#“she was so ornamental that you just never thought about her being useful” (actual quote)

[cultivating-wildflowers]

📚

[mitts2002]

JJK pottery dates

Hii I've already made a separate inumaki fic on this so he won't be included. I was originally meant to do this for one character but I've decided to do multiple cause I can😌 Also I've never done pottery so I'm just winging this!

Itadori Yuuji

Yuuji would assume that he's gonna be a natural at pottery despite being both your first time

But yuuji would definitely not care about the end result of it

As long as he has a good time with (Y/N) that's all that matters

He'll accidentally use too much strength when handling the clay. Instructor tells him he's too heavy handed

(Y/N) on the other hand is doing pretty well. Shes almost done shaping and is ready to add some decorations

This is when Yuuji realises he does care about the end result because his looks like a complete mess

To cheer him up (Y/N) engraves Yuujis name into her pot and gives it to him as a gift.

You also offer to take yuujis piece in return

(Y/N) uses yuujis clay thing as a place for small trinkets and earrings

Yuuji uses (Y/N)s pot to plant a cactus

The couple had decided to go on a cute little pottery date for their first date, so why was Yuuji pouting in the corner?

Well at first (Y/N) and Yuuji were having a great time together. Messing around and quoting stupid memes and movie references was just their thing so when it was actually their turn to make something Yuuji had no idea what he was doing.

(Y/N) despite messing around with him had actually paid attention to the instructor and was doing just fine which made matters even worse for Yuuji. He assumed this would be a piece of cake when in reality it wasn't.

"Yuuji stop sobbing in the corner babe, it doesn't even look that bad!" You clearly lied to him but you knew it was for his own good.

"NO ITS TRASH look at yours (Y/N) so nice and pretty no one would ever want mine! Now I'll never be the world's best pottery maker" Yuuji babbled on just being his overdramatic self.

"Well I'd love love yours! I could put my jewellery in it, I needed a new trinket box anyways" you quickly thought on the spot and sighed in relief when Yuujis head perked up

"Really?" Yuuji sniffled and grabbed onto your waist. "Yeah and ill carve your name into mine! Then give it to you as a gift. Equivalent exchange" you winked at Yuuji knowing its an offer he couldn't refuse.

"Okay deal" Yuuji sat back next to you working on your trinket box while your worked on carving his name into his plant pot.

Choso

Choso was trying to learn more about the 21st century

How did he do this? By binge watching old rom coms on netflix.

In the middle of one of the movies a pottery scene comes up and chosos eyes couldn't shine more bright.

He loved the idea. It was a great way to spend your time with your loved one.

Choso immediately rang (Y/N) and demanded she arrange a date, which she did

You and Choso couldn't find any classes near you but looking at Chosos pout and puppy dog eyes begging to find a way you had no choice.

(Y/N) did the next best thing and decided to buy a beginners home kit. Now you both sat in the living room with newspapers littering the table and large aprons on yourselves.

"Okay so let's read the instructions first" you picked up the small booklet and looked over to Chosos who couldn't contain his excitement.

His buns were a little messier than usual as he rushed them the moment the package arrived but he still looked cute nonetheless. "Let me set it up then I guess we can try make a bowl? That seems to be the easiest option" you suggested while flicking through the pages and setting things up.

"Can we make a plant pot? I wanna give yuuji a plant for his birthday" Choso proposed. "Aww that's actually a great idea yuuji would love it!" You exclaimed in return and motioned him to come closer as you were ready to begin.

Choso had sat you in between his legs and leaned his head on your shoulder. His hairs tickled you and butterflys fluttered in your stomach when Choso began to kiss your cheeks slowly inching down to you neck.

"Oi behave" you ordered trying to sound intimidating but just burst out in laughter instead. "Fine sorry sorry let's focus on the pot" Choso apologised giving one last kiss to your head.

The pot was forming nicely but was a bit wonkey due to the hand size difference between you both.

Neither of you could care though, the intimacy of his hands on yours, music playing in the background and laughter filling the room from your stupid stories and Chosos dad jokes he recently learnt was just what Choso wanted.

The plant pot had turned out to be very cute and Yuuji ended up loving it.

Kamo Noritoshi

Kamo noritoshi was brought up in a strict household

During his childhood he was expected to be talented in many areas

Archery, studying, drawing, poetry, crochet, painting and even pottery were part of the many skills kamo noritoshi had devloped

The moment (Y/N) had learnt that the vase and other ornaments in noritoshis room were hand crafted by him she wanted to learn too

Now Noritoshi is sitting here behind his girlfriend teaching her how to make a vase because she wouldn't stop pestering him

"Noriii STOP being so perfect!" (Y/N) had yelled at her confused boyfriend who was simply decorating his clay piece.

"You wanted to do pottery with me and now your doing it. What's the problem?" Norotoshi sighed and turned to look at your vase. If he could even call it that.

"If you were struggling you could've asked me for help" Noritoshi scolded while your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Yeah well I wanted to do it myself" you whined and crossed your arms in defeat.

"FINE help me please it's way harder than it looks" you admitted as nori made his way over to you.

"Firstly you need to be more gentle, it's wet clay not a damn rock (Y/N)" he corrected you and put his hands upon yours.

"Your hands are cold" you whispered to him feeling his slightly calloused hands touch yours.

"Focus (Y/N)" he responded equally as quiet as you. The room fell into a comfortable silence as your and nori moulded your vase together.

When it was finally finished you kissed noritoshi on the cheek. His cheeks turned slightly red but he kept his composure.

"It's fine (Y/N) just don't break it okay" the black haired male reminded you since you were quite clumsy.

"I promise I won't! But next time you have to do this call me and I'll join"

After this date, pottery became a common occurance for (Y/N) and Noritoshi. (Y/N) kept her promise and still fills her vase with flowers nori buys her to this day.

Okkotsu Yuta

Yuta okkotsu was a nervous wreck

You were given free tickets to a pottery event and asked Yuuta if he would accompany you

Of course he agreed without realising what he was actually getting himself into

The couple were currently at the event extremely close to make a bowl together

Yuuta could feel your hair on his skin and wanted to lean closer to bask in your presence

The moment he finally mustered the courage to lean onto your shoulder a little interruption had scared you both

'Okay Yuuta you got this. My wonderful (Y/N) is focused on the bowl so just slowly lean onto her' Yuuta thought to himself before looking towards his hands that were on yours. 'I GOT THIS' Yuuta had slowly inched closer while you continuously spoke so close to achieving his goal.

"IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND!' a young girl with pigtails and pink bobbles yelled at Yuuta. The pair had jumped and practically ruined their bowl but yuuta couldn't care less. His chance was ruined.

"Yuuta she asked you a question" you reminded him and causing the black haired male to turn back to the small girl

"Ah yes this is my girlfriend" He responded with a small blush. "Well she's very pretty!" The cute child exclaimed.

"Thank you sweetie you're very cute too" (Y/N) cooed at the small girl and patted yutas arm telling him to compliment her aswell. Before yuuta could speak the young girl had beat him to it.

"OH YOU MUST BE ON A DATE! Sorry I ruined your bowl" she apologised looking down in guilt for interrupting you both.

"No no it's okay don't worry about it" Yuuta reasured and patted her head giving her a soft smile. (Y/N) blushed at the sight of her loving boyfriend with a child and gave the girl a quick high five before she scurried off to her parents.

"Wasn't she the sweetest little girl yuuta?" You asked and got a small 'hm' in response. "Our bowls a bit messy but I think we can salvage it right? Come closer so we can fix it properly" you grabbed his arms pulling him closer to you. Maybe that little interruption helped him after all.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Drowning 6 pretttttry please. Your writing is amazing, honest to god. Wish I had your talent. Keep writing!!!!

Thank you for the ask and lovely message ❤

Drowning Part 6

Masterlist

This one is a tad different that the other parts, some segments are in from Supervillain's POV which are very vague because they are meant have an altered state feel to them. You also learn a lot about Villain and Hero's past in this one.

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate

Warnings: unreality, wheelchair, schizophrenia, elecric shocking, hallucinations, hate towards another, possessiveness, restraints, drugged whumpee, sick whumpee

~

Supervillain emerged from whatever fluid contraption held him in place. His body went numb, pins and needles filling every limb, every muscle like wildfire.

But, nearly as quick as he broke the surface, he fell back in...

Falling...

Falling...

Falling...

His body seized up, a ringing in his ears... then he hit solid ground, his body going slack. Nearly immediately, he felt conscious of the tubes and moniters embellishing him like ornaments and garland on a Christmas tree.

His lead-filled mouth yanked open on its own free will, trying to force a scream out, but his tongue only managed a hoarse whimper.

He jerked his head about, finding it laid nearly on a pillow, but another trap locked his head in. He clenched his hands, but his body was already falling back into the sea- all feeling washed away by the waves.

Sand. He felt sand in his body, dehydrating and numbing, as consciousness was snatched away from him once again. The tubes faded, as did the traps- leaving Supervillain with an empty void.

He had a sense, but couldn't remember what happened in brief moments of waking like this. He hardly recognized the difference between unconsciousness and consciousness and if he did, it wouldn't matter. He never could escape. Never could escape the agonizing water in and around his body.

All he could do was fall.

Fall back into the water.

《~~》

"Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them," a voice spoke. Hero had given up on trying to tell apart the various differences between the countless heroes and doctors that spoke to her on a daily basis. Trying to just intoxicated her mind with a weird feeling of displeasure and annoyance that couldn't be placed. It was right in between her eyebrows, where she would have a unibrow if she didn't wax it all the time in highschool.

"Do you know who wrote that quote, Hero? Hmm?"

Hero didn't respond. Why would she? It gave her no clearance, no escape, no epic prison break that one may expect from such a person of stengths and wits. She just sat there, limbs tied to the ground by unrelenting steel, her head angled to watch the suffering man on the bed slowly fade away with persistent illness and everyday drugs.

"Bruce Lee," the speaker answered the question after quickly realizing that Hero wasn't going to.

Hero tuned out of the conversation, leaving it as background noise as she studied the scene in front of her. Supervillain was hooked up so many moniters, it was as if he was in a coma. Hero twitched her jaw. Maybe he was. The ventilation and feeding tube stuck all the way down his nose and mouth, opening it forcibly, definitely made that thought come alive.

Hero did this a lot, zoning out whenever someone tried to talk to her. Her once vibrant personality and optimism was dampered, replaced by a dull depression. Even Villain, who watched Hero daily, was getting nervous of this rapid decline in attitude- not that Hero knew of her betrayer's thoughts and emotions. To her, in this foggy hole of misery, Villain was an outcasted shadow, adding depth to the painting, but never a main topic. Heck, if she didn't concentrate, she didn't even see the light shade on the white surface.

There was only Supervillain.

But even that has changed, and not just in the extra moniters and tubes, but her whole aspect of him. He was the cause of her pain, he was the cause of the insufferable cloud that ascended over her.

There was no fondness in the way she viewed him anymore, just resentment. The deepest kind of resentment that could also be described as despising.

But even that was an understatement.

One day, a movement drew Hero out of her hate-filled thoughts and back into reality. It was Villain, playing with something by her wrist.

"Back off," she snarled, her voice sounding unnaturally deep and cracky.

"And so she speaks." The glint in his eyes revealed the sarcasm that his monotonous voice hid. "How are you Hero?"

Hero snarled, raising her lips in an animalistic manner, but didn't reply. Once her wrist was let go, the unused muscles allowed it to flop aimlessly against her equally thining thigh. She was fed yes, a vile piece of bland, moist garbage that gave her body its much needed vitamins, minerals, and nutrients, but lack of use degraded the once hefty muscle.

Villain worked on each of the restraints. Each arm fell limp as her legs splayed out, thankful for the break from the locked position they were kept in. When her head was let free, it flopped, her neck unable to keep it up.

Villain steadied her, putting his hand unceremoniously against the base of her neck. Hero squirmed, aware of her vulnerability.

"The door with the exit sign is unlocked," he whispered, so close to her ear that Hero cringed.

At first, her brain using its old habit, began to block out his words, but suddenly stopped and rewinded, shoving them back to the front of her mind.

Unlocked...

She could get out.

Villain helped her into a nearby wheelchair and was about to wheel her away when a strand of her empathetic nature fought against the newfound distant demeanor.

"What 'bout Supervillain?" She asked, her voice a weak whisper.

"This is for you," Villain replied casually grinning down at Hero, happy that she was back to somewhat normal.

Hero sunk into the plushy cushioning of the seat and looked at Supervillain's still figure and snarled. Ha, he didn't get to leave. She did. She got to escape the inhumane confines that kept her bound up like a trapped goat.

He didn't. He could now pay for his crimes.

Yet, as stubborn as this thoughts of retribution sounded, they weren't. That sympathizing portion of her protested against the new arrangement. And, being the stronger of the two opposites, it left her tongue in forms of coherent words.

"I won't leave him," she said, her heart bursting. Whether the internal explosion was due to anticipation or exaltation, it don't matter. It felt natural, like herself.

"You really don't have a choice."

"Why do you want me free?" Hero asked.

"This place is the definition of boring."

Hero was silent and contemplated Villain's statement. He really didn't care about her levels of bore and joy, never did. Any interaction or any relationship that the two once cherished was borne of platonic care of the other's well-being. Nothing too deep, and barely held any real intent. Are you alive? Are you dead? Were the only two questions that brought along any vowels of conversing.

It was weird, abnormal. Hero might've even went as far as to say suspicious.

But it was also promising. Very, very promising. It held the possibility of freedom that the chair did not.

But he was Villain. He did not have one ounce of good will or honesty in his cold veins. He was a liar, a cheat, and as much as she would've loved to call them friends, it was close to impossible. They couldn't build a relationship off of trickery as much as the two once wanted to.

This was a scheme, a lie, to get to Hero and make her mess up. Mess up and then she gets hurt.

Or worse, Supervillain does.

That thought stood out from the rush of others in her brain for it held an interesting style to it. As close as she was to the old Hero and away from the shadow that "choosing who gets hurt" made her into, she wasn't it yet.

Not yet.

"Boring, but I am alive," Hero retorted, rolling her eyes as well as the stiff rectus muscles in her eyes allowed.

"That is otherwise obvious." Villain placed a hand on the barred door that only purpose served as an aesthetic.

"Yeah, in a way I suppose, but Supervillain isn't."

"He's breathing."

"He sleeps all day and when he does manage to wake, he passes out almost immediately. I need to stay with him!"

"You do nothing but glare daggers at him. You are released dear."

"No, you are not helping me escape from this damn place!"

Villain was silent, paused in the motion of pushing the door open.

"Amidst your utter hate for him, you still have the decency to protect him; Hero there is nothing to protect. With one simple flick of a switch, he is dead," Villain pointed out, turning to Hero with tears in his icy blue eyes that Hero once found gloriously gorgeous. Ones that she used to gaze into as they fought, unable to tear herself away. She lost many fights that way by being too distracted to actually land a punch.

But the innocence of that gaze was really just hiding the fact that Villain was a scandalous bastard- only giving half-truths and fake emotions about everything.

"Then why do you give him the serum. You guys know that I won't hurt those civilians," Hero pointed out with a shrug.

Villaim remained silent and wheeled Hero out of the room.

《~~》

Supervillain seemed to always arouse when the nurses swarmed him to administer the vile liquid that plagued his veins with nauseating adrenaline. He felt the hot- not warm, but scorching hot- drug enter his veins.

But it wasn't the beginning, the actual pain of the procedure, that caused Supervillain his horrifying misery. It was afterwards and he wasn't thinking of the dizzying fatigue that usually pushed him into another deep sleep, but the memories it brought.

Some were nostalgic, others taut with grief. Others held regret while some even had remnants of agonizing torture he once endured.

Or gave.

But they were never happy, nor comforting to any degree.

So, when a reverie of kind touch swarmed Supervillain's sensations, his lethargic heart started to pump in rocket speed, motorizing the boat to accelerate...

"Go to sleep."

Hero's voice. One that brought him so much comfort. Hands scratched at his scalp and he felt his heavy eyelids drop.

"I'll be hear when you wake up," Hero lulled, humming softly as the sweet scent of vanilla hit Supervillain's scent receptors. He smiled, the tiniest of grins and nuzzled his nose into her warm, fleece sweater.

But, even delirous as he was, in the back of his head, Supervillain knew this was a vision. A hallucination. The model of schizophrenia that the drug brought upon his mind.

But it was just so real.

So he gave in, purposely allowing himself to be washed away by the unreality of the dream.

Because he loved it. He loved the touch as if it was actually real.

A warm figure slid next to his body wrapping its- her- arms around his shivering body. Phony yes, it gave stability as the fatigue pushed itself to its maximum.

As consciousness dripped away, Supervillain hummed slightly, happy with the feeling.

《~~》

Hero's hand buzzed over the door, considering the possibilities of opening it, but in the end, she blatantly refused.

"No," she said, her old self returning. "I am not going to leave Supervillain."

Villain's eyes widened, chin shaking.

"You care for him?" He asked, voice slightly elevated like a flute's pitch. Such a change from the droning audibles that usually slugged off his tongue. "Like actually."

Hero's brows crunched together as she read Villain's new face expressions. Blond hair draped down to his pointed eyebrows where it slightly curled. Tears seemed to well in his azure eyes.

"Are you crying?" Hero asked, scoffing, but in reality, she cared.

Cared a whole bunch.

"It's just," Villain stepped forward, leaning down and resting his hand on Hero's shoulder. His other hand balanced delicately against the holster of whatever weapon he carried.

Suddenly, without warning, his hand shot up and an bolt of electricity flashed through her body. Hero fell forward, screaming and withering on the floor.

Villain leaned forward, breath warm against her sweaty cheek. "You are mine Hero. I won't ever let you hold, or care for Supervillain again," he growled, bringing thr taser back to Hero's neck. "Goodnight, my love."

The electric shock came again, and the world descended into blackness.

[adhdeancas]

For @theangelwiththewormstache, I kind of went all out and searched through your blog to see what you like and headcanon, sent a few sneaky asks to find out more, and wrote in all the things I wanted for everyone’s happy ending. it got... unbelievably long.

Merry Christmas and enjoy :) 

Love, Cas over at @let-me-live-in-peace and @samwinchestersleftshoe

PS: thanks to @destielsecretsanta2020 for organizing this!

Click.

Dean sighed and nodded, pulling the phone away from his ear so he could stare at it expectantly. Right about…

It rang. 

“Cas,” Dean said languidly, like an asshole who didn’t know why his boyfriend was calling him back.

“Sorry. I forgot again.” 

“I know.” Dean couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice if he tried. And he tried.

“I love you.” 

“I know.” 

“Dean.” A hint of well-earned annoyance. 

“I love you too, Cas.” 

“Bye.” And another click. Dean grinned and pocketed his phone. The dumbass was still too impatient to wait for an answering goodbye. Guess they’d never be the couple to argue about who should hang up first. Then again, Dean kinda liked it this way. It was just a few more seconds of teasing and a special call to say I love you, that was kind of nice, right? Jesus he was a sap.

“Earth to Dean? Wanna stop daydreaming about your boyfriend for a sec and get back on task?” Claire was standing there waving a hand in his face, bitchface firmly planted. Dean gave her one back.

“Don’t be homophobic.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m gay.” 

“Yeah.” Dean kept walking, looking around at the rows on rows of Christmas trees. He stole a glance back at her. “Where is Kaia anyway?”                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Claire blushed and crossed her arms over her chest. She would never tell him, but Kaia had hung back to give her some alone time with Dean. “She wanted to hang out with Jack. Guess she didn’t want to stare at your ugly mug all day.” A grin then, as Dean laughed at her joke.

“Fine, fine, guess you’re stuck with me.” 

They roamed around a bit, both insisting on cutting down their tree themselves, Claire winning the fight to get to carry the ax. (Yes, Sam had suggested they bring a chainsaw. They had both refused because they needed to “earn the Christmas tree.”)

“Cas wanted a fraser fir.” Dean remembered, pointing to the section marked for them. 

He felt, rather than saw, Claire roll her eyes, which, that’s exactly what Dean had done when Cas first told him. “Dork. Do you always do what your boyfriend tells you?” 

Dean shrugged. “Pretty much. You?”

“Yeah.” They shared a soft smile before going back to their regular shit-talking. It was just The Dynamic. They searched a little bit more before they found one, the perfect tree that was big enough to make them both giggle over what Sam’s reaction would be when they brought it home.

It… takes longer to cut down a tree than you would think. Than either of them thought. Especially when you bring an ax and especially when you choose an obnoxiously large tree. They took a break about halfway through, sitting down in the snow and passing the thermos of hot chocolate Jack made them take back and forth (Claire spiked it with Bailey’s, which Dean chose not to comment on but was grateful for).

“Hey Claire… is it weird? Seeing me and Cas,” 

Claire looked at him warily, seeming to consider what possible ulterior motives he had. Then, figuring she was the one with the ax, she answered. “A little. But I never saw my dad this old. Or this gay.” She gave him a grin and Dean flipped her off, taking the ax out of her hands to get back to the tree. “It’s good.”

Dean paused. “What is?” 

“You and him. You’re good for each other, you can tell. Don’t overthink it.”

Dean’s lips curled up. “Sounds like something Cas would say.” 

“Yeah, well, sometimes the dork is right. Don’t be an idiot.” She shook her head at him. “Jody had to remind me all the time at first.” 

“What?”

“That I… y’know. Deserve it. Her. To be happy.” She put the last bit in quotes, saying it sarcastically, but Dean could see the truth of it in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, Jody’s smart like that.” He took another swing at the ax and tried to believe it for himself. It got easier every day.

------

Cas was left at home with Kaia and Jack while Dean and Claire got the tree and Sam and Eileen got food supplies. (Dean had protested, but Sam had -correctly- said that if given free rein, he wouldn’t get any vegetarian options and would get 10x more junk than they needed.) Jody, Donna, Alex, Bobby, Charlie, and the rest wouldn’t be here until the next afternoon. Christmas afternoon.

“So what should we do first?” He was a little bit nervous, being once again put in charge of the kids. 

“Paper snowflakes?” Jack suggested, his excitement all too obvious from the smile on his face. Kaia glanced at him, amused by his obvious enthusiasm. Claire had braided his hair before she left while Kaia painted his nails (black, because they don’t own any other color of nail polish). It was clear they were pretty bonded.

“Sounds good to me.”

Kaia had to teach both of them how to make paper snowflakes. Cas tried to make perfectly symmetrical snowflakes; Jack kept cutting his in half on accident which made a bunch of smaller snowflakes. Hey, it worked.

“So… what’s the deal with you and Dean?”

“Deal?” Cas flushed a little. Everytime someone asked it thrilled him all over again. He was dating Dean. Dean. Was his. Had told him so, straight to his face. And he got to kiss Dean whenever, and sleep with him, and make him make noises only he got to hear, and listen to all his worries and weird fears and recaps on the latest episodes of Dr. Sexy.

“Cas?” Jack was knocking on the table lightly. Kaia had two raised eyebrows and a little smile. 

“That good, huh?” She could relate. Everytime she thought about Claire she felt all warm inside, and going home to her at the end of the day was like a dream, especially after being apart for so long. 

Cas looked down, called out. “That good.” he agreed.

“How disgusting are they, Jack, on a scale of cute to rip your own face off cute?” Kaia leaned over the table now, shit-eating grin plastered firmly on her face. Jack looked delighted to be in on the joke, which made Cas happy in spite of himself. Jack really needed this time with kids his own age. (Well, kind of. He was technically three.)

“Well, they do cook together…” 

“Do they do that thing where one of them comes up from behind and puts their head on the other’s shoulder?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Dean or Cas?”

“Cas watches. He can’t cook.”

“Hey!” It was true. Cas was just arguing for the principle of it.

“But the movie nights are the cutest. One of them always falls asleep on top of the other one.”

“Probably at like 10 o’clock. You guys are so old.” Kaia teased, shifting her attention back to Cas. 

Cas shook his head and pointed his finger at the two of them. “I never should have had children.” Kaia stuck her tongue out and Jack followed suit. Proving his point. Kids.

---------

“Hey, you dorks just gonna let us do all the work, huh?” Dean shouted from the garage.

“Yeah motherfuckers, get in here!” 

Cas let out a half-hearted “Language!” before following Kaia and Jack through the halls. Claire pulled Jack into a side hug first before tugging Kaia in for a kiss. Dean would’ve followed suit, except Claire had actually left him to carry the whole fucking tree himself, which Dean, like an idiot, had actually attempted. Cas hurried over to help him, which earned him a glare lined with gratefulness. 

“Oh yeah, have a happy little reunion over there, don’t mind me or this giant tree!” Dean griped at the kids. “Let the old men handle it!”

“Hey, you said it first.” Claire raised an eyebrow at Dean and pulled Kaia and Jack off into the bunker, probably to go find Miracle. Dean sighed heavily, muttering under his breath.

“You brought that on yourself.” Cas informed him, grunting under the effort of holding up half the tree. 

“Thank you, babe. Very helpful.” Dean rolled his eyes. Cas pretended he didn’t feel a jolt of happiness at the most sarcastic ‘babe’ he’d ever heard.

-----

They managed to haul the giant-ass tree into the library and set it up, barely. It did almost crush Cas, but Dean tugged it upright at the last moment, prompting a joke about Cas dying again. (“Hey, you’re not allowed to make those anymore, you’re human now, dick.”) And a kiss that all the kids whooped and hollered at.

Then Cas showed Dean and Claire around the decorations they’d made while they were out. The greatest hits included paper snowflakes, ornaments, and a Christmas tree on the wall made out of old license plates. Dean clapped Jack on the shoulder to congratulate him on his crafts while Kaia held Claire’s hand and pretended not to be affected by the praise sent her way. 

By the time Sam and Eileen got back, they’d decorated the tree, all the chairs in the bunker, and the stair-rail with lights and tinsel. Sam let out a whistle when he came back in, which brought Miracle, Jack, and Cas to greet them. (Claire and Kaia were busy telling Dean all about their local gay bar. Which, considering they lived in South Dakota, was quite the story.) 

Dean’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw his brother and Eileen come in the kitchen with their bags. “Okay Dean, before you ask, we went with apple, pecan, pumpkin, and cherry.” Sam looked at Dean warily, who stared back at him over the girls’ heads with narrowed eyes, deciding whether or not to fight. The amount of pie ingredients he’d put on the list had been truly outrageous.

“Would like to remind you that the kids are making cookies and cheesecake too.” Eileen reminded him. Dean continued to look around suspiciously until Cas sat down on his lap.

That’s great, Eileen. Cas signed to her. He will be fine.

Eileen rolled her eyes. Whiner. Sam let out a snort and Cas grinned at her. Dean glared. 

“What’re you saying?” 

“Learn to sign better and you’d know.” Sam smirked.

“I’m working on it!” Dean protested and wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, tugging him in possessively. He was going to try to sign something else but settled for a middle finger pointed straight at his brother. Hey, it was sign language.

Cas leaned back and kissed him on the cheek for his efforts. His memory landed on one particularly frustrating night for Dean when they’d been practicing his ASL (Cas knew every language of course) and Dean just couldn’t remember the most basic of things. Lamp, field, tree. The more frustrated he got, the more words started to leave him. He’d started swearing under his breath and stomped out to the porch to cool off, followed by Cas a few minutes later. Cas still remembered the drained look in his eyes as he looked at Cas. 

“I feel like such a fucking dumbass, Cas. I know it’s not that hard, it shouldn’t be that hard, Sam makes it seem so easy…”

“Dean, you are learning. It’s okay if it takes you a little time. Sam has experience with ASL, doesn’t he?”

Dean had sighed and conceded this. “Yeah, he took some in college I think. I just… I never took any language, you know? Didn’t seem as important as woodshop or sex ed.” He grinned half-heartedly at his own joke.

Cas smiled back and pointed at him, signing o and k. You’re okay.

He repeated the signs, nodding. I’m okay.

I love you.

I love you too.

-----

After the pies were made and chicken noodle soup in the crock pot, Cas and Dean relinquished the kitchen to the kids and retired to the Dean cave. Sam and Eileen were cooped up in their room until they were allowed back into the living quarters by the kids. They didn’t want their creations critiqued or tasted before they were ready.

Cas waited patiently while Dean typed away on his phone, eyes narrowed to see the text. He refused to get reading glasses or enlarge the print on his phone, even though he sorely needed it. Cas kept his complaining about it to a minimum though because he liked the wrinkles around Dean’s eyes when he squinted. It reminded him that he got to grow old with Dean.

Dean looked up finally to see the fond look on his lover’s face and blushed, guilty. “Sorry, just checking with Kara.”

Cas nodded understandingly. As always. “The bar will survive without us for a few days.”

“I know.” Dean looked down, a little pleased he could admit it. “I just miss it.” Wow, to have a life he could miss, and to miss it from a peaceful holiday vacation surrounded by his family. It was… surreal. 

“What do you want to watch?” 

Dean sank back into the cushions, thinking. “Die Hard?” 

Cas smiled at him. “Is that what you want to watch?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped around so he could lay his head in Cas’s lap. “No.” He admitted it grudgingly. Cas could read him like a book. It was inconvenient sometimes and other times, like now, it was nice. “Just seems like the thing to watch. Y’know, Christmas Eve.” 

Cas shrugged. He put a hand in Dean’s hair, just like he liked it. Dean closed his eyes almost at his touch; he’d gotten much more comfortable letting his guard down like that lately. It had taken a while though, months of Dean staying rigid in his arms before he could relax quicker. “There are other things to watch.”

Dean reached a hand up and cupped Cas’s jaw with his hand. “Whaddyou wanna watch, sweetheart?” 

Cas couldn’t help but turn his head to kiss Dean’s hand. Dean only called him sweetheart when he was feeling particularly tender, usually a few whiskeys in. This time he happened to be both. Cas loved it. “What about a double feature?”

“Hm,” Dean scrubbed his hand along Cas’s stubble and thought. Cas’s stubble was one his favorite physical things about him; sometimes Cas accused him of petting him like a cat. “What ones?” 

“First… It’s a Wonderful Life.” 

Dean cracked a grin and opened his eyes. “Clarence?” 

Cas blushed. “I miss her sometimes.” 

“Should I be worried?” 

Cas tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Considering she’s a demon? Probably.” Meg was banished to hell with the rest of the demons that had gotten out of the Empty, but given their old friendship with the Queen of Hell, that didn’t mean much for them.

“Psh, demon-shmemon. Been there, done that.” Dean pulled Cas down into a kiss, making him bend over into an awkward position that made Cas giggle. “Being a human is much sexier.” 

“I agree.” 

Dean waggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. “Wanna make it a triple feature? Little hanky panky for intermission?” Cas rolled his eyes, which Dean interpreted as a solid yes. “What is our second movie, anyway?” 

“Huh.” Cas booped Dean on the nose. “Love Actually.”

A slow, dopey smile spread over Dean’s face. “Okay.” He paused, thinking about it. He’d pushed Cas into watching it years ago, when they were still just friends, by ‘accidentally’ adding it to his Netflix Queue and then letting Cas loose for movie night. He’d watched Cas for his reactions the whole time (and only gotten distracted by looking At Cas a few times). It had been a couple months ago when he told Cas about that. “Second favorite thing about being queer is being able to watch sappy shit like that.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “You were able to before, Dean.”

Dean ignored him. “Ask me what my favorite thing is,” 

“What’s your favorite thing?”

“This.” He burrowed into Cas’s lap. A sap and a flirt.

“I thought you were gonna say Taylor Swift.” A dry witted old queen.

Dean snorted into his stomach. “That’s my third favorite.”

----

“Alright, gang, what do we say? Same place tomorrow morning, let’s say… 5?” He spun around to look at everyone, a wide smile on his face. Everyone seemed less enthused than him, although Sam seemed to think his situation was amusing.

“Dude, I’m not twelve, I’m not waking up at 5 am to open a few presents.” 

“Like hell you aren’t!” Dean was smiling but it was less of a happy smile and more of a disbelieving one. Cas squeezed his arm then, stopped him from continuing his argument. Dean glanced at him and he just stared and gave him another squeeze. 

Dean knew what that look meant. It meant ‘Dean, you’re overreacting again, calm down and think about it’ and also ‘stop being such an asshole’ and probably also ‘wow you’re eyes are really pretty’ knowing Cas.

He took a deep breath and pecked Cas on the lips. “Alright, princess, what time are you willing to drag your lazy ass out of bed?”

Claire smirked and sent a look at Kaia before leveling back at Dean. “Eleven.”

“Eight.”

“Ten. Final offer.”

Dean considered a moment then extended a hand. And shook. “You have yourself a deal.”

----

After they went to bed, they talked about it. These days, they always talked about it. It was one of the things Cas had brought home from his shrink appointments, and, as much as Dean hated to admit it, it worked. Helped.

Cas changed into pajamas and stretched, sending a look back at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes and started before Cas could prod him to. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “You hate the morning.” 

Dean pursed his lips and shook his head, then pulled down his pants, because you should never have a conversation with your boyfriend with pants when you could have one without pants. These things he was learning. “Yeah, I do, it’s just… it’s Christmas.”

“Yes, it is. Isn’t it supposed to be a day of relaxation and fun?”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be exciting! Kids jumping on their parents bed at the asscrack of dawn to go to the tree, that kinda shit!” He shrugged, getting stupid worked up over it, he knew. He knew. Cas pulled him in by the hand and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Come on, tell me how I’m being an asshole.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “What part of ‘you do everything for love’ do you not understand?” 

“How is me freaking out over Christmas morning ‘for love’?”

Cas didn’t flinch away from the self-deprecation. “You want them to have the Christmas you never got.”

Dean sank his head onto Cas’s shoulder, thinking about it. He was right, of course he was, he’s always right. Cas can read him like a book, even when Dean himself didn’t know what he was doing. “I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s admirable. But the Christmas they deserve, same as you did, is the one they want. Which might not be the one you wanted.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” he sighed heavily. More than he wanted his kids to have a motherfucking Christmas-card Christmas, he just didn’t want to be the ruin of it. Didn’t want to be John. “Sorry you have to shrink my head all the time.” Dean muttered softly. Cas pulled him away and kissed him, slow and soft. 

“You pay me back tenfold.”

“You’ve got a shrink.”

“I meant with sex.” Cas met his eyes, face stoic as always. He would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for the glint in his eyes. It gave him away.

Dean threw back his head and laughed.

“Motherfucker.”

“I don’t have a mother.” 

Dean shook his head, grin splitting open his face. Cas himself was trying to hold it together; he kept having to push down the corners of his mouth so he wouldn't break. Dean crowded closer, determined to ruin that composure. He walked his face right into Cas’s, only reaching for his lips once they were already bumping together. Then he fell into it, pulled Cas toward him to get more, settled into the easy mesh of their bodies until Cas ended up knocking his knee against the bedframe with a loud thump.

They dissolved into a pile of breathy giggles, too giddy and soft to work up the energy to get frisky. Dean just shrugged off his shirt and pulled Cas closer to him. “You know you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Dean told him seriously. He didn’t know where it came from; it was way too mushy to even possibly be from his mind. Maybe it was something about the holiday, and the family, and the safety that all of it brought. 

“And so are you.” Cas replied simply, eyes glinting. 

“Even though I’m an asshole sometimes?” He had to ruin it. Had to put in that little bit of doubt, of insecurity. But it wouldn’t be truthful if he just swallowed it, so he let it be said.

Cas kissed his nose, which made Dean feel like a child but also like something so special and precious he didn’t complain. “Even though you’re an asshole sometimes.”

Dean snorted out a laugh and chased Cas’s lips, nipping at him in offense. He sank onto the pillow and stared at Cas where he sat up. Cas just looked down at him, adopting that alien-like quality he could still summon. “Marry me.” 

“What?”

Dean smiled fondly at him, for once not at all concerned. “I dunno, dunnit ‘boyfriends’ sound way too young to you? I mean you’re practically 5 million years old, you can’t have a boyfriend.”

Cas pursed his lips, seemingly deciding between protesting his age or agreeing to his proposal. He laid next to Dean during his decision, letting Dean watch him consider. “Suppose you’re right.” He shrugged, offering up a tiny grin. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“No, you’re supposed to say ‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes’ and then burst into tears.” 

“Dean.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules, that’s just how humans do it!”

“Okay, I take it back.” 

Dean laughed and pulled him into a giddy kiss. “I love you.”

“I hope so, you’re marrying me.” Cas couldn’t contain his smile anymore; he stopped trying and just stared at Dean with the kind of wonder that used to make Dean feel uncomfortable. Now, it just made him feel lucky. “I love you too.”

---

A phone rang, a bizarre ringtone Dean didn’t recognize. Sam jumped up and ran off to the map room, apologizing quickly. “What the hell, man!” Dean yelled after him and sent a look at Eileen.

Hunter call, probably. She signed. Sure enough, Sam was in the other room picking up a landline with an annoyed tone. 

He listened for a few minutes, asking follow-up questions before Dean heard him say, “Rugaru, yeah, that’s what it sounds like. Yeah, you gotta burn ‘em. Nasty, sorry. Yeah, no problem. Good luck.” He hung up and headed back into the room, signing and talking. “Sorry, hunting doesn’t care about holidays.”

“So glad we’re not doing that anymore.” Dean sighed happily, wrapping an arm around Cas. Sam smiled at him and nodded.

“Me too. I had to burn those clothes after the Rugaru thing.” He shuddered, the memory of the stench enough to make him happy for an empty stomach.

Eileen shrugged. Never had to deal with one of those. 

“Lucky.” Dean promised her. Cas nudged him, nodding toward Jack. He was shaking a wrapped box with his name on it, a look of deep concentration on his face. 

“Whaddya think it is, kid?” 

Jack shook his head. “No idea. Can I open it?” 

“Go for it.”Jack tore into it, no regard for the painted newspaper (yes, it was recycled, Cas and Sam both agreed) as he got to the box underneath. “Open the card first, heathen!” Dean joked, pointing out the card tucked onto the bottom of the thing. Jack scowled but complied, opening the card to find a nice note from him and Cas and a key taped in. 

“What’s it for?” 

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, excited about this part. He had been the one who came up with it, after all. “Our place. We wanted to make it official, since you been, you know, visiting around a lot lately.” Dean turned a little pink in the cheeks. Jack had indeed been drifting between Sam and Eileen’s, Jody’s, his and Cas’s, Donna’s, and Claire and Kaia’s. But he always spent the most time at his and Cas’s house, trying to copy Dean and always ending up enjoying Cas’s hobbies more. Sam had told him a while back that Jack confided he wasn’t sure he was welcome there, not for the long term. So Dean wanted to let him know he was welcome. Except now, looking at the uncertainty on Jack’s face, he wasn’t so sure that’s what the kid wanted. “Uh, you know, you can just spend however much you want with us, but… you know.” He poked Cas desperately in the side, trying to get him to save the sentence.

“We’d like you to have a ‘home base’ with us, Jack. However often you are willing to stay.” Cas said simply. He squeezed Dean’s knee to reassure him.

Jack looked up at them with a stunned expression. “Does this mean I can take out the trash? And do the dishes?” He looked thrilled at the idea. 

Dean chuckled. “We never would’ve stopped you before, kid. But yeah, sure.” 

Sam cleared his throat, offering a smile to Jack. “That better not mean you stop coming around here though, Jack.” When Dean had called and told him his idea for the present, he’d almost teared up. His brother had come a long way with Jack. Still, he wanted to reassure his kid that he always had a home with him and Eileen too, no matter how busy he was. (And nowadays, between online classes, cataloguing lore onto an online database, and being the New Bobby, he was really busy.)

Jack jumped up, clearly about to go for a round of hugs, but Dean waved him off. “Keep going, you haven’t even gotten through one present yet.” 

Jack grinned and complied, taking a bit more time with the box. He pulled out a Scooby Doo phone case, marked for Extra Protection, with Scooby and Shaggy on the back.

“That one was my idea.” Cas told him proudly.

“I helped.” Dean piped up.

“You did not.”

“I helped you pick which case!”

“You wanted to get one with Fred and Daphne.”

“Well, yeah-”

“Not everyone has a crush on them like you do, Dean.” 

Dean flushed scarlet and went silent, pouting. Jack ignored their bickering and beamed up at Castiel. “I love it, dad. Thank you.” 

Cas looked like he could’ve gone for round 4 with the Empty with how happy he was, but he just nodded. “Of course.” 

The rest of the gifts went by with lots of shouting, laughing, smiling, and hugging. And a few tears all around. Dean got Claire a flamethrower without consulting anyone, and Cas got Kaia a rose and lavender scented pillow fragrance (“It helps ensure good dreams.”), which prompted a comment from Claire (“How’d he know you’re a pillow princess?”) that everyone pretended not to hear. Dean got Eileen a Woojer, a wearable speaker that lets you feel music’s vibrations in your body (“Because no one should have to live without Zepp available to them 24/7. Also, now you can cry with me when the sad music cues come on Dr. Sexy,” - one of their favorite activities together). 

Dean jerked a head at Sam to get him out of the room, so Sam snatched his gift while Dean detached himself from Cas. They went to the kitchen, sending a couple soft looks back at their family gathered around the tree with all their new possessions. It was nice, and they both felt it.

“So, uh, Sammy, I been thinking a lot about what to get you for Christmas and everything. I didn’t want to go with the classic-”

“Skin mag and candy bar?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, damn, now I feel bad.” Sam mimed hiding his present (obviously bigger than a skin mag) behind his back, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I finally got money, you know? Not a lot of it, but… I got a house and fucking, Cas, and… anyway. We’re finally doing Christmas and I wanted to do it right. And I want you to be as off-the-wall happy as I am, dude.”

Sam smiled widely, not even able to come up with a little-brother bitchy comment to that. “Thanks, Dean, that means a lot.” 

Dean cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, so, I, um, I wanna pay for your school.” Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean held up a hand. “No, listen, I know you’ve been stressed about it, and I know you’ve been working really hard on the hunting catalogue stuff. That shit’s important. And I can pay for some crappy internet school classes. No offense.” 

Sam laughed and pulled his brother into a hug. “Thank you, man.” He said, muffled into Dean’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Dean patted Sam on the back, expecting Sam to pull away, but he didn’t. “Uh, Sammy.” Sam ignored him. “Sam. Dude, get off me. I want my present.” 

Sam snorted and finally pulled away. Dean tactfully ignored the wetness of his eyes in favor of snatching the gift from Sam’s hands. He tore it open with all the grace of a rabid dog, unveiling a thick, leather bound scrapbook. “A scrapbook? Really?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’s gay, even for you.” 

Sam pulled a bitchface. “Who sucks their boyfriend’s dick every chance he gets?” 

Dean flipped him off. No need to argue, Sam would see right through him. It was true though. Not that he would know. Dean flipped open the cover and grinned immediately. It was Sam and Dean as kids, in a mall photo booth, being dumbasses with their tongues stuck out and their faces all crazy. Dean mooned the camera in one, and you could see the psychological scarring on Sam’s face in the next picture. A little note slapped on the page next to it said “I have more nightmares about this than about hell”. Dean laughed, glancing up at Sam before he continued. Sam’s eyes were hopeful with a glint of mischief. That was never good.

Dean flipped through the next pages. It showed them through the years, all with little notes of Sam’s internal monologue. “Grumpy because he hasn’t gotten his coffee this morning” “That’s for the itching powder incident, asshole” and more and more. There were even some pictures in there of just him that Sam had obviously taken without Dean’s knowledge, pictures of him sleeping with comments about his snoring, pictures of him singing obnoxiously in the car with jokes about ear damage. Pictures of him and Bobby shooting the shit with notes about the pair of “old men.”

Then the pictures started to change. There started to be pictures of him and Cas. Mostly just him and Cas. Standing, talking, watching TV together (this one says “angel’s first porno!” with a bunch of hearts next to it). Comments talking about personal space (“he never stands that close to ME”) and the like. One of Dean in Bobby’s panic room where Dean has a speech bubble drawn on his serious face that says “Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid” and then just a selfie of Sam pulling his bitchiest bitch face. 

Dean turned a little red at that, recognizing his complete obliviousness at the time, and kept going. The pictures continue, lots of fun-loving pictures of them on the road and the occasional movie or bar night, Charlie and Kevin and even Crowley and Rowena. But without fail, there is picture after picture of him and Cas sharing a publicly private moment, all with little snippy comments from his little brother. More than three of those comments are “Just kiss already!!!” Dean finally looks up to see Sam crossing his arms and staring at him with a smug, self-satisfied smile. 

“When the hell did you make this?” Dean sputtered. These are a lot of pictures, Sam must’ve kept them on his crappy cell phones for years. 

Sam blinked. “I started it in 2006.” 

“No, I mean, when did you go back and add all these bitchy little comments?” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “2006.” 

Dean blinked right back. “But you… you’ve got all these dumbass comments about me and Cas.”

His smartass little brother started to smile then, a big shit-eating grin he wanted to smack off his dumb face. “Yeah, man, you weren’t exactly smooth about it.”

“Hey, fuck you, what does that mean?” It was said in jest, but Dean’s volume control went out the window.

“Dean? Sam? Everything okay?” Cas’s voice reached them from the other room. Dean sent an offended glance back at Sam before answering.

“Yeah babe, I’m just finding out how much I wanna punch my brother in here,” 

“Okay, well, leave it till tomorrow, it’s Christmas.” 

“Nah, isn’t fighting with your family a holiday tradition?” 

“I think you’re right. Okay, continue.” 

Now Sam was just watching him with such a knowing expression it made him annoyed. He was watching him flirt with his boyfriend- no, technically, husband. Oh yeah. He lowered his voice back down to a reasonable volume to talk to just his brother again.

“Yeah, so, I should also tell you-” He closed the book and set it on the counter. “We uh… Cas and I, we’re gonna get married.” He looked down at his feet and blushed a bit, could feel the rising heat in his cheeks. Honestly, he couldn’t believe he was saying that. He was getting married. To Cas. “Obviously, you know, we can’t really, with one of us being a legally dead terrorist and the other a former angel in the body of a missing family man,” Dean and Sam both  laughed at that. “But I asked him and he said yes.” 

“You asked him?” Sam seemed more surprised by that than the actual news. Dean shrugged and nodded. “Wow. Congrats, Dean, really.” Sam pulled him in for another hug, which Dean happily returned. “Can I walk you down the aisle?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If anyone’s getting walked down the aisle, it’s Cas. He might get distracted by a butterfly halfway down, he’ll need the guide.” 

Sam grinned. “Come on, it’s not like you weren’t always gonna give me away.” 

Dean frowned at him. “Me? Why?” 

“Dean, you’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.” Sam says it like it’s obvious, like he isn’t forgetting about-

“You had Dad.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, making his big brother look him in the eyes as he repeated it. “You’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.” 

Dean wasn’t gonna get choked up. No, he wasn’t, damn it. He’d made it this far in the visit without getting choked up, he could- 

“Sam?”

Eileen appeared around the corner, making them both realize how long they’d been away from the rest. Sam looked at her apologetically, signing Sorry. Dean was just telling me he and Cas are getting married! 

Eileen turned to Dean, barely giving Dean time to process a quick congratulations sign before she enveloped him in a hug. Dean laughed and hugged her back, pulling away to sign thank you. At least he knew how to do that. 

Big church wedding? Eileen teased. 

“Only if Cas wears a poofy dress,” Dean joked back. He only knew the signs for Cas and dress, but between that and lip-reading, Eileen got it. She shook her head with a grin and grabbed Sam’s hand. They all went back into the living room and to the rest for another round of hot chocolate and a marathon of all the Home Alone movies, per request. 

------

Dean snuggled into Cas’s side and ruffled a hand through Jack’s hair and he tried to think of something more perfect than having his family all together for Christmas. He couldn’t.

[yukinojou]

I already squeed quite a bit on Twitter, but turns out my Shadow and Bone thoughts demand longform. So that was a 40+ tweet thread or using my Tumblr for an original post for once.

I was wary about the Shadow and Bone adaptation the way I'm usually wary about good books being adapted onscreen. It was amplified because my actual favourites are the Six of Crows books, and because the American-based movie complex has a bad track record of doing anything based on Eastern Europe. 8 episodes in 3 days should tell you how much I loved it - the moment I finished, I wanted more.

First, the technical praise:

Damn but the plotting is tight. It took me a while to realised it's based on heist movie bones, where every little thing (The Freaking Bullet!) is important. The story fulfills its promises and manages not to bore at the same time - it delights by the way they're fulfilled. I called out a few plot developments moments before they happened, and I was happy about it. Such a joy after so many series where "not doing what viewers expect" led to plot holes and lack of sense. It might be an upside to the streaming model after all.

From a dramatic point of view I can tell all the reasons for all the changes, especially providing additional outsider points of view on Ravka (Crows) and letting viewers see Mal for themselves the way he only comes across in later books.

Speaking of which, this is a masterclass in rewriting a story draft. SaB was Bardugo's first, and having read later books you can really see where she didn't quite dare to break the YA rules yet, especially Single POV that necessitated a tight focus on Alina's often negative feelings rather than the big picture and a triangle that felt a bit forced. The world in the series is so much bigger, the way Bardugo could finally paint it when SaB success gave her more creative freedom, and some structural choices feel familiar too. It's a combination of various choices by crew and cast, but the end result meshes together so tightly and naturally.

Visuals! Especially the war parts because Every Soviet Movie Ever, but also the clothes (I would kill for Nina's blouse in the bar), the jewelry, the interiors. The stag was so very beautiful. And a deep commitment to a coherent aesthetic for each character and setting.

Look, you can do a serious fantasy series with colours! Both skin colours and bright sets and clothing! And all scenes were well lit enough to know what's going on, even in the Fold!

Representation (aka I Am Emotion)

To start with: I was born behind the Iron Curtain, in the last years of the Cold War. The Curtain was always permeable to some extent, and we have always been aware that while we have talented artists of our own, we never had the budgets and polish of the Anglosphere Entertainment Machine. So we watched a hell of a lot of American visual storytelling especially because yeah, you can tell we don't have the budgets. 90s and 2000s especially, it's getting better now.

In American stories, the BEST case scenario for Eastern European representation is the Big Dumb Pole, the ethnic stereotype Americans don't even notice they use, where the punchline is that his English is bad or that he grew up outside Anglo culture. Other than that, it's criminals, beggars, sex trafficking victims, refugees. Sure, we may look similar (except we really really don't, not if you're raised here and see the distinct lack of all those long-jawed Anglo faces), but we are not and have never been the West, never mind America. It's probably better for younger people now, but I was raised under rationing and passport bans. Star Trek and Beverly Hills 90210 were exactly as foreign to me.

The first ever character I really identified with was Susan Ivanova in Babylon 5 (written by J. Michael Straczynski, yay behind-camera representation). This was a Russian Jewish woman very much in charge, in the way of strong women I know so well, not taking any bullshit, not repressing her feminity. I recognised her bones, she could be my cousin. The sheer relief of it. There have been few such occasions since.

The reason I picked up Shadow and Bone in the first place was recommendations from other Polish people. I've had no problems finding representation in Eastern European books because wow our scene is strong in SFF especially, but it's always a treat to find a book in English that gets it. And Leigh gets it, the bones of our culture, and I could even look past the grammar issue (dear gods and Americans, Starkova for a woman, Morozov for a guy) that really irked me because of the love for the setting and the characters, the weaving in of religion/mysticism (we never laicisized the same way as the West, natch), the understanding of how deep are the scars left in a nation at war for centuries. The books are precious to me, they and Arden's Winternight and Novik's Spinning Silver.

To sum up: Shadow and Bone the Netflix series gets it. You can tell just how much they've immersed themselves in Eastern European culture and media, it comes across so well in visuals and writing and characters. Not just the obvious bits (though the WWII propaganda posters gave me a giggle), but the palaces, the additional plotlines and characters, the costumes, the attitudes. About the only thing missing in the soldier scenes was someone singing and/or quoting poetry.

I will blame the Apparat's lack of beard on filming in a non-Orthodox country. Poland's Catholic too, but I very much imagined him as an Orthodox patriarch, possibly because I read the books shortly after a visit to Pecherska Lavra in Kiev and the labyrinthine holy catacombs there. Small quibble, not my religion, not my place to speak.

(I've seen discussion on the issues with biracial representation in the show, which is visceral and apparently based on bad experiences of one of the show writers in a way that's caused pain to other Asian and biracial people. I'm not qualified to speak on those parts, other that Eastern Europe is... yeah. Racist in subtly different ways. If anything, the treatment of the Suli as explained in Six of Crows always read so very true of the way Roma are treated, and even sanitised.)

And now for the spoiler-filled bits:

Kaz and Inej. I mean... just THEM. So many props to the actors, the writers, the bloody goat.

I adore the fact the only people who get to have sex in the show are Jesper and a very lucky stablehand.

Ben Barnes needs either an award or a kick. The man's acting choices and puppy eyes are as epic as his hair.

So Much Love for Alina initiating the kiss. Her book characterisation makes sense, she's so trapped in her own head because she has no time to process everything that's happening, but grabbing life by the lapels is a much more active choice. Still not making the relationship equal, but closer to it.

Speaking of, Kaz's constant awareness of how unequal his relationship with Inej is, and attempts to give her agency. I'm really curious how his touch issues come across to someone who doesn't know the backstory there.

Feodor and his actor. He looks exactly like the pre-war heartthrob Adolf Dymsza, a specific upper-class Polish ethnic type that's much rarer now that, well, Nazis killed millions of Polish intellectuals in their attempt to reduce us to unskilled labour only. The faces he makes are the Best.

Nina!! Nina is perfect, those cheekbones, that cheek, I was giggling myself silly half the time. I cannot wait to see Danielle Galligan take on the challenge of Nina's plotline in Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom, she'll kill us dead.

I already mentioned that the writers fixed Mal's absence from the first book, but Mal in general! The haircut gives him a kind of rugby charm, and Archie Renaux is outstanding at emoting without talking. Honestly, all the casting in this series is inspired, but him in particular.

Extra bonus: Howard Charles and Luke Pasqualino playing so very much against the type of the swaggering Musketeers I saw them play last. Arken dropping the mask at the end... Howard Charles is love.

I can't believe not only was Milo's bullet a plot point, but the fact Alina was wearing a particularly sparkly hair ornament in a long series of beautiful hair ornaments was a plot point.

In conclusion: so much love, and next three season NOW please. Okay, give me a week to reread the books, and an extra day because new Murderbot drops tomorrow...

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #348

“nothing will be free  /  nothing will be done  /  black out the sun”

Do you have any famous relatives? My third or so cousin is the author of Not Without My Daughter, but she's not like a smash hit or anything that most people know. I really do recommend the book, though. It's a long read, but a beautiful, true story. Do you care about celebrity gossip? Nah. Have you ever failed a science course in high school? No; I was very good at science. What’s your favorite breakfast food? Cinnamon rolls. Does your house have a basement? No. No house I've ever lived in has had one. Do you like Hot Topic? Well duh. Do you think imagination is valuable? VERY! Just imagine how many incredible things wouldn't exist without it. What was your reaction to your first time falling in love? Unspeakably happy, and I felt like I was building a future with someone. I felt like I had purpose, which I should mention to anyone reading is a mindset to NEVER adopt. No one gives you purpose; you're born with it. How much weight can you lift at once? Ha, not a lot. When you have your own house someday, what color Christmas tree do you want and how will you decorate it? I want a black one with faux snow on the branches, then maybe red ornaments. Kinda look like blood dripping off. Sounds metal. Name three YouTube channels you’ve been loving lately. Lately, John Wolfe, The Dark Den, and Aim To Head Mix. Have you ever bought a designer purse? No. Do you wear jewelry often? No. What color was your senior prom dress? Black. Are you colorblind? No. Name the people you know who are colorblind. Jason's older brother is colorblind to two colors, but idr which. Would you ever consider a career in writing? I'd love to. What was your first favorite color? Red. What do you think about horror movies? I love them. If you love them, what’s your favorite? I really enjoy The Crazies and both The Blair Witch Project movies. Oh, and of course Silent Hill. Got any cool Christmas presents picked out for family or friends yet? I don't have the money to get anyone presents... and while I sometimes get ideas about something I could make someone, then it wouldn't be fair to the rest of my family if I don't make them something, too. What’s your favorite word and why? I really like the sound of "serendipity," as well as its meaning. It's just a pretty, nice word. Do you like to do craft projects? If so, what’s the coolest thing you made? Not really... I think the coolest thing I made was when I put the clay heart I made in Art into a shadowbox, and a poem I wrote was in the background. It was a gift for Jason. I remember working really hard on the whole process and being really happy with it. I don't want to know what he's done with it since. What’s one occupation you think gets paid too much and doesn’t deserve to? I don't know. What’s something you are currently saving money for to buy? Everyone knows about Venus' terrarium by now... Do you smoke/vape? If so, what brand do you smoke/what device do you use? No. Ever done drugs? No. Tell me one of your worst habits. Catastrophizing. I take a tiny seed of something potentially bad, and in seconds it's a damn redwood tree. And I do mean "in seconds." What’s a weird quirk you have that no one else you know does? I don't know, I don't have any particularly unique ones, I think. If you game, what type of headset do you use? I just use earbuds. Do you think you would be a good therapist? You know, it's funny, I've actually pictured myself as one a few times, given my level of understanding and empathy for people, as well as how deeply I want to see others succeed and spread the word that recovery from things like depression is very possible. I've never truly entertained the thought, though, given I'm quite sure I legally couldn't be given my suicidal past and mental illnesses. There is also NO way I could listen to so many people's suffering and manage to stay healthy myself, so, no therapist position for me, thanks. Have you ever been to a Chinatown? No. Do you prefer chunky or creamy peanut butter? Creamy, 100%. Do you stop to pick up heads-up pennies? No. Do your pets have collars? Describe them: Roman has an adorable navy one with a bowtie. Do you have any friends that speak any languages you don’t understand? Old friends, sure. What is something you want to begin learning? I want to improve my ability to perform what in therapy is called "opposite action," where you do the opposite of what your depression (or other conditions) make you want to do. It always helps me feel good, like when I draw even when I don't initially feel like it, but it's rough to really force yourself to do it. What is a food you find comforting when you are sad? Ice cream is my comfort food. What is a quote you find comfort in? There are really a lot, but none come to mind immediately, gah. What is one Tumblr blog you really appreciate? I actually haven't been on my main Tumblr in months, but oh my god there is a Markiplier blog called "lady-raziel" and she is FUCKING HYSTERICAL. The meme quality is A+. What is a comfort movie/show for you? When I actually liked watching movies, I enjoyed watching Silent Hill when I was down. That whole franchise just makes me so happy. What is a recent creative project that you are proud of? That I'm PROUD of, idk. I'm not that happy with the last drawing I made, and I haven't done any serious writing lately that I find noteworthy. What is a video game that you find comforting? Shadow of the Colossus is probably #1. I find it so relaxing while equally epic as fuck. The soundtrack is to die for, and after playing it a billion times, it's pretty easy for me to kinda breeze through and just enjoy myself. Do you know how to bake bread? If so, what is something you’ve baked recently? No. Would you rather live in the mountains, city, beach, or the forest? THE MOUNTAINS!!! Particularly in the woods IN the mountains! Are you closer to your mother’s or father’s side of the family? Mom's. I don't even remember anyone from Dad's. Have you ever been in a “perfect relationship”? I thought so. Have you ever lost a fingernail or toenail? No. Were you a Disney or Nickelodeon kid? I preferred Disney. Have you ever been inside a jail/prison? No, and I don't plan on it. Have you ever dated a guy with a beard, mustache, or goatee? Jason had a goatee usually. He'd go clean-shaven sometimes. Did you ever name your stuffed animals? I named every single one I got as a kid. Now I don't, really, unless they're really special. What’s the name of the person who cuts your hair? I'd rather not share, given her name is very unique. Do you like cheeseburgers? Yes, they're one of my favorite foods. Do you have a Flickr? Yes, but I don't use it anymore. Did you ever want to be a fashion designer? No. Do you drink milk? Yeah, I love milk. Where was your FB display pic taken? My room. Have you ever burnt your tongue like REALLY bad? If so, what on? Yeah; white rice. My dumb ass didn't realize it had JUST come off the stove. My tongue hurt literally for weeks. Have you ever gotten your legs waxed? No. Do you own any CLOTHES from Victoria’s Secret? Er, are undergarments not clothes? But I know what you mean. No. What are your grandfathers’ names? William and... I can't remember Dad's dad's name. Have you ever seen a snake in real life? Well yeah. Are you against seances? I don't know if I believe in them being effective, but either way, they seem like a bad idea. Even risking luring a negative energy/spirit to you is something I'd stay away from. Do you own any superhero shirts? No, just Harley Quinn ones, some with the Joker on them, too. I need to toss 'em though because I am like, violently against romanticizing their abusive relationship. I used to just like them as a story character couple, but I got to a place where it just seemed... wrong to "glorify" it by wearing merch and stuff. What band has the best guitar solos? Metallica, durrrr. Who is the biggest jerk you’ve ever met? Can you believe that would be my former best friend? Have you ever swerved off the road to avoid hitting an animal? I've never had an animal in my path. Have you ever grown your own herbs? No. Do you like kissing in public? If you're my serious s/o, I could care less, so long as it's a simple peck. I'm not making out in front of people. Do you think someone has feelings for you? I don't know. Do you want to be in a relationship this year? I don't know. I'm lonely and love feels amazing, but I need to get my life on track before I can be a good partner to someone and not just dead weight. Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you? Huh, funny, he's the one that walked away. How long can you just kiss until your hands start to wander? Uhhh that would depend on how serious we are, where we are, and just what mood I'm in. What’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for you? ugh What’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for someone? also ugh What’s your dirtiest secret? TMI AHEAD. Probably receiving oral while bare-ass naked on the chaise in the living room while we were home alone. Or having sex in my sister’s bed. Oops. Would you ever get lyrics tattooed on yourself? Yeah. I already do, anyway, and I plan on getting another. Can you photoshop images well? I'm decent at it. Where did you last drive to? Mom and I went to go get our Covid vaccines today. What’s the first verse of the last song you listened to? "I don't know what we're supposed to be, but I know we lost it along the way to something better, something so much more than pleasure that we seek, so blind inside to fill these holes left by these lies that we tell to ourselves as we manufacture our own hell." What do you hear right now? The aforementioned song: "BLACKOUT" by 3TEETH. What was the last thing you laughed about? This is so fucking immature lmao but when we were driving earlier, we passed a gas station that had a sign that was advertising Coke, but due to space limitations, it abbreviated to "2 liter Cok" and I cackled like a child. Mom laughed harder than I did. Do you know any gay people personally? Ye. What was the last thing that startled you? I think it was a car hoonking at somebody the other day. What was the last thing to make you even remotely sad? Today's been a kind of rough PTSD day thanks to Facebook. My old high school friend had her beautiful daughter, a childhood friend just got married the other day, another friend is due to have her baby in just a couple weeks... It's just weird but even more painful to know it was the life I once fantasized about with a guy that just dropped me and made a break for it. I hate admitting that there's this deep, deep bitterness in me about it, like he took my life away from me, even though that's of course very unfair to say. I don't want to talk about this anymore, so moving on with my day.

[starksinthenorth]

Sansa + Jory’s Death

“Sansa thinks its okay that Jory died because he’s not handsome.” 

I’ve seen this complaint lodged a few times and its upsetting because if you actually read the text, that’s not what she thinks at all.

This conception comes from a quotation in GOT, Sansa III, when the Stark men are going out to capture/kill Gregor Clegane for his crimes against the Riverlands. The quotation comes in context of Sansa being proud of her father’s men:

Alyn carried the Stark banner. When she saw him rein in beside Lord Beric to exchange words, it made Sansa feel ever so proud. Alyn was handsomer than Jory had been; he was going to be a knight one day.

And yes, this isn’t Sansa’s kindest thought ever, but it’s in context of her thinking good things about the Stark men and supporting them. The line is about Alyn, and it has nothing to do with Sansa’s feeling about Jory’s death. Just a comparative aside. Again, it is in poor taste, but it isn’t necessarily “Jory’s death isn’t sad.”

This scene is important generally in Sansa’s arc because its her first experience with war, and she finds it exciting rather than revolting:

It was all so exciting, a song come to life; the clatter of swords, the flicker of torchlight, banners dancing in the wind, horses snorting and whinnying, the golden glow of sunrise slanting through the bars of the portcullis as it jerked upward. 

This compares with her real experience of battle during the Blackwater, and almost certainly will parallel later battles that she’ll live through, as she realizes life isn’t a song.

Sansa’s views of Jory and the rest are hugely affected by her Septa’s opinions:

"Jory looks a beggar among these others," Septa Mordane sniffed when he appeared. Sansa could only agree. Jory's armor was blue-grey plate without device or ornament, . . . Yet he acquitted himself well.

And she has in part begun to grow out of this influence in the scene above, where, “The Winterfell men looked especially fine in their silvery mail and long grey cloaks.” (Alternatively, this is just the ~song~ aspect of herself making everything as perfect as possible).

And Sansa considers Jory close to her, sings for him during he Blackwater, counts him as near as Father, and believes she would cry if she had seen him dead:

She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady and Bran. It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. 

TL;DR: people really need to actually read quotes in their context and not add background that’s not there.

[supernutellastuff]

Endings, Beginnings - a short and fluffy Zutara fix-it

Something different from my usual style. Wrote this for my friend because neither of us could deal with our broken shipper hearts after ATLA ended. Feedback is appreciated! Read it on ao3 here :)

xxx

The streets of the Fire Nation capital are awash in the soft golden light of dawn as the new Fire Lord stands at his balcony, struggling with his red ceremonial robes. The bandages covering his chest are stiff and awkward but the only thing preventing him from ripping them off is the prospect of incurring his uncle’s displeasure. Though that doesn’t stop him from cursing out loud while trying to stuff his arms into the robes.

“Need help with that?”

Zuko turns. There she is, leaning casually against the open doorway, a teasing smile playing on her lips. She looks fresh, considering the ordeal she’s been through.

“Katara.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I thought you’d be with Aang.”

“Aang…has Avatar duties. I came to check up on you.”

“First day as the Fire Lord and I’m already failing.” He gestures ruefully at his half-open robes.

Katara rolls her eyes and walks over to him. With practiced movements, she gets his arms through the holes but pauses before tying up the front of his clothes. Her eyes linger on his chest. “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

“I still don’t know how to thank you.” She backs away, maintaining a more respectable distance.

“Then don’t,” he snaps. He still has nightmares about being a split-second too late and watching the lightning strike Katara. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to redirect it when he’d realised what Azula was going to do. Bending lightning required mastery over emotions, something which Zuko had long recognised was impossible when it came to Katara.

“You saved my life.” Her eyes are fierce.

“And you saved mine, so we’re even.”

“What about when you saved me from being crushed by rocks at the Western Air Temple?”

“Oh, we’re acknowledging that now, are we?”

“And when you helped find my mother’s killer and bring me closure?”

“It was the least I could do for betraying you in the crystal catacombs.” He’d given her every reason to hate him and yet she hadn’t hesitated in offering to heal him. He still remembers the way she’d traced his scar with her fingertips. Even Mai had never touched his scar. He thinks of Mai, now on a ship headed far far away from the Fire Nation. As soon she’d been released from prison, they had sat down and talked and this time it was she who had ended things for good. Zuko hadn’t even pretended to feel anything but relief.

She crosses her arms. “What, are you saying you’re the one in my debt?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm…” Zuko is nonplussed to see that she’s smiling. “You’ll have to put up with me a little longer then, until I figure out a way to collect on my debt.”

“I do have a way,” he blurts out before he can think twice. “Become the Southern Water Tribe ambassador to the Fire Nation. Help in the reconstruction and rehabilitation. Help in resuming trade and peace relations between the nations.” She looks taken aback so he blunders on, suddenly uncertain of the offer. “It’s a lot of boring politics and it’ll keep you away from your friends and family, so I understand why you may not—actually forget I ever said anything.”

“Sokka and Suki are thinking of travelling on their own, Toph is planning to open a metalbending academy, Aang wants to resettle the Air Nomad colonies. It’s not like I had anything else planned…” she trails off.

“You’re not going with Aang?” He toys with a stray thread, voice deliberately casual. While it was obvious the way the kid mooned over Katara, it had been a little more ambiguous on her side. But things might have changed now: who wouldn’t choose the Avatar, the hero who ended the war?

Katara’s face clouds over. “Aang needs to realise that I don’t fit into all his plans. That I don’t want to.” She tugs on her hair loops, anxious. “So it’s not about Aang or the rest. I just…I don’t know if I deserve the position,” she whispers.

Zuko snorts. “Who’s more deserving than the master waterbender who took down Azula at the height of her powers?”

Her smile grows. “In that case, I accept.”

“Good.” Their eyes meet, hold, and the moment stretches. He breaks away with difficulty; he has nations to address and he needs to look the part.

The rest of the royal raiment has been laid out on the bed. It was somehow important to him that he do this by himself so he’d dismissed his attendants. Katara, perhaps sensing this, refrains from extending a helping hand. He puts on his gold-threaded robes, gathers his hair into a topknot, slides on the ornamental headpiece and adjusts it until it stops scraping painfully against his skull. All the while, he can sense her gaze on him. It does not make him feel flustered. Not at all.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks after the fifth time accidentally catching her eye in the mirror. If one thing Iroh has taught him, it’s this: never let your guests leave without a cup of tea. Luckily he has a pot ready in his room.

Katara nods. He crosses to the little table in front of the still-burning fireplace and picks up the pot, stays the lid with one hand, and pours into a porcelain cup. The tea’s gone cold, so Zuko takes a deep breath, reaches into his chi, and exhales. The inside of his hands glow with warmth. He places his palms around the cup until steam rises gently from the surface.

She takes the cup from him and their hands brush, her fingers cool against his burning skin. An expression of delight spreads across her face at the first sip. “This is lovely!”

Zuko grins. “Uncle’s special blend—white dragon bush. ‘So delicious, it’s heart-breaking’” he quotes, fondly.

They chat about nothing and everything while he finishes his transformation into the Fire Lord and Katara her tea. She’s already bursting with ideas about her new role.

When he’s finally ready, he extinguishes the fireplace with a deft flick of his wrist, and turns to leave. And that's when the skies choose to burst open. Groaning, he cranes his head out the balcony and catches a few stray drops of water on his face. The rain comes down in waves, lashing the marbled courtyard. The walkway from his quarters to the palace where the official ceremony will be held is fully uncovered. It would’ve been easier to stay in one of the palace rooms but Zuko wasn’t fully comfortable with that idea. Living in the guest quarters had seemed like a suitable temporary solution until the weather had gone and ruined that as well.

Zuko hurries down to the gate and stops at the threshold, deeply annoyed. Water seeps through, almost soaking his feet. “Great. Just great.”

“What are you waiting for?” says Katara, coming up from behind.

He waves a listless hand at the rain and then over his ceremonial clothes and careful updo.

“Good thing you have a waterbender by your side.” Katara places a hand between his shoulders, just like the time when they’d been standing over a chained Azula, half-crazed with anger and spitting fire, and the only thing keeping him upright had been the unyielding support of Katara’s palm on his back.

She nudges him to move and they fall into step together. Her other hand cuts through the air in graceful arcs, bending away the rain directly above their heads. They shuffle slowly across the courtyard, enclosed in a bubble of dry air amidst the heavy shower. It’s like he is behind thick-plated glass; all he can hear is the sound of her breathing, all he can see are the sinuous shadows of the rain on her face.

When they’re finally safe beneath the shade on the palace steps, she releases him. “I should go find Sokka and my father,” she says. “Aang should be waiting for you inside.”

He nods, suddenly nervous.

“You’ll be fine, Zuko.” He doesn’t know what she means—the speech, ruling as the Fire Lord, climbing up the steps without tripping himself—but a spark of hope ignites in his chest.

The rain stops as abruptly as it had begun. He watches Katara walk away, stepping nimbly over puddles, her ocean blue tunic swishing around her legs. And long after she is gone, he feels the warmth of her hand on his back.

[alannah-corvaine]

alannah; neverending survey

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Alannah Ailíse Caireann Corvaine Outway

NICKNAME: Little Bird (Faron only) 

AGE:  almost 23

BIRTHDAY:   10/16

ETHNIC GROUP: Midlander Hyur

NATIONALITY: Thanalanian

LANGUAGE/S: Common, a hodgepodge of things she's picked up from books

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Demisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Married (verse dependent)

HOME TOWN / AREA:  Drybone, Eastern Thanalan

CURRENT HOME:  The Grey Fleet, Lower LaNoscea

PROFESSION: Professional White Mage™, Healer, Purifier

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Rich, dark brown with white streaks extending from her roots (magical scars)

EYES: Sea Green

FACE: Slightly angular, but still has baby fat

LIPS: Full, pouty, usually covered in neutral tone gloss

COMPLEXION: Sickly pale

BLEMISHES:  Birthmark under her left eye, constant red splotchy patches due to allergies

SCARS:  The white in her hair, a mark between her shoulderblades where she was kicked by an aldgoat as a child

TATTOOS: Flowery vines crawling up the left side of her ribcage (permanent), stabilizing arcanima symbols all over her arms (temporary, reapplied daily)

HEIGHT:  5′2″

WEIGHT: 135 ponze

BUILD:  Petite 

FEATURES:  Extremely striking eyes, more girlish than womanly facial structure

ALLERGIES:  Severe pollen and pet allergies, mildly allergic to some foods and perfumes

USUAL HAIR STYLE:  Worn long, down to her hips. Either in a sidebraid, high ponytail with various small braids, or loose

USUAL FACE LOOK :  Lost in thought

USUAL CLOTHING:  Loose, flowing, bohemian style. Lots of white, lots of bangles, delicate necklaces and rings. Sometimes hair ornaments. Barefoot or sandals, doesn't believe in socks. While "working" she prefers trenchcoats open at the waist, shorts, and knee-high boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failure, guns, the excited laugh her daughter makes when she's found something "interesting"

ASPIRATION/S:  To be a powerful mage, fix her borked aether, and to be a better mother to her daughter than Christaine was to her

POSITIVE TRAITS: Insatiably curious, focused, dedicated, protective, kind, funny, generous

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Emotionally distant, petty, wrathful, impulsive, reckless, gets lost in her own head and forgets to come back out

TEMPERAMENT:   Melancholic

SOUL TYPE/S:  Artisan

ANIMALS:  --

VICE HABIT/S: Swearing, letting her temper get the best of her, alcohol (very rarely, because it ends badly)

FAITH: Hail Hydra Hydaelyn

GHOSTS?: ...verse dependent (lol)

AFTERLIFE?: Not so much an afterlife as much as being recycled by the Lifestream.

REINCARNATION?:  Yes

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: I mean...she might be a bit of an ecoterrorist?

EDUCATION LEVEL:  Self taught through an ungodly amount of reading

FAMILY.

FATHER : Aedan Corvaine

MOTHER :  Christaine Harlow Corvaine (deceased)

SIBLINGS : Faron, Ean, Davon, Brennan

EXTENDED FAMILY: Nine Outway (husband), Aislinn Outway (daughter), Moira Corvaine (aunt), Fayre Harlow (maternal grandmother), Fasshon Fuqushon (step-grandfather), Veronique Corvaine (sister-in-law), Isobel Corvaine (niece), Octavia Outway (sister-in-law)

NAME MEANING/S: You know, I spent hours looking up names with fitting means for Alannah’s family members way back when, but I am absolutely too lazy to go find them again

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None.

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Technical studies on the properties and workings of aether, historical volumes, adventure and fantasy stories, and sometimes a romance novel

DEITY: Hail Hydra Hydaelyn

HOLIDAY:  Starlight

MONTH: July

SEASON:  Summer

PLACE: La Noscea

WEATHER: Snow

SOUND / S: The almost electric hum of magic, the sound that Nine makes when she scratches his head

SCENT / S:  White musk, fresh bread baking, old books, lemongrass

TASTE / S:  Wine, dandelion tea, almond cream croissants

FEEL / S:  Being magically powerful, sleeping on fresh sheets, wearing her husband’s shirts, snuggling with her daughter

ANIMAL / S:  Fish, since they’re the only thing that doesn’t maker her sneeze

NUMBER: 9 (lol)

COLORS: White, black, any pastel or sherbet colors

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Retaining large amounts of information. magical aptitude (even if she has to fight her unstable aether for it), large scale destruction, cooking exactly one meal, tripping on flat surfaces, the ability to braid anything

BAD AT:  Wielding any kind of melee weapon, seeing without her glasses, remembering where she put her glasses, keeping up a conversation without getting lost in her thoughts, public speaking, remembering to drink her tea before it gets cold

TURN ONS: Patience, humor, calloused hands, empathy, confidence, kindness

TURN OFFS: Arrogance, cruelty, smarminess, apathy, insensitivity

HOBBIES: Researching, reading, sketching, playing the harp, traveling/seeing new places, teaching her daughter how to human, using her husband as a nap pillow

TROPES: (oh god there are so many, these are just a few) Caged Bird Metaphor, Grass is Greener, Kitsch Collection, Misery Builds Character, Now Let Me Carry You, #1 Dime, Wake-up Call, Grew a Spine, Rage Breaking Point, Big Screwed Up Family, Black Sheep

QUOTES :  “my bitterness was sometimes rest and sometimes ecstacy grace or rage, always the two opposites ready to annihilate each other and to rise from the ruins of the vanquished.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  Listen, I shamelessly love YA dystopian fiction, so it would be something in that vein, where Alannah is OP as fuck running around and blowing shit up as the young heroine main focus. Also there’s all of the romance tropes (sandwiched between developmental angst, of course), because I like them, and nobody’s allowed to bitch about it.

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  It would be scored by a collaboration of Two Steps From Hell, Hans Zimmer, Jeremy Soule, and Zack Hemsey, and my ears would orgasm.

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 : I don’t like doing the whole “my character is just me or an extension of me” thing, it just never feels right. I also can’t just look at the avatar I’m using and see nothing but pixels and just “play the game.” She has to have a personality, a backstory, a reason for what she’s doing. Also it’s a great creative outlet for me because I love coming up with stories in my head as I go. And thus Alannah was born from the soup of inspiration made up of many various characters I’ve loved over the years.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 : She was supposed to be something new, a kind of character that I’ve never written before. All of my female characters end up badass, overpowered, and full of personal angst, because that’s just my thing. And yeah, Alannah’s reached that point, but the point is I tried.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I feel like I can never get her voice right, she always just ends up sounding like me.

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :   The longer she’s around, the more of my traits she absorbs by osmosis. At this point she shares like 80% of my personality and traits and is completely unrecognizable from my original concept for her.

Q7 :   How does your muse feel about you?          

A7 :   I am a generous god.

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?        

A8 :   My favorite thing to explore, if it isn’t grossly obvious, is her different relationships with each of her siblings, probably because I have none. 

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?        

A9 : Mostly music and books, sometimes games. I have so many AUs for Alannah. Actually writing things, however, is another matter entirely.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 : I had it done by the end of the work day after working on it between things I had to do, but then SOMEBODY tumblr drafts had to blow it up so I had to start over from the halfway point. I am not amused.

tagged by: @resistance-ranger [thankyou♥]

tagging: @keeperprinceling @menphinasbow @keeperofthelilacs @fheythfully @manawalls @khaamara @ahlis-xiv @aethernoise @castthemintotheabyss @alphiinaud @chysgoda @dragons-bones @astrophoros-ffxiv @loslorien @nuclearanomaly @zunshtral @card-and-flame @carmen-ffxiv @arabeka-ffxiv @voidwife @crowsaerie-rp @apassingshadow @violet-warder @hydrangea-fields @areniaagn @autumnslance @keltgeim @holyja @unmend @pulse-oflife

[sophiechoir]

Thoughts from Mass 2/2/20

http://frchristopherstanish.libsyn.com/railroad-tracks-part-4-planning-for-holiness

“The messenger of the covenant whom you desire” (Christ the lover)

Purification and refinement - come as you are, but leave changed, improved

“Open wide your gates, let the King of Glory in!” but sung sorrowfully (again, Christ the lover)

the Devil has the power of death (angel of death?)

>fear of death = slavery; the power of death = the fear of death; with the hope of the Resurrection, we overcome the power, the fear of death (not death itself, at least not now)

Particularly good readings today ~

Hebrews 2:14-18: “14 Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil— 15 and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. 16 For surely it is not angels he helps, but Abraham’s descendants. 17 For this reason he had to be made like them,[a] fully human in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. 18 Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.”

Luke 2:22-40 (excerpt here): “33 The child’s father and mother marveled at what was said about him. 34 Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, 35 so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”36 There was also a prophet, Anna, the daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, 37 and then was a widow until she was eighty-four.[d] She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. 38 Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.39 When Joseph and Mary had done everything required by the Law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee to their own town of Nazareth. 40 And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him.”

the prophetess, Anna (I wish)

(from the translation used in Mass) “and you yourself a sword will pierce - so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed” (why do I love this quote so much?)

Heaven is within our reach - we have already been made holy - all we have to do is respond to it - go from holy moment to holy moment (does this align with previous ideas of purification and refinement??)

Conversion of the heart and renewal of the mind

Father Chris’ Handy Dandy Techniques for Spiritual Improvement

>Father Chris: You need a plan to be holy (hm), “a plan that fits your life like a glove.” 

>Different roles in the Gospel today as example of vocation according to circumstances - our roles are given to us (hmm)

The Heroic Minute: If you can get out of bed within the first 60 seconds of the alarm clock going off, you’re overcome the first cross of the day - the first tendency towards comfort (lol Called Out)

The Morning Offering: We literally can’t give God our attention every minute of the day, but we can give Him our intention for our actions throughout the day ahead

Spiritual Reading: “You cannot love what you do not know.” (oof) You may fall in love with the idea of a person, but if you don’t try to know them then you can’t actually love them. (But God is unknowable! How can we truly love Him then? Is it just the attempt at knowledge, the process, the path, the growth, that counts?)

>recommended reading: Jacques Philippe

>”to fall deeper in love” <3

The Eucharist: God hides Himself in the body of bread so He can draw close to us, so we can draw close to Him (what a wonderful mystery!)

Adoration <3

Reconciliation: “The confessional is a place of victory!” Not fear! (it’s probably both I’d think) “We say sorry to a loved one whenever we hurt them, whether in a small or big way.”

Devotion to Mary: Jesus’ love for Mary, for his mother

Examination of Conscience: Before bed, think: 3 things you’re grateful for/2 sins committed/1 goal for tomorrow (?)

Mental Prayer (St. Teresa of Avila): “Exposing your very heart.” “It’s easy to hide behind rote or memorized prayers - with mental prayer, it’s harder to hide.” (contrast with “hiding” of God in Eucharist as a way to communion)

Spiritual Challenge of the Week: Create and write down your own plan of life using the above techniques. (will do later)

Scraps:

When did head veils (mantillas, apparently) start coming back into church fashion? They’re beautiful ornaments - lace embroidered with gold - but I wonder if they might be a bit ostentatious. Well, to each their own.

There was a beer blessing (St. Bridget apparently??) at the end of Mass today. Man I love Catholicism lolol

[furuba-imagines]

A Glimmer of Hope [1]

A/N: I shall be posting requests over the weekend. I started writing this story around 2016 (it’s on my quotev and FanFiction.Net) but bc of the rebooted anime I decided to reboot my own story as well the new anime’s honour :3

Word Count: 2706

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sad character past, mentions of family abuse. Crappy format bc it was posted on mobile app. I’ll fix it up later. For now, enjoy!!

Pairing: Eventual Kyo x Oc

Story Notes:

Bold text is Amélie’s thoughts and inner dialogue.

Italicised text is when Amélie is narrating bits of the story like Tohru does in the anime as well as flashbacks (I will let you know what’s a flashback and what’s not though)

ONE - ENCOUNTERS

Amélie smiled to herself as she breathed in the fresh morning air. She marvelled at how beautiful and blue the sky was and how the white fluffy clouds looked as if they were painted in gentle strokes.

'Oooh yeah, that sun feels so warm.'

The sun shone bright, warming up her pale skin, erasing the goose bumps that littered her exposed arms. Turning back to the small black tent that she currently called home, her lip twitched and formed into a forlorn smile as she looked at the photograph sitting atop a folded pile of clothes in a simple brown wooden picture frame. It was a picture of her when she was six, posing with her mum and dad. Everything was so happy and bright back then... but a dark storm washed all that happiness away and she hasn't really felt it since. Despite the accident that befell them happening so long ago, it still got to her. It still haunted her dreams at night and plagued her thoughts during daylight. She wished she could just stop feeling – it would make things so much easier.

With a heavy sigh, Amélie grabbed her school bag and guitar and secured them both around her back and shoulder respectively. She cast one last glance at the picture before zipping up the tent and making sure it was secure, not that she was worried about anyone breaking in. Not many people passed by this area.

'See you guys soon. I love you.'

Even so, she didn't keep her more valuable belongings in the tent, like her piano keyboard. She kept that safely locked up in the school music room. Normally, she'd leave her guitar there too but she wanted to work on the new song she was writing. But she never kept both instruments in the tent at the same time in case something did happen. She didn't want to risk it no matter how small the chance. A part from the picture, her guitar and piano were the only things she had left of her parents. They were both musicians – her mum sang and wrote and her dad played. Music was one of the only things she still found happiness in. She hoped that one day her music would be played across the world for people to enjoy.

Amélie tugged at her uniform, wishing she had a mirror to check herself with. Amélie was never very fond of the girl's uniform so she wore the boy's one instead. She traded in her skirt and blouse for the pants and collared shirt and paired it with her own plain black Doc Martin's. She felt more comfortable in them than the lace up shoes the school provided. The school faculty stopped carding her after the first two weeks she refused to change. She also liked the fact that she didn't have to worry about boys trying to sneak-a-peak up her skirt. The last boy who tried walked away with a swollen cheek, bruised eye and busted lip. She stood by her actions however.

'The little shit deserved it. He had it coming if you ask me.'

Amélie hadn't always lived in a tent. After the death of her parents, her French side of her family were given custody over her but she wouldn't really call them family. The first thing they did was disown her, cast her out and hand her over to the state orphanage as soon as they could. She ended up living there until she was thirteen after her Japanese side of the family finding out about her and adopting her. Amélie would've preferred to stay at the orphanage since they were more of a family than her actual relatives. By the age of sixteen she had endured enough of their abuse and torment and ran away. She ended up staying at both her friends, Uotani and Hanajima's place for a while upon their insistence but the guilt became too much so she lied about having found good accommodation. In reality, she kept moving from hotel to hotel until she was forced to live in the tent she was living in currently. A glamorous life she liked to sarcastically call it, but she was grateful at least that she wasn't living on the sidewalks or under a bridge somewhere.

"Il ya toujours un arc en ciel après la tempéte!" She quoted to herself. There's always a rainbow after a storm. It was something her mother used to quote quite often.

The forest that she walked through she found to be quite calming and beautiful with all the tall trees and lush greenery. With that being said, feeling a little adventurous this morning and wanting to delay school as much as she could, she decided to take a different route. The more she drifted away from her usual path, the more the forest became increasingly unfamiliar until she had no idea where she was going.

"Fuck sakes," She cursed. 'Why would you even try straying from the main path with your horrible sense of direction? I'm such an idiot sometimes.'

However, much to her surprise, something in the peripherals of her vision captured her attention and halting her steps. To her far right, down a hill was a large clearing that lead to a traditional Japanese looking house. Amélie should've known that a forest as beautiful as this one had to have some kind of estate built upon it. With her curiosity piqued to the max, she couldn't help herself and decided to investigate.

‘A little snooping wouldn't hurt anybody.'

"It's called trespassing Amélie and its illegal," she reminded herself but proceeded to ignore her own warning.

Amélie was careful as she made her way down the hill. Hiding behind a bush, she did a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear before approaching the house.

'At least they don't have to worry about annoying neighbours. Must be nice to live here.'

Coming up close to the porch, Amélie couldn't help but be drawn to little ornaments sitting on a wooden rack. Upon closer inspection, she recognised them as the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac. She smiled to herself.

"They look so well made and detailed. I wonder how long it took to paint them all..."

"Hello, this is a surprise. We don't get many young girls wondering around these parts."

Amélie bristled at the sudden voice and stumbled backwards, almost falling flat on her ass.

'Shit, shit! You've done fucked up now! Run before he calls the cops on you for trespassing! On second thought... he doesn't look too mad. Just play it cool and maybe you can leave without getting into any trouble.'

"I'm so sorry sir! I was just admiring I swear! I'm not here to cause you any trouble." She barely managed to string her words together without fumbling over them.

The man just chuckled and waved a hand at her. "It's quite alright, no harm done." The man's smile turned pensive. "I just find it hard to imagine that a teenager like yourself would find this place interesting." He mused.

'Oh thank goodness, I'm not in trouble.'

Amélie was quick to shake her head as she knelt in front of the rack, the man following suit. "No, it's a very lovely place. And I especially love these little zodiac ornaments here. Did you make them?" She asked.

"Yes I did. They're a favourite of mine too you could say."

Amélie scanned every rock that had been painted with detail and precision but a frown soon formed on her face when she noticed something missing.

"Of course you left out the cat just like everyone else." She muttered. It was more to herself than to the man in front of her although she realised she must've spoken too loud because of his surprised expression.

"The cat? Oh right, I see. You're referring to the old zodiac folktale." He said in realisation and Amélie nodded.

"I used to get dad to tell me the story sometimes before bed. I've always thought the cat had just as much importance to the story as any of the other animals did. I always felt for him."

_____________________

>>>Flashback<<<

_____________________

Little Amélie laid in her bed all snuggled and tucked beneath her plush blankets.

"Goodnight princess," Mr. Hoshimi smiled down at his daughter and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. As soon as he stood up to leave though, Amélie grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt and tugged on it.

"Wait! Can you tell me that story about the animals again? Pwease?" She pouted, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. The elder man quickly fell for her doe eyes and hopeful smile and found himself smiling along with her.

"Oh wow could I ever say no to that cute face?" he cooed, sitting back down onto the bed.

"A long, long time ago, god decided to invite all of the animals to a glorious banquet. He sent out word for all of them to come to his house the following evening and he told them not to be late.

"Can you name all the animals Amélie?"

Amélie sat up straight and proudly listed all the animals – The dog and the dragon, the rabbit and tiger, the rat and the pig, the cow and horse, the sheep and the rooster, the monkey, the snake... "And my favourite, the cat!" She cheered.

Mr. Hoshimi just laughed and tucked Amélie back underneath the sheets and continued with the story.

"However, when the mischievous rat heard the news, he decided to play a trick on his fellow neighbour – the cat. He told the cat that the party was the day after tomorrow."

Amélie turned her nose up and scowled. "I hate this part," She grumbled with a huff. "The poor kitty cat deserves better..."

"The very next day, all of the animals lined up for the celebrations with the rat leading the way, riding all the way on the back of the cow. Everyone had a wonderful time, except for the foolish cat who missed the whole thing." Mr. Hoshimi finished.

When he looked down at his daughter, he chuckled at her grumpy pout and furrowed brows.

"Amélie honey, why so grumpy?" He asked, but he knew why. She always got mad at the rat for tricking the cat, even though it was only just a story, Amélie had vowed to be the protector of all cats.

"Because the rat was so mean! If I was the cat, I would've kicked the rats butt for being such a... well, a butt!" She exclaimed, balling her hands into tiny fists.

"And if mummy heard you talk like that, she'd have yours."

Amelie giggled sheepishly before a thought popped into her head. "Do you think the cat would like it if I started a year of the cat?!"

Mr. Hoshimi just smiled. "I'm sure he would love that honey."

_______________________

>>> End of Flashback <<<

_______________________

The kimono wearing man smirked and tapped his fingers against his chin in thought. "Funny, I wonder how he would feel after hearing that story, knowing he has a little fan."

Snapping out of her reverie, she looked at him with a confused tilt of her head. "I'm sorry, who?"

The man shook his head and part of her wondered if she was actually meant to hear what he had said or not.

"Oh nevermind. So, what year were you born in?" He asked, quickly distracting her by changing the subject and Amélie went along with it.

"Year of the Ox," she replied.

The man nodded but Amélie noticed his eyes drift to her uniform. Most people found it odd that she wore the boy's uniform so she was used to it by now. She was about to speak, but he beat her to it.

"I apologise, I don't mean to stare. I've just never seen a girl wear the boy's uniform before. I must say though, you pull it off quite well."

Amélie's cheeks flushed at the compliment. She was the worst when it came to accepting flattery and compliments.

"Thank you."

"You're not from around her are you?" He asked suddenly in a curious tone.

Amélie had been waiting for that question. Something she was often asked about also.

"It's my accent isn't it?" She supplied with a smirk.

'I'm glad it isn't too thick for people to understand me.'

"It is quite nice to listen to. I mean, aside from your pretty fa-"

Whatever the man was going to say next came to an abrupt stop and was replaced with a pained gasp as something landed on his head. It was a schoolbag, just like the one Amélie and most other high school students had.

'Oh shoot, did not expect that.'

"My head!"

"Will you at least try to control yourself?" A new voice sighed.

Amélie's eyes trailed up the person's arm that held the bag until she reached their face and her eyes widen in shock.

'No way, Yuki lives here?! If I get caught with him, that stupid fan club of his won't let me hear the end of it.'

Yuki turned his attention away from the man to Amélie. "Good morning Miss Hoshimi, I'm sorry for my cousin. He's bit of a flirt but's he's harmless. It's best to just ignore him."

"Oh no, it's alright. We were just talking is all; he's good company."

The man, Yuki's cousin, rubbed the sore spot on his head. "What do you have in there? A dictionary or something?"

Yuki barely batted an eyelash at his whining. "Two dictionaries actually," he sighed in exasperation as he slid the schoolbag onto his back, adjusting the straps so it fit comfortably on his shoulders.

Yuki's cousin rubbed his head one last time. "So, you two know each other?" He asked, pointing between the two of them.

"Miss Hoshimi and I are in the same class."

Amélie dipped her head in a respectful bow. "The name's Amélie, pleasure to meet you." She officially greeted.

"Same here. I'm Shigure Sohma and Yuki here is my little cousin." He explained with a friendly smile.

"And what brings you to our house this morning?" Yuki asked in his usual soft and polite voice.

Amélie offered them a nervous smile, rubbing the back of her neck. 'I can't exactly tell them that I live in the middle of the forest. They'll probably laugh at me. I need to think of something good to say and fast!'

"Oh uh, well you know, I live... nearby." She trailed off lamely. It wasn't a complete lie.

'Oh yeah, that's such a good cover up.'

She gulped when she noticed their stunned expressions and wished they would change the subject. She didn't do well under pressure.

"Around here? Really?"

"You do? Where?" Yuki pressed. Amélie was hyperaware of how clammy the palms of her hands were becoming.

'Abort! Abort!'

"I don't mean to be rude but I should probably head to school. I haven't been late in a while and I wanted to keep my record clean this semester."

'As if they cared or needed to know that last bit.'

She bowed to them once again. "It was nice chatting with you. Have a good day." She said in a hurry, quickly turning on her heel and walking away.

'Don't look back. Just keep walking...'

"Miss Hoshimi?" Yuki called out after her.

Amélie sighed inwardly. 'Dammit.'

Putting on a smile, she turned to face him. "Yeah?"

"Since you're here, why don't we walk to school together?" He suggested.

'Say no. It's not worth the wrath of the fan club.'

"Sure, I don't see why not?" She accepted with a forced smile.

The entire walk was done so in an awkward silence as neither Yuki nor Amélie spoke a word or even looked at each other. And to make matters worse, they did eventually run into the Prince Yuki Fan Club, prompting both teens to ignore their chants and poses which only made it all the more awkward until they parted their separated ways.

'I better prepare myself for their onslaught of pathetic questioning.'

Amélie groaned. She could feel the headache coming on already...

[secretlyatargaryen]

The Strings of Those Who Came Before, An Analysis of Tyrion and Tywin as Rulers Part II: I Must Be Stone

I said in Part 1 that although Tyrion tries a lot to emulate Tywin in the political/military sphere, he’s at his best when he ISN’T doing that. Tyrion’s best successes as a ruler are when he shows compassion and uses his natural empathy for others to understand how best to rule. A lot of what he learned from Tywin, although good for creating immediate success, is extremely toxic. Although Tyrion probably didn’t have much in the way of formal training on how to lead, because he was never expected to either inherit a lordship or lead men into battle, and I don’t think Tywin ever expected to put him into the position of power he puts him in at the end of AGOT, Tyrion did pick up quite a lot from his father, and because Tywin was a terrible father, a lot of that was negative. From Tywin, Tyrion learned how to be ruthless, how to be cruel, how to instill fear. In particular, we see this in the scene between Tyrion and Cersei after she tells him that she’s taken Alayaya.

What’s interesting about this scene is that Tyrion is playing two roles. One is Tywin 2.0, and the other is the monster Cersei has always thought him to be, and he’s actually combined those two monstrous figures that have overshadowed his life to try to give himself an image of authority over the sister who he knows he cannot show weakness in front of.

She truly believes I mean to kill my own nephew. "The boys are safe," he promised her wearily. "Gods be good, Cersei, they're my own blood! What sort of man do you take me for?"

"A small and twisted one."         

Tyrion stared at the dregs on the bottom of his wine cup. What would Jaime do in my place? Kill the bitch, most likely, and worry about the consequences afterward. But Tyrion did not have a golden sword, nor the skill to wield one. He loved his brother's reckless wrath, but it was their lord father he must try and emulate. Stone, I must be stone, I must be Casterly Rock, hard and unmovable. If I fail this test, I had as lief seek out the nearest grotesquerie. "For all I know, you've killed her already," he said.                 

and

He pushed himself to his feet. "Keep her then, but keep her safe. If these animals think they can use her . . . well, sweet sister, let me point out that a scale tips two ways." His tone was calm, flat, uncaring; he'd reached for his father's voice, and found it. "Whatever happens to her happens to Tommen as well, and that includes the beatings and rapes." If she thinks me such a monster, I'll play the part for her.                 

Cersei had not expected that.

It’s interesting that Tyrion both is mindful here of how his disability puts him at a disadvantage (contrasting himself with Jaime, who never untied a Gordion knot when he could just slice through it) and aware of how Cersei sees his dwarfism as evidence of his inherent immorality, and expects danger from him. This is an experience that I think is familiar to a lot of oppressed people, the feeling of being treated simultaneously as a threat and a victim. As Tyrion says, though, the scale tips two ways, and he uses this to his advantage. Which IS a truly smart move.

And in order to reach for the authority and danger he is trying to project, he of course reaches for his father. He reaches for Casterly Rock, and stone. This is a really great symbolic image because Casterly Rock itself is symbolic for the dysfunction of House Lannister, repression and emotional coldness, lack of humanity, lack of empathy. Stone symbolizes strength but it also symbolizes cruelty, and it’s not the only time in the text that Tywin Lannister is associated with stone, in particular in Tyrion’s mind.

“They say that the Shrouded Lord will grant a boon to any man who can make him laugh. Perhaps His Grey Grace will choose you to ornament his stony court."                 

Duck glanced at his companion uneasily. "It's not good to jape of that one, not when we're so near the Rhoyne. He hears."

There’s an obvious association between Tywin and The Shrouded Lord, right down to his name. In ADWD, Tyrion is seeing Tywin’s ghost everywhere, including in Old Griff, but in particular we are introduced to this legend of a Shrouded Lord, shrouded obviously invoking the image of a corpse wrapped in a burial shroud, a lord of the dead, a lord of stone. A lord who never laughs.

And what Haldon says also invokes the idea of Tyrion as dwarf jester, a court ornament, sImilar to the way Tywin saw Tyrion as a mockery of him and his house. It’s also an interesting association because in our own history, court dwarfs were meant to appear ridiculous in order to contrast with and emphasize the power and respectability of the royals. By making Tyrion an ornament in his court, Tywin, or the Shrouded Lord, is emphasizing his own power. Which I think is also why, although Tywin complained about Tyrion being an embarrassment to him, he never tried to teach others to respect his dwarf son. Thus Tyrion becomes the scapegoat for House Lannister, both the shame of the Lannister name and a contrast to emphasize the greatness of the others.

Tyrion is affected by the story of the Shrouded Lord almost immediately upon hearing it.

His grey kiss. The thought made his flesh crawl. Death had lost its terror for Tyrion Lannister, but greyscale was another matter. The Shrouded Lord is just a legend, he told himself, no more real than the ghost of Lann the Clever that some claim haunts Casterly Rock.

Despite spending most of the series as a self-professed cynic, it’s interesting that Tyrion chooses this moment to believe in ghost stories. Although, then again, Tyrion also has a strong affinity with dragons (and peering into flames), so perhaps it’s not that strange after all. Notice the association with the supposedly haunted Casterly Rock, another link to Tywin and House Lannister.

The association between Tywin and the Shrouded Lord does not end there.

"We are made of blood and bone, in the image of the Father and the Mother," said Septa Lemore. "Make no vainglorious boasts, I beg you. Pride is a grievous sin. The stone men were proud as well, and the Shrouded Lord was proudest of them all."

For all that Tywin Lannister wants to convince the world that he is made of stone, he is strongly associated with the worldly sin of pride. So, too, it is pride that is strongly associated with the stone men and their dead lord.

The specific wording in the above quote also calls to mind the play-within-the-story that is about Tyrion, specifically:

When the dwarf appeared suddenly from behind a wooden tombstone, the crowd began to hiss and curse. Bobono waddled to the front of the stage and leered at them. "The seven-faced god has cheated me," he began, snarling the words. "My noble sire he made of purest gold, and gold he made my siblings, boy and girl. But I am formed of darker stuff, of bones and blood and clay..."

Pride here is associated with thinking that one is above human failures. We are told that the gods make us out of flesh and blood, they make us to be fallable, human. Lord Tywin passes him and his house off as if it is made of gold. And even though it’s repeated as a joke, the idea that even Tywin’s shit is gold is also a symbolic defiance of the gods, a presumption to be above mere humanity. It’s fitting that the divine punishment for such a person should be to slowly become hardened from the inside out, flesh turned to cold stone.

He dreamt of his lord father and the Shrouded Lord. He dreamt that they were one and the same, and when his father wrapped stone arms around him and bent to give him his grey kiss, he woke with his mouth dry and rusty with the taste of blood and his heart hammering in his chest.

Notice how the Shrouded Lord becomes Tyrion’s father in the dream, when he goes to wrap him with “stone arms” and “give him his grey kiss.” This is a pretty direct analogy not only for the fear of death that greyscale represents, and which has also become associated with Tywin in Tyrion’s mind after his father’s death, but it’s a great metaphor for the lack of parental affection Tyrion received. Tywin’s embrace is stone and his kiss is grey, bringing not love or belonging but death and fear.

Tyrion wanted to slap him, to spit in his face, to draw his dagger and cut the heart out of him and see if it was made of old hard gold, the way the smallfolks said.

For hands of gold (or stone) are always cold.

There’s another version of the Shrouded Lord tale that doesn’t involve him being (un)dead, but rather a legacy title:

"The dead do not rise," insisted Haldon Halfmaester, "and no man lives a thousand years. Yes, there is a Shrouded Lord. There have been a score of them. When one dies another takes his place.” 

This is interesting because of the question that I’ve dealt with before in Part 1, and from which the title of this series comes: are we doomed to repeat the mistakes of our parents? I think it’s significant that Tyrion comes very close in this book to literally becoming like the Shrouded Lord himself, turning to stone from the inside out. This is a literal representation of the existential crisis that he faces with regard to what kind of man he will be in the end.

Beyond the veil of dream, the Sorrows were waiting for him. Stone steps ascending endlessly, steep and slick and treacherous, and somewhere at the top, the Shrouded Lord. I do not want to meet the Shrouded Lord.

The endless stone steps, slick and treacherous, make me think of Casterly Rock. I imagine Casterly Rock was full of stairs, carved into stone and slick with seawater. Not exactly friendly to someone with Tyrion’s bad legs and chronic pain.

What is interesting, though, is that right after he thinks this, Tyrion literally falls down a flight of stairs.

Tyrion fumbled back into his clothes again and groped his way to the stair. Griff will flay me. Well, why not? If ever a dwarf deserved a skinning, I'm him.    

Halfway down the steps, he lost his footing. Somehow he managed to break his tumble with his hands and turn it into a clumsy thumping cartwheel. The whores in the room below looked up in astonishment when he landed at the foot of the steps. Tyrion rolled onto his feet and gave them a bow.

What saves Tyrion from falling down the stairs? Embracing precisely the part of himself that was an embarrassment to Tywin.

Going back to the scene where Cersei confronts Tyrion about Alayaya, though, way back in book 2, it’s Tyrion’s attempt to channel Tywin, although done to protect Alayaya from harm, that ultimately works against Tyrion.

"I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister, so I never did you harm. You've ended that. I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."            

In war, his father had told him once, the battle is over in the instant one army breaks and flees. No matter that they're as numerous as they were a moment before, still armed and armored; once they had run before you they would not turn to fight again. So it was with Cersei. "Get out!" was all the answer she could summon. "Get out of my sight!"

Tyrion again thinks of Tywin, here, and he wins the battle but he doesn’t ultimately win the war. Not only can he not truly protect Alayaya, but his threat against Cersei is ultimately used as evidence against him in his trial during ASOS, and used as proof of his monstrosity. I think this does say something about the inherent contradiction in Tyrion trying to model Tywin’s ruthlessness in order to accomplish what is a worthy goal - protecting someone in need of protection. Tyrion can’t protect Alayaya in the end, and also is unwilling to follow through with his threat against Tommen, and in the end he’s the one who ends up looking like a monster because of the ableist campaign against him.

In my opinion, Tyrion’s best moments, that show him as a true leader, are not when he pretends to be made of stone, not when he tries to model the legacy of pain and cruelty that he was born into, but when he shows compassion and empathy despite it. When he leads the sortie during Blackwater, when he protects Sansa, when he empowers Bran, when he gives counsel to Jon, when he takes the initiative to free himself and Penny and Jorah from bondage, these are the moments that show him as a true leader.

Tyrion ultimately loses power in King’s Landing because of factors that spiral beyond his control, but I do think that GRRM is trying to say that hardening your heart to others is not the way to be a true leader. Tywin Lannister meets his end after a legacy of trauma and devastation that nearly swallows Tyrion as well, but Tyrion is not without his own allies, those who remember his kindness, and three of those people, Sansa, Jon, and Bran, are poised to have a strong impact on the future of Westeros already.

I’ve talked a lot about Tyrion’s association with stone in a negative sense, but stone is also an element that has positive connotations, and this essay which I find very interesting also posits Tyrion as representing stone/earth, the third element grounding ice and fire. SInce Tyrion is a dualistic and liminal character in multiple senses, I think it’s fitting that he should represent both of these connotations. You could also say that stone and earth are two different things, or two different sides of the same coin. I also think I made the connection before of Tyrion’s black eye representing earth, in which case the green eye, the Lannister one, might represent stone, emerald being a gemstone often associated with the Lannisters. Tyrion’s eyes are one of the most visual representations of his duality, so they’re important.

Which I think is all I have to say on this subject for now.

[rgr-pop]

Regarding the McMansion critique, some of the environmental impacts are very, very valid. But I think we tend to overlook that there are residents living in these structures. We tend to put a lot of stereotypes that we hold about the houses, and about the suburbs themselves, on these residents. The thought is that because they have a big house, the residents are anti-environmental, they don't value community, and they only care about themselves and about their privacy. These houses are assumed to be one, universal; and two, universally bad. 

I spoke to the residents that are actually living in these homes and asked them what these homes meant to them. And in doing so, a lot of the stereotypes fell apart. That’s because a lot of those stereotypes were constructed in a post-war white middle-class framework, and don’t necessarily hold up in the face of new immigrants that are moving to suburbs. [...] The McMansion becomes that symbol of a lot of things that Asian Americans aren’t doing right to assimilate. Even the design critiques of these homes are about how they’re too outlandish. They’re trying to do this faux-Mediterranean look, but they're not even doing it right. It’s too tacky, you know? That, to me, is a broader critique of immigrants never really being American enough. I challenge the notion that Asian Americans should fit into a suburban neighborhood exactly the same way a white middle class family does.

This interview with Willow Lung-Amam is the first thing I recommend reading to start unraveling the mcmansion critique and its racial tones. Her book, Trespassers: Asian Americans and the Battle for Suburbia, about Fremont, CA, is one of many studies on American ethnoburbs, but one of a handful that deals directly with the specter of the mcmansion--Lung-Amam is a professor of architecture.

I feel a few ways about what she’s saying above, that a critique of mcmansions might emerge from a well-meaning assumption of the whiteness of suburbia, (and the contents of that suburban whiteness), an assumption that no longer maps onto how (and where) people are living in America. I basically agree, and I think it’s diplomatic. But her work (and the work of others, which I’ll get to) shows that in many cases, planners, critics and neighbors actually develop this critique of the mcmansion after the act of racialization, and wield that critique politically. In some cases, even, the same problematic houses don’t become a problem until they become inhabited by problem residents. 

But take this a little blurb on Fremont: mcmansions are built in suburbs that look like a different kind of suburb, and that difference is made political through zoning, design review, etc. Those quotes in there are really something. In this case, it would be hard to convincingly argue that neighbors imposed an existing critique of the white mcmansion onto their neighbors. In their case--and this is my first major stake in this argument--the “white suburb” is imagined to be single-story, a modernist suburb. The whiteness of, say, the modernist ranch, is just as fantastical as the whiteness of the mcmansion, but it’s become unfashionable to make such a critique of those postwar suburbs, and I really don’t think it’s because your average Curbed content creator has read Andrew Wiese’s Places of Their Own, Bruce Haynes’s Red Lines, Black Spaces or Becky Nicolaides’ My Blue Heaven, or any of the other new suburban histories that complicate a history of white spaces (and white architecture). In fact, I think a rise in critique of the excessive mcmansion* has bolstered a new and growing mythologizing of modernist architecture, one that is intimately connected to what’s happening to modernist real estate right now. Remember that Curbed is a real estate website.

*to be clear, there have been critiques of the mcmansion since the mcmansion has existed, and these critiques have come from a lot of different perspectives. but it is true that these critiques have been multiplying, as have their platforms.

But I really agree with Lung-Amam’s implication that as architecture critics, we (yes we, I can be whatever I want to be) can’t know anything by looking, certainly not (ffs) by looking at staged real estate listings. Or, let me rephrase: what can we know about a space, just by looking? That’s my second major stake in this game, and it is my biggest fucking stake. Eight years ago Alexandra Lange wrote that Nicolai Ouroussoff's criticism "shrinks the critic’s role to commenting only on the appearance of the architecture. He might have been the perfect critic for the boom years, when looks were the selling point, but this formal, global approach seems incongruous in a downturn,” and, not to lowkey call out someone I look up to in the field, but what do we have now? We have 1000 words on how the style of houses that were made after the fifties is Bad.

Let me take a few steps backward, because what I just said is not actually my stake. It’s not that I’m unconcerned with image in architecture, and it’s absolutely not that I’m concerned only with program and function (god, function) in architecture. It’s also not even that I care that much that architecture critics can’t think themselves out of a paper bag with Style written on it. It’s that I outright reject an architecture criticism that mistakes a taste objection for a political position. It’s hollow and it is, wholesale, in every case, racist. I’ve been listening to a lot of Vincent Scully lectures lately and I find it hard to believe that this great defender of play and eclecticism, a man who told students that Venturi reclaimed wallpaper as a feminist statement and that anti-ornament manifestos of the turn of the century were homophobic, was really paving the way for us to write about how disgusted we are by an Armenian doctor’s Greek fountain, or that Muslim-Americans should plan the spaces of their home more economically if they want into the polity. Ohhkay! I feel I’ve digressed again.

As you know, my main fight is about interiors. And I’ve learned a lot by watching a meme critique of staged interior decoration launch itself to the top of so-called architecture criticism. Just as you can’t look at the elevation of house and learn (as much as people want to believe) about the sociopolitical content of that home, I believe it’s either dangerous or useless to stake social claims based on a photograph of an interior. I mean: looking at interior space, represented, instead of asking (not rhetorically asking), why might the people who live in this space have configured it as such? what is this space used for? where did these items come from?, the mcmansion critique says: this is wrong, it’s repulsive, it’s amoral. And worse: my revulsion is not only a critical position, but an ethical one. Questions become accusations: Why would anyone need an extra set of bedrooms? Why would anyone need an empty room with a stupid persian rug on the floor? Why would people want to have Mediterranean or Chinese things in their home? Why would an Australian have a corrugated metal roof? Moralistic judgments about lifeways based on the scopic only. I use “scopic” here because I think of this action as fundamentally an action upon, and I want to frame dumbass ethocentric judgment (cast as “criticism”) as a mode of cultural domination.

And okay, so many of these judgments are just funny mistakes that we can laugh at (why would someone in the county with the largest amount of house fires caused by lightning strikes have metal rods on their roof?). But my point is that it is a fundamentally ethnocentric (racist, is the word I like to use) (we’re just going to set “disabled people exist” aside entirely for now) project to advance a critique of bad taste (style) from a position of practicality, one centered on what you understand to be the right way to inhabit a space. Really a lot of words for something very simple! Really impossible to convince anyone of this! And, I conclude, the mcmansion critique is not a political critique, and (you’re gonna hate to hear this, tough love) a politics can’t emerge from a taste claim. The mcmansion critique is nothing more than a taste claim, one very hastily staked. 

I actually came here to offer you a short bibliography and nothing else, whoops! I mention Lung-Amam’s work as the one that I’ve found really takes the category of the mcmansion to task, looking at what was just as often called the “monster house” in Fremont. Denise Lawrence-Zuniga, an anthropologist, wrote a book about Southern California historical preservation (Protecting Suburban America) with a chapter on San Gabriel Valley’s Alhambra. That chapter looks at the conflicts between the preservation board, design review board, planning commission etc. and residents, specifically immigrants. She notes how different understandings of governmentality (as in, the need to get certain kinds of permits, etc.), and different ways of living created conflict between local government and immigrants. There are bits about planners’ paranoia about remodels that promote density, like adding too many extra rooms to a historic house, or remodeling interiors in a way that might encourage subletting, that I find pretty disturbing. But the author only mentions the major point: these forms of intensive governmentality in the name of historical preservation were put into place as Alhambra witnessed the transition of nearby suburbs into ethnoburbs. Preservationist policy emerged as a governmental response to a perceived loss of white control. (Much has been said about Arcadia, Chinese investor development, “mansionization.” h/t @prettylittlecrier for this article!) I can’t say that I recommend this book entirely, unless you’re involved in preservation planning.

I’m not sure we can accurately call all of these homes in the SGV “mcmansions,” but people sure love to. In Lawrence-Zuniga’s chapter, Alhambra’s bungalow landscape “needed” to be defended from Arcadia’s mansionization--larger scale teardown and redevelopment, but also from any kinds of additions and modifications to existing bungalows that would alter their scale in relation to the lot and the neighbors, as well as (importantly) their inhabited density. I think it’s worth thinking through the differences between all of these things: subdivided land developed for large houses on small lots, redevelopment for the former, large houses built for large families on small surbuban lots where more “modest” houses might have once stood, or just... big houses on big lots. 

I must have mentioned Becky Nicolaides and James Zarsadiaz’s “Design Assimilation in Suburbia: Asian Americans, Built Landscapes, and Suburban Advantage in Los Angeles’s San Gabriel Valley since 1970,” I was so excited when they published this article. They look at San Marino, and consider what they term “design assimilation” to describe the ways (and reasons) Chinese suburbanites chose to consent to preservationist codes and design review, and why they lived in a community that imposed these kinds of racialized codes:

For some, these suburban landscapes seemed to materialize positive images of America they harbored as children back in Asian home countries. Some openly appreciated the classic European inflected architecture, others the open spaces and aesthetic styles of country living. Asian suburbanites also grasped that support of American landscape aesthetics offered certain social and fiscal benefits. To their neighbors, it conveyed a willingness to assimilate through aesthetic behaviors, which helped maintain community peace and ensure social acceptance. Embracing American design styles also conferred a status distinction that positioned these Asian homeowners above those around them—including those in the ethnoburbs. In design-assimilated suburbs, property values were higher and schools were better, signaling a racialized valuing of space not lost on Asians themselves. Design assimilation, thus, was a facet of the production of affluent suburban space, in which white and ethnic Asian suburbanites played complicit roles.

They don’t pick up the McMansion explicitly, but they are marking its absence in a landscape. This is a really constructive piece, chiefly, here, as a concrete example of the ways that some suburbs were understood to be aesthetically Chinese by the eighties, that the mcmansion criticism can be seen to have been racialized by then. 

I want to close with an excerpt from anthropologist Aihwa Ong’s 1996 article, “Cultural Citizenship as Subject-Making,” which picks up the problem of taste but also the figure of international wealth, and the Chinese developer rather than the middle class Chinese immigrant:

In wealthier San Franciscan neighborhoods, residents pride themselves on their conservation consciousness, and they jealously guard the hybrid European ambiance and character of particular neighborhoods. In their role as custodians of appropriate cultural taste governing buildings, architecture, parks, and other public spaces, civic groups routinely badger City Hall, scrutinize urban zoning laws, and patrol the boundaries between what is aesthetically permissible and what is intolerable in their districts. By linking race with habitus, taste, and cultural capital (Bourdieu 1984), such civic groups set limits to the whitening of Asians, who, metaphorically speaking still give off the whiff of sweat despite arriving with starter symbolic capital.

Public battles over race/taste have revolved around the transformation of middle-class neighborhoods by rich Asian newcomers. At issue are boxy houses with bland facades--”monster houses”--erected by Asian buyers to accommodate extended families in low-density, single-family residential districts known for their Victorian or Mediterranean charm. Protests have often taken on a racialist tone, registering both dismay at the changing cultural landscape and efforts to educate the new arrivals to white upper-class norms appropriate for the city. While the activists focus on the cultural elements--aesthetic norms, democratic process, and civic duty--that underpin the urban imagined community, they encode the strong class resentment against large-scale Asian investment in residential and commercial properties throughout the city. A conflict over one of these monster houses illustrates the ways in which the state is caught between soothing indignant urbanites seeking to impose their notion of cultural citizenship on Asian nouveaux riches while attempting to keep the door open for Pacific Rim capital. 

 In 1989 a Hong Kong multimillionaire, a Mrs. Chan, bought a house in the affluent Marina district. Chan lived in Hong Kong and rented out her Marina property. A few years later, she obtained the approval of the city to add a third story to her house but failed to notify her neighbors. When they learned of her plans, they complained that the third story would block views of the Palace of Fine Arts as well as cut off sunlight in an adjoining garden. The neighbors linked up with a citywide group to pressure City Hall. The mayor stepped in and called for a city zoning study, thus delaying the proposed renovation. At a neighborhood meeting, someone declared, “We don’t want to see a second Chinatown here.” Indeed, there is already a new “Chinatown” outside the old Chinatown, based in the middle-class Richmond district. This charge thus raised the specter of a spreading Chinese urbanscape encroaching on the heterogeneous European flavor of the city. The remark, with its implied racism, compelled the mayor to apologize to Chan, and the planning commission subsequently approved a smaller addition to her house.

However, stung by the racism and the loss on her investment and bewildered that neighbors could infringe upon her property rights, Chan, a transnational developer, used her wealth to mock the city’s self-image as a bastion of liberalism. She pulled out all her investments in the United States and decided to donate her million-dollar house to the homeless. To add insult to injury, she stipulated that her house was not to be used by any homeless of Chinese descent. Her architect, an American Chinese, told the press, “You can hardly find a homeless Chinese anyway,” Secure in her overseas location, Chan fought the Chinese stereotype by stereotyping American homeless as non-Chinese, while challenging her civic-minded neighbors to demonstrate the moral liberalism they professed. Mutual class and racial discrimination thus broke through the surface of what initially appeared to be a negotiation over normative cultural taste in the urban milieu. A representative of the mayor’s office, appropriately contrite, remarked that Chan could still do whatever she wanted with her property; “We just would like for her not to be so angry.” The need to keep overseas investments flowing into the city had to be balanced against neighborhood groups’ demands for cultural standards. The power of the international real estate market, as represented by Mrs. Chan, thus disciplined both City Hall and the Marina neighbors, who may have to rethink local notions of what being enlightened urbanites may entail in the “era of Pacific Rim capital.”

[theladymeera]

A Little Ghost-Breaking, Part 2

for @gendryxaryatrash, I hope this isn’t a let-down but I need to wrap this up and get to bed or I’m going to really hate myself in the morning.

Arya barely slept that night. What had she seen? Had it been real? Was it all an elaborate prank? She wouldn’t put it past Gendry to create such an elaborate prank, her brothers might be in on it as well. There must be some device that had made it so cold and that had projected the image and another one for audio that would have been easy at least. But then again there was only one outlet in the bedroom, one plug was used by the lamp and the other was charging Arya’s phone. And the figure had been barely visible. What sort of device could project an image that soft and dim? And what had Gendry done to make Nymeria attack the air? Her leg hurt and she wondered if the spider had bitten her.

Arya couldn’t take it anymore and rolled out of bed. She stepped carefully over the space the ghost had occupied before and fumbled for the light switch but when she flipped it the light didn’t come on. Cursing loudly she stumbled back around to Gendry’s side of the bed and searched for her phone. She found it just as Gendry began to stir. The light of the screen was nearly blinding but Arya turned on the flashlight app and began to search the room muttering curses and half-theories to herself. “Babe what’s wrong?” Gendry asked groggily.

“Where did you hide it?”

“Where did I hide what?”

“The device! Whatever you used to make it look like there was a ghost in here.”

He groaned, “Arya I told you there really is a ghost. This isn’t a prank.”

“Ha! Cute but you’re not convincing me.”

Gendry only grumbled more nonsense and flipped onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow.

Arya searched every nook and cranny in the bedroom. There was nothing under the bed and all that sat in the closet was their bags and cobwebs in a corner that the cleaners must have missed. Arya decided that Gendry must have moved his equipment while she was asleep. Either that or one of her brothers had followed them up and was behind the apparition, she wouldn’t put it past them. She crossed the landing and searched through the other bedroom, the linen closet, the bathroom, the entire first floor. The microwave clock read 4:53 AM when she ran out of places to search and there was not an electronic device that Arya did not recognize. The only places left were the attic and the cellar and as much as she hated to admit it Arya was not anxious to search the dark, dank, spider-infested cellar. She had not seen the attic at all the day before… “Son of a bitch!” she shouted as she raced for the stairs.

The ladder nearly smacked Arya in the head when she pulled on the trapdoor but she was still agile from nearly two decades of dance lessons, swim team, and all the other sports she’d dabbled in. She clambered up and found the chain leading to the single lightbulb, it did little to disperse the darkness. It appeared Gendry hadn’t been lying about the clutter in the attic. It was filled with ancient furniture and boxes piled high. Whatever Gendry or whoever else was pranking her with must be up there. She began a full inspection of the room. The boards creaked beneath her feet and they were covered in dust, in fact the entire room was filled with it. “That should make this easier then,” Arya muttered and she looked around her feet, searching for tracks. There weren’t any. As she moved about the attic, checking the boxes and furniture for any disturbance in the dust she found nothing. By all appearances the room hadn’t been entered in years.

“Do you trust me now?” Gendry grumbled at her when she returned to the kitchen. He was mixing up the pancake batter for her and yawning.

“No, I’m going to figure out how you did that.”

“So you admit you saw something!” He poured some batter onto the pan. Arya searched the fridge for the omelette fixings she’d brought. “Big breakfast,” he noted when she bullied her way into the cooking space, her arms full of the egg carton, cheese, mushrooms, and vegetables.

“We need our energy if we’re going to be ghost-breaking.”

“Ghost-breaking?” Gendry laughed. “The ghosts aren’t hurting anything here besides how would you know how to ghost-break a house?”

Arya glared up at him from her bowl of beaten eggs, “It’s a lot easier to ghost-break when the ghosts aren’t real.”

He flipped the first pancake onto a plate and started on the second one, “Ah, I see how it is. Are you going to call a priest to exorcise a demon from me or are you going to search my phone for the Apparition App?”

Arya returned to making her omelettes and they breakfasted in companionable silence. Gendry cajoled her into biking along one of the nearby trails. It was a long one that traversed thick woods and in a couple spots came to the edge of the cliffs that plummeted into the sea. “Getting me out of the house so Robb can set up tonight’s ghoul?” she asked while she fastened her helmet. Gendry only laughed and shook his head.

After their trail ride, a picnic at the park near the beach – all blessedly quiet thanks to it being October they took a trip into town to shop for souvenirs and cinnamon sugar donuts. Arya found a sweatshirt she liked and seashell ornaments the other women in her family might like for Christmas presents. Or at least she was sure Sansa and Jeyne would love them, her mother probably would, she wasn’t sure about Dany or Meera so she searched out a beautiful ship ornament for Dany and a moose one for Meera instead. “And that’s half of my Christmas shopping done already!” she told Gendry when they met back up.

He snorted, “As if you’re not going to find at least one more thing for your sister and shower your sisters’-in-law like you do every year. Maybe you should get something extra for Sansa now so she doesn’t end up feeling left out?” She did get something extra: a wooden sign with a quote that she was sure Sansa would gush over and a cute cookie jar. Arya also ended up getting lobster slippers for Dany and a pair of horseshoe crab earrings for Meera. Gendry was right about her showering the other women with gifts but she just got along better with Dany and Meera than she ever had with her real sister.

They spent their evening watching the local news station on mute and trying to guess what was being said until it switched to reruns of 90s TV shows which Arya was perfectly happy to watch off mute while they cuddled on the couch. She wasn’t sure she wanted to return to the cramped and creepy bedroom but the last thing Arya needed was for Gendry to think that she was actually starting to buy into his ghost prank. There was a spot on the back of her thigh that had been sore and hurting all day and she took some painkillers before collapsing into bed.

Arya woke with a start at nearly the same time she had the night before. Again Nymeria was growling and again Arya saw the faint outline of a person there. Muttering about people and chores. Arya was not going to be made a fool of. She threw off the covers and stood up. Her leg was still hurting and she felt dizzy and weak but she stood up all the same and marched right through the apparition to the light switch. Walking through the faintly glowing spot felt like walking through a wall of ice water. Arya gasped, her skin breaking out in goosebumps but she reached out and flipped the switch. Nothing happened.

The murmuring apparition turned what could have been its face towards Arya and reached out what she thought could have been a hand. Again, it felt like ice was being jabbed into her shoulder, through it even. Arya flipped the switch up and down frantically. Whatever it was plunged through Arya and then there was light. Gendry had turned on the lamp and jumped out of bed. “Are you alright Arya?”

She caught her breath and scowled, “I’m fine thanks.”

Gendry put a hand on her shoulder “it’s just you look a little pale.”

“My leg hurts and I’m cold but that’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow, “So you’re sore.”

She shook her head, “No like, it feels like there’s a sore or something on the back of my leg and it’ getting worse.”

“Should I check it for you?”

She shrugged and let him. Gendry cursed, “This looks bad Arya I’m driving you to the hospital!”

“You’re what?”

“Hospital. Now.”

He didn’t elaborate until they were in the car – she’d insisted on being allowed to at least put on a sweatshirt and grab her phone before she let him lead her out of the room – “Remember the spider last night?” he started.

Arya rubbed her temples, “I sort of forgot about that until now.”

He glanced incredulously at her “Well I’ve seen brown recluse bites before and that’s what it looks like on your leg.”

And he was right. The bite was not nearly serious enough to warrant a hospital stay but she was given an antibiotic and was nearly subjected to a tetanus shot until she proved that she’d had one recently.

They left the farmhouse that day and nearly forgot to stop and buy pumpkins and the fresh cinnamon sugar donuts Arya had been promised. Gendry thought it was superfluous as they had already had donuts but Arya insisted that the donuts were different when they were fresh and bought at a pumpkin patch.

After their trip Arya refused to concede and admit that there was a ghost in that farmhouse or that ghosts were, in fact, real. Gendry likewise insisted that the whole thing had been genuine and there was no prank. As expected Arya’s brothers enjoyed being able to needle the couple into arguing over whether or not ghosts exist and never allowed Arya peace of mind once they discovered that she believed that Gendry had pranked her with the help of one of them.

[complures-aspiceres-archived]

Yona & Soo-won mun scribbles

        I think most of us in the AkaYona fandom can agree that we have mixed feelings about Soo-won because, yeah, he’s doing good for the kingdom and he looks like a fuckin’ angel but...he did kill Yona’s father who just so happened to be the king at the time, ran her and Hak out of the castle by making it appear that he was going to kill Yona and...well basically destroyed Yona’s everything for a good minute.

( Putting everything after this under a cut because this unintentionally got MUCH longer than I planned. )

         But can we talk about their ‘relationship’ as the series, the manga anyway, has progressed? Yona isn’t this naive and vain princess anymore and Soo-won is just now getting to see that in the current placement of the manga. She’s struggled, she survives outside when she had known only the comfort of the palace and the doting of her father and servants. She’s learned and she’s even killed to protect her friends when king Il wouldn’t so much as let her touch a weapon.

        Yona finally leaves the hair ornament he gifted her for her birthday behind and honestly that was a huge step, but she still feels something for Soo-won, even if those feelings are a bit different. She can’t bring herself to hate him, and like Ik-su told her before, some love can’t be forgotten. Se can hate herself for feeling that way when she knows she SHOULD hate him and want revenge-- and I think she’s finally accepted that. ( As well as realizing her feelings for Hak and that he has been there since her childhood and has stayed with her, nearly dying several times, after the incident with Soo-won. )

        ....Now for what I first intended to write about is how Soo-won, in my opinion, viewed Yona growing up under the pretense of Kye-Sook letting it slip about his ‘misery’ ( or w/e the direct quote he used was ) when Hak asked why Soo-won had killed Yona’s father and questioned how he could do that to Yona, to them.

         You cannot tell me he didn’t care for Yona when they were growing up. You can’t. I believe Soo-won didn’t truly begin disliking King Il until his father ‘died’. I think this is where he began fighting with himself over hating the man who killed his father, who by all rights SHOULD have been crowned king, and his affection and loyalty towards Yona ( and Hak, I guess ). In canon, Soo-won is currently 18, potentially closer to 19 depending on how much time has actually passed- now it’s never actually stated at what age Yu-Hon ( Soo-won’s father ) died/was killed, but until further information is given, I believe it was likely just as Soo-won was entering his teenage stage. ( Anywhere from 10-13 IMO ). This is where he began planning and gathering people he could trust.

        We all have to remember that Soo-won didn’t actually WANT the throne, but it was his father’s last wish and Soo-won was able to see just how horribly King Il’s reign was affecting everyone as he grew older. Even Yona understands this as she travels and witnesses for herself. I believe Soo-won still loved Yona, to a degree, but also began to resent her for her sheltered-ness and lack of interest in a throne she was supposed to inherit. ( Along with every responsibility and scrap of knowledge she should have been cramming into her brain. ) He still adored her as his cousin and, potentially, tried to keep himself from seeing her as a woman. ( He did mention this in canon, so it is very possible he had romantic feelings for her. )

        It killed him inside to do what he did for many reasons. Il was a kind man, but he was very foolish in his endeavor, as well meant as it was, to rule a kingdom without violence. He already knew that neither Hak or Yona would be at his side when he became king, because if it were up to Il, he would never succeed it by allowing him to marry Yona-- something even Hak had expressed he wanted to happen. For years, he planned this out and had to remind himself every time he saw Yona or Hak that neither of them would be there. In the first episode/chapters Yona states that Soo-won hasn’t visited her in a while and that he doesn’t come as often anymore. I think it was to steel himself for his plan, so that he would not hesitate, by separating himself from them both while making final preparations.

        We’ll never ( probably ) know what he had intended for Yona, had she been asleep at the time of the murder like he had expected her to be-- but we can tell by the expression on his face when Tae-Jun comes to the palace the night before his coronation and tells her that Yona and Hal fell into the abyss that he had not truly wanted her to die.

        When he sees her again, after the ordeal with Yang Kum-ji in Awa, he protects her identity from his men and acknowledges that, “it’s only natural” that she wants to kill him when he stops her hand on his sword. At the beginning, he asks if this is a dream or if she is an illusion, but also makes the snide comment that she’s safe and sound because, even now, he’s ( hak ) risking his life to protect her. Remember, though Soo-won is unaware of this, this is AFTER she shot and killed Yang- Kum-ji. It’s in those few moments that he has her hidden under his cloak that you can tell how much Yona does not want to be near him, and in a way, how much he’s still underestimating her despite the fact that she is indeed alive and appears healthy. He gives the credit, fully, to Hak. When he tells her he cannot die yet and bids her goodbye, you can see all of the affection and sadness in his eyes as he looks at her before walking away. Yona bursts into tears and beings wailing until Hak finds her.

        Though she is seen several times by Soo-won after this, always with the company of the dragons, the next truly notable occurrence in my personal opinion is when Yona acts as an envoy for the Xing empire to avoid war between Xing and Kouka-- by discussing terms with Soo-won directly. This is also right after she sells the hair ornament as payment for information without a second thought. ( Also when she kisses Hak before heading off to try and stop the war from starting. )

        During chapter 138, when she briefly meets with Tae-Jun, he states the following;

“All this person ( Yona ) has done is earnestly try to protect her friends and the people right in front of her, and yet the people around her, in hope of doing something for her, stretch out their hands. Perhaps even the king has not realized this. Isn’t this a terribly formidable power?”

        Yona’s carriage is struck down and she meets Kye-Sook and speaks with him before Soo-won arrives, but he tries to say the she can’t possibly be there because, “Princess Yona feel to her death along with General Hak at the cliff of the northern mountain. She cannot possibly be here, much less able to begin negotiations about Xing kingdom.”

        She goes off about how war loom before him and yet he will not listen to the words of an emissary from the opposing kingdom. She asks if he killed her father to pull of schemes like this and Kye-Sook is visibly taken aback, mentally questioning himself if this is really princess Yona. This is when Soo-won and general Joo-Doh catch up and are both outwardly shocked to see Yona. Soo-won’s first question to her is the whereabouts of Hak, and when she tells him he is not there-- Soo-won is, again, visibly surprised. This is when I believe he truly starts to see and notice the change that has taken place in her absence at the palace.

        Soo-won tries to brush her off, but this is when she further accuses them of not listening and how they can resolve things without a war. She also states that she sees why Yu-Hon could never become king, and this is the first time we see something akin to anger mixed with shock on Soo-won’s face. Yona asks why they’re in such a hurry for, and that they should have a chat.

        Mentally, Soo-won asks himself why he’s just silently staring for-- that she has no cards to play and that there’s no time to waste...but he can’t look away or move.

        Kye-Sook tries to have their men capture her, as he realizes that the fire tribe can be made to act at her word, and he realizes this possesses a threat if she were to ever truly aim for Soo-won. After a few other events occur, Soo-won finally agrees to open a dialogue with the Xing kingdom.

         At this point, he’s beginning to realize that Yona is not his naive younger cousin who knew absolutely nothing about the world beyond the palace walls, and that she has been in almost ever town or kingdom that he has been to in order to resolve issues without him so much as realizing. As Yona rides off to convey his terms, his expression is complex as he seems to have all this knowledge suddenly placed in his lap. This is the moment, for me at least, that he truly starts seeing Yona for the first time after she was chased out of the castle-- truly understands the drive she has to help people and try to resolve conflict without violence and somehow manages to succeed where neither he or king Il seemed to be able.

        ( If you made it this far and actually read all of that I congratulate you because wow. )

[myheroicimagines]

Class 1-A Christmas Headcanons

Merry Christmas and happy holidays! ~Admin Sparkles

Aoyama always takes care of Decorating around the dorms and common room, and actually is very careful of how his decorations look (He can have self control when he wants. He has a good eye for decorating)

Satou obviously takes care of holiday baking; cookies, cakes, any kind of sweets you can think of, he makes. He makes sure to take into consideration anyone’s religious rules about food, any allergies, or specific diet someone follows so that there’s a little something for everyone to enjoy!

Jirou makes sure she plays festive music through out the halls. No lyrics to get stuck in her classmates’ heads, just generic holiday music that really brings the holiday spirit and cheer to the dorms.

Deku always gathers a group of his friends (usually Todoroki, Uraraka, and Iida, sometimes Kirishima) and goes door to door around the dorms and goes caroling. Sometimes the whole class (except bakugo, you couldn’t pay him enough) goes out on the town and sing carols.

Yao-momo sets the table up just perfectly for Christmas dinner, placing handmade cards with small gifts for her friends on their seats. As everyone has their dinner, she gives a speech about how much they all mean to her, and gets emotional about it as well. Afterwards, she hands out cups of hot-cocoa to her friends, made from expensive foreign chocolate she asked her parents to send for this occasion.

Denki buys everyone custom made matching ugly Christmas sweaters,each with their own gimmick. His has christmas lights that actually light up, Kirishima’s is one with Red Riot that can say an actual Red Riot quote, Kouda’s is a cat that can meow. He even buys Dark Shadow one (dark shadow loves it)

Bakugo is the one who actually cook’s Christmas dinner, and like Satou, he makes things that everyone can enjoy. Bakugo is also everyone’s secret santa, buying gifts he knows his classmates would adore, but never ever signing the gift from himself. He even buys Izuku a gift he know’s he’d enjoy (A super rare holographic golden era All Might trading card, autographed, and other All Might memorabilia.)

Shouji helps decorate the tree, using his arms to put on multiple ornaments at once. The rest of the class hand-makes ornaments, and Shouji always makes sure they’re front and center. He also puts on a santa hat, and puts little santa or elf hats on his multiple hands.

Mina always picks out the BEST holiday movies for everyone to watch. Whether its an actual good, classic holiday movie, or just god-awful but hilariously bad holiday movie, she always has a knack of picking out the best ones for everyone to enjoy, and always makes popcorn and drinks to go with it.

Tooru gets into her stealth mode to hide everyone’s gifts underneath the tree on Christmas eve,knowing some of her friends are still up and about during the night, and even during Christmas day, she uses her stealthiness to place more gifts for her friends around the dorms, always there to watch their faces light up at the gift.

Tsuyu is a bit more blunt, usually just giving her presents right to her friends, along with a special card she always signs with a frog. Every gift she makes is thought through, to all of her friend’s likes and tastes, and is always ALWAYS hand made with love and care.

Uraraka loves the holiday season, and makes the dorms feel festive. Yeah, Aoyama takes care of the decorations, but using the left over decorations, such as snow flakes and cotton balls, she makes the dorms a true winter wonderland by using her quirk and making these items float, giving the illusion of a snowy day indoors.

Todoroki uses his quirk to start a fire, and makes everyone smores! He makes the best smores. He also helps Yao-momo give out hot chocolate, frosting over the cups so his friends won’t burn their hands. He likes to make his friends little good luck charms for Christmas.

Kouda brings his class outside and calls for deer to come out, so that they can all take photos with them and make Christmas cards and take a class photo. Sometimes Todoroki makes it snow if it isn’t already to give the photos extra flare.

Sero helps wrap gifts for his friends if they have trouble wrapping it or need some tape. His quirk is very useful for this, and honestly? He loves it. He is incredibly gifted (no pun intended) for wrapping presents. He also loves using his tape to put up the gifts his friends got him, if they happen to get something like a poster or a picture.

As goofy as it is, Kirishima loves to dress up as Santa, just to give the dorms and his classmates some holly jolly happiness. It’s become a tradition for everyone to take pictures with ‘Santa-shima’ and tell him what they’d like for Christmas

Tokoyami drops his serious composure for the holiday season and let’s Kirishima use Dark Shadow as an elf or Reindeer for his Santa getup, and sometimes dresses festively himself. He can be seen walking around the dorms wearing reindeer antlers and humming some christmas songs.

Ojirou helps Aoyama with decorating, managing to climb up to difficult places and hang up banners and streamers. He even secretly puts up mistletoe to help his friends get together with their crushes. The holidays make those tender moments even more magical, in his opinion.

Iida, true to himself, always observes his classmates to make sure they’re all safe whenever their doing something like decorating or cooking and baking. All the while, he takes mental notes of their interests, analyzing what the perfect gift would be for them. With his closest friends, namely Izuku and Ochako, he always asks to take a special Christmas photo to send to his older brother Tensei, and often the three friends spend christmas night in his room, laughing and just being friends. He lets them sleepover his dorm that night.

Shinsou doesn’t really do anything per se, but he does partake in all the antics of his class. He loves giving gifts and receiving gifts from his friends. He loves having dinner with them, watching movies with them, decorating, taking pictures with Santa-shima, making a class 1-A christmas card with the deer Kouda brings. After a life of being called a villain, or being told he would be suited for villainy and not having many friends, he’s just happy he’s found a group of people who love and care for him. In his mind and heart, this holiday season he didn’t just get new friends. He got a family.