury, and she’d have to come up with a convincing excuse. When she exited the lift, she headed towards the dining room, where she assumed Arkady was already waiting for her. But a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Katya!” exclaimed Severus, standing up quickly from the armchairs in the reception area.

Katya, who had managed to push Severus out of her mind for a few minutes, looked at him in surprise and approached him. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, with his cloak in hand. It seemed that, like her, he had slept little—or perhaps not at all. Intrigue washed over her.

“Oh, hello,” she said, still bewildered. “What are you doing here?”

Severus greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, a gesture that made Katya feel even more nervous. As he studied her, his gaze fell on her bandaged hand with clear disapproval.

“What happened to you?” he asked, taking her hand gently. “Nothing,” she muttered, trying to brush it off. “You’re bleeding,” Severus remarked, in a tone of concern that irritated her.

His anxiety, his apparent interest in her well-being, sparked a small glimmer of hope in Katya, something she didn’t want to feel. Why couldn’t he just make up his mind? Why did he seem to play with my feelings? she thought. “Yes, well…” Katya huffed, irritated, letting her accent grow more pronounced. “What are you doing here?”

Severus released her hand and averted his gaze, clearly uncomfortable. He had spent the entire night wandering aimlessly, searching for some answer to his feelings. “I couldn’t sleep,” he confessed, wringing his own hands nervously. “Katya, I’m no good at these things, but… I want you to know that I can’t stop thinking about you.” He paused, clicked his tongue, and looked directly into her eyes. “It’s something new for me, you know? I think it’s driving me a little mad.”

Katya watched him silently, feeling a mix of confusion and longing. Severus’s words echoed in her mind. The fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about her meant a lot, but it wasn’t enough to dispel all of her doubts. “Are you sure about that?” she asked finally, her voice softer than she intended. She needed to be certain that Severus truly understood what he was saying. Katya wanted clarity because the last thing she wanted was to remain trapped in a game of back and forth.

Severus clenched his jaw, visibly nervous. Despite the seriousness of his expression, there was something vulnerable in his gaze, something he rarely showed. “Yes, I’ve never… I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he admitted, briefly looking down at his hands as if trying to find the right words. Then he looked up and met her gaze. “You deserve better—someone who isn’t as… broken as I am.” Severus moved even closer to her, taking her hands once more. “But I can’t, I don’t want to be away from you.”

Katya’s heart pounded as a question that had tormented her all night surfaced once more. If he couldn’t stop thinking about her, why did he keep his distance?“Severus…” Katya began, biting her lip. “If there’s someone else, if you’re already with someone…” Her words faltered, but she finally gathered the courage to voice what had been troubling her. “Tell me now. I don’t want to be with you if that’s the case. It wouldn’t be fair…”

Severus let out a huff, incredulous. He looked at her with amusement. Moving closer, his eyes searched Katya’s with an intensity that left her breathless. “Katya, there’s no one else,” he replied sincerely. “No one has such appalling taste as you, to consider me a potential partner,” he joked. “Don’t say that, Sev,” she scolded, taking his hands in hers and caressing them softly. “It’s true, Kat.” Severus held her gaze firmly. “I’ve never been in a relationship.” He cleared his throat. “At least, not one where I felt anything for the other person.”

Severus’s words struck her harder than she expected. She felt sudden relief and then confusion. Was he talking about one-night stands, perhaps? The honesty in his voice brought her some peace, but at the same time, the uncertainty wasn’t completely dispelled. “Then why do you keep running away?” she asked, her tone almost desperate. “What’s holding you back?”

Severus, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, swallowed hard. He knew he couldn’t keep avoiding the truth. Gently, he lifted his hand and brushed Katya’s cheek, caressing her skin with a tenderness he rarely displayed. “I’m afraid of losing you,” he whispered. “Of ruining it.”

Katya closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the warmth of his hand. She wanted to tell him there was nothing to fear, that if he would just let go, things could be different. But before she could answer, a voice interrupted them.

“Katya!” Arkady exclaimed, approaching from the hotel dining room.

The bubble they had been wrapped in burst abruptly. Katya took a step back, clearly startled by the sudden appearance of her friend. Severus, too, moved away uncomfortably, lowering his hand. As Arkady approached, he noticed that the girl had been speaking with Professor Snape.

“Arkady…” Katya said, her heart still racing.

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our breakfast,” Arkady said with amusement. He offered his best friendly smile, though his gaze didn’t miss the palpable tension between Katya and Severus.

Severus looked at Arkady with irritation. The professor’s arrival had interrupted a crucial moment, but it also provided an excuse to escape the intensity of the situation.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I lost track of time,” Katya responded quickly, trying to regain her composure.

Arkady, ever perceptive, gave Severus a quick glance before turning his focus back to Katya. He recalled noticing a certain closeness between them at last year’s assembly. Alongside Professor Slughorn, he’d seen how the two of them had chatted animatedly and even visited tourist spots in Paris after the presentations. Though Katya hadn’t said anything, something told him that the situation between them had shifted.

“Professor Snape,” Arkady greeted with a slight nod of his head. “Why don’t you join us? I’ve read that Hogwarts found a basilisk in the castle, and I’d love to hear all about that adventure,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve plenty of time before the first presentation of the day.”

Severus stiffened at the invitation. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more conversations after what had just transpired. He needed a cigarette and time to process his own feelings and emotions, far from Arkady’s curious gaze and Katya’s figure-hugging attire.

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’d best be going,” Severus said, almost in a whisper, avoiding Katya’s eyes.

Katya looked at him, surprised by the speed of his decision. Her chest tightened with the feeling that Severus was running away, once again.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from reflecting the disappointment she felt.

Severus nodded, attempting to hide his discomfort.

“I’ll see you in a while,” he assured her, his eyes meeting Katya’s briefly before dropping again.

Katya nodded slowly, processing his words. Despite everything that had happened that morning, there was a sincerity in his voice that offered her a small measure of comfort. Even so, the distance between them felt greater than ever.

“Professor Dolgorúkov,” Severus greeted Arkady, giving Katya one last glance before turning toward the door.

Severus inclined his head slightly to Arkady and, without looking back, left the hotel lobby. Katya followed him with her gaze until he disappeared through the door, her heart still pounding in her chest. She began walking toward the dining room, and Arkady followed, somewhat concerned by the look of misery on her face.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, sitting across from her as they waited for their coffee.

Katya let out a long sigh and slumped her shoulders. She could still feel the warmth of Severus’s hand on her cheek, the weight of his words echoing in her mind.

“I don’t know, Arkady… I don’t know,” she admitted, feeling emotionally drained.

Arkady, in his characteristic protective tone, tried to ease the tension.

“It’s clear there’s something between the two of you,” he said with a slight smile. “I’m happy for you, dear!” he exclaimed. “You’ve always been… a solitary person, but I promise you, love changes lives. Believe me, forty years married to Esme, and I wouldn’t trade my time with her for anything.”

Katya looked at him fondly. Esme and Arkady were the very definition of a happy marriage—something particularly rare in her family. She knew he was right, but she also understood that Severus’s internal battle wouldn’t be easy to resolve and that, unfortunately, he was hiding something.

“Come on, let’s have breakfast,” Arkady said finally, changing the subject in an effort to distract her. “You’ll have time to deal with that later. Besides, I’ve seen that man barely able to speak to anyone, and now… in a pair ! Who would have thought?”

“We’re not together yet,” Katya replied.

“Well, yet .”

Katya nodded, though her mind remained on Severus. The waiter arrived with their coffee and menus. Katya ordered some toast, barely tasting it, while her professor opted for several sweet dishes.

“How’s everything, dear?” her professor asked.

“Well… I’ve submitted my thesis, so I’ll be graduating soon,” she informed him.

“Oh!” he exclaimed proudly, raising his coffee cup. “Congratulations!”

Katya nodded and smiled, slightly embarrassed.

“Your father?” he asked. “All fine, I presume?”

Katya nodded. There was no need to tell him that her father had likely found out about her applications to other companies and was now furious about it.

“Yes, as always,” she murmured.

They finished breakfast, and Arkady invited her to walk along the canals where, the previous evening, she had walked with Severus. After a while, they returned and prepared for the day’s assembly, where Katya would have to face Severus once more. At that moment, she wasn’t sure how their next meeting would go, but she awaited it eagerly.

Professor Snape, on the other hand, was terrified, to say the least. Vocalising his feelings had stirred up dark memories from the past, and the mere idea of sharing his vulnerability with Katya only heightened his nervousness. In his mind, thousands of thoughts swirled like an uncontrollable whirlwind.

What would happen if they agreed to have a relationship? That question tormented him, and frightening scenarios began to play out in his head. He imagined what it would be like to open up to her, to share not only his joys but also his sorrows. What if she discovered his past? The thought of Katya learning about his history as a Death Eater, of the choices that had led him down such dark paths, sent a chill through him. He feared that such knowledge would drive her away, that the image she held of him would crumble in an instant. Severus had worked hard to build an image of himself that, while distant and cold, held a semblance of respect. The fear of losing it all paralysed him.

What if she uncovered his past and decided never to connect with him again? He wouldn’t blame her, of course, but the mere possibility of her distancing herself, of the bond they had built over the years dissolving, filled him with anguish. How would they cope? Would they maintain a long-distance relationship? The thought of separation filled him with despair. Or, worse still, what if the Dark Lord truly returned? In his mind, the scale tilted towards the negative; every dark thought seemed more convincing than the last.

And yet, there was another side—an insistent longing he could not ignore. On the other hand, he was eager to see her again. The truth was that Severus thought about her constantly in his day-to-day life, whether suffocated by the silence of his home or stressed as he chased unruly students around Hogwarts. Her letters were a small gift, and since Moscow, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her—about someone who truly desired him. That night echoed in his mind like a constant refrain.

He made his way to the assembly at a slow pace. The only source of comfort in these meetings was the simple joy of being able to bask in her presence. Her laughter, her intelligence, her passion for potions had become an obsession in his monotonous life. Each time he saw her, a part of him yearned for more.

As he walked, the weight of his thoughts overwhelmed him. Every time he allowed himself to think of Katya, a tightness settled in his chest. He knew he needed to make a decision, but the fear of the unknown kept him frozen. He wanted to open up to her, but he was terrified that doing so would destroy everything.

Gods, why was it so complicated? he wondered, feeling anxiety devour him from within. Severus forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. Yet for every attempt at control, doubt and insecurity returned to attack.

Meanwhile, Katya entered the laboratory with a firm stride, searching for Severus among the attendees. She spotted him immediately; he was still wearing the same clothes as the previous night, and his gaze reflected nervousness. As she approached, he tried to mask his unease with an awkward smile.

“Relax, Sev,” Katya whispered, smiling conspiratorially.

Severus nodded, though his expression remained tense. The two of them made their way to their corner in the laboratory, where they continued working on the potions for the healers. Katya, with swift movements, rolled up her sleeves and positioned herself beside him. He watched her closely, feeling the intensity of his gaze, though she preferred to focus on her task, slicing the ingredients with precision for the blood-replenishing potion and the wound-healing draught. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by furtive glances they shared amidst their concentration.

The work progressed wordlessly, but the tension between them lingered. Both were keenly aware of what had occurred the previous night and the conversations yet to come. However, midday arrived quickly, bringing with it the presentation by Jakob and Andrea Wagner, the celebrated twins showcasing their latest "breakthrough" in cosmetic potions, supposedly aimed at “the beauty of the ordinary witch.”

Katya and Severus sat together for the presentation, sharing a sceptical attitude from the start. The twins had turned their presentation into an advertising stunt, promoting what was clearly a common beautifying potion disguised as a revolutionary rejuvenating cream.

“… so, you may be wondering: how would one use the potion?” Andrea Wagner explained with forced enthusiasm.

Severus muttered under his breath,

“No one has ever wondered that.”

Katya stifled a laugh but couldn’t help smiling. She squeezed Severus’s knee. His arm rested casually on the back of her chair.

“Do you think if I laugh, they’ll realise how nonsensical this is?” Katya teased quietly, looking at Severus with mischief. “Or perhaps I could ask how much they paid for the licence to use Madam Tugwood’s recipes.”

Severus hid his smile behind the promotional pamphlets the twins had handed out. It was obvious that the twins were taking credit for the work of the renowned Sacharissa Tugwood, the potioneer who had created the first beautifying potion decades earlier.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Severus challenged, the spark of amusement in his eyes unmistakable.

Katya arched an eyebrow, clearly entertained by his provocation.

“What’s the wager?” she teased, challenging him with a smile.

Severus looked at her for a moment, weighing the gauntlet she had thrown down. Katya returned his gaze with a playful smirk, waiting for his answer.

“Whatever you want,” he said finally, his tone carrying undeniable interest.

Katya leaned slightly towards him, as if she were seriously contemplating the wager.

“Well then…” she replied, savouring the moment. “A night at my hotel.”

Severus swallowed hard and cleared his throat, intrigued. After a few tense seconds, he nodded slowly, accepting the challenge. Katya, wearing a seductive smile, prepared to act. The question round had begun, and she confidently raised her hand.

“Yes, the witch at the back! Your name?” Jakob Wagner called out from the stage, noticing Katya among the audience.

Katya brushed her hair back elegantly before speaking, all eyes on her.

“I’m curious, Jakob…” she began, her tone calm but sharp, “what exactly are the ingredients in this ‘rejuvenating cream’?”

The smiles on the Wagner twins’ faces faltered slightly. Andrea attempted to regain control of the situation.

“Well, it’s a proprietary formula…” she began, but Katya interrupted her smoothly.

“A proprietary formula, you say?” Katya asked, raising her eyebrows. “Because it seems rather familiar. Could it be a modification of the original beautifying potion created by Sacharissa Tugwood? The one specifically developed to enhance physical appearance, though not for rejuvenation purposes. I wonder if you’ve paid the requisite licence to market her work.”

The auditorium fell silent for a moment. Jakob Wagner tried to recover his composure, but his hesitation was clear to everyone present.

“Well, we’ve… improved the formula with certain modern touches,” Jakob replied, visibly uncomfortable.

Katya smiled almost imperceptibly, knowing she had caught them out.

“Oh, of course.” Katya tilted her head slightly. “Curious, though, that you failed to mention Tugwood in your presentation, given that she created the foundation of your potion. I wonder what the Potion Regulators would make of that.”

The tension in the room thickened as several attendees began whispering among themselves. The twins exchanged nervous glances, aware that Katya had exposed them. Severus, observing the scene with a barely contained smile, settled back in his chair, enjoying the spectacle. Katya had dismantled them brilliantly.

He wanted to take her right there and then. That was the first thought that crossed his mind as Katya looked at him boldly, an insinuating smile on her lips. The air between them was charged with an electric tension he could hardly bear. Yet he had to wait. He had promised her a night, just as she had requested. Patience, he told himself, though he felt that, at any moment, his body might betray him.

Upon the conclusion of the Wagner twins' presentation, who had been humiliated in front of the attendees after Katya's clever remark, both returned to their space in the laboratory. Once there, they began drafting the reports on the healing potions they had prepared earlier. Katya, still in high spirits, leaned slightly against the laboratory table while pointing out to Severus what needed to be included in the report. Her cleavage, which casually but noticeably escaped from her shirt, caught Severus's gaze in a way that completely distracted him.

His eyes moved between the paper and the exposed skin of Katya, and though he tried to maintain composure, his mind wandered to thoughts that had little to do with potions. The silence between them was broken when Katya, noticing his distraction, softly called his name.

"Sev, did you hear what I said?" she asked playfully.

Severus blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts. The confusion in his gaze caused Katya to let out a small laugh, finding it endearing how he looked when he was flustered.

"No," he murmured, his voice somewhat subdued, as though he had just returned from another world. "You're distracting me."

Severus stood up from his seat, intending to regain some control of the situation. He looked at her with a serious expression, the same one he used in front of his students when he wanted to enforce discipline, wanting to intimidate her, knowing that facade always worked.

"Behave yourself, Miss Borislova," he added, in an authoritative tone that made her heart race.

Katya looked at him, scandalized by his sudden shift in attitude but also slightly flushed. It was clear that his words had affected her. Severus, still in his rigid posture, wondered what thoughts were crossing Katya's mind at that moment. Maybe, he thought, he had been too harsh with her. But then, the young woman stood up and leaned toward him, her lips just a few centimetres from his ear. The closeness made Severus's breath quicken, but he forced himself to remain steady.

"Oh, so this is Professor Snape," Katya whispered, biting her upper lip slightly. "What do you think if we finish earlier?"

The question left him speechless for a second. Katya was playing with fire, and he knew it. But what surprised him the most was not the provocation itself, but how much he liked it. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind torn between duty and desire. But now there was a bet in play, and she was doing her part.

Severus looked at her intensely, his dark eyes reflecting the whirlpool of emotions overwhelming him. He didn't answer immediately, but Katya could see the internal struggle on his face. She was tempting him, and she knew it.

By the end of the day, after finishing the reports and ensuring everything was in order, the tension between them had only increased. As the sun began to set, filling the laboratory with a soft golden glow, Katya moved away from him with a satisfied smile. She knew she had left him bewildered, but also eager.

"I'll see you at the hotel," Katya said with a playful tone before leaving the laboratory, leaving him alone with his thoughts for a few minutes.

Severus watched her walk away, and for a moment, he felt as if time had stopped. His mind kept replaying the images of their interaction from just moments ago, the way she leaned toward him, the insinuation in her voice. He wanted her, and he knew it. But what puzzled him the most was how Katya managed to awaken something different in him, something he hadn't felt before. His heart raced, and he couldn't help but feel... important. Desired. It was a new sensation for him. He had always been the distant observer, the man who kept everyone at arm's length. But with Katya, the distance seemed to melt away.

They met outside the building where Katya was waiting for him, leaning against a wall, smoking. He approached her slowly, staring at her intently, and in front of her, he took her by the neck and kissed her deeply. They headed to the hotel in silence. He felt like he was walking on clouds; the desire was overwhelming, yes, but there was something more. He liked the attention Katya gave him, the way her eyes followed him, the fact that she wanted him in a way he had never experienced before. This wasn't just an affair, it wasn't just a game. It was different.

At the hotel, Katya opened the door with a plastic card that she slid smoothly through the lock reader.

"It's the latest technology," she explained, as they entered the room. "They're magnetic cards."

Severus, following her, observed the card with mild curiosity.

"Ingenuous, these Muggles," he commented in his characteristic neutral tone, though he couldn't help but feel slightly impressed by the simplicity of the technology.

Once inside, Katya turned on the light, filling the room with a warm glow. She took off her shoes with a fluid movement and gestured for Severus to make himself comfortable and do the same. The room was three times larger than his: a spacious bed, a TV on the wall, an elegant armchair beside a dark wooden desk, and a balcony with glass doors. There, an imposing bird rested next to a cage; Severus recognized it instantly as Inna, Katya's messenger eagle, whose black feathers gleamed under the moonlight.

Katya walked toward her suitcase, rummaging through her belongings with a mix of determination and mischief in her eyes. She slowly removed her jacket, fully aware that she had Severus's attention.

"I'm going to take a shower," she announced with a smile on her lips, taking what she needed. Then, she approached him, her eyes shining with a mix of complicity and desire. She kissed him softly, leaving him slightly stunned. "Make yourself at home, Sev."

With that, she quickly disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Severus somewhat disoriented. The kiss had left him dizzy, and Katya's invitation to "make yourself at home" disturbed him in a way he couldn't quite define. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. He knew he should follow her, take a shower, prepare for her, but he felt trapped between nervousness and desire. He couldn't remember the last time he had physical contact with another woman, perhaps two years had passed already. What if he disappointed her? He wasn't a man accustomed to these situations, and Katya's closeness put him in a position he couldn't entirely control.

While torturing himself with these thoughts, he began pacing the room slowly. His eyes stopped on the desk, where a formal-looking folder lay. Upon opening it, he found papers with Russian words and financial charts that he didn’t fully understand. Katya had probably been working the previous night, likely reviewing financial reports or something related to her family business. He flipped through the papers for a few minutes, trying to distract himself from the nerves overtaking him.

Underneath the folder, Severus found a letter with the word "дочь" written on the back. With more curiosity than caution, he took the letter. Looking at the address, he remembered that it matched one Katya had mentioned once, so the letter, still unopened, must have come from her home.

Without warning, Katya's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"What are you doing?" she suddenly asked from the bathroom door.

Severus turned, startled. Katya had emerged wearing a white silk pyjama in the form of a jacket, which fell delicately over her figure. Katya had left the first buttons undone, and Severus lost his ability to think for a few seconds. The girl's eyes were looking at him with an unsettling gleam, as though she couldn't decide whether to be upset or not.

"I... I’m sorry," he murmured, clearly uncomfortable. "I was just..."

"Going through my things," she accused him, though she didn’t seem genuinely angry.

Severus quickly rose from the desk, feeling a pang of embarrassment. What had he been looking for? Why had he done that? His mind was filled with questions as he tried to apologise.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, this time more sincerely.

Katya approached him, her steps calm but laden with intent. She took the letter from his hands with ease, showing no signs of anger.

"It’s from my father," she explained, showing him her hand, where the marks of a small wound remained. "He has a rather unfriendly two-headed eagle."

"Two-headed?" Severus asked, genuinely surprised. "I thought they were extinct."

Katya shook her head and explained that a client of her father’s, from Nenetsia, had a breeding farm and had gifted her one as a symbol of prestige, since the two-headed eagle is the emblem of Russia. Bravely, she finally decided to open the letter.

"Oh, it’s just an invitation to a gala," Katya said, visibly relieved as she read its contents. She finished reading and carefully placed the letter back in the folder before turning to Severus with a more relaxed expression. "Sorry if I reacted badly. This work change thing has me worried."

Severus, sensing the tension dissipating, tilted his head slightly and, on impulse, kissed her. Their lips met in a soft but intent gesture. She responded immediately, her hands wrapping around his neck as she pulled him closer. The heat of the kiss made them both stagger slightly, but Severus, despite his growing desire, paused for a moment, resisting the temptation to give in completely.

Impatient, Katya began pushing him toward the bed with a mischievous smile, but Severus gently stopped her.

“Perhaps... I should imitate you and take a shower as well” He murmured, trying to keep his composure as Katya kissed his neck, igniting his senses.

Katya huffed, clearly frustrated by the interruption.

“Hmm, no” She mumbled, not stopping her attempts to lead him to the bed.

Severus, unable to suppress a smile at her impatience, gently took her wrists.

“Kat... please” He pleaded, his voice low, his breath ragged.

Katya sighed, resigned but still with a spark of amusement in her eyes. She released him, allowing him to get up from the bed.

“Be quick” She said playfully “I'll see what they have on the menu”

As Severus headed towards the bathroom, his mind remained unsettled, filled with intrusive thoughts that seemed impossible to control. Despite his evident nervousness, he couldn’t deny how good Katya made him feel. There was something in the way she looked at him, touched him, that made him feel desired, something deeply new and unsettling for him. Yet, with every pleasurable sensation, a torrent of insecurities struck him fiercely.

The sound of water starting to run in the shower momentarily pulled him from his thoughts. 

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, and what he saw was far from pleasing. His reflection brought him back to the harsh reality of how he looked, and more importantly, how he felt. His black hair, falling over his shoulders in messy strands, shone almost greasy under the dim bathroom light. His face, pale and angular, with his prominent nose and dark circles that seemed never to disappear, made him appear even more gaunt. He despised that face, and wondered what Katya saw in him.

His gaze drifted to his body, slender and covered in scars, indelible marks of his past and the choices he had made. Some of these marks were really old, gifts from his father's drunkenness and devoted belt, others were remnants of his days as a Death Eater, while others were more recent, results of his life spent with potions and the dangers they entailed with fire or blade. All of this filled him with anxiety. A slight churn in his stomach suddenly shook him as he thought about what was to come. Would Katya let them be together, but only with the lights off? He couldn’t understand how someone like her, so perfect, so graceful, could desire him in this way. Surely, if she really saw him naked, with all his scars and his body marked by the years, she’d feel what most people did upon seeing him: disgust.

With a sigh full of anguish, he stepped into the shower. The hot water began to fall on him, flowing over his body with a comforting, yet overwhelming sensation. He let the heat rise until it almost burned his skin, as if that could wash away the shame he felt. He wanted the water to take away the fear, the insecurity, the doubts that had been tormenting him since he entered that room. He stood there, still under the stream, wishing he could disappear, wishing that the thought of someone like Katya seeing him in this state wouldn’t overwhelm him to the point of feeling incapable of going on.

He hadn’t always felt this burden. Before, when he slept with women like Claire Higgs or Anne Avery, he hadn’t had these insecurities. With them, it had just been physical, something without ties, without expectations. He didn’t care what they thought of his body, his scars, or his appearance. He never worried too much about what they thought, and probably neither did they. It was easy. Superficial.

But with Katya… it was different. They were friends. They had shared years of letters, conversations, moments of genuine connection. If anything went wrong between them, if this night turned into a disappointment, it would destroy him completely. What if he disappointed her? Severus knew it wasn’t just about physical desire. It was about emotional intimacy, opening up to her in a way he had never done before. And that terrified him more than anything else.

The thought of losing her tormented him. It wasn’t just that he desired her; it was that he needed her. Their friendship had been a refuge, something he relied on during the dark moments of his life. If that friendship broke due to his own insecurities, because he couldn’t measure up to what she expected, it would be like daily torture. How could he look at her after that?

The water kept falling, enveloping him in a cloud of steam, but his thoughts wouldn’t dissipate. He was aware that Katya was waiting for him, that any moment now he’d have to step out of the shower, face her, and… what? Severus closed his eyes, letting the water wash away the tension in his shoulders, but he knew that nothing, not even the scalding water, could erase the invisible scars he carried with him.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He looked at himself in the mirror once more, watching how the steam fogged his reflection. For a moment, he felt the urge to return to his small, safe hotel room and pretend none of this was happening. But that option was no longer available to him. Katya had entered his life, shaken him out of his routine and his walls of protection, and now there was no going back.

Severus wrapped himself in a robe and left the bathroom, still feeling that sense of uncertainty. He knew he had taken a step into unknown territory, and for the first time in a long while, he felt vulnerable. Would Katya look at him the same way after tonight?

Katya was sitting on the sofa, the TV on and the room service menu in hand, but as she heard him exit, she looked up. Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.

“You look incredible” She assured him. She smiled at him with a warmth that, although he didn’t admit it out loud, gave him a brief flash of reassurance.

Severus swallowed and slowly made his way to the bed. His mind was still filled with doubts, but also with a small spark of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, he thought, Katya saw him in a way he had never allowed himself to see. The idea both terrified and drew him in.

“Do you want to order something to eat?” She asked, her voice soft and welcoming, breaking the silence.

Severus nodded, still unsure, but with a slight glimmer of confidence reflected in his gaze. Katya moved closer, sitting beside him as she looked at the menu. Severus’s robe parted slightly, and she couldn’t help but glance at his slender yet strong torso, his scars, one of the many things that made him unique. As she handed him the menu, she smiled to hide the blush on her cheeks.

They both chose what to eat, and Katya called room service to place the order. After hanging up, Severus had lain down on the bed, finally relaxing his body after the tension of the day. Katya, feeling a surge of adrenaline, pounced on him. Severus allowed himself to be swept away by the moment, instinctively taking her hips and pressing her against the bed. He felt the heat of her body so close, something inside him igniting that he had kept under control until now.

“Oh, God” Katya murmured against his lips, rubbing her hips against his pelvis, feeling the growing pressure in him.

“I’m sorry” Severus whispered, his voice tense, embarrassed by what his body was doing without his control.

Katya, laughing softly, covered his mouth with her hand.

“Stop apologising, Sev” She told him, looking him in the eyes with intensity. “Let this happen.” She gave him a long, deep kiss, pulling him further into her desire. “Oh, I knew you were big…” She moaned against his mouth, igniting something in Severus that he hadn’t felt in years.

Hearing those words, something in Severus’s mind clicked. The barriers he used to erect crumbled in an instant. The insecurity he had felt just minutes before began to dissipate, replaced by a fire he couldn’t contain. He allowed himself to be himself, without reservations. His hands shamelessly explored Katya’s body, feeling the heat and softness of her skin under his fingers. He took his time with her breasts, massaging them firmly through the silk pyjama top.

“Gods, they’re huge” He grunted, devouring her lips, his body growing more in tune with hers.

“Severus, please” Katya moaned, her voice broken by the pleasure she felt.

“Please?” He teased, a twisted smile appearing on his face, feeling an unusual confidence 

that surprised him. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Katya was about to explicitly tell him what she desired when a knock on the door interrupted the moment. She let out a frustrated huff and quickly pulled away from him, walking to the door to answer it. The waiter entered with a small rolling cart, on which there were plates of food and a bottle of champagne.

Severus, upon seeing him, hastily covered himself, though he couldn’t help but feel a slight warmth on his cheeks due to the awkwardness of the situation. Katya, for her part, seemed completely at ease, exchanging brief words with the waiter before closing the door and heading back to the bed.

"The food..." Severus said in a calmer tone, though still affected by Katya’s proximity. "It’ll get cold."

Katya sighed, resigned, and pulled away from him, placing the dishes on the small table with a slight touch of impatience. Meanwhile, Severus got up from the bed and began to browse the various VHS tapes beside the television. Muggle entertainment had always seemed curious to him, though he usually avoided it. But now, with Katya, everything seemed different, even the idea of watching a film felt more appealing.

"I haven’t had time to watch them," Katya remarked from the table, glancing at Severus out of the corner of her eye. "Do you want to watch a film?"

Severus turned towards her, noticing the sparkle in her eyes and the way she looked at him. It was a gaze that made him feel more than desired, something he hadn’t experienced before.

"Have you seen Rocky?" Severus asked with curiosity. "It’s about a boxer who..."

"Yes!" Katya exclaimed, interrupting him. "I haven’t seen the last one. Do you want to watch it?"

Severus nodded with a small smile. Katya, with a flick of her wand, put the VHS into the television as he grabbed the bottle of champagne. When he tried to open it, the cork shot off with an explosion, which made Katya laugh.

Severus smiled widely, enjoying the genuine laughter of Katya as he poured the glasses. During dinner, they ate in silence, focused on the film, but also on each other’s presence. Without thinking much, Severus draped his arm around Katya, feeling more comfortable with each passing second. To his surprise, she nestled closer, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around her, more relaxed than ever.

When they finished dinner, Katya slid even closer, pressing her body against his while tracing small lines on Severus’s arm with the tips of her fingers. Katya’s soft, soothing movements, combined with the film in the background, created an atmosphere of quiet intimacy. Severus, who had always been someone who avoided this kind of emotional closeness, was surprised to find comfort in their shared silence.

As the film progressed, their bodies remained close, Katya’s warmth giving him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. Gradually, both began to drift into a state of drowsiness, and after a while, they fell asleep together, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s company.

It’s not just a fleeting affair , Severus assured himself. He knew that with Katya, everything felt more real, more intense, and though that idea intrigued him, it also scared him. He was vulnerable with her, but for some reason, that didn’t seem so terrible. It was simply wonderful.

[qqueenofhades]

Ask and ye shall receive - how about a prompt around spiced winter drinks? Dealers choice on the fandom, maybe Dreamling or the Ren/Grey/Vargo ot3?

It’s one of the bitterest nights of the dwindling year, the canals glazed with ice and the pale stone warrens of Nadežra filled with eerie curls of mist, and even the altans and altas most dedicated to nocturnal misbehavior are generally inside, bundled up by warm fires or tucked in warm beds, and while Vargo certainly doesn’t have a philosophical objection to either activity (indeed, far from it) it unfortunately happens that he has to fucking work. It seems impossible that the piles of paper on his desk should have sprung to twice their original height in the last three days since he looked at them, but that’s the thing about political independence; it’s decidedly a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you get to arrange your own affairs. On the other, you… have to arrange your own affairs, and since Seterin has sat up and taken sharp notice of all these Vraszenians suddenly running around and exulting in their freedom, it heralds other possible conflicts down the line. That, Vargo supposes, is where sleeping with not just one but two legendary outlaws is likely to come in useful. If nothing else, they do have practice at this sort of thing.

A reluctant smile twitches his lip as he dips his pen and reaches unhappily for the first stack of correspondence. He misses Alsius – well, he always misses Alsius, but more than usual, who would absolutely love the boring nuts and bolts of this stuff, whereas it makes Vargo want to put his own eyes out with a hot stick. He scribbles and mutters and adds up figures, makes note of new requisitions and trade tariffs, ordinances of the freshly expanded Septerat; he doesn’t like it, but of course he didn’t rise to his original position by accident. The candles gutter low into waxy gremlins, and he thinks about drawing a numismata to keep them up, but that would suggest he will in fact be stuck here all night, and that’s a little too depressing to think about. Somebody’s got to do the ordinary grunt work while his dearly beloveds are running around the city in their silly costumes, but by the Lumen, why does it have to be him?

Just then, as he’s massaging the ache in his hand and thinking of some really good curses, Vargo smells a wisp of cinnamon, hears the faint creak of the floor, and turns halfway around, just as Ren leans down and presses a kiss into the side of his head. Voice rich and low with promise, she remarks, “Grey and I both perhaps feel we are being neglected.”

“This is your fault, you know,” Vargo grumbles, without heat. “Making me be the respectable one. And can’t you two entertain each other?”

Ren gives him another slightly wicked smile. “It’s more fun with you.”

Yes, Vargo agrees, it is at that. He vainly attempts to pretend that he will be doing paperwork for a few more moments – then, at Ren’s insistent tug, gets to his feet and lets her lead him down the hall, toward his private quarters at the back of the villa. Halfway there, a terrible thought occurs to him, and he stops short. “Is Arkady here?”

Ren bites a smirk. “She’s asleep. Upstairs. Even formidable knot bosses have to get their beauty sleep.”

“I very much doubt that,” Vargo mutters, since it seems unlikely that the newly-minted Alta Arkady Bones Vargonis has ever thought about beauty sleep in any capacity. But he’s glad to hear that she’s out of the way, after one too many moments when she nearly caught the three of them in flagrante delicto, and if Arkady knows a juicy secret like that, there’s no chance she’ll keep her trap shut instead of gleefully spilling it, if nothing else to see him squirm. It turns out, Vargo reflects sourly, that even without blood relation, his adopted daughter is very much like him in the hellraising department. In fact, far too much so. After all for the Nadežrans, blood is incidental, and secondary to whether an individual is inscribed in the family register. Arkady is, and that makes her as much his own, heir to his means and methods and moods, as if he did sire her in the ordinary fashion. Ažerais help them all.

He feels a sudden warmth on his face as they step into the lowlit sitting room, and gratefully spots the fire – which Grey Serrado is presently stoking, on his knees before the grate like a common scullion, which is possibly one of the less glamorous tasks ever asked of the great Rook. Still, it gives Vargo a certain glow, an inner warmth not just from the fire, and he strides inside. “Well, you two degenerates got my attention. What is it?”

Grey gets to his feet, brushing the soot off, and gives Vargo a ferocious stare that silently remarks he has the hells of a lot of nerve calling anyone else a degenerate. Still, he shrugs, crosses the carpet, and brushes the ghost of a kiss against Vargo’s cheek, while Ren cheerily shoves him onto the settee. Vargo is opening his mouth to ask what exactly they are intending to do to him, now that they’ve lured him here by bribes and trickery, but Grey forces a cup of hot spiced wine into his hand, and Vargo blinks at it. “Ah. What’s this?”

“Drink it,” Grey orders him, with the steely tones of the former Vigil captain, and Vargo fights a traitorous urge to salute. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“I thought you two were going to – ”

“Maybe later.” Ren perches on his other side and gives him another smile – still tinged with dark and wicked promise, the Rose’s thorns, but wistful as well, softer, and just wanting the three of them to have this quiet moment together in the cold winter night. “Drink.”

Far be it from him to refuse an order from Alta Renata and Grey Serrado at once, Vargo thinks, even without their alter egos. And is that not the reason for all the trouble he’s gotten himself into, either in past, present, or future? But there is nothing else he would rather do, and no one else he would rather be with, in all this city of Faces and Masks. He lifts the cup, grins into the brim with a tenderness that seems impossible for his heart to bear, and drinks.

[theinsanecrayonbox]

I had a dream last night…about Sabretooth War???

So Sabretooth (pretty sure Prime, definitely not Savage though) was going through the Green House. Alarms going? “All X-Force assemble” type message. And he rounds the corner to come face to face with Arkady.

There’s a momentary pause as both were surprised by this. Arkady spoke first “You’re not dead…”

Then Victor grinned. “We’ll lookit you Red, really playing with the big boys now huh?”

“And you are still causing trouble. This is all your doing I take it.”

“Just me a few friends. Now then, lest you want me pulling your hair so hard this time it rips that pretty head of yours off your shoulders, you’d be best getting out of my way and letting me do my thing.”

There’s a moment of silence as they stare down. Then either a scene cut…or my brain didn’t fill it in cause dream and I can’t tell if I was reading this or watching it…but next scene I remember is of Arkady pulling Sage away from danger and escaping with her and stuff burned maybe?

Because she’s the only one who cares about his well being, Arkady saved her but still moved aside to let Victor do his own thing.

“If I do that, you promise me you won’t hurt Sage.”

Victor smirked. “Going soft are you now Red?” But seeing him still hard and serious about it, he frowns a bit in disappointment. “S’long as the frail stays out of my way, sure why not. I have no beef with you, unless you make some.”

And then I think I woke up, or my subconscious moved on to something else. I don’t remember.

[jaggedwolf]

TSCOSI Ficlets #5

Waking up in the body of your AU self

Sana woke with a cough. That and the clanging of metal was almost loud enough to camouflage the small voice going "oh, fuck." It took only a second of steady breathing to place the voice as Violet's and another of opened eyes to spot her.

Sana may have been the one lying on the med bay cot, but Violet was the one who looked wrong - a ponytail her hair should be too short for, Arkady's IGR guard jacket instead of her own sweater or crew jacket.

"Captain Tripathi." One of Violet's hands was shoved into her jacket pocket, an upturned chair behind her. There was an intensity to Violet's gaze that didn't seem entirely medical. She'd seen Violet calmer when faced with an actively bleeding patient.

No blood here, only a growing headache. "Violet, an update? Last thing I remember is piloting the ship. How long was I out for?"

"Less than an hour." Violet frowned. "I-I had to shift here to monitor you."

The door slid open with a beep, Arkady striding through. At least she looked as Sana expected, tank and tactical pants and close-cropped hair.

"Thought I told you to comm me as soon as she woke up, Liu." Arkady glowered as she leant back against the end of the cot.

"It hasn't been that long." Sana lightly nudged the small of Arkady's back with her foot. "I'm sure Violet was about to."

Arkady froze. Something sick curled in Sana's gut at how Arkady's shoulders relaxed once Sana jerked her foot away. It curled tighter at the wary looks Violet and Arkady traded.

"I was," Violet finally said. "Your scans were normal, Captain. It could've been simple dehydration."

"Dehydration." Arkady crossed her arms, apparently ending whatever shared moment they'd had. "Seriously?"

"Why exactly would I lie, First Mate Patel?" snapped Violet, shoulders hunched. "I know it wouldn't end well."

Arkady made a sound of frustration. "Wasn't an accusation." She stepped in between Violet and Sana, making eye contact with the latter. "Wasn't. I was the only one near you when you fainted. Anyway, need anything else from Liu?"

"No?" Sana's headache wasn't subsiding, but if asking for painkillers would trigger more of whatever she witnessed, she'd rather hold out.

"Great!" Arkady swept Violet out the medbay with an unexpected swiftness, though Sana caught sight of Arkady scanning something to open the door. Shit. That was the final straw. You didn't lock exits on a ship.

Only an hour, impossible. Who's turned her crew against her and each other? Who's managed to turn Arkady against her? Made them willing to keep her prisoner on her own ship?

Arkady must have noticed her growing panic, because she approached the cot with her hands up and a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "Captain, it's Liu. She's completely harmless. Even if she wasn't"-Arkady snorts-"she knows you've got eyes and automated systems on every part of this ship."

Arkady jerked her head towards a table where a tablet and gun lay. "Everyone else has been at their stations. Jeeter's in his room, and Krejjh is sha-"

"You left a gun here?" asked Sana. The tablet unlocked itself at Sana's touch, displaying a single camera feed of the mess hall. A swipe showed the airlock. Another Violet walking down a corridor. Another a small bedroom.

"Already feeling good enough to test me, Sana?" Arkady's fingers twitched. She tapped the single holster on her hip, no others to be seen (how had Sana missed that, she shouldn't have missed that.) Arkady forced her grin wider. "Come on, we solved my little paranoia problem ages ago, right?"

"Right," said Sana, letting the instinct to reassure her best friend take over as the full realization of what she held in her hands hit her.

Sana wasn't the prisoner of this ship. She was its warden.

Salacious Rumors

elionated: hey hey hey GossipGeneral57: No. elionated: but whyyyyyyy elionated: how could you betray me so, best of friends and best of admins? GossipGeneral57: You could file an appeal via the link on the deleted thread. GossipGeneral57: I would reject it, of course GossipGeneral57: This is a *celebrity* gossip board, the FAQ specifically outlines the requirements for discussing someone.

elionated: yeah well your requirements are dumb if people dubbing some dwarnian soap opera count as celebs and not the FRICKIN CREW OF THE RUMOR elionated: do you have any idea how much time I spent putting together that post? gathering theories from all over the net? listening to those reports? elionated: my post had citations man, mr yusof would be proud GossipGeneral57: I don't want to think about our old lit teacher reading your list of crew combinations ordered by how likely they are to be sleeping together.

elionated: so you read it then? :D GossipGeneral57: Obviously. It was one of your posts, after all elionated: :D GossipGeneral57: I have qualms on ranking (3) there. I think (4) and perhaps even (5) are likelier candidates given the opportunity of time.

elionated: are u kidding me what about my evidence GossipGeneral57: You mean the part where you came very close to breaking our doxxing rules via a partially covered profile screenshot that as you said, proves "she's okay with sharing"? elionated: research! the very bedrock of this board! GossipGeneral57: The name and anagrams of it aren't even particularly unique. elionated: gotta give the people whatever i can find

elionated: you know who else might have an opinion on this? the other people who left comments before you DELETED all my hard work GossipGeneral57: You always have backups. GossipGeneral57: I would also like the board to not get purged via government order elionated: ugh fine elionated: i guess if we're all gonna die in some dumb war i'd rather be able to post gossip during

GossipGeneral57: ...I don't have objections to discussing this topic in our encrypted messages, however elionated: ha I KNEW IT elionated: ok who do you think is banging other than the obvs GossipGeneral57: Hold on, I'm pulling up your list again and-seriously, the entire crew? Didn't Mr Yusof also cover not taking giant inferential leaps? GossipGeneral57: (Mr Yusof I'm so sorry) elionated: you gotta read the archive on the structure of dwarnian emrehs, the one in footnote 11 elionated: i'm just saying that krejjh seems like they'd be all about sharing cultural traditions ;)

Awkward Comfort

“There’s nothing to be done,” Park says, and he knows it’s a mistake as soon as the words leave him. Foolish, foolish, foolish.

Captain Tripathi doesn’t snap at him. Instead, she lets out a shaky sigh, head leaned back against the wall that separates her from the medbay where Patel’s fighting for her life, Liu and McCabe doing their level best to help her.

Park needs - wants? - to expend at least a similar level of effort in monitoring the captain. He has never seen (or heard) her so unsettled, or so despairing. He sits down next to her on the hallway floor. The movement is not very graceful, and something in his right knee twinges.

“You’re not wrong,” the captain finally says. Her voice is as wry as ever, but with none of its usual mirth. “The time to do something would have been before leading Arkady to an ambush.”

“Captain Tripathi,” Park reasons, “with the intelligence we had, we all thought the deal was legitimate. There was no way we could have-”

Her gaze turns steely. “My best friend got really hurt because of that ‘legitimate deal’, forgive me if I’m not in the mood for IGR-standard ass-covering.”

Park flinches.

“Park-that wasn’t fair of me. It’s-”

“No,” Park interrupts against his instincts, fingers curling around his scarred knee, “I think that’s a fair assessment.”

He pauses for a moment, turning his next words over in his head. He often wishes Shelly was with him on this strange turn his life had taken, but especially now, when she would’ve at least gotten some joy out of his struggles to offer comfort, if not having any advice of her own.

Park slowly says, “I also believe my ass-covering to be accurate as well. Not even Patel could blame you.”

Captain Tripathi snorts. “You did a poor job listening in if you thought Arkady wouldn’t be the last person to blame me.”

“She has some degree of self-preservation. And an excellent medic working on her.” Park thinks back to the few files he’d dug up on Liu’s time by O-11, the hours of work rewarded with little actionable intelligence. “If there was a warning sign, I’m sure Patel will regale us on the matter when she recovers.”

“She would.” The captain shakes her head. “She will. I’m going to stick around out here, Park, but you don’t have to.”

“Is there something that needs to be done elsewhere?” An easy opening for her to dismiss him. He rather hopes she doesn’t. Getting up would be a far less graceful process than sitting down. Worse yet, Park finds he doesn’t like the idea of her waiting alone, even if the alternative is his stilted company.

“No.” Sana’s eyes focus on him. He has the uncanny feeling she’s figured out something about him. “Not at all.”

Mundane AU

"It can't be that bad, dude," said Brian, sounding very reasonable as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. "Wasn't it already kinda bad?"

"Yes." Violet stared out the cafe window. The bright sunlight only aggravated her hangover, but it was far too late for her to hide from the day. "I also thought the week couldn't get worse than the department chair telling me that the direction of my dissertation was completely pointless. While my advisor said nothing."

Brian winced, even though she'd already told him this. He had his own horror stories about grad school, from before he'd dropped out. But that wasn't why Violet had texted him this morning.

"What happened?" asked Brian. "Did your advisor say something?"

"No," said Violet, almost wishing she had. "Your friends, the ones I met last night?"

"Arkady and Sana, yeah." Brian grins. "It seemed like you three hit it off. Sorry Krejjh and I had to head out early, moving has us beat."

"We did," admitted Violet. "After the bar, they showed me the flower shop and tattoo parlor." She grimaced. "I think I drank too much - I vaguely remember them insisting on walking me home?"

"Dude, that doesn't seem like that big a deal," said Brian. "Arkady's had to sleep it off on our couch plenty of times."

Violet cut to the chase. "Brian, when I woke up today, there was a bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. And next to it, a sketch of a tattoo design."

"Tattoos like the kind you swore off forever?" joked Brian, who had heard all about the very ill-advised hip tattoo decisions Violet had made in undergrad.

"It, um." Violet blushed. "It incorporated my current one. It actually made it look pretty good? The point is, I texted them this morning. Only I...thanked Sana for the flowers, and Arkady for the tattoo design."

"You didn't," protests Brian.

"I did. I didn't even realize until they texted me back." She leaned across the table to show him their replies. (Sana: You should thank Arkady for those! :D, Arkady: uh what liu? think you meant to text tripathi)

The disbelief was evident in Brian's eyes. "I introduced you guys to each other, Violet."

"Yeah, and you said 'this is Sana and Arkady, they run the flower shop and the tattoo parlor down on Rumor Street'. You never actually said who ran what!"

"You were in their shops!"

"We didn't actually talk about work that much. And they kept bouncing ideas off each other, I just thought they knew each other that well."

"Well, they do," said Brian, frowning. "But Sana's tattoos!"

"What about them?" asked Violet, taking a big gulp of her coffee.

"Isn't the woman with tattoo sleeves more likely to be the tattoo artist?"

"Arkady has a tattoo too, a number on her shoulder," argued Violet. Embarrassed, she mumbled her next defense. "I...thought of that puzzle. You know, the one where a town only has two barbers and-"

"-and you have to pick which one to get a haircut from, and one of them has a great haircut while the other one doesn't?" Brian's face lights up in recognition and amusement. "Kinda only applies in a town that only has two barbers, Violet. I think Sana got hers before she even moved here?"

"I probably seem like a complete idiot," said Violet, fidgeting with the handle of her mug. "Or worse."

"I don't think they'll hold it against you." Brian glanced at his phone after it lit up with a notification, smiling at whatever it was. "Not their style."

Wrist Kisses

When Violet returned to Arkady's room, her first order of business was falling back on the bed. Her second was a bone-deep sigh.

A snort of amusement came from where Arkady's desk stood. "Another talk-through?"

"Yeah." Violet closed her eyes. She would be eternally grateful for Dr Robinson's crash course. But the universe was still short on doctors, let alone non-IGR ones, and Violet hadn't helped that shortage when she'd decided to leave Telemachus for a spot on Sana's new ship. The least she could do was consult over calls. It meant squinting through poor video and only being able to offer her words, not her work.

She didn't mind. Even for the worst of those calls, she'd found it terrifying and satisfying and thrilling all at once. She hardly knew which of those were the best ways to feel.

"Bad call?" asked Arkady. Closer, this time.

"No, just some long ones."

Arkady hummed in acknowledgement. Violet blinked her eyes open in time to find Arkady hovering over her, the mattress sinking a little deeper with their combined weight. She grasped Arkady's face in her hands. Ran her thumb over the short hairs around Arkady's ears. It was grounding, holding Arkady, in a way that made Violet feel uncomfortably selfish.

"Sorry," said Violet, "I was planning on showering before I swung by."

"Yeah, Liu, you're absolutely filthy from uh, spending all day talking to people. Really contaminating my room," teased Arkady, who then turned her head to press a slow kiss to Violet's left wrist.

"I could go shower now." Violet shifted her arm to give Arkady better access. "There's still time before dinner."

Arkady shook her head, and responded between kisses that made their way up (or was it down?) Violet's arm. "Well, you've already ruined the sheets. We shouldn't waste it."

[canyouheatmeuponafrozennight]

Read: Crime and Punishment

One Sin and Hundreds of Good Deeds, Napoleon, Obtaining Paradise. There are many angles to approach this story from, many ideas to discuss about it, I don't feel like I'm literate enough to speak of them all. Anyway, let's talk about sins and sinners.

Rodion, the murderer. Poor and depressed, unemployed and lost, but above all, a smart dumbass. Living in a small cubicle, sleeping and doing nothing all day, Rodion wanted to prove to himself he was worth something. A hero is a murderer that history justified, he took his own theory and turned it around, inverting the cause and effect and murdering someone to prove he wasn't a nobody, that he could achieve greatness.

Amidst the whole cast, and the many people who tried to understand him, I feel the only person who really saw completely through him was Porfiri. Not only he knew how fragile Rodya's heart was, he could tell how dettached to life he was, and pleaded with him to not give up on living. He knew Rodion was a criminal, he had nothing to gain from it, and just out of his own morals, his own wish for this young man to live, he went out of his way to give him a better chance to recover.

To surpass limits and take hold of power, this is what drove Rodion to murdering. I think all the key characters of C&P have done that, but Porfiri's "limit break" was the one without a shred of "sin" in it. The greatest enemy before Rodion, the one that broke down his crime, was one such extraordinary person, and a virtuous foil of Rodion.

On the other end of the spectrum, we have Arkadi, the pedo-rapist. From his very introduction, I thought he was a mirror to Rodion. Both somewhat insane broken men, uncaring about others thoughts and opinions, self-centered and arrogant, but while Rodion was so from a low social position, Arkadi was rich. At first, that's all I thought he was, just a rich Rodion. Nothing prepared me for him to be that much of a mirror image, the same figure with inverted values, pretty much. While Rodion couldn't even put into words his love for Sonya until the end, Arkadi had multiple wives and lovers. Rodion couldn't tell why Sonya would follow him anywhere he went, while Arkadi was this sure Dunya also loved him. Rodion saw the pawnbroker as less than human and thus could kill her, Arkadi saw a child as tempting, and proceeded to defile her. Last and most important, Rodion couldn't kill himself and chose to accept punishment for his crime, while Arkadi decided he should kill himself.

Arkadi's limit break was entirely sinful, he went above and beyond in his lust, in his debauchery, and felt no regret over it (as Rodion over his own murder). He wasn't just Rodion if he had money, he was Rodion if he never accepted punishment, if he hid and ran from all the pain that comes with the crime. He helped many with his (wife's) money, but hundreds of good deeds can't erase even one sin, so he could no longer live with himself, also knowing he couldn't change his nature. He himself told Rodion only a bullet to the temple could stop him, and he committed to it.

Lastly, we have the purest sinner, Sonya, the harlot. At first I couldn't tell why Rodion liked her and respected her so much just from hearing Marmieladov talk about her, but in hindsight, it's clear that he felt in her his ideal, she was a limit breaker. She became a prostitute for her family, she drenched herself in sin to protect her stepfamily. She didn't murder another to achieve greatness, she allowed herself to be murdered, if it meant their happiness. Upon killing another and falling apart, Rodion needed to know how she, who took all the pain unto herself, didn't, and to him, an atheist, it must have felt conflicting to see that it was her faith that kept her together. I feel that, at the same time he wanted to see her faith break (and her too), he wanted to find the will to believe and keep himself together too, resulting in the Ressurection of Lazarus Reading scene, that was akin to his "battles" with Porfiri, in that moment he was trying to find out which of them was justice, does justice lie with the one that believes or the one that doesn't?

Sonya doesn't mirror Rodya, she is what lies beyond his flawed theory of greatness. He, who believes himself to be great, could not befriend anyone in prison or find himself having any will to live. She, who suffered even more than him, who holds herself humbly, is loved by all. When he killed the pawnbroker, he already knew his theory was shattering, and Porfiri continued to smash it, to force him to see reality, but that wasn't enough to save him. Porfiri could only break his world, Sonya can be there to show him what a great person can be once his antiquated mindset is gone.

Without her, he'd easily return to who he was before the murder, a depressed man in a coffin-like room, in a world of darkness. What probably made him aware of her importance, of what she represented in his world, was her illness making her not visit for a while. In prison, without her, he was just who he was before murdering the pawnbroker. And that simple change, that single realization, could change who he was and his view towards the future.

It isn't the courage to kill that allows him to surpass his limits, it's the courage to love. Love himself, even if he is mediocre, to then allow himself to consider himself worthy of the love given to him by others, and ultimately be able to love them back properly.

[anyagee]

book asks! 3, 12, 17.

3. Top 5 10 Books

In no particular order other than I opened Goodreads and scrolled backwards

System Collapse - Martha Wells

All the President's Men - Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward

Siren Queen - Nghi Vo

The Salt Grows Heavy - Cassandra Khaw

The Archive Undying - Emma Mieko Candon

A Prayer for the Crown Shy - Becky Chambers

Some Desperate Glory - Emily Tesh

The Genesis of Misery - Neon Yang

Deathless Gods - PC Hodgell

A Desolation of Peace - Arkady Martine

12. Any books that disappointed you?

From Unseen Fire - Cass Morris

Another author I like had this on a list of historical fiction they liked. I was not impressed.

It felt like nothing had any consequences (oooh there's a secret magic potion that will let the enemy control one person! Will our secondary character have to fight off mind control? Will he have to try and save or kill his bestie when he accidentally gets mind controlled instead? No! The sister wove a magic scarf and it fixed everything instantly!) and it didn't really nail the “ancient times have different values/society but I also want you to like my Roman aristocrat family that owns slaves”

Like, I can be down for a book that goes “I put in magic and changed up the social structure a bit because I wanted a fun mystery in ancient psudo-Rome and didn't really want to get too into it”. There's a place for historical fiction that's “I want fancy dresses and no cell phones!” and a place for stuff that wants to really dig into the social and political consequences of being a person in a historical period. And this was…neither.

The Foxglove King - Hannah Whitten

Unfortunately, disappointing in a boring way. Standard mediocre fantasy romance that wasn't sexy or interesting enough for me. Read it because I got through it really quickly and I didn't have anything else in my bag to read that day. At least it went for the “it's fine if she wants to bang both romantic leads” option instead of a love triangle? Magic system wasn't as weird as it could have been for someone with a connection to the god of death who gets powers from poison. If you are setting up a love interest goes to the dark side and she gets to become the empress in the next book and there's fantasy Catholicism you got to get weird with it, come on man.

Big disclaimer on this next one: it's actually a good book, but the question was “what disappointed you”

Piranesi - Susanna Clark

It just… wasn't for me. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I'm still not quite sure what about it I didn't like. I guess I went from "hmmm let's see where this goes" to "eehh well I might as well finish it" at the SPOILERS? bit where we find out about the real world. I've read and liked portal fantasy before so it's not that, but this just didn't click with me.

17. Did any books surprise you with how good they were?

All the President's Men - Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward

Rachael got the Watergate board game and we realized we didn't actually know that much about the actual history (I know what you're thinking, didn't you accidentally do enough history classes to get a a minor in it, yes but that was 20thC Europe and 13 years ago), so we started with watching the All the President's Men movie and it fucking spiraled from there.

I'm really excited that I have the time and attention span and energy to read actual history books again but, look, I can't recommend an extremely dense book on LBJ and the election of 1968 to most of you.

All the President's Men is surprisingly really fucking funny and you should read it. (Come with me on the journey of “oh wow absolutely not historically relevant now no why would you say that 🙃” and “why does this read like fanfic omg 🤣”)

Red Widow - Alma Katsu

Look, when a spy novel is published in 2021 by someone who used to work for the CIA you go into that going “oh no what bad takes do I need to be prepared to throw this book at the wall for”. (I read/watch lots of varying quality spy/action/thrillers so yea. Check out Kill James Bond for a good podcast.)

Really fun, absolutely had a character get introduced and I immediately went “ah if he doesn't get shot in a parking lot in the second act he's the bad guy” (spoiler: he was the bad guy) Like, great job of knowing your tropes and keeping it fun and entertaining. I have the sequel out from the library to read at the moment.

[ejzah]

Since in "Glory of the Sea" we learned that for Callen's bachelor party they might be cave diving in Mexico, and we that know how eventful the last two trips to Mexico were, could you write a fan fic in that the guys get into trouble in Mexico - again?

Maybe a Strip Club Would be Safer

“Are you really sure you want to have your bachelor party in Mexico?” Deeks checked, not for the first time. He’d asked when Sam first suggested it, then again when they arrived at airport, and now, as they grabbed their bags from the rental car.

“Absolutely,” Sam said. Callen gave a less enthusiastic shrug, still not fully onboard with the idea of a bachelor party. The couple beers he’d had on the flight over had helped some though.

Behind him, Eric had just removed his own luggage, and rolled it over to stand between Callen and Deeks. He had of course made the time to participate in the festivities, flying in a couple days early to get everything settled. He’d even got them upgraded to first class (sometimes being Rick was awesome).

“I mean, it’s not like we’re here in any official capacity,” Eric reminded them with a shrug. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“Oh, I wish you hadn’t said that.” Deeks winced, throwing his head back with a sigh.

“Relax, Deeks. We’re just tourists, here to enjoy some cave diving with my man.”

“And I found some interesting clubs we can check out,” Eric added.

“Uh, I promised Anna there’d be no strippers involved during this bachelor party,” Callen spoke up.

“She had to specify?” Deeks asked, surprised that Anna would worry about Callen wanting a last night of society approved infidelity.

Callen shook his head. Nah. Anna doesn’t care, because she knows that’s not really my thing. But it’s the excuse I gave Arkady when he mentioned his plans to book an exclusive Russian strip club.”

“I believe the preferred term is “exotic dancing” or gentleman’s club,” Deeks felt the need to point out.

“As you’ve mentioned before.” Sam shot him a speculative look.

“And I’m offended that you’d think I’d suggest any place like that.” Eric actually did seem mildly offended.

“Sorry.” Sam patted his back. “Sometimes I forget that under all the luxury cars and faux leather, you’re still the same old nerd.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Ok, I’m fine with a club or whatever, as long as it’s not too crazy. This is supposed to be relaxing.”

“No, it’s supposed to be fun,” Sam corrected him. Deeks thought he looked a little severe for someone promoting fun. “Now, lets get to the hotel before they give away our rooms.”

***

After checking into their hotel, they ate lunch at a little cafe that Eric found while scouting out local attractions. Deeks knew Kensi would be jealous that she missed out on the authentic cuisine.

They spent the the rest of the afternoon and evening exploring the area. It was interesting being a tourist for a change, with no set agenda in mind other than having fun. Fortunately, Sam and Deeks had carefully selected a part of Mexico they’d never encountered during any investigations, which turned out to be slightly challenging after all these years.

From there, Eric dragged them to one of the clubs he mentioned. There weren’t any strippers, but lots of tequila and karaoke.

***

“Why the hell did we have to get up so early?” Callen complained, glaring at Sam as he happily drove an SUV down the highway.

Sam had come knocking on Deeks’ room room at 6am. Fortunately, Deeks hadn’t drunk very much, but he needed more than three hours of sleep to function.

“Because it’s a two-hour drive to the caves, and our dive starts at 9,” Sam replied evenly.

“I guess it would be stupid to ask why you felt compelled to schedule it so early?”

“Morning is the best time to go cave diving.”

“You’re making that up.” Turning to look in the back, where Eric was happily tapping on his phone, Callen frowned. “How are you even conscious, Beale? You drank more than all of us put together.”

“Being a high-tech business man comes with some odd hours, and the need for a high tolerance,” Eric explained, taking a long drink of the strong espresso he’d picked up before they left.

“Unbelievable,” Sam said.

“Alright, who wants to play the ABC game, Mexico edition?” Deeks asked a few minutes later. He needed something to pass the time. “I should warn you, Kensi I play this all the time.”

“No,” Sam said at the same time Callen called out,

“Amor!” He pointed to a large, purple sign that advertised a club of some sort.

The game kept going for the next hour, until they came upon a quaint-looking restaurant. Sam reluctantly agreed to stop for refreshments, since they were running ahead of schedule.

A friendly young woman, named Danita, who reminded Deeks a little of Rosa might in ten or so years, served them little cups of coffee and fresh omelets. There were a few other patrons sitting at the rough wooden tables, who looked like regulars based on their conversation.

Deeks headed to the restroom, feeling full, considerably more awake, and ready for some underwater exploration than he had half an hour ago. He should have known it would be too good to be true.

As he walked back into the small dining room, Deeks saw two armed men standing over Sam, Callen, and Eric.

Yeah, they definitely weren’t getting around to cave diving today.

***

A/N: Yes, there will be a part 2. Hope this is ok.

Thanks for the prompt!

[nicklloydnow]

“The conversation turned on one of the neighbouring landowners. "Rotten aristocratic snob," observed Bazarov indifferently. He had met him in Petersburg.

"Allow me to ask you," began Pavel Petrovitch, and his lips were trembling, "according to your ideas, have the words 'rotten' and 'aristocrat' the same meaning?"

"I said 'aristocratic snob,'" replied Bazarov, lazily swallowing a sip of tea.

"Precisely so; but I imagine you have the same opinion of aristocrats as of aristocratic snobs. I think it my duty to inform you that I do not share that opinion. I venture to assert that every one knows me for a man of liberal ideas and devoted to progress; but, exactly for that reason, I respect aristocrats - real aristocrats. Kindly remember, sir" (at these words Bazarov lifted his eyes and looked at Pavel Petrovitch), "kindly remember, sir," he repeated, with acrimony - “the English aristocracy. They do not abate one iota of their rights, and for that reason they respect the rights of others; they demand the performance of what is due to them, and for that reason they perform their own duties. The aristocracy has given freedom to England, and maintains it for her."

"We've heard that story a good many times," replied Bazarov; "but what are you trying to prove by that?"

"I am tryin' to prove by that, sir" (when Pavel Petrovitch was angry he intentionally clipped his words in this way, though, of course, he knew very well that such forms are not strictly grammatical. In this fashionable whim could be discerned a survival of the habits of the times of Alexander. The exquisites of those days, on the rare occasions when they spoke their own language, made use of such slipshod forms; as much as to say, "We, of course, are born Russians, at the same time we are great swells, who are at liberty to neglect the rules of scholars"); "I am tryin' to prove by that, sir, that without the sense of personal dignity, without self-respect - and these two sentiments are well developed in the aristocrat - there is no secure foundation for the social ... bien public... the social fabric. Personal character, sir - that is the chief thing; a man's personal character must be firm as a rock, since everything is built on it. I am very well aware, for instance, that you are pleased to consider my habits, my dress, my refinements, in fact, ridiculous; but all that proceeds from a sense of self-respect, from a sense of duty - yes, indeed, of duty.I live in the country, in the wilds, but I will not lower myself. I respect the dignity of man in myself."

"Let me ask you, Pavel Petrovitch," commented Bazarov; “you respect yourself, and sit with your hands folded; what sort of benefit does that do to the bien public? If you didn't respect yourself, you'd do just the same."

Pavel Petrovitch turned white. "That's a different question. It's absolutely unnecessary for me to explain to you now why I sit with folded hands, as you are pleased to express yourself. I wish only to tell you that aristocracy is a principle, and in our days none but immoral or silly people can live without principles. I said that to Arkady the day after he came home, and I repeat it now. Isn't it so, Nikolai?"

Nikolai Petrovitch nodded his head. "Aristocracy, Liberalism, progress, principles," Bazarov was saying meanwhile; "if you think of it, what a lot of foreign . . . and useless words! To a Russian they're good for nothing."

"What is good for something according to you? If we listen to you, we shall find ourselves outside humanity, outside its laws. Come - the logic of history demands . . . “

"But what's that logic to us? We can get on without that too."

"How do you mean?"

"Why, this. You don't need logic, I hope, to put a bit of bread in your mouth when you're hungry. What's the object of these abstractions to us?"

Pavel Petrovitch raised his hands in horror.

"I don't understand you, after that. You insult the Russian people. I don't understand how it's possible not to acknowledge principles, rules! By virtue of what do you act then?"

“I’ve told you already, uncle, that we don't accept any authorities," put in Arkady.

"We act by virtue of what we recognise as beneficial," observed Bazarov. "At the present time, negation is the most beneficial of all - and we deny - “

"Everything?"

"Everything!"

"What, not only art and poetry . .. but even . . . horrible to say . . .”

"Everything," repeated Bazarov, with indescribable composure.

Pavel Petrovitch stared at him. He had not expected this; while Arkady fairly blushed with delight.

"Allow me, though," began Nikolai Petrovitch. "You deny everything; or, speaking more precisely, you destroy everything. . . . But one must construct too, you know."

“That's not our business now. . . The ground wants clearing first."

"The present condition of the people requires it," added Arkady with dignity; "we are bound to carry out these requirements, we have no right to yield to the satisfaction of our personal egoism."

This last phrase obviously displeased Bazarov; there was a flavour of philosophy, that is to say, romanticism about it, for Bazarov called philosophy, too, romanticism, but he did not think it necessary to correct his young disciple.

"No, no!" cried Pavel Petrovitch, with sudden energy. "I'm not willing to believe that you, young men, know the Russian people really, that you are the representatives of their requirements, their efforts! No; the Russian people is not what you imagine it. Tradition it holds sacred; it is a patriarchal people; it cannot live without faith. . .”

"I'm not going to dispute that," Bazarov interrupted. "I'm even ready to agree that in that you're right."

"But if I am right . . . "

"And, all the same, that proves nothing."

"It just proves nothing," repeated Arkady, with the confidence of a practised chess-player, who has foreseen an apparently dangerous move on the part of his adversary, and so is not at all taken aback by it.

“How does it prove nothing?" muttered Pavel Petrovitch, astounded. "You must be going against the people then?"

"And what if we are?" shouted Bazaroy. "The people imagine him; when it thunders, the prophet Ilya's riding across the sky in his chariot. What then? Are we to agree with them? Besides, the people's Russian; but am I not Russian, too?"

"No, you are not Russian, after all you have just been saying! I can't acknowledge you as Russian."

"My grandfather ploughed the land," answered Bazarov with haughty pride. "Ask any one of your peasants which of us - you or me - he'd more readily acknowledge as a fellow-countryman. You don't even know how to talk to them."

"While you talk to him and despise him at the same time."

"Well, suppose he deserves contempt. You find fault with my attitude, but how do you know that I have got it by chance, that it's not a product of that very national spirit, in the name of which you wage war on it?"

"What an idea! Much use in nihilists!"

"Whether they're of use or not, is not for us to decide. Why, even you suppose you're not a useless person."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, no personalities, please!" cried Nikolai Petrovitch, getting up.

Pavel Petrovitch smiled, and laying his hand on his brother's shoulder, forced him to sit down again.

"Don't be uneasy," he said; "I shall not forget myself, just through that sense of dignity which is made fun of so mercilessly by our friend - our friend, the doctor. Let me ask, he resumed, turning again to Bazarov; "you suppose, possibly, that your doctrine is a novelty? That is quite a mistake. The materialism you advocate has been more than once in vogue already, and has always proved insufficient . . . ”

"A foreign word again!" broke in Bazarov. He was beginning to feel vicious, and his face assumed a peculiar coarse coppery hue. "In the first place, we advocate nothing; that's not our way.”

"What do you do, then?"

"I’ll tell you what we do. Not long ago we used to say that our officials took bribes, that we had no roads, no commerce, no real justice . . . “

"Oh, I see, you are reformers - that's what that's called, I fancy. I too should agree to many of your reforms, but . . . “

"Then we suspected that talk, perpetual talk, and nothing but talk, about our social diseases, was not worth while, that it all led to nothing but superficiality and pedantry; we saw that our leading men, so-called advanced people and reformers, are no good; that we busy ourselves over foolery, talk rubbish about art, unconscious creativeness, parliamentarism, trial by jury, and the deuce knows what all; while, all the while, it's a question of getting bread to eat, while we're stifling under the grossest superstition, while all our enterprises come to grief, simply because there aren't honest men enough to carry them on, while the very emancipation our Government's busy upon will hardly come to any good, because peasants are glad to rob even themselves to get drunk at the gin-shop."

"Yes," interposed Pavel Petrovitch, "yes; you were convinced of all this, and decided not to undertake anything seriously, yourselves."

"We decided not to undertake anything," repeated Bazarov grimly. He suddenly felt vexed with himself for having, without reason, been so expansive before this gentleman.

"But to confine yourselves to abuse?"

"To confine ourselves to abuse.”

"And that is called nihilism?"

"And that's called nihilism," Bazarov repeated again, this time with peculiar rudeness.

Pavel Petrovitch puckered up his face a little. "So that's it!" he observed in a strangely composed voice. "Nihilism is to cure all our woes, and you, you are our heroes and saviours. But why do you abuse others, those reformers even? Don't you do as much talking as every one else?"

"Whatever faults we have, we do not err in that way," Bazarov muttered between his teeth.

"What, then? Do you act, or what? Are you preparing for action?"

Bazarov made no answer. Something like a tremor passed over Pavel Petrovitch, but he at once regained control of himself.

“Hm! . . . Action, destruction . . . " he went on. "But how destroy without even knowing why?"

“We shall destroy, because we are a force," observed Arkady.” (pages 53 - 58)

“The book caused a furor upon its publication. Young radicals felt targeted by the portrayal of Bazarov; liberals felt that the book gave the radicals too much credit; reactionaries believed that Turgenev had permanently discredited the revolutionaries. Turgenev found himself defending the book, in countless letters and conversations, against criticism from all sides. Meanwhile, St. Petersburg, then the capital, was burning. In May of 1862, just a few months after the publication of “Fathers and Sons,” a series of fires engulfed the city. The government blamed Turgenev’s nihilists; a number of young people, including some of those with whom he had sparred in print, were arrested. Some thought that Turgenev had in effect denounced them. He had been spending long stretches in Europe; now, embarrassed and discouraged, he decided to return there. In the years to come, he spent less and less time in his native land.

Tall, handsome, rich, and easygoing—“Nature has refused him nothing,” was how Dostoyevsky put it—Turgenev was also indecisive, inconstant, maybe even a bit unreliable. More than any other figure in Russian literary history, he embodied the tragedy of the middle, the failure of the golden mean ever to take root on Russian soil. Both conservatives (including Dostoyevsky) and radicals despised him for his watery European ideals. He quarrelled constantly with Tolstoy, despite many ties of family and friendship. Because of his willingness to coöperate with a government investigation of émigré radicals, he was estranged for years from his old friend Alexander Herzen. His ability to see the many facets of every person and every issue—“He felt and understood the opposite sides of life,” in the words of Henry James, who got to know him in Paris—served him well as a novelist. But this ability was less desirable in a political ally, or even in a pal.

(…)

These years, in the eighteen-forties, were difficult ones, Turgenev later recalled; censors would leave writers’ proofs marked up with red ink, “as if bloodied.” The start of Nicholas I’s reign, in 1825, had been met by a failed uprising of Army officers who came to be known as the Decembrists; its ending, three decades later, was accompanied by the humiliating Russian defeat in the Crimean War. The intervening years were a period of intense repression and censorship. The generation that came of age with Turgenev was aware of Russian backwardness and subjugation, but did not know what to do about it, or even, under conditions of police surveillance, how to talk about it.

(…)

Turgenev’s first sustained effort in prose, “A Hunter’s Notebook,” usually translated as “A Sportsman’s Sketches,” begun in 1846 and published as a book in 1852, showed the imprint of Belinsky’s ideas as filtered through the mind of a born aesthete. It recorded the stories Turgenev had witnessed or heard as he tramped about the countryside near his family estate, shooting birds. A number of the stories are about the relations between serfs and their masters. Without ever saying so outright, Turgenev makes it plain that most of the masters are self-satisfied and ignorant brutes, while the serfs are ordinary people trying to go about the business of life.

(…)

Turgenev was advancing, novelistically, a line of thought that runs through all his work. Beliefs are admirable, strong beliefs perhaps even more so. But there is a point at which belief can tip over into fanaticism. Turgenev had seen this with Belinsky, and in Bazarov he re-created and dramatized it. Bazarov loves nature but turns it into a science project, loves Odintsova but feels bad about it, and loves his parents but refuses to indulge this affection by spending time with them. All of this, from Turgenev’s perspective, is a mistake. It’s well and good, in other words, to talk about the existence of God and the future of the revolution, but you need to take a break for lunch.

The profound ambiguity of Bazarov’s character opened him to multiple interpretations. Most of the radicals were insulted by the way he was depicted—by his failure in love, and his flaws, and the fact that, in dying, he ends up being no more effective than the liberal fathers he disdains. “He is represented as a vulgar male animal,” one radical wrote, “who cannot keep his hands off any presentable woman.” Reactionaries, including the secret police, were delighted by what they saw as Turgenev’s biting satire. He has “branded our adolescent revolutionaries with the caustic name of ‘Nihilists,’ ” one agent cheered in a report to his superiors. But there were some radicals, like the essayist Dmitry Pisarev, who embraced the label and Turgenev’s depiction, calling themselves nihilists from there on out. Turgenev found limited understanding among his literary peers, but one notable figure, Dostoyevsky, was very taken with the portrayal of Bazarov. He wrote Turgenev to praise the book and later created an extreme version of Bazarov in the character of Raskolnikov, who murders a pawnbroker and her sister in “Crime and Punishment.”

The book’s publication right as the radical movement reached its early apogee, as well as Turgenev’s remarkable quality of insight, gives it an uncanny position in Russian literature and life. In the period of reaction that followed the fires of 1862, the revolutionaries whom Turgenev had in mind when he wrote the book were crushed. Chernyshevsky and Pisarev were both arrested and sent to prison, as Dobrolyubov no doubt would also have been, if he’d lived; Pisarev drowned, possibly on purpose, not long after his release, and Chernyshevsky, banished to Siberia for two decades, became a broken man. When their mantle was picked up by, among other people, Vladimir Lenin, it was with a more conspiratorial, more determined flavor. Lenin worshipped Dobrolyubov and Pisarev for their iconoclasm and admired Chernyshevsky’s novel “What Is to Be Done?,” written in prison in response to “Fathers and Sons.” He had nothing but contempt for Turgenev. But think of Lenin’s famous remark about music—that he loved listening to it but tried not to listen too much, since it made him want to pet people on the head, whereas now was a time to smash people’s heads. Was he echoing Pisarev, or Chernyshevsky, or, in fact, Bazarov, who gives his final verdict on the liberal gentry in his farewell to Arkady?

(…)

Turgenev never got over the stormy reception accorded “Fathers and Sons” in Russia. He was abroad when it was published and afterward returned rarely. After the publication of his next novel, “Smoke,” in 1867, a mild love story in which one of the characters is a fervently anti-Russian Russian émigré, he had a final falling-out with Dostoyevsky, who came to see him in Baden-Baden and then told friends that Turgenev had declared himself a German. Turgenev spent most of the eighteen-seventies in Paris, where he became close to Flaubert. He was always welcomed and admired in Europe, seen as the representative there of all Russian literature. But in Russia itself, for nearly two decades, he was out of favor.

Only toward the end of his life, when tastes back home began to change and some of the old arguments were forgotten, did Turgenev find a gentler reception on his infrequent trips to Russia. Students held celebratory banquets for him; two young men recognized him at a train station and bowed to him on behalf of the Russian people for his authorship of “A Sportsman’s Sketches.” He died in France in 1883. Henry James attended the farewell ceremony at Gare du Nord, before Turgenev’s body was sent back to Russia. Two years earlier, revolutionary terrorists had finally succeeded in assassinating Alexander II. Turgenev’s funeral, in St. Petersburg, was a major cultural event, for which the police made scrupulous preparations, in case the creator of Bazarov might bring out a crowd of Bazarovs and cause a fuss.”

[mikhailvorshevskyx]

​Step by step, Mikhail walked to the doors that were supposed to only unlock after the event had ended. 

Ara definitely put in the work as the doors opened without a fucking word from him. 

Really, he should be thankful to her, of all fucking people he expected to see, of all the people he expected to come and save him, it had to be a damn Korean and not those he thought at least cared for him a little. 

“Are you surprised to see me?”

It was a voice he was familiar with, but somehow Mikhail wasn’t bothered putting two and two together. He had been locked up for months, one hundred and four days, to be exact. The days were counted, the same as hours - it was what kept him sane - knowing the amount of time that passed, growing the anger knowing how long it was taking for his organisation to get him back. 

He had refused to eat, but soon enough the fucks hooked him up to tubes every few days just to make sure he didn’t die. At first, he had his own plan of escape, but he needed ammunition, he needed to know there was someone out there to make his plan work.

“Fuck off.” Was all he said in Russian, his face facing away from the cage that had become his home.

“Why don’t you turn around?” This time, it piqued his interest, enough to sneak a look only to see the petite woman kneeling in front of the cage. Surprised, he turned full. Mikhail was weak, but not so weak as to refuse to get to his knees and look at the face of Bang Ara - the woman which was cherished by Eva, by Arkady and his brother. “Took me a long time to find you, but here we are.” She snickered, that familiar laugh which made him do the same.

“How?” He asked, moving closer to the edge of the cage where she was.

“They think they’re so lever that they forget people are fucking fragile.” She turned and pointed at the single guard who had been left guarding him these days. They searched every other day, the Kurylenko knew their schedules already - even if they tried to change it up, Misha was far too intelligent not to catch on. “This one has a family - one that is in London, so do the other three. I have been so kind to collect them all and hold as a bargaining chip.” 

The guards could kiss their families goodbye, he knew Ara that much. 

“Eventually, they all talk.” The woman continued. “I found their little nest, apparently the soldiers have their own little spot they like to gather, one that is not together with their little leads. Kill one guy, collect some kids, some mothers, some wives or even girlfriends. They all fold.” 

Mikhail expected for her to open up the cage to get him out. He needed a fucking shower, and then he wanted to deal with the rest of them. Every, fucking, one of them. But he was still there, and Ara made no movement to unlock the gate. Without another word, he simply shot her a look, one that urged her to open up before he ripped off her head himself. 

“Now, now.” Instead, she passed him a key and a gun. His gun. “Tomorrow the Rutherfords are hosting their annual Fight Club. Which means someone will come and check up on you - they still need to see you there, they need to think they have the upper hand. Then let them go and come.” She paused, her eyes flickering with excitement. “It is time for a little payback? A show to match all shows? I’ve made another deal for them to let someone in, they will know once they see you. Apparently, there was one favour a Rutherford wanted to make, as she did not hesitate when...”  

With that, she stood up and left, but not without patting the guard on his shoulder. A gentle reminder that he could have someone waiting for him once the deed was done. Mikhail knew better; he knew everyone was already dead, just as he knew that they did not know about the gun she had passed him.

Alright, he could wait for one more day. Then he will blow their brains out and leave the fucking place.

The doors opened for him, and Mikhail stepped into the room in all his glory. He may have looked like skin and bones, but there was fire, anger, fury burning inside of him that left no expression on his face - just his eyes.  

He wanted them all fucking dead.

As he walked, step by step, his suit pressed together, his hair washed back - if anything, Mikhail Vorshevsky looked like a fucking skeleton, a man who crawled out of his grave.

The doors closed behind him, locking once more, but his eyes were focused on the ring in front of him. Konstantin against a fucking French fuck. That’s fine. 

For this time, they were all going to pay, for this time it wasn’t only the French on the fucking line. 

Mikhail was back, and they were all lambs in the slaughterhouse, just for him. 

[iffeelscouldkill]

TSCOSI Week Day 3: Sana / Leadership

A/N: ssshhhhhhh yes I know it’s late but ssssshhhhh let’s just pretend I’m posting this 5/6 days ago

Here, finally, is my fic for Day 3 of TSCOSI Week, on the theme of Sana / Leadership! This takes place in an ambiguous point in Late Season 2. It does not have any bearing on the episode that was released today, which I haven’t even listened to yet, because I was busy trying to finish off this fic 😂😭 Energy and motivation have not been on my side lately. But here we are!

I had two ideas I could have gone with for this day’s prompt, and of course I chose the one I knew would lead to a longer fic, but it was worth it. This type of TSCOSI fic is my favourite to write - pure Rumor/Iris crew fluff and shenanigans. So enjoy!

---

The first clue Sana had that something was amiss was when she woke up.

Rather than waking to the vibration of her comm against her ear (yes, her comm had an alarm function and yes, she slept with it in in case of emergencies. She would not be taking questions at this time), she came to naturally, which she hadn’t done in months. Sana smiled to herself, stretching – and then froze.

She never woke up naturally, and the few times that she did wake during the night she didn’t feel this pleasantly well-rested. What time was it?

“Computer?” Sana spoke aloud to ELLA. “Current on-ship time?”

“The current on-ship time – is – nine – forty-three AM,” ELLA’s voice intoned. Sana sat bolt upright in her bed.

That wasn’t right. There was no way she’d slept through her alarm, and she had it set to recur at the same time every morning. Which meant…

“Sana Tripathi to all crew,” Sana said, opening up a comm line to all of her crewmates’ devices. “Hey, guys. Would someone mind telling me why my alarm didn’t go off this morning?”

“It didn’t go off because I deprogrammed it when I poured you into bed last night at some ungodly hour,” came the reply in Arkady’s deadpan tones, and Sana cringed slightly, regretting opening up a line to the whole crew. “Also, I’ve said this before, but sleeping with your comm in your ear? Pretty unhealthy, and that’s coming from me.”

“Thank you for that feedback, Arkady,” said Sana, with all the dry sarcasm she could muster.

“Prolonged comm usage, even when the comm is idle, has also been known to lead to hearing damage in a small percentage of cases,” put in RJ, and Sana’s eyebrows rose. “Something to do with a low level of uh, high-frequency feedback? So as a best practice, you should really take it out before bed.”

“RJ, are you lecturing me right now?” Sana asked, halfway between deeply amused and indignant.

“Uhhhh- n-no Ma’am! I mean, uh- no, Captain.”

“They’re right, you know,” Violet put in next. “I mean, it really is a small percentage of cases, but as your medic I have to advise you not to leave your comm device in for prolonged periods. Also, that sounds – uncomfortable? For sleeping?”

Sana sighed, resigning herself to being ganged up on by her entire crew. “Duly noted, Violet. Getting back to the subject at hand-”

“Wow, human ears are so fragile!” This, of course, was Krejjh. “They can really be damaged by comm feedback?”

“For a prolonged enough period-” RJ began to explain.

“We don’t all have your ‘superior alien senses’, dude,” put in Brian, laughing. Sana put a hand to her head.

“Guys-”

“I deprogrammed your alarm because you need a break, Captain,” Arkady cut in, almost gently. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that you’ve been pulling extra shifts so that the rest of us could take breaks, while not taking any yourself.”

“The human body is at its best when given time to rest and recover,” Violet added, also gently. “And you’re human too, Captain.”

Sana could feel her face flaming, but she was also extremely touched by the concern the crew were showing her – even though they’d apparently ganged up on her in the process.

“All right, I can admit that the lie-in was appreciated,” she said. “Thank you for the thought, everyone. Krejjh, I’m coming to relieve you in-”

“Oh, no need, Cap’n,” Krejjh interrupted cheerfully. “Crewman Park is taking your shift! He’s relieving me in ten minutes, and then Crewman Jeeter and I are going to play cards.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Sana said, beginning to feel slightly alarmed. “Park, I’m coming up to the cockpit in-”

“Sorry, Captain, but I think you’ve been outnumbered,” Park said, as mildly as ever. “Also, Krejjh promised me fruit jerky in exchange for taking the next shift, and I’m not about to give that up.”

Sana stared at the wall, running a hand over her face. “Park, you hate fruit jerky.”

“This is special fruit jerky,” Park replied, deadly serious. “The really good kind. Enjoy your time off.”

“There must be something I can do,” said Sana, realising she sounded slightly desperate.

“Uh, you can join me and Krejjh for a game of cards in ten minutes?” Brian suggested.

“Or you can relax, Captain,” Violet said, still in that gently amused tone. “It’s for one day. We promise you’ll be back to keeping us all in line tomorrow.”

The whole day?! Sana exclaimed internally. And okay, maybe the way that she balked at the idea of a day of enforced rest said something about the habits she’d fallen into.

She could at least give it a try. The crew had obviously put some thought into this – and it didn’t seem like they were backing down any time soon.

“Maybe I could use a breather,” she admitted aloud, and pretended not to hear someone’s sigh of relief over the comms. “But if any of you need anything…”

“We’ll let you know, Captain,” Arkady promised her, sounding not in the slightest bit sincere. Sana sighed.

“Okay. Sana Tripathi out.”

Or maybe by the afternoon her crewmates would let up, and she could go back to doing something useful.

---

Sana spent the next ten minutes or so trying and failing to relax with an audiobook, one of a handful she’d downloaded off the public net for sleepless nights. It just felt wrong to be lying on her bed doing nothing during the day. Normally she cherished her moments of downtime when she could get them (and okay, they’d been few and far between lately), but this felt… too much. Surely she should be somewhere else, maybe off discussing their next destination with Krejjh after they managed to resupply on Hathor, going over the new truck with Arkady to check it was outfitted to their needs, or maybe putting her head together with Park and RJ to get their analysis of the latest information about Regime movements.

And sure, they didn’t have any immediate jobs for Boss Violet that needed doing, and it was far enough to Hathor that planning their next destination could probably wait a day or two. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t needed. Even when Sana was off-shift, she tended to linger around the crew areas, just keeping an eye out; watching for signs of exhaustion among her crewmates, making sure they weren’t hiding injuries or strain. Injecting a cheery comment here or a calming word there, to keep people’s spirits up.

She was the Captain, and it was her job to look out for her crew. It had been a tough past few weeks, and Sana didn’t want to take this current peace for granted.

Sighing, Sana shut off the audiobook recording and went to the mess hall. Krejjh and Brian were sat at one of the tables, playing a rousing game of something that Krejjh dubbed ‘Reverse Snap’, where the object was to call out when you turned over two cards that were ‘spiritual opposites’. Unsurprisingly, Krejjh had been the one to devise the system of ‘spiritual opposites’, and was therefore given the power to decide whether a play was valid or not, a power that they abused liberally. Brian never seemed to mind; Sana suspected the enjoyment for him was in watching his fiancé get caught up in the game, and laughing at their ridiculous justifications for why they should be allowed to win each round.

Sana declined to get involved in the action herself, but it was a nice change of pace to just sit and spend time with two of her crewmates, without any other purpose beyond having fun. It was true that she didn’t get to do this often enough.

Unfortunately, the game came to a halt after Krejjh lost three consecutive rounds and poutingly declared that Brian must be cheating, even though he’d been faithfully citing their own rules each time he won a hand. “This is boring. Let’s go snuggle in our room and listen to RIFT!” they said.

Brian just smiled and gathered up the cards. “Okay,” he agreed easily. “How’re you feeling, Captain? More relaxed?”

Sana smiled wryly. “I do take downtime, you know. Despite what everyone seems to think.”

“Captain, you sleep with your comm in your ear,” Brian pointed out, mild and easy-going, but unerringly right, as always.

“I wish everyone would stop fixating on that,” Sana grumbled. Brian laughed.

“Look, this whole ‘enforced day off’ thing wasn’t my idea, but I am on board with the concept,” he said. Sana thought about asking him whose idea it had been, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “You deserve to have a break from looking after us all the time, you know? It was the least we could give you.”

Sana sat back in her chair, a little taken aback. She hadn’t been thinking about it in that way – that this was a joint effort by the crew to do something nice for her, to gift her with a day to herself. She’d been so caught up in chafing at the enforced idleness. But they’d all obviously pitched in on this, making sure that her shifts were covered and that everything was taken care of.

“Honestly, being Captain of this crew? It’s no hardship,” she told Brian – and Krejjh, who was hovering by the table – honestly. “But… thank you. It’s an incredibly sweet thought, and I do appreciate it.”

Brian smiled again. “It’s really nothing,” he told her. “See you later, Captain.”

Krejjh gave her a parting salute. “Enjoy your morning, Cap’n Tripathi!” they chirped, and then bounded after Brian.

Which left Sana with some food for thought, but still nothing to do. The mess, for now, was deserted, everyone evidently occupied with their own work or rest. Should she go back to her room, or try to find something to do around the ship? She wondered whether fixing things up and doing handiwork around the ship would be classed as ‘working’ in the eyes of the crew. Sadly, it probably would.

Resigned to giving her audiobook another try, Sana got up from the table and made her way along the corridor to her room. Passing by the medbay, she noticed that the light by the door was green, which meant that it was open, and she could movement from inside. She knocked, wondering if Violet would want a hand – or some company.

“Come in,” Violet called, and Sana pressed the button to open the door and stepped inside. Violet was inside, surrounded by rows and groups of orderly supplies - evidently doing that full inventory she’d been planning. She didn’t look surprised to see Sana.

“Can I… help with anything?” Sana asked. Violet gave her a wry smile.

“I don’t have a dictionary on me, but I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t come under the definition of “relaxation”,” she teased. Sana put her hands up.

“All right, granted. I can just keep you company for a while, then? Unless you prefer to work in silence.”

“Company is welcomed, Captain,” Violet told her. “And actually, there is something I could use a hand with.”

Sana was about to ask what it was, when she followed Violet’s gaze up to a high shelf full of supplies that she’d evidently been unable to clear. “Oh! Sure, I can help with that,” she said, trying not to seem too outwardly pleased at the opportunity to do something. Judging by Violet’s expression, she probably hadn’t succeeded. “Do you want them all down?”

“Yes, please, Captain.”

Sana got to work lifting boxes of what appeared to be empty syringes and some basic first aid supplies – bandages, gauze, cooling packs – down off the shelf and handing them to Violet, who made a noise of satisfaction when she saw what they contained. “So, how’s the overall situation with our med supplies?” Sana asked her. “Anything we need to restock?”

Violet gave her a sidelong glance, and Sana huffed. “If you want me to just turn off the part of my brain that’s concerned about the well-being of this ship, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Violet laughed a little. “Okay, fair. We’re pretty well-off for med supplies, though I’d like it if we could get some more heptocaldrin – for injuries, not as a… stealth weapon.”

“Can’t it be both?” Sana joked. “I’ll put some feelers out with contacts who have connections with medical suppliers, see if we can get hold of some. – After today,” she added hastily at Violet’s raised eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Violet said, smiling serenely. “Are you planning to stay and watch me sort these?”

“Well, since I have so much leisure time at my disposal today,” Sana said lightly. “Can I sit here?” She gestured to the recliner that sat in the corner, the spiritual successor to the much-loved beanbag chair.

For the first few minutes, neither of them said anything much. It was quite soothing watching Violet work, although Sana itched to actually get involved and help her. She couldn’t help taking note of the condition of the medical supplies as Violet sorted them and made notes on her checklist, thinking about where they could find better-quality suppliers.

“Can I ask you something, Captain?” Violet said. Sana felt almost like she’d been caught out, though Violet’s tone was casual, almost idle; she hadn’t looked up from her work, still methodically sorting supplies.

“Of course,” Sana said.

“You’re always making sure that the six of us clock off and get enough rest. Why don’t you ever do the same for yourself?”

In hindsight, Sana should have known this question was coming. Before today, she likely would have given it a chipper, joking answer (like she did when Violet asked her, a few weeks after their flight from New Jupiter, how long she had been on shift), but now she made herself give the question some proper consideration.

“It’s different when you’re the one in charge,” she said after a little while. “If something goes wrong, if there’s an eventuality that I’ve overlooked, that’s on me. And given our current – status – the consequences of that could be much worse than me going without a break, or a couple hours of sleep.”

Violet gave her a sad smile. “But those are important things. I know it’s easy for me to say, when I don’t have to feel the weight of that responsibility – I couldn’t do what you do. But you’re at your best when you’re well-rested, too. What happens if you overlook something because you’re underslept and you haven’t had a break in days?”

“Well, that’s what I keep you all well-rested for,” Sana said lightly.

“Captain,” Violet said reprovingly.

“Violet,” Sana replied in the same tone. Jokingly, she said, “Are you going to start singing at me to take a break next?”

Violet blinked confusedly at her before the light of understanding dawned in her eyes. “Was that a ‘Hamilton’ reference?”

“You spend enough time with Arkady, you find yourself making opera and musical theatre references without even knowing it,” Sana replied. “You’ll need to watch out for that.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” Violet said. And then, more seriously, “But if it turned out to be a reliable method, then yes, I would sing at you.”

Sana couldn’t help laughing. “Well, luckily, there’s no need. Here I am, taking a break.”

“Uh huh,” was all Violet said, giving her an appropriately sceptical look.

“I am!”

“And if I asked you for your opinion on the overall quality of our med supplies, I’m sure you wouldn’t have any thoughts at all,” Violet said pointedly.

“Well, you can ask,” Sana replied. “But I’d have to tell you that the Captain will get back to you about that tomorrow, when she’s back on the clock.”

“Oh, good to know.”

 ---

Spending time with Violet in the medbay took up another hour, but before long Sana found herself back in her room and at a loose end again. And okay, maybe she was going about this wrong; she shouldn’t just be looking for ways to kill time all day. Plus, spending time with the crew was nice, but they were all busy with their own jobs, so that didn’t really equate to relaxation. There had to be something she could do by herself – other than listening to that audiobook.

On the Rumor, Sana had spent a lot of her downtime in her room working on sewing or embroidery projects. But lately, she hadn’t really had a project that she could – wait.

Sana sat up straighter on her bed, thinking. When they’d been putting together the ‘shopping list’ of supplies for Hypatia, she’d joked about adding a hammock to the list. She hadn’t seriously gone looking for one, but when she’d been checking out some of the hardware stores near where they made landing, looking for parts for the engine and the ship’s various systems, she’d discovered that they also sold swathes of fabric, rope, and – crucially – wooden poles.

Sana got up and went to the little closet built into the wall of her room. At the back, right where she’d left it, was a bundle of poles and rope with brightly-coloured fabric wrapped around it. Sana pulled out the bundle, breaking into a grin. She hadn’t really expected to find enough time to work on this when she’d bought the materials, though she’d vaguely intended to do a bit here and there. But now was the perfect time to try and put it together.

Sana unrolled the bundle on her floor and got to work.

---

“Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming…”

Sana was in the middle of sewing the wooden poles into either end of her hammock fabric when the call came through to her comm link. “Computer, accept call. Campbell, hi!”

“Captain Tripathi!” Campbell’s voice boomed cheerily. “Is this a bad time?”

“It’s a pretty good time, actually,” Sana said as she worked the needle in and out of the fabric. “I’ve got the day off today, so I’m just doing some sewing in my room.”

There was a fractional pause on Campbell’s end. “The day off, huh?” he said. “How’s that going? Not too bored, I hope?”

Sana smiled to herself as she tied a knot in the sewing thread to secure it and then bit off the thread. She had scissors, but they were buried somewhere in the heap of fabric and she couldn’t be bothered to root around for them. “It was a bit slow to start off with, but I’m getting into it now.”

“Gotta say, I can’t believe they actually managed to persuade you to take a whole day out of your schedule to relax,” Campbell said. “The last time I called, you hadn’t slept in – was it thirty-six hours?”

“Thirty-two,” Sana said quietly, to herself.

“-And you were on your sixth cup of coffee – do you even remember that call?”

Sana sighed, part amusement and part resignation. “Yes, I do remember. Sorry for-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I was just – well, it was a bit worrying,” Campbell said. “Anyway, glad you’re taking a break. You sound… better.”

Who knew that everyone had apparently been so concerned for her wellbeing? Sana thought. Then her hand stilled in the middle of threading her needle. Maybe she should have realised how concerning it was to everyone. But she hadn’t thought – well, she guessed she hadn’t noticed that everyone was looking out for her just as much as she’d been trying to look out for them.

She cleared her throat a little. “Well, what can I do for you, Campbell?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Campbell replied. “Just wanted to call to catch up, really. Trade some gossip, funny stories about the crew… It’s been a while since you were able to stop by.”

Sana smiled ruefully, and then a thought occurred to her. “So, you just so happened to call to catch up on the one day when I don’t have anything going on? That’s good timing.”

“Uh—” Campbell’s cornered response was immediately telling. “I might’ve heard that – today would be a good time to call—”

Sana huffed in amusement again, rolling the fabric over the pole at the other end of her hammock and lining up the ends of the material. “Be honest, Campbell. Did the crew ask you to check up on me?”

“I called the ship’s comms last night, and Arkady picked up,” Campbell admitted. “I really was calling just to see how you all were, and well, she filled me in on how things had been lately. How they were all planning to cover your shifts and chores today to give you a break. She said that you might be at a loose end, so I offered to call you back around this time. I would’ve called earlier, but Eloise asked me to watch the boys in the morning.”

“How are they?” Sana asked, smiling.

“Oh, as full of energy as ever, I can barely keep up with them,” Campbell said, a smile in his own voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped-”

“No, it’s – fine, Campbell. Really,” Sana assured him. “I’m touched at how everyone’s been…” She searched for the right phrasing. “I’m touched at how much thought went into this. It really means a lot.”

“What you do means a lot,” Campbell responded, sincere. “To the whole crew. And to… me.”

Sana’s face warmed, and she realised she’d been sitting there, holding the fabric together without doing anything for the past several minutes. She picked up her needle and began on the same neat row of stitches that she’d made at the opposite end. “Thank you, Campbell.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Campbell replied gruffly, and then cleared his throat. “So – any good stories to share?”

“I’ll make you a trade,” Sana offered. “One story about the crew, for every story about your nephews.”

“Oof. You drive a hard bargain, Captain Tripathi, but I accept.”

Sana laughed. “Okay. Well. You might remember how Arkady has an unfortunate habit of leaving some of her weapons holsters in odd places around the ship…”

---

A few hours later, the new hammock – strung up in a corner of the mess where Sana had mounted some sturdy hooks on two adjacent walls – was almost ready. All it needed was a test subject; Sana could of course get in and test it herself, but it would be ideal if she could observe someone else getting into the hammock, so that she could judge how things looked from the outside.

Oddly, the mess hall was deserted, and had been for the past while, which was strange; she would have expected to find at least one or two members of the crew spending time in here. Just then, she spotted RJ, who had entered on the far side of the room and frozen.

“RJ!” she said happily. “You’re the perfect person to test out my new hammock.”

“Uh-” RJ looked around, as if hoping to be rescued by someone, before reluctantly walking over. “You’ve been making a… hammock?”

Sana gestured towards her creation with a flourish. “What do you think?”

RJ’s eyes narrowed as they inspected her handiwork, pulling lightly on the ropes that suspended the hammock. “Is it structurally sound?” they asked doubtfully.

“Why don’t you get in and test it for yourself?” Sana invited them. “Don’t worry about the hooks – they’re the same kind that you find on industrial pulleys. They’ll hold.”

RJ’s eyes flicked towards the doorway. “I’m not really sure if I should be-”

“Oh c’mon, you can take three minutes out of your shift, can’t you?” Sana cajoled them. “Just blame it on me waylaying you.”

RJ laughed a little. “Well – I guess if it’ll only take a minute…” Gingerly, they hoisted themself up onto the hammock, legs dangling over the side, before swivelling round and reclining more fully in the hammock. “Wow, this is actually – really comfortable.”

“Isn’t it? Hammocks are the best,” Sana enthused. “Is the amount of rocking okay?”

“Yeah, it seems fine. It’s not making me seasick, at least,” RJ joked. “You’ve done a pretty good job with the placement of-”

“RJ, there you are,” Park’s voice came from the other side of the mess. “Did you- oh, hi, Captain.”

“Hey, Park,” Sana said easily as Park approached, eyeing the hammock with curiosity. In the hammock, RJ sat back up, a guilty expression on their face. “RJ was being good enough to help me test out this hammock I’ve been making.”

“So I can see,” Park said, neutrally. “Seems like a good use of your time off.”

Sana raised an eyebrow at him, unsure whether the comment was sincere or impeccable sarcasm, but deciding to interpret it as sincere. “Thank you,” she said. “Want to test it out? It would be good to get data from someone taller.”

“I’d love to help, but I really need to borrow RJ,” Park said apologetically. “Sorry, Captain. Maybe after dinner?”

“Of course,” Sana said, as RJ quickly got out of the hammock. She watched Park take their arm and almost steer them away, the two of them conversing in hushed whispers once they were far enough away that they evidently thought she wouldn’t overhear.

Something odd was going on. Sana glanced at the hammock, and then back at the doorway that Park and RJ had just left through. Maybe she should leave it alone – after all, she was off the clock, and she didn’t have to know about everything that was going on on the ship.

Even though Park and RJ were behaving really strangely.

After a few seconds, Sana’s curiosity got the better of her, and she quietly followed.

“Well, I can’t go back through now,” RJ was saying to Park in slightly annoyed tones, as they walked down the corridor. “The Captain will definitely know something’s up. Anyway, I don’t remember seeing a screwdriver in the kitchen.”

A screwdriver? Sana thought, baffled.

“Well, Arkady says there are none in the engine room, and there’s not many other places on the ship left to check,” Park said tiredly. “So, if you’d like to tell her that you weren’t able to look in the kitchen…”

RJ made a reluctant noise. “Fine, what if we-”

Sana, from her vantage point around the corner, saw the two pause in front of the door that led to the medbay. Park raised his hand and knocked on the door in a specific pattern – one long, and three short knocks. After a second, the same knock came back and the door opened.

“Bad news,” Park said as the two entered the medbay. “Sana was in the mess, so RJ wasn’t able to check the kitchen properly.”

Sana moved around the corner until the open door of the medbay was in view, where a baffling sight (and this was coming from someone who’d seen a lot of weird things in her time) greeted her. The medbay observation table had been dragged into the middle of the room, and an array of screwdrivers, knives, and for some reason, spoons cluttered the tabletop. Arkady, looking irritated, was standing on top of the table with a knife in her hand, trying to pry at the cover that enclosed the medbay’s ceiling lamp. Violet, Brian and Krejjh were grouped around the table, looking up at what Arkady was doing; Violet was holding a penknife and shining a small torch in Arkady’s direction, while Krejjh was holding a small hammer, a steel rule and a lightbulb. Brian just looked entertained.

“I think we should check the engine room again,” RJ said. Arkady rolled her eyes.

“I told you, McCabe, I – Captain!”

Instantly, every crew member in the room (except Park, who simply looked resigned) whipped guiltily around, trying in vain to hide what they were doing. Krejjh dropped the steel rule.

“Cap’n Tripathi!” they said cheerily. “You are just in time for our – uh – table performance art routine! We’ve been practicing specially for you!”

“Really?” Sana asked, amused. “Because it looks to me like you were all trying to change a lightbulb. Badly.”

“As it so happens, Act One of our performance-”

“Krejjh, give it a rest,” Arkady said, as Brian laughed behind his hand. “Captain, we’re fine, honestly. We found the replacement bulb, we just need to figure out how to get this damn cover off.”

“And how long have you spent trying to pry it off, so far?” Sana asked.

“It’s been about an hour and a half,” Violet admitted. Arkady’s shoulders slumped.

“I’m almost there, but I think I need a different screwdriver to-”

She stopped as Sana walked over to the table, and held out a hand for Arkady to pull her up. Climbing onto the table, with the help of a steadying hand from Park, Sana took a magnet out of her pocket (she had a lot of things in her pockets) and held it near the rim of the ceiling lamp cover. A tiny screw flew out and clung onto the magnet. Sana held the magnet to the other side of the cover, attracting another screw, and then another, and another. Finally, she twisted the cover, and it popped off the ceiling.

“Lightbulb,” she said.

Krejjh handed her up the lightbulb, and Sana switched the working bulb out for the dead one, before easily replacing the cover and pushing the screws back into place. She dusted her hands and looked around at the crew.

“Well, that was fun. What’s Act Two?”

Violet smiled, and RJ looked impressed, while Brian shook his head. “I told you we should have just asked her.”

Sana looked back at Arkady, who was glowering at the knife she’d been holding like it had personally offended her.

“You could have asked me,” she agreed. “But I get that you were trying not to disturb me after you worked so hard to give me some time off. And, honestly, it’s been one of the best days I can remember for a while. So – thank you all. So much. I know that being the Captain doesn’t make me invincible. Or infallible. And as much as I want to look out for all of you, I need to remember to apply the same thought process to myself as well.” She caught Violet’s eye, and winked.

“In hindsight, it probably shouldn’t have taken a day of forced rest for me to see that, but I’m grateful that you were all willing to go to the trouble of arranging it so that I could. Even to the point of changing lightbulbs.” She smiled.

“And while you’ve all been working hard, I’ve rigged up a pretty awesome hammock in the mess hall, so it would frankly be a crime not to hold a movie night after dinner.”

Krejjh whooped, and Brian and RJ immediately struck up a fierce debate about whether they should watch a historical fantasy drama or a sci-fi epic. Park tiredly followed them out of the room, presumably to act as adult supervision.

“I’d better go make sure that they don’t forget about dinner,” Violet said, and went after them.

Arkady climbed down so that she was sitting on the edge of the table, and after making a space in the collection of cutlery and engineering tools, Sana joined her. For a few moments, neither of them said anything.

“I meant what I said just now,” Sana said, eventually. “I had a really good day, and… it meant a lot that everyone would go to the trouble of doing something like that for me. And of thinking it up and arranging it.”

“Violet did a lot of it,” Arkady said, a little too quickly. “And Park, especially with covering your shifts. And the comm thing was Krejjh’s idea.”

“Really?” asked Sana, amused. “And what about intercepting the call from Campbell that came in last night, making sure it didn’t disturb me, and then arranging for him to call back when you knew I might be going a bit stir-crazy?”

Arkady huffed. “He told you.”

“Of course he did,” Sana said. “Look, I’m sure it was a group effort, but… I couldn’t help thinking that the idea had to have come from someone who knew me pretty well. And maybe someone who’s been more worried about me lately than they wanted to admit.”

Arkady looked away, her shoulders raised in a defensive half-shrug. “I know you’re the Captain. I know you’ve got to look out for us, and – it’s not like I can really talk when it comes to putting in too many hours when I work on something. I don’t think there’s anyone in the crew who hasn’t done that at some point. But you’re always there to kick our asses into taking a break, and-”

“And someone needed to do that for me?” Sana finished for her, wryly.

Arkady looked back at her and snorted. “Pretty much. Thirty-two hours, Sana. With six cups of coffee.”

Sana winced. “In hindsight, that was probably the first red flag.”

“The first?”

“Okay, okay,” Sana said, laughing a little and holding up her hands. “You have my word that I will not let things get to that point again. And if they do, you have my full permission to-”

“-Kick your ass?”

“I was going to say, ‘put me in time-out in my own hammock’, but either works.”

“Speaking of which,” said Arkady, giving Sana a significant look. “Do I need to ask which part of the ship lost its emergency harnesses?”

Sana laughed. “This one is made from actual wood and fabric and rope. Turns out, I had a lot of time on my hands this afternoon…”

“And you used it to build another hammock.”

“It was that, or listen to a really dull audiobook,” Sana said. “I call it an investment in future relaxation! And future movie nights. Good for the whole crew.”

One half of Arkady’s mouth ticked up, and she looked almost wistful. “We haven’t had a movie night since we were on the Rumor.”

“I want to reinstate the tradition,” Sana said. “I think we could all use a bit of a breather every now and again. Today reminded me of that. So – thank you, Kady.”

She was purposely laying it on thick, because winding up your best friend with excessive sentiments that you meant every word of really never got old. She was rewarded when Arkady quickly jumped down from the table. “I think we’ve already done the Feelings Corner for this evening, so if you need me, I’ll just be in the kitchen, helping with dinner.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to hear the latest motivational speech I’ve been working on?” Sana teased her. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it today. It’s a good one.”

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind,” Arkady said. “You’re not allowed to have days off any more.”

---

A/N: This idea came about as a bit of an inversion of the ‘leadership’ prompt - what if Sana couldn’t be in charge for the day? What would it look like if the crew decided she needed to take some time off? I was really taken with the concept (apparently I just have a thing for members of the crew gently but insistently taking care of Sana), and then I came up with the idea that something goes wrong that Sana would normally be able to fix, and the crew is desperately trying to keep it from Sana while she’s “off-duty”. This image popped into my head of like, the entire crew trying and failing to change a lightbulb, and it was so absurdly perfect that I had to write it xD

It also wound up being a spiritual continuation of the theme we’ve had so far in Season 2 of “Sana is bad at clocking off” - hopefully nothing in Episode 3 has come along and contradicted that xD (Guess I’ll find out!)

[damon-rutherford]

Welcome to the London Awards...

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I’m Damon Rutherford and together with lovely Ophélie Redgrave, I’ll be your host this evening. Welcome to the first annual London Awards, and those of you who came as a plus one, take a good look at your surroundings, it might be the first time you saw an inside of a concert hall. Some of you look as out of place here as Laurent St. Pierre in the Most Successful Man category.”

“Seriously though, really wonderful to see you all tonight at the Royal Albert Hall. We have some impressive people on our guest list. Our beloved Chief Whip, Spencer Berkeley, has scored the most amount of awards this year. Evidently, he has started to bully people for votes outside of the parliament building now. One of his many nominations is the Most Handsome Man. Which is why, St. Catherine’s ophthalmologists have graciously agreed to sponsor free eye exams this year. Please find the voucher underneath your seats. You’re welcome.”

“Cece and Charlene Hathaway are here – they have been successfully expanding their Vixen franchise in London, and Eleanor Shipley is here, too, who had her newest, box-office-topping movie come out recently. But neither of them are up for the most successful woman award tonight, instead we have an ex-cop and a med school dropout in the category. Congratulations, Évelyne and Viktorya, well deserved.”

“Adriana Amaro is nominated for the biggest Maneater this year. Between the men whose souls she’s crushed and an entire army of Lara Rutherford’s simps, two of my sisters could join forces and win back independence for a small country somewhere, but instead, they might win a suit at a hotel owned by their brother, where they can stay for free on any other 364 nights. Amazing, I know.”

“The most senior nominee this year is Arkady Kurylenko, at 64 years old,” Moving away from the center of the stage, Damon turned towards the direction where the Russian was sitting, and addressed him loudly, “IM TELLING EVERYONE THAT YOU’RE UP FOR A NOMINATION MR. KURYLENKO.”

“Speaking of seniors, you may have noticed Spencer and Gideon are up for the biggest bromance, whilst Nora and I are in the running for the best female/male friendship. Somewhere in English countryside, a 90-year-old Berkeley and a 95-year-old Rutherford probably died from a stroke. We’re sorry.” Damon paused for a second, referring to the age-old feud between the two big families, “But if that wasn't bad enough, people seem to want Gideon and Nora to date. That’ll really push them into their not-so-early graves.”

"Oh...dating, what a lovely concept. Except for the French who are so terrible at it, that they had to recycle a couple all the way from Porto Velho to have a representation for the Best Couple category. Congratulations, Mrs and Mr Aurélie St. Clair. Please, if you lose, don't murder anyone on your way out, Oliver, those carpets stain quite easily."

“Gideon Rutherford is here. I don’t have a joke about him, I just thought viewers should take a good look at his face and be reminded of their mistake with the Most Handsome category... Which was obviously not nominating his better-looking younger brother. But then again, you people voted for Brexit, can you really be trusted with a simple ballot? I don’t think so.”

“I know, some of you will say, ‘but Damon, you’ve been asked to be the host, and that’s the highest award there is’, but look at my co-host. A psychotic, drug addicted trainwreck who might be arrested on her way to the afterparty for possession and cannibalism, so I'm not sure what this says about me. Love you, babe.” Turning to Ophélie, Damon quickly planted a kiss on her head, playing along to their ‘should be couple’ nomination.

“I’m afraid my speech is getting older than Johnathan Parsons’s last girlfriend, so let’s get this night going, and move onto our first category, shall we? Remember, you should think of yourselves as winners. Not all of you, but the ones who’ll win the awards tonight. There are no participation trophies in Britain. We’re not in America anymore. But before we get to our first category, my lovely co-host has a few words to share…” 

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part 3 (The Great Mini series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Word Count: 8K (more on the thicc side. So be ready)

Summary: You are bethrothed to the Russian Count Grigor Dymov in order to secure an alliance for your family and people with Russia from breaking. The day has finally arrived, your wedding day and night and all that entails

Part One//Part Two

Smut Scene for this Part (18+ only please)

Warnings:  Typos!!!! mentions of sex, marriage, family, swearing, dogs, Emperor Peter being Emperor Peter, drinking, drunkenness, weddings, and religion. The fear of rape is briefly discussed.

A/N: It’s finally here! Yay for wedding fics! For a few notes, I based the wedding ceremony from Russian Orthodox practices (since that is the religion obviously in the show of the court) so if I get something wrong about anything sacred, please drag me gently. Second, the gift mentioned in the middle part is, fun fact! An actual historical practice between couples! (I just though it would enhance the story). And third, I decided not to include a smut scene for those reading this fic underage...that part will be worked on and published separately. Fourth, I am thrilled and overwhelmed with all of the love shown for this miniseries. I am having a ball writing it! Enjoy!

Russian Wedding ceremonies were making your head turn. Already there were so many things to do you wondered if you could remember them by tomorrow. And this was the only rehearsal you had.

The tall priest, who you found out was called Archie, stood before you both. He practiced speaking a monotone blessing and made the sign of the cross over you.

“Next, you’ll be given candles…” he advised, waving his hands out.

Two men walked by to hand you both a candle (“for the ceremony, they will be lit, but they aren’t. So just be careful.”) You recognized that Arkady gave Grigor his candle and the bespectacled man you have seen greeting you when you entered handed you yours.

“Thank you…uhm…sorry, I’ve seen you around, but…” you asked.

“Count Orlo, Lady Y/L/N”, he greeted, with a polite nod.

“Thank you Orlo,” you muttered.

“Of course! Well, welcome to Russia! If you need any-”

Archie glared at Orlo icily until he scurried away, head ducked in embarrassment.

“Now let us continue…”

He said a line of scripture in a way that seemed mystical, close to ecstasy, his eyes closed and hands open to the sky. After a while, the droning lost its magic pull and became dull.

You and Grigor glanced at each other, making sure Archie wasn’t able to notice in all his holiness.

“We have to practice the puppy after this- would you like to see?” you whispered.

“I’d take watching paint dry over this, of course I want to see!” Grigor replied.

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“Just give her a bit of chicken,” Count Arkady advised.

You and Grigor nodded. You leaned down to stroke the fur of your little gift. She had trotted over cheerfully when either your or Grigor said “come,” prancing as if she was the one who owned the little apartment you and your mother were staying in. Arkady handed a gold bowl of cold, roast chicken meat that you tossed to the puppy every time she did as you said. Yout mother sat in a corner, silently watching everything, but present to make sure nothing inappropriate was going on.

“Very good…now, what is your little one’s name again? I can never remember,” he asked, politely ducking his head to sneeze into a handkerchief.

The puppy looked up at you and smiled.

“I’m calling her Sonya. It’s the Russian version of Sophie, our Empresses old name. And she was the first friend I met here. Besides, it’s a Russian name and she’s a Russian dog,” you explained.

“Very well, Sonya- sit!” Arkady ordered, his handkerchief falling delicately from his free hand.

He held up a small bite of roast chicken clear enough where she could see it. She sat again. He handed it over to you and you tossed it to the floor. Wagging her tail, she ate it up.

“Good girl, Sonya! Good girl!” you praised.

So far Sonya had not caused too much trouble. The servant for Grigor had often took her out to do business when she needed it. She did bark, chew on everything, and leave droppings on the floor sometimes. But the first night in your apartments, you had trouble sleeping in this strange new place. Little Sonya hopped up on the bed and curled up next to you as you laid awake. Her warmth and licking kisses on your face were welcome when your anxious mind was trying to make you awake. And soon you slept with her little body nestled on top of your stomach.

“Keep this up, and soon you will have a trained dog. The secret is to reward them every time they’re good and be careful with discipline,” Arkady advised.

Grigor nodded. He leaned down to pick up the Sonya and scratch her head. You could not help but notice that the party man Georgiana warned about had a kind smile to the little animal. Maybe she was exaggerating to scare you.

Arkady walked over to where a serf held up a laundry basket and got rid of his handkerchief.

“She hasn’t been a bother, I hope,” Grigor turned to ask, seeing how your teacher was distracted.

“You’ll soon find out…I’m joking, she has been fine. Energetic, but fine. Nothing out of normal for a puppy,” You answered.

Arkady took it to the next serf, advising him on kinds of ways it should be cooked for the notabilities’ dogs next time. The serf sighed and nodded before leaving. He turned around gracefully, clapping his hands, and rubbing them loudly.

“How are you both feeling!? You do know what is happening tomorrow…” he teased.

You could not forget. And you wanted to. The wedding was already tomorrow.

“Yes, well…we’ve already rehearsed the ceremony this morning and…we’ll…we’ll be ready!” Grigor said.

“The candles? The crown? Hopefully, you are prepared to kiss in front of all of court, they’ll ask for that! My Tatyana and I kissed fifty times at ours!” Arkady added on sheepishly.

You put your hand to your face to hide it in embarrassment. The days past mostly consisted of eating at small dinners and teas at least with you, sometimes Grigor, and your mother or walking through the gardens with some small talk between the three of you. His arm was offered for you to hold when you walked together. But that was the most of touching you both had done. Those and the chaste, formal kisses on the cheek or hand.

“We’ll be ready, for everything,” Grigor answered.

He went over to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in slight worry at your silence. You felt a slight dizziness from how soon everything would be

Arkady dismissed himself and left, and your mother got up from her seat in the corner to see him out. You turned to Grigor, face feeling warm.

“Are we ready to…to kiss in front of everyone? Perhaps we can make it work…”

Although you bit the inside of your cheek and folded your hands, eyes darting from the floor to his face and back again.

“I…I don’t think I am…” he said. “It’s been, uh, a little while.”

He was careful to not mention or talk about Georgiana unless prompted and you thanked your stars for that. It felt like being a mouse under the eye of a hungry hawk with her walking by in corridors.

“I know we can make this work, at least for everyone we know and the alliance,” you said. “Maybe we can…practice. At least for the ceremony.”

As your mother turned around to see you both chatting, Sonya went up to her, to greet her with a bark and a wag of her curling tail. Grigor stepped forward to her.

“Lady Y/L/N, can I have your consent to kiss Y/F/N? I’d like to do it before dinner, so I don’t reek of onions,” he offered.

Your mother looked at you both, then nodded.

“Alright, I don’t see why not. But no tongues.”

You turned to him, a little unsure of what to do. Your mother and Sonya watching closely.

“I don’t know what to do with my arms,” you confess.

He took both of your hands.

“We can just hold hands for now…” he advised.

“Then you have to lean forward, right?” you asked.

“Right.”

Leaning your face forward, you could make out the dust of freckles across his nose. He paused a little. You kept still. Then looking at each other’s eyes, he gave you a slight nod and both of you went in for a peck on the lips. It was so quick, so light, it was like gulping air.

Your hands immediately relaxed and let go. A rush of exhaling air left both of you.

“Alright, would you like me to ring for tea? After dinner, you both cannot see each other until after the ceremony,” your mother offered.

She scooped the puppy in her arms and carried her over one shoulder.

“That…that sounds nice,” he added.

“Shouldn’t you be with the Emperor? Weren’t you going to drink with him?” you ask.

“He can wait. Velementov might be with him.”

Once the tea set arrived and all of you had a sip, you all began to talk, and not just about what the weather was like. He made jokes and listened to your mother. He broke off part of a plain biscuit to feed it to Sonya. She even hopped up to the couch and slept beside him as he stroked her fur.

“Well, tomorrow’s the big day, I bet you’re tired of hearing that.” Your mother sighed, setting down her empty plate.

“But…I’m still jittery, I have to say,” you said, taking a last sip of your sweet tea.

Suddenly you looked at Grigor and he took his hand and wrapped it around yours. It wasn’t in the sweaty awkwardness of having to practice kissing, but it was dry, soft, and comforting.

“I’m jittery, too, I guess. But…if it helps Russia, we’ll do it,” he added. “Y/F/N is a brave woman to do this, and she has a gentle soul, the way I’ve seen her with little Sonya. I could do worse.”

Smiling lightly at him, you muttered a thanks. His hands heat was slowly becoming comforting. The shots of adrenaline from his touch were slowing down through you.

“And you Grigor…you’ll do, I guess,” you responded quietly.

The clock struck for the late afternoon. Grigor looked at it with wide eyes.

“Oh shi- no. We have a meeting with Archie about church laws and Peter wants me there until dinner. Can I leave?” he asked.

A part of you stifled a laugh from the suppressed swearing. At this point you were almost desensitized to it in the Russian court.

Your mother nodded, “you may.”

“And can I kiss your daughter one last time? I just want to be ready for the ceremony?” he asked in a hurry.

She nodded again, raising an eyebrow revealing her actual thoughts.

He leaned down and kissed you, putting in a little bit of pressure. And something…different. It did not feel like a polite kiss, or a practice kiss. It felt like a lover’s kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling it linger for just a bit. Then finally, he let go and said his farewells, leaving with a slight hop in his step.

It was as if a ghost on your lips was still there as he walked away. It was the nicest kiss you have had so far in your life.

Even before you went to bed to try to sleep before the big day with your mother in the other room, you found yourself tracing where it was.

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

The next day, the hours dragged on throughout. You saw only your mother since the wedding would be in the early evening. You found yourself staring at the clock a lot, sweating with each tick of the hands. You wished you could run to Grigor and just vent about your worry, but your mother told you it was always bad luck before the ceremony.

And a marriage like this could use a little less bad luck you thought.

By two hours time before the ceremony would begin, Mariol arrived with the ribbons and decorations to start doing your hair.

“I’m here, the Empresses treat!” she announced, but waving her hands and shrugging as if it was the same dull task as sweeping. She held a wooden box under her arm.

“Oh, oh thank you! How splendid!” your mother said, taking your hand.

Mariol put the wooden box on your vanity and opened it, revealing feathers, pearls, and other little accessories.

“Want a bow?” she asked.

“Not for me,” you refused.

Selecting a white ribbon, you clicked your tongue for Sonya to trot to you. Leaning down, you tied it lightly around her neck with a bow in the back.

“She has to look her best too…”

“But she’s not the bride. Come on, Y/N…it is time we fix your hair. Not going to have walk down looking like a pigsty.”

All the twirls, tucks, and pins in the world managed to be shoved in your head by the time you were through. You wanted to groan, but when Mariol heard Sonya’s yapping, her pulling in became gentler and her head turned.

“There you go! And for a bit of makeup…”

“Can I hold Sonya as you do it?” you asked, turning from the vanity.

Mariol’s eyes went wide.

“Wha-yes! Please!”

Amidst the small dabbing of rouge, she cooed in a high voice at the little puppy, sniffing your face curiously. Your mother sat in the back, admiring Mariol’s work and nodding in admiration, with a little compliment here or there.

But you could hardly breathe your response to the face you saw in the mirror when there was a knock on the door.

Sonya leaped from your lap and trailed Mariol as she opened the door. A familiar face poked his head in.

“Hello Y/N!” you father announced, putting away his tri-cornered hat.

With somewhat of a scream you and your mother both ran up to him. Behind him walked in your brother in a nice emerald suit and his new wife in a pretty golden dress.

You called their names and embraced all of them, fighting the urge to cry.

“What…what are you doing here? I didn’t know I would even see any of you again!” you asked.

“We managed to receive lodging near…we didn’t want to miss your wedding!” your brother said, leaning in for another hug.

Sonya yipped and jumped before your sister’s wife. She leaned down and petted her.

“Oh, when did you get this precious thing?” she asked.

You put Sonya into your arms and held the dog before everyone.

“She was a gift from Grigor,” you explain.

“Your…your fiancee?” your brother asked, eyebrows raised up.

“Yes! He…he’s nothing like…like you know who. He’s a good man. In spite all of this…” you explained, getting a little dizzy at the thought of being bound to him until death in an hour.

“But, what of the emperor? He approved?” your mother asked

“I spoke with him yesterday and asked to attend, at least I wanted to walk you down, and he agreed,” he answered. 

He walked over to Sonya to feel the top of her head as well.

“We didn’t want to miss it either,” your brother chimed in.

“Well, we’re about to dress her. So, the men better head out. The ceremony is in an hour!” Mariol interrupted, she brushed her arms to shoo your father and brother away

Your mother leaned into your father.

“This palace is the size of the moon-you don’t know the way to the chapel!” she retorted she placed her hands on her hip.

She was wearing a blueish-green dress with only a few embellishments of lace here and there, along with a large lace fan that befitted the mother of the bride. You had to admire her. For a woman who never insisted she was beautiful and would call herself the reverse, this look proved the thought wrong.

“I thought I’d follow you! Just let me give her away! Please!”

She batted him lightly and shooed the men away.

With a gulp you let Mariol remove the buttons of your light day dress and set it away. With stays tied on and panniers attached, only the dress needed to be put on now. Then the gown waiting in your chest met its long-awaited fate.

She slipped it over your head. After a few touches to your already done makeup and hair, a few minutes passed in awed quietness. Your father and brother walked back in, astonished. Giving one of a dozen “you’re beautiful” compliments until you found yourself believing them too. They noted how elaborate the lace went along the opening of the skirt. That there were a few small pearls and jewels in the skirt here and there, especially with your pearl necklace, earrings, and a wedding veil attached to the top of your head. Mariol let the long lines of the veil fall over your face. The world you saw was now covered in a thin layer of white.

“You’re absolutely stunning, Y/N. No matter what happens after this, know that I love you,” your mother said, embracing you one last time.

It warmed your heart. A little. Even though the nerves still shot up your arms.

The hour struck six o clock. The door opened outside to see all of court looking at you.

There were a few murmurs of appreciation. You chose a nice white with faint hints of silver in a shade that was flattering to your skin. Little details-barely beads, but shinier- sparkled in the light. (you heard that Russian ladies were elaborate in dress and your visit and observations here were proven right).

Mother walking forward, you took your fathers arm and you headed through the palace. Your brother and his wife walked behind, walking Sonya on a small leash. Your view of the palace was blocked a little bit and you were glad of the guidance of your parents. Eyes and countless wigs turned as you both walked past.

At last you reached the chapel doors, full of gold and with saints gently looking down before you. There standing was Grigor and Emperor Peter, decked in cravats and with Peter wearing every medal on his coat you could count.

Grigor wore a wig that you could still smell the powder from. His coat was richly colored in a dark blue. He looked very striking and he turned to face you. There was a slight smile and he blinked rapidly.

Your father handed you to Grigor, and you took his hand. You both took one step into the chapel and paused as you saw the elaborate art and statues that covered the walls. Paintings of saints staring down between rows where even more courtiers sat to watch. You recognized Catherine and Georgiana from a brief glimpse. But you forced your eyes to stay on the black robes and beard of Archie at the altar.

Orlo and Arkady scurried forward with now lit candles. You nodded a thank you to Orlo who nodded back. You were both given a lighted candles and multiple prayers were said before and several bits of scripture. Then came the time to share the cup. The candles were set aside for now. Archie motioned to Grigor and he lifted your veil gently.

You looked up at him with…well, you did not know. And you could not describe the way he looked at you. It was soft, sweet, with reverence. Your eyes were beginning to water a little bit. But why were you crying? You liked Grigor, but…you were not sure how much. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and everything seemed like a dream.

You both shared a cup of dry communal wine, and then Archie took a long golden piece of cloth, wrapping it around your joined hands.

Taking in a deep breath, Grigor began the vows, but he looked right at your eyes.

“I take you as my wife to be with you always-in wealth and in poverty, in disease and in health, in happiness and in grief, from this day until death separates us.”

He seemed like he meant it. It took you aback. You almost forgot your own vows but repeated them, albeit in a soft, shaky voice.

The vows said, Arkady and Orlo walked forward with two gold crowns that were placed on your heads in front of everyone watching. You both walked around the area of the altar in a circle. The cloth still tied with your hands together. Grigor and you took slow, careful steps.

Once the cloth was removed you were both given rings placed on each other’s fingers. but Grigor’s hands were gentle as he slipped the band into your finger. A tiny diamond sparkled in its center.

Archie read a last piece of scripture- a long and extremely dry one for a wedding. Breathing in a bit, you turned your head to look up at Grigor. His eyes shining and his mouth a little open.

He turned to look back at you and gave you another smile. A beautiful one. And this time you smiled back. For a few seconds you forgot the dreaded day you both signed that contract a month ago.

A final benediction was placed, and Archie finished. The crowns were removed from your heads. He made the sign of the cross over both of you and then turned to the crowd watching.

“Welcome to our court, the Count and Countess Dymov. Count Dymov, you may kiss the bride.”

As practiced, you both tilted your heads, leaned forward, and kissed. There was a slight spark to it and almost felt his free hand wander to your back to press you tighter.

It was done. Your family’s future, your people, and the alliance were safe. Part of you let out a small breath and looked over to your family with a knowing look, until you felt Grigor nudge you and you both walked out. 

There was uproarious applause. The emperor was smug but Catherine beside him looked genuinely happy. She was dressed in a light yellow that made her seem a flower among all these over the top wigs and laces. Your brother and his wife clapped with the sweetest smiles on their faces. But the same could not be said of Georgiana, dressed in deep orange with the mark of a heart on her cheek and giving you a glare every time your eyes accidentally wandered to hers.

Both of you walked through the halls, hand in hand, among more applause and a few tossing of flower petals. You turned and he kissed your lips lightly.

“I’m not an eloquent man but you look like a fucking snowdrop with all this gold in the palace,” he whispered.

You stuttered, still grasping  his hand, “th-thank you. You look very handsome as well.”

He let out a little smile as you both walked to a smaller room. A few trusted courtiers put a piece of parchment on a desk before you two. Both of you signed the marriage contract and waited for a serf to summon you to the dining room where the celebration would commence along with the dinner.

As the contract was rolled up by an old man as round as a peach (it may have been Velementov, Grigor taught you so many names it was hard to remember) and brought away, both of you were alone for a few minutes. There was an odd silence, then you turned to him.

“Grigor, I know you have had your heart broken recently and…I want to tell you, I’ll try to be a good wife to you. As possible. I’ll try to be understanding and I… won’t hurt you. Because I know how hard being hurt for you was. I might make mistakes, but I don’t want to hurt you,” you confided.

He shook his head a little.

“I don’t want to hurt you either…”

But speaking of hurt, there was the unspoken ghost in all this wedding talk that needed to be addressed. The one event you secretly dreaded the most. Clutching his arm and turning to him, you tried to think of a way to say it now that you were alone.

“Grigor…” you began, “Now we’re alone, we can talk. For…for uh, tonight, uhm…uh, I…”

You did not get to finish before a serf ran in. Without warning, he half pushed the both of you out. The Emperor and what seemed half of court was seated in the dining room. There was a flurry of huzzahs.

Emperor Peter jumped over the table, knocking over plates and silverware. You leaned out of the way of his flurrying and grabbed Grigor by the shoulder, with a pat on him. You took your seat close to the front and he made his way to your side. Peter leaned back in his chair which was always in the center. No matter what event was going on.

“Well, Grigor- you got yourself a girl at last! hope she gets every penny worth from you tonight!” he bellowed.

“Every penny worth?” you repeated.

He looked at you with a toothy smile and gulped down half of his wine.

“Oh, you should know! The Morgengabe! The Morning’s gift!” he cheered.

A serf poured you water and wine separately to begin with and a few musicians started playing, getting louder and louder.

“That what?” you asked over them.

“The morning, Gift. Its a German idea. Grigor, your wife is a bit of a dolt. At least her tits are decent,” he said.

“What’s the Morning’s gift?” you questioned.

Food began to be served on your plate, but your appetite was starting to decrease. You had a terrible guess at what it referred to. And you had to be sure it was right.

“It’s…uhm…” Grigor began, then he took a deep breath and turned to you, speaking so that you could understand every word.

“After we signed the contract when we were betrothed, there was a word between me, Peter, and your father. The dowry itself was covered. You’re not entering this union as a pauper and should you become a widow, you will have financial protection but…we all had to be sure the marriage was…”

He bit his lips, took in a breath, and continued.

“I gave over some money as promised by your father. It’s being kept with me. That money will be given to you the morning after the marriage is…uh, consummated. That way the alliance will be totally secure. Your family and Peter will know you weren’t just being thrown into a sham marriage that would make the contract weak. If it wasn’t complete, the alliance wouldn’t go through.”

“And the sooner the better!” Peter added, sticking his head between the two of you.

He looked at you and wiggled his eyebrows bawdily with a swirl of his goblet.

“I may just, you know- destroy your home country and chop off your family’s heads just for fun tomorrow because you haven’t fucked your husband!”

He leaned down to see your shocked expression and laughed.

“Well, money and a large cock, you have a lot to look forward to! Huzzah! Now where’s the vodka?”

As he gestured serfs forth to pour vodka into his goblet, you looked over at Grigor.

He took your hand and squeezed it.

“That’s the way it is?” You sighed.

“That’s the way it is here.” He confirmed, noting the worry on your face.

More guests came in. By the dozens. You could hardly even eat a bite or sip some wine or water because they kept wanting to talk to you. You were gladdened by your family and the few you were familiar with.

Then Orlo walked forward. Under his arms were a few books.

“Oh, here he comes again!” Grigor dismissed, rolling his eyes.

You lightly touched his arm, “no, let him speak!”

Orlo gave a slight bow in greeting.

“Why, hello there, Count and Countess Dymov! I’m here because I just wanted to give you a wedding gift…can you read, Countess?”

“I can,” you confirmed.

He handed you each two books.

“It’s mythologies, fairy tales…childish things. But since you are new here, you might find it entertaining to learn a little bit more about our culture. And so might Grigor.”

Grigor flipped through a few pages. He rested on one of a young girl walking through a forest with a branch that had a skull lit with a fire.

“Well, why read about an adventure when you can live it!” Grigor explained.

But you took the books gently and smiled at him.

“That’s very generous of you, Count Orlo! I’m sure my husband…” it was a new word with a taste as strange as their wine… “he would rather I read these to him for his entertainment than annoy him all day,” you teased, leaning over to look at the pictures as well.

“No, I don’t think you could! You’re not the type to annoy, Y/N” he replied. He smiled as he accepted a glass of vodka.

He nudged you and then hissed, “this is our tradition- watch!”

He stood up, but took your hand for you to stand up with him. Heads turned and noise was softened.

“To my new wife! And to my marriage! Huzzah!”

They all yelled “huzzah” back and you felt as if you could glow.

But he downed his vodka and threw his glass on the floor in a swift movement. The other members of court followed suit. There was a splatter of shattering glass like that of hail drops.

Occasionally there were yelps for a kiss. As if being actors on cue, you and Grigor would peck each others lips to their cheers. But not as many as Arkady said would happen.

As your family walked forward to hand you your dog, they had to tiptoe past broken glass as carefully as possible with lifted skirts and on their toes. Empress Catherine even walked from by her husband side to offer you congrats.

“You look very lovely and the ceremony was simple…”

“Oh, we only had a week to…”

“Oh no! I love simple ceremonies! Simple everything! They just mean more! And…are those books? You can read?”

“Yes, a wedding present from Orlo!” you nodded.

Both of you looked over the pages and stories, Catherine filling in with what she knew as you took bites of your dinner with relief. Serfs scurried with brooms to clean up the broken glass. A few dances were thrown and mingling was allowed. Knowing it was safe, you put Sonya in your arms and walked around.

Soon she barked and leaned forward, jumping out. She scurried, catching a bit of a dusky orange dress and chewing it with such passion, she shook it back and forth in her mouth with joy.

“Stop that!” the dress owner cried.

“Hey!” you cried, but right as you leaned down to stop her you recognized whose it was. And you froze with horror.

Georgiana looked as if she could see red as she analyzed you. Sonya panted happily in your arms, but you leaned away from her, as if to shield the creature from anything the Emperor’s mistress might do.

There was a solo violin striking up (Peter attempted to play).

“Well, look at you!” she said with a huff. She seemed only somewhat sad.

“Mademoiselle,” you acknowledged, head down in a curtsy. “Please, do not think me your enemy.”

“You are no threat to me.”

“No, how could I be? You are only our beloved Emperor's favorite. You hold so much prestige here. The ladies all prattle on how envious they are of you. I’ve heard them. I honor you, tremendously.” You started.

She looked at you straight in your eyes, expression unchanged from your words.

“You’re sweet. But so were your wedding cakes. And what do people with cakes? They chew them up into tiny pieces until they spit it out or ingest it until it’s nothing,” she spat.

“If you hurt me or my dog or my family, I will tell my husband about it. I am under the protection of the Dymov house.”

“And I am under the protection of the Emperor.” She replied.

The violin picked up and the Emperor called for a dance.

“Forget it. Let’s move past being like this. I’m not in love with Grigor. I’m only following my family’s orders.”

“That’s not what I see when you kiss him,” she finished as she strutted away.

The Emperor lead a brief speech for Grigor’s honor and to congratulate the marriage and the alliance it entailed. But your husband was having another sip of vodka, face flushing. As you returned to your seat he pulled you close.

“No, no, no…sit here, wifey,” he suggested. He put his hands on your waist and pulled you with immense strength over to his seat to sit on his lap.

You squealed at the closeness, feeling his breath and the outline of his body against yours. But he wrapped arms around you, beginning to kiss your cheek.

“Here, have some of these cakes, darling,” he offered, handing you one of the hundreds of small wedding cakes served for dessert.

Taking a bite, you could make out the density and the perfect amount of sweetness and flavoring.

“They’re…they’re scrumptious! Who made them?”

“Hmm, maybe the cooks. I just wanted to see your reaction to them,” he answered.

His pulled you a little closer, nuzzling into your head, neck, and shoulder area.

“My sweet wifey is soooo cute when she’s sooo happy!”

“Are you sure that isn’t the vodka talking, Grigor?” you retorted cheerfully, noting his glass.

He looked at you. Although his eyes were dilated from drink, he wasn’t a lost cause, at least not yet.

“If I’m not passed out on the floor, Y/N, I’m not drunk!” before taking another sip.

After a little bit longer, there were more songs. He was sobering some, the vodka wearing off as you offered him some water. He drank it as you stayed on his lap.

The songs were getting slower. Plates were clearing. And guests were drifting away. You balled your hands into fists and grabbed the skirt of your gown, trying to slow your breathing.

Your brother, sister-in-law and father excused themselves to take Sonya’s leash and lead her to Grigor’s apartments.

Oh, they’re our apartments now you silently corrected yourself.

Catherine and your mother came by. Grigor perked up and gently led you off of him.

“Y/N, Catherine offered to be with you when we lead you there,” your mother began.

Thanking with a curtsy, you left Grigor and followed them slightly behind to Dymov’s room. But looking behind, you admired Catherine glancing back at you with a smile and making small talk to her about books. She seemed so young despite the grandeur of her title. It was like she was just a friend of yours attending your big day.

They walked you over to the Dymov apartment. It seemed ominous with it’s red and the nighttime darkening everything thought the windows. The little dog barked and skipped in happiness when you walked in.

“Hello Sonya!” you said.

She wiggled her tail in greeting, little fuzz ball. Mariol walked forward, smiling. She seemed to look lighter and happier, spending time with little Sonya.

Your mother and Catherine unbuttoned you and pulled you dress over your head and removed the rolls from your hips. Mariol began to unlace your stays from behind.

“I…I’m so nervous I can hardly even think!” you confessed.

“Y/N, you have nothing to fear, really.” Catherine assured.

“It will be fine,” your mother assured, taking your hand.

“But…what if he…he hurts me. What if he…he rapes me. I’ve heard about that happening on wedding nights and…that’s what scares me the most.”

Catherine took your shoulder and squeezed it.

“You can tell me, and I’ll punish him. The Emperor won’t know and if you’re in danger, you can run to me. Wake me up in my chambers. I don’t care.”

“Does it…hurt when it happens?” you ask.

“When you’re new, sometimes. Especially when they are more...enthusiastic. But just a little. And not everyone feels pain the first time.” Your mother informed you.

Stays removed, Mariol began to undo your hair and wipe off what makeup was there with a cloth. You felt your hair fall down. Part of you wanted a blanket or a robe. You were in the Empress’s presence with only a shift on.

“What if I can’t…please him?” you asked.

Georgiana’s voice from earlier this week had haunted your mind considering tonight. If you did not perform well or even perform at all, you might be considered a failure to Grigor and even to your family, you feared. 

Yet, why did the thought of Grigor, no, your husband scorning you for his past lover make your stomach burn with envy?

“Don’t worry, it will be alright. Just tell him ‘no’ or ‘yes’, be firm and clear. You don’t have please him…just enjoy being with him, getting to know him,” your mother directed.

“It will be okay,” Catherine repeated. 

She guided your hand and you both sat on the edge of the bed. She grinned at you and you shyly smiled back.

A few minutes ticked by. Then male voices were right outside. Your heart leaped to your throat and you felt your legs freeze. Your hold on Catherine turned to a grip.

Then came the fateful sound.

There was a knock on the door.

The three of you jumped almost.

“Who is it?” Catherine asked.

“It’s Grigor, and the Emperor.”

Taking in a shaky breath, you said “you may come in.”

Grigor walked in next to Peter, who was flushed and stumbling a bit in his walk. Catherine handed you a deep green robe to wrap around yourself for a bit of modesty, seeing how embarrassed you already were at people seeing you in your shift. The three of you curtsied and the two men bowed, Peter staying low and then swaggering over to a chair. He flopped down on it, leg over an arm, and started blowing a little bird whistle.

You noticed Grigor was still in his wedding outfit and held a glass decanter of vodka and two large glasses

“Only a little while ago you were playing that,Grigor, when I was fucking the Empress on our wedding night, remember! Now we…we’ve fucking switched and now here we are!” Peter announced, blowing another shriek that erupted in spit across the floor.

Grigor walked forward and kissed your knuckles in greeting. It only struck you how handsome he was. He had a charming smile and the dark colors flattered him. He put an arm protectively over you and turned to the small group

“Thank you, everyone, it was a lovely ceremony,” he began.

“Count Dymov, do you need us to do anything?” your mother asked.

“No, mother,” he added, “and you may call me Grigor. For now, I hope you think of me as if I was a member of your family too.”

She grinned in return and addressed him by name.

“Phlah! Names shames,” Peter mocked, twirling the whistle with his fingers. Catherine looked at him with eyes wide and eyebrows down.

“How about we all have a toast to today!” Grigor announced, Holding up the decanter.

He handed a glass over to the emperor and then a glass between you both.

“I say our Emperor goes first, as our ruler and sovereign,” he suggested, pouring an extremely generous amount of vodka in the cup while giving his own only a dribble.

“I say yes! Hu—zaaaaah!” Peter cried, sucking up the vodka in a heartbeat. Grigor shared his glass with you so you could have a sip of the stuff before he finished it up.

Looking up at him, he gave you a glimmer in his eye. And you caught on.

“And let’s have a toast to the alliance! And our beloved Emperor for allowing it to happen. Huzzah!” you toasted, raising your glass.

On cue, Grigor poured another heap of vodka into Peter’s glass which he raised and swallowed down as if he were a thirsty beggar.

“Huzzzahhh f-for meeeeee,” Peter mumbled.

His face became even redder and he struggled to get out of his seat.

“Shit, w-why is everyone spinning! I order you to-to stay still!” he barked.

Everyone was already perfectly still. Catherine walked over and supported him over her shoulder.

“Let’s retire, shall we?”

“N-no! I want to…I want to watch G-G-Grigor f-f-f-uck her so I c-can…can have a good wank at it, a-at least, and m-m-maybe get my turntofuckher….ohmyfuckI’m going to vomit,” Peter announced. He ran out in a heartbeat and you heard him retch in the hallway outside.

And then the noise of his body falling on the floor.

“I will take him to his chambers,” Catherine offered.

Her eyes were alight and her pink lips tight from holding back laughter. Mariol placed an arm over her mouth as well and scurried out behind the empress. There were several footsteps and the huffing of serfs and you knew that Peter now had to be carried unconscious-and far away.

“I believe I must retire as well, good night,” your mother said.

They dismiss and leave. Now you were both alone. Your heart was racing, but you smiled and turned to Grigor in gratitude.

“That was brilliant.” You praised.

“I did have a feeling he’d want to do that. So I decided to do something about it. The vodka did get to me a little earlier,” he confessed. “But It’s worn up.”

You nodded, “yes, of course. I can tell.”

“Do you…need anything? Some water?”

“Of course.”

He walked over and got you a fresh glass poured from a crystalline pitcher. You washed away the bitter sting of vodka from your mouth and so did he. Both of you sat across from each other on the two chairs before the fire. At first all was quiet.

“Y/N…I know all of this had not happened the way we thought but…you have the support. My support. The Russian Crown. And my house and of the Dymov family, as well as our protection. You’re…you’re one of us now, it’s your right as a countess,” he promised.

I’m not Y/F/N Y/L/N anymore. I’m Y/F/N Dymov. You thought. Still unused to it.

“Thank you. I know I was quiet, but so much has been happening, today. I don’t know quite what to say,” you replied.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

You finished your water and he finished his. Another silence.

“You looked very handsome in your coat today, you’re a lovely man,” you complimented. He looked especially lovely with the fire’s glow against his face.

“Thank you, but I’m starting to get…a bit uncomfortable. May I take dress down to my shift?” he asked

“You may.”

He opened the door and brought the old man serf. The old man took away his shoes, stockings, coat, shirt, wig, and everything else, setting them away, until he was only in his shift and a pair of white breeches.

Though you stared away from him, focusing on the empty glass in your hand. He walked forward as soon as the old man set away the clothes and exited.

“Y/N…you’re tense. Are you…nervous?” he asked, kneeling down to be at your level.

You nodded, not even looking at him.

“Yes. I was scared you would…force yourself on me,” you voiced. “It’s what I was going to tell you earlier.”

He walked forward to you and put two of his hands on your shoulders, but not heavily.

“Y/N, I won’t do that…you can’t please a woman by forcing yourself on her and I…I didn’t want to displease you. I told you earlier, I don’t want to hurt you.” He reminded.

Your shoulders relaxed.

“I didn’t want to displease you either. Its just…I…I’ve never slept with anyone before. You’ve probably seen the file form the doctor we gave to Archie. There. The proof. And I…I’m just…I’m just nervous.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as well,” he comforted.

You thought of the Morning gift, of your duty …but you noticed the outline of his body through the shift. And every time you found your eyes go to his face, they would go back to his body.

Your eyes noticed that the books from Orlo were on a desk in the corner.

“What about these?” you said.

Grigor brought them to you. You passed a bit of time flipping through them. The illustrations, even he admitted, were lovely. You both studied it, asking which tales he was familiar with, and what stories you knew of. The tiredness got to you slightly and as you both sat on the chair as he sat down beside you, you laid your head against his shoulder a little sleepily.

Sonya slept deeply in the corner. She laid down on a soft pillow, her belly full of roast chicken from the feast, and legs twitching as if chasing something. Then she woke up a bit and wandered over to the next room to sleep.

Grigor closed the book and raised your chin to meet his face.

“I think I’d like reading more if it was with you, can we…we move to bed? You seem a little tired,” he said.

“We can.”

Both of you settled into the sheets. You sighed at the warmth of the blankets over you.

“Russia’s every bit as cold as you said,” you jested

“Then can I hold you, to keep you warm…just to make you comfortable.”

“You can.”

He wrapped his arms around you. The fire cackled in the distance and you could make out a ticking clock somewhere else in the room. Both of you laid down on your sides, looking at each other. He felt nice compared to the cold air everywhere else in the apartment.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N? I guess for…for duty. Nothing else has to happen until you’re ready.”

“You can. For our duty.”

He kissed you passionately, deeply. Something inside you made you grab him. You didn’t feel like you wanted to push him away. It was a tight embrace. You liked kissing him. Kissing him had set you on fire, something in your was waking up suddenly. You put your arms around him to deepen it.

Then you let go. You were almost afraid of this wanting. You liked touching him, almost too much. You could notice the top of his shift moving around, showing a bit of his chest.

“Let me kiss you two more times, please…for the alliance’s sake.”

“I’ll let you,” you said.

He leaned down for the first one, but instinctively rolled on top of you. You gasped.

“I…I’m sorry…am I crushing you?” he asked, shrinking away.

“No…it just surprised me. It’s not bad…”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

Then you smiled, and there was a new voice coming out of you.

“That was still one kiss, though. You own me another one.”

He kissed you again. Your hand went to his chest, lightly touching it.

“I…I’ve seen statues, but I’ve never seen a man in only his shift before…” you admitted.

“You can explore, you can touch me” he smirked.

You hands explored his neck, his shoulders, and then began tracing his chest again, and one to his back.

“Grigor…it’s for Russia but…I want you to touch me…”

His head tilted and he blinked rapidly.

“To touch you?”

“I… I…I trust you…”

“Well, if it’s for business…I will.”

You began to trace him more and he let his hands wander over you as well. You traced his neck down to around his shoulder and arm, feeling how each place rose up and went down. When you got to his hands, you put each of your fingers into the crooks of his- hands interlaced. He moved from kissing your lips to your cheeks, and then your neck. It was new and strange, tingling. But you liked it too much to push it away. And when he shifted to be more on top of you-but not his full body-you liked it too much to not stop it either. And every time you felt a small touch or kiss end, you wanted more.

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

Once it was over, he rolled off, both of you lazily staring at the ceiling and catching your breath.

Then you looked at him with swollen lips, undone hair, and wide eyes. And he looked at you. 

You began to laugh. And he laughed too in tandem.

“I was terrified of that! What was I thinking!” you said, looking over at him. The previous fear had melted away.

“It’s always terrifying when you do it first, even with a new person. But…you’re…you’re good.” Grigor commented.

The air from around felt cold. The fire was dying down and who knew what hour it was. Your two shifts remained crumpled on the floor like ghostly puddles.

“Could you…could you hold me?” you asked coquettishly, leaning towards him.

“Hmm, let me think about that...”

“Please? It’s getting cold.” you added, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

He leaned over to pull you close. He felt very warm, and sweaty. But you did not mind.

“I…I think we might find a way for this to work…” he murmured.

“Yes, I…I agree.”

He pulled you into his chest. Your eyes saw the small hairs and the rise and fall of his breathing.

“I remember…when I would wake up in the morning, and…I’d hate it,” he recalled, looking up at the ceiling again.

“Why?” you ask.

Tracing his chest, drawing little figures into it. He let you rest your head on his arm. It was getting darker and darker, the candles in the room were dying and giving out bit by bit.

“I’d just feel…alone…” he confessed. He looked over to you, eyes a little dark from the memory.

“Not anymore, Grigor. I’ll make sure of it. You won’t be alone with me.”

It is quiet and peaceful. You both fall asleep deeply.

At one point you wake up briefly, only to see Grigor talking to the old man serf, but he turns to you and shushes.

“It’s early-get some more sleep, Y/N. It was a long day yesterday,” he whispers to you. You see some tiredness in his eyes as well.

You lay your head back down without a word. You fall back asleep.

The light of a later part of the morning fills up the flat when you open your eyes again. Turning around, Grigor is wearing his shift, but still, fast asleep. He must have woken up, put it on, and then drift back into dreaming.

Watching him for a while, it seems he won’t be waking for some time. Even though sunlight is coming out of the windows with the strong glare of mid-morning.

You pull on your shift and your old green robe, you move over to where a tray was set with complimentary coffee in a fancy porcelain set and certain pastries with a note of congratulations from someone’s Aunt Elisabeth or other. But before you can even pour a cup or try a crumb, something catches your eye.

There is an envelope on the tray and when you open it there is some money.

You had forgotten about the morning gift completely.

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[testingtwns]

I finished the really really long original stuck sneeze story at last

HEY LOOK I DID IT !

Sorry this took so long. I made two posts before this to say it was coming soon, which was in order to garner interest and hopefully drum up my own interest in the process. Well, it totally backfired, and I intimidated myself into not writing at all. So, thank you for your patience with me!

Considering that this is a 13k-word stuck sneeze story, it’s like 98% build-up, so instead of being posted in parts, it’s all here. Not gonna leave anyone hangin’ without the part where sneezing actually happens. Since that’s why we’re all here I mean duh

Well... enjoy I guess ! 

It started at noon on a calm summer day. The royal family ate in the solarium, as they always did at mealtime, with the head of the table taken by Queen Cveta, heir apparent Arkady to her left, and the rest of the princes and princesses continuing in birth order down the line, all except for Vjera. Each window of the glass room was so perfectly clear as to be nearly invisible, giving a great view of the flourishing garden and all the curious creatures that it attracted. Hummingbirds and dragonflies and honeybees and swallowtails dipped and dove among the fauna, making for a very theatrical view, as it so often did. In the fall, there were deer; in the winter, ptarmigans and cardinals; and in the spring the deer came back, bringing with them their knobby fawns. Zlata and Pedja were hoping to see a set of those soft brown ears peering above the heather today, but the eldest siblings ate rather quietly, somewhat subdued. They knew they were supposed to be happy, but it was hard to say goodbye to one of their own.

Svetlana scooted boiled cabbage around her plate with her fork, and Dmitar leaned one elbow on the table and slouched a bit, totally forgetting his manners. As the eldest sibling, Arkady could not allow his sadness to be so easily observed, especially in front of the kitchen attendants bringing sweetbreads to and from the table. It would not do well for the next-in-line to seem disappointed about his sister's betrothal to the prince of a neighboring kingdom. But soon that was no longer the thought at the forefront of Arkady’s mind.

He had just filled his mouth with a sip of cold honey tea when a desire to sneeze hit him with startling urgency. Arkady's eyes widened before clamping shut, and he hastened to swallow before the squirming tickle at the roof of his mouth could win out. He had been groomed to have the best of manners, to keep from sneezing during meals, but this tickle was unusually urgent, and it wasn’t going to let him have a say. Arkady acted fast. One hand sloppily placed the glass back down, the other ushered his napkin to his face as he turned away from the table. He inhaled loudly once, twice, three times, and held the cloth tightly to his nose, sure whatever was coming would be impressive…

“Hhhtt-!”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

For a moment, his whole body seemed to stall. Then, just as quickly as it came on, the sneeze disappeared, leaving nothing but the burning embers of an itch that hadn’t been soothed. Arkady sniffed, hoping to either fan the little flame or blow it out, but it wouldn’t be tempted in either direction. He could only blink in puzzlement, and at the tears that had started in the corners of his eyes, formed by unrealized desire.

When he lowered his hands, his whole family was staring at him from their individual places at the table, spoons or forks halfway to their mouths.

“Uh,” Arkady began, mildly sheepish as he returned the unused napkin to his lap, “I thought I was going to sneeze.”

“We all did,” said Zlata. “Why didn’t you?”

“It would have been good luck,” Pedja piped up.

“I was trying to,” Arkady insisted, almost defensively. “I would have liked to.” He kneaded the side of his nose hard with one knuckle. “It still feels as if I might.” Indeed, as those words left him, his mouth began to quiver open when the faint sensation twitched back to life. Both hands secured the napkin around his nose, and his eyelids squeezed together, and his insides felt like they were buzzing with anticipation, and—no. It still wasn’t to be. Arkady came down from the sneeze with a long sigh and blew his nose, which didn’t help much. His eyelashes were already damp from the tickle alone.

His brothers and sisters were staring at him again, strangely but clearly also fascinated for the conclusion to this little breakfast drama. It was Svetlana who glanced fervidly around the table in search of a solution. “Maybe there’s something spicy around here you can eat. Or something strong you can smell.”

“Hold on, now. Don’t provoke it.” It was their mother, Queen Cveta, who spoke now. “This could be Ilari’s doing.”

Arkady’s eyebrows slouched. “Or maybe I just have to sneeze, and I can’t d… do ihht…” The tickle struck a third time in as many minutes, and Arkady couldn’t pay attention to anything else. Cloth napkin around his face again, his family became colorful blurs before his eyes. They were all watching unabashedly… Embarrassed, he ducked into the cloth to hide. Gasp… gasp… Huff. No.

He raised his head blearily and narrowed his gaze. “Could you all at least have the courtesy not to stare at me?”

“Why?” said Pedja innocently. Staring was among his favorite hobbies.

“Because it’s impolite,” Arkady said. When Pedja only continued to gaze at him, he added flatly, “And if you stare for too long, your eyes will dry up and fall out of your head, and birds will come and eat them.”

“Wow,” said Pedja.

“That’s enough of that. This may be serious,” Queen Cveta continued calmly. “Sneezing is a sign of good health and good fortune, and protection from the gods. It is usual to be able to sneeze—the opposite is not. This could be a message.” There was only slight worry in her steady look, but she was adamant when she told him, “Go to Jaga, and ask her what it might mean. She will be able to tell you.”

Arkady looked at his plate of rolls and boiled potato salad and pork aspic, which was only halfway finished. “I’d sort of rather try my luck with some spicy food,” he said.

“Go to Jaga,” Queen Cveta repeated.

It was a lost cause. Even if he was next in line for the throne, she was the Queen, and the Queen’s word was second only to the gods’. Sighing, Arkady stood to leave, but his sigh turned into a sharp snaggle of breath, and another, and another, and another, and as Arkady gripped the top of his chair desperately for support, the whole morning seemed to go silent waiting for his sneeze... but still it eluded him. Arkady’s brothers and sisters made a collective sound of discouragement on his behalf.

“If you think it’s annoying for you,” he said, touchy and a little flushed, “just think of how annoying it is for me!”

He exited directly into the garden, following the stepping stones towards the footbridges that connected each of the Peaks, like their own mountainous islands. Each individual peak hosted its own type of building: guesthouses, greenhouses, the royal family’s grounds, and the outbuildings, such as the one where Jaga lived. Each member of the royal entourage lived within the sanctuary walls; they were like family to Arkady, and they loved him as much as he loved them. He loved that they too could be protected by the same archers and guardsmen that kept his family from harm. But Arkady had heard it was different outside of his kingdom of Gornoye. In Dolina and Vodopad, the palace attendants were considered servants and could not look the king and queen in the eyes without punishment. They had to bow their heads and say “I beg your pardon” every time they entered a room. Would it be so in Derevo too?

Like a sense of dread, Arkady's sneeze came creeping back to tug his thoughts away from the matter of his sister's betrothal and towards this impossible itch. Oh, how it itched. Arkady stumbled to the wood railing of the bridge with clouding eyes, hoping that if the gods really had anything to do with this, they'd let him sn– “Huh-hhhh...” sneeze already– “Ehhthehheh... Hah! Utchtt-!” His breath stuttered: it was right there, right in the place that should have his voice bursting out of him like an announcement, and yet...

It didn't.

But it did keep his eyes shut tight, holding him in a place of such utter discomfort that he had to shake his head hard against it. If it wasn't going to happen, would it at least leave him alone? When he had enough control back to rub his nose, he did so, hoping to squash the inner tickle from the outside. It was barely a solution. Eventually he was able to open his eyes, but even then his vision was skewed by more stinging tears than he knew what to do with. One even went down his cheek.

"Brother! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Arkady turned muzzily to his left. He had immediately recognized the voice as Vjera's, which was good, because the tears obscured her face to the point where she looked scarcely recognizable. He pulled the heels of his hands over his sleeves to dry the water in his eyes.

"I must look as if I'm crying," he said, sniffling hard, sure his nose was some shade of red. He laughed a bit to show he wasn't sad, though the situation hardly felt funny at all. "I almost wish I was. It would be better than what's really happening."

Vjera was wearing a simple black pinafore dress, and her soft, dark hair hung down without any sort of style. She was likely holding off as long as she could from preparing for Prince Ivar's arrival. She and her siblings often dressed formally for company, so any break from the layers of high-collared shirts and embroidered coats was a welcome one. She reached out and touched the sleeve of his loose, soft tunic now. "What's really happening? Are you going to throw up?"

"Uh, no," Arkady said, with a slight chuckle at her bluntness. "No... Augh." He scrubbed hard at the fire in his snout. He turned away slightly as he did so; it was embarrassing to make those silly, hesitant faces in front of anyone. “It's my nose. I've got to sneeze, but I can't. I just keep gasping and then nothing happens. Mother thinks Ilari has something to do with it. She thinks it might be a sign of some sort. I don't know what it is, but I hope Jaga has a solution, because I can hardly stand it another second."

Vjera flashed a keen little grin. "What a pain. I would scare it out of you if I could."

"You always were a bit too good at curing my hiccups," Arkady said, remembering in their youth how, after complaining of the ailment, she would wait until he had been hiccuping for a good five minutes, then reach out from underneath his bed or under his study table and grab his ankles as tightly as she could. It had never failed to make him yelp.

Even such a simple memory inspired nostalgia. His eyes saddened. "You're really leaving tomorrow."

"I really am," Vjera sighed. She became gentle, lightly touching the railing and gazing into the Sheerwater River below. "I told you I was ready, and I thought I meant it. But today I feel less sure. I am going to miss watching the girls and little Pedja grow into adults, and I'll miss Dmitar's singing, his jokes. But it’s you I’m going to miss most of all. What am I going to do without my best friend?”

Arkady gazed into the gorge too. "I wish I knew the answer. I've been asking myself the same question." And I’ve been asking the gods, too, he thought, but decided not to admit it. Such trivialities were not exactly meant for gods’ ears.

The siblings smiled at each other, bittersweet, and embraced for what was sure not to be the last time that day. They understood each other like no one else could. They had endured many of the same lessons in etiquette and politics while they grew up, as Vjera would be second in line for the throne until Arkady himself had children. Because of those lessons, they both had understood all their lives that they would not marry for love so much as for political reasoning. It was part of why they had turned to each other so desperately for friendship, each acting as an anchor in a life full of acquaintances and kowtowers and even those who meant well but could never fathom the burdens of the crown.

The running water below filled the silence—at least until Arkady began, again, gathering unsteady breaths. He pulled away from his sister's shoulder, held a hand in front of his face, praying it would soon be catching the results of a truly satisfying sneeze. Twenty-five years of etiquette lessons had been engrained in him, and usually the idea of sneezing without a cloth ready seemed preposterous. But this tickle was even more preposterous, so etiquette was long forgotten. All that mattered was the sneeze.

He tried his damnedest to make it happen. His tongue cupped itself and pressed to the bottom of his mouth. "Hhhuuhhhth... Shehh..." he begged. Then he found himself doing something he had seen others do when they were about to sneeze, which was use a hand to fan in front of his face. Arkady had no idea how such an action would serve him, but they said necessity was the mother of invention. And it seemed... to be... helping... a l-little...!

"Ehh...! Ehsh-!... … hyew..."

A weird, finite little noise escaped him then. Arkady blinked largely in surprise. He had not sneezed, but he had spoken a sneeze-like sound nonetheless, and he hadn't even meant to. It was as if he had wanted it so badly, even feigning the act was better than nothing.

But oh, how much nothing it had done.

Vjera seemed just as confused by this. "Was that... a sneeze?"

"No!" Arkady growled. He coughed and rubbed at his face. "No... Sorry for snapping. I'm not angry at you. I'm angry with my nose. I'd rip it off and throw it into the gorge if I could. Anything to escape this torture."

When there was no response to that, Arkady glanced up from tending to his nose to look at his sister. Her mouth was a hard line, and her eyes sparkled at him.

Arkady frowned. “It’s not funny!”

Vjera held her pointer finger and thumb apart. “It’s a little funny.”

“If this were happening to you, you wouldn’t be so amused,” Arkady said.

“But it isn’t happening to me,” Vjera said.

“So that means it’s funny?”

“It does,” Vjera nodded.

At her brother’s frustrated expression and further badgering of his nose, Vjera finally took pity on him and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure Jaga will take good care of you. I was just there myself, anyway, and I’m feeling a bit better.”

Arkady was alert at once. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing to fret about. I just feel nauseous,” Vjera admitted. “I wanted to eat with you all this morning, and just now, but even the idea of food is too much. I think my stomach is more upset about this betrothal than I am.” She paused. “I-I mean… no, not upset. I just meant…”

He knew what she meant: If anyone sees me looking miserable on the day I’m going to meet my future husband, it’s won’t send the right message to our people.

A herd of low mountain clouds had been passing through them for a while. “No one can see us right now, Ra. Will you be honest with me at least?”

Vjera chewed her lip. Her nickname seemed to undo something in her heart for a moment, but she hid it fast, as future queens did. “I’m not being dishonest. I’ve made my peace with it. And even though I’m nervous, I’m also excited, really. It’s just a lot of newness at once. It’s overwhelming.”

Arkady wanted to coax more of the truth out of her, but something was overwhelming him too. “Gods, not again… Suh-Sorry…” he breathed, his hands going up to his face guiltily, but he couldn’t think or speak when he was like this. The tickle was like a teething puppy, nipping and nuzzling in the back of his nose. He pinched it hard, asking it to stop. Two, three, four gasps later, the urge delivered a final, aching burn, and he was back to feeling unrelieved and unable to sneeze.

Arkady blinked hard and smudged at his eyes. “Ugh… I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Vjera shook her head, “and go to Jaga now. Keeping you here any longer would be cruel.”

“You aren’t keeping me,” Arkady said. He couldn’t stop touching at his nose though.

“I am, and I won’t anymore,” she insisted. She gently nudged him in the direction she’d come from. “Please go have something done about your poor nose.”

"I sure hope something is done," Arkady sighed. "I'd love to have this over with at last. I promise I'll make for better conversation after I finally sneeze."

"Good luck," Vjera wished him before he continued his short journey to the herbalist’s abode.

The steeply-sloped, pentagonal building Jaga conducted her work in was just over the bridge that connected the main plateau to one of the many surrounding peaks. Jaga spent most of her time preparing medicines and tending to her plants, plants that she named and talked to as if they were children. Though half of the building was designed like a greenhouse, her workspace had but one window, so she lived like a cave-dweller when she wasn’t out culling flora, and wore a wild mane to match her wild lifestyle. Due to her many eccentricities, it was easy to forget that she was a genius of an herbalist.

Jaga had just two years ago taken over the late Rosa's position. Where Rosa had been a gentle presence with a sagely bedside manner, Jaga was overzealous when it came to healing. A person with an ailment was certainly more interesting to her than a person without one. Because of that, Arkady felt a little reluctant to let her know what was going on with him. But if she could cure this itch, it was well worth any fuss.

And the moment Arkady walked into her keep, that accursed itch returned with a vengeance. “Um, good day, J-Jagahh...” he trailed off almost immediately, bringing a hand to his mouth, eyes closing just before he noticed the tousled witch looking up from her mortar and pestle. “I'm... um... hh...” I’m unable to talk just yet because I’m trying to sneeze. He sensed her at his side, even as he struggled and pleaded for the sensation to free itself. He turned a bit, not exactly enthusiastic for her to see his face in this state, yet unable to care too terribly much at this point. “Hhhh... HhHH-!”

He waited. Jaga waited. They both waited.

Aaand nothing. Again.

Arkady gulped at the air and fervidly blinked away the stars in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hhh... Sorry… I’m-”

"You can't sneeze," Jaga said simply. Though at least a decade older than the prince, she was eight inches shorter, and yet somehow she seemed to be right in his face, staring up the length of her own nose at his unmanageable one. She appeared very interested in him.

"Um," Arkady felt himself flushing again, "yes." He sniffled, rubbed at his upper lip. "I just want to do away with whatever’s causing this," he admitted, "but Queen Cveta is worried it might mean something.”

"And she should be," Jaga said. "Ilari is trying to send you a message."

Arkady slumped his shoulders. "You think so too?"

"How do you feel right now?" Jaga ignored his question to field her own. "Does your nose still tickle? Do you feel that you could sneeze any moment? Or is it more of an itch you can't scratch?"

"I-I don't know," Arkady panted, "but the more you tuh... talk about it, the more I want... tuhhhh... Hh, h, heh, nh-!" His mounting breaths hit an octave that seemed to promise results, but all too soon he was sighing out the air he'd swallowed, unfulfilled. Arkady cupped a hand over his poor abused nose. "Ugh... the more I want to sneeze."

Jaga's eyes were glittering like camel jasper. "How interesting," she said. "You really need it, don't you? But you still can't manage to do it?"

Throwing the truth back in his face kind of stung. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact," he huffed.

Jaga put her hands on her hips, staring off into space thoughtfully. She did this for long enough that Arkady felt the tickle in him stirring again, a demanding little niggle, yet it would not be satisfied. He went to touch his nose, to relieve it even just a tiny bit, and was surprised to feel a hand upon his wrist stopping him.

"H-Hey. Don't." It was a lame argument, but the current pulse of the distant sneeze had left him in a trance-like state where all he could think about was relief.

“I know it's bothering you," Jaga said with a smirk, "and I don't blame you for wanting to scratch. But listen. If I learned anything from Rosa, it's that the ailments of the royal family are never to be ignored. And even you know well enough that sneezing is considered a direct message from the gods.”

"But I'm not sneezing." Arkady hoped the slight whine in his voice would inspire sympathy. "Isn't that the opposite of a sign?"

Jaga shook her head. "Without a doubt, it’s a sign," she said. She went back to her table and returned with a nearly-empty clay mug. "The leaves told me all I needed to know. Something important is going to happen today. And your sneezing—or not-sneezing, rather—might just be connected to it."

"We already know what the important thing is," Arkady grumbled. "Prince Ivar and his entourage are coming."

"Perhaps that is the important thing," Jaga said as she circled the rim of the mug with her finger, "perhaps it isn't. But in order for the gods' sign to arrive when it needs to arrive, you must leave your nose alone. If you try to make the sneeze come too soon or late, you may never receive the message they are sending you. The fact that you can't sneeze, that you try and fail? This is all part of their plan. Be patient, and trust their judgment."

Arkady's fingers grasped uselessly at the air before his face. "At this point, I'd... rather s... s-sneez- ha-haH…!"

Jaga waited with him in the pregnant silence that followed. She tsked any time his fingers went too close to his nostrils, desperate to rub or aid in any way possible. The self-consciousness over the faces he was pulling was disappearing fast: every time his breathing snagged, all he could hope was that the sneeze was coming at last and that he'd be free of this strange torment. And it held him just above his breaking point for so long, when the sneeze did finally disappear, Arkady snarled at the ceiling, "There’d better be a good reason for this, damn it!"

Old Rosa might have gasped at that, but Jaga was made of different stuff. "Don't brush the gods off so quickly," she said with a light laugh. "You've done nothing to anger them—well, aside from the aforementioned damning. Right?”

Arkady paused. “I can’t think of anything.”

Jaga nodded. “You have the blood of Ilari, whose sneeze saved us from the floods. It's possible that your sneeze could even save you. So let it come in its own good time."

“There is nothing good about the time it’s taking.” Arkady sniffed hard. All these tears were turning his sinuses to liquid. “Do you have anything I can use for a handkerchief?”

For a moment, Arkady was afraid she wouldn’t let him blow his nose, but she found him a cloth, and he accepted it gratefully. Using it helped him feel a bit more clear-headed, but now the tickle was merely a dry one instead of wet, which was just as bad. He snuffled around in the kerchief until Jaga commanded, “That’s enough. Leave it be. Leave it!” She swatted at his wrist. “Am I going to have to follow you all day to make sure you don’t scratch?”

The prince reluctantly removed his hands, scowling. “No.”

“Good,” Jaga said. “And you promise me, as soon as you sneeze, you tell me about where you were, what was happening, what you were thinking—everything. Come back if it hasn’t happened in a few more hours.”

“A few more hours?” Arkady stared at her, jaw dropping. “You think it might last that long?!”

“It could,” was the unfortunate response. “If it does last that long than the message is likely to be an important one.”

Arkady was silent, staring down at the kerchief as he folded it into a neat triangle.

Jaga had returned to her pestle and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I know a look of doubt when I see one,” she said with a slyness. “I’ll follow you all day if I have to, Prince. Don’t you meddle with that sneeze. If Ilari hadn’t sneezed at the time and place he did, Gornoye wouldn’t exist, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, would we? So you let it alone.”

“All right, all right, I won’t bother it,” Arkady lied. He put the kerchief in his pocket and folded his arms. “Well, then… If the best herbalist in Gornoye has no cure for me, than I suppose I had better go get ready for the Derevo entourage.”

He was being grouchy, he knew, and it only seemed to delight Jaga even more. “Farewell, Prince Arkady. And remember to have patience.”

“Have patience,” he muttered under his breath once he was outside. He knuckled his nose. Who in the world could exercise patience when they felt like he did? Sneezes stopped and started three times in just the short walk from Jaga’s workspace back to the main palace and solarium. It was insanity.

Arkady snorted after the third bout of hitching breaths. Yes, of course he knew about the significance of Ilari’s sneeze; he’d been rocked to sleep with the story many a night, just like every child of the Ossian faith. It went that the great god Ossia, disgusted that the world of his making had been burnt and torn and destroyed by centuries of war, decided to flood the land with a rainstorm. And all the people of the world would have drowned, if the great dragon Ilari had not spontaneously sneezed a hole in the storm clouds, sparing one single mountainside of humanity. Those people had Ilari's blessing. Those people also, allegedly, were Arkady's ancestors.

In earnest, Arkady figured the chances of that were slim. His was not the only mountain town that believed they were the one saved by Ilari’s sneeze. The ancient texts told the story but never specified the location of the spared mountain. For him to be the true prince whose veins flowed with Ilari’s divinity was what he’d been told all his life, and something he’d doubted for just as long.

Though he debated the legitimacy of his birthright, Arkady did believe that the gods played some role in his fate. He also, however, hoped that the gods would have more efficient means of sending him a message than... this. "Hh! Hh-shhuh... hh..." The sneeze only stirred faintly this time before backing down. Arkady scrubbed and scrubbed his nose. Sometimes the tickle was an icicle point, a sharp stimulus, while at most times a puddle, a tingly sensation spread out over his entire nose but overall not near enough of a disturbance to make his breath catch. He wasn't sure which was worse. When the urge crested, the end seemed so tantalizingly close, and to have it taken away was crushing. When it was no more than a faint humming, it made him feel prickly and unsettled. It was ridiculous to go on doing nothing at all. Thus, Arkady had no intention of following Jaga’s advice. He was going to rid himself of this sneeze.

The method to do so was in itself a problem that needed solving. Arkady knew that some sneezed from the fur of animals or certain flowers or a musty room, but those things had never much bothered him. He tried to think of a time he had sneezed from something other than a spontaneous tickle or seasonal cold, and couldn't conjure a memory. And despite Svetlana's suggestion that he try spicy food, Arkady had never been so adversely affected by it. What options did that leave him?

Arkady thought back to the legend of Ilari. In some tellings of the story, it was said that the dragon god had sneezed when a bird had flown too close to their nose or even into their nose. Maybe, Arkady reasoned, he needed some external stimulus in order to get things moving too. He certainly wasn’t interested in waiting for the tickle to sort itself out.

A bird was small for a dragon, but for him a feather would work all the same. As he made his way to his family’s living quarters, Arkady tried to remember if there was a quill in his room. When had he last written a letter? “Hh…” It might have been the congratulations to Prince Feofan on the birth of his firstborn… “Hhehf…” Or the prayers to burn for the Vernal Equinox… “Huuffh!” He had to stop walking when the building sneeze temporarily blinded him, making his eyes clamp tight and squeeze out water. Gods, how he wanted it… If a feather couldn’t bring on this—“Huhh…”—stubborn thing, what could?

Arkady massaged the end of his nose to soothe the sharper stings the marauding itch left in its warpath. When he looked up, he realized the two guards that manned the entrance to the plateau’s inner wall were watching him. He stiffened, self-conscious. Did everyone feel the need to stare at a sneezing person?

As Arkady continued through the entrance, one managed, shakily, “A-Are you all right, Prince?”

“No,” Arkady grumbled, slouching past them. He had given up on looking put-together.

“Uh… is Ilari with you?” the second guard asked. She had at least recognized it was a sneeze that had stalled him. What she wasn’t sure of was if it had come out or not, for if she were certain it had, her words wouldn’t have been a question.

“Would that he could be,” was the monotone reply thrown over his shoulder. He heard a confused, “What do you mean, Prince?” follow behind him that he chose not to heed.

Arkady proceeded up the stairs of the verandah to the sleeping chambers. Beneath the porch’s long overhang was a series of doors leading to the individual bedrooms. Each royal child had their own bedroom, complete with bath and antechamber, and as he passed by, he could hear muffled conversation between his siblings and an attendant beyond the walls as they spruced up for their most important guests. Arkady knew he should be calling on Wolfert to help him with his wardrobe as soon as possible, but… all in good time. Getting rid of this sneeze was his top priority right now.

When Arkady opened the door to his own quarters, he was surprised to see his mother in the antechamber, seated on one of four hand-painted benches overflowing with decorative pillows. His heart sunk immediately; he’d have to talk with her before he could try his hand at tempting this sneeze, and he could barely put up with it for another second.

“Oh, hello,” he said, in a tone that he hoped did not sound any bit annoyed.

The Queen sat up taller at his arrival, even though she had been sitting with near-perfect posture. “Ah, there you are. That took a while. Did Jaga say you’re all right?”

Arkady blinked and recognized an opportunity. “I met Vjera along the way. We talked for a bit. That’s why I took so long,” he began. He coughed. “Uh, in any case, Jaga says she doesn’t think anything is wrong.”

Queen Cveta looked uncertain. “She doesn’t?”

“She doesn’t.” Arkady sniffed. “In fact, I sneezed while I was there.” That was the hardest lie to tell, for how much he wished it were the truth. “She doesn’t think the gods have anything to do with it. Sh-She thinks I must just be having a reaction to something in the garden.” He sniffed again.

Queen Cveta shook her head at once. “That can’t be right. We have tea with honey from our bees every day. You’d have surely built up a tolerance to anything growing there. Jaga of all people should know that.”

Uh-oh. “She thinks something different might be growing there,” he corrected quickly. “Some new, foreign thing… It was the only explanation she could thiiiink ah… of.” It’s the only explanation I can think of, anyway. “I-It’s still k-k-ki-hind of bothering me,” he was forced to say next, because the sneeze was starting up again and there was no way he could pretend it wasn’t. He pulled out the handkerchief Jaga gave him and rubbed his nose with it.

Queen Cveta observed him a moment longer. “All right,” she said at last, standing to her slippered feet. “If that’s what Jaga says… I suppose we had better find out what that plant could be, when we have the time. Will you be fine getting ready for our guests?”

“Hhhhhh… Hh!... heh… fyew. I, uh, sh-should be,” Arkady stuttered, lowering the handkerchief pathetically when the sneeze backed off. It was getting harder and harder to recover from the dizziness of the tickle. “They—snf!—should be arriving in around two hours, correct?”

The Queen nodded. “Yes, I think so. I’ve got to make sure all the preparations are in order, so I should leave now. Goodbye.”

“Oh. Goodbye,” he repeated, surprised but not disappointed by her suddenly taking leave. No sooner had she shut the door behind her that Arkady was moving out of the antechamber into his own bedroom, more than ready to find that quill.

His room was finely decorated in jeweled chests and embossed dressers and a beautifully-carved set of drawers with a shrine on top for water offerings, all wonderful gifts from visitors and royal families from far and wide. He didn’t treat them with the respect they deserved as he pawed through their contents, with his mind on one thing only. “Where is it… Where is it…” he started mumbling under his breath after his desk had been thoroughly searched, his bedside table emptied of all its candles and books. “It has to be here…” There were sure to be quills in the study, but that was in the main palace, and he didn’t want to risk his mother or Jaga sighting him. Plus, he wanted relief now.

The room had been turned upside-down. There was no quill in sight. The search had taken twenty minutes, a good portion of that time dedicated to waiting for his non-sneeze to dissipate enough that he could get back to said fruitless searching. Arkady's frustration mixed with the tickle had brought him near to tears. He flopped onto the bed, clawing his hair with both hands and chewing his lip. If he didn't do something about this now, he was going to lose it.

And that was when he remembered it. His pillows were feather pillows. There were thousands of them there the whole time, and now they were right under his head! But the only way to get to them was to rip through the hemstitched tussah silk.

Was he that desperate? He was.

But not so desperate that he was going to tear the innocent pillow apart like a barbarian. Arkady used his hip dagger to cut a delicate slit in the material, something that could hopefully be mended quite easily, but he shed any remaining trepidation when the pillow’s bounty was spilled. Innocent down, ashen gray and white, immediately bled from the wound, sticking up in tufts. The littlest bits of feathers floated into the air around his face, which had his eyes rolling back into his skull immediately.

“Heh-hh! Hh! H! H! H!” His gasps were so quick and light, they were almost silent. The tendrils he was sure he’d inhaled were having a horrible effect on him. This tickle was different, not a puppy’s nip but the playful grapple of a dog’s maw, so much more powerful but still not something to be taken seriously. Hitching and huffing against the minuscule plumes, he was eventually driven so mad that he had to pinch his nose with his entire hand; he couldn’t for the life of him wait another second for that sensation to mature into a sneeze, even if, by some miracle, that was the solution. When the worst of the sting faded, he loosened his grip and snorted hard to launch any feathery debris out. He wanted to sneeze, after all, not torture himself.

The feathers inside the pillow were much smaller than he had anticipated them being. The longest ones were scarcely more than an inch, and he had to dig around for quite a while to find one that he could actually hold the stem of without also holding the entire feather. His decided tool was still rather disheartening. A writing quill would have been far more dangerous, with its tapered point and great length. He hoped that the fluffiness of the down would make up for that.

The introduction of the feather’s rounded tip to the inside of his nostril initially seemed promising. The gentle barbs coaxed at the sneeze when they twitched against fragile pink skin, and Arkady’s heart soared at the thought that the end was nigh. But after half a minute of tickling, the sneeze only seemed further away. Eyebrows lowering, Arkady dug the feather deeper. Again, the sneeze receded, and he chased it like a hound after a burrowing rabbit. But soon he encountered the same problem that many dogs did: the prey was farther back in its hole than fangs could reach. The barbs of the feather were not long enough to graze the back of his nose.

Arkady pushed so that the beds of his fingernails were right against the opening of his nostril, the feather stretched to its limits. It still wasn’t enough; the sneeze danced merrily out of reach, arching its back and teasing him horribly but not allowing him the relief he longed for like anything. How ridiculous could this get? He had never known of anyone trying this hard to sneeze with such little success. Sure, he’d had a sneeze disappear on him before, but normally that only meant a moment of disappointment, a little throb that fast went away. His sneezes were usually utterly unremarkable. They came and went, in ones, twos, and rarely threes, if he were sick or if the urge had been especially strong, and after a brief shake of his head and a sniffle, Arkady would go on with his day. This sneeze was a bully. This sneeze felt alive. And as the hound could think of nothing but the death of its prey when it was so close, so too was Arkady determined.

He pushed that feather as far as it would reach. And somehow, some way, he felt its single longest follicle graze the back of his nose.

Arkady’s chest stuttered. Success. He swelled with pride. He couldn’t stop now. He scratched and swiped the feather against the sensitive skin, against the sneeze which had nowhere left to run. He starting inhaling fittishly and didn’t stop.

“Hhh, hh, hh, hh, hh! Hh! Hh-!”

His lungs felt enormous. His nose burned. The sneeze seemed real, close, about to break out of him. “Huh! Huhhhh! Hhhhhhhh…!” Arkady could take in air no more. All he needed was one more swipe of the feather… One more touch and then, surely… Surely…

It was at this crucial moment that Arkady found his hand unable to move. Possessed by the sheer power of this urge, he could devote himself to no other function. But that would be his undoing.

“H? Hh?? H-hhh???”

The possibility was fading fast, and Arkady briefly panicked, swirling the small feather wherever it could easily reach. But he was losing the breaths he’d gathered, and he knew it was over even before he felt an arm pulling his hand away from his face and an ever-jocular voice admonishing, “Now, Prince, I told you not to meddle with it, didn’t I?”

It took a while for his eyes to open, and even longer for his breathing to even out, so then for some time he could only stare at Jaga and Queen Cveta looking down at him, the witch smiling in amusement and his mother looking none-too-pleased.

“I hoped it wasn’t true, but I had a feeling I was being lied to,” Queen Cveta began. “Jaga has confirmed it. Why did you not tell me the truth?”

Arkady took a few more deep breaths. His diaphragm had been through a lot today. “I’m sorry,” he said to the Queen, when he was at last able to speak, “but I can’t tell you how badly I want to sneeze.” Then to Jaga, he said, “‘Meddling’ doesn’t do me any good, it still won’t happen. This isn’t a normal sneeze. The gods are punishing me, and I don’t know what for, but I have to find out and make it up to them as soon as possible.”

To his surprise and Queen Cveta’s, Jaga began to laugh. “Prince, Prince, Prince,” she shook her head, “what reason would the gods have to punish you?”

Arkady shook his head back. “As I said, I don’t know why. Of all days too; today should be about Vjera.”

Vjera… At her name, something dawned on him. “I know why,” he sighed, looking at his lap. “I’ve asked the gods every day for the past month if they could find Prince Ivar a different queen. But it was a selfish wish, and this is how they’re letting me know.”

“Arkady! Why would you pray for such a thing?” Queen Cveta stood tall. “This marriage will allow your sister to rule in a way she could not if she were to stay here. It isn’t right for you to use your influence over the gods in such a manner. This is a shameful thing for my successor to do.”

“I know,” Arkady answered evenly. “I see that now.” He looked up. “I could apologize for my actions, but then I will have lied to you twice in one day.”

The Queen temporarily maintained her ferocity, but her face soon softened into one of a mother. “I understand your sadness,” she said. She closed her eyes and became a queen again. “But that is the way of our world. Whatever kindnesses we offer ourselves often means we are taking something away from our people. And instead of praying for Gornoye’s continued protection and peace, you chose to ask for this. I almost find the gods’ punishment too light… but they know better than I do what is deserved.”

Arkady wanted to tell the Queen that this ‘punishment’ was, in fact, not something he would wish even on an enemy, but he was too busy dealing with said punishment to say so. The tickle was bubbling to the surface with as many empty promises as ever. “Feh,” he gasped anyway, weakly pleading with the sneeze for mercy, despite everything it had put him through today. It bothered and wheedled away, digging deeper than a feather or a breath could pry it out of, no matter how much he called to it. “Hh, heh! Heh, sheh! Ht-tz-! … … …shyew…”

It wasn’t a sneeze. Just like earlier with Vjera on the bridge, he’d made some kind of approximate noise in place of the sneeze, as if that would do him any good. Arkady tearily knuckled at his nose while Jaga and Queen Cveta exchanged glances.

“Was that… a sneeze?” the Queen finally asked.

Arkady gave a big snuffle. “No.”

“Hmmmmm,” hummed Jaga, rubbing her chin and looking as suspiciously amused as ever. After a thoughtful moment, she grinned. “Well, Prince Arkady, I suppose you’ll just have to wait it out. If the gods don’t want you to sneeze yet, it certainly isn’t going to happen.”

“Ugh.” Arkady massaged where his nose, eyes, and forehead met. “I’m not going to make for much of a host when I’m like this,” he grumbled, “but there’s not a lot of time left before Prince Ivar’s arrival. I just have to put up with it then?”

“Afraid so,” Jaga shrugged with her arms out to the sides. She then raised one hand up, swiveling her wrist to gesture somewhat lazily at the ceiling. “The gods will do as they will. But, sneezing or not, you have a job to do. It’s time we got back to readying for the entourage.”

“Right, right… Only two and a half hours to go.” Arkady stood up, going to ring the bell that would signal the attendant who helped him prepare and dress. Before he did, he called again to the Queen’s retreating back, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

She stopped and did not look at him, but said back with soft reservation, “Arkady… I thought by now you understood the way of things.”

“I thought I did too,” Arkady said. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

The Queen did not respond to that or look at him, but she did not seem angry either. Only Jaga responded, with a sparkly-eyed look that the prince wasn’t quite sure how to decipher, before she too left the room.

__________________________________________________

Arkady did not advise trying to sneeze while someone was washing your hair. It was, unfortunately, now advice he could give based on personal experience. Wolfert was still apologizing as he brushed the deep brown strands, as sorry about his mistake as Arkady should have been for abusing his influence over the gods.

“I’m so, so sorry. I should have noticed,” Wolfert fretted for the sixth or seventh time.

“Ih-hih-hhhit’s fine-hUH! … This is g-going tooooh… k-k-keep happening, so, huh…” Arkady pinched his nose tight, massaging it in his fist. “Ugh… I may as well get used to… w-warning people about it.”

Arkady was trying to be reassuring, but now his nose itched and his sinuses felt singed. He’d had to sneeze in the middle of the bath, a possession which had hit him a hundredfold, almost as badly as when he’d had the feather in his nose. He’d had no time to warn Wolfert of the gathering urge before it had him yawning wide, nose scrunched back. And then, splash. A bucketful of water had cascaded over his soapy head, entering his lungs and making him choke and snort like a bull.

Since then, the tickle had escalated, no longer just a phantom urge. It felt like something was actually physically inside his nose, like a piece of dust or a hair, but no amount of snorting or nose blowing would resolve it. Arkady never imagined that water could cause such a response. All he knew was that it had made everything worse. Now there were no breaks from the huffing and fluttery talk. It was a feeling that constantly waxed and waned and brought him to the edge of the shore, only to drag him back out like a wicked undertow.

Everyone seemed to know about his predicament now too. No doubt his siblings had been gossiping with their attendants. Zlata, Pedja, and Svetlana each came into his bedchamber at one point, fully outfitted, to find out if he’d sneezed yet. They all lingered a bit after learning he hadn’t, too, as if wanting to be present when the dam finally burst. To them, his frantic breathing must sound as if he was very close to success, but by now Arkady knew better.

Wolfert was pinning up his hair (not the easiest task with a constantly fidgeting subject) when Vjera took her own turn in his room. “Dmitar told me you still haven’t sneezed! You poor thing!” she fretted, wringing her hands in front of her. “Are you going to be all right at dinner?”

Arkady struggled to smile, to reassure her. He could feel how very lopsided it was. “Prah… Probably not,” he managed. He rubbed his nose, which did almost nothing to help him speak. “I stih-stih-still-! Intend to b-be there-! No matter, hhhh…! Whuh-What.” He gave a hard sniffle, which caused his head to jerk, the comb to tug too hard, and the tickle to respond with absolute panic. Instantly, he was a mess of fits and starts, barely able to hear Wolfert’s “Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” in the background. How was he going to make it through dinner without causing a scene? The answer was, he wasn’t. Usually Arkady would have taken absence from a formal meal under circumstances such as these, but Vjera was leaving tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to sacrifice any of the short time he had left with her.

It took a lot of pawing and nudging against a very upset nose, but Arkady finally managed to compose himself enough that he could somewhat speak again. “I-I’m going to try… not to be too obvious.” It was hard enough to say that with only a hint of a struggle. “I may not make f-f-fah, for a… a g-great host, but snf! I’ll at l-heast be… present.” At his sister’s pitying look, he hung his head and sighed, “Th-This is honestly the b… best I can do.”

“I know it is. That’s why I feel so sorry for you,” Vjera said. “It doesn’t bother me, I just feel awful is all. I don’t know why the gods would do this to you now of all times.”

Arkady wanted to explain, but it wouldn’t be right to say so in front of Wolfert. “I’m sure th… they have their-!” With a sudden, sharp inhale, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It took a whole ten seconds for him to regain control. When he was able to see again, both Wolfert and Vjera were gazing down at him sadly. The suspense seemed to be killing everybody. Arkady could only finish lamely, “… Their reasons.”

When the Queen and all six of her progeny had been made to look their best, they began their procession to the outer courtyard with a small pack of guards in tow. It wasn’t long before Queen Cveta decided that Arkady wasn’t in the best of minds to navigate the stone steps leading down the mountain, and instructed him to meet them in the solarium for dinner instead. It was evening now, and their guests would surely want to sup as soon as they made it to the Plateau. Arkady had wanted to talk with Vjera on the way down, but he had to admit it just couldn’t be. Jaga looped her arm through his to help guide him back up the short distance he’d descended.

“How are you feeling, Prince?” she began by asking, a smile very present in her voice.

“Hehhh!” was all Arkady could manage at that particular moment.

Jaga cackled but tightened her grip on her swaying charge. “I’m glad I got a chance to chat with you privately. This may be very unorthodox of me to say, but I thought you ought to know: I don’t think Queen Cveta is correct. I stand by my original point. I think the gods are trying to protect you from something.”

Arkady brought his handkerchief up to his face. He couldn’t open his eyes or keep pace so well. “Ahhah… O-Oh-kah-kay…!”

“Are you going to sneeze?” Jaga sounded as curious as a she-cat.

Arkady shook his head rapidly, sure he looked to all the world like a person about to absolutely collapse sneezing. He had stopped hoping that the sneeze was about to come, because that only lead to discouragement. “D-Do me a favor,” he gasped after coming down from the tickle’s latest crest. “Don’t ask me if I’m about to sneeze. I’m not.”

“Very well,” Jaga said, almost soothingly, or at least it was coming from her. “It does seem to be worse than earlier, though, doesn’t it? Perhaps the moment is soon to arrive.”

“Don’t try to lift my hopes,” Arkady sighed as they approached the doors of the main palace and went inside. “And I have no idea what a sneeze could protect me from. It really f-feels… It f-fuh… It… It feels lihihi…” Arkady shut one eye tight, the other half-open, trying to talk past the tickle since it kept insisting on interrupting him. “Feels mah-more… like a… p… HA!” His enormous gasp filled the vaulted ceiling and echoed down around them. It was so spontaneously loud and poignant that for one bright moment, Arkady thought, Oh gods it really is here this time, and swung his head back to accept it. But he should have known better. It was just another fluke, set up seemingly to break his spirit.

“This is agony,” he groaned. “This whole day. It shouldn’t have been about this—” His hand gestured a circle in the air before his nose “—it should have been about saying goodbye to Vjera. I have no idea when I’ll see her again. And she needed my support, but I was too busy to offer it properly.” Arkady paused. “She doesn’t want to go, Jaga. You know that. When she came to you with the stomachache this morning, you knew that, too.” Jaga’s eyes were somewhat downcast. “And she wouldn’t open up to you either, would she? It’s all because of the way things are. The way they have to be for kings and queens and princes and princesses. You learn to keep everything inside, so that your people never have to see it, but then when do you let it go? When does Vjera let it go? It can’t keep building up forever, it can’t stay inside forever. But has it ever for her? If she won’t even tell me how she feels, who will she tell? Eventually, the truth has to come out. Doesn’t it? And maybe I could have convinced Vjera to tell me it, if I only I didn’t have this stupid…” Arkady trailed off.

The whole hall went quiet. Jaga reached out to him. “Prince–”

Arkady placed his hand on her shoulder unsteadily, breath chuffing. “Jaga, I’m going to sneeze…”

“Oh? Are you?” The witch rooted herself in place to better support him. “Isn’t that curious...”

Like a tidal wave, his sneeze seemed at last to be gathering itself for something momentous. Arkady felt blind and helpless beneath it; he was blind and helpless beneath it. His eyes were closed so tightly that a thousand tiny suns seemed to be exploding against his lids, but he couldn’t pay them any mind due to the reason his eyes were closed in the first place. Oh gods, the tickle. It was surely divine. It felt larger than him, larger than anything his body could have concocted or handled on its own, and he was at its mercy. It occurred to him, with sudden dread, that it was too much for him to handle, that, though it seemed to lick every sensitive part of his sinuses at once with fiery tongues, a sneeze could not possibly be born from such overpowering stimulation. His lungs pushed his chest out to its farthest as they took in every bit of air they could hold. He couldn’t move. He was absolutely frozen with the desire to sneeze.

Seconds ticked by, ten aching, unreal seconds of miserable itching. And at the end of it, still Arkady didn’t sneeze.

He wasn’t going to sneeze. Not yet. It was as if the gods were saying, Trust us. We know what we’re doing.

Arkady gasped as his lungs seemed to remember how to work. His eyes popped open wide, his senses returning to him. He turned slowly to look down at Jaga; her eyes were wide too. He realized then how much he must have been relying on her to keep on his feet. He swallowed, wrinkled his nose, and then wrinkled it even more when he realized just how badly his nostrils wanted a good rub for all their trouble.

Jaga didn’t chuckle at this display. “This is serious,” she said quietly. He had never heard her so sobered.

Arkady smudged the heel of his hand under his nose vigorously. “I think you’re right, but I also can’t imagine how or why it could be serious.”

“Allow me to join you at dinner tonight,” Jaga went on as if she didn’t hear him. “The moment you sneeze is going to be meaningful, I can tell. I should be with you when it happens, so I can assess what caused it.”

“Gods, I hope it happens at dinner,” Arkady had just finished saying when the doors to the main hall opened, and in poured the Derevo entourage.

The man that Vjera was arm-in-arm with must have been Prince Ivar. He was tall and handsome and brown-haired and his eyes were large, inviting. He was laughing and smiling down at Arkady’s sister warmly. He wore a green coat covered in black and gold embroidery, and there was a sash around his waist that held a sheathed knife to his middle. Vjera smiled at her betrothed too. They were still twenty feet away, so Arkady couldn’t be sure, but he hoped the grin on her face was a genuine one.

Jaga released Arkady so that he could bow and kneel before their guest. “Prince Ivar, w-welcome. I hope your travels went well. I am sorry that I was unable to, hh… meet you at the entrance.”

“Stand, please! I’m not used to these formalities from other royals, and I understand you are feeling under the weather.” Prince Ivar’s voice was like a newly-minted coin. “Where I come from, it is the servants and guardsmen who bow when royalty passes them by.”

Upon hearing that, Jaga, a bit confused but wanting to show a good impression, sunk down on one knee.

Arkady stood then, deciding too it was best not to say anything, but secretly wondering If he is my family’s guest, why would Jaga bow to him?

He shook the other prince’s hand, but immediately after felt his face begin to quirk in the same way it had all day. Vjera swiftly took the attention off her brother. “You and your entourage must be hungry after your travels. Why don’t we have your belongings delivered to your lodgings while we have dinner?”

Prince Ivar responded with approval, but Arkady could scarcely pay attention to his words, because his nose was going absolutely wild, and Jaga was once again tasked to keep him from toppling over.

“Hh-! Hh-ha! Jahh, Jagahh… HEH! Do yah, you h-h-have… Hhhh… A k-kerchief I could… Hhhh…” His nose was running in some far-back place, and it was hindering far more than it was helping.

“Easy, easy,” she said, as his breathing returned to some approximation of control, and handed him the cloth. Arkady blew into it. It helped a bit, but not at all to the degree he would have liked. “Prince, do I have your permission to join you in the solarium? I won’t take a place at the table. I merely want to observe.”

Arkady nodded with his eyes closed. His voice would not be reliable until he got the sneeze out—whenever that would be. As he continued to touch at his nose, Jaga guided him forward.

The dining table was long enough to host thirty people at once, which was useful considering the size of Prince Ivar’s party. Ivar sat directly opposite Queen Cveta, at the other end of the table, with Vjera to his left to keep him company. Arkady was torn, wanting to sit to Prince Ivar’s right in order to get to know him better, but also not wanting to spend formalities dithering with this sneeze. Seeing as he was already dithering with a sneeze, though, Jaga was in charge of directing him and decided he should sit with his mother and two youngest siblings at their end. He supposed it was for the best that Prince Ivar didn’t have to hear him wheezing. It worked out well for Zlata and Pedja, anyway, who were significantly more interested in witnessing their brother’s sneeze than making heads or tails of adult small talk.

“You still didn’t sneeze, right? I didn’t miss it?” Zlata asked in an excited whisper as her eldest brother sat next to her.

“Your deepest and most sincere condolences are more appreciated than you will ever know,” Arkady said.

Zlata looked away quickly and looked back. “Wellll… you didn’t, right?”

As another exhale stuttered out of him, Arkady gave her watery look that hopefully said, Gee, do you think?

Jaga was standing against the wall behind him, arms folded politely behind her back. He could feel her eyes on him too. How badly everyone wanted to be there for the eventual arrival of this sneeze. How badly they must think that, with each poignant, biting gasp, he was about to succumb to this almighty irritation. Arkady no longer let himself believe the torment was about to end. If he did, he would break his own spirit a hundred times over. He did, however, begin to accept its presence. Whether there to help or hinder, it was the doing of the gods that he feel this way. He would just have to trust their judgment.

It wasn’t until the fish dumpling soup was brought out that Arkady recognized just how hungry he was. He realized, too, how tricky the task of eating becomes when needing to sneeze as badly as he did. Even if he didn’t believe the sneeze was really coming yet, it felt dangerous to have a hot mouthful of broth when his body so vehemently wanted him to be working out this tickle. He shook his head against it and grimaced long enough that some of the guests were starting to notice one of their hosts was pulling the strangest faces imaginable, duck his chin though he might.

“Are you all right, Prince Arkady?” called the voice of a stranger.

Arkady could only wave in the direction of the speaker. He put his napkin around his face to hide his latest grimace. This was embarrassing…

“He’s all right, he just can’t sneeze,” Arkady heard Zlata explain in his stead. He looked at her weakly out of his peripherals. He didn’t feel all right: he felt like he wanted to fall asleep and wake up completely sneezeless.

“Hmm. That sounds like Ilari’s doing,” came another response from the Derevo entourage.

“Huh-!” Arkady couldn’t help gasping audibly, earning some chuckles from around the room.

“I’m sorry for you, friend,” Prince Ivar called next. “I want to say ‘Ilari is with you’ but it seems more likely that he’s somewhere else entirely.”

More laughter. Arkady tried to laugh too, which wasn’t the most difficult when his breathing already sounded a bit like that. A smile was hard to hold though, and he found himself tucking back into his napkin for whatever privacy he could salvage.

The voice that came next was sterner. “Prince Ivar is right. Ilari is not with this young man anymore. He must have done something to deserve punishment.”

That comment seemed to make the air a bit cold. Prince Ivar was the one to restore the happy atmosphere. “Says the old bat who skipped prayer this morning to catch a few extra winks! Cheer up, Sacha, have more wine. Which reminds me—I brought plenty of wine from our vineyards, too. They say there’s no other like it in all Vyshtopa, after all. Sacha, why don’t you go fetch it? I’m sure one of the guards would be happy to direct you to where they’re keeping our carts.”

Sacha was quiet for a moment. Then he stood carefully to his feet. “… Certainly. Apologies for my outburst, Queen Cveta.”

Arkady wasn’t sure how his mother handled the situation, because he was then overcome by a tickle of such proportions that none in the solarium could ignore his desperate, “Hh-huhhuh, htz, hdT-! HEHT-! … … … shiew…”

At that noise, all dialogue paused, until Prince Ivar had to ask, “Was that… a sneeze?”

“No,” Arkady choked out, and the air was full of collective groans of sympathy or mild laughter. Arkady mopped at his eyes with his napkin. He didn’t really like being the center of attention over anything, let alone this, and tried to focus on why he was even forcing himself to be at dinner in the first place. He glanced over at Vjera to see her conversing with her future husband. She caught his eye a moment later, looked at him with mild worry. Arkady wanted to smile, to assuage her, but a newly budding sneeze was already turning his mouth into a deep, harsh frown. He blew his nose and tried not to think about how much he wanted to leave. Building up to a sneeze this much was starting to tire him out…

“There we are! Thank you, Sacha.” Next thing he knew, the wine had been delivered, Prince Ivar himself pouring the dark liquid. “The first glass should go to Prince Arkady, I do believe. It’s strong stuff. It might just knock that wicked sneeze out of you!”

That was a nice idea. Arkady had his doubts it would be the case. Still, he gratefully accepted the beverage when it was delivered to him, wanting very much to show his guests that he was made for more than entertainment.

The wine was like liquid velvet. Its color was akin to the darkest blood. Asking his nose to quiet down and behave for just a moment, Arkady brought his lips to the rim of the glass…

Immediately, like a live thing, the tickle fought him.

It was like a hornet’s nest crashing to the earth and the entire swarm billowing up at once. That was the only way to describe the way in which the sneeze was now treating him. His head jerked away from the glass instinctively, snatching a huge breath through his nose. There was nothing coy about this feeling. It wasn’t the dipping, darting butterfly of a sneeze that had been flitting about his sinuses all day, but a dagger, poised to strike. A dagger hovering right over his heart. But a dagger was harmless until it pierced flesh…

Arkady opened his eyes, his vision swirling with tears. The wine could have been blood. Could it be a dagger?

Again he brought his lips to the glass. His nose touched the opposite rim.

And that’s when he knew he was going to sneeze.

The lessons of a prince were deeply ingrained. On any normal day, Arkady would have stopped this sneeze by rubbing his tongue against his front teeth until its tang lessened. Even if it were strong, he would have fought it off with all his might, because that was what you did when you were royalty. But that didn’t matter anymore. There was no way Arkady was going to let it get away from him now. All day, he had been putting up with this. All day, he had begged and pleaded for something to happen. If his body was really allowing this long-awaited event to happen, no force in the world could hold him back. This sneeze might as well be the strongest force in the world.

And suddenly, in Arkady’s mind, there was no world. There was only the sneeze.

“Hhh!”

It was right there.

“Hah-!”

It was right there.

“HhhHA-AH!”

It was right there, right on the edge, bristling like a mad thing-

“KUH-HUHHT! HAAAHH-AA! … … … AAAATTSSCCCHHHIIIUUU!!”

And then, it was out. At last, it was out.

Oh, sweet relief.

One would not be enough. As soon as the first was free, its entourage came right after, bringing with them just as much relief as their prince. “AHHHht’SHAO! K’SHOO! Huh-SHKSH! K’SH-! SHOO! H’ehshESH! K’kehsh! H’ehsh…! … SHOO!”

Ten would not be enough. Each sneeze was like a balm to the raw insides his nose had become. Never had he known such a persistent itch, and finally it was being scratched, scratched, scratched, from the back to the front with sneezes like raking fingers. “AhppSHOO! Hh-huSHOO! -shIEW! Ekk-shoo!ksh’ksh’ksh-SHOO! EPSH! H’hek’SHH! Ah’KSH! Hh! Hut-TCHOO! Hyet-! … tsCHOO! A’chshoo! Snf! Huh! H’kt’tschoo! K’TSCHOO! K-K’SCH! K-k-Keh!HETCH! Ah..! AHPSH! H’psh! Kuh-huh! H’ktshoo-h-hh’tsh!TSH!TSH!”

Thirty would not be enough. Arkady was more than happy to let his senses take over and, sneeze after sneeze, loosen the shackles of his misery. At some point, he had remembered his napkin (or maybe someone had pressed it into his hands—he was completely oblivious to the rest of the world now) and sneezing into that felt even better. He buried his nose into the folds, and it ached wonderfully. “Hehh… Hehhh… Phew…” This time the sneezes weren’t sticking so much as they were giving him a chance to breathe. His nose wouldn’t keep him from reprieve for longer than it needed to. “Heh’et-SHAhh! Het’sha! Het-t-t-SHOO! Kuh’hehSHOO! HehSHOO! H’shoo! H’sh, h’sh, h’sh, h’sh, huh-! hhhH! HUT-SHHHKKSH! SH’KSH! Hef’SHAH! Nnnn’SHEH! Neh’sheh! NnnnSHEH! Hehchh! HehhCHhuh! H-hHeh! Shhhehtch-tch-tch-tch-tch!TCHOO!”

Fifty would not be enough. His nose would not be satisfied until it had thoroughly banished this itch forever. They kept coming, one after another after another after another, feeling so necessary yet indulgent all at once. He gave into them completely, even as he started losing steam. “Shoo! K’shoo! Heh… hehh… hehtnnNn-!…SHOO! Huh-shoo! Huhsh-shoo…! Huhhsh…. Shhoo… Shoo, sh-sh-shoo… Snf! K’shh’nghshh… Huh… Snf… Heh! Snf, snf! Shhuhhuh… Shhuhhehuh…! Hehhhuhhhuhhhh…!”

There was one more floaty bit of something ever-so-carefully teasing him at the very back of his nose. Arkady snuffled against it, trying to spark a reaction. It was only a little one… Surely he could muster one more little one… Then he could be done with this itch for good. Sleepily pleading with his nose to grant him a final sneeze, just one small snortish huff to bluster out that last bit of tickling, that floaty feeling seemed to fluff up and fill the whole of his head with an absolutely merciless itch.

Without meaning to, without feeling any sort of control over himself, Arkady rocked on his chair’s hind legs, threw back his head, and crowed out a very finalizing, “AhhHHHH! Ha-AH!…HET’HAHT-KSHAHHH!”

And then dizzily, drowsily, Arkady’s shoulders drooped, and he sighed a long sigh. His nose was finally, finally at peace. Tired, running a bit, and even a little sore, but at peace.

He must have sneezed for about ten minutes. During the entire hypnotic event, Arkady had heard nothing but his own voice, and now that it was absent, it donned on him just how… oddly the voices around him were pitched. It sounded like arguing. How peculiar… now that his brain was coming back to him, Arkady realized that laughter or silence was a more explicable response. Just what was going on?

He opened his eyes. Desperate tears immediately spilled out, and he had to wipe them on the unused part of his napkin for quite a bit. Once that was finished, Arkady got his first good look of the dining room…

… A majority of which was obscured by a bevy of royal guards, swords drawn and poised in a semicircle around his chair.

Arkady turned side to side rapidly. Queen Cveta was gone from her place at the the table, and so was Pedja, who had been sitting across from him. To his left began the guards, and directly behind him was Jaga, a hand on his chair, smiling wanly down at him.

“Well, well. Seems Ilari is with you after all. Feeling better, Prince Arkady?” she asked, in a taut voice barely hinted with her patented humor.

Arkady still had the napkin around his nose. “Um,” he said from behind it, “what’s going on?”

Jaga gave a single bitter laugh. “The tea never lies,” she said. “Something important did happen today, Prince, and it wasn’t your sister’s betrothal. There was an attempt on your life.”

That was the last thing he had expected. Arkady’s eyes widened. “Wait… Then Mother… Pedja—”

“Are fine,” Jaga filled in quickly. “And so are you, thanks to the gods.” She held up a wine glass, which Arkady realized had been his own. “This,” she said, “is poisoned. I took it from you as soon as you started sneezing. You’re only alive because you couldn’t drink it.” She studied the red liquid. “You’re only alive,” she said distantly, “because the gods willed it so.”

__________________________________________________

An entire week passed before Vjera saw her brother again. Queen Cveta had ordered that he spend that entire time praying: three days fasting, the following four without, but no visitors to interrupt. Vjera and the rest of her family were required to pray too, but not as intensely. Arkady was, according to their mother, currently in the gods’ highest favor, and therefore it was especially necessary that he thank them profusely for his life and ask that Gornoye find a way to reach peace with Derevo.

Queen Cveta left the prayers to her children; she had always been more engaged in the political side of her job, though technically the guard was meant to be in charge of such decisions. Vjera spent her days trying to find out what she could about Prince Ivar: if he had orchestrated the attack on her brother, or if only that angry fellow Sacha had been behind it. Either way, the betrothal was off. Vjera couldn’t say that part exactly disappointed her.

The poison in the wine Arkady had almost drank was slow-acting and difficult to detect. Jaga would not have suspected poison at all, if the sneezing hadn’t alerted her to trouble. It was only after Jaga voiced her suspicions that Queen Cveta asked Sacha to drink; and when he refused, everything had seemed to erupt. Jaga had been working most of the week to even determine what Sacha had used as a toxin. Vjera wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the ways in which the poison would have hurt Arkady. The thought of how close her brother had been to death made her heart pound enough as it was.

At the end of his week of prayers, Vjera was there to greet Arkady outside his bedroom. It was early, and the sky was pink. When he saw her, he looked relieved; for both of them, it seemed seeing was believing, and it was nice to finally have proof the other was all right. They embraced, and then immediately began talking as they walked down the verandah steps.

“You weren’t hurt, were you? You were so close to Ivar. He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“Me? Nothing happened to me; it’s you who was threatened.”

“I don’t really feel like I was,” Arkady admitted. His face looked thinner from the three-day fast. “I suppose that still hasn’t really sunk in. I thanked the gods over and over, but I’m not sure how sincere I sounded. I don’t even know what would have happened if they hadn’t intervened.”

“You would have died,” Vjera said. “And maybe we would have never known why.”

“Then you would have been the heir apparent, and Prince Ivar would have had a good reason to merge the kingdoms,” Arkady said, as if he were reciting it. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot these days.”

“I’ve been thinking about that too much these days,” Vjera sighed. “We may go to war with Derevo over this. For a moment, I want to stop worrying and just be grateful you’re alive…” Her voice broke off at the end.

Arkady paused, put a hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t gone anywhere, Vjera. And neither have you. We have our family. We’re going to be all right.”

She leaned into his hug again, but it was cut short when she felt him try to pull away only seconds later. There was something curiously familiar about the action… and sure enough, when Arkady was far enough away to see his face clearly, his expression was a snarled mask not unlike the one he’d modeled only seven days ago.

“Hhuhhh… hhehhthh…”

He wavered there, his head bobbing once, twice, before snapping down with a modest, “Hef’SHOO!”

Once it was out, his shoulders drooped considerably, and he rubbed a hand across his face. “Oh, thank goodness… For a second, I was worried all that was about to start up again…”

Vjera couldn’t help laughing a bit. “Even after it saved your life?”

“Hey,” Arkady defended with a smirk, “if you knew what it felt like, you wouldn’t want it to happen again either.”

Vjera shook her head. They kept walking. “How did it feel to finally sneeze after all that time, anyway?” she asked, needing a little levity.

Arkady winced, frowning. It was as if he were reliving the ordeal. “It felt like I had been tied in a knot all day and I’d finally been loosened. Or like there had been something unbalanced inside of me and it was balancing again. It wasn’t exactly a good feeling… but it also felt absolutely amazing… Am I making any sense?”

Vjera raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying it was worth the wait?”

Arkady snorted a laugh. “It had to be worth the wait,” he said, “because if it hadn’t been, I would have just gone and downed that whole glass of wine.”

[theinsanecrayonbox]

Saw this tag meme, wasn’t tagged and not tagging anyone, but I wanted to play…despite not having written anything in a year ^^;

Ao3 first lines tag meme:

Rules: Share the first lines of your most recent ten fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway

Happy Birthday Misha (March 2022)

Mornings. Just another dull start to a dull day. Same in and same out for the past nine months. The monotony was bordering on being lethal.

Random OmegaTooth Drabbles: Escape to NYC (Feb 2022)

It wasn’t the sounds of the midnight traffic that had woken him. A streak of moonlight (though more likely street lights) painted its way across the room from the balcony door. He sat up slowly, realizing before his eyes had fully adjusted to the dim lighting that the bed was empty beside him. In that second it all clicked, the balcony door was left uncovered because someone had gone outside.

The WandaVision Episode (Feb 2022)

You have been found guilty. And so then you will be sentenced…You are exiled…

A sharp chirping cut through the darkness of slumber, causing him to almost fall out of bed as he startled awake. What…bed? In an instant he went from surprise to defensive.

When You’re Close Up, You Give Me The Shivers (Nov 2021)

It had been about a week since Siberia. General Zaslon had smoothed things over with the Russian authorities, so for the time being, Arkady was a free man…well, a free man “paroled” into the care of this team…this “Weapon X-Force”. And what great highlights had been accomplished with this freedom thus far? Well, mainly being cooped up in a penthouse in Madripoor, owned by Mystique.

Training Belle (Nov 2021)

This cabin, deep in the Canadian wilderness, had stood for half a century now. The original had collapsed after a few trees had fallen one harsh winter, but its owner had rebuilt it exactly the same. A monument to where it all started. And as he pulled his truck up to park outside of the rustic lodge, he couldn’t help but wonder yet again, why he hadn’t burned it all to the ground yet.

Children of Kaine: Circle Back Around (Nov 2017)

The first thing he felt was cold, wet tiling against his cheek. It’d be a lie to say that this was not a familiar sensation, or situation for the former football player. The darkness still held his vision, but other senses started to come back in waves; it was quiet, save for the semi-regular drip of water, the air felt heavy like it had been humid, and his body started to ache too. He groaned a little as he moved to push himself up into a sitting position.

Children of Kaine: The Lost, The Found, and The Lost (July 2017)

It was a new day, which meant there were about 20 different new ways for Jessica Jones to get into trouble, at the very least. The 18th precinct had closed down about a year and a half ago, but the records were still locked up tight. Ben was on lookout while she tried to pick the locks that barred the outside from taking refuge inside the police station, but as the minutes ticked on and the thing still fought against her attempts, her agitation just grew into frustration. And a frustrated Jessica Jones was not a happy Jessica Jones.

Children of Kaine: The New Normal (May 2017)

Nothing felt right. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Nothing felt like anything. No right, no wrong, there was just no feeling whatsoever.

Children of Kaine: Holiday Special (Dec 2016)

The holiday season was on in full swing at the Parker house. May had always been fond of the season; all that good will was like catnip to her. And having the house full of teenagers again (not that it wasn't these days it seemed) just made it all the better.

Children of Kaine: Symbiote Saga (Nov 2016)

The late matinee was just letting out. A small throng of people came from the innards of the theater out into the street, chatting about this or that, or how bad the movie had been. In amongst the people was a small group of teenagers, all dressed in various hand-me-down looking clothes; nobody was saying it, but everyone assumed they'd just snuck in without paying.

[lizziestudieshistory]

Books of 2021 - Mid Year Book Freakout Tag

I haven’t been tagged but I need something to queue while I’m on holiday, and I want to revisit my reading for the first half of this year... Anyway, if you want to do it then consider yourself tagged by me!

1. Best book you’ve read so far in 2021

Okay two answer because I’m one of those people who can’t make a straight forward decision!

Best reread: Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb - Farseer is technically not Hobb’s best series, but it’s my favourite and Assassin’s Apprentice is my nostalgic favourite within the series. Whenever I read this book it feels like I’m coming home and not many books have managed to make this impression on me.

Best new read: Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgommery - it was hard to choose this one because there were a few I’ve loved but I’m trying not to repeat answers. I’ve loved every adaptation of Anne of Green Gables I’ve seen but I’d not read the book all the way through before, well I managed it this year and fell completely in love. It made me laugh, cry, and feel like a little girl again!

2. Best sequel you've read so far in 2021

The Burning God by R.F. Kuang? - I’ve not read that many sequels this year, not new to me sequals anyway because I spent last year trying to finish my ongoing series... I’ve read a surprising amount of standalones and first books in series though, so I’ll have some by December I suppose. So it’s this one by default.

I did like The Burning God, but it’s the weakest in the Poppy War trilogy and I was slightly disappointed by the ending. As a historian I appreciated the messiness and unsatisfying nature, but as a reader I was left questioning ‘is that it?’ I also have major issues with the structure and pacing of this book, so I’d take this answer with a pinch of salt.

3. New release you haven't read yet, but want to

The Kingdoms by Natasha Pulley - I love Pulley’s writing and this one sounds SO GOOD, I can’t say much more to be honest. Someone remind me to read it if I haven’t by December!

4. Most anticipated release for the second half of the year

The Untold Story by Genevieve Cogman - another one by default... I’m not that up to date on new releases unless it’s from an established author. I need to read 3 books before I can start this one though...

It would be Agatha’s installment in Gail Carriger’s Delightfully Deadly series but I’m not sure if it’s coming out this year or not? I’d be very grateful if anyone knows and would let me know!

5. Biggest disappointment

Again two books because I’ve got a book I hated the most, and one that was a let down - I guess disappointment isn’t hatred but I’m going to give both answers.

Hated: Villette by Charlotte Bronte - I can’t say much more on this than I already have... However, I hated it with every fiber of my being! I was looking forward to Villette, especially as I’m not a fan of the way Bronte framed the romance in Jane Eyre and I was told this one would make up for it. At least with Jane Eyre it felt like Rochester genuinely liked Jane, it wasn’t healthy but I understood it. This one was worse, so that in addition to the appaling writing style and framing has put me off Charlotte Bronte completely - which is a shame because I wanted to complete all the Bronte’s novels before I turn 25... Well at least I still have Anne and Emily!

Let down: Promise of Blood by Brian McClellan - I just didn’t get on with this one, I’m not a fan of action driven fantasy novels, or hard magic systems. The magic felt gimmicky (in a similar style to Mistborn, but less well developed and I didn’t like Allomancy that much...) and the characters fell flat. It’s a book that will, and does, work well for other people but it wasn’t for me.

6. Biggest surprise

The Grisha Trilogy by Leigh Bardugo - I usually dislike YA fantasy, especially earlier series that I missed when I was a teenager. I also typically dislike fantasy that focuses too much on relationship drama... Yet I devoured this one?! I couldn’t stop reading! I’m not going to claim it’s a great piece of literature, however, I had so much fun with it. If you think too hard this series will fall apart at the seems, but it’s a lot of ‘trashy’ fun and incredibly entertaining.

7. Favourite new author (debut or new to you)

Tamzin Merchant!* She could have fallen into the biggest surprise category because I was expecting her prose to be a bit...purple? And the story to be a bit naff - that’s my own prejudice against actors writing novels showing. But this book was a delight to read. To be honest Merchant’s prose was a bit purple BUT it suited the story so well! She knocked it out of the park with her debut children’s story, The Hatmakers, and I’m in love! I can’t wait for the sequel and I suspect I’ll be reading whatever she decided to release.

*I don’t typically like to claim an author as a favourite until I’ve read more than one book by them, however, I’ve not read that many new to me authors this year as I’m reading through my physical tbr. The only other option would be Lara Elena Donnelly but she’s featuring elsewhere! However, Donnelly is another one who astonished me with the quality of her writing, much like Merchant her prose perfectly fits the tone of her series.

8. Newest fictional crush

The Darkling and/or Nikolai from Leigh Bardugo’s Grishaverse - another by default sort of answer, I’m not one for fictional crushes but the Grisha trilogy brought out my inner teenager. These two would have been right up my alley when I was 15. (Now if we’re talking about the Shadow and Bone tv series then Ben Barnes is just... well hot!)

9. Newest favourite character

Again, I can’t just give one answer because characters become favourites for different reasons! (Technically newest would be Cyril and Aristide though)

Cyril DePaul and Artistide Makricosta from Lara Elena Donnelly’s Amberlough Dossier - I can’t accurately describe why I love these two, especially as I’m trying to avoid spoilers, you need to read the book. However, they are truly FABULOUS both together and separately. I’m so invested in them at this point it’s bordering on an obsession. They’re the reason you read these books, and Aristide in particular carries the whole show with his unique blend of vulnarbility, strength, and sass.

Brutha from Terry Pratchett’s Small Gods - Brutha is a character who crept up on me... I started out feeling indifferent about him, but as we saw his unfailing constancy in core personality I came to love Brutha. He went through so much character development and realisation, but he never really changed? To the end he was just Brutha - simple, honest, faithful, and truly good. In the space of a single book Pratchett made me love Brutha as much as I do Death, Granny Weatherwax, and Sam Vimes (who have huge roles to play in Discworld!) The last scene in this book just took my breath away and made me realise just how good Brutha’s character had been. He’s seriously rivalling some of the best written character in the series and I’ve never felt this way about Pratchett’s standalone novels.

10. Book that made you cry

Anne of Green Gables - just one word: Matthew

11. Book that made you happy

How to Marry a Werewolf by Gail Carriger - this is probably my favourite of Carriger’s novellas. and possibly my favourite of her adult novels! I just smiled the whole way through this one, which is exactly what I want from Carriger who is my ultimate comfort read author.

12. Most beautiful book you've bought so far this year (or received)

The Amberlough Dossier by Lara Elena Donnelly - just LOOK at these gorgeous covers! They also really suit the tone of this series - the whole thing is stunning really.

13. What books do you need to read by the end of the year?

What don’t I need to read? A few urgent reads:

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

Lord of Emperors by Guy Gavriel Kay

Master of Sorrows by Justin Call

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

The Painted Man by Peter V. Brett

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy