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theresonlysofarnewmoneygoes · 5 years

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so my friend asked me to write her something as a goodbye present. she asked for something to do with souls. so this is a (very) short story about how you can lose the reason for wanting something while chasing it down and the only thing that really keeps us going is the urge to create art and relationships and love. so here that is!

It was not something you wanted to be when you grow up, because it was not something you knew existed until you were properly desperate. But later in life, when hope fled your own Pandora’s jar, someone would say to you, “Actually...I might know someone who can help.”

Never someone you loved. No one would send a loved one to this sort of help.

Not that people sent their enemies here, either. Just...someone who wasn’t particularly invested in you. Indifferent. Your neighbor’s cousin, perhaps, in for the holidays. Or your child’s substitute teacher. Or an old flame’s old friend.

And you would go. If you were properly desperate.

---

For David, it is his sister’s freshman roommate from New York University. Leah didn’t even graduate from NYU; she switched to Wesleyan.

He doesn’t recognize her when she first approaches him in the grocery store, and common courtesy only demands he ask her how she’s been the past few years and that he’d pass along her love to Leah, but she doesn’t ask him how he’s been doing.

Instead, she says, “You don’t look too hot.”

This is borderline rude, but her tone is concerned, not prying. “Yeah, I’m just tired. The move, you know.”

She nods. “And you’re...trying,” she says softly.

He freezes. “I--uh. Um. Yes. We--we’re trying...we’re on the waiting list...” He swallows. He cannot talk about how he and his husband have been trying for years to adopt a child, have been failing for two years, with Leah’s freshman roommate at the grocery store, because he cannot start crying in the cheese aisle of the only organic market in this town. John would kill him.

“I know someone who can help,” she says. She holds out her hand and presses it against his. She smiles sort of sadly at him and turns to leave.

David looks down and opens his palm. She’s left him with a white business card with an address printed in silver writing on one side, and 11:23 AM written in someone’s messy handwriting on the other.

If you were to meet your sister’s old roommate at your new local organic market, and you didn’t even remember her name, and she gave you a business card after guessing that you and your husband had been wait-listed for two years, you would throw it out. You might text your sister that you bumped into her weird old friend and that she’s still weird.

You wouldn’t go. You aren’t desperate.

But David is. And he goes, the very next day.

---

When she was five, Alviva learned how people could trap the sun in their hands.

The boy from the neighborhood showed her what he had learned in school: how leaves can trap sunlight right inside of them, and turn that sunlight into green. Every single green plant she saw, he told her, had trapped a bit of sunlight inside of it.

I’m going to trap the sunlight inside of me one day, she said. To herself and to anyone who would listen. She was going to chase it down and store inside her blood, her bones. And it would turn her bright and shiny and maybe even green.

One day. When she would grow up.

For now she had smaller things to do: helping her mother with the laundry, gathering fruit from the orchard, but her dream was always there. Hanging low enough in the sky for her see clearly but just a bit too high to touch.

---

He turns around to leave as soon as he walks in. What he thinking? Tiffany?

He loves Angela, but an engagement ring is not worth going bankrupt.

Even if it is what she wants. Exactly what she’s wanted. For her whole life.

And so he’s back inside again, because doesn’t he owe it to her to look? Just to check.

And then he does, and he hears someone say “Thirty-five,” he knows that he means thirty-five hundred, and then he realizes it might be thirty-five thousand, and he turns to leave again, but then he hears someone say, “Jack?”

He moves his head automatically, even though he knows she can’t be talking to him, because who would know him here? But then the woman who spoke--ginger, tall and lanky, vaguely familiar--smiles at him.

“It is you,” she says, like she’s pleasantly surprised. “I bet you don’t remember me at all, huh? Too young, probably.”

He takes her in for a moment; her dress and heels make him think she might be a friend of Angela’s, but then he recognizes her bright green eyes and nasally voice and he remembers.

“Chelsea,” he says, smiling. “From Camp Windy! Of course! Wow, it’s been years. How have you been?”

He keeps his smile plastered on his face as she tells him in short about what she’s done with the past twenty years of her life, during which he has had no contact with her. Why should he have? She was a counselor for the girls’ bunk two years older than he was.

“But enough about me,” she says, and Jack’s grin falters a little. “How’s life treating you?”

“Oh, I...” he says. “I’m doing great. I graduated a few years ago. Rutgers...archeology.”

Chelsea laughs. “Still digging holes, huh?”

Jack forces a laugh too. “Yep. And I work at the Natural History museum.”

“Oh, wow! And...what are you doing here?”

Now his smile slides off his face. “Oh. I was just...looking for ideas.”

Chelsea’s eyes soften. “For a ring?” she says gently.

Jack clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I just couldn’t find anything in the catalogues that I liked, so I thought, maybe I could get inspired here.”

The excuse sounds lame even to his own ears--like the whole internet held no answers, and his only option was to go to Tiffany for ideas?

She sees through. Right away.

Angela always says that his head is inside out and everyone can see exactly what he’s thinking just by looking at him. Maybe that’s it. But Chelsea must be a real mind-reader, because she says to him, in a voice that is low and cautious, “I have someone who can help you get the money.”

He flusters, takes a step back. “I, uh, don’t--”

“Here,” she says, and thrusts something against his chest. “Don’t be late.”

Then she leaves, her orange hair fanning out behind her when she opens the door and lets in the wind.

Jack looks at what she’s given him. A business card. An address he doesn’t recognize printed on one side, and 6:37 PM written in pen on the other.

And it’s crazy. But so’s how much he loves Angela, right? So he has to try. For her.

---

Alviva started school with a fervor unseen in her small town. Science was for people in the big city: they had to deal with more practical things. Milking cows and harvesting wheat and the like. People did not care how plants grew; they only cared for how they could make them grow faster.

But Alviva did. She wanted to learn everything there was to know and she wanted to discover new thing no one else had ever even thought to explore and she wanted. To touch the sky. To feel the wind in every city in the world. To trap the sun inside her hands; to blossom with it shining inside her.

She was learning. She wasn’t there yet, but her one day was growing closer. She could feel it.

---

Her first guess that this was not going to be a happy meeting, Leila thinks, should have been that her agent was dressed too nicely to be seeing her.

A chiffon dress and Louboutin heels. Now, with her mind clear of nervous anticipation and her eyes of tears, Leila can see that those did not make an appropriate outfit for meeting a client you were about to let go of.

Which means that her agent’s agenda for the day looks something like this: 9:00 AM-Breakfast with Harry. 11:30 AM-Destroy Leila’s dreams. 12:00 PM-Lunch with Amanda.

She doesn’t know who Amanda is, but she can guess. Probably someone who can write well enough to be published. Well enough that her books are auctioned off. Publishers probably fight over them.

No one wants Leila’s books. Not any publisher in the world.

Her mother would tell her she was being dramatic--oh, God. Her mothers. That’s another fun part of being let go by her agent. Now she gets to tell her mother. And everyone else she knows.

The thought of having to tell people that not only is she still unpublished, but even her agent doesn’t think she has a chance of ever writing anything liked by anyone enough to buy is what does it, and now she’s crying all over again.

But she’s not in Clarissa’s office. She’s in an elevator in the building, and a man has just walked on.

She’s staring at his shoes--Italian leather, probably works on the twelfth floor--and trying to keep her sobbing to a minimum when he says, “Leila?”

She jerks her head up automatically. “Oh,” she says, her voice sound as she tries to find a way to discreetly cover her face with her hands. “Um, Rick.”

“Richard.”

“Richard, right! Sorry!” She laughs a little but she doesn’t think it sounds very convincing. “How are you?”

“I’m...all right. Hey, are you okay? You look....”

Like I’m crying, jerk, she thinks to herself. “Oh, fine,” she says. “Just a little...under the weather.”

“Oh.”

And now they are both painfully aware that she is crying; she, the failed unpublished author and Richard, the guy who works on the twelfth floor and he takes a step closer, like he is about to say something, but then the elevator stops and then someone else gets on.

Whoever it is doesn’t say anything to either of them, and the three of them are all quiet until the third person gets off two floor later.

“Listen,” Richard says as soon as they go. “I think...I think you should take this,” he says and holds something out.

She takes what he offers her. A card. It’s like a business card, but there’s no name on it. Just an address on one side in sleek silver lettering and 10:49 AM in messy black ink on the other.

“What is it?” she asks.

“It’s, ah. Well. They can help you out.”

“It’s...a publishing company?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Look. If you really want...whatever it is...it might be worth a visit.

The elevator stops again and someone else gets on. Richard is silent until he gets off.

---

And then she finished school. And the world was not quite her oyster, but she was proud enough of herself to feel like it was.

Not all colleges accepted women, but she only needed one. Just one school was enough for her to learn everything she had dreamed of.

Learning was good. It took her one step closer to knowing.

When she walked outside in the city, she could feel the sun on her skin better than in her small town. It never slipped in through the cracks, but it came close.

---

There are broken mannequins in one window and the other is bordered up. The door has a black X painted on it. The sign on top has letters missing and David can’t make out what it once said.

There is a blond woman in a red shawl sitting at a small round table inside, crouched over a notebook and scribbling furiously, an empty chair across from her. Behind her is a large clock on the wall, with peeling bronze paint in swirling decals on the edge. It only has one hand, long and thin, and no numbers.

She turns to look at it and then turns back, making eye contact quite suddenly and not letting go.

David can feel his heart pound in his throat. He doesn’t think I should leave, Maybe this is a bad idea, Why won’t she stop looking at me like that. He doesn’t think anything at all--doesn’t give himself time. Instead he walks in.

“David,” she says, as soon as he does. She looks to be in her forties or fifties. Her face is too blank to be sure.

“Yes,” he says, and that is when he thinks, What am I doing here?

“What are you doing here?” she says. Her near-colorless eyes are expecting, slightly concerned, but her lips are curled in a way that makes him think she is mocking him.

“I,” he says, and then he stops, flustered. Because he does not have an answer. Not one he can give her. Outside, in the dim light of an autumn afternoon in a complete cover of clouds, the air had been mysterious, giving him a little boost of courage. Like it was magical, like something great and adventurous and miraculous was about to happen.

But now he is inside, and the lights flicker in a way that is not at all encouraging, and the air is heavy with dust.

“I see,” she says, and now he is sure she is mocking.

Heat rushes to his cheeks. He is not on the cusp of anything; he is stupid and has followed Leah’s weird old friend’s advice to an abandoned shop to...what, exactly? Pick up a newborn?

“Let me rephrase, then. Why did you come?”

Because there’s so little he can do, he’ll leap at every opportunity that presents itself. Even one like this.

The woman smiles then, without showing her teeth. “There it is,” she sighs. “Sit down.”

And he does.

The woman pushes her loose waves behind her ears. “Now,” she says, leaning back in her chair and closing her notebook, “your adoption process. How long have you wanted a child?”

David’s insides twist. “You mean...actively?”

“No. Just in general.”

David swallows. “Well. I guess. Forever?”

The woman sighs again. She closes her eyes. “Yes...and how long have you and your husband been working towards that dream?”

His heart lurches. “Two years. A bit more...” His throat goes dry. He wants to ask from some water, but....

The woman lets out a sharp breath. “Two years. Well.” Her eyes fly open, and he jerks back a little in his seat.

“How much are you willing to give for a child?” she says, and her voice is low, and she leans forward. It’s not seductive; it’s threatening.

His palms grow sweaty and his breath quickens. “I...anything. Everything.”

She moves closer a fraction of an inch, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. She holds him there, for a moment: pushed up against the back of the seat, frozen. Then, slowly, her lips curl upwards. She moves back and he waits for relief to wash over him, and it does, but it’s different. Not as cool, not quite worth savoring the feeling. It does a good enough job of calming him down, though, and he smiles briefly. A reflex.

“Good,” she says.

He can feel his pulse return to normal.

“You may go now,” she says. “Tell your husband your news. Congratulations.”

His feet carry him out before he fully processes what she says, and he’s gone before realizes he never got her name. He’s not stupid enough to wonder why he didn’t get the name of her adoption company.

That night in bed, John is asleep beside him, and he is exhausted, but he cannot close his eyes. He can only see the woman in her red shawl, the faded old clock with only one ticking hand behind her.

And then she fades out of his vision, and he feels himself being pulled under.

---

She was only a year from graduating when the boy from the neighborhood proposed.

She accepted. It was not her ultimate dream, but it was one of them. She loved him. Not in the all-consuming way she loved the sun, but in a gentle way. He made her smile and laugh. He listened to her talk about all the bits and pieces of the sky that make it look blue.

Alviva knew she was lucky. A man like hers was rare.

So when she had to skip a few classes here and there to be with him, she begrudged no one anything. She would make up the classes and she would touch the sun. It would just take a short while longer than planned.

---

The place is sketchy. Jack can’t believe he’s here, in this alley where most of the shops are closed for repairs and none of them look they sell anything he’d be interested in, least of all the one he’s standing in front of.

The door’s marked with an X, for one, and the inside is empty except for a clock he cannot figure out how he should read (it’s got no numbers and only one hand) and a small round table with two chairs. One of them is occupied by a woman. She looks up at him just as his eyes land on her and he starts.

She doesn’t drop her gaze and her eyes pale, maybe blue, and then he’s thinking of the sky at Angela’s favorite time of morning, and then he’s walking in.

“Hi,” he says when he comes in. “I’m. I have an appointment?” It comes out like a question because he doesn’t, really. Some girl who worked at a summer camp he went to twenty years ago told him to come apply for a loan at an abandoned clothing store and he agreed. Because he’s stupidly in love.

That doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to be here, suddenly. It’s not worth it. Because the loan won’t be legal, right? This isn’t a bank. What was he thinking?

“Jackson,” she says. “Sit down.”

“Oh. Well. I actually--”

“Sit down.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He’s not scared of her. She looks older than his mother. And she’s wearing vintage, which Angela says is non-threatening.

But then she looks at him and he sees here eyes are not blue, they are too pale to be named a proper color, and she closes the notebook in front of her with a snap! and he jumps.

“How long have you been with...your partner?”

Jack, despite the situation, smiles a little. He can’t help it. He always smiles when someone mentions Angela. “Five years,” he says. “But we were friends before that.”

“And how long have you wanted to marry her?”

Jack smiles wider this time, and the lady’s lips curl upwards a bit. “All my life.”

He has. He’s wanted to marry her since they were four years old. He can’t remember a time he didn’t love her. She’s the one true constant in his world.

The lady closes her eyes and lets out a loose breath. She tilts her head upwards. “How long have you been trying to buy a ring?” Her jaw clenches a bit.

“Uh,” Jack says, eyes darting anywhere but her face. “Um, I guess I’ve been really saving up for...a year?”

“One year.”

“Yeah. But, you know, it’s expensive. I mean, what she wants. Not that she said she wants me to spend a lot of money, it’s just I know she really this. Oval cut, surrounded by smaller diamonds. Like Kate Middleton. You know, the duchess.” Again, he can’t help but smile, a bit bashful. She’s better than a duchess. She’s a queen.

He clears his throat. “So. I can, like apply with you? Or...do you reference me to someone? Or...?”

The lady’s eyes pop open. “What would you do for this ring?”

Jack shakes his head. “Like. Anything. Really. Whatever extra hours I had to. At whatever job. Jobs. I mean...this is her dream ring. And it’s, like, really important to her. You know, all the princess stuff...she really...and I want to give it to her. So whatever I’d have to do...even sacrifice a while in my field, if I had to....”

The lady sucks in her bottom lip. She tilts her head back again and sighs to herself. Then she straightens.

“You may go. Pick a ring you like.”

“Oh...I’m approved? Do you guys, like, partner with my bank?”

“You may go,” she says, and her eyes latch onto his again. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he doesn’t wait for her to say anything else; he just leaves.

He gets home and he doesn’t need to pick a ring she’ll like. He knows what she wants.

It’s what she loves. The fairytale stuff. And he’s so lucky she loves him, he just wants to give it all to her.

So he keeps a twitching hand on his phone all night, hoping the bank will call.

---

Alviva was married for two years when the baby came.

It was joyous, of course. And the girl’s hair was as golden as the sun. When she held her, it was almost like her lifelong dream had come true.

Almost.

---

She doesn’t own a car, so she walks to the place on the card Richard has given her.

The place is so story-like it is almost comical. An alley off a busy street people walk by, never looking twice at. A collection of abandoned stores, all prime real estate, if someone would just finish fixing them up.

The windows are remarkably well kept. Shined and glossy, but the door is marked with an X and the mannequins inside are broken and undressed. She can see a clock on the wall, old and useless, with only one hand ticking on to nothing, because there are no numbers, either.

There is a woman sitting down at small, carved table. Leila can make out swirling decals in the wooden legs. She looks up and stares straight into her eyes at 10:49 exactly.

Leila doesn’t hesitate. She walks in and sits down.

The woman doesn’t take her eyes off Leila, but she can’t help but look down at her notebook. Leila can’t read her writing upside down--it was her who wrote the time on the card, clearly. Her penmanship is beautiful in its unintelligibility. This woman is writing for herself and herself alone.

She closes the book. Leila looks up at her.

“Why have you come here?” she says. Her voice is old. Older than she looks--only fifty or so.

“I’m a writer,” Leila says, and she thinks she sounds younger than she is. Smaller. Because she doesn’t feel like a writer this morning. At least, not a particularly good one.

The woman’s eyes spark with something. “And...how long have you been a writer?”

A small smile tugs on Leila’s lips. “My whole life,” she answers honestly.

Her eyes close. She tilts her head back and her mouth, small and pink, parts open slightly. Leila feels uncomfortable; like she’s intruding on something private.

“And...how long have you been writing this book?”

Leila thinks. “Twenty years, I guess.”

She stifles a groan. “Twenty years?”

“On and off.”

The woman’s eyes flash open. Her hands curl on the edge of the table. “And...what would you give...to publish your book.”

Leila exhales sharply. “My whole soul.”

The woman bites her lower lip. “Your whole soul.”

Leila nods. Why not? She’s already poured all of it into her writing, anyway.

“Go home,” the woman says. She looks down and shakes her head. “Twenty years,” she says, to herself. Then she looks back at Leila. “I suppose I’ll see you again.”

Leila leaves, feeling as though she is being watched the entire time.

---

There were more children; all as beautiful as the first. Not all had golden hair, but she did not mind.

It took a while, but she finished school. She was not ready to chase down everything she planned to just yet...they were too little to be left alone, and she would not want to, anyway. And her husband, too.

She would get there. When they were older. When she was older.

---

It is the girl’s first trip to the beach, and John has not stopped talking about it all week.

“Ugh, perfect,” he says when he pulls back the curtains in their bedroom that morning. “I literally could not have chosen better weather myself. Perfect!” He turns to face him, grinning broadly. David manages a sleepy smile.

“I’m going to put everything in the car,” John announces. “Can you get Emily dressed?”

He doesn’t wait to hear an answer. He’s already gone, and he doesn’t see David’s face at the mention of the girl.

Grimacing to himself, he pulls himself up and makes his way to her room. He pauses at the door and takes a deep breath before entering.

She’s already awake, sitting up in her crib. She coos when she sees him and reaches out her hands to stand up. She bounces up and down a little.

“Time to get ready,” he mumbles.

All right. It’s just getting her dressed.

And thus it begins. The girl’s waking hours of the day. The best had been when she was about a year old; she slept the most then. Now is not so bad, with her finally sleeping the night, but she still wakes up before six every day.

He’s not cruel to her. He knows how screwed up a kid can be, how they pick up on everything. So he tries to act like John does. But the smiles are forced. The joy is fake. He doesn’t love her.

And he doesn’t care anymore. It used to bother him, and when they first got her, the day after he came back from that woman just over two years ago, he thought it was because he hadn’t prepared properly. They hadn’t nested, they hadn’t met her mother. So the click wouldn’t come right away. It hadn’t for John, either.

But it did come. When she was a few days old. And for David, it never did.

And it hurt him so much, at first.

And then...now...nothing. He just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want to love her.

But you can’t give a child back after you adopt them, can you? And there’s John to think about, besides. And he loves John, even if he’ll never love the girl.

So for him, he stays, and he changes diapers, and he prepares bottles, and he goes to parent teacher conferences at daycare.

And waits for her to turn eighteen.

---

The binder, Jack thinks, is what started it. His nerves. Back when he still called them nerves, months ago.

Angela had bought them a wedding binder, where they would put in all their plans. Their guest list, the flowers, all the phone numbers. Everything. Seeing what was supposed to be the most important day of his life all compacted into one binder really freaked him out.

So he had suggested moving everything onto a joint folder in Google Drive. Perhaps that would make it easier for everyone to be updated, he’d said.

And Angela had said that she liked for them to be able to see everything in front of them. And she’d like them to have the binder, to keep, to look at when they grow old together.

But now it’s a month till the wedding, and Jack doesn’t feel nerves anymore. He doesn’t feel anything at all.

Sure, he thinks she’s nice. Everyone thinks she’s nice. And she’s pretty. Like a princess. With her curly blonde hair and her bright eyes and especially with that ring. But he’s not really into the whole princess thing anymore.

It didn’t happen overnight. And he fought for them. How could he not? He owed it to her, to them, to their families. So there had been couple’s getaways and trips alone and hikes with his brother and even some therapy, but now, there was a month left till the wedding, and he didn’t think there was any reason left to try.

People fall out of love sometimes. She just...wasn’t it anymore.

And it’s better that they find out now, right? Before they’re actually married. There aren’t any kids involved. Just the cat. And she can keep it, if she wants. He’ll miss it, but it’s hers.

He’s sorry to hurt her. She’s a good person. But he’ll have to do it tonight, right? It can’t go on any longer.

Because he’s not going to marry her. He’s known for a while now, if he’s being honest with himself.

And it wasn’t the binder. It was that ring on her finger. Too big. Suffocating. How did she even lift her hand with it on?

That wasn’t the ring he wanted. It was what she wanted. And that...mattered. Didn’t it?

He just has to tell her gently. And his mother.

It’s better this way. Kinder. To do it now.

The trouble is, there isn’t really a kind way to tell someone you don’t want them anymore, is there?

---

It had been years since she stopped chasing the sun.

Her children had grown and had children of their own. Wanted things of their own--and gotten them. And she envied them something awful. So the sun had turned her green, in a way.

And one day, the boy from the neighborhood and her children and grandchildren were just not enough. And someone whom she hadn’t seen in decades, whom she didn’t even remember how she knew, directed her to a place she’d never been before.

There was a woman waiting there. Skin nearly as dark as the table she was sitting at, and thick black hair all in braids. She asked her what she wanted and what she would give to have it.

Everything, she said.

But offering the price was easy when you didn’t have to pay it right away.

And good Lord, did she pay.

---

Nineteen years to the day she first published her book, Leila leaves her apartment and sets off for the abandoned store.

People recognize her on the way. Ask her to sign something. Ask her if she’s writing something new.

She ignores them, as always.

She still does not have a car. She has a driving company now, but she is determined to walk. She knows that once, long ago, she would have appreciated the parallel. Now she does not care, and that is what bothers her.

The place has not changed at all. The mannequins are in their same positions, the X on the door, the clock ticking onward to nothing.

And the woman. She does not appear to have aged, and she is still writing in her notebook.

She looks up at Leila. Perhaps she is expecting her, just like twenty years ago.

Leila does not bristle. She walks in.

“Hello,” the woman says, pleasant.

“What did you do to me?” Leila asks, her voice hollow.

The woman cocks an eyebrow. Her expression is so mocking, filled with a fake befuddlement. “I gave you what you wanted.” She goes back to her notebook.

Leila slams her hand down on the table. “This is not what I wanted.”

The woman slowly looks up.

“No?” she says quietly. “Did you not want your book published?”

“I...yes, but--”

“And did I not publish your book?”

“Yes, but--”

“Did we not agree on a price?”

“You know what I mean!”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I don’t want to write anymore!” she cries. “I’ve...lost it! I haven’t written in twenty years! I don’t create anymore. Art has no purpose in my life...you took it from me!”

The woman shrugs her shoulders a little. “That’s not my problem.”

Leila’s throat closes up. “I want it back,” she forces out. “You--you give it back to me.”

The woman narrows her eyes at her. She bites her lip. Not in the way she did then, twenty years ago, when she savored the taste of Leila’s dreams and desires. In a calculating way.

“Hmm,” she hums, weighing her options. Then she says, “You’ll never write again.”

Leila’s heart sinks. “You give it back to me,” she demands weakly.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” she says. Then she stands up and inches closer to Leila.

Up close, she can see the woman’s eyes are not as colorless as she once thought. There’s the barest trace of green in them.

“You’ll start now,” she says softly.

Something clouds over Leila. “Start what?”

“You want...to want...again?”

Slowly, Leila nods. Tears fill up in her eyes but they do not fall. “Yes,” she says. “Yes.”

“Then they will come,” she says. “And you will trade them. Their dreams...for that feeling.”

“Their ability to dream,” Leila says, realizing twenty years too late what she gave.

The woman only smiles. Completely mirthless, as ever.

Leila sits down.

“On this side,” the woman says. “You’ll greet them from here.”

“Well...what if I don’t want to?” she says, looking up at her. She instantly regrets her choice of words.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice all derision. “You want?”

Leila bites the inside of her cheek.

“I didn’t think so.”

The woman gathers her shawl tightly around her. “They’ll be in soon,” she says. And she smiles at her--a real one, this time. “You’ll enjoy it,” she says. “You’ve forgotten what it feels like.

And she has. So the woman leaves, but she stays.

And waits for her first client.

#lizo writes #writing #writeblr #I've never shared original work before fam.#so very excited and nervous!!#gosh I hope if someone likes this they tell me omg #ahh here goes nothing

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anidealiveson · 3 years

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Lizo @ladynestaarcheron -

I’m your secret snowflake! As such, I commissioned an art of your amazing fic: Like Pristine Glass. You did such a great job portraying what a maternal Nesta would be like. Canon Nesta is a very private person , so I enjoyed how lovingly you wrote her and Cassian’s best traits coming alive in their kids. I tried to make sure that this captured Avery’s loving spirit, Oliver’s sweet shyness, and Nicky with his inquisitive and bold nature. I enjoyed learning about your process and hearing about the things that were going through your head while writing. I think writers put a lot of themselves into their writing, and it takes a lot of courage to share that with the world. So thank you for that.

Even if we are strangers who live miles apart with perhaps simply a fandom in common, I had fun getting to know you (albeit stalkerishly). I admire how you moved around a lot yet still try to see the best of it. I love how passionate you are in all things Nesta. It wasn’t surprising when you told me that you relate a lot to her, because your analyses of her always feel introspective and thoughtful.

And thank you so much for organizing such a fun exchange. I hope you and your family have a wonderful end of the year with a lot of joy to look forward to in the next.

This commission was done by the ever talented @girraffle. She’d never read the series, and I really wanted to get the physical details right, so may have overworked her lol. But she took all the changes in stride. :)

#acotar secret snowflake #nessian #acotar #nesta archeron #like pristine glass

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vivithefolle · 3 years

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Not sure if you already talked about this. (I’m pretty sure you have) but someone seemed to notice that when the trio get into fights, Hermione’s always in the right. Even when she’s supposed to be wrong she always seems to be half right. That kind of bothers me. Especially since it’s evident in the whole Scabbers situation.

I have indeed, on Quora, so let’s move yet another answer of mine to Tumblr!

Hermione is seldom wrong in the Harry Potter books. Sometimes she makes mistakes but those mistakes are either completely swept under the rug or downright ignored.

It’s partly due to lazy writing and partly due to Rowling’s own growing bias in favour of her Author Avatar that was fuelled by Steve Kloves, the primary advocate of the Hermione Granger Is The Perfect Girl Ever line of thinking (an utterly ridiculous line of thinking mind you).

Lizo: Steve, Hermione is a character that you have said is one of your favorites. Has that made her easier to write?

Steve: Yeah, I mean, I like writing all three, but I've always loved writing Hermione. Because, I just, one, she's a tremendous character for a lot of reasons for a writer, which also is she can carry exposition in a wonderful way because you just assume she read it in a book. If I need to tell the audience something...

JKR: Absolutely right, I find that all the time in the book, if you need to tell your readers something just put it in her. There are only two characters that you can put it convincingly into their dialogue. One is Hermione, the other is Dumbledore. In both cases you accept, it's plausible that they have, well Dumbledore knows pretty much everything anyway, but that Hermione has read it somewhere. So, she's handy.

Now this, right here, is the exact core of the problem.

Rowling herself admits it: if she wants the readers to have information, she puts Hermione in the scene. Hermione is our primary means of exposition because, like *grits teeth* Sssssteve puts it, it’s easy to assume that she’s read about it somewhere and it makes sense.

That’s all well and good but at first, if you notice, Ron also gave us exposition about the wizarding world, mostly about its culture. He was able to recall the exact year of the Wizarding Confederation that outlawed dragon breeding in Philosopher’s Stone! He explained what were respectively a “Mudblood”, a “Squib”, and Parseltongue, Hermione doing a little exposition about the history of that last one! He was also able to identify Sirius, after being dragged into the Whomping Willow, as an Animagi!

But then Goblet of Fire happens and you can notice the first change that will exponentially grow through the books: instead of Ron, pureblood Ron, born-before-the-end-of-the-war Ron, lived-through-the-aftermath-of-the-war Ron, identifying the Dark Mark, it’s instead Hermione, muggleborn Hermione, lived-as-a-Muggle-for-most-of-her-life Hermione, has-no-idea-about-the-emotional-impact-of-the-Mark Hermione who looks terrified as the Dark Mark shoots into the sky!

And it only will get worse, by the end of the series, Hermione pretty much knows about everything the plot needs her to know, instead of having to work with things she knows but can’t always apply to the situation:

Suddenly has a deep knowledge of Magical Law (in the will of Dumbledore’s chapter, while we had Rufus Scrimgeour who could have provided it to us, or to a lesser extent, Ron could have explained how a wizarding will basically worked)

Is suddenly an expert at finding edible plants and mushrooms. Apparently books are always the goddamn answer in JKR’s world, you can literally learn anything from them

She can decipher all the Tales of Beedle the Bard (may I remind you that they were written in Runes, okay Hermione may have a few years of Ancient Runes education BUT I once tried to translate a 3k+ story I had written for fun, from French to English, which means I knew what the subtleties and intentions were, I knew which turns of phrase I had to preserve so it would make sense in the end, and it still took me two gruelling weeks to get a satisfying result!)

Has suddenly grown a sense of quick-thinking (escaping Xenophilius’ house, using the jinx to make Harry’s face weird-looking) despite it being the only remaining flaw she had at the time (remember when she turned her back on her enemy while he was still conscious just to compliment Harry, and almost died as a result, even though she had been training in the DA to learn how to fight Death Eaters?) Quick-thinking under pressure can be learned, but it takes time and a lot of work to force your brain to override its instinct - and it’s fine because we’re all human and different. But no suddenly Hermione is the Greatest Strategist Evah™ and those silly boys (who actually were the original quick-thinking ones, and one of them was established as the strategist early on) better be grateful for this literal goddess because she protects them from all harm with her superhuman brain.

Somehow knows about Quidditch stuff - she knows about a Snitch’s “memory-touch”. Why should she give all the answers? Why can’t Ron give us this particular tidbit of information?

And then when we come to something Ron actually knows, the damn narration itself goes “woah a book that Ron has read but Hermione hasn’t??? shocking!! incredible!! Ron is not dumb, somebody call the news channel”. But… is that really so surprising? We’ve never seen Hermione read wizarding fiction or even Muggle fiction. We’ve never seen Hermione with anything other than schoolbooks in her hands. Of course Ron has read books she hasn’t read since she doesn’t seem to read fiction at all!

Sorry, bit of a tangent over here.

There are only two characters that you can put it convincingly into their dialogue.

So, that’s one part of the problem: the fact that Rowling, after making Ron our insight into magical culture and Hermione our provider of knowledge, ended up saying “eh whatever I guess Hermione can tell us everything we gotta know because it’s more convenient for me”. Which is a decision that was not based on Hermione’s character, but simply lazy writing. Long story short, it probably went: “Could Ron explain this bit of trivia? Meh, better make Hermione say it cause she’ll have read it in a book. It’s convenient and I won’t need to bother myself with exploring Ron’s characterisation.”

(And thus completely forgetting that Ron could maybe ask his big brothers via owl and provide us with a good heap of extra advanced knowledge - Bill is supposed to have aced his NEWTs after all.)

The other part of the problem is quite simply that Hermione is more often than not, either painted as a victim by the narrative (which makes more people take her side, classic manipulation tactic), or made to be right anytime it’s about a plot point.

Hermione’s mistakes are never explicitly stated, corrected, or even pointed out as being unethical.

Hermione only gets one mistake expressedly pointed out as being a mistake: her misadventure in Polyjuice Potion. The rest of them? Even her crush on Lockhart can’t be counted as a mistake - people get crushes all the time, based solely on physical appearance, it’s not something awful or terrible (Except when it’s Ron who crushes on someone. Ron crushing on someone is absolutely forbidden, and he must be punished with much ridicule and humiliation if he thinks he can get away with not worshipping Hermione like the goddess she is. The nerve of him, really.).

Throughout the books Hermione eventually morphs into Rowling’s Powerful Angel of Vengeance, that punishes the people who dared to do something she disliked - Rita is silenced but at a very ethically dubious price; Marietta gets scarred for life because she was more loyal to her mother than to a bunch of people her friend insisted she hang out with; Umbridge is led to a very, very alarming fate that is never made clear but some people have ideas and they’re not all very kid-friendly; Ron first is “helped” without knowing it because Hermione can’t be bothered to have faith in his capabilities, then when he fails to dutifully reward her for “helping” him, she causes him bodily harm before actively bullying him for not mind-reading her interest in him; causes even more bodily harm to Ron because that’s how feminism works; etc.

Hermione’s mistakes are always justified through the plot itself (which is lazy writing).

Turning into a cat? Only affects her.

The Firebolt? Scabbers? Well, in the end, it was really sent by Sirius Black and Crookshanks really wasn’t the culprit. Therefore all the feelings that were hurt and all the trust lost are irrelevant because Hermione was right all along.

Trying to free the house-elves? Well, it’s the intent that counts, right? And we’re never told enough about house-elf lore to know whether they’re poor brainwashed victims or powerful Penate-like symbiotes who need to serve a wizard to survive?

Kidnapping Rita Skeeter, trapping her and blackmailing her? Rita may be one foul little beetle, but that’s going a bit far, isn’t it? Harry approves? Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then…? A main character can’t have a dubious morality, right?

Manipulating Harry into forming Dumbledore’s Army and forcing him to relive a traumatic event with the same woman she’s kidnapped and blackmail and that she knows he hates? In the end, it all works out for the best and Harry’s hurt feelings don’t matter since it’s all about the greater good.

Using the centaurs to get rid of Umbridge (which poses the highly distressing question of what did the centaurs do to her?), realizing that the centaurs aren’t nice little horsies that are going to gently obey her every orders like good Disney princess’ companions, my goodness could this be an opportunity for character growth - nevermind, here comes Grawp the Giant Ex Machina, saving her arse and protecting Hermione from all that scary possibility of introspection. Thanks, Grawp Ex Machina.

Trying to dissuade a highly stressed-out and irrational Harry from rescuing Sirius by telling him exactly what he needed not to hear, a.k.a. “you have a saving people-thing” which causes Harry to completely go bonkers and go save his godfather without thinking twice? Well she was right after all, it was a trap! Nevermind how mind-boggingly insenstive and inadept at dealing with someone else’s feelings she was being, she was right! That means it wasn’t Hermione’s mistake!… probably. (Geez, I’m sensing a pattern here…)

Endangering Cormac’s life (Confunding him WHILE HE’S ON HIS BROOM) to promote Ron’s success? Oh but that’s so romantic! (Yeaaaah, how romantic to display exactly how much faith you lack in your crush. Top it off with a broken neck and that’s a picture perfect first date!)

Assaulting Ron with magic and causing him even more scars than he already had? But he was being cold with her first, right? And he totally should have known she was asking him out! It’s not like her invitation was even worse than his attempt to ask her out two years earlier! Plus she’s just a teenage girl expressing her emotions, anyone who tries to find fault in this is a disgusting abusive misogynist pig! Ha!

Getting all jealous that Harry is better than her at Potions, then pretending she’s not jealous by claiming that TEH BOOK IS EVIL, HARRY, and giving him the cold shoulder too? But no, she’s right, look, Harry used Sectumsempra and he almost killed Draco, nevermind that he’s very horrified about it! Hermione was right, like she always is!

Hermione Obliviating her parents, which pulls her from the “ethically dubious” zone into the “wow okay I’m pretty sure that this counts as a violation of basic human rights” zone, makes her one of those quirky wizardfolk who have the privilege to control those simple-minded Muggles because it’s for the greater good? But nooo she’s crying about it so it’s obviously very sad and angsty and it shows her devotion to the cause!

Splinching Ron while fleeing from the Ministry? Eeeh, but he’s fine, they’ve got Dittany, he’s good as new!… blood loss? Anaemia? What’s that?

Hermione was wrong about the Deathly Hallows not existing? Um, um, that doesn’t matter, LOOK DOBBY IS DEAD AND HARRY IS BACK TO LOOKING FOR THE HORCRUXES!! Therefore Hermione was right, the Hallows weren’t important for their quest, therefore the Hallows might as well not exist, HERMIONE WAS RIGHT NO REALLY I’VE GOT RECEIPTS -

The books never forget to remind Harry and Ron of their own shortcomings and moments of weakness.

Harry’s wrath and recklessness cost Sirius his life. This is the lesson he has to learn from his entitled behaviour in OotP: actions have consequences, and the greater your responsibility, the greater the cost will be.

Ron’s envy and insecurity lead him astray; they’re used to humiliate, ridicule and torture him throughout the books. They’re supposed to teach him that he’s worth something - but how is he supposed to believe that, when nobody ever tells him he’s worth anything? When nobody ever apologizes to him? When his feelings are taken for granted over and over? When his two friends seem to discard him whenever he does one thing wrong?

Hermione is never punished. Hermione is never said to be wrong, never shown to be wrong, never called out on her behaviour. From Prisoner of Azkaban to mid-Deathly Hallows, she stays exactly the same character. She doesn’t grow up. She doesn’t learn. She doesn’t change. She has virtually no character arc.

The only time, THE ONLY TIME IN SEVEN BOOKS, the only time we have something remotely resembling a call-out of Hermione’s horrible behaviour is with this sole quote in HBP:

Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.

Note how it’s about “girls” and not Hermione in particular, which implies that any girl would do what Hermione does to Ron. Thanks for the generalization, JKR, but I like to believe I’m actually a decent sort of person that doesn’t resort to petty cruelty and exploits my friends’ insecurities whenever I’m angry with them.

Hermione NEVER has to apologize. Hermione NEVER has to learn from her mistakes because she’s always presented as a victim when she really isn’t. Hermione NEVER develops into something more - she’s emotionally stuck at fourteen years old. Even less than that when you consider that her reaction to Ron’s return in Deathly Hallows is to trash him with her fists - and she was going to get her wand!! The utter psychopathic b- wanted TO THROW BIRDS AT HIM AGAIN!!! - and this reaction is an appropriate one for a four-years old girl, but certainly not for a supposedly “mature” seventeen-years old.

(Yes, because what separates a child from an adult is the ability to reign in your emotions and not succumb to your impulses. Exactly what Ron did when he left the tent (notice that he had drawn his wand, then he left before he could start hexing Harry), he left to calm himself down. Exactly what Hermione fails to do when Ron returns (she has the impulse to strike him and immediately succumbs to it, which proves to us that The Brightest Witch Of Her Age has all the maturity of a very small child).)

All of that, on top of the awful portrayal in the movies which removes all of Ron’s characteristics to stuff them into Hermione and turns her into some impossible epitome of perfection, eventually contributed to the portrayal of Hermione as the one who is always right and knows everything.

Add to it JKR’s own ridiculous bias (“Ron was quite emotionally immature compared to the other two”, yeah right I don’t see him trying to force freedom onto unwilling creatures or making Harry fly into an irrational rage with mere words but you do you, Jo) and the sexist misconception that “girls are innately more mature than boys”, and you get yourself this apparent behemoth of righteousness that was literally the sole reason why those two silly boys survived everything, and don’t you dare criticize this angel of perfection OR ELSE.

#vivi answers #ask #hermione granger critical #hermione granger #hermione critical #harry potter series #ron weasley #jk rowling #anti jk rowling

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sayosdreams · 3 years

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Some tumblrs I’m thankful for this holiday season (obviously there’s a ton of ppl I’m forgetting but here’s a few in no particular order):

@grandma-noob-lord : thank you so much for being w me from the start!! You’re like an older sister-y figure to me at this point :) thanks for your support through everything — when my account got deleted, when I post stuff, when I’m struggling w stuff, etc. I really appreciate you ♥️ I love talking to u, even tho it’s p sporadic. You’re an amazing person and Im so thankful to have connect w u!

@thewayshedreamed : ahhh!! Dani, you’re amazing!! I love talking to you and reading all your fics. I consider you to be my friend (I hope that’s ok?) and I’m eternally grateful for how many of my prompts you’ve answered!! Thanks for supporting me for a long time :) I rly enjoy our convos (I know they’ve become more occasional cuz I’ve been busy — sry! — but still) ♥️♥️♥️

@perseusannabeth : Sim, you’re so kind and just overall amazing. I loved your acc, and then when I found out that you were the one being supportive and nice in my ao3 comments, I was super shocked :)) I consider u to be my friend 😊 I’m sry for taking 749363 years to answer your prompt btw. Make sure to get some sleep & say hi to Asim for me, even if it confuses him xD

@caotica-e-quieta : Idk what to say to you, Ste, except that you were one of the first writers’ whose fics I read on ao3 where I was just floored. And I was like “wow, she’s so incredibly talented”. I’m still so excited and lowkey fangirl whenever I get a message from u. ilysm ♥️ Thanks for your support through tough times :) i feel incredibly blessed to have been able to talk to you and get to know u a bit over tumblr

@julemmaes : Ire, well, first off I haven’t even known u that long but it kinda feels like I have??? I absolutely adore your writing and had an ACTUAL crush for the first time in like a year due to your amazing character building (I’m still tryna get over Ezra so plz don’t hurt him too much but don’t rub his perfect bf in my face either plz) anyway, you’re rly kind and an incredible writer and I’m so blessed to have met u :) love u & ur blog

@bookstantrash : you are probably my fav commentator (is that the correct word?) seriously, every time I post a new fic or chapter, you always reply w your detailed reactions and it gives me life and motivation to write so thank you so much for that :)) I’m also so happy that I was able to convince u to post your writing bc otherwise I wouldn’t have met Kaelin!!

@ncssian : first off, I LOVE your writing and your blog so, so much. I’m sure u know I’m addicted to A Favor and I love your blog colors. Secondly you’re so nice ♥️ thanks for cheering me up and writing me stuff and just generally being super kind and friendly to me!! And thirdly, I’m so glad to have met you through tumblr :)

@ladynestaarcheron : girl, u know I love your writing (I’ve been clear in that regard, I think) but anyway Lizo, I think you’re also a rly cool person even tho we barely talk and I love your blog!!

@moanypony8 : number 1, thanks for being so supportive!! Number 2, kudos to you for posting all your writing :)))

@letstakethedawn : I’m so glad we met through the GC and we got to talk. I’m so happy that u posted your writing and I love just generally talking to u. <3

@illyrianshadowhunter : thanks for all the likes and reblogs !! I rlyyy appreciate all the support

@nightcourtcinnamonroll : Thanks for always liking and reblogging my posts :) I love your writing btw

@simping4bookboisngrls : hi Cassie! You’re honestly so sweet and I’m so happy I was able to get to know you through the GC! (Finch & Jason r great, too) Anyway, I hope we get to talk more :)

@maastrash : hey! We haven’t talked in a while, but u were one of the first ppl I messaged and talked to on tumblr and I’m so happy we got to do that :) I love your writing & I think you’re a wonderful person <3 i hope you’re doing well!

Obv there’s a TON of ppl I adore on tumblr, so I decided to limit myself to 14 (also its 2 am so plz forgive me). But just know that I love and appreciate each and every one of you.

That mean you. Yes, you. *blows kiss*

Love you♥️

#sayosdreams #thanks #happy holidays #appreciation

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lahoreherald · 3 years

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Facebook and Instagram Delete Abusive Comments From Singer Lizzo Social Accounts

Facebook and Instagram have removed some of the hate comments from the American singer Lizzo social accounts. The move comes after the singer spoke tearfully about the “dangerous” violence she received on social networks. A Facebook spokesperson told The Hollywood Reporter that the removed comments violated the company’s rules on hate speech and harassment.

Earlier this week, Lico said he had received “fat-phobic” and “racist” online attacks. Lisa, whose real name is Melissa Jefferson, has been a hit record in recent years thanks to hits like Juice and Good as Hell.

The release of the video for their new single Rumors, along with Cardi B’s, caused negative reactions online.

On Sunday Instagram Live, Lizo said, “The days when I need to feel the happiest, I feel really depressed. Sometimes I feel like the world doesn’t love me anymore. It’s like no matter how positive I am. The energy you invest in the world, you will still have people who have something to say about you.”

The singer got emotional and described a 12-hour workday with rehearsals, writing music, recording in the studio, filming and press appointments. He highlighted embarrassing comments about his appearance as one of the most dangerous.

“What I wouldn’t accept is doing this over and over again on black women, especially us big black girls,” she said. “If we don’t match the drawer you want, you’re just spreading hatred against us. That’s not cool. I’m doing this for future big black women who just want to live their lives without being tested or put in boxes.”

Lizzo’s comments come just a week after Instagram rolled out a new feature that lets users limit comments and DM requests to “high jumps”.

A feature that allows users to enable or disable automatically hiding comments from accounts that do not or have recently followed the user.

Facebook, which owns Instagram, announced earlier this year that the company was adopting a tougher stance on instant messaging.

On Wednesday, Lizo spoke about the abuse she received in an interview with Good Morning America.

“I know my job as an artist is to reflect on time and that shouldn’t pass, that’s not true,” he said.

Many social media users over the past few years have wondered why celebrities choose to stay on such platforms when they receive so many negative comments.

Read more YouTube search function gets a great new feature

Published in Lahore Herald #lahoreherald #breakingnews #breaking

#Lizzo Instagram #lizzo leaves social media #Lizzo social media news #Latest #Tech

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sheerfreesia007 · 4 years

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Awesome headcannons this week! Super entertaining and actually (please don’t take this in a patronising way because I really don’t mean it like that) you are getting better and better at writing them! I love that they give us an insight into the other characters minds too! Hope your day was not as stressful as yesterday? Pretty shocked Sparks has agreed to tell her near death story, it’s not something she’s ever talked about before, she’s usually very private. Big up Sparkles, good for you! Lizo

Nope definitely not taking it that way. Thank you! I wasn't sure how headcanons were supposed to be written at first but now I kinda get it. Haha, i really have no idea what I'm doing.

It's been good so far. My trainee is starting to understand a little more each day so that's relieving it means I'm doing something right with training. And I'm starting to learn how she learns things so I can adjust my training for her. Still wiped out but not as bad as yesterday.

I'm interested to hear this story and I appreciate she's willing to share.

#sheer answers

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stunudo · 6 years

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I was tagged by @bitchinprentiss Ji, thanks!

Nickname(s): Grandma, Mom, Lola💚

Gender: female

Sign: Leo

Height: 5′5-ish

Time: 9:59pm

Bday: July 30

Favourite bands: Cake, Queen, Journey, needtobreathe, Mumford and sons, the Lumineers, DMB, Modest Mouse, the Killers, Queens of the Stone Age, Tool (bc of the husband), Train, The Dixie Chicks…

Favourite solo artists: Billy Joel, Jewel, Elton John, Bette Midler, Carole King, Missy Elliot, Lizo, Kelly Clarkson, too many

Last movie I watched: The Lion King

Last show I watched: Trollhunters (such a mom)

When did I create this account: February? 2017, Didn’t start writing until April or May though

What do I post: Criminal Minds, Star Wars, Marvel, CW DC multiverse, Stranger Things, Supernatural, Dr Who, random stuff?

What did I last Google: Who sings hold back the River? (James Bay)

Other blogs: Just starting other ones…

@stusbunker Spn

@stusmultipass DC CW

@say-the-jokes-on-me and I may have been one of the BAU anons on Mish’s site way back when… 😉

Do I get asks: Yes! I love my awesome mutuals. (@illegalcerebral , @ay-nako and @mentallydatingspencerreid )and anyone who wants to chat, honestly!

Why did I choose this URL: It’s my gaming handle from forever ago from a HS nickname. 😋

Following: 108

Followers: 675

Average hours of sleep: Fridays = 2, every other night 8

Lucky number: 13, 16

Instrument: Violin

What am I wearing: Um, nope.

Dream job: Author

Favourite food: bread and butter (I am VV white)

Last book I read: I started the second Magnus Chase book by Riordan

3 favourite fandoms: Harry Potter, Criminal Minds, Supernatural (kinda rude to pick only 3)

tagging besides those above…@imagicana @teatimewithtiya @starshinerogers @captainreid @mentallydatingspencerreid @criminal-anatomy @dontshootmespence @marvelfanlife and anyone else who wants to (please tag me so i can read/learn more about you 👵)

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superlizothings · 6 years

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ello everyone! (by everyone I mean the few people who follow me lol)

So, the past few weeks have been pretty rough because school has started and I've been finding it difficult to adjust and make friends again. Thankfully though, something incredible happened that made me feel better about myself.

This summer I participated in a fellowship and our task was to write 5 articles a week for about 2-3 months. Now that the fellowship has ended, my supervisor decided to publish some of my articles! These aren’t the articles that I was proud of or attached to but the readers seemed to like it. Also, one of it made it to the front page so woot woot!!!

If you guys have time or are interested, you could read em too! One is an embarrassing story of me flunking my A-Levels (I shouldn’t have written about it), another about face-mapping and another about ‘snazzing your uniform’ which I wasn’t interested in but it was assigned to me so...

By writing and getting constructive criticism and advice from people online, I’ve really learnt new things and am now slightly more confident in my writing skills tbh. I always thought since English is my third language, I wouldn’t be able to write as well as others. But thankfully more love for story-telling and constant practice has payed off.

I feel good today after a long time... wowzers.

#seriously though I feel motivated all of a sudden #other #lizo rants #ranting lizo?!#like amber's show ranting monkey?!#hmm....#writing #articles #published work

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blairemclaren · 4 years

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Roy Hudd Death | Actor Roy Hudd Obituary – Cause Of Death

Roy Hudd Death – It is with tremendous sadness that we write about Roy Hudd demise.

Roy Hudd death was announced on twitter by lizo mzimba on March 16, 2020. Roy Hudd was a talented comedian and a great actor. He also was a presenter before his passing. We offer our deepest condolence to Roy Hudd friends and family.

DeadDeath is yet to confirm Roy Hudd cause and details of Death. This post will…

View On WordPress

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ladynestaarcheron · 4 years

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Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Eleven

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost (ff.net isn’t working for me rn, so i’ll update chapter eleven there probably tomorrow)

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

hey hey hey!! i’m back with chapter eleven after only two weeks!! i was actually procrastinating writing my poetry essay and working on my novel by writing this, so that counts as productivity, right?

thanks to my fantabulous beta @thestarwhowishes and thank to you all for reading!! i am just floored by all of your support, it means so much to me!!

(and psst!! if you like my writing maybe try out my sideblog where i post original content @liorzoewrites)

anyway, chapter eleven! enjoy!

---

November 2 - 4 years after

When Hazar finally arrives at the shop, Maz, Amir, and Xeyale start to tell the whole staff what happened at Amalike Orchards’ berry fair.

“Chokecherry already had booths set up when we got there,” Maz says, grimacing. “With Morrisey’s new novel.”

“And they had agents with them,” Xeyale adds.

Adil frowns. “What do you mean, agents?”

“Publishing agents.”

“They were signing authors at the fair?” Hazar asks, disbelief all over his normally cheerful face.

“Not exactly,” Xeyale says.

“They were taking in manuscripts,” Amir says. “For short stories, we think. We think their plan is to publish a collection of them.”

“And that’s their brilliant archiving strategy?” Nesta says. “Just taking any short story from any writer who shows up at the berry fair and tying it all together into a book?” She shares a look with Adil. No one appreciates the art of literature anymore.

“It is a brilliant strategy,” Hazar says, reluctant to admit it.

“We think so, too,” Amir says, and Xeyale nods behind them. Before any of them can protest, Amir raises their hands in surrender. “Look, you’re all archivists. Readers. Some of you are writers. But from publishing and marketing standpoints...it goes faster. If one author writes a three hundred page novel, that one author has to have a good idea and a good execution. Or people won’t buy it. But if you get ten authors each writing thirty pages...even if four of them aren’t that great, people will still buy it for the sixth.”

“Or one big name author with a few other smaller ones,” Hazar says. “That’ll sell just the same.”

“But the same number of books get sold,” Adil says. “Don’t they lose money, with all the authors they have to pay per book?”

“More books get sold,” Hazar says.

“It suits a larger audience,” Nesta realizes. “So more people buy it.” Because those six authors they’ll buy the book for are different authors for everyone.

Sometimes Nesta hates individual taste. Especially if it’s poor.

Adil puts his head in his hands. “How many publishing agents do they have?”

“Not many,” Maz says. “We only saw three at the fair.”

“For all those new authors?”

“I imagine the authors aren’t treated very well,” Hazar says, frowning slightly. “But they might not care, if they get published quickly.”

“That’ll be bad for them in the long run, though,” Leyla says, speaking up.

“I agree with you, but again, they might not care.”

“Do we have to start publishing short story collections?” Zeyn asks.

Nesta thinks about what would go into that. They would need to find so many new authors. Sugar Books--and Adil--believes in the separation of genre, so they couldn’t just cram any random ten stories together. It would go against their idea of what the literary world should be. What would that take, to find a variety of authors who write on the same subject, with the enough of the same general style to create harmony, but each unique enough to justify its presence in the book?

She shivers involuntarily, very thankful for Cassian’s shared account.

"We’ll definitely have to start signing more authors,” Adil decides. “We’ll...send out scouts.”

“To Chokecherry?” Maz says.

“No,” Adil says. “But everywhere else. Where authors frequent. We’ll have to go overtime on reading manuscripts. But we will not--” he slams his hand down on the table quite suddenly, startling them all “--compromise on the integrity and quality of literature.”

“Hear, hear!” Zeyn calls, and Nesta suppresses a smile. He catches it and winks at her.

“We’ll split up. Xeyale, Amir, and Nesta, you’ll stay and run the shop. Hazar, you stay here, too, and wait for our new clients. Miri and I will go to Berries’ Rivers, Maz, you go to Privet Falls, Leyla, Wintergreen Glen, and Zeyn, Juniper Hills. We’re talent scouting. Find places authors frequent, approach them, if they’re any good, send them here.” He looks at them all intently.

Zeyn and Nesta exchange a glance.

“Ah, Adil,” Zeyn says, rather timid. “You do know that that’s insane, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, already making to leave the room and go back to his office.

“All the gods,” Hazar says, standing up. “I’ve got to go get a cup of coffee.” And he leaves too.

“I mean, that’s insane, right?” Zeyn says.

“I think we’re all in agreement of that, yes,” Leyla says, nodding.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Miri says.

They all look at her.

"Maybe it’s time for a change,” she defends. “Maybe this is the way to do it. This is what they do in the acting industry, right?”

“But this isn’t the acting industry.”

“He’s really stressed about this,” Miri says. “He doesn’t want this place to lose anymore than Chokecherry has already taken from it.” He doesn’t want any of you to lose anymore than Chokecherry has taken, she doesn’t say, but they all see it in her eyes. “I think it will work.” She stands. “And at any rate...it’s what we’re doing.” She leaves.

“I hate what this is doing to everyone,” Maz complains, and Nesta hates to agree with him, but she does too.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be the only archivist while you’re all off turning into the acting industry,” she says, shaking her head.

Zeyn and Leyla laugh.

"Don’t worry,” Xeyale says, grinning at her. “We’ll be here to keep you company.”

“A real comfort,” she says dryly. She stands too. “Well, I suppose we’ve got work to do. We need to find all the places...authors frequent.” She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, in a fifty mile radius,” Maz grumbles. “This is never going to work.”

“Don’t say that,” Zeyn says lightly. “It might. And wouldn’t it be great? To discover new talent like that?”

Nesta knows the question isn’t directed at her, but she wonders anyway--what would it be like? In publishing? She didn’t think she’d like archiving before she started; she thought reading was the only thing she enjoyed.

That’s not something she can explore now, though, and that’s why Adil is having her stay here. So she shakes herself and goes to find maps of the surrounding towns.

---

November 20 - Year of

She avoided him for days after she snapped. He caught her in the living room when she came back from work one day.

“Wait, Nesta,” he said, jumping to his feet as soon as she walked in.

Nesta stifled a groan. She didn’t want to have this conversation.

She didn’t like that tentative, detached politeness. She was angry.

(And Cassian was anything but tentative and detached. It felt abnormal sharing that with him.)

“Please,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Nesta said stiffly, “Don’t worry about it,” and tried to push past him.

“No, Nesta,” he said, raising his hands and blocking her path to the hallway. “Not for breakfast. I mean, yes for breakfast, but also...for everything. For bringing you here. For...leaving you here.”

She froze. He did too.

She moved her eyes from his face. She couldn’t look at him.

Why was everything so hot all of a sudden?

“I...should have known this wasn’t the right thing to do,” he said, slowly, carefully. Nesta could tell he was thinking hard about each word before he said it. “To bring you here and leave you alone. Here, of all places. We thought...I thought it would be good for you. I thought...you would have space and maybe you would want to train and that would be a good outlet for you the same way it is for me and you’d get....”

Better, he didn’t say.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was hoarse and Nesta was scared to look at him so she didn’t.

He sat back down. “That’s...all I wanted to say,” he said lamely.

Nesta kept her eyes averted as she nodded slightly and ducked into the hall, into her room, shutting the door behind her.

He apologized.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

And he certainly seemed sorry--just by his voice, of course, because she hadn’t seen his face.

He’d thought she might want to train...he didn’t know her at all, clearly. And he hadn’t mentioned all of it; not all that happened in Velaris and the fact that she was this thing now, but she was glad of it, because all he did say was nearly too much to bear.

And she couldn’t spend the rest of her night going over everything, playing it all back in her head until she knew the words by heart, so she tried to best to put it all out of her mind.

Because...was she supposed to forgive him now?

---

November 2 - 4 years after

The staff is gone later that day, as Adil is determined to discover five brilliant new authors before the month is over. Nesta is glad Miri is going with him; she might talk some sense into him.

“Does he actually think Gilameyva’s just bleeding ingenious writers?” Leyla had muttered to her before they all left.

Nesta laughed a little. “He’s just anxious,” she said, echoing Miri.

"I can’t believe I have to go to Wintergreen Glen. It’s so boring.”

"Well, maybe you’ll find a whole new world to fall into.”

"Right. I’m sure we’ll find the next Morrissey in Wintergreen Glen.”

"Why not?” Zeyn had said, appearing next to them. “Morrisey’s from Privet Falls.”

And Morrissey, Nesta thinks to herself as she walks back home, isn’t even that great of a writer.

She doesn’t have to pick up the children from nursery because Cassian’s already got them. It’s quite nice, actually, to be able to spend a little while longer at work locking up and stop for a coffee from Jamal’s without worrying too much.

Aysel is there, too, and she walks back with her. “So,” she says to her, eager to get to the point after what was surely a painful exchange of pleasantries for the town’s resident busybody, “I hear that Cassian of yours has been staying for quite some time.”

"He comes and goes.”

"He’s been here a week.”

“That’s true,” she says.

“I saw him today. He picked the children up. Oh, they’re so cute, you know. Just the sweetest little things.”

“I agree with you.”

“You do such a good job with them!”

“Thank you, Aysel.”

“I remember when they were born. Ooh, Ollie was so tiny, do you remember?”

“Their birth?” Nesta laughs. “Vividly.”

Aysel laughs too, in that hurried way she always does. “Of course, of course. He’s so big now.”

“He is,” she agrees. She can’t believe it, sometimes, how much they have grown in three years. Especially Ollie; he had been so small.

“And his father,” Aysel says, in a tone she thinks is supposed to be sly. “Well, he’s not small, is he?”

“He’s tall,” Nesta says neutrally.

“ Very tall. Probably the tallest person in Sugar Valley, ever.”

“We had some tall people in for the last Berry Fair.”

“Tallest one now.”

“Probably.”

“How tall do you think your boys are going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Ava?”

“Taller than I am, I hope.”

“Oh, don’t say that, dearie. You’re such a darling height.”

They reach their street then, and Nesta might’ve invited her for strawberry tea and jam, but she’s not going to. Confirming personally that Cassian is her children’s father to Aysel is one thing, inviting her inside to meet him is quite another.

“Well, have a good evening, Aysel,” she says.

“You too, dearie. Kisses to the babies!”

She waves at her over her shoulder and strides up to her porch.

She might’ve guessed something is wrong by the fact that she can’t hear any noise from the inside, but she knows for sure because Cassian rips the door open as soon as she reaches it. His face is pale.

Nesta’s heart drops. “What is it?” A million different scenarios run through her mind, each one worse than the last.

“Come inside,” is all he says.

They rush up the stairs, Nesta’s pulse going faster than it ever has before when he leads her up the stairs and to her children’s bedroom. She braces herself as best she can for when she goes inside, but she knows there isn’t a good way to prepare.

But they’re all there...whole. In three perfect pieces. Nicky and Ollie laying in the beds, Avery standing in between them, her hand on Nicky’s form.

She looks at Cassian, his face still ashen. “What?” she asks.

His eyes widen. “They’re sick!”

Nesta throws a hand to her forehead. For mercy’s sake. “Don’t,” she says, rubbing her temples, “ever deliver news to me that way.”

Her heartbeat back to normal, she joins Avery in the middle of her sons’ beds. She settles herself on her knees and pulls her close. She doesn’t feel hot.

"How are you feeling, ladybug?”

"Good,” she says, slightly muffled against Nesta’s body. She looks up at her. “Nicky and Ollie are sick.”

"Yes,” she says, nodding. Then she looks at Cassian. “It’s flu season.”

"Emilia’s sick, too.”

"Yes,” she says, still looking pointedly at Cassian. “Probably the flu, poor thing.”

He glares at her, but she can see his coloring darkens slightly, which probably would have delighted her once.

She doesn’t hate it, now.

She puts her hand on Nicky’s forehead and then Ollie’s. A fever, each of them. Ollie is sleeping soundly, and Nicky seems like he’ll fall asleep soon.

"Mummy will bring you something to drink,” she whispers to him, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

She leads Avery and Cassian out of the room.

“I don’t want to be sick.”

“You won’t,” she assures her. “You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want my brothers to be sick.”

Nesta feels the same rush of overwhelming emotion she always does when her children express how much they love each other. “Don’t worry,” she says to her, smiling. “They’ll be better soon. Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she says to Cassian when she’s gone. “Do you know what went through my head?”

"They’re sick!”

“Children get sick! People get sick! They’ll get better!”

“Well, I’ve never had children get sick before!”

Nesta softens at the fear in his voice, shining through his eyes as well. “They’ll be fine,” she says in a more gentle tone. “It’ll be a few days...it’s properly miserable to see them, but they’ll be fine. I only don’t want to keep Avery here...I don’t want her to get sick, too. Normally I’d ask Miri and Adil,” she says, talking more to herself. “But they’re gone, and I can’t ask Amorette. I guess I’ll keep her in my room. Oh, and I’ll have to stay here. Oh, but I’m alone at the store....”

"You’re alone at the store?”

"Yes, Adil’s got everyone traipsing around the country, looking for authors,” she says, waving a hand. “Unless...when are you going back?”

“Not before they’re better.”

Nesta straightens. That was the right answer. “Well, could you watch them during the day?”He nods, his expression casual, but Nesta can tell he’s terrified.

"It’s really not that big of a deal,” she says. “I’ll show you which medication to give them, how often. I’ll make soup. They’ll need fluids. Oh, and Nicky can’t have plain water when he’s sick, he’ll need tea...I’ll write this down for you...but it’s not like I’m going to be leaving you alone,” she adds at the sight of him. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Just work.”

“I know,” he says. Hesitates. “I just...”

“What?”

“I’m...worried.”

Nesta puts down the pen she’s picked up and crosses the room to his side. She moves her hand to take his, but thinks better of it. “You don’t need to. They’ll be fine. So will you. You’ve been...” her eyes dart around the room, but she meets his gaze when she says, “very helpful. This week.”

His head lifts slightly, and that all-too-familiar cocky grin appears. “Yeah?”

“Yes. In fact...” Now Nesta hesitates. “Maybe...if you would feel comfortable...you could spend the night with Avery at Miri’s house?”

His grin slides off his face.

“If it’s too soon,” she says quickly, “then--you know what? Forget--”

“No!” he says. “No, I can! I can--sure. At Miri’s...yes. I can. I know what she needs. I can...yes.”

“All right,” she says, relieved somewhat. “I’ll...make you a list.”

“Okay.”

“And...she’ll have flying lessons tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to go with her? And I’ll stay home with the boys?”

Nesta’s never seen his eyes light up the way they do now.

---

November 12 - 1 year after

She didn’t feel exactly ill, but she felt off. Like the world had been tilted a few degrees. She had been hungrier than normal for her the past week or so, but it’s not till that day she wondered if something was wrong with her.

Only briefly. Then she pushed the thought aside. Things were going well, and she didn’t need to look for something to be upset about.

"Good morning, Nesta,” Zeyn greeted her cheerfully. How was he always so happy all the time? It was jarring.

"Hello, Zeyn,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“Headache?”

“No...” she said, because her head didn’t hurt, it just felt...weird. “Just tired.” Perhaps that was it.

“I’ve got a lot of new books today. Maybe you’d like to read one. Do you like mystery?”

“It’s all right,” she said. Most mystery novels were predictable to her. “I’ve got to finish mine, though.”

“How have you been with all those?” he asked, following her to the back room.

All that is Holy, she thought. “It’s going well, thanks.” It was reading. And fixing up books. And setting a price. As long as you could read, it wasn’t hard.

“I just get so overwhelmed sometimes,” he said. “You know, all those books. In such a short amount of time. And how do you set a price!”

“Length and demand,” she said, frowning slightly. How else would you set a price?

“Yes, but it’s hard to foresee demand at a store that sells used books,” he said. “I imagine it’s even more so for you, because human-authored books are so unpopular. Not that they aren’t good! Just so, I guess, uncommon. Yes, that’s the word. It’s rare to come across one. But now that the Wall is down, we might trade more. It’d be really fascinating, don’t you think, to see what books are popular with humans. Don’t you think? Nesta?”

“Just...” Nesta said, “I. Oh. Oh, I have to...” she trailed off, not being able to hear herself suddenly.

“Here, lie down.” She could feel a pair of warm, strong hands lower her gently to the ground. Oh, it felt so-- wrong , to be touched like that. By another male’s hands. Oh, she didn’t like it...

The room was spinning. She could hear more voices. Emerie was yelling. No, not Emerie. Not Emerie, right? Who was that? Who was speaking?

Someone was saying her name. Someone...but she couldn’t hear.

And then she couldn’t see.

---

November 2 - 4 years after

Cassian’s still has yet to regain his power of speech, but it doesn’t matter, because Ava keeps the conversation going on her own.

“And I will put my horse here, and I will put my dog here, and I will put my owl here...” she sing-songs, placing her stuffed animals in various spots on the bed he has set up for her in Miri’s house.

She’s ready to go to sleep, after being fed and bathed at Nesta’s house. But she wants to set up the room the way she likes it first.

"And I want...my giraffe.”

“Your giraffe?” Cassian repeats, looking around. “I don’t see...”

“Nicky has it.”

“Nicky has it?”

“Yes.”

“But Nicky’s at home.”

“Let’s go get it.”

“Well,” he says, wishing Nesta were here, “we’ll go home tomorrow morning, and we’ll bring your giraffe then.”

Ava looks outraged. “I want it now!”

She hadn’t mentioned this. Nesta didn’t say anything about a giraffe. And he’s never been out with Ava before; how was he supposed to know? “But...we’ll let Nicky have it. Because he’s sick. Just for tonight.” Maybe that tactic will work?

Ava considers it. “Tomorrow I will get my giraffe?”

He’s nothing if not strategic. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Not tonight?”

“No, not tonight.”

Ava thinks some more. “All right, tomorrow.”

Cassian breathes a sigh of relief. Ava’s been throwing crisis after crisis at him. He feels like a novice, back when he did simulations. When his commanders had given them every possible thing that could go wrong, all at the same time. There was an Illyrian expression that loosely translated into “difficult training makes for an easy battle”--but there is no training for parenting and it is by no definition an easy battle.

“Tell me a story,” she orders him when he finally convinces her to get into bed.

Cassian nods. Nesta had told him one as they packed, reciting the important lines a few times over for him to memorize. “I’ll tell you the one about Jack,” he says.

“No, I don’t want Jack.”

Fantastic.

"Well,” he says, trying to keep a level head. “What...story do you want?”

“Not a Mummy story.”

“What’s a Mummy story? Oh, not one of Mummy’s stories.” She wants one of his? Nesta wouldn’t like him telling any Illyrian tales...and he doesn’t think it’s a particularly good idea either. “Maybe...” Cassian rack his brain. He has stories, doesn’t he? One of them must be child-friendly. Or he can edit it to make it so.

Had he ever gone on some sort of quest that didn’t end in bloodshed?

“Not too long ago,” he says, in the way Illyrian tales always start, realizing as he begins that it’s quite eerie, but no matter, “there was a male who loved a female very much. And the female loved...very much...more than anything in the world...chocolate.”

Ava laughs. “I love chocolate!”

“You do? Well, the female loved chocolate so much, but there was one type of chocolate she loved more than all the others. But she hadn’t had it since she was a little girl, and she now lived very far away from the place where they made it. One day, she was very sad...and he knew only that chocolate would make her happy again. So he decided he would travel to find it.

“He had to cross an ocean and many lands, for only one tiny little town across the world made this exact kind of chocolate. When he got to the tiny town, he searched and searched for the chocolate shop. And then...he found it. And he bought some chocolate...and he brought it home...and then the female was happy again,” he finishes lamely.

Ava looks at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t blame her. Although in his defense, it had been more exciting when it had actually happened.

“Tell it again!” she says.

He does, trying to make it sound better this time around, but he isn’t very good at it. He might’ve laced the story with bits and pieces of other (real) quests he had been on, but he isn’t sure what he’s allowed to say.

After the second time, Ava looks at him thoughtfully. “That was not a good story,” she tells him.

He laughs a little. “I’m sorry. Should I tell you the story about Jack?”

“Yes!”

He recites the story Nesta had told him, exactly the way she had instructed, and Ava is thrilled. She laughs and claps along.

"Again!” she says when he finishes. And again and again.

Until he says, “It’s time for you to go to sleep, now, Ava.”

"So let’s go home.”

“We’re sleeping here tonight, Ava, remember?”

To his horror, her eyes well up with tears. “I want to go home with Mummy and Nicky and Ollie.”

“Don’t cry,” he says, fretting. “Don’t--it’s okay, don’t--oh....”

“I don’t--want--to stay here,” she sobs. “I want to go home!”

“I’m sorry...we’ll go home tomorrow, Ava.”

“I want my giraffe!”

“But we said we’d let Nicky have the giraffe tonight, don’t you remember?” he says desperately. But Ava doesn’t care. He can’t quite make out exactly what she’s saying and he doesn’t know what to do.

So he picks her up out of bed and lays her against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to bounce her. That’s how to calm children down, right?

“I don’t want to stay here all by myself!” Her cries are muffled against him.

“Well, you’re not all by yourself,” he says. “I’m here. I’m staying with you.” Would that be enough? Please let that be enough. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that’s not good enough for her. Just for one night.

She sniffles a little and lifts her head, looking up at him with his own eyes. Except so innocent, so pure. “Can I sleep in your bed?” she asks, voice still wavering.

Relief crashes over him. “Sure,” he says. “Of course.”

The smile she gives him is vibrant, and he marvels at how little he loved her at the beginning of the week compared to now.

---

November 30 - Year of

She’d told her sister, once, that the last thing she would want would be to be remembered as a coward. She felt like one now.

Like a coward and angry and hurt, perhaps, more than anything. Which made her feel stupid.

Sometimes Nesta thought she felt too much.

After Cassian had apologized, she’d fled to her room and avoided him successfully for over a week. It was made easier by the fact that he did have to leave a few times during the week, to one of those neighboring camps he always went off to.

She didn’t want to think about it. Especially the pain. Because if he had hurt her...she didn’t let herself finish the thought.

But one afternoon, at work, while counting out jackets in the back, she heard Emerie say, “What are you doing here?”

And then she heard him reply, “I came to see Nesta.”

She nearly dropped the jacket she was holding. She normally felt him before she heard him. Where had that gone? It was of no use to her when they were both in the house, and now it was too late to sneak out the back, because he was coming.

"Nesta,” he said, pushing open the door.

“The sign says ‘employees only’,” she blurted out, which she knew was the stupidest thing she could have said, but it was too late.

“Emerie said I could go in.”

Traitor.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“It couldn’t wait? I’m working.” Perhaps he’d make some snide comment about working in a clothier as opposed to being the Night Court’s Emissary and then she could pick a fight over that and kick him out of the shop and they’d go back to the way things were when she got here. Except she’d have Emerie and her drinking habit more under control, so it’d be better.

But he just said, “I know. I’m sorry, it couldn’t wait. I’ll be leaving again soon. For about five days, I think. Maybe longer. And I couldn’t go without...” he trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated sound. “I keep doing things wrong with you, Nesta.

She averted her gaze. She couldn’t do this. This was too much. And if he mentioned...that day...the battlefield...she didn’t know what she would do.

But he did.

“I promised you time, once,” he said softly.

No. No, she could not do this.

“I have to go,” she managed. She pushed past him, quickly, careful not to touch him.

“Wait, Nesta, please--”

“Nesta,” Emerie said, turning as she entered the room. “Where are you--?”

But Nesta didn’t stay to hear her finish. Instead, she ran.

---

November 3 - 4 years after

This time it is Nesta who rips open the door as soon as she hears Cassian approaching.

“Mummy!” Avery calls, reaching her arms out for her.

“Hi, ladybug,” Nesta croons. She holds her tightly against herself. “I missed you so much.”

She had regretted sending Cassian out with her the moment they had gone. She hadn’t spent a night away from them, ever. She had never not tucked them into bed. And now...Avery had had a night without her. It felt like she should look different. There should be some mark upon her face.

But her daughter looks just as she did last night, just as cheerful and chattery. Cassian looks relatively unscathed, too, if a bit tired.

“Did you have fun?” she asks her as she ushers them inside.

“Appa told me a boring story,” Avery says, and wiggles out of Nesta’s arm onto the ground. “I want some orange juice in my purple cup, please.”

“Boring story?” Nesta says to Cassian.

“She didn’t want yours. And I didn’t want to tell her something you wouldn’t approve of. She still asked for it again, anyway,” he says defensively.

Nesta looks at him. “And you told it to her?”

“Yes.” Now he looks unsure. “And then she wanted yours...so I told that one, like, three times.”

Nesta shakes her head. She looks at Avery. Her daughter knows how to get what she wants, that’s for sure. “Did she ask to sleep in your bed, too?”

“...is that bad?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Avery wraps everyone she meets around her little finger. Why should her father be any different?

“How are Nicky and Ollie?” he asks.

"Still ill,” she says. “The main thing is just to keep them on a constant stream of fluids so they don't dehydrate. Soup, if they feel up for it. Talk to them if you can, but they might be too tired.”

“Shouldn’t we take them to a healer?”

She hadn’t realized how much she’d appreciate hearing him say we . “We don’t need to,” she says. “It’s the common flu. They’ll be fine.”

“So...you never take them to the healer? If they have the flu?”

“It’s not necessary if it lasts only a couple of days,” she reminds him, “for adults and children both.”

“Infants--”

“Not the same,” she explains patiently. “They can digest medication. Infants can’t.”

She finishes putting Avery’s breakfast in front of her. “When you’re done, Mummy will take you to nursery.”

“I want to say hello to Nicky and Ollie.”

“Finish your breakfast and then go,” she says to her. Then she says to Cassian, “Well, other than that...how was it?”

“She cried,” he admits. Then he grins. “But I calmed her down.”

“By letting her sleep in your bed.”

“Why is that not allowed?”

Nesta shakes her head again. “You were only with her. What if they all wanted to sleep in your bed?”

“What then?”

“They would kick you out and you would end up on the floor.” Nesta had thought moving them into their own beds would be a hard step, and it was, but as soon as she woke up from her first night alone in over two years, she didn’t miss it anymore.

Cassian laughs. “I can take them.”

Nesta hides a smile. “Finish up, Avery,” she says. “It’s almost time to go.”

She busies herself around the kitchen with nothing in particular, just feeling his eyes on her.

---

November 12 - 1 year after

She could hear everyone around her before she could see them. Low, hushed voices. Some whirring sound, too. She shivered from the cold and from something else.

“Oh, she’s waking up,” she heard someone whisper.

“Nesta?” another voice said. Miri, from Sugar Books. What was she doing here?

Nesta opened her eyes. Where was here, exactly?

Here was a small room Nesta didn’t recognize. Pale blue walls decorated with tiny sugar berries; the sheets on the bed she was lying on the same design. The curtains on the window were a cheerful yellow and the expressions on Zeyn and Miri’s faces were anything but.

“Can you hear us, Nesta?”

Nesta struggled to sit upright. “Of course I can hear you,” she said, grumbling slightly. “What are these?” She shook her arm as she spoke, at the needles prodded inside her. She was in an infirmary of some kind. She vaguely remembered blacking out at the store, but since she could feel no pain, she assumed she was fine. Probably just dehydrated. After all, she had been Made. The epitome of perfection, was she not? She didn’t get sick anymore.

“Fluids,” Zeyn said unhelpfully.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course they were fluids. But Zeyn was harmless, if annoying, and she didn’t want to start an antagonistic relationship with the coworker who clearly liked her best.

“You blacked out,” Miri said, her wide dark eyes searching Nesta’s face. “We brought you to the clinic. A healer is seeing to you. Her name’s Amorette. She’s fairly new here, but I’ve been told she’s very good.”

Nesta nodded. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, hoping they’ll hear the dismissal.

They do. “Feel better, Nesta,” Zeyn said, reaching her hand to squeeze it. She tried not to flinch.

“We’ll be by to check in on you,” Miri said.

Oh, for the love of all things Holy. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She smiled as she spoke, hoping she did so normally.

Cassian used to make fun of her forced smiles. You look like you’re in pain.

Why was she thinking of him all of a sudden?

They left as the healer stood in the room. She looked to be about Nesta’s age--although with Fae, you couldn’t really tell, could you? But at any rate, a pretty, High Fae female, with light blue eyes and blond hair that kept tied at the nape of her neck.

“Good afternoon, Miss Archeron,” the healer said. “I’m Amorette Dadashov. I’ll be your healer today. May I come in?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” she said, pleasantly surprised at the healer asking permission.

Healer Dadashov closed the door behind her. She was holding a notebook in her hand. “I can see all your vitals have returned to normal,” she said, without checking them like a mortal nurse would have to. “All things considered.”

"All things considered?”

“Yes,” she said, flipping through the pages of her book. “I understand you’re new in town?”

What on Earth did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”

“And, forgive me, you’re here alone?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“And you’ve not been to our clinic yet, correct?”

“Correct.” Shouldn’t that all be in her book? Why is she asking all this?

“So your options have not yet been explained to you?” Dadashov looked Nesta in the eye as she spoke.

Nesta’s patience was wearing thin. “Look,” she snapped, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d very much like if you could just tell me what happened and what I have to do so it doesn’t happen again and let me go. Please,” she added as an afterthought. It didn’t sound very gracious.

Dadashov’s eyes widened. “Miss Archeron,” she said, not quite stuttering but certainly with none of the confidence she’d had before. “You do...I mean...you know that you’re pregnant?”

Nesta’s favorite book as a child was about magic. It wasn’t called magic, of course, for in the tiny human section of their island, magic was shunned. But that power to manipulate nature; that was what it was. The heroine was a girl named Avery, and Avery’s villain was a woman who could make things vanish. The most terrifying part of the story, in eight-year-old Nesta’s opinion, was the part where the villain made the floor vanish right from underneath Avery, and she fell and fell for miles until she could get her magic working to pull herself back up.

Nesta felt that. But there was no one to pull her back up. Because she was alone. There was only falling.

“I...can see you did not know,” Dadashov said softly. “All right, well...” She pulled a chair towards the bed and sat down. She gripped Nesta’s hands, hers a warm peach next to Nesta’s stark white. “It’s going to be all right,” she said soothingly. “The clinic is very well prepared for any option you choose. We have three healer’s for female reproduction, myself included. We’re all more than capable of treating you in whatever...oh, dear. Here,” she said, passing her a wad of tissue paper.

“Oh,” Nesta said, taking some and wiping her eyes. “Oh, er, tha--”

But she choked on her words.

What was she supposed to do?

“I can’t be pregnant,” she whispered aloud. Because she couldn’t. Then she realized--she truly couldn’t. “This...can't be possible. I haven’t...been with anyone in months.” Even with the gravity of the situation, Nesta still felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks. Perhaps she had not entirely thrown out the excessive modesty of her upbringing with her few months of numerous partners in Velaris, and the few months living with Cassian.

Oh, Mother. Cassian.

“It’s...possible for a female to get pregnant months after intercourse,” the healer said slowly, carefully, like Nesta was an idiot.

“It is?” she replied, feeling like one.

“Yes.”

Of course, Nesta thought, thinking it through. Because her cycle was so slow...and that meant her whole system was so slow...and if pregnancy once would have occurred a few days after sex, now it happened months.

And she had stopped taking the potion. Because she had stopped sleeping with people. But that didn’t matter, because it had only been...Nesta counted backwards in her head...a month since she had last slept with Cassian.

(A month? Had it really only been a month?)

Nesta put her head in her hands. “All right,” she said, summoning her nerve. “Tell me about the other two healers.”

“Well,” Dadashov said, slightly taken aback, “there’s Huseyn Por--”

“Male.”

“Er, yes.”

“No. The other one.”

"Marya Kamal. She’s brilliant, one of the best in the field. We’re lucky to have her. Her studies--”

“How old is she?”

“Er,” Dadashov said, eyes darting around. “I believe...twelve-hundred, or so?”

“No. You, then. All right.” Nesta paused to take a deep breath. “I don’t know anything about faerie reproduction. I wasn’t born faerie. And I...can’t have this baby.”

Eugh, why did she say baby?

Dadashov’s eyes go even wider.

She’s a patient from Hell, she imagined. But Healers liked a challenge, didn’t they?

---

November 3 - 4 years after

The day spent with his sons is miserable. He sits with them all day, talking to them while they’re awake and running his hands down their backs while they sleep. Nicky seems to be doing a little better towards the late afternoon, and sits up to have soup, but Ollie barely takes the water Cassian makes him drink.

He’s beyond relieved when Nesta and Ava come home.

Ava rushes up the stairs ahead of Nesta. “We’re going to flying lessons now, Appa,” she sing-songs. “We’re going now, we’re going now, we’re going now.”

"Hi, angels,” Nesta says, coming into the room and sitting by Nicky. “How are you feeling?” she asks him, putting a hand on his forehead.

“Better,” he says, but his voice is still so weak.

Nesta kisses the top of his head and hugs him. “What about a bath? Would that make you feel better.”

He shrugs into her.

“I think it would,” she says, standing up. “How’s Ollie?”

“Sleeping, mostly.”

“Poor angel,” she sighs. “All right, you go on to flying lessons. Have fun, Avery. Say hello to Madam Sabina for me.”

“Bye-bye, Nicky! Bye-bye, Mummy! Let’s go now, Appa!”

Ava takes his hand and starts dragging him towards the door. “Bye,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll come back soon.”

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go now!”

Ava keeps up variations of her chant until they arrive at one of the parks where flying lessons commence. The children all look to be around her age, accompanied by a parent or two. They’re all various types of lesser fae, none of the likes of which he’s seen in the Night Court.

Madam Sabina is a round, pink female with large, feathery wings.

“Hello,” he says, introducing himself. “I’m here with Ava.”

“You’re her father?”

“Yes. Nesta’s at home. With the boys. They’re sick.”

“Ah, flu’s going around. All right, then. Normally I fly with the triplets, but good. You’ll do it. Wonderful. Are you excited to fly with your Daddy, Ava?”

“He’s my Appa,” she says. And then she starts singing again, “We’re at flying lessons now, we’re at flying lessons now.”

Madam Sabina shrugs. “Excited enough, I guess. All right, students!” she cries, clapping her hands. Let’s all gather around in a circle--mummies, daddies, uncles, let’s get behind them. Let’s start our stretching exercises.”

"Hi,” says the female next to him in the parents’ circle. “I’m Nuray, Zehra’s mother. I’m a friend of Nesta’s. You’re the triplets’ father, right?”

He nods. “Cassian,” he says.

“Nicky looks so much like you,” she says. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re sick,” he says, wondering how many friends Nesta has here, or if everyone who has a child in the same age group counts as a friend. “The flu.”

“Oh,” she says, clucking. “Poor dears. Well, it’s going around. Nice that Nesta’s got you here now, to help out. Especially with Zeyn gone.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, struggling to maintain a casual tone. “Good stretching, Ava,” he says to her.

“All right, now, let’s just flap our wings. Just like that. No, Fidan, not too fast! We’re just flapping, we’re not flying! All right, good!”

Ava grins up at him. “I already know how to fly,” she tells him.

“Oh, do you?”

“I’m so good at it.”

“I bet you are.”

“We’re not allowed to fly until Madam Sabina says it’s okay.”

“That’s right.”

“Because we have to stretch first because it’s very important.”

“It is very important, you’re right.”

“And, now we’re going to run all the way over there and then back again, all right? Go!”

Ava shoots off as fast as she can, making him laugh in delight. He feels a rush of gratitude towards Nesta for giving them such a beautiful, quiet place to learn to fly.

"I think it’s great that you’ve moved back in,” Nuray says. “In a town like this, people talk, but they’re good. People talked when my wife and I separated, but now we’re back, and people stop talking, you know?”

"Er,” Cassian says. “We’re not--I mean, I’m not--I don’t...live...here.”

“Oh!” Nuray brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I just...assumed. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s all right,” he says, eyes darting around. This is so--weird. Sugar Valley is so weird. People he doesn’t even know congratulating him on moving back in with Nesta. No one here knows who he is. No one here has served in any military. He’s not even sure Gilameyva has a military. It’s so detached from Prythian, so different.

“Well, at any rate...I think it’s great that you’re stepping up.”

“Thanks.” Is this a normal conversation?

Thankfully, Ava comes back then.

“All right, everyone,” Madam Sabina announces. “Pair up, pair up. We’re going to go up! Stand by your partner!”

Ava stands in front of Cassian, beaming up at him.

“Okay, just high enough to their heads. Now...up!”

Ava kicks herself off the ground--it isn’t graceful in the least, but he’s so proud, prouder than he’s ever been in his life.

“And now we’re all going to do a lap around the park together. No higher than six feet, parents! And uncle!”

Ava takes his hand as they fly together. He’s going abnormally slow, but he doesn’t care at all.

---

Chapter Twelve

#acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta archeron #like pristine glass #lizo writes #wow tumblr was super annoying putting this up #like more annoying than usual #anyway my frustration with the publishing world sort of bled into this chapter!!#really hope if you have any thoughts on this one you let me know #because i sort of bled into it!!#like this one was a lot #and i've been waiting to write and share it for a long time

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