#Corona most cases

[thatneoncrisis]

i wrote a big long essay talking about tlt and how it engages with describing the skintones of brown characters its under a read more bc it is so long.

I already left a long comment about this on someone else post but I wish I could study tazmuirs odd little habit of dancing around the fact that Gideon and Harrow are women of color when she describes them, and how this kind of extends to other brown characters

We get a million descriptions for how sickly pale ianthe Silas and cytherea are, what a lovely golden tan corona has, the odd tannish yellow hue of colum, all imagined by her, in her own words, to be white. Then when it comes to Marta and Judith they're called dark like Once in the text. I don't think it's even mentioned for Jeannemary and magnus in the entirety of gtn though I will gladly stand corrected if I missed something. It's such a non factor for them, which normally I would overlook if it wasn't for the aforementioned specificity of how white characters are described on Top of one of the major themes of the book being how John, a Maori man, resurrected a largely Polynesian population and then proceed to rule them using the exact same methods that actively colonized new zealand. Like I just think it's really interesting that in many ways, the story is about two young Maori women completely stripped of cultural heritage, they can't even speak te reo maori they cannot even conceptualize the scale of that kind of loss. Theyve been to earth once and during her brief time there Gideon literally died on it's soil it feels so poignant

Back to them specifically being Not Pale, this is not me saying they would be "less" maori if they were light-skinned that's total bullshit and the entire paradigm exists as a product of European bullshit. My fascination is more with the fact that tamsyn has clearly thought of them as midtoned to dark skinned. I'm going to be really generous and disregard the Tommy Arnold covers- he is a talented artist but he's not the author and Taz stated in an interview that she didn't envision Gideon with an undercut either so he clearly has little liberties he can take and I'm fine with that get your coin dude. For these two I'm going to have to focus on Nona the Ninth, bc for the entirety of gtn, harrow is described as grey, and while I understand that's bc she's constantly under a mountain of white and black facepaint, we basically never get an objective description for either of them. Gideon stand out features are her build, hair and eyes, like a lot of characters, but it could have been pretty easy to throw in a line about how she seems less desaturated than what one might expect from a ninth cavalier, like a rich warm brown, possibly hinting to other characters that she isn't a ninth native

Htn also gives very little to work with, again harrows primary colors are the blacks whites and greys of facepaint and her hair and the reds of constantly sweating blood. The character who's darker skintone is Most remarked upon (also one of the few ever constantly headcanoned) as black, is g1deon. I've actually spoken to a few people about this and there seems to be some actual Mandela effect shit going on where people remember Taz saying he's black despite me never once finding evidence for this. However, this is not a case where I'd be overjoyed to be proven wrong, because g1deon being the one black guy in this entire cast, the one who's dark skintone is commented on the most, being the guy who barely speaks, tries killing harrow with a spear 14 times and then dies offscreen. Not good. Bad, actually

Finally onto ntn, in the beginning chapters Nona remarks her (harrows) skintone is the color of an egg carton. I assume she means the light tan, desaturated brown of the cardboard used in certain cartons, which is fitting for harrow, girls lived in an ice cave for 17 years. This is basically the only word we get on it. I believe a few times the text will say something about pyrrha's (g1deon's) brown Everything; brown skin, russet brown hair, rich brown eyes. that character gets to be viewed and constantly affirmed as a brown character in teh way gideon and harrow arent, it kind of others pyrrha. to contrast camillas hands are called tanned way at the beginning while recording nona's dream, then at the way end it says, "Her face still looked grey beneath its nice normal olive," olive being used to describe her once before in gtn as far as i can see. pyrrha's (g1deon's) skintone is one of her most notable features, its brought up to a noticeable agree the text wants you to keep it in your mind when you think of the saint of duty; "Most of Pyrrha was the colours of the building site: deep dried-out browns, dusty hunks of clay, rusted metal." "Pyrrha wouldn’t burn any colour other than her deep cool brown." "Nona took the water from Pyrrha’s brown, work-chapped hand and even sipped it" "Pyrrha had carried Camilla to bed in her big brown arms like Cam weighed nothing" "Pyrrha said, “Thanks, Nums,” and drained the whole thing. Nona,fascinated, watched the brown column of her throat move as she swallowed." its just notable to me when alternatively with nona you'll get a line like "Camilla didn’t say anything to that either, only rubbed her wrists where the tape had been. Nona’s skin was already back to its nice normal colour." like just the vagueness in nice normal color, we get one line about what shes supposed to look like in the beginning and thats it

towards the end during the broadcast, nona gets her first clear look at kiriona, described as: "warm-coloured skin that should have been a similar brown hue to Nona’s, except that there was something wrong with it." break out the champagne its official

Obviously, dying takes some color from you. If anything, gideons desaturation should make them More comparable given the egg carton comment and harrows general state of constant anemia. Has Nona gotten darker during her time on new rho? Was Gideon lighter than the cover led us to believe? We don't know. We well never know, which is odd, bc these books fucking love purple prose about people's appearances. We have like seven different synonyms for the shade of ianthes hair. New words for black have to be invented in order to convey harrows eyes which are Black, not the dark muddy brown of someone like ortus. It's less that I'm bothered by the text not hyperfocusing on their skin and more it picking and choosing when it will laser focus on a detail like that, and how often it's skipped over to the point that I like, constantly see people draw harrow as incredibly pale, which is very different from being light-skinned

Finally, I know people can dismiss this as like an audience interpretation thing. I know I actively draw harrow darker than Gideon which I know isn't canon. But this is less about Fandom response to the text and more the text itself and how it's like. Afraid to say brown. near the end of ntn i found One instance of it referring to gideons "slim brown hand" on nonas cheek and that is direct as it gets. even her other like, strongly non european traits are sort of danced around. her nose is "a nose that was the complete opposite of Nona’s nose, one that put her in mind of those big poison desert cats Born in the Morning was crazy about." a very fanciful description, you have to infer that nona means that its probably flat and wide, also giving us the information that harrows is most likely narrow and straight, possibly downturned. im not opposed to this, especially given the character talking about her is nona, but then you get the following paragraph:

"Her skin was very much dead-person skin, ashen and tinted the wrong colour around the nostrils and the mouth. But even if she hadn’t been dead, Nona was critical. Her eyelashes were very dark, but short and curly, whereas Nona thought all eyelashes should be long and straight (her own eyelashes were long and straight). The corpse had too much mouth and a dimple (nobody in her home had a dimple). You could not, at least, see the veins in her eyelids, which were heavy and cold and deep-set. But Nona thought it was going to be a shame to go from being so lovely as she was to being so—redheaded."

its a very frank description. dimple, curly lashes, red head, dead skin, probably a wide mouth. her nose is contrasted against nonas nose, which is also never directly described, and then compared to a fantasy animal we have never heard of until right now

kicks rocks. there isnt a point to this. the series is almost over, there is zero reason to like, knock on taz's door and ask why she did this or that. it doesnt stop me from loving the series, and the insinuation that noticing this means i must dislike the series is frankly insane (real thing that happened). if someone got the impression that harrow was white given how shes described i wouldnt blame them honestly, its most apparent she isnt in the third book (with the cover art being incredibly ambiguous) and a single blog post from taz mentioning shes maori, immediately followed by an "oh i dont care how you see the characters" addendum, which i think is like. an odd thing to tack on bc them descended from kiwis is like, very integral to the story, and gideon being the daughter of the maori man who took everything from her she didnt even know she could have and the (presumably, given her name and a very brief description) maori woman fighting to get that world back its like. damn. it feels a little important. that the audience knows theyre maori. like a little. it feels intertwined with the whole thing about john using european standards of imperialism and general aesthetics to hurt his own kid. actually.

[theatricalmage]

The brainrot took over and so here's a vat7k hadestown au!! Don't know if I'll develop it fully but I liked designing it at least!

More info under the cut:

- Varian, the Coronan royal alchemist, tasks himself with deciphering an incantation capable of bringing the world back into tune. Times are tough, and the royal family + Quirin are doing their best to cope with the meagre crop yields and desolate weather (Corona not really being the sunshine kingdom - hasn't been for a while). He wants to help and do good and I think he'd be a good Orpheus.

- Hugo, having moved about from place to place, still has his interest in alchemy and does what he can to get by. He plans on temporarily staying in Corona before looting, but he encounters a certain like-minded scientist at the Snuggly Duckling. I think him being selfish works especially well in Eurydice's role, having a more pessimistic view of the world. It also works with how he gets drawn to Donella's offer of working for her later on, leading him to his death.

- Ulla as Persephone! I was initially stuck on whether to have Rapunzel (and either Eugene/Cass) as her (and Hades) but I was drawn to the connection that Hugo has to Donella and the Donella/Ulla relationship in vat7k just works too well. In this case, Ulla won't be Varian's mother. She's still gonna be somewhat of an inspiration to him though, being the previous Coronan royal alchemist and for her intelligence. For half the year, she'll return to Corona with food, drinks, and alchemical compounds/inventions, bringing Spring and Summer to the world, if only for a bit.

- Donella would be such an interesting Hades, losing sight of her love for Ulla, heart filled with fear and hurt, leading to bitterness and cruelty. Ingvarr being Hadestown and how by being the esteemed Ingvarrian engineer, she'd be in charge of major technological advances across the kingdoms and so would wield a significant amount of power (like how Hades is literally the ruler of the underworld). Ingvarr essentially being a near death sentence for its workers while also displaying its technological prowess, all still shrouded in mystery and corruption - a place so otherworldly compared to the rest of the kingdoms.

I didn't want to modify the outfits too much nor the personalities,, if anything I imagine the general plot beats being the same as the original musical/story but with slight differences that'd you get inherently as a result of these characters. I wouldn't want it to be the case where it's just the show but the names are changed. I'd want this to still make reasonable sense in this AU, with the actions being understandable for this particular cast of characters.

For Hermes, I ended up picking Xavier, as he's most knowledgeable of old legends and stories, which would work in reference to the Hades and Persephone myth (and so Donella and Ulla)! He'd act as a mentor figure for V, someone who can guide him in uncovering the forgotten incantation. Quirin would still be the good supportive dad he is (even if he doesn't fully understand his son's project).

Last but not least, the fates!! often lurking in the background, I'm still a bit stuck on who it could be? I'm tempted to have it be Raps, Cass, and Nuru as they've had celestial connections at some point (and ya know how stars can represent fate), but I also love the freckled siblings dynamic so much. Also Team Radical... Maybe Raps and Cass can be their normal selves but their Sundrop/Moonstone counterparts are the manifested physical forms of the fates? They wouldn't be visible to the characters though, just voices in the wind.

Anyways yeah!! Those are my thoughts. Do let me know if you've got any cool ideas or questions. I'm really combining my interests at full force and there's nothing anyone, not even myself, can do about it quite frankly. 😮‍💨

[chooseruin]

The thing making me Feral about Judith Deuteros today is like. Her absolutely unfortunate attempt to declare martial law at Canaan House was the only thing she had to contribute. She is the ranking Cohort officer in this situation (she thinks) and like that's IT. In practical terms she's the weakest player there and she knows this; never mind the illest anime ill girl in the whole Seventh House and the three simultaneous greatest necromancers of their generation and Abigail Pent (at whom she is in any case strenuously not looking), Isaac could punt her through a wall. Silas is good enough at his terrible job that an actual Lyctor had to punch him out and then orchestrate that situation with the keys just to make ABSOLUTELY certain no one would ever listen to him. Judith is a competent melee support necromancer when in an actual melee. Judith can hold her own against Camilla Hect at ceiling chess even with a high fever, but Camilla and Palamedes and Ianthe are also there. Judith's cavalier is the glory of the Second House and their ability to work together is like... it's fine. It's professional. It's good. This is what peak performance looks like. It's fine. They're fine. Everything's fine. The hardware on her uniform is the only thing that's supposed to matter that she has and no one else does, that's ALL she has that she can imagine leveraging to get them out of here, and the way that works when your dad is the Fleet Admiral is that they give you everything you ask for and then you spend the rest of your life scrambling to earn it and she's not even very good at that. She has the charisma of drywall (affectionate/despairing) and all she can do to assert authority is fall back on the Cohort playbook and holy fuckballs did no one else in this bar actually care about that even BEFORE people started dying and all she does is completely discredit the actually pretty reasonable option of pulling together and trying to get out of this. And then Camilla Hect happens in front of everyone. And then the situation is REALLY losing cabin pressure and it's glorious last stand o'clock and her glorious last stand turns ugly and squalid and doesn't even help and she doesn't even get to die for it. She's the perfect product of ten thousand years of God needing cultural infrastructure for his genocide run against the rest of the universe, and she doesn't even get to Charge of the Light Brigade her way out. She doesn't get to die senselessly and prove to everyone that the rules don't matter anymore, because no one else ever really believed they did. She's so goddamn doomed by the narrative that it won't even let her die. Corona won't let her die. Blood of Eden won't let her die. MERCYMORN THE FIRST takes time out of a very packed schedule specifically to not let her die, not even long enough to come back wrong, how much more wrong could she get. She's the last kid left in Hamelin and she's opposite day Jackie Yellowjackets and she's a minor war poet and a virgin who can't drive and a wholeass Indelicates song and the most exhausted twenty-two-year-old in the universe and THAT'S ALL BEFORE NT9. Who is being happened to like her.

[abigail-pent]

Thoughts on HTN Act Four on my ??th reread:

- Harrow says "You cannot build in the River. It is a dimension of perpetual flux. Defined space is nonsense here. You might as well try to wall off Time with bricks and mortar." Which hits VERY DIFFERENT after Nona when we physically see a Tower rising from the River - this is way more like bricks and mortar than Pal's bubble even! IS THIS A CHEEKY LITTLE FORESHADOW OF WHAT THE TOWER IS???

- I think it's so fucking funny that Harrow tells her lobotomized self to silence Judith, like she knew Judith was going to speak her inconvenient mind no matter what

- There are 24 total letters. One for Harrow, one for Ianthe, one for Ianthe to give to Gideon Nav if met, one for Cam, one in case Harrow met Judith, one in case Harrow met Corona .... so like most of the letters went unopened. What happened to them? They went into the River but did anyone pick them up?

- Teacher says: "When the work was done, when I was finished and so were they, and the new Lyctors found out the price, they bade him kill the saltwater creature before she could do them harm." This still makes no sense.

We know (from Chapter 37) that "the price" is one of a set of John's lies - that the RBs would chase them and destroy them for the indelible sin of Lyctorhood. But that only explains why they thought Alecto would harm them if they knew Alecto was an RB (truth), and they thought RBs hunt Lyctors (lie). Throughout HTN, Augustine and Mercy both appear to know a lot more about John's motives than John tells Harrow, but we don't actually know if they learned this, or the history of the ten billion, from John or from BoE. When they had Alecto locked into the Tomb, they certainly didn't know that Alecto is John's cavalier, or else the big reveal about Alecto's and John's eyes would not have been such a big deal ten thousand years later. What did John tell them at the time? "Oh hey RBs kill Lyctors and we've been hanging out with one this whole time?" I don't think so! Did they just randomly guess there was an RB in their midst? Seems unlikely! So why did they suddenly turn on Alecto?

- When Augustine says Harrow's call sign is H, just H - is that him taking pity on her (knowing what her cavalier's name should be and choosing not to use the initial G), or him condescending to her because she is not a complete Lyctor?

- When Alecto learns that Varun is coming and she's astonished that it's happening... this is very interesting. She shouldn't be surprised if she already knows the RBs are chasing her and trying to get to her, but her astonishment makes it seem like she doesn't actually know this.

- the way Harrow prays that Ianthe isn't the traitor.... hmmmmmmm

- Cytherea tried to bodily go to the surface of an RB and failed, having gone "mad for weeks"

- Cyrus died before Ulysses and Cassiopeia. When he drove the corpus into a black hole, Ulysses drove the brain through the stoma and Cassy dropped the body into the River alongside the brain; which means Cyrus was the first to go. (Though obviously Cassy's death was faked.)

- The way Mercy describes the RBs: #2 sounds like Mercury (quicksilver), #6 sounds like Uranus (sphincters), #4 sounds like Venus (a humanoid creature with a beautiful face) #1 sounds like ... I don't know, maybe Mars (looked to Mercy like a great and incoherent machine, with a great tail and a thousand broken pillars on its back; looked to Cassy like a mechanical monster with swords for wings and great horns, tesselated over with graves; both of these say "war machine" to me), #8 sounds like either Jupiter or Neptune (a giant head, finned like a fish, teeth protruding from its own skull - fish suggests ocean/Neptune; red with a big green eye - eye suggests Jupiter), #7 looks like Neptune because it's blue but I think it's actually Saturn (who is classed as a Varunian god, who ate his children, and of course we know from NTN that #7 is named Varun the Eater), whatever number Alecto is is Earth, and that leaves Pluto and either Jupiter or Neptune unnumbered and undescribed. I'd guess Alecto is #9, which leaves #3 and #5.

- Augustine says Mercy's House "suckles at the stoma like a damned teat." We know the Second House drains thanergy to turn it into thalergy and the Eighth House is the opposite of the Second in that way; so it drains - or sucks - thalergy. Which is hella fucking curious because it suggests that the power on the other side of the stoma may actually be **thalergy**. But when you think about it, that actually starts to make sense. John says that the other side of the stoma is "a genuinely chaotic space," "a portal to the place I cannot touch, somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless," and that "no ghosts venture deeper than the bathyrhoic layer." What could be more chaotic than a fount of pure life energy - afterlife energy, even? What could take the wind out of John's sails more, or contradict his power more, than a source of actual, eternal life? We know from GTN that death has to connect to life, and life to death; death can't be linked up to death like that, the opposites call to one another. And we know for certain that the force on the other side of the stoma calls to John, who is a great conduit of thanergy, and the Resurrection Beasts, who are massive, planet sized pools of thanergy. I think the stoma opens for them because they're Big Thanergy and the stoma is the gate to Big Thalergy.

Also: we don't actually know that no ghosts get all the way down to the bottom of the River except if they're like really evil, which is what John posits. We know we do not see ghosts at the bottom of the River. It doesn't follow that ghosts just choose not to go there. This fact could also be explained if the Big Thalergy on the other side of the stoma is pulling all the nearby ghosts through. Classic causal inference fail - John has the direction of the causal relationship backwards.

- John can't project his soul into the River and enter the "senseless state" because then Alecto would come to the fore and take over his body.

- Harrowhark has never had a father figure - or a figure who wanted to be her father - except he tried to kill her.

- Harrow saying she's not a person because she's a chimera or a war crime... ohh... 😭😭😭

- John says he designed the Tomb *with* Anastasia and never wanted it opened from either end, yet at the end of NTN we find Anastasia's body in there with Alecto... so either the Tomb was always openable by Anastasia or John knew she would die in there.

[logorrhea5mip]

As you might know, the sky is due to get a new star any time now, in a few months at most.

What is happening? The recurrent nova T Coronae Borealis, by far the brightest one known, is a star* in the northern constellation Corona Borealis that, once every 80 years or so, increases in brightness from completely invisible by naked eye to among the ~100 brightest in the night sky. This increase is called a nova, from the Latin word for new, as it looks like a new star has appeared.

Where can i see it from? Basically all human inhabited latitudes, all except the far south. In the northern latitudes, however it is visible the entire night, while near and below the equator you will need to 'catch' it at the right time of night, which in August and September is just after sunset.

How will it look? Let's not get your hopes up too high. It will, at the brightest, reach a magnitude around 2 at most, so about as bright as the north star, relatively unremarkable and completely unnoticeable as unique to someone who doesn't know where to look. But still, it's the most visible sudden change to the relatively fixed pattern of the heavens any of us will live to see, so you should still go give it a look.

Where is it? Currently, the constellation is best visible about 1 or 2 hours after sunset. You will need to be relatively far away from light pollution, so at least a couple dozen stars are clearly visible. While learning the constellations, and finding the star by orienting via those is imho half the fun, you could use one of many sky map apps and websites to tell you the star's location. If it didn't happen yet, there should be nothing visible at that location. However, if there is, congrats! You just did an astronomy™ :3

It will appear in the circle next to the star labeled ε

Why is this happening? Most stars spend most of their lives in a stable, hydrogen fusing state. However, when hydrogen in their cores begins to run out, they switch to helium fusion, which makes them swell up to enormous sizes, turn red due to lower surface temperature, and are thus called red giants. After this helium runs out, the star will (in most cases) throw off the inflated outer layers, while its hot, dense core shrinks and keeps on glowing due to how hot it is, while not actually doing any fusion and not producing any new energy. Those are called white dwarfs, and because they don't fuse, aren't technically stars at all, therefore the asterisk in the first sentence of this post. The T-CrBo system is a red giant and white dwarf binary, where the red giant has grown so big, that the parts of it closest to its partner aren't gravitationally bound to it anymore. Therefore, the gas falls and accumulates on the white dwarf's surface (which otherwise has no hydrogen on its own), untill a critical point is reached where the pressure of the gas causes it to all fuse at once, resulting in a huge thermonuclear explosion bright enough to be seen from over 2500 light years. The explosion however, isn't big enough to blow the dwarf apart, and it starts accumulating new matter from its partner right away. Because of this, it with re-explodes every 8 decades, and it is due to go any day now.

@green-mountain-goose @brightgreendandelions

[risriswrites]

Booze, Burgers, and Bartenders

summary: short love story involving rooster and penny's favorite bartender.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x fem reader

warnings: none really, just some mild language and minor angst (if you can even call it that)

author's note: wow!! thank you guys so much for all of the love on my second fic "just roommates". i don't have a lot to say about it because honestly i'm speechless! with that being said, this fic has been in the works for months now and i'm exhausted with it. i wanted to write this and get it out back in may but everything with college really held me back and then from there i've just been enjoying summer and have been putting it off. so i apologize for the wait, but i hope y'all enjoy it!! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated :)

word count: 5.7k

“Penny! Where are the extra bottles of Budweiser?” you call out, body crouched just below the countertop of the bar in an effort to find a hidden Budweiser bottle behind all the Corona’s.

Somewhere in the bar, Penny shouts back to you, a muffled, “Just got a new shipment order in this morning! Check in the backroom, they’re probably still in their packaging!” reaches your ears.

Huffing, you force yourself back to a standing position, leaning your weight against the bar for a few seconds before pushing off and heading towards the backroom.

Flickering the light switch on once the door is fully open, you begin the tedious search for the famous beer the patrons preferred to order at Penny’s bar. Sighing to yourself, you grab a stool just in case the box was placed on one of the top shelves. Jaxson had a habit of doing that, he knew both yourself and Penny preferred the heavier boxes on the bottom shelves, but he somehow always managed to “forget” that important factor.

Crouching low you start with the bottom shelves before moving upwards. Luckily, Jaxson put the newest box of Budweiser’s one shelf above the middle. Lifting the box into your arms, you steady yourself before moving back out of the room and towards the bar.

Maneuvering around the tables and chairs scattered throughout the bar was easier said than done. It wasn’t until you were able to push the box onto the countertop that you could take a breath, leaning your body weight onto the bar again with a huff. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you notice Penny coming into your field of vision, a sly grin on her face.

“Jaxson leave the box on the top shelf again?” she questions, quirking a curious brow in the process.

Pinning her with a joking glare you smile, “Not this time, but it’s still heavy.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing it for ten years, trust me hon, it doesn’t get much easier” she chuckles.

Throwing your head back with a groan, you grip the edges of the bar, leaning back on your heels, “I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon,” straightening back up on your two feet, you turn to face Penny again, fixing her with your stare and point in her direction, “but, if Jaxson continues to put new, heavy, boxes on the top shelf, I can’t guarantee he’ll be around forever.”

Penny lets out a snort and nods her head in understanding, “I’m right there with you, but until then,” she gets up from her seat at the bar and pats the box of beer twice, “let’s get these in the fridge.”

With a forced laugh and a mock salute, you let out a “You got it Pen,” and resume struggling against the bottles of booze.

~

Nights at the Hard Deck fluctuated. Weekdays were a little slow, apart from Friday nights, with Saturdays being the busiest. Not that you’re complaining since that’s when you receive the most tips. And having the local aviators around as eye candy wasn’t so bad, plus, they’re generous tippers.

Tonight though, there had been an abundance of new faces floating around the bar. Mainly naval aviators, not to your surprise, but the sheer amount that had been crowding the bar was just a tad overwhelming.

Even Jaxson was flustered, his eyes flitting back and forth from you to Penny in search of some assistance. Unfortunately for everyone, you each were too busy struggling with keeping up with your own sides of the bar, and just when you thought you had a second to breathe, another patron would waltz up to your side and ask for a drink.

Glancing over towards Penny, you notice her interacting with a brunette clad in a leather jacket, an easygoing smile accompanying the glint in his eyes as he spoke with her. Smirking to yourself, you keep this interaction in mind and turn back to the guy in front of you, grabbing a bucket, loading it with ice and the six coronas he ordered, popping the tab off one before handing it to him with a smile, “Here ya go.”

The blond shoots you a smile, and pats a hand on the bar, shouting a “thanks” back in your direction. Moving around your section, you plucked empty bottles off the bar top and disposed of them in the large trash bin under the bar. And just as you were about to grab a clean washrag to tend to simpler tasks than dealing with the local riff raffs of the bar, another patron squeezes their way up to your side of the bar.

Flicking your gaze over to the guy you shoot him a small smile, “I’ll be with you in a second.” Snatching the wash rag, you tuck it into your jean shorts and take two strides back to the bar, leaning your forearms on the top, you shoot the mystery man a small smile, and pose the million-dollar question, “What can I get ya?”

After mixing the jack and coke your customer requested, you accept the twenty and continue working around the bar, popping bottle-tops off Corona’s, Heineken’s, and the bar favorite, Budweiser. All while simultaneously wiping any spills off the countertop.

A few hours later, the Hard Deck is looking less and less crowded, with all the civilians having cleared out. Which allows for you to sidle over to Penny and pester her for the next two hours before closing, sipping on your Coca-Cola in the meantime.

“Haven’t seen you all night, how’d it go?” Penny questions, permanent smile on her face and a light in her eyes you haven’t seen in a while.

Quirking your head to the side, you raise your eyebrows, “Clearly not as eventful as yours,” you smirk. Wiggling your eyebrows you throw out a second question, “Who’s got you all hot and bothered?”

Penny giggles at your playfulness, swatting at you with her dishrag, “No one special.”

“Now that, is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” you point at her with the pinky finger that had been resting around the bright red can you’ve been holding.

Bringing the can back up to your lips, you smile, “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that brunette with the brown leather jacket decorated in naval patches, would it?”

This earns you another swat from the dishrag.

Leaning away from her, your smirk grows wider, “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Penny playfully glares at you for the second time today, and peers around you, nodding her head in the direction of your side of the bar, “You’ve got another one.”

Giggling to yourself you turn your head in the direction Penny motioned to, the sight before you halting your giggling almost instantaneously.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Cussing under your breath, you take the last sip of your coke and turn to make your way towards him, receiving a swat from Penny’s dishrag in the process.

“Bradshaw.”

The man of the hour turns in his seat towards you, honey brown eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment before one side of his mouth quirks up into a half smile, “Hey.”

“What made the navy drag your ass back here for?” you ask, snorting at his attempt at remaining casual, folding your arms over each other, jutting your hip out in a stance that you hope comes across as vaguely threatening.

Bradley taps his thumb on the bar top and shoots you an award-winning smile, “I’m not really sure about that yet, sweets” he states, his voice coming out in a low rasp, while his eyes wander behind you towards the bottles of liquor.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, you open your mouth to shoot him a smart-ass retort, but instead, choose to close it and offer up the same line you use on everyone else, “What can I get you to drink?”

Bradley refocuses his eyes back onto yours, lips forming into a frown at your lack of retaliation, “Bottle of Budweiser if you have any would be great.”

Moving on autopilot, you bend down and sort through the fridge for another Budweiser, gripping the bottle and popping the top off, before sliding it forward towards the tall hunk of muscle in front of you, “You opening up a tab?”

Bradley looks over towards the pool tables where his friends were gathered around, no doubt betting on who was going to have to pay for the next round of beers. Turning his attention back to you, he stands from his seat, pulling his wallet out from his back jean pocket and holds his card out to you, “If you don’t mind, that’d be great sweets” sending you a small smile in the process.

Plucking the card from his grasp, you send a sarcastic smile his way before turning to the computer to input his information.

Bradley lets his gaze linger on you for a moment, then sets off back to his friends.

Hangman is the first to comment on Bradley’s singular beer and the sour look on his face, earning him a rough shove from Phoenix.

Nat turns to face Bradley, offering a sympathetic look, “Didn’t go well I take it?” she mumbles.

Hangman snorts and gestures with his beer towards the bar where you’re currently standing with Penny, “Judging by the way she’s standing,” sucking a breath through his teeth, “I’d say it went swimmingly.”

Jake goes to sip his beer with a smirk on his lips, satisfied with his dig, until Natasha forcefully bumps his elbow, forcing his beer to miss his mouth and instead spill down his shirt. Glancing towards her, scowl present on his face, Nat flutters her eyelashes and pouts, “Oops.”

Bradley covers his laugh with a sip of his beer, looking towards the dart board as a distraction.

“Maybe you should go get cleaned up.” Phoenix smiles, her words sickeningly sweet and not up for debate.

Grumbling to himself, Jake gets up from his seat and makes his way towards the bathroom of the Hard Deck. Once he’s out of sight, Nat fixes her gaze on Bradley, “Alright, tell me what’s going on.”

A huff slips past Bradley’s lips and he slumps into the seat adjacent to Phoenix, “That’s the thing Nat, it’s not really going anywhere.”

Nursing her own beer, Nat plays with the perspiration sliding down the bottle, “It’s probably gonna take some time Bradley. You can’t just show up after not talking to her for a year,” sparing you a brief glance she watches the way you smile and pop a cap off the bottle for a customer you’d been serving for the better half of the night, “stuff like that actually bothers a girl yaknow” emphasizing her words with a pointed look.

Bradley taps his thumb against the tabletop, a low groan leaving his throat, “I know Nat, I just didn’t know how to tell her I was being deployed for six months and then dealing with the Uranium mission on top of that,” he pauses briefly to sip on his beer, “It’s not fair to her.”

Natasha nods briefly, understanding where he’s coming from, “I get that, but that’s not your decision to make.” Pointing at him with her bottle briefly, she maneuvers it to gesture towards you, “She’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions.”

Bradley nods his head in understanding, moving his gaze to survey the room briefly, a red blush painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Sensing how flustered he was Nat slaps the table and shoots him a sympathetic smile, “I’m going to get us a few more beers from our favorite girl. When I get back, you’re going to be done with all that sulking and were going to kick Coyote and Hangman’s asses in eight ball.”

An, “In your dreams hot shot,” settling over both Natasha’s and Bradley’s ears, the pair rolling their eyes simultaneously at the overconfident voice of Jake Seresin.

~

“Ready to start cleaning up? It’s twenty minutes before we close.” Penny asks, the clinking of glass bottles ringing in your ears when she tosses them into the trash.

Peeking at her from over your shoulder you send an exhausted smile her way, “Definitely, tonight’s rush took a lot out of me.”

Biting her lower lip, Penny begins wiping down the counter, “That the only thing that took a lot out of you tonight? Or did a certain tall, mustached naval aviator have something to do with it?”

She doesn’t look over at you when you whip your head to glare at her, instead choosing to continue to innocently wipe at the sticky bar top.

“Don’t start.”

Moving away from her, you begin to collect the remaining empties and toss them in the trash.

Ignoring her for another ten minutes, you busy yourself by sweeping up around the front of the building, avoiding Bradley and his lingering group of friends.

Maneuvering back to the bar, you grab the remaining glasses and bring them to the dishwasher in the backroom. Once you’ve loaded it up, you put in the dishwasher detergent and start it on a regular cycle, heading back out to the bar to help Penny finish up.

Gripping the rag in your hand you begin wiping down any places Penny may have missed, hyper fixating on the task at hand to avoid looking over at the man who ghosted you a year ago.

Penny eases herself into the space you were occupying, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt at gaining your attention. Looking up to the ceiling you breathe out, turning your head to give her your full attention. An apologetic smile is what meets you and you instantly feel your resolve soften.

“I’m only going to say this once, and from now on I won’t mention it.” Nodding her head in Bradley’s direction she continued, “He’s a good guy Hon, but unfortunately, he’s still a guy. And guys make stupid mistakes. Trust me,” an eye roll from her ensuing shortly after.

“I’m not telling you that you need to forgive him, but maybe hear him out?” she coaxes.

Looking over towards him, you watch as his drunken form laughs with his friends, “I’ll think about it Pen.”

“Okay honey,” leaning away from you she squeezes your shoulder, “Oh and I’ve gotta go pick up Amelia, soo could you close up?” she pleads.

Throwing your head up, you laugh, “Oh I see, just trying to butter me up so you can sneak out to go be with that Naval officer.”

Penny bites her lip at the thought and begins heading for the door, “Not yet, but maybe eventually,” she vocalizes, shooting you a wink in the process. “Alright guys and gals, time to go!” she calls out to the last group lingering at the back of the bar.

The blond calls back to her, “You got it Pen!”

Giggling to yourself, you finish up a few more tasks as the remaining aviators file out. Going to the storage room to grab some beers to restock the fridges for the following day, it’s always easier on you guys the next day if you restock the night before.

Heading back out to the bar you notice the handsome aviator you’ve been avoiding all night, sitting right where he had been earlier that night.

“Heyyy” Bradley smiles, clearly drunk judging by the flush that’s blossomed over his cheeks, neck, and ears.

Chuckling to yourself, you let an amused smile crawl across your face, “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?”

Bradley hiccups and leans his head on the bar top, “I need to,” another hiccup interrupts him before he continues, “close out my tab” he rasps.

Nodding to yourself, you go over to the computer and close out his tab, printing his receipt and wrapping it around his card, you turn back to him and place the card on the bar top, sliding it towards his drunken form.

Bradley looks you over and smiles, “You’re really pretty.”

Choosing not to laugh at his words you fold your arms over each other and smile at him, “How are you getting home, Bradley?”

He hums, still looking you over in a daze, “I drove.”

Shifting a little in his seat, he uses one arm to reach into his back pocket, presenting you with the keys to his infamous blue bronco, jingling them in front of you with a goofy smile on his face.

Leaning towards him you grip your hand around his, easing the keys from his hand into yours. His eyes watching your hand as it encloses around his.

“I’ll be taking those big boy.”

Bradley groans, reaching his arms out towards you as you lean away from him, “Nooo, come back, I need those.” he whines out.

Shaking your head you muffle a chuckle at his drunkenness, “Bradshaw you can’t drive yourself home,” nibbling on your lower lip you spit the words out before you can take them back, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Bradley shoots his head up at your statement, “You’re taking me, where?” he questions.

Rounding the bar, you grab your purse in the process heading towards Bradley, “I am going to take you home.”

“How do you know where I live?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Cute.

Smirking at him, you quirk your own eyebrow, “I’m a witch.”

Bradley points at you lazily and whispers, “If you’re a witch, then tell me what I’m thinking about right now.” Promptly closing his eyes afterwards.

Looking up, you shake your head, smile growing wider on your face, “Burgers” you declare confidently, crossing your arms in the process. As if this motherfucker didn’t spend every waking minute with you for a year.

His eyes instantly open, mouth dropping in amazement, an emphasized “Yes” leaving his lips.

Offering your hand to him, you give him a small nod, “We can get some on the way home if you want?”

Bradley eyes you skeptically, “You promise?”

Smiling, you fold your fingers in, leaving your pinky out for him, “I promise.”

Slowly, Bradley wraps his own pinky around yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Alright, let’s get going. Joey’s Burgers sounds amazing right now.” Giving his hand a squeeze, you lead the way out of the bar, Bradley stumbling behind you, mumbling about some triple patty burger that they recently added to the menu.

Once the two of you managed to make it out the front door, you turned back to lock up, Bradley leaning his head on your shoulder as you did, making it a little more difficult to maneuver around in the process.

“Okay tiger, lets get you in the car.”

Leaning his weight on you some more, he scrunches up his face in confusion, “I’m not tiger, I’m rooster.”

Lugging his weight across the graveled parking lot and towards the bronco, you snicker at his words, “I know Bradley, it’s just a nickname.”  Earning a low groan from Bradley in response.

Once you’ve made it to the bronco, you focus on getting Bradley’s passenger door open, all while he leans more and more of his weight on you, at this rate the navy should just hire you if you can lug a full-grown man around a dark gravel parking lot.

After you’ve managed to get the door open, you coax Bradley into the passenger seat with the promise of burgers and a movie once you got him home. Rounding the car after ensuring he’s buckled himself in and jumping into the driver's seat.

Looking over towards him, you note the way he’s leaned his head against the window, arms folded over each other, in what you could only guess is an attempt at staying warm. Mindful of his potentially cold state, you don’t bother with turning the air conditioning on, and keep the volume of the radio low, trying to allow Bradley to relax as much as possible. He’s lucky he’s cute when he’s drunk.

Pulling out of the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you make your way down the street to Joey’s Burgers, ordering two large fries, two medium soda’s, one triple patty burger for Bradley, and one regular cheeseburger (with only ketchup) for yourself. Then continuing your mission of getting Bradley back home for the night before he’s sobered enough to realize he’d not only let you drive him home, but also from the driver’s seat of his beloved bronco.

~

Parking Bradley’s bronco wasn’t an issue, however, getting Bradley to move out of his passenger seat was.

Pleadingly, you rushed out a whispered, “Bradley, please get out of the car, you can’t stay in there all night.”

Receiving only an annoyed grumble in response, you tried again in the form of bribery, “I got you your favorite burger from Joey’s, if you get out of the car you can eat it while we watch a movie.”

This gets his attention and before you know it, you’re lugging Bradley out of his seat and across the parking lot. Somehow, he’s gotten heavier in the past twenty minutes of your drive. Mumbling to no one in particular, you let out a low, “He’s got a lot of groveling to do after this.” Huffing out a breath, you manage to pull him up the steps of the cozy one-story house, forcing Bradley to lean against the wall while you unlock the door.

Once you’ve managed to get the door open, you pull the brunette aviator over the threshold and towards the couch, kicking the door closed once you’ve made it inside.

The grey couch that had been centered towards the edge of the living room absorbs a drunk Bradley Bradshaw into its cushions, earning a content hum from him in response.

Throwing yourself down next to him, an audible sigh slips past your lips, leaning your head against the cushions in an attempt at seeking a moment of comfort before you inevitably must help Bradley into bed.

Lolling his head to the side Bradley fixes his gaze on you, eyes trailing across the expanse of your face, when the question, “What happened to my burger?” comes tumbling out of his mouth.

A sharp laugh is what Bradley gets in response, along with a, “I swear you become more and more like a dog as the night goes on.” Bradley is too drunk to understand what that’s supposed to mean, so instead, he widens his eyes and tilts his head a little, a silent question in regard to the aforementioned burger.

Yep, definitely dog like.

Swiping the bag of burgers and fries from the table, you pull Bradley’s special burger; along with a few napkins, out and hand them over to the man of the hour, who immediately starts to gobble it down like he hasn’t eaten in days.

While the man who resembles a golden retriever consumes his food next to you, you start the venture of looking for a movie you wouldn’t mind focusing your attention on until Bradley falls asleep, settling on “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”.

Settling into the couch again, you curl your legs up underneath you and proceed to snack on the fries you’d gotten.

Everything was calm, for a total of thirty seconds.

Your peace being ruined by an overgrown buffoon looming over you to steal one of your fries from its container.

“You know, I got you your own fries,” you snicker, side-eyeing the Topgun graduate who has resorted to looking like a kicked puppy from your scolding.

“Yours tastes better.”

Snorting at the remark, you shake your head in exasperation, “Finish your food and if you’re still hungry, you can have some of mine.”

Seemingly pleased with the compromise, Bradley gets comfortable on the couch once more, and continues with consuming the fried potato.

After some time has passed, Bradley satisfied with his food and no longer pestering you for yours, you make an attempt to clean up. Which is instantly foiled by a tipsy Bradley Bradshaw, “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you Bradley,” you wave him off, continuing your advances towards the kitchen.

Bradley forces himself off of the couch, stumbling after your composed form, “Sure seemed like it earlier.”

Tossing the leftover food in the trash, you grab a paper towel and the spray bottle of cleaner he always left under the sink, “And I don’t recall you being particularly sober within the past two hours.”

A small smirk graces Bradley’s lips while he leans his body weight against the doorframe of the kitchen arms folded over each other, “I had a triple patty burger from Joey’s an hour ago.”

Rolling your eyes at his retort, you push past him to get back to his living room, “You’re welcome then.”

Like a piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe, Bradley follows after you, “You don’t have to clean.”

Better than having to look at him while he’s sober and engage in this conversation.

Pulling your eyebrows together, you force yourself to concentrate on the coffee table littered with grease stains from the bag and a few misplaced French fries, completely ignoring Bradley’s piercing gaze.

Hearing him sigh, your gaze breaks from the table and flits to where he’s standing. Looks more like leaning to you since he’s clearly still feeling some of the effects of the alcohol. As your eyes roam over his figure, you take in his posture, his arms, and lastly his eyes, which are locked on yours and the way you’re examining him.

Looking up to the ceiling, you huff, bending to your full height. Abandoning the damp paper towel on the semi-clean coffee table before you address him.

“I don’t hate you.”

Bradley’s eyebrows lift, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-hearted smirk, mustache following suit, “So you’ve said.”

Your eyebrows crease while your eyes pinch, fixing him with a glaring look, “But I don’t appreciate being led on for months either,” your tone heavy in the way you spoke to him.

Bradley visibly winces at the jab, “I know, not my proudest moment.”

Crossing your arms over each other, you jut your hip out, “Why’d you do it then?”  

Bradley crosses the room slowly, moving closer to your defensive stance with a slowness that resembled someone afraid of spooking a baby deer, “I didn’t want you to get caught up in all my shit.”

“One mission for six months is bad enough,” he pauses, “Another mission with no guarantee of survival a month after the last isn’t something I wanted to put you through.”

Your frown that you’d adorned for majority of this conversation, deepens, “That’s not something you get to decide, Bradley.”

A forced chuckle slips past your lips, “I’m a big girl, I’ve been able to make my own decisions for myself, for years. I don’t need you and your hero complex thinking you can make those decisions for me.”

Your eyes roam his face scowl still prominent. Finally uncrossing your arms, you poke a finger into his chest, “You should be able to trust me enough to tell me those things, and allow me to decide if it’s too much,” you pause taking a step back, hand retreating back to your side, “or if I care about you enough to stick around.”

Bradley tenderly reaches for the hand you’d forced back to your side, threading his fingers through yours, “I know, trust me I do. I just thought I’d be protecting you,” he breathes out, using his hand to bring you closer to him.

Your hardened gaze softens at his words, he thought he could protect you from himself, from heartache.

Settling your other hand on his chest, you tilt your chin up, the height difference between the two of you showing in the close distance you’re in.

“Like I said before,” you whisper, “That kind of decision I can make on my own.”

Bradley’s eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you, processing your words and what to do next with them.

Silence falls over the two of you, the only noise emanating from the tv next to you.

Breaking his gaze, you look behind him to see the clock hanging from the wall that’s surrounded by framed pictures of his parents along with a few pictures of himself with some of his squadron, taking note of the time.

Glancing back to him, you mumble, “You should probably go to bed.”

Bradley huffs at your suggestion but makes no move to argue.

Instead, he grips your other hand in his and pulls you closer, tilting his head to the side, “Tuck me in?”

Laughing to yourself at his suggestion, you give him a small nod, taking the lead down the hall to his bedroom, “Sure, do you want some warm milk while were at it?” you tease.

Bradley hums from behind you, “Now that you mention it,” he trails off, biting his lower lip to contain his laughter.

“Keep dreaming aviator,” you chortle.

“Oh I intend to,” is the retort you get in return.

Turning into his bedroom you push him towards his closet and gesture for him to change, turning your back to him in an attempt to avoid being distracted by his charm and physique, reacquainting yourself with his bedroom instead.

Not much has changed apart from the bedding which had gone from a pale blue to a darker green.

A raspy, “I’m decent,” makes its way to your ears and you turn to look for the source. Intaking a sharp breath at the sight of Bradley Bradshaw in a plain white t-shirt, and boxers, eyes roaming the expanse of his body before deciding you’ve ogled him too much.

Moving your eyes away from his lower half, you make your way to the closet in search of your own shirt and boxer combo, cause if you’re staying there’s no way you’re staying in your “The Hard Deck” tank top and jean shorts.

Wordlessly, Bradley sidles up behind you and reaches for his old training tee from his first days at Topgun, handing you the shirt and a pair of gray boxers to match.

Mumbling a soft “Thanks”, you make sure he turns all the way around before stripping down to put the new garments on.

Once comfortable, you glance to the opposite side of the bed Bradley’s in, fiddling with your fingers as you fight yourself on whether or not you can trust yourself with him again.

Screw it.

Acting before fully thinking through your decision, you climb into bed beside him, hiding under the covers for some warmth, and maybe from Bradley.

It’s Bradley’s warm hands that bring you out of your thoughts, hooked around your waist and pulling you to him, “You’re thinking too loud,” he mumbles, one leg slotting between yours.

Reaching up with your right hand, you glide your fingers through his locks, earning a sigh of content from him, “I just don’t want to get hurt again,” you confess, tugging your lower lip between your teeth.

The confession has Bradley propping himself up onto his elbow, his free hand finding your own, putting it square against his, measuring the sizes of your individual palms, slotting his fingers between your own once he’s satisfied.

“I can’t promise that being with me will never hurt,” he states, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Sighing, he continues, “I don’t know if something will happen to me when I’m in the air.”

You nod solemnly at his confession, running everything over in your head, the pros and cons of being with him, loving him. What that might do to you.

Bradley tilts his head toward yours, catching your eyes once more, “But,” he pauses, “I can promise that I’ll never voluntarily hurt you again, and I will do everything in my power to come home to you.” He finishes, voice shaky and his eyes displaying a vulnerability you’ve never seen before.

Scanning his honey-colored irises, you search for any doubt he may have hidden, finding none, a soft smile graces your lips.

Leaning forward, you nudge your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed at the contact, “Okay” you whisper.

Opening your eyes to scan his face, trailing along the faint freckles that litter his cheeks, your smile widens, “but this is your last shot Bradshaw, don’t ruin it,” you tease.

Bradley grins back at you before closing the gap between the two of you, slotting his lips against yours in a kiss that had been a long time coming; by at least a year.

His tongue traces the bottom of your lip and without much coaxing, you open your mouth enough for him to slip his tongue in, maneuvering his body over yours for easier access. Bradley slides his hands down your frame to trace circles into your hip, while the other braces himself next to you.

Breaking the kiss, Bradley maneuvers his lips down towards your exposed neck, trailing open mouthed kisses lower each time before coming back to your lips, catching them with his over and over until the two of you have settled into a relaxed state, lazy open-mouthed kisses replacing the urgent ones you were enacting before.

Gently reaching your hand up, you slot your fingers into Bradley’s tousled locks, tugging ever so slightly, earning a low groan from him in response.

Smiling to yourself, you slot your lips against his one last time before leaning back, appraising him with a gentle smile adorning your lips, “I thought we agreed on sleep?”

Chuckling, Bradley moves a stray hair out of your face, “Sweets, will you please put me out of my misery and go on a date with me?”

Clicking your tongue, you drag him down closer to you, snuggling into his chest as you make yourself comfortable.

 “Mmm, dating the bartender, huh? Hope it’s for more than free drinks,” you quiz, trailing a hand down to his abs, tracing each one with your fingers.

A tender kiss is placed to the crown of your head, while one large hand sneaks under the back of your shirt, tracing small circles across your skin, “Definitely.”

Humming, you close your eyes, content with the warmth emanating from Bradley and his tender touches, “That’s nice.”

Bradley chuckles at your drowsy state, “So is that a yes?”

He receives a chaste kiss that’s pressed to his shirt, right where his heart is as you mumble out, “It’s a yes Bradshaw.”  

[thetravelingtyper]

On The Same Page Pt 7 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

Simon spends the night over, you dream of the past, and share a sweet moment and news with the man...

Part 6, Part 8, Masterlist

Dessert passed without much fanfare and Sam stood for the dishes.

“It's getting late Pumpkin”

The name has you rolling your eyes but you stretch, popping your back as you listen to the sound of the rain. You turn to Simon who regards you calmly. His hair has dried and fluffed up, and you want to run your hands through it. Under your observation, Simon gives a small smile and you flush, turning away. The time was nearing 11 and you would need to be up to open the store on Friday. You stand out of your chair, turning to push it back in. Simon watches a moment before following, pushing his chair in before shuffling to your side.

You look up to him with a smile before moving to Sam and hugging him. Finishing up the plates he turns his head to place a kiss on yours before murmuring,

“Goodnight Buttercup,” He turns to Simon and nods.

Simon returns it as you return to him, a question in your reach.

“Ready for bed? It's not too late for the nail polish?” You ask it with a smirk, your hand going to Simon's arm. You get a humored huff at the joke,

“Sure.” 

Your lips quirk up and you turn to leave the kitchen and Simon follows, hand trailing to take yours. You squeeze his and lead him to his room. At the door, you part, opening the door to reveal a small but comfy room. It was intended to be an office but you and Sam each worked either in the kitchen together or in your rooms. There was a bed tucked into the corner and yet more bookshelves. In one corner next to the small bathroom were a few more cases of typewriters. 

“Typewriters?” He asks simply. You allow him to enter before you and you follow, approaching the corner and grabbing a case. 

“Yeah, most are rescued from around London. I work on them in my free time.” You open this case, a brown crackled leather. Inside you reveal an ultraportable, a smaller typewriter. You pull the machine out and set it on the quilt of the bed before inviting Simon to look. He finds an ivory keyed machine in a casing of grey plastic. His fingers skim over the keys finding the hammers responsive as they move with a light click. You smile at the machine fondly, thumbing the worn leather of the case before speaking,

“Smith-Corona Skyriter, it is from the 1960s. Reliable once I get a new ribbon in it. It had a few sticky keys but a little cleaning got that fixed.” 

You say it with a knowing tone and Simon can tell you care a lot for the machine. He runs a final hand over it before handing it back to you. You slip it back into the case, closing it before setting the bag aside. You return to him then.

“Do you need anything else Simon?”

He shakes his head. 

“No thank you love, ‘his is fine.” 

With that you nod and move to leave the room before pausing, biting your lip. You then spin on your feet and call his name. Simon looks down at you and you move. Pushing up onto your tiptoes you press a small peck to this cheek, brushing against warm skin before turning and rushing out of the room with a soft good night simon your cheeks flushed. 

You quickly retreat to your room and close the door softly so as to not disturb Sam. Leaning against your door your heart races but you feel giddy. You smile to yourself before. You went into your bathroom and brushed your teeth before shutting your lights off and tucking yourself into bed. The sounds of the rain lured you into a deep and easy sleep.

The sounds of a river woke you in your sleep. Your eyes open to a tapestry of stars. You were on a hill overlooking your college city. Sam and you found it while biking one day and shortly made the space under an old oak tree your own. The light of a full moon lit your way as you stood on a spread quilt. Approaching the tree you grab a branch and hoist yourself up. Eternity passes as you climb, a breeze kicking up smells of the sea despite your distance, You feel at the stern of life, and you finally made it to the top before sitting on a sturdy branch, leaning back to watch the stars. 

Here the burden of the world was shouldered by wood and bark. You hear a yip and your fox dances through the air, past shooting stars and nebula. There are smaller cries and she is followed by her kits. One of them, smaller than the others, tumbles in the air and you reach out to catch the poor thing. 

Four black paws land on your palms as the little fox steadies itself. It shakes its fur and peers at you with new blue eyes that'll darken to a rich amber as it ages. The little fox watches you as you once again lean against the tree. The weight of the editing position gave way to the thrill of your newest publications. They had been a great success. But under the weight of your new work, you found yourself missing the fox and your old home. 

Your open palms come to rest on your stretched-out legs, but the kit, ever the explorer, hopped out of your hands and into your lap. It then curled up gave a yawn and fell asleep. Your heart melts and you run your hand gently through its soft fur. It sighs in contentment in its sleep. You sit against the tree for a timeless period, head swirling with the dance of the fox and the twinkling of stars. 

However, as dawn rises on the sky there is a call of your name at the base of the tree. You peer down expecting Sam but you find a different man. He looks up with brown eyes, they focus on you intently. He calls again,

“Come on Dove, it's time to leave this place.”

Your heart quickens in knowing but your mind pulls back, looking up instead, seeking the disappearing stars. The mother fox has stopped her dance and pads down to you. She looks at you, and you reach out a hand. She butts her head against your head before looking at her kit. The kit stirs, giving a sleepy yawn, shining eyes blinking away a sleepyness. However, it makes no move towards its mother, instead choosing to snuggle further into your lap. 

Laughter passes over the mother's eyes and she looks to you a moment before looking to the vanishing moon.

‘I'll be back’ she seems to say, licking at your palm before turning and joining her other children in the air. She gives you one final look,

‘Take care of him’

You nod and she and her other kits disappear with the last of the stars. The man calls you again and the fox kit hops up and into the air, waiting for you to follow. You look at it a little shocked and it steps simply further into the air before turning back to you with a little yip. It then descends to join the man, curling around his neck like a scarf. 

You stand, bracing yourself with the trunk of the tree. Uncertainty swells but looking down you meet his eyes and find something steadfast there. He is strong, you know then. His arms come out and he calls,

“Jump dove, I'll catch you.”

You trust him then, something in your heart swelling. You ready yourself, fears of publication, leaving home, and an uncertain future weigh you in the warm sunlight. But with the echo of stars behind your eyelids you take a breath and jump, easily falling into steady arms. 

Friday

You stir and awaken slowly to the sound of London awakening, you turn onto your side, hands dreamily reaching for the fox kit only to feel the ghost of fur as you finally wake up. You sigh into your pillow, curling yourself up for a second before stretching fully out. You sluggishly get out of bed. There is a soft knock at your door and you call out a gentle come in.

The door opens quietly and Simon steps into the room. You straighten up a little at his presence. He looks around your room, taking in the sense of just, you. Books stacked in assorted piles dot the room. Cream walls are spotted with posters, and in the corner on a crate sits a teal record player with records stored below. He looks at your desk finding the Corsair. He steps toward it and runs a hand over the worn plastic. You feel a warm comfort bubble in your chest at his observation. You don’t mind him in your space and that surprises you. You shake the thought aside and stand, turning to tuck your blanket back in before crossing the small space to join him.

“It’s mine from when I was a kid. I started writing back then,” You reach a hand to brush the machine,

“It, it felt wrong to leave it.” You stumble on your words for a moment, a wave of hurt surging in your chest. What had you left behind?

A hand covers yours over the keys then and your eyes flicker up to his. 

Honey and bourbon. Or?

He dips his head looking into your eyes, his hand on yours travels up your arm and you hold in a breath, afraid to break the moment. His hand ghosts over the sleeve of your shirt before reaching your shoulder, he then lifts it. You exhale, slowly, tension releasing from your shoulders before his hand returns to span over your neck, his thumb resting on your cheek. Unlike James, this touch is gentle, reverent even, an examination of a treasure before it can vanish into dust. But instead of grasping at emptiness, Simon finds you under his hand. 

Something, someone so unlike him. A person untarnished by the horrors he’s lived, hell, the things he’s committed. Finding you was a sanctuary. After coming in for that month he returned, hearing James threaten you awoke something nasty in him, claiming to be your partner, his heart quickening in the moment before he was pleased by your shocked admiration. Then getting caught in the rain, holding you close in the kitchen. But the feeling of your lips against his cheek was a ray of sun on his dark heart. 

Something in his chest wove around his heart when he thought of you. Your passion for writing and typewriters, baking yes, but working with others. You were warm and welcoming to everyone. Johnny about talked his ear off about you, and the Fox’s Den made him feel at home. Sam humored him. The man loved you like family.

The men passed into the hallway as you remained in the kitchen. As they entered the guest room Sam turned to him abruptly, green eyes focusing in on the taller man, evaluating. Simon returns the look, not in challenge but in understanding. He knew sibling protection all too well. 

Sam seems satisfied and then speaks,

“You're a good man Simon. Johnny talks a lot about you.” He starts, a hand running along the books on the nearest shelf absentmindedly. His eyes move to the typewriters, then back to the quiet man before him.

“I get the hunch you intend to stick around?”

Simon nods, something setting on his face at the vision of your smile in his head. 

Sam nods, humming and running a hand through his hair, the curls stretching before bouncing back into place. 

He then gives Simon a serious look, eyes sharp,

“Take care of her Simon, especially in these coming weeks. I don’t trust this.”

Simon speaks up, like a rumble of thunder from his chest, 

“Of course.” It's a strong affirmation, quick and quiet, and it brings a smile to Sam's face.

“We agree then.”

Simon’s mind returns to you, wide eyes looking into his. Your hands move on their own, one reaching to his free hand and the other skimming up his abdomen to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart. 

“Si” Your voice is soft and you offer him a shy smile.

Simon just admires you in the streaming sunlight, the rain clouds having turned away into mist. The air in the room stirs, and memories of strong arms around you wakes your writer's mind. You can see the fox kit yawn and tuck itself against Simon. The sound of the ever-present sea echos into the buzz of your ears. Then there is all but silence, and you feel like the last two people in the meaningless world, the blank landscape dawning around you with the new day was yours to create. Nothing else mattered you realized in his arms, you looked up back to him with a growing excitement, in your mind, you could sense the gathering of waves, wild like a storm but tamed by the safety of what life was offering. 

You grin at him and in your mind the fox kit awakens, pulling from Simon and dropping down to your typewriter, a ghost of an idea appearing. Price was right you realized. What had you lost but, your eyes softened, what had you gained? Your hand on Simon’s chest travels up, over his collarbone, and up his neck. He signs softly when your hand mirrors his on your own face, cupping his face and running fingers along a strong jawline. 

He murmurs your name in a sacred whisper, eyes, and hand dropping to meet yours. Stands of his hair brush against your forehead, his eyes rich and warm flicker to your lips but he makes no other movement choosing instead to cherish your warmth and the feel of you in his arms. Your heart quickens and something shifts in your chest. Determination perhaps, a rush of the moment but promise of something more has you leaning up and connecting your lips to his. He is caught by surprise before his eyes close and he leans further into the kiss. 

His thumb caresses your cheek sweetly before his hand trails to cradle your head. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss before he parts for a steadying breath his heart pounding in his chest. You look up at him with a lightly flushed face, not quite having expected to kiss the man but the honeyed chuckle he lets out pleases something in you. His hand squeezes yours before moving to the small of your back and pulling you close. 

You breathe out, head tucked against his chest for a moment before your alarm for 9 am finally sounds. You sigh and Simon fully releases you, allowing you to shut your phone off. You look back to him in question.

“Are you sticking around Si?” 

The syllable rolls naturally off your tongue, and Simon leans back against your desk in consideration. He pulls out his phone checking something. 

“I’ll need to run home love.” You nod at that as there is a knock at the door. Sam waits a moment before popping his head in with an easy good morning to Simon, a knowing smile on his face before his eyes find yours.

“Morning ladybug. Sofia is here, she came around 30 minutes ago seeking you.”

You stand a little straighter and sigh. You loved your manager dearly, especially after all that happened, but the woman tired you out sometimes. Besides the point of her not just calling but you understand that this must be a rush. Maybe she could answer some questions. 

Sam then turns to SImon.

“Your clothes are in a bag whenever you decide to head out.” With that Sam passes you a wink and heads back down to the bookstore. The smell of a quick breakfast drifts in through the open door. You look back to Simon,

“I still have your jacket-”

“Hold on to it for me.”

You blink in surprise but nod a little smile creeping onto your face. You move from your bedside and step towards Simon, his hands lifting in expectation, they move to your elbows before tracing to your back, you look up at him,

“Will you be back sometime today?” 

His fingers circle patterns into your skin absentmindedly and he hums.

“If I can.” It is simple but his eyes dip towards yours and you feel at peace here with him. You nod. He watches you relax in his arms, looking up to him with curious eyes tracing a scar that goes from his chin to his next. He doesn't feel self-conscious though, not anymore. You raise a hand to trace the scar softly. 

“Do they hurt anymore?”

“Not often, sometimes there's the ghost of a memory.”

You hum an affirmative before gazing into his eyes. They are sunlit into a light hazel, flecked with gold under the rays. You enjoy the moment a bit longer before you sigh.

“I should keep Sofia waiting, besides, you need to leave.”

He nods, then leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go. He moves to the door,

“I’ll wait for you dove.”

You smile in appreciation and after he leaves change for the day. On a whim, you turn to your laptop and slip it into your backpack to take down to the store. You look to your corsair with a smile and turn to exit your room. 

Passing into the living room you find Simon sitting on his phone, his eyes raising to you when you pass into the kitchen. Sam had eaten a quick breakfast, the evidence of which was in the fridge. You grab a yogurt to take down. You look back to Simon when he enters. You grab another yogurt and some wrapped banana bread. You present these to Simon and you and he make quick work of them. 

After cleaning up you both gather your things and head for the door to the bookstore. Passing down the stairs you hear the voices of Sam and Sofia along with an English-accented voice you didn't recognize. You make it to the bottom of the stairs followed by Simon and see the three in the sitting area with a few scattered teacups that humors you. Sam’s look alerts the others and Sofia and another handsome man turns to regard you and Simon. 

Hazel eyes lift to you in warm but urgent expectation before shifting to regard the man behind you. Sofia was a woman in her mid-40s, with long black hair and a set of round glasses perched on her nose. She had taken more the place of an aunt while you were away from your parents, a close friendship cemented by long hours up late with tea and manuscripts. She also did double duty as your illustrator, and it was she who helped you paint all the foxes. 

The other set of brown eyes regarded you curiously before shooting to the tall man behind you.

“L.T.?” His accent told you he was a local, Simon tilts his head in regard,

“Kyle. It’s been a while.”

“It's been ages!”

Kyle shoots up as Simon moves forward and offers a hand out, Simon takes it as you follow, setting your stuff at the inside of the counter before joining the others. 

“Morning Sofia, sorry to keep you waiting,” You look to Kyle in consideration and he meets you with a wide smile. You return it happy with his nature, he offers his hand.

“Kyle Garrick.”

You return with your name and nod,

“Johnny’s told me about you! It’s nice to finally meet you!”

He grasps your hand in both of his and gives a cheeky wink, 

“Same love, Johnny would not stop talking about you.”

You laugh, Johnny was the equivalent of a golden retriever you thought. Kyle’s eyes move between you and Simon and you wonder what else Johnny may have said. But the curiosity passes when you see a bundle of documents in Sofia’s hand, you sigh at the look in her eyes. You pass Kyle and Simon and take the seat next to her. Kyle looks between the two of you before he returns to his seat as well. 

You look to Simon,

“Are you leaving Si?” 

He thought he needed to return home but nothing was pressing. He shifts, then mind made up he sets his bag next to your chair and takes a seat on a ottoman next to you, long legs spreading out. You offer him a pleased smile before turning back to Sofia. You find her eyes on Simon, a simmering curiosity, much like Kyle’s but with a more maternal feel. She pats your knee before going into an explanation.

“I am sorry about last night! I was in such a rush with that letter arriving! I spoke with Sam’s family, they were shocked with the notification that arrived yesterday as well.” She pulls out an official-looking document, the embossed paper making you roll your eyes. You take it and look over it. There was the general nonsense, the niceties, and such, but what got your interest was the communication of the development of a working relationship between the two publishers with the combined work of you and James. Your gut wrenches as you flip the page.

There you find a promotional tour schedule showcasing both you and James amongst some of the other authors. You scan the list and are relieved to find Sarah listed as well. You flip the page and there you find an advertisement for another formal event. Dread splinters through you and you want to burn the paper. The announcement was inviting international publishers to a gala here in London with you and James as some of the headline speakers. You didn't like the implications of the gala and the following formal dinner. Given what happened last time you don’t understand why they would want to pull you and White Owl into a stunt like this.

“I don't like this.” You speak it, your voice low and cautious, trepidation nipping at your fingertips as you pass the paper to Sam. He nods in agreement. Kyle’s eyes look between the two of you,

“Trouble?” He asks and you nod.

“Unfortunately so, I believe my ex-fiance is causing a ruckus again. He’s the reason I came here at all,” A hand presses to your knee and you find Simon regarding you,

“I've told Johnny the whole story but I can tell it again if you want to hear it?”

“Sure.”

Kyle affirms with a gentle tone, and you find yourself happy he was there. Simon on the other hand tenses and your hand reaches to his. His hand engulfs your knee easily, once your fingers brush over his he flips his palm up. You set your hand in his and he intertwines your fingers, brushing his thumb every so often over your knuckles as you begin to speak. 

You began from the beginning, moving to finish your master's, meeting Sam, and eventually getting into the publishing and editing business.

Fin - For information, this is a Smith Corona Corsair:

Taglist!

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix, @feedthefandoms995

AN This was going to originally include you meeting James, but I figured all of the past stuff should be its own chapter!

[katakaluptastrophy]

OK, Tamsyn, I want to know what Ianthe and Abigail's beef is.

In the Cohort Intelligence Files, in the midst of talking about how very, very pretty Coronabeth is, Judith says:

"Tridentarius has a long history of close interaction with the Second and the Fifth."

We know quite a bit about the social interactions between the Second and the Third, who are close in age. In the case of the Fifth, we have to assume Abigail and Magnus were friendly with the twins' parents, as the girls would have been about 12 when Abigail and Magnus got married. But presumably they've encountered each other socially over the last decade or so with some regularity. And they clearly have opinions about each other.

When Abigail learns that Ianthe became a Lyctor, her response is immediate:

“Blast. It should have been Coronabeth. Ianthe never was quite the thing."

As if she has, for some time, been of the opinion that there is something off about that girl. Magnus uses the same "never quite the thing" line to say that he doesn't think Silas' apparent suicide is much of a loss, so you get the sense that it's quite the withering put down on the Fifth.

Meanwhile, Ianthe doesn't think much of Abigail.

I mean, look at the Fifth! Abigail Pent literally brought her husband, and look where that got her.

Later in TUG, she dismisses the Fifth as "dull and stupid" and compares Corona's fighting abilities to the corpse of Magnus Quinn, making the Fifth by far the most referred to people apart from the actual subjects of TUG.

Love that there's tragedy unfolding on a galactic scale and Ianthe is still complaining about her parents' weird, square friends and Abigail and Magnus are, literally from beyond the grave, feeling vindicated in their suspicions that that kid was really weird.

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

@st-just, in reference to this post.

Here's my more in-depth review of The Faithless, if you're curious.

The Locked Tomb is something of a special case of queer norm fiction. It took me a while to figure out why I loved tlt so much when I was so cold on all other queer norm fiction, but I do have an answer.

The thing about tlt is that it's queer norm in the sense that queer characters and relationships are utterly unremarkable... but it's also not queer norm because there is no norm. The worldbuilding in tlt is deliberately sparse, such that we have no idea what a normal family or relationship within the Nine Houses even looks like! We know Harrow's parents were married and had her. We know that Magnus and Abigail are married but don't have children. We know that Corona and Ianthe have parents. We know that children can be grown artificially in vats. We know that marriage for political alliance is a concept that Harrow is aware of. And as far as I can remember, that's it! The worldbuilding is a black box, and nothing that we can glimpse in it is strained by unremarkable queerness, which is a very rare thing.

The Locked Tomb also injects other elements that resonate with me as authentically queer. Probably the biggest one is that the characters, in addition to being queer, are horny and weird about it. Like, I know that sounds trite to say, but of all the wlw books I've read, I would say a plurality are pretty chaste, and most of the ones that aren't are fairly tame or understated in the level and type of horniness on display. There's a lot to be said about the overlap between the queer community and the kink community that is way beyond the scope of this post, but without even touching Harrianthe bone sex and Nona's vore thing, one of the first things we learn about Gideon is that she owns porn magazines. It is vanishingly rare for fiction to acknowledge that people have or use pornography, let alone queer characters, let alone in a value neutral way, but a lot of queer people owe some part of their self-discovery to porn, in whatever form. The books are just full of unsanitized, "impure", queer desire, and that's both resonant and uncommon.

The last thing, I think, that makes tlt stand apart from queer norm fiction, is that the queer normalization is localized. In Nona the Ninth, we see life outside the Nine Houses, and it is messy. Pyrrha gets misgendered and stereotyped. Her gender identity is misunderstood and disrespected. The polite fiction of perfect understanding and tolerance of a lot of queer norm settings falls away completely. If you want to take a particularly meta read, you could argue that since the Nine Houses are not an emergent culture but a society designed and created by John, a queer man from our time, that he acted as an author and deliberately enforced queer norm standards on them because if he was going to be God, then god dammit he was gonna have his queer utopia about it.

The locked tomb deals with queerness in its setting in a really novel way that works very well for it specifically, and I really enjoy it. You could argue whether it counts as queer norm or not, because it very much blurs the lines. Something queer about that too, yeah?

[cemetegee]

Ianthe and ADHD...

This post includes a theory that I've never seen so far (on a serious base), but that seems (as the Worst Case of ADHD that's ever lived lol) pretty obvious to me. It's no secret that many of the characters are some sort of neurodiversity-coded and I have seen the ADHD theory for basically almost every cavalier... (I wonder fandom *looking at you* if it's just a coincidence that ADHD is only connected to muscle work and not to bookish necros... Because I fear it's not. I know where that comes from but it's fucking hurting) However, anyway. For this post I have no other choice than to ride on the edge of the knife of text-based character analysis and self-projecting. Have fun! I'd actually LOVE to think what others think of this theory.

1. A Stupefying Deficit of Attention

The certainly most obvious sign in this context is the "Alas. I have a bad personality and a stupefying deficit of attention" quote. At this point is to state that she 1) REALLY shows that she has that deficit of attention, and secondly... well. You could argue that it's just her build up character she plays in the Ianthe-Corona-dynamic. And she is really in many things more a character than a real person. (Ahahdgdggd masking) But! If you'd build up a character that lets your codependent twin shine - and it's a character you'd have to play all the time - wouldn't you choose a role that's easy to play? For example, if you are really unable to concentrate on some things for a longer time, you could just use it as a sign "of your bad personality"? I think I would do it.

(Especially, since claiming things that are out of your control as being villainy is an effective protection from being hurt for them. People will attack the villain you are not, so you don't have to feel hurt and you have chosen this form of attack, because it's okay for you, because you keep your power and... *Ianthe Ianthe Ianthe* control over the situation)

2. Being bitchy

Sorry haha. This point is maybe formulated a bit provocatively - but it fits perfectly because provocation is exactly where I want to go with it. Provocating others gives dopamine and dopamine feels good. Ianthe has in almost every sentence little insultings - and I think it's because it makes talking more interesting to her. And also, it reassures her immediatly about the opinion others have of her. But! There is also another deeper reason. That reason is called vulnerability.

Vulnerability is obviously not a good choice for surviving on the Third. But I think it's especially hard for someone with heavy ADHD. Ianthe's needs have surely *not* been important on the Third. She has pain resistance level over 9000 and can believable pretend to be two necromancers with specialisation on fleshmagic (what's only her *side* discipline). Reaching that is just not possible if you regard and care for your needs. Absolutely impossible. But communicating your needs is - from my experience - especially hard if you're an ""intelectual"" with ADHD. And to understand that, we have to understand something about ADHD:

It's for some reason a hardly killable opinion that people with ADHD are less inteligent at all. That's not true. The total IQ with classical IQ tests is in fact in studies lower, but if you split it you'll see that it's because of some kind of... learning disorder. The working memory and the processing speed are lower and that makes a lower total IQ, but says nothing about the capacity of the mind with ADHD if it has time to think about things (or - from my experience - is relaxed).

And if you have a talent for something... for example - to come back to Ianthe - necromancy people tend to forget or not realise that you need time to think about things. Because... you need in some things maybe less time than them - what's only because your talent for it, your general processing speed is still lower - and so they think you need for all things the time you need for necromantic theorems. Not true.

And that has a strange sideeffect in Ianthe's case. Her talent is obviously "necromancy" and not "talking about her emotions". The generally lower processing speed of her mind (if it had ADHD) would afford time to observe her feelings and then think about what those observations could mean. But nobody - and I bet you too, dear reader - would expect that of her. So everyone would expect an answer immediately. And a true answer is impossible under that circumstances.

When an answer is expected where no answer can be given (yet) without showing a difference between usual souverenity and the need to think about it, it results in just saying anything that comes in mind. Ianthe has that heavily. The best example for it is the bathroom scene:

IANTHE! WHAT IN HELL is that for a reaction?!

This scene is a symbol to me for what I've described before. An overwhelming situation happens (Harrow is hurt and besides of that naked) and Ianthe just says... anything that makes absolutely no sense in that situation. There is literally no resonable reason why you would say that... Except if you have ADHD and say just anything, because you feel like you'd have something to say, but no idea what to say.

And besides of that when the (non neccessary sense-making or real) answer to the question is given, there's no need to think about it anymore. That's obviously not conducive for reflecting your sensations. AND GUESS WHO'S TOTALLY INCABLE OF DEALING WITH THEIR EMOTIONS? HA! HA! 3/3 points and I kiss your heart when your answer is "Ianthe".

I mean, Ianthe is really not good at... not only DEALING with her emotions but also with... recognizing them.

Ianthe... the mysterious reason why you say that is, that you like Harrow and are therefore worried about her. And you're 22 - it's somehow heartbreaking that you don't know that...

And that doesn't only show that I'm right about my point - Ianthe can't express and recognize her feelings, I say because she's never got time to think about them (and also because of: ThirdTM) - but also an other typical sign of ADHD. You say things without intending to say them? Sounds like... as if you had a lack of impulse control.

(Although I've lately wondered - ATTENTION: PRIVATE THOUGHT - if impulse control and less processing speed are not in some way kind of the same thing... Anyway.)

3. Intense Feelings

A thing most people probably wouldn't connect to ADHD are Intense Feelings also known as Emotional Dysregulation. That's - in my opinion, from my personal experience - a very ugly term to describe a very beautiful thing. I'm a very sensitive human. If I read things I like it's a whole-body-experience and I can literally not watch the "classical" type of shows because it's corporally too much. I'd actually wish others to have the same emotional capacity than me. But to come back to Ianthe:

Ianthe is - and please hear me out, it'll make sense, I promise - a very sensitive person. It's absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to speak her Love is Posession speak, without having a huge lot of sentimentalism. She cries herself to sleep every night, what is a sign that she has much pity for herself. (What's fair, I mean, she has lived through a lot of terrible things, like getting an arm cutted off or traveling through the river. Also, nobody else on the Mithraeum would have done that for her.) She is obviously fond of not to say: in love with, Harrow and her logical and immediate conclusion is to think: "OMG, I have to marry her!" (Also, she really is a drama queen in her way lol. I mean: look at her mind-stage!)

(If you'd like to know how a sensitive person as for example Ianthe can do such hard things as she does, you should maybe read my post about her repressed feelings and my post about Corona's suic⛪️de threats :))

If you are a very sensitive person, you always have to pay attention on your, let's call it, overwhelming-level. You have to control how much sensations you're exposed to, otherwise you'll be overwhelmed.

*Chrmm, chrrmmm, control, Ianthe, control, she never can loose the reins.*

Ianthe can in fact never let go her control - her protection - and that could be one reason for it.

4. Zero patience

Ianthe doesn't seem to be a person mit much patience. In fact, it seems always like a fight when Harrow tries to get her attention for something. Here an example:

Ianthe, even if you think The Walking Cytherea could be a side effect of the lobotomy you participated in - you REALLY could hear Harrow out, she seems to be worried... But... Maybe you REALLY can't...

Her patience as limited ressource appears also in the lobotomy chapter. It's a fight to hold it:

I think we can say that Ianthe really has not much patience in these regards (and her urge to be the FIRST Lyctor doesn't speak for much patience either lol - although she maybe has some patience is other regards) and can therefore count as a sign for ADHD.

5. The Villain Syndrome

Ahh, this point I was looking forward to the whole time while making this post. It is, I have to admit, mostly based on my personal experience and observations I've made recently - I have no evidence for it, besides of that it's logical. But I found it too interesting to not mention it.

ADHD is obviously not so "villian coded" in the eyes of the wide society than other neurodiversities are. But that's not exactly what I mean either. My whole post is basically about the fact that common signs of ADHD can be interpreted as being villainly in regard to Ianthe. And that's very important - they are interpreted as purposely being evil (or at least annoying.)

People with ADHD often have problems at school (and maybe at work later), they have a higher probability to get addicted to drugs, they more often do criminal things, and so on - with other words: they are often seen as "system breaker" and delinquents. Because the signs for ADHD are threated as you would do "bad things" on purpose. And you have most likely no support system to avoid that - Ianthe surely hasn't.

I recently listened to a podcast where a guy said something like "In my mind I'm always the evil one - the villain - because that's what the world told me - that I'd be the villain" and I thought it was pretty interesting because I feel the same - without an obvious reason.

And I think if you have ADHD it's not unlikely that you get the idea, that you are *the villain* - especially regarding what I said earlier. Either because people will tell you you'd be evil or because you'll tell yourself that you'd be evil. (I mean, it's surely no coincidence that there is also a connection between ADHD and OCD - what's basically just telling yourself that you'd be responsible for (what means: guilty on) everything.) I call this feel of being the villain The Villain Syndrome.

AND OH MY GOD, IANTHE HAS THE VILLAIN SYNDROME!!! She literally says it herself all the time. "Paint me as the villain", "The outnumbered, overpowered hero against the narcisstic villain"... And she obviously plays the role of the bad twin (even if she's very likely the lessbadtwin). Ianthe, you're not the villain, you have ADHD (and to stop doing things like killing your cav lol.) I genuinly think if you weren't trapped in the TLT universe there'd be hope for you...

(BY THE WAY, I'd love to hear if someone else has experience with The Villain Syndrome or finds themself in my description.)

Conclusion

To conclude: Ianthe very likely has ADHD. That is *THE BIG POINT* I wanted to make. We see it in her stupefying deficit of attention, her "bitchy behavior ;)", her intense feelings, her lack of patience und especially in her villain syndrome. I surely could find more points, but I think that's enough evidence for one post (also, it's the longest post I've ever made and I don't know if there's a word limit for posts :D) I'd LOVE to hear what you think about it, ESPECIALLY if you have ADHD yourself, and... well. Now at the end, I feel remembered of what Ianthe said in a fic I've read recently. It was something like: "I'd like to make a revolutionairy point now, but I fear I don't have one..." So I'll just say: Have a nice day my friendos :)

[andavs]

Character Drinking Preferences

I’m updating this post to include season 7, and adding in some other observations I’ve made on rewatches!

Reminder: All of this is free from paid product placement because the show doesn’t have the characters use real brands. They use real brands for set dressing, but if a character interacts with the product, it’s fake. So Maddie and Chimney had Grand Marnier and Monopolowa vodka (real brands) sitting out on a bar cart but the one bottle anyone interacted with was the fake brand of Glencallan scotch.

If any of them look familiar, a lot of prop alcohol is designed to look similar to real brands at a glance, like the beer called Cerveza Extra that looks like Corona Extra, or Bottom Shelf bourbon that looks like Jim Beam. They're similar enough to be recognizable, but with enough differences to not get in trouble if a brand doesn’t approve of how their product was used.

Because they aren’t restrained by sponsors and product placement, the show can give the characters their own drinking preferences instead of having them all drink the same brand with the clearly visible label conveniently turned towards the camera.

So I kept track of how many scenes each character drinks what. If they take a sip, if they’re holding a drink in their hand, if there’s a glass at their place at dinner, if they’re implied to be drinking that beverage, I counted it. But I wasn’t counting every individual drink, so if Buck’s at the bar and there’s multiple empty beer bottles and shot glasses in front of him, that counts as one (1) beer and (1) spirit. Champagne is grouped into the wine counts.

As of 7x10:

ATHENA Beer: 1 | Wine: 30 | Spirits: 4 | Cocktails: 4

Athena is a pretty regular drinker and was actually ahead of Buck until the end of s5. She usually drinks wine, but told Glen in Buck, Actually that she doesn’t know much about it. She often has a glass of wine with dinner or while she's relaxing in the evening, and seems to favor having one after a rough day. 

She’ll also go for something stronger, usually when she’s out at a bar. After she slapped Harry, she drank a neat whiskey at home. She’s added whiskey to her coffee twice—both times while Hen and Karen were over, never on her own.

The one time we've seen her have a beer was with Hen in Ocean's 9-1-1 while they were talking about the case.

When she’s spiraling and obsessively cleaning the entire house after realizing Hudson was in there touching their belongings, she was totally sober.

She and Bobby keep liquor in the house, but it’s out of sight in an overhead cupboard. There was a large wine rack under the kitchen counter since the pilot. She brought wine with her to Bobby’s apartment during s2.

BOBBY Beer: 0 | Wine: 0 | Spirits: 6 | Cocktails: 0 | Club Soda: 4

Obviously Bobby doesn’t drink, but when he did he tended to go for straight liquor.

In Step Nine, his father was drinking J&B scotch, which young Bobby also drank at the end of the episode. In the flashbacks in Point of Origin, he was drinking generic vodka from a bottle and a flask (there were also old beer bottles in his secret apartment). When he relapsed in Worst Day Ever, he was drinking a fake Jack Daniels. When he was struggling with relapsing in Starting Over, he was holding the prop brand of Glencallan scotch.

(It’s interesting that he chose a 35 year scotch in Starting Over, which is not cheap, when he previously drank Jack, which is about $25. I’m assuming they used it because they already had the prop bottle on hand, because Michael and Chimney have also had that exact same Glencallan scotch.)

Bobby has no problem being around alcohol or pouring wine for others. When he’s out with people who are drinking, he usually goes for club soda.

BUCK Beer: 28 | Wine: 16 | Spirits: 10 | Cocktails: 3

Buck drinks the most out of everyone by a wide margin, and he drinks pretty much anything.

He worked as a bartender, but he doesn’t seem to have much interest in alcohol beyond having a drink with other people. This makes me think he wanted to bartend for the social aspect of it, not because he particularly cares about alcohol or making cocktails.

He also doesn’t seem to care about the quality of what he drinks. Chimney’s go-to tequila is about $40-50, while Buck’s doing shots of bottom shelf tequila with Taylor and Hen, and drinking a full pint glass of watery margarita with Lucy.

The first time the Buckleys all have dinner together, Phillip has scotch and Buck has wine, but the second and third times, Buck opts for scotch with his dad. These are the only times we’ve seen him drink scotch, so I assume he did because his dad did.

The only time we’ve seen Buck drink alone was while he was depressed after the blood clot. There were a few empty beer bottles scattered around his kitchen when Eddie dragged him out of bed, and he was sitting with an empty beer bottle when Eddie and Chris came by after the tsunami.

He has a small wine rack on the kitchen counter that has a few bottles in it, and occasionally there’s a wine bottle grouped with the olive oil/other cooking bottles.

CHIMNEY Beer: 16 | Wine: 15 | Spirits: 5 | Cocktails: 0

Chimney drinks beer and wine equally, but if he’s drinking wine, it’s usually with Maddie. His go-to spirits appear to be tequila and scotch. Before Maddie moved into his apartment, he had a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label on display (about $250) and in s6 they had a bottle of (fake) Glencallan scotch on their bar cart that he drank while their parents were in town. His go-to tequila is a fake Don Julio called Señor Suertes.

When he’s hanging out, he has a beer or two. When he’s misery-drinking, he has more than two, like when Albert first showed up or when he felt responsible for Shannon’s death.

When shit’s going down that he’s not directly involved in, like when the Buckleys were coming in s4 or when Karen thought Hen was cheating again, he goes for tequila.

But when things were really wrong, when Maddie first left and he was falling apart trying to figure out what happened to her, there was no evidence of him drinking at all. The entire apartment was covered in baby stuff. We only saw him drink again when he was with Eli and he knew Jee was being cared for.

In mid-s6 he and Maddie had a bar cart in the living/dining room of their house, but by the end of s6 it was replaced with Jee’s toys.

EDDIE Beer: 20 | Wine: 5 | Spirits: 3 | Cocktails: 1

Eddie generally sticks to beer, and so far, he’s the only main character who drinks the brand Rio Negro. His drink total isn’t the lowest (Maddie’s four behind him after not drinking for s4 and most of s5), but I think he drinks the least out of everyone who does drink. 

We’ve seen him drink wine a few times, but only red. The only white wine he’s had has been champagne with the group. He had a cognac or brandy at dinner with Shannon and a margarita on his date with Vanessa. He did shots during the bachelor party. But when he’s most comfortable and relaxed, having a drink with Buck or the team, he’s drinking beer.

We don’t see him drinking after a rough day unless he’s talking things through with Buck over a beer. The bachelor party is the only time we’ve seen him drink more than two beers in a night, let alone get drunk.

We’ve only seen him drink beer or wine at home and if he keeps anything stronger in the house, it’s kept out of sight. There was no visible alcohol kept in his house in Texas either.

HEN Beer: 10 | Wine: 16 | Spirits: 2 | Cocktails: 3

Hen is mostly seen drinking beer or wine. She drinks beer when she’s out at a bar or at Chimney’s, and usually wine when she’s at home or at Athena’s. She and Athena drank beer during their chats one time, after the bank heist, but otherwise it’s always wine. She can be swayed into drinking something stronger, like doing shots of tequila with Buck.

When she’s struggling with something, talking through a rough day, or a bad call with Karen, they’re usually drinking tea. Outside of wine chats with Athena, she rarely seems to drink alcohol when she’s upset.

Hen and Karen have a very full wine rack in their kitchen and they always serve it when they’re hosting a dinner. If anyone in the show goes to wine tastings, it would be them.

MADDIE Beer: 2 | Wine: 23 | Spirits: 0 | Cocktails: 0

Maddie almost exclusively drinks wine.

She first drinks a beer after dispatch was taken hostage, when both Chimney and Buck are also having beer (but Josh is having wine), and she has another beer at May’s graduation party.

She stops drinking with her pregnancy in s4 and doesn’t appear to drink at all during her struggle with PPD. It isn’t until the last episode of s5, when she’s feeling better and goes back to work, that she has a glass of wine with Buck on his balcony. She was back to drinking wine regularly in s6. 

(Her drink total is the lowest, just a few behind Eddie, but only because she didn’t drink for two full seasons. Without those specific circumstances, she normally drinks more than he does.)

In Buck’s coma dream where she’s still with Doug, every adult at the table has a glass of wine except her (and their father, who has a glass of scotch). It’s iffy since it’s in Buck’s head, but it could be based on her real behavior and she didn’t really drink during their marriage. 

In their house, she and Chimney have a small, full wine rack on the counter that includes a few bottles of champagne.

[madamepestilence]

H5N1: What to know before fear spreads

What is H5N1?

H5N1 is a 1996 strain of the Spanish or Avian Flu first detected in Chinese birds before spreading globally across various avian species. H5N1 is similar to H1N1, but spreads slower and has a much higher mortality rate.

H5N1 may also be referred to as Influenza A. The American Association of Bovine Practitioners has seen fit to rename H5N1 to Bovine Influenza A Virus, or BIAV, and are encouraging others to use the same terminology.

I would not be surprised if the colloquial name among the public becomes Bovine Flu or American Flu in the coming months, and may be referred to as the Chinese Flu by the same folks who took the spark of the SARS-CoV-2 (COVID-19) pandemic as an excuse to be publicly racist to East Asian people without social repercussions.

BIAV is a virus, meaning that it is a (probably) non-living packet of self-replicating infectious material with a high rate of mutation. BIAV is structured similarly to SARS-CoV-2, having a packet of infectious material encased in a spherical shell with a corona, or crown, of proteins that can latch to living cells to inject RNA.

Image source with interactive model: ViralZone - H5N1 subtype

What is the history of BIAV?

In 1996 and 1997, an outbreak of BIAV occurred among poultry and infected 18 people in Hong Kong, 6 of which died. This seemingly isolated incident then infected ~860 people with a >50% death rate.

At the time, BIAV was known as Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza, or HPAI, and killed nearly 100% of chickens within a 48 hour period.

From 2003 to 2005, continual outbreaks occurred in China and other East Asian countries, before spreading to Cambodia, the Netherlands, Thailand, and Vietnam.

From 2014 to 2016, it began being detected in American fowl, as well as mutating the H5N6 (lethal in birds, no human to human transmission) and H5N8 (largely spread through turkeys, ducks had immunity) viruses.

BIAV has since evolved into a clade known as 2.3.4.4b, and was first detected in 2021 in wild American birds. This then caused outbreaks in 2022 among wild and domesticated birds (such as chickens) alike, but was largely being overshadowed by the pressing SARS-CoV-2 pandemic at the time.

From 2022 to 2023, it was observed to be spreading among various mammals, including humans. Now, in 2024, we're having the most concerning rapid outbreak of BIAV since 2003.

BIAV is known to spread from mammal to mammal, particularly between cows and humans. BIAV may also be spread from cow to cow (highly likely, but not confirmed - this is likely the reason the virus has spread to Idaho from Texan cattle), and is known to be lethal to domestic cats and birds within 48 hours.

How does BIAV spread?

BIAV spreads through fomites - direct contact with infected animals or infected surfaces and then touching parts of your face or other orifices - as well as through airborne particulates, which may be inhaled and enter the sinuses and lungs.

BIAV is known to spread through:

Asymptomatic Ducks, geese, swans, various shorebirds

Symptomatic, may be lethal Foxes, bears, seals, sea lions, polar bears, domestic cats, dogs, minks, goats, cows, (potentially human to human, but unconfirmed - there have only been 8 potential human to human cases in 2024).

How can I protect against BIAV?

As BIAV is a type of Influenza A, existing protocols should do fine.

Current recommendations are to wash your hands vigorously after interacting with birds (I would also recommend doing this with mammals), avoid touching your face or other open orifices, and wear N95 masks.

Avoid sick or dead animals entirely - I would also recommend reporting them to your local Animal Control or veterinary centre and warning them about the infection risk. People who work with animals are recommended to also wear full PPE such as N95 masks, eye protection, gloves, and partake in vigorous hand washing.

If you suspect you've caught BIAV, seek medical attention immediately. Existing medications such as oseltamivir phosphate, zanamivir, peramivir, and baloxavir marboxil can reduce BIAV's ability to replicate.

Standard flu shots will not protect against BIAV. Remember - symptoms of BIAV may not manifest for between 2 to 8 days, and potentially infected people should be monitored for at least 10 days.

How far has BIAV spread?

BIAV is currently a global virus, though the current infection location of note is the United States.

Image Key: Dark red - Countries with humans, poultry and wild birds killed by H5N1 Deep red - Countries with poultry or wild birds killed by H5N1 and has reported human cases of H5N1 Light red - Countries with poultry or wild birds killed by H5N1

Image source: Wikipedia - Influenza A virus subtype H5N1 - File: Global spread of H5N1 map

Image source: Metro.co.uk - Map shows where bird flu is spreading in US amid new warning - File: The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s H5N1 bird flu detections map across the United States

Should I be afraid?

You needn't be afraid, just prepared. BIAV has a concerningly high lethality, but this ironically culls its spread somewhat.

In the event human to human transmission of BIAV is confirmed, this will likely mainly affect marginalized communities, poor people, and homeless people, who are likely to have less access to medical care, and a higher likelihood of working in jobs that require frequent close human contact, such as fast food or retail jobs.

Given the response to SARS-CoV-2, corporations - and probably the government - may shove a proper response under the rug and refuse to participate in a full quarantine, which may leave people forced to go to work in dangerous conditions.

If this does spread into an epidemic or pandemic, given our extensive knowledge about Influenza, and the US having a backup vaccine for a prior strain of H5N1, a vaccine should be able to be developed relatively quickly and would hopefully be deployed freely without charge - we won't have to worry about a situation like The Stand.

Wash your hands, keep clean, avoid large social gatherings where possible, wear an N95 mask if you can afford them (Remember: Cloth masks are the least protective, but are better than nothing. If you can't afford N95 masks, I recommend wearing a well-fitted cloth mask with a disposable face mask over it to prevent pneumonia from moisture buildup in the disposable mask), support the disabled, poor, and homeless, and stay educated.

We can do better this time.

Further things to check out:

YouTube: MedCram - H5N1 Cattle Outbreak: Background and Currently Known Facts (ft. Roger Seheult, M.D.)

Wikipedia - Influenza A virus subtype H5N1

Maine.gov - Avian Influenza and People

CDC.gov - Technical Report: Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza A(H5N1) Viruses

Wikipedia - H5N1 genetic structure

realagriculture - Influenza infection in cattle gets new name: Bovine Influenza A Virus (BIAV)

[ask-thearchivists]

how could you gloss over that? I wanna see that interesting I wanna here more about the different family’s!!

The Compelor: Hmph, well, it is no fun being cryptic when you already know what I am being cryptic about.

The Compelor: We belong to the Moon Family, which you can tell by our Phases. Our hair is typically white, but sometimes red, and most rarely blue, like once in a blue moon, eh heh heh. Our freckles correspond to either craters on a moon or stars in a sky, depending on which part of the marking they reside. We are mid-range in height.

The Compelor: Sun Family Collectors tend to be the largest of us all, and their bodies are covered in freckles, which they call "sun spots". Moons have a singular curved lines for our body spots, but Suns have multiple bumps along the edge, like a fluffy cloud. Their hair tends to be wild and large, like the corona of a star.

The Compelor: It has been so long since I was told about them, so the details are fuzzy, but I believe the Planet Family are the second largest of us on average. Their body spots are more frequent in occurrence, and can even cover half of their bodies, and the edges have a clean curve like ours do, but with multiple stripes of them, usually two or three. They also always have physical rings as part of their bodies, which are suspended around their head, neck, waist, or hips. It is never around a single arm or leg because it is tied to a center of gravity.

The Compelor: Comet Family Collectors are the second smallest, and are usually more thin, with tails, and long hair that they never cut. They were the fastest fliers. Their body spots have a point on them, and they have comet markings on their faces. Father always spoke of them with contempt, but he never said why.

The Compelor: And finally there is the Star Family, who were consistently the smallest. Their body spots have five points, and they have a star or two on their face. Like Moons, their skin has a representation of their Family, and a representation of space or the night sky, though in their case, it looks more like Charmer. Mostly void, partially stars. They also have freckles, solely representing stars in this case.

[liesmyth]

Blood cancer, necromancy and physical ailments

This started as a reflection on the evergreen “but could John have healed Cytherea’s cancer?” and then it went off… somewhere else, namely necromancers being physically frail and what it means for the worldbuilding and thematically. Bear with me etc.

what do we know about the nature of Cytherea’s cancer?

Very little! We know it runs in the necromantic line of the Seventh, but we don’t actually know how house heirship is passed, so we don’t know if it only affects one / a few family lines or most of the House. Cytherea-as-Dulcie says that her family “wanted her to keep the genes going,” implying that the illness was rare outside her immediate family, but Dulcinea doesn’t seem to have been under the same pressure, from what little we know.

Another guess is that the Seventh hereditary cancer is tied to necromancy in some way, as it seems to only manifest in descendants who also exhibit necromantic attitude. If that’s the case, then it’s likely it is a strain of leukemia that manifested post-resurrection and didn’t exist before (like necromantic ability) and like necromancy, it can’t be studied properly – because the understanding of the illness barely evolved from Cytherea’s time to Dulcie.

[FOUR more bullet points under the cut]

why I don’t think John lied about not being able to heal Cytherea

A variety of reasons. The obvious one is that it would be pointless not to heal her, if he could. The Lyctors dismiss the theory that cancer makes a necromancer stronger (“Seventh House woo-woo,” cit. Augustine) and so does Palamedes, who studied it for years. I'm going to assume they're right. Then there are no benefits to John in keeping Cytherea ill, except watching her suffer, and this is deeply at odds with John’s entire shtick in which they’re all a happy family and he makes a point to personally serve everyone at dinner because he’s just some guy. John likes to think of himself as the good guy, even when he's being actively terrible, and there’s no way to spin ‘let someone live with cancer for millennia’ in a way that makes you look good to yourself.

Additionally: if he had lied, then it would have been with the knowledge that it would backfire horribly if it ever came out he had, and completely shatter for good the happy family act. Conversely, the Lyctors have had ten thousand years to consider their long list of grievances against John, and they all studied Cytherea's cancer to figure out how to help her when she joined them (per HtN) but don’t even seem to consider the possibility that John refused to help when he could have. Mercy, the ultimate anatomy savant, is so pissed off at John that she’s ready to kill him — I think if she had even vague suspicions it would have come out in that confrontation. The only reason it didn't, IMO, is because she knew how the illness worked better than we readers do and had reasons to confirm John's claims herself.

if John wasn’t able to heal Cytherea. Why? he’s God, etc

This is where I take a step back and look at the broader picture. Necromancers are frail. They are physically slight, have low endurance, and are physically weak. Judith is a decorated officer but she runs a 10 minutes km (a fast-paced walk) and Ianthe can barely hold up her arms to do her hair (probably an exaggeration by Corona, but not by much). These are also people who could kill someone at a distance with only moderate effort, but can’t turn that power inward to give their own bodies a boost. The same goes for the various reproductive issues we hear of in the series – Harrow’s parents, of course, but also Abigail and Magnus being unable to conceive even with all the resources of the Fifth.

It seems that necromancy can be turned against others – manipulating their bodies – with a lot more ease than it can be used to fix necromancers’ bodies, which have some level of ‘flawed by design’, probably related to the way their bodies process thanergy. There's no juicing up Judith’s lungs to make her run faster, and necromancy doesn’t make Abigail and Magnus's genes compatible for reproduction. IF the Seventh House cancer is tied to necromancy in some way, it seems plausible that it can’t be “suppressed” from the organism of a necromancer, because it’s just another facet of their abilities.

(That said, it all hinges on that big IF! My theory that it would make very little sense for John not to heal Cytherea if it was within his abilities IMO holds whether the cancer is tied to her power or not, but if it’s the second one then I can’t begin to guess why.)

the #THEME of it all

Look. I just think that “some things can't be fixed by necromancy if they are rooted in it” is pretty plausible as a worldbuilding detail (setting the limits of a magical system) and also it really resonates as a doylistic writing choice. Magic has a price, and so on. I just think it’s neat!

(And, again, I think it makes more sense as a framing for the characters’ actions, from how John likes to play the good guy to how Cytherea probably has some amount of control over the tumors in her body, post Lyctorhood, just as Lyctors have detailed control over every other cells in their organisms. There’s something about the way she decided to go on for millenia, “mostly cancer and a little bit woman” as a funeral monument to her lost humanity. I’m not eloquent enough to put it into words but I’m gonna link to these tags by @thewinterstale on this OP by @theriverbeyond. Big thoughts, big brains etc.)

IF cancer doesn’t make someone stronger, why do people think it does?

We know “thanergy boost at the moment of death” is a real thing. It is a leap that slowly dying for years = more power during your lifetime, but it’s not an unreasonable conclusion. What is odd is that we have multiple informed accounts that it doesn’t (Augustine, Palamedes) but the idea keeps being perpetuated.

(Ianthe seems to believe that it does, but fwiw this is not Ianthe’s area of study and I find it plausible that she’s just repeating something she has been told which, again, makes sense superficially)

Anyway. Cytherea knower @thewinterstale​ has suggested that maybe Cytherea herself is the reason why the Seventh House, to the present day, believes that cancer = power. She was incredibly talented despite the illness, so much that the Emperor summoned her specifically as the last disciple in his super-exclusive circle. And that was the last the Seventh House saw of her.

If the memory of Cytherea that lives on was that of an incredibly powerful necromancer, the miracle at Rhodes, cancer-ridden and so powerful… that’s enough fuel for a dangerous myth. Maybe, through the millennia, all the Seventh House hoped to achieve was to produce another Cytherea – suffering and all

[ossifer]

since we're all feeling the lack of alecto news as of late, i'm gonna release my most controversial tlt take yet

ianthe isn't absolutely alabaster white

tamsyn's post about how she conceived of each character looking—"Skin colour defined heavily in Corona’s case as golden/olive-hued brown/tanned; Ianthe similar, but less radiant/more pallid whatever the case"

chapter 4 of harrow the ninth—"The mother-of-pearl made Ianthe’s hair a lurid yellow and threw up all the mustard tints of her skin"

[sssapplebottomjeans]

okay okay okay one thing I just absolutely love about the relationship between rapunzel and varian and what the show did with them in general is just how perfectly they were set up as mirrors of each other. varian is corrupted rapunzel. rapunzel is what varian could have been

Literally starting from their births, okay, Rapunzel? Born into the royal family, she’s the Princess of Corona, the one and only direct heir to the throne. A day after her birth, she gets stolen from her family, from her kingdom and completely isolated from the world for eighteen years. She’s taught that the world is dangerous, but even in her isolation and loneliness, she finds something that keeps her happy, which for Rapunzel is her art. And she’s good at it, she paints on her walls and nothing bad comes out of it, they’re her freedom when she herself has none.

Then you have Varian. He’s the son of someone who worked in a Brotherhood, someone who was in a close alliance with the king of the Dark Kingdom. Before he was born, his dad left the Dark Kingdom and started a new life in Corona, now with a newborn son. Varian grows up to be a little bit of a teenage hermit. Instead of being taught that the world is dangerous, he’s taught that he is dangerous, the first rumors Cassandra hearing about him is that he is a 'dangerous wizard', which, when we first meet Varian for real, we find out that he doesn't even like being associated with magic. And his biggest hobby is the same thing that makes him an outcast in the first place, his alchemy. His inventions and experiments never work the way they should, but they’re what he thinks is his way out, he’s going to help people with this.

So, comparing that, I do believe that Varian is a sort of mirror to Rapunzel. Both placed in similar positions (albiet Rapunzel's more extreme) with similar choices, but with different outcomes and reactions. Rapunzel’s a direct heir to the throne, Varian’s not an heir to anything but he comes from a line of people that worked for the king. Rapunzel was stolen from her kingdom, Varian was born into this new kingdom, his dad was the one that left. Rapunzel was forced into isolation against her will; Varian chose it and continues to choose it in pursuit of something better. The world is dangerous to Rapunzel, Varian is dangerous to himself and the people he cares about the most. Rapunzel is happy because of her art and it’s her freedom. Varian is happy with his alchemy yet it’s why he’s an outcast. They’re mirror images of each other, and I think Varian figured that out first.

Even their personalities are similar in that they’re both hopeful, excitable, energetic, they talk a lot, they want to please their parental figure(s), they want to change the world but there’s limits set in stone that keep them from achieving that, they’re stubborn as fuck, impulsive and don’t listen to what people say unless it’s someone they really value the opinion of.

She still has a family, he doesn’t. (The sad thing is, I don't think he realizes that Rapunzel has already lost Gothel, and for eighteen years, Gothel was her 'mother') She’s respected, he’s not. And he gets that “oh. If she’s just like me but *better*, then I know how to make her tick.” So he tries to trap her mom in the amber, he’s going into this fully intending on murdering her mom in the same way his dad died just in case her hair doesn't work, (keeping in mind that Varian has confidence which ultimately led to his downfall, so whether he was completely sure Rapunzel's hair would work or not would make a big difference) which in that case- then the roles are completely flipped for a second. Now Rapunzel is the less extreme of the two. Rapunzel indirectly left Varian’s father to die, Varian pours the amber on her mom himself. And then he says it himself, “Sorry, Princess! We were in this together, but if I can’t have a happy ending then neither can you.” “It’s not enough until you endure the same amount of pain and agony I have!”

It’s all about corrupting this version of himself that has what he wants, the family that will always support her, (which we know is wrong. Fred and Ariana don’t justify everything she does, and Fred especially has made decisions about Rapunzel that really are just questionable at the best of times) the kingdom that will respect her. It’s trying to bring her down to his level, so maybe she’ll finally understand, cuz a lot of his conflict up until this point has been that nobody really listens to him, his dad, Rapunzel, or the kingdom.

I'm getting more into headcanon territory here but I would make an argument that Rapunzel realized how similar they were only when they were face to face in the final battle of SOTSD, and i would also argue that when she drives the last spike in his automaton, that's it's also a promise to herself that she will never become like how he was then, angry and bitter and jaded, an attack that's also destroying that small part of herself... also thinking that her destroying the automaton and not hurting Varian was part of that promise. Cuz she never really hated him. And even if she did, that promise to herself would've also been, "to be merciful, to not hold onto anger and grief, and give those who act out of pain and desperation another chance."

...aka the exact opposite of what Varian did.

Butttt that's diving into headcanons, plus. i'm sleep deprived atm and really don't feel like editing it SKDJGHJDG

The show already makes so many parallels between them and i think one of my favorites is the dream sequence in The Quest for Varian

It just…. So many feels. IMAGINE IF THEY HAD DONE MOON VARIAN, PLS SUN MOON LIGHT DARK HOPE GRIEF