#Gale is mad because they both refuse to play with him

[linmandoade]

had this one in mind since that act 2 scene where you can help Mol win against Raphael, (being a rogue, Mal cheated ofc) but then Astarion approves of it. so like mhm, what if he does know how to play chess? so here we go.

[lesbianralzarek]

mtg standard decks i think the bg3 origins would play

astarion: monored aggro, but tbh i dont think hed even like it. he heard someone say its easy to pilot, and thats all Mr. Not Really The Planning Type needed to hear. bored and barely pays attention when hes playing. outside of the pun, i think orzhov bats would be a perfect fit for him, and make him feel smarter even if hes not the best at it

gale: keeps making combo decks and getting bored with them after a handful of wins prove to him that the concept works. still trying to break 2-mana jace. unwinds with azorius control and gets defensive when people call it winconless, because technically he has manlands and sunfall tokens. wants to think that his opponents are also having fun, but why tf would they be?

wyll: oh he had fun at the bloomburrow prerelease. still hasnt given up on frogs yet because he likes helga for both lore reasons (he loves an underdog! she just has to believe in herself!) and because hes a massive timmy who loves big creatures. totally isnt mad when his opponent efficiently removes 3 of his vaultborn tyrants in one game. why would he be mad? its just a game. he takes a smoke break after the match for completely unrelated reasons

karlach: hasnt played in years, so she had to rebuild her entire collection for standard (mostly plays edh for that reason. her fav is her rin and seri deck with mostly older cards in the 99 that she refuses to acknowledge are bad in 2024). plays the greediest lizard deck youve ever seen because shes also a timmy. i think shed like boomer jund if any of her friends (other than gale) played modern

lae'zel: prowess and she fucking loves it. "gruul is brain dead"? not the way she pilots that shit. she runs her deck like the navy. takes forever psychoanalyzing her opponent and thinking 4 turns ahead. cant play edh because she thinks the social contract is dumb. why doesnt everyone try to win? winning is fun? fight her like you mean it. genuinely a good sport when she loses so long as it was a good fight

shadowheart: looks like somebody misses the 8 rack. 4 cut downs, 4 go for the throats, 4 deep cavern bats, 4 bandits talents, my god she wishes thoughtseize was standard legal but liliana keeps her bloodthirst sated. gets mad when she loses to zoo decks but deep down its 70% jealousy. feels a weird sense of loyalty and duty to stick with monoblack, but shed convert to naya in 3 seconds if she ever tried it

[heavensbeehall]

"Catching Fire", Chapter 19

Part 3: The Enemy

Chapter 19: Let the 75th Hunger Games Begin! Katniss swims to the Cornucopia and gets there first, but is joined by Finnick who has Haymitch's Effie!bangle and says they are allies. They retrieve Peeta and Mags before heading into the jungle as what I consider to be an adorable foursome. Katniss, however, is uneasy with this alliance. Particularly the Finnick part of it. But then Peeta hits a forcefield with his knife, and his heart stops.

Thoughts:

-- At this moment, many of the tributes are going in here with the intention of sacrificing themself, not of surviving. Yet six people will survive these Games, topping last year's record of two which is somewhat good. But I can't help thinking that more should be able to make it since these games only go for three days (spoilers?). We know now that the 10th Games lasted five days. Before that they were over quickly but it's most likely this last Hunger Games was both the shortest of the Snow era, and the last.

-- I have seen people wondering why District 1, 2, 5, 9 and 10 (particularly 1 since Cashmere is mentioned as being trafficked as Finnick was) were not included in the Alliance. Honestly I think that having 12 victors (3,4,6,7,8 and 11) with "varying" knowledge of the plan is already a lot of people and I'm surprised a Totalitarian Dictatorship didn't catch on. At the very least, that's a lot of conversations that could've been overheard. I also wonder, in the particular case of D1, if the fact that they were siblings meant either would've happily reported on the Rebels to save their sibling.

Heroes of the Rebellion! The following Victors were known to be part of the rebel alliance: Unnamed District 6 male Tribute (Morphling), Woof, Cecelia, and Seeder. (please play respectuful music for them in your own head.)

Quotes:

I can't think straight. The image of Cinna, beaten and bloody, consumes me. Where is he now? What are they doing to him? Torturing him? Killing him? Turning him into an Avox? Obviously his assault was staged to unhinge me, the same way Darius's presence in my quarters was. And it has unhinged me. All I want to do is collapse on my metal plate. But I can hardly do that after what I just witnessed. I must be strong. I owe it to Cinna, who risked everything by undermining President Snow and turning my bridal silk into mockingjay plumage. And I owe it to the rebels who, emboldened by Cinna's example, might be fighting to bring down the Capitol at this moment.

I think it's worth noting how Snow uses all the people, including Darius and Cinna, as pawns in the Game. (The whole world is an arena, afterall.) Both of these men will die off the page, with few short lines given to their ends. Darius will again be used as a pawn in an attempt to unhinge Peeta. While Cinna is said to have died while being tortured because he refused to give answers to his captors.

Someone asked me "what did Cinna give to the rebellion?" when I was mad about Gale not wanting Cinna's gloves. That kind of unhinged me, if you haven't noticed by my harping on him. He gave his life, obviously. And his talents. And while his early life was probably much easier than any district kid, I don't think that it's fair to say he had a platform because of the Capitol. He had a platform because of his abilities. It doesn't seem like all Capitol citizens get to be on TV. He had more access, I concede. I don't think that makes his sacrifice lesser though.

Anyway did you guys know Francis Lawrence considered having Lenny Kravitz being executed in the montage of executions in Mockingjay Part 1? ("The concept for the scene was that President Snow's speech would have been delivered during a series of grim executions that were broadcast live, with Cinna's execution being carried out last along with a specific message to Katniss." here)

I'm going to have to cut for length and I've only gotten through the first two paragraphs of this chapter.

[wellfell]

 dried tears starting to feel irritating under her reddened eyes , the left one already starting to sting despite akina openly ignoring it . contrasted gaze fixed upon his movements — for a moment imagining all the things he'd do to her if he wasn't . . . astarion . if he wasn't astarion who somehow managed to build himself a little house of lofty dreams in his mind , called it akina , astarion who had somehow fallen into her web when she's been nothing but off-putting and aggressive with him . never thought that'd catch his attention , actually she had thought about ending her clever plan at some point because he was way too far away from her reach ; an elf , high elf , who twitched his nose in disgust when she and karlach shared glasses and spoons . that's what friends do but astarion didn't even have friends – akina wasn't expecting him to bend to her will so quickly because she's simply out of his league . there are the prettiest elf maidens out there writhing for his attention and here he is , awkwardly sitting her down in his fancy , secretive tent to hand her a music box .

 she can already feel the longing that'll squeeze her chest for this exact moment when it ends , knows how she'll miss it and astarion . the scent of something like freshly picked orange , the soft cushion under her and the tune that plays in the music box . akina holds it like it's her treasure , strokes the lid like it's astarion's flesh , & smiles like she's on the altar . house of lofty dreams , promises of impossibilities . her brows flick up slightly in a tender surprised with some beats of the gentle music , a few minutes ago she was actually thinking that he'll bash it against her head and go out and tell gale she did it herself . because she's angry and mad , not even sure how many people would refuse to believe him if he did . is this elven music ? the design seems like it , when it stops she wants to play it again . perhaps that wouldn't be the wisest thing to do when he sits there and looks at her like a kicked puppy – did she kick him ? heavens , she didn't . ❛ . . . i don't have anything valuable to loot or give to a wizard . ❜  she tries to joke her way out of this . this sadness suits astarion , his heart breaking in his chest and yet , he's as gentle as ever .

 ❛ i probably have twenty something years to live , then i’ll be gone . my soul is like a seed under soil , it's not going to grow much . ❜  she laughs a little . you shouldn't count on me that much . with a small smile , she closes the lid , and places it back on the pillow . akina mori , the kozakuran human with twenty something years left for her , shouldn't take this gift . perhaps let someone else have it , someone who will match his years and wisdom , someone who knows love is far more greater than all these mind games and even death itself . so she leaves the box on the pillow and gets on her feet to look around , hands behind herself , going about the things in his tent like she didn't reveal what she wanted to do to him . ❛ i guess that means we had change of plans . . . hah . no horses , no carriages , no coffins . maybe we can find something for your sunlight problem . there are hundreds of spells and runes out there – ❜  she stops to kneel down against his long coat and take it to her lap to examine . it's beautiful , vibrant . ❛ i’m sure i can find something . there are other ways of going around the nature than some parasite in your brain . . . hey . can you wear this for me ? ❜  the last part comes out so suddenly , she holds out the coat with both hands , toward him , with a big grin .

their arms around each other felt like a grim ceremony that neither truly wanted any part of. her readiness to hurtle towards wrong conclusions sent the vilest crawl over his skin, too, but he made no effort to correct her.  he shouldered her silent sobs, resisted stroking her hair;  took her smaller hands when she was ready;  looked into her wet eyes and thought, ‘til death. astarion’s tent is his sanctuary, the one place that’s just for him in this entire camp or, frankly, the world.  he’s conflicted about her presence, dreads her absence, but they require privacy tonight and she unfortunately remembered what he said earlier. he invites her to stay awhile, ignoring the rowdy others and ducking in first;  sparks a lantern for a warm, hospitable touch and then secures the flap shut once she’s come fully inside, situated herself.

akina’s last visit was some time ago and the floor was all dirt and wooden stretcher then, a mere few pillows to share between them.  nigh every inch is cushioned now, comfortable;  no simplistic endeavour in such a setting, so his grasp had to remain ever-sticky for any plush or pretty thing to appear before him.  he’s achieved a level of improvised decadence that makes him happy enough and the space is cozy, redder than ever, bruised with occasional maroon and purple accents.  one unchanged aspect is the air, hints of citrus, cedar from the posts keeping the canvas upright, a dab of brandy.  he always keeps some around ...  on a typical night—as in, seven or more ago—he’d simply kick down to his lesser layers, offer up some of that brandy.  this night, he sits there across from her, fully dressed in his doublet, chausses, and boots, glancing around like he hasn’t been sufficiently acquainted with his own place. lap butterflied and spine strait, palms curved over his knees, he’s unsure how to carry on from where things were left.

he meant to fuck with her pretty head, be nasty, make it a long, terrible night.  have his just bout of passive-aggression, perhaps wind things down with a glorious hate-shag if she was keen, but instead of stoking his flames, she doused them with tears. all he could do was hold her, wait for her, wish he actually hated her.   “tell me, darling.”   hushed; ever the lover, seeking her gaze with solemn sincerity.   “if i’d been the one plotting against you this entire time, how would you have dealt with me?  be honest.  you’d not have been sweet, right?”   he grabs that stupid, sentimental gift he’s been harbouring for her in a lonely corner.  a circular duskwood music box covered in elven vine motifs.  if wound, it’d play a wistful tune.  astarion does not wind the thing.  he holds it up to the light, envisioning:   “you’d have taken something like this, rammed it into the back of my skull a few dozen times.”   in contrast to his hypothesis, he rotates the box rather gently between the ends of his fingers, sardonic quirk to his lips.   “but, here.”   his opposite hand plucks it from his palm and places it onto a cushion beside her, hollow lid revealing a complicated silver mechanism within.   “do whatever pleases you.”

[katnissmellarkkk]

Andddd here’s my chappy three thoughts 🥳🥳🥳

Hmmm Katniss saying that her mother has a dress made of velvet is actually really interesting because it shows that Mrs. Everdeen Lily-Rose really was well-er off before she married Katniss’ father Hunter.

Or did she get the velvet dress from Maysilee? Oh well, who knows.

Aww, Katniss’ nervous habit of touching soft things repeatedly to soothe herself 🤧🤧.

“Crying is not an option. There will be more cameras at the train station.” — someone tell that to Peeta 🤣🤣🤣.

Okay I gotta stop picking on Primmers, I know but like. How small is she that she sits on Katniss’ lap like a toddler but then in the following year is the same height as her? Doesn’t matter I know but still I wonder.

Okay so Mrs. E is the doctor for the people of the Seam? Idk I never thought about this but who does people like Peeta or Madge or Delly go to if they’re sick or hurt? Is there a still running apothecary shop that Katniss never mentions? Are her grandparents still running the family biz?

Also okay, I gotta stop having so many thoughts on all the lil details I know but like. Katniss says here she’s familiar with the herbs her mother doesn’t grow on her own so like a). Katniss is more of a healer than she leads on because no average person knows what kind of plant is medicinal and b). Her mother is just growing herbs and Katniss never mentions it again in the whole series? Or I just missed it.

Okay imma move on from this one singular paragraph but Gale and her made a pact a year ago that they’ll supply each other’s family with game if they were to be reaped... I’m feeling like their close friendship is probably only one year old then? Idk. Just my interpretation.

Honestly I love Katniss getting mad at her mom here.

She’s sixteen, for God’s sake, of course she’s angry at what her mother’s illness put her through.

Also I lowkey like that her mother got mad back because that lady in the movies had zero personality.

“Boys who are two to three times my size.” She sounds so little, omg 🥺🥺🥺.

“I don’t care if we’re rich, I just really want you to come home” 🤧🤧🤧😩😩😩😩 okay Primmers, you got me here.

“the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we're all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is ‘I love you. I love you both.’ And they're saying it back...” this is so sad leave me be 😫😫😫😫

Katniss is burying her face in a pillow to block out her emotions this is too much for me 🥵🥵🥵

Omg I forgot Peeta’s father visits Katniss 😅

Why does he visit Katniss?

She describes Peeta’s father as a “big, broad-shouldered man.” And then describes Peeta as stocky. Idk the comparison of the two descriptions has always led me to think Peeta is gonna be a big dude when he grows up like his father. This made no sense and had zero correlation but I thought, so I said it, no regrets

Oh he brought her cookies 🤧

WAIT WAIT WAIT. I just had a new thought, y’all. What if instead of the baker bringing cookies being a thing he does for all tributes, what if he’s bringing the cookies because Peeta asked him to, because he made them and wants to give them to Katniss and knows she’ll never accept / trust them coming from her competition? What if that’s the real reason the baker visited her in the first place? Because Peeta asked him to? This was such a shipper comment but idc, no regrets, remember?

Omg Peeta’s father is just mute 🤣🤣🤣

Between an abusive, angry mother and a mute for a father, the Mellark brothers must have had a fairytale of a childhood 😅😅😅😅.

But seriously #PoorPeetaMyBaby

Aww Peeta’s father is gonna help keep Prim alive 😭

Omg I just remembered he’s her mother’s ex boyfriend. Haidon Mellark, as I named him in my fics.

That one fic where he was thought to be Prim’s real father is just playing now in my head, rent free.

But does Katniss not realize that he may be offering to help Prim as a favor to her? Like she claims Prim is just so wonderful people adore her but there’s like zero evidence in the text that make her endearing? Okay I need to turn this bus around, I need to find a love for Primmy Deen.

Madge is not one for preamble apparently. No “hi, how are you? I’m sorry you’re gonna die? What will your last meal be?” Just right to “here, wear this family heirloom of mine, k thanks.”

I like that Madge had to kiss her cheek for Katniss to realize they were friends 😅😅😅.

I remember always loving her and Gale’s hug here. I’ve always felt like it was platonic, but especially when I first read the books and had zero preference one way or another for Gale or Peeta, I really liked how she said even with nothing romantic between them, “when he opens his arms, I don’t hesitate to go to him” or something I’m paraphrasing ok I’m lazy

Also though, this is the first time they’ve ever hugged? Idk why that surprises me? It shouldn’t because where is a hug gonna fit into a hunting trip 😅🤣😂 “I just caught a deer!” “let’s celebrate with a hug!”

I like that Katniss remembers how her father even failed to make a good bow sometimes. Random, I know.

I like that the Capitol weren’t entertained by the people freezing to deaths because it wasn’t bloody enough 🤭🙃

“How different can it be [to kill a human vs an animal]?” She’s about to find out, Gale 🥺. And when she comes back you won’t understand 🙄😔

What did Gale want to say before the Peacekeepers dragged him away?

I used to think it was a confession of love but I’m actually sure it wasn’t now? Just the wording “remember I-“ doesn’t sound like it, considering he never confessed anything prior to her coming home.

I’m assuming now he was just gonna give her some more advice to stay alive 🤷🏼‍♀️. Clearly if it were relevant it would have made its way to the others books.

Aww, she’s never been inside a car before 😭😭. I didn’t even know they had cars in this universe but okay.

I notice though how she says “In the Seam, we travel on foot.” So is Peeta just riding his trolly down the street every day with the other merchants then? 🤣

Peeta just openly crying on camera 😅😢.

I like how Katniss is like “ooo is this an act to get sponsors?” when in reality Peeta’s like “no, I’m just a soft and genuine boy ™️”

Omg I just realized this totally goes along with Peeta’s thing later on “I want to die as myself”

He’s refusing to hold back his emotions because he thinks he’s doomed to die and he’s already refusing to pretend to be or feel something ingenious.

But a Johanna mention in book 1 chapter 3 woohoo 🥳🥳🥳 also Katniss comparing Jo and Peeta is kind of like foreshadowing of their shared torture in book 3.

Omg she just called Peeta broad-shouldered and strong. 🥰🥰🥰 my headcanon for his post-canon body is confirmed

Also why does Katniss keep allotting his strength to carrying bread trays around? Are they heavy? Why have I never once heard of people who carry bread trays being strong? I always thought Peeta was really strong because he learned to fight in order to defend himself against his mother but that’s probably wrong.

But if a mother is abusive, it can lead to one of the kids being physically violent as well and we know Peeta isn’t but he has two older brothers I’m gonna cut myself off now but I think we all smelled what I just stepped in.

Also I just find it so fascinating now how she regards herself vs Peeta here.

When talking about herself, she says, “The competition will be far beyond my abilities. [...] Oh, there'll be people like me, too. People to weed out before the real fun begins.” But when she talks about Peeta, she immediately says, “It would take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.”

It’s just funny how she discounted herself right from the start but thought he was a real contender and then come to find out, Peeta believes it’s the exact opposite 😂🙃. They’re both so stupid I can’t even take it.

Wait did they actually give the location of the Capitol and the location of District Twelve in today’s world? And I just overlooked it? Brb I’m gonna go to google maps right quick.

Okay so basically what I gathered is the Capitol is probably in New Mexico and District Twelve is somewhere between Kentucky and Alabama. Irrelevant I know. But just a reminder now to everyone that Katniss and Peeta are literally speaking, crying and screaming in thick, backwoods southern accents.

It’s literally so sad how everything for Katniss is about food. Like every motive she has, every action she does is about preventing starvation ever again. 🤧🤧🤧

First mockingjay mention 🤭🤭.

“My father was particularly fond of mockingjays” 😭😭😭 I bet he was 😭😭😭😭

We always go on and on about how Katniss is a mockingjay or her children are mockingjays but Katniss herself here says mockingjays represent her father imma cry, y’all 😫😫😫😫

“It’s like having a piece of my father with me, protecting me” shut up shut up shut up shut up

Awww, Katniss has never had food like this before 😔😔😔

Neither has Peeta 🤧🤧

Katniss disliking the way Effie put the two kids from the year before down and so began to eat like a pig just to prove her point, is so her. And the beginning of her fighting for the underdog.

Omg the Rue introduction 🥺🥺🥺

Bahahahaha the commenters calling District Twelve backwards but charming 😅😅😅 they really are the hillbilly district

Peeta’s unexpected laugh 🥺🥺🥺 I love you, baby

“He was drunk. He’s drunk every year.” “Every day.” Katniss and Peeta are already finishing each other’s sentiments and teaming up to get on Effie’s nerves I love them so much 😍

Oh my God, Effie, you selfish jerk. They’re kids having fun for like one second, no need to throw in their faces they’re gonna die if the drunk won’t help them. I’d forgotten why I don’t really like the book version of her. I actually prefer her as comedic relief in the movies.

I actually just realized I really dislike Effie Trinket, I hope they never speak to her again Post-Mockingjay. Idc how you’re raised you don’t need to treat teenagers who are sentenced to a probable death badly just because they laughed at you 🙄🙄🙄😡😡😡😡. They didn’t even really laugh at her, she’s just annoying and awful, we don’t stan Effie in this household.

Okay, that’s all for my thoughts on chapter three! Until next time, y’all ! If anyone actually read this long mess of a post.

[mellowasinyellow]

100daysofwriting - Day 1

So I thought for the first day I might just briefly outline all of the WIPs I have actually made a start on and that might help me to decide where I want to focus some energy. I have some for Katniss/Peeta in THG fandom and some for Natasha/Clint in the MCU.

Everlark

folklore series - so I started this series of fics inspired by songs from Taylor Swift's album folklore because honestly those songs just immediately bring to mind so many scenarios that made me think of Katniss and Peeta. I made a start on chapters based on peace, my tears ricochet, invisible string, this is me trying, and mad woman. I also have a bit of an outline for continuing the story that was started in 'the 1'.

I've had this one WIP ongoing since about 2015(?) which is a bit of a monster that has grown beyond me but basically it involves Katniss and Gale being raised in the Capitol in relative poverty after their fathers are conscripted into the peacekeepers because of traitorous activity. Mrs Everdeen is still from 12 but was moved to the Captiol to be married (this part is sketchy) and she still had a little childhood romance with Mr Mellark. Peeta gets reaped and Mrs Everdeen reacts to this as he looks like his father. Katniss gets a crush on him as she watches him prepare for the games. She hates herself for it but finds herself checking up on how he is doing even during non-mandatory viewing.

Arranged Marriage - I feel like this is such a cliche for thg fandom, but I just imagined my own way that the pairings happen but I'm so bad at writing slow burn so this will probably never materialise, but if you want a semi-decent thought out pairing/arranged marriage system I would be happy to lend you mine.

Miscarriage fic - I will never post this, but it's in my WIP folder. It's full of nasty feelings that feel a little better when they are written about.

Modern AU Pandemic Quarantine! - ofc, this is essential. Katniss and Peeta end up as the only people not to move home from their dorm for the quarantine. Slow burn that I can't fucking write should ensue.

Canon Pandemic Quarantine AU - pandemic a few years after the end of the war forces Katniss to admit she wants Peeta as more than a friend with whom she hunts, bakes, rebuilds the district. Cue sexy pandemic times and a resentful Haymitch that keeps accidentally breaking the rules.

Divorced but co-parenting Everlark - obviously finding their way back together

Another classic of their children being reaped and dying - I don't know why I write things this depressing. They just tend to come out in one big rush and then I never address them again.

Real weird teen pregnancy modern day AU - don't know where it's going or why...

Modern day AU dead Prim - Peeta and Katniss just met each other through mutual friends and are kind of flirting. Peeta is a bit infatuated. Katniss stops going to mutual friend parties and he finds out it's because her sister died. Instead of staying away he gets tangled up in her grief and does all sorts of practical things while Katniss wallows. Also it's E rated but not that much fun... can't entirely explain where this one came from either...

Single Parent AU where Finnick and Annie play match maker. Probably my fave Everlark in the works but it's another one that has grown so big for the 20 minutes I can dedicate to it each week.

Clintasha

Red Room Take Down - Nat and Clint are retired and living a quiet family life with their child. SHIELD appears asking for Nat's help in taking down the red room and dealing with the fall out, specifically what to do with the girls that they get out. Nat is torn but chooses to go. Chaos ensues with the 'rescued' girls. I need to actually develop some OCs a little if I ever want this to be good but tbh the pending Black Widow movie is kind of holding me back on this one too because I hope we find out more about the red room.

So I have a weird habit of writing from Lila Barton's POV. I can't explain it. I have AoU and like to pretend it never happened but anyway I have a WIP about Lila detailing the collapse of her parents' marriage after Clint retires and he and Laura actually have to spend time together without Natasha. She then goes on to describe the custody settlement and her utter joy that Auntie Nat sleepovers with them at her dad's place. She feels utterly betrayed when she finds out they are getting engaged.

Fluffy AU - Clint and Natasha in an established relationship with a son born between infinity war and endgame. Natasha still sacrifices on Vormir, but Steve gets her back no bother and it's so nice and happy and fluffy and Clint and Natasha are together and they have a son who has both parents back and Steve gets to make all this happen and he is so happy too and they have a barbecue and go swimming in a lake and clint/natasha have private time, and their kid wants to be captain america, and did I mention how HAPPY everyone is?

Another fic similar to the above just about everyone being so HAPPY. Endgame reverses the snap and instead of weird farm family coming back Clint and Natasha get their daughter back and it's just a cute moment about her reappearance and their race back to the spot she disintegrated from. (Steve/Bucky go to Vormir and Steve is sacrificed, but that fucker CHOSE to leave).

This is another one that has just grown bigger than my brain. it's based off the idea that Natasha helped with coordinating fosterings during the blip time. Clint loses his mind when he loses his family and crashes in BedStuy but finds a neighbour girl (Kate Bishop) who is fending for herself in post-apocalyptic Brooklyn. He helps her out and tries to get children's services involved but it has collapsed. Finds out Natasha is the one getting everything in order. He gets in touch. She's at the end of her tether and asks why he can't keep looking after her. In the end he does and she ends up getting involved and all three get overly attached to each other. I haven't got as far as the events of endgame and idk what's going to happen. It might be tragic.

Pregnant Natasha but nobody knows what is wrong with her because they don't even suspect her being pregnant is possible. Just a real vivid description of the early unpleasant pregnancy symptoms.

Another absolute monster - Sort of canon compliant to begin with aside from before the farm family disappear. Clint and Laura are in the middle of separating and tensions are running quite high at the farm. Snap happens. Nat and Clint accidentally run into each other while both a bit low during the blip and get drunk and share home truths. Begin working together from HQ and both get a little less sad. He convinces her she doesn't have to be responsible for the world's fate every moment of every day. Clint has a break down at Morgan's 1st birthday and realises that things will have to change. Nat has this realisation later. They begin sleeping together. Accidental pregnancy. More feelings come out between them. They enter a more conventional relationship and have baby. Baby is really hard work (colic) and they struggle with comparisons and feelings of inadequacy. Pepper helps them to identify the colic and improves everything greatly. Happy times with baby while also running the avengers. Opportunity to reverse snap. Some good scenes between Nat and Tony. A big conversation between Nat and Clint about what it will mean. Steve and Nat end up going to Vormir together. Nat is obviously about to commit suicide. Steve over powers her and gives her a pep talk about the situation she is running away from and how to deal with it. He self-sacrifices. Clint goes back to farm fam and Natasha goes back to BedStuy with baby. Clint has to tell Laura and then the kids about the last 5 years and their new siblings. Nate is super into it. Cooper is a bit aloof and cynical. Lila is confused. Laura is quietly seething. Clint helps put the farm back together about 5 years of neglect and the kids meet baby. Family gets happier. Laura and Nat eventually meet again and it's civil/friendly.

My own version of what happened in Budapest.

The Call - inspired by a post here on tumblr. Nat calls Clint as she bleeds out. Just needs a beta reader and then I would consider publishing.

AoU reimagined but with Clintasha - I'm not sure where this one is going it's like a massive spider web right now with lots of ideas shooting off, but basically it is inspired by this post and just involves a lot of hoodwinking the other avengers.

Accidental Baby Acquisition - Natasha becomes Yelena's child's legal guardian after Yelena gets taken out. Natasha and Yelena are estranged at this point and Natasha things the whole thing is a trap and brings Clint along. He is surprisingly good with the baby so she ropes him in to teach her. The three of them end up bonding.

5 times there's only 1 bed + 1 time they choose to sleep in the same bed.

non-superhero AU Clint and Nat both think they have adopted a stay cat but actually the cat has owners and just likes strokes and eats a lot so has many 'families'. They get into an argument over which of them the cat belongs to only to find out the cat has owners and they are moving away. They decide to adopt a cat between them as both are not hope that much and the shelter refused them as single people. Slow burn ensues, which I am shit at writing.

[seasonsofeverlark]

Amazing and Corny

Author: @hutchhitched​

Prompt: Corn Maze [submitted by @sunsetsrmydreams​]

Rating: T

Summary: Stressed over classes, Katniss gives in when her friend Gale insists she join their group of friends at a corn maze. Somehow, she finds herself lost with Peeta, the golden boy she’s admired from afar since their freshman year of college. As a thunderstorm rumbles overhead, they find their way out of the maze and discover each other, too.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @mandelion82​ for the extra set of eyes.

____________

Katniss Everdeen looked around her, wondering how in the hell she’d been dragged along on what her best friend Gale Hawthorne insisted was an adventure. As far as she was concerned, this qualified as a misadventure more than anything else. She didn’t have time for this, anyway. Only six weeks left in the semester, and she was at a damn corn maze an hour from the middle of nowhere.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into something so stupid,” she grumbled, but Gale just knocked his shoulder against hers and laughed.

“Oh, come on, Catnip,” he chided. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I hear a certain someone might make an appearance, and I know how tantalizing that can be for the young co-eds such as yourself.”

“Shut up,” she snapped and immediately blushed the same shade as the sugar maple across the road. Ducking her head to hide the distinctly scarlet hue her cheeks had flamed, she crossed her arms over her chest and shrunk in on herself. Besides, who talked like that? Apparently Gale when he was messing with her.

Peeta Mellark. That’s who Gale meant, and her stomach fluttered at the possibility he might attend the evening’s event. Peeta was friends with Delly Cartwright who knew Annie Cresta who dated Finnick Odair who was friends with Johanna Mason who her traitorous best friend happened to be dating. It was not her favorite relationship of his.

“Relax. He might not come. Anyway, it’s not like you’d talk to him if he was here. You haven’t managed to yet the entire time we’ve been on campus together.”

Katniss hung her head because Gale was right. Peeta seemed to be friends with everyone at Panem State, the mid-level public university in the Midwest she and her friends attended. Everyone, that was, but her. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. She’d run into him multiple times over the past two and a half years, but every time she clammed up, unable to speak and overwhelmed by his warmth. As far as she was concerned, Peeta Mellark was amazing. She adored his affable nature and the corny jokes he told. Her family always called them groaners, but he’d often joked he was practicing for when he became a dad. Peeta shone like the sun, and she paled in comparison.

And that made her feel even worse. Peeta had dad jokes, and Katniss quaked at the thought of future children. She wasn’t even 21 yet, and she didn’t understand the tendency of those around her who had baby fever. At least that was one thing Gale’s girlfriend had going for her. Johanna Mason didn’t seem to have a maternal bone in her body.

“But what if he does?” she mumbled and scuffed the toe of her shoe in the dust.

“Peeta?” At her nod, he sighed. “If he shows up, you might want to actually speak to him. At this point, it’s obvious you’re uncomfortable around him. He’s even asked the group if he did something to offend you.”

“He is offensive,” Katniss groused. “He’s too bright and shiny. Too nice. Too charming. I mean, give the rest of us a break. We can’t live up to his golden boy perfection.”

Gale rolled his eyes and looked over her shoulder. “Hey, Jo,” he called. “Delly, Peeta, Finn, Annie. Good to see you.”

Katniss’ stomach dropped to her feet. There was no way he hadn’t heard her. No possibility that Peeta Mellark hadn’t witnessed her confession that she thought his perfection was rivaled by none. How in the world could she play this off? She needed a place to hide. She was just about to bolt when Gale grabbed her forearm and tugged her against his side.

“Stay put,” he growled under his breath. “You avoiding him is ridiculous.”

Katniss elbowed him in the ribs, but he only acknowledged it with a barely audible grunt. Instead, he turned to his girlfriend and kissed her, which devolved into a filthy, open-mouthed, possibly pornographic grope fest that only ended because Finnick wolf whistled.

“Get a room! We’re here for the corn maze, not a tryst with a corn cob.”

“I don’t know. I think the corn might be jealous of Hawthorne’s cob,” Johanna retorted and turned her lascivious grin on Gale. “Later, lover,” she promised.

“Gross,” Katniss mumbled, and Peeta snorted. He hid his mouth and covered the chuckle with a cough, but his eyes sparkled mischievously when he glanced her way.

“Let’s go,” Finnick said, enthusiasm practically vibrating out of him as he led the way to the corn maze entrance. He purchased tickets for their group of seven and then tugged Annie into the maze. Katniss trudged along at the back of the group.

It didn’t take long for them to spread out, the couples drifting away from Katniss, Delly, and Peeta as the duos held hands and snuggled together. Delly and Peeta chatted companionably, while Katniss glowered and tried not to feel like a third wheel. Peeta attempted to engage her a few times, but she brushed off his efforts and stopped paying attention until they were fairly deep into the maze.

“Uh, Delly, do you have any idea where we are?” Peeta asked, shocking Katniss out of her stupor.

The night had cooled, humidity and the threat of rain making the air seem colder than it should. Katniss glanced upward and blanched at roiling clouds and lazy lightning sparking in the atmosphere. She shivered involuntarily and shifted closer to the other two.

“Not a clue,” Delly answered cheerfully. “Let’s try this way.” With that, she was off, leaving Peeta and Katniss in her wake. They stood together in semi-stunned silence before Peeta turned to her with a sheepish expression.

“Well, alone at last,” he said in an attempted joke that fell flat.

“We need better friends,” Katniss sighed. “The whole lot of them are terrible people.”

Amused, Peeta returned, “I feel like that says something about us, that we’d both choose crappy friends and allow them to, first, talk us into a corn maze on the night of a predicted thunderstorm during a really busy time in the semester and, second, abandon us like this. It feels like a plot to a bad horror film or something.”

“Horror or Hallmark?”

Peeta ran a hand down the back of his neck nervously and cocked his head. “What do you mean by Hallmark?”

“Oh, you know. Those corny movies where a woman goes back to her hometown and reconnects with some hot guy who convinces her the country is more wholesome than the city and she forgets all about her job and friends and the life she’s built for herself,” Katniss explained. “They always make me so mad. Like the female lead isn’t smart enough to have made decisions for herself, and she has to be saved by the noble, hot stranger who’s got it all figured out. It’s mansplaining at its finest.”

“What if the guy’s right?”

“Why? Because he’s hot and feels an inordinate desire to protect a woman who doesn’t need his help? If anyone ever tried that with me…” Katniss trailed into silence, unsure what the rest of her threat actually was. It wasn’t like she didn’t appreciate help; she just wanted help from someone who understood she could do it by herself, even if that wasn’t necessary.

Peeta studied her carefully, his expression unreadable, and she wondered if she’d offended him, somehow. He licked his lips and tugged the collar of his jacket up under his ears before speaking.

“Well, that explains some things.”

She bristled immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he sighed, clearly dejected, “it makes more sense why you haven’t given me the time of day the past two years.”

Katniss gaped at him, completely taken aback at this statement. It took her a second to form a coherent thought, but she finally managed to stammer, “Wh-what?”

Peeta’s mouth twisted into an expression of misery. “You seem to hate me, and I have no idea why.”

Flustered, she blurted, “How does that have anything to do with hot guys from small towns? I— You’re— Yeah, hot. You really are, but… I’m so lost.”

Peeta flushed, his cheeks flaming red, and he stubbed his toe into the ground and refused to look at her. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Brought—?” Katniss stopped herself and held up her hands in surrender. Gently, she prodded, “Peeta? What are you saying?”

He shook his head and hunched his shoulders, shielding against the chilly weather and his disappointment. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be that guy,” he whispered.

“What guy?” she asked, using every ounce of her strength to quell her frustration.

He lifted tortured eyes and answered softly, “The guy that seems to think he’s entitled to a girl’s attention. The one that mansplains. The one who takes over the room when he walks in. I’ve never intended to do that, but you’ve always shied away from the popular crowd. You have every right to ignore me if you want. I didn’t mean to imply that you owe anything to me.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, that makes way more sense than… Well, than anything I was thinking.”

Curious, he asked tentatively, “What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to figure out how you were the hot, small-town guy luring me away from the city,” she laughed, and he grinned a little.

“Well, you did say I was hot.”

“You are hot,” she sputtered. Peeta coughed to cover a pleased smirk. His response was so soft, she almost missed it.

“Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t ever try to insinuate you weren’t smart enough to make your own decisions.”

The tips of his ears burned red, which she thought was about the cutest thing she’d ever seen. She opened her mouth to speak when her phone interrupted them. Grimacing, she tugged it from her pocket and glanced at the screen.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Gale,” she offered in explanation. “He wants to know where we are.”

“We’re in the corn maze. Where else would we be? Is everybody else done or something?”

She nodded to affirm. “They’re all waiting at the picnic tables. Even Delly’s there. They have cider.”

They glanced around them and realized they still had no idea where they were. Katniss hadn’t been paying attention as they wound into the maze, and Peeta had clearly followed Delly’s direction. In short, they were lost. Katniss glanced upward, as a few fat drops of rain spattered around them.

“Would it be corny to say I’d rather be lost in here with you than anyone else?” Peeta asked, his lips quirked into a crooked grin.

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s a crop of freshmen on campus. Wouldn’t you rather be with one of them?”

Peeta’s eyes twinkled. “Punny.”

“Same to you.”

“You’re amazing,” he laughed, and they grinned at each other, content to joke about their predicament. Seconds later, the sky opened, lightning flashed, and they both jumped. “We need to get out of here.”

Katniss extended her hand to him. “Together?”

“Together,” he agreed as he took her hand.

They walked quickly then, alternating right turns with lefts until they began to see a pattern. Corn stalks guided their way as they wound through the maze, hopeful they were on the right track, as rain poured from the heavens. Soaking wet, they clung to each other, a lifeline in their confusion. They hadn’t seen anyone else for several minutes, and Katniss started to shake—from cold, anxiety, and frustration.

“It’s going to be okay,” Peeta assured her. Letting go of her hand, he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. When she protested, he insisted. “I’m all right.”

“I thought you trusted me to make my own decisions,” she retorted, but her clacking teeth and shivers undermined her argument.

He wrapped his arm around her and guided them down another corridor. “I do. I promise, but your sense of direction is as terrible as mine. Let’s get out of here, and then you can go back to resisting my advances.”

“Have you been making advances?” she asked, curious.

“Since the moment I saw you across the room. You have no idea the effect you have on me.”

She’d have to ponder that once they’d escape the maze. She was too cold, too disoriented, and too woozy from the heat of his jacket and arm curled around her. The stress of the semester had been weighing on her more than she’d thought, and there was something really compelling about allowing someone else to take charge.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Peeta sputtered as they rounded another corner and spied the flags marking the maze exits. His curls were plastered to his head in dark blonde waves, and he looked absolutely miserable in his soaking wet navy blue Henley and dark washed jeans.

“Wait,” she pleaded. “Wait.”

Peeta stopped immediately and turned questioning eyes to meet hers. His willingness to take her seriously without question made her smile. “What’s up?” he asked, rubbing her arms to warm her.

Katniss reached for him, grabbing his sopping shirt and tugging him to her. Their lips met as thunder rumbled above them, and she leaned into his heat. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to him and increasing the pressure of his mouth on hers. They stood there, tangled together, until an echoing boom of thunder shook them apart.

“Electrifying,” he murmured as lightning flashed.

Katniss giggled and burrowed into his chest. “Such a dad joke.”

“They’re coming out my ears.”

“No. Stop. That was terrible.”

“I can’t help it. They just pop up when I least expect them.”

“So corny,” she grinned.

“So amazing,” he corrected and grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of her, ditch our friends, and get to know each other.”

Katniss nodded. At the moment, there was nothing she wanted more.

[wildflowers-of-trolberg]

Can you do Sigurd and Victoria Van Gale for the ask Please?

Give me a character and I’ll break their ass down:

Sigurd:

How I feel about this character: He’s really fun; he was basically the exact opposite of how I expected him to be based on what we first saw, and I love him to bits for that XD

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Nobody - I headcanon him as aroace.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I like the idea of him hanging out with the viking clans and befriending them now that he’s done with the whole “eternal battle” thing. He helps them play pranks on each other XD

My unpopular opinion about this character: He’s a way more fun and interesting “weird forest dude” character than Woodman, and I like him more.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I do kinda wish we’d seen more of him; he’s fun :))

Victoria Van Gale:

How I feel about this character: I like her too much!! I relate to her in some ways and I always love a good mad scientist character.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: In canon? Nobody. But I do have AUs where she’s with Ford Pines, Amelia Hughes, or both because poly relationships are sweet.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I want her and Hilda to be friends ;-;. I feel like she would actually make a pretty good chaotic aunt figure if she wasn’t nearly destroying the city. Also thanks to @starlit-lion I love her and her fake nisse.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I genuinely don’t think she’s that bad of a person. Like - I do think she went too far, but I don’t think her weather plans crossed a line until she kidnapped the weather spirit. The nowhere portal was genuinely an attempt to do good IMO, even if she went about it the wrong way (and ultimately crossed the line again by tying up Frida and refusing to shut down the machine).

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: GIVE HER A REDEMPTION ARC DAMMIT I NEED IT

[hollenka99]

Khenir and Minarv

Summary: When the gods choose to target you, life will never be the same.

Warnings: implied gore, blood, mentions of death

I'm sure you've heard the tale of Khenir and Minarv. I find it is a popular story that you enjoy passing on to the generations succeeding yours. You humans always did take a liking to tragedies with silver linings. If it is one of love and godly intervention, you consume it all the more enthusiastically. Let us clarify something first. There has always been one detail you seem to insist on getting wrong. Birds have existed as long as there have been nuts, berries and the like to sustain them. Khenir never created birds and other winged creatures. In fact, he often admired the birds that visited outside his home. Took a fancy to capturing their likeness of paper too. The only avian species which owe their existence to him are loons and horned owls. Being the god of birds does not necessarily imply you are the creator of all birds. With that irk of mine expressed, I believe I should begin. These were the days before the human population was to reach a million. We gods were acknowledged with a fierce intensity. You feared us. More than that, you feared what we could do to you or your loved ones when displeased. Don't worry. I should assure you it took effort to anger me back then. To this day, I continue to see no use in introducing you to my brother sooner than is required. It was also the time of great animosity between Keajic and Scyta. The skies and sea respectively. You got a lot more storms out at sea back then. Once, she sent a great tidal wave to devastate a town Keajic had deep admiration for. To spite her back, he had directed a gale to steer a fleet lead by one of her sons into rocks. That was the least of it. Suffice to say, anything could set them off. And the results would be disastrous for all those involved. Which is where Khenir and Minarv come in. As you may know, whenever one of you is born, it is my job to determine how long it is before you meet Tain. I have no real say in when you will die, you understand. All I do is find the likeliest timeline of your life and note it in my records. You don't call me the Chronicler for nothing, after all. But you see, if there is one thing I've always admired about humanity, it's the flexibility of your lives. All it takes is one occasion to cause your life's course to completely diverge. Khenir was going to be a farmer like his ancestors before him and potential descendants after him. He'd likely find a woman to marry and raise children with. A rather insignificant and mundane life spanning 72 years. As for Minarv, he'd be raised to be a fisherman by his father and the rest of the community. There was no conventional settling down in his most probable future. Waves stretching past the horizon would be a common backdrop of his adult life until he had the misfortune of being the victim of a poorly treated wound at the age of 38. Oh, stop pitying him. What is it with you humans and your belief the only type of life that will bring happiness and satisfaction is one ending in old age? He would have been perfectly happy doing what he loved for a living. Honestly, you come across as obsessed with watching loved ones slowly decay before you while they still breathe. You call that desirable? Either way, those were the most likely outcomes of their life. With how easily paths can branch off, nothing is guaranteed. The easiest way for your life's course to be altered is divine intervention. Should I detect a child has the chance to be someone whose life future generations will regale the story of, I pay them a visit. To tell you the truth, your reactions to my presence have always intrigued me. Some parents are ecstatic to know their child may have notoriety one day. It isn't uncommon for parents to weep or becoming protective as the gravity of their child's potential future dawns on them. Were I mortal, I would likely be amongst the horrified too. You, of course, ruined it slightly by transforming it into a tradition. You pick any elderly male neighbour and have him be part of the child's 1st birthday celebrations. No man can ever truly replicate my visitations. Your efforts are but a cheap imitation. What is all this about having them blessed over a sundial or clock? Believe me, if I wanted to bestow anything upon your child, I would do so in person. Nevertheless, I appeared in the countryside and spoke to Khenir's mother under the alias of a travelling merchant. Still an infant, Khenir was nonplussed by my being there. I doubt his mother realised the truth of my identity when I gently touched her son's head. The young Minarv I met, on the other hand, was a charming little boy when I made my way to the coast. With great excitement, he gestured to his father's ship which had been approaching the docks. Said father was none too pleased to have me be the disguised god blessing his firstborn. Apparently, he had hoped it would be Scyta, if any of us at all. Oh, if only he'd known. The years passed and the boys grew to be young men. They learned the respective trades of their families while also developing hobbies involving the flute and sketching. Their individual paths carried on leading them towards a life unaware of the other. The thing with Scyta is that she enjoys acquainting herself with mortal men. Fishermen and sailors in particular. If I had to name her favourite type of mortal, it was one who frequented her domain and respected her authority over it. You can probably see where this is going. Yes, she is the one who instigated this whole mess. Although, I doubt she was expecting the result it got. Even I can't accurately anticipate the whims of my kin all the time. Not for lack of effort, I assure you. Scyta subtly pursuing Minarv? That I could have foreseen without trying. Predicting her spouse's reaction took no effort either. Schea had always been jealous of their wife. It's understandable when your significant other has a habit of using the very thing you control to entice mortals. What better to prevent a relationship than ensure the target of the affections was unavailable. The main flaw in Schea's plan was that they naturally appear as the most attractive person in the eyes of whomever sees them. Therefore, the two men would be enamoured by the stranger attempting to unite them. The result is always achieved regardless. All Schea needs to do is ensure the pair meet eyes while they maintain physical contact with both members of the couple. A hand on each back, one look and that was that. By the docks, with a crisp ocean breeze blowing, Khenir and Minarv met. As the months progressed, they spent as much of Minarv's time on land together as they were able. The fisherman would play music while the farmer would sketch him. They were in love and deeply so. No amount of conversation with the mysterious woman supposedly living near the shore could reverse that. Naturally, Scyta refused to admit defeat and move on to her next target. More so than that, events were beginning to unfold. Minarv frequently prayed to her for the sake of safe trips. Being intrigued by birds and their ability to fly is what attracted Keajic's attention towards Khenir. Each had a mortal on their 'side'. And these mortals were lovers? No, that wouldn't do. Whether the two gods had been looking to trigger a fight between themselves or not, they'd still found a suitable reason to. Things were about to get problematic. Minarv became caught in the crossfire when his ship sunk, causing him to be the only survivor. The crops in Khenir's region failed after Sugan was to persuaded to become momentarily involved. Their livelihoods were being threatened purely because Minarv refused to concede. I recall Schea was pleased with themself, thrilled to see a match they'd created cause such conflict. Casquej had inevitably grown fond of them, given his specialty is the creative arts. I was witnessing paths be rapidly redirected as the two men's lives were thrown into turmoil. Even Tain became agitated by this mess. More humans had died than was necessary and the increasing work on his part to stay up to date with it all was enough to get him to join our cause. I know, I know, I never imagined involving myself in ridiculous spats either. Regardless, enough was enough. My brother and I were mostly ambivalent about their fate. Casquej, however, wished for there to be a happy ending to the whole ordeal. Whatever worked. We promised to co-operate in an effort to stop the madness before all our kin were dragged into it. The plan, as you may recall, was to offer them a secret paradise. A world detached from time as they had known it. Somewhere they could be safe from their torment. Khenir could admire the wildlife to his heart's content while there were enough bodies of water to satisfy Minarv. More importantly, there was no threat of death or misery. I appeared to them as a child. Claiming to be one of my own half-mortal offspring, I convinced the lovers to follow me to a mountain pass. Once we arrived, I showed them how to activate the entrance. A set of instructions later and I left them to it. I made it explicitly clear, they were not to spend longer than a month over there in one go. Those instructions were simple enough. If I were mortal, I would have disappeared for a month, returned to the regular world for two or three months then come back to the haven I knew had been made for me. Humans will be humans, I suppose. These types of stories usually have at least one moment that could have been easily avoided if the protagonist had thought things through in the moment. A month there was approximately a week outside of it. I made it so in an attempt to aid them. They followed my precautions in the beginning. A month became 6 weeks sometimes or they'd return slightly sooner than they should have. Gradually, they strayed further from my warnings. With all this deviation, it was inevitable really. Scyta and Keajic discovered why their pawns were absent. I admit it did not help that they revelled in their paradise for three months straight by regular standards. To make it worse, they had the intelligent idea to go their separate ways by the shore. Which was where the gods were waiting for them. We gods have a habit of being ridiculously petty. I have no need to tell you that which you are already aware. If a mortal stands in the way of what we hope to achieve, and we are bitter enough, we will discard of a life. What is one or two amongst thousands, millions or even billions? Both Keajic and Scyta were more than bitter enough. Even Tain showed up to witness it, albeit from a notable distance. There are very few mortals who have been personally reaped by him. Being in the company of four gods must be overwhelming enough for mortals. Even more so when Death and Time act as onlookers to your demise. Perhaps that is why they gripped each other's hands as if it would prevent their permanent separation. Being favoured by me will only buy you seconds on your deathbed. I'll make those seconds seem longer than they are, providing a chance to say your goodbyes if desired, but they are still only seconds. That amount of time sounds short to you? Imagine how trivial that duration is to me, a being who has lived for millennia and knows infinity. Keajic denied Minarv the very air he took for granted. In retaliation, Scyta commanded the ocean to make its home in Khenir's lungs. As they both asphyxiated, their fingers defiantly remained intertwined. Why it took me until this point to put my foot down, I am not sure. Possibly because I believed it was not my place to directly intervene. What was more important was that I was inserting myself in the midst of the conflict. Time stopped. I berated Keajic and Scyta for using the men for their games. Minarv had respected Scyta. The same could be said about Khenir and Keajic. Now however? It would be a miracle if either of them respected us at all. They were not made to be tormented relentlessly. Leave your opponent's favoured be and continue your squabbling somewhere more mortals wouldn't be endangered nor risk having the courses of their lives skewed. Could we agree to end this now? The rulers of sky and sea exchanged a glare. As much as they were enemies, they seemed to share the same unspoken idea in that moment. At the time, I was under the impression they were silently agreeing my pleas were rational. I had expected to continue time once more, them to walk away and the human lovers to carry on living until their appointments with Tain were scheduled. My mistake was trusting them to not slight me. I will spare you the goriest details. No doubt you've already come across versions of this story that don't shy away from it. As wings forced their way out from underneath Khenir's shoulder blades, his muscles formation shifted too in an attempt to accommodate them. Everything Minarv wouldn't need any longer became lost to him. His lungs ceased to be just in time for Scyta to drag him under the waves. You may have found the red traces mixing with the ocean in the aftermath of his legs fusing disturbing but I've seen worse. In most depictions of them, I'm sure you'll find Minarv with a black tail littered with white spots or Khenir with wings of yellow, red and a particularly light blue. That's all linked to the whole creation of loons and flagfin shiners ordeal. A bird which dives into the water to feed and a fish to keep it fed. I suppose you may find it sweet with your notions of romance. Know that they change forms as often as the rest of us gods so these visual depictions are not always accurate. All immortality has given them is more time to spend with each other. Neither is capable of human speech any longer but they seem to have developed their own method of communication. With all the chirping, whistling and whatever else they have at their disposal, I can vaguely understand them. Minarv is responsible for your stories of sirens as well. Despite having their anatomy transformed in an effort to permanently separate them, the pair still resisted their limitations. As such, they had to determine if the other happened to be nearby. Once a singer, always a singer. Humans would hear Minarv attempting to attract his beloved's attention and created tales of a creature that lured you into the water. You know, I never enquired what either of them thought about those myths. Perhaps I should, the next chance I get. Ah, speaking of which... Look at that. There is only one great horned owl whom I know would stray so far from its native homeland. Hello Khenir! Just returning from a visit, I presume? I dare say I should see him myself. Care to share with me how it went? After all, I have all the time in the world.

[ellanainthetardis]

Will they save Prim? Will they stop the vampires? Will they all survive? Let me know your thoughts! 

[ff] or [ao3]

7.

Haymitch’s fingers were restlessly drumming on the wheel and it was driving Katniss crazy.

Peeta caught her eyes and looked away fast but it was enough for her to know he shared the sentiment. They were both in the backseat of his SUV, working on cramming pieces of clothes into bottles of liquor. They didn’t know how much they would need so they had opted for bringing as many as possible just to be on the safe side.

Katniss tore up strips of cloth and Peeta thrust them into the bottles. They had a good rhythm going on.

The car was rushing past the meadow when their hands accidentally brushed. Katniss didn’t pay it any attention but Peeta cleared his throat.

“Everything will be fine.” he promised, grabbing her hand with a bit more purpose. “We’ll get Prim back.”

She caught Haymitch glancing in the rear-view mirror but she didn’t understand why he was smirking like that so she ignored him.

She didn’t let herself think about Prim too much because she would have gone crazy with worry if she had. She had to believe the plan would work.

“You will be safe.” she answered, squeezing his hand. “Just remember the plan. I distract them while Haymitch gets Prim out. The moment they’re out, you start tossing.”

“And then you get out.” he added. “Right?”

“I get out once I’m sure the bitch is dead.” she corrected, taking her hand back to give him another piece of cloth.

Haymitch didn’t look happy with that either but he didn’t say anything. Probably because there wasn’t much to say.

Cashmere needed to go down. Not only because she had gone after her sister but because they couldn’t let her try to open the Hellmouth. He might not have had time to give a full lecture on it but she wasn’t dense enough to not understand it was the kind of mouth that was better left closed.

“Katniss…” Peeta breathed out with entirely too much… She wasn’t sure what it was but she found she couldn’t look at him anymore. Something was gripping her heart and squeezing it tight. It was confusing and she didn’t have time for confusing right now.

Fortunately, that was also the moment Haymitch stopped the car, saving her from the odd tension.

“That’s as far as we go with the truck.” he announced. “We need to finish on foot. You’re sure you know where the cabin is?”

She didn’t even bother offering an answer. An old cabin next to the lake deep in the woods… There weren’t many and she and Gale had found that one out years ago. They had used it as a hiding place once or twice even. It was a good spot when you wanted to hide from the world. There were only two empty rooms full of dust – and, apparently, vampires.

She took the lead, carrying as many bottle as she could. Haymitch and Peeta followed closely behind her and she couldn’t help but cringe at how loud they were being. Haymitch, at least, was making an effort but Peeta was hopeless. Animals could hear them coming from miles away. It was a good thing they hadn’t waited until nightfall to attack.

As it was, they reached the cabin without any trouble at all and they all flattened on their bellies at the edge of the clearing to study their surroundings. The cabin was entirely made of planks and was situated on the short amount of flat land between the shore of the lake and the border of the trees. A little too close to the forest for what they had in mind, maybe.

“Try not to start a forest fire.” she advised.  

“So… No pressure, right?” Peeta joked.

The windows of the cabin were boarded. She wondered if vampires slept during the day or if there was one of them on watch… Most of the ones she had met tended to be stupid so she hoped the ones inside would prove to be of the same variety.

She made sure her bow was ready to use and then she turned toward Haymitch. He had a hard look on his face and she wondered if he would mourn her if she died that day. She hadn’t gotten the feeling he was really pleased to be her Watcher. He had treated the whole thing as a chore since the very beginning. How had he put it again?

I’ve been sent to help you until you kick the bucket and someone other than me draws the lucky ticket to coach the next dead girl to be.

“Don’t look so glum, Haymitch.” she taunted. “Look on the bright side. If I get myself killed you can go back to drinking full time.”

“I don’t drink full time.” he denied and then rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, I drink full time but I also freelance as a demon hunter when I don’t have to play babysitter to arrogant little girls who think they know better than everyone else just because fate flipped them the finger.”

“See?” she snorted. “You’ll be happier when I’m dead.”

“You are a strangely dislikable person.” he deadpanned and then softened a little. “But you do have your virtues. Try not to get killed so soon. It’d look bad on my resume.”

“Fair enough.” She smiled. “Try not to get killed either. If you’re the best Watcher they’ve got, I’m scared of who they’re going to send next.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your weird bonding moment but if nobody could get killed, it would be great.”  Peeta cut in.

“You be careful, boy.” Haymitch ordered sternly. “Stay out of troubles.”

“Okay.” Katniss took a deep breath. “Haymitch? One last advice?”

“Stay alive.” he retorted without hesitation.

It was a good one, she decided.

And then she was running.

Haymitch was behind her to her left, much slower than she was. She brought the door down with a powerful kick and she didn’t wait for the surprised scream inside to register. There were three vampires in that room, two of them were already smoking from the sunlight. She shot two arrows and they burst into dust, the third one moved at the last moment and she missed the heart. She threw her leg out and sent him flying just when Cato, Cashmere and another of her minions rushed out of the other room, stopping short of the long stripe of light that stretched between her part of the room and theirs.

Another well launched arrow took care of Cato but it also cost her the advantage. The vampire she had missed earlier jumped on her from the side. Her bow clattered to the ground and she fought him out, trying to pull out her stake.

“Go close the door, you idiot!” Cashmere ordered to the other minion.

Katniss wasn’t sure what happened next. She thought Haymitch must have made his surprise entrance because there were fighting noises and when she risked a peek, she saw her Watcher slamming a stake through the vampire chest.

It left Cashmere between him and the other room where Prim was presumably hidden…

“Wanna dance, lady?” he taunted, falling into a fighting stance he had tried – and mostly failed – to teach her. “Ain’t much into blondes but for you I’m gonna make an exception…”

That wasn’t the plan at all.

Her vampire was stubbornly refusing to die - well, to die for good. They traded blows and she herded him toward the streak of sunlight but it was a slow process and Haymitch wasn’t fairing well. He had rushed on Cashmere with a war cry and ended up hitting the wall when she swept him off with her arm like an annoying fly. He slid down to the floor and Cashmere lifted him back up by his collar. Her features morphing into her demon face, she opened her mouth...

Katniss couldn’t wait anymore. She leaped away from her opponent and tackled the blond vampire. Haymitch fell back down with a thud.

“Get Prim and get out!” she ordered, herding the two vampires away from him.

Cashmere snarled. “I was going to kill you quickly but now I’m going to make it last. I really don’t need a Slayer poking in my business…”

Katniss wasn’t aware of much past that point. The fight took her whole focus. She took more hits than she gave and she was relying on instinct more than on training. She did glimpse Haymitch rushing back out of the cabin, her sister tossed over his shoulder, but she couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead or injured or…

Cashmere’s foot sent her flying across the room. She rolled in the dust and came back in a crouch. She spotted her bow a few feet away and leapt in that direction just as the second vampire tried to grab her. A lucky backward hit with her elbow hurled him directly into the narrow pool of sunlight that separated the main room of the cabin in two. He burst into flames and, at first, she thought he was responsible for the sudden explosion.

Then, of course, she realized Peeta must have began the next phase of the plan.

And it was working a little too well.

Flames were catching quickly. Smoke burnt her throat and Katniss dashed toward the front door but Cashmere blocked her path, far much quicker and deadlier than anything else she had ever seen. Far more dangerous than the fire that was raining down on the cabin roof, thanks to Haymitch’s liquor stash.

“You think you can stop us?” Cashmere hissed, baring her fangs. “When the others will be here, you will regret this. They will bring Him back. He will rise and may the odds be in your favor then!”

The flames were running up the walls now. The cabin was turning into a deadly trap.

The heat was unbearable, Katniss couldn’t help small coughs. Her eyes were watery. She nocked an arrow and let it loose, not entirely surprised when Cashmere simply sidestepped it. The vampire looked mad in the dancing light of the surrounding fire. The flames tossed changing shadows on her skin, her yellow eyes seemed to glow…

“You will all burn.” the vampire laughed.

“If we burn…” Katniss retorted, the effect a little lost in the coughing fit. “You burn with us.”  

She needed to get out and now, the ceiling was about to collapse. Cashmere was blocking her way to the door so she needed another way out. She did the only thing she could think of: she dropped her bow, took a long-run and cannonballed into the wall where the flames were the thickest, shoulder first.

If the wood was as rotten as it had looked, she would be fine.

If it was solid, she was done for.

It turned out that bursting through a wooden wall on fire was painful... But she did go through. She landed badly but rolled with it anyway, ending up on her back in the grass, gulping down air only to cough it out.

“Katniss!” Haymitch called and, before she could try to even think about moving, he was pulling her up. All she could do was try to put one foot in front of the other while he dragged her away from the cabin that was quickly being swallowed by the flames. She heard Cashmere scream but then there was only the sounds of her own blood throbbing in her ears and her Watcher’s panting.

He only slowed down once they were in the middle of the woods and only because he tripped on a root. Katniss seized the opportunity to sit down for a second even if she knew they should keep moving because forest fires could move quickly.

“Prim?” she asked once she managed to get her parched mouth to form a coherent sound.

“She’s alright. I told the boy to get her to the car and to call the fire station.” he explained, offering her a hand. When she simply ignored it, he waved it in front of her face until she let him haul her up again. “You sure like the old school method. Girl on fire.”

“Don’t call me that…” she grumbled and then coughed some more.

“We need to get you to the hospital.” he commented and he sounded worried.

“I’m fine.” she lied.

“Sure, you are.” he humored her, forcing her good arm around his shoulders so he could support her better. With their height difference, it probably looked ridiculous. It certainly wasn’t very efficient.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get a better Slayer.” she muttered, as they were nearing the car. Her eyelids were drooping, her chest felt very tight and she was pretty sure something was very wrong with her shoulder this time.

He tightened his hold on her. “What?”

“You were disappointed…” she mumbled. “I’m not as good as your other ones…”

“No. Fuck, sweetheart… No.” he breathed out. “You’ve got to understand… My Slayers… They all ended up tributes in a fucking hopeless war… They were heroes. And so are you. And you ain’t dying on me right now so quit talking like you are.” He was almost completely carrying her by now and she could see the rear-end of Peeta’s truck. “You’ll be a great Slayer, Katniss. Thing is… I’m a bitter old drunk. I wasn’t sure  I had it in me to play mentor one more time, that’s all.”

She didn’t ask if he had come to a decision on that point.

Some things were better left unsaid.

“Katniss!”

She caught a glimpse of blond disheveled hair and then her sister was crashing against her and Haymitch, making them both lose their balance.

She blinked and she was lying on the ground, Prim’s face hovering over her.

“Little duck…” she whispered but it didn’t sound very coherent to her own ears.

She blinked again and Prim was gone. There was only the blue sky above and clouds that looked like the bird on the pin Madge had given her.

“Get her in the car. She needs a doctor and fast.” Haymitch was saying.

She blinked and she was cradled against someone’s chest. She was in a moving car. It was going fast. Prim’s frightened face looked back at her from the passenger front seat. A hand brushed her hair away from her face.

“Hold on.” Peeta’s voice murmured in her ear. “Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.”

She smelt the appetizing scent of bread just taken out of the oven. It was in her head, she thought, but it made her feel safe. Happy. Nothing bad could happen if there was hot bread nearby.

“Katniss. Stay awake.” he urged. “Haymitch, go faster.”

She let her head roll on his shoulder and she closed her eyes.

The last thing she saw was Prim’s lips forming her name.

[savvylark]

Not Your Mama’s Hallmark Christmas Part 4

You can catch up with Part 1 here  Part 2 here  Part 3 here or read it all on Ao3 here

Katniss tends to be cynical about materialism, love, and marriage. Her friends have replaced the family she lost. So when Peeta needs help, her friends don’t need more than a strong arm to convince her. Katniss finds herself having a very different  Christmas this year with the Mellark family, posing as Peeta’s girlfriend. What will change when this starts to look like a strange Hallmark movie?

Thank you to the amazing @javistg being my beta and encouraging. Thank you @peetabreadgirl for yout ideas and supprot. @everlarkingjoshifer made this banner for me. Isn’t it lovely?

At breakfast, I’m sitting next to Peeta, sipping my morning coffee while he holds my hand. 

Peeta makes a joke about buttering my pancake.

I spit a little bit of my coffee out.

Peeta bursts into laughter.

“The last time that happened Madge convinced us to swap shirts!” Peeta explains his laughter.

Joining his laughter, we reminisce about our humorous first encounter at Panem State in Gale’s apartment my freshman year.

Thresh and I became fast friends with a similar family background and interest in mischief, we pranked our entire dorm hall with an airhorn, and shaving cream balloons that popped above everyone’s doors as they opened them.

Peeta actually started joining our pizza nights at Gale’s apartment through his friendship with Thresh.

My phone buzzes after class Friday, as I head out of my Freshman Biology class. I check my messages. It’s our usual group message from Gale and Thresh confirming our weekend plans.

Gale: Let’s make ‘Pizza Night’ a party this week?

Me: Okay. I’ll tell Madge and Johanna. I’m sure they’ll get the word out too.

Thresh: If Kat’s ready to party I’m so in. I’ll invite some of the wrestling team. C-ya.

Later that night, I’m shoving Pizza in my mouth while Johanna goes on about how to turn a one night stand into a weekend fling.

Thresh takes advantage of my distraction, picks me up, and sets me in his lap.

I scowl and elbow him in the chest while he laughs at my attepts to break away.

I swallow down my pizza, take a gulp of my beer and turn, only to be met with a pair of familiar looking blue eyes I haven’t seen in 2 years.

Instead of saying hi to Peeta Mellark like a normal person, I spew the entire beer all over myself and start choking on what was remaining in my mouth.

My gasping and coughing gets the attention of the entire room. Madge helps me up and whisks me away to the bathroom only to realize I was wearing a soaked white t-shirt.

Madge reads me like a book.

“I have an idea, trust me,” she says with her mad-scientist look, taking my t-shirt with her.

My clever friend somehow comes back with 2 men’s t-shirts, one smelling like Gale and another smelling delicious, like cologne and something else masculine.

We quickly put on the larger shirts and make our way out of the bathroom.

Madge taps a shirtless Gale and he puts on Madge’s discarded shirt without breaking his conversation with a fellow engineering student.

I look around and realize she convinced everyone to switch shirts with the opposite gender.

Johanna winks at me, then pulls a tall, handsome redhead wearing her shirt into the kitchen, revealing Peeta behind her; smiling and  wearing my wet, white t-shirt, tight across his chest, short like a tight crop top.

“I think I owe you this,” he says, handing me a new beer.

“Madge was a genius! It really livened up that party!”

Peeta and I laugh about seeing all the guys at that party struggling to keep wearing the girls’ tight-fitting shirts on. It became a “thing” at college parties.

“People were talking about it for weeks!”

“I think some embarrassing pictures taken after a few rounds of shots are still floating around FB somewhere,” I snicker, then stop. My eyes widen when I think of a particular picture of Peeta and I that made me blush when it surfaced on Facebook days after that party. I don’t remember anything about it, but it’s been documented. Handsy when drunk. Among other…things.

We grin at each other. Then continue eating breakfast.

Leading up to party time, the day is nearly unbearable with tension.

Caterers are setting up. I look over the main level and realize that it’s best for me to stay out of the way while Loretta barks out orders to the decorators and her sons, putting everything in its final place.

I can tell the moment it’s all too much for Peeta. All the pressure for perfection from his mother is going to make him snap soon. He needs a moment of peace. Some time that’s is real and not for show. “Do you wanna build a snowman?” I ask. He looks at me confused, then remembers those were my code words for ‘let’s get outta here.’ He laughs. “Let’s go for a walk, Peeta? I need some fresh air,” I ask, he nods and follows me to the door. He starts heading for the sidewalk, but I pull him around toward the back through the woods. The snow is especially beautiful here in the woods, the quiet of the snowflakes falling is so soothing. “Katniss I–,” He wants to talk, but I don’t want to. I launch a snowball at his back to shut him up. He turns with a mischievous look on his face, but before he can reach for his own ammunition I pelt him twice. Snowballs fly back and forth as we laugh and dodge, weaving between trees.

I duck behind a tree. It’s quiet, usually I can hear his heavy tread anyway, so this my chance to take him by surprise. I can’t see him anywhere. It’s silent. As I’m walking, I think I hear something, so I stop. A yank on my ankle and I’m propelled backwards landing in a soft pile of snow. Peeta’s arms wrap around me as he emerges from the snow. Before I can protest, I’m equally covered in icy cold powder. We’re rolling and laughing. Peeta pins me down in an impressive wrestling move.

I struggle. Peeta smiles down at me. “Okay, you win this round Mellark!” I admit defeat with a huff. My mitten covered hands raised up in surrender. Peeta kisses my nose and grabs both my hands to pull me out of the snow flashing a perfect triumphant smile. I shiver, maybe from the cold, maybe from his blindingly bright blue eyes, I can’t be too sure. He must have noticed the shiver because he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his arms whispering into my ear, “I have some wood, let’s warm you up and light that fire.“ Was that an innuendo? I raise my eyebrows. He leans in and then smirks as we make our way back to the Mellarks’ house. I sigh. I thought he was going to kiss me for “real” when no one was looking and we didn’t have to be pretending in front of his family. The snow continues to fall around us and snowflakes get tangled in his impossibly long eyelashes. I turn away before he notices me staring.

The whole family is spending the next few days here at the house, which I learned is “an annually required family bonding time.”

They’re all set up in various guest rooms for the next few days.

The sister in laws are doing what they can to keep the children out of anyone’s way.

A sitter was hired for the party, but isn’t due to arrive yet. I offer to help Clara and Lila while they get themselves ready. Also to get my mind off a certain blue-eyed tall blonde gorgeous someone who refuses to leave my thoughts. I’m 16 again and this is all confusing.

6 busy grand-kids 8 and under is a lot to try to keep out of mischief. We color and play games.

“Kat-iss.”

“No! It’s Kat-miss!”

“Kat-iss!”

“You can call me Kat, it’s okay!”

“Can we call you Aunt Kat? Daddy says you could be someday.”

“Well, if some day does happen, then you can call me Aunt. Until then it’s just Kat to you, got it?” I give a wink to Dane’s more pragmatic children, predictably the oldest.  

I try to keep the wildness to a minimum, but there’s only so much I can do. I have to admit, the Mellarks make adorable children!

Lila comes back as I’m tickling two of her blonde giggling sons. She gives me a look.

“You’re a natural, Katniss!” She’s beaming now at the thought of more nieces or nephews.

“Uh, thanks. I’m going to go get ready now.” I don’t want to think about any hypothetical babies with Peeta.

I give myself a pep talk as I adjust the push up bra I’m wearing under the emerald green dress Madge picked for me. “Try to be friendly, be a calming effect on Peeta.” I sigh as I pull out the detailed instructions and diagrams on how to do my make-up.

“Thanks Madge.” I text her, with a picture of the finished, party-ready self.

Mrs. Mellark did a double take when she saw me. Then raised her eyebrows in surprise, “You look lovely, Katniss,” she said, followed by a slow, but sincere smile.

I smiled back and thanked her. Wow, a smile of approval from Mrs. Mellark, I never thought I would see the day.

All I’ve gathered from this party is that loads of money was spent and it’s all for show. It’s boring and stiff. The entire first hour was introduction and light shallow conversation. The best part of this party is the food spread and the alcohol.

I thought we would have been able to make out way over to Annie and Finnick by now, but we are being paraded around so Mrs. Mellark can brag about her handsome successful youngest.

Apparently, being a Biochemist is impressive enough for her, because she’s bragging about what I do. I didn’t even realize she was paying any attention to my career explanation and clearly she googled some of her fast facts, because she didn’t ask me a thing.

Peeta holds my hand tightly, as if he’s worried I will bolt at the first chance. Which I would be lying if I said it hasn’t crossed my mind.

Maybe Peeta is playing it up for the cameras, but it seems like he’s very eager to kiss me with every opportunity. Maybe it helps with his nerves, but the chaste kiss count is racking up today.

When Madge’s parents find me, they pull me in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much for your help with our fundraiser last month, Katniss! We surpassed our goals for aiding childhood hunger that our state is facing today.” Madeline Undersee, always a champion for the underdog.

Before I can say much, Senator and Mrs. Undersee are gushing about me to Loretta, as if I am family. This is all quite the exaggeration. I’m a surly girl who was forced to grow up too fast, I do what anyone else would in my situation. I really do enjoy helping Madge with the causes that improve things for children who grew up with the struggles I had. Why wouldn’t I help?

I can’t keep but feel a little surprised, taken aback even, by the kind words said about me.

“I can’t imagine a better addition to your family, Loretta.” The senator motions to Peeta and I.

As the 5 of us pose for a picture, a lump forms in my throat. I never meant to deceive Madge’s parents.

With that, Peeta’s mom releases her hovering over us. We’ve appeased her. We’re free to go.

We spot Annie and Finnick, a welcome relief. Finnick has an audience of middle aged women hanging on his every word. He holds Annie at his side, almost protectively.

As his audience erupts in laughter, Finnick takes the opportunity to head towards us. Pulling his best friend in a hug while Annie and I catch up.

“You two look amazing together. A very cute couple,” Annie whispers in my ear.

I just smile and shrug.

After only a few minutes, the four of us are laughing and reminiscing. It feels like we’re finally enjoying the party, with Finnick and Annie.

Peeta looks over at his mom, then meets my eyes and steals another kiss. A thank you.

I pretend my heart didn’t just flutter.

Finnick raises his eyebrows then looks to Annie communicating wordlessly. It creeps me out when they do that, so I mumble something about more wine.

Peeta keeps his hand in mine and follows.

As we walk by the grand piano, I admire its beauty.

Peeta gives me a look I can’t read and then at the piano, like he’s remembering something. He squeezes my hand and leans into my ear. His hot breath brushes my bare neck. I bite my lip, trying not moan or think any dirty thoughts.

“You should play. Sing something, like you did at my cousin’s party when we were kids,” he whispers.

I try to ignore the husky, sexy sound of his whisper. Or imagine it being something dirty he’s saying.

Peeta misreads my quietness because he tries to convince me. “I think you were 11 and you had a red dress, your hair was in 2 braids. You were so excited to show Madge that you could play the piano like she could. It was a Christmas song, wasn’t it?” Peeta asks.

I lift my head and look into his eyes, his smiling face. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. I can’t believe you remember that.” I try to hide my surprise.

Peeta smiles as I find my seat on the bench.

I haven’t sang in so long but, for some reason, with that look Peeta gave me all the confidence I need. I’m almost excited to sing for him.

I play the intro on the piano and I notice the chatter in the room die down.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light From now on your troubles will be out of sight Have yourself a merry little Christmas Make the Yuletide gay From now on your troubles will be miles away Here we are as in olden days Happy golden days of yore Faithful friends who are dear to us Gather near to us once more Through the years we all will be together If the fates allow Hang a shining star upon the highest bough So have yourself a merry little Christmas Have yourself a merry little Christmas So have yourself a merry little Christmas

Nooooooow.”

My fingers dance over the keys as I close out the song. The dancing in my heart continues and I can’t keep the joy inside from spilling out onto my face.

Music has a way of making right something inside us. It felt like my dad was with me. Smiling.

“Hey are you okay?” Peeta looks concerned. He starts wiping away tears I didn’t know I shed.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I-I just miss them. I miss my dad,” I attempt to explain.

Peeta pulls me into an empty room and just holds me close. Exactly what I needed.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Ghost Love Score

For the @silmarillionwritersguild’s Challenge ‘Just an old-fashioned love song’ as part of the New Year’s Resolution Challenge.

Fëanor in the Halls of Mandos: 2.8k words

based on Ghost Love Score  -  Nightwish:

Bring me home or leave me be

My love in the dark heart of the night

I have lost the path before me

The one behind will lead me.

My fall will be for you

My love will be in you

You were the one to cut me

So I'll bleed forever

There was no pity in Námo’s white eyes, shining beneath the dark hood of his cloak, when they landed on him.

Fëanor felt oddly pleased by that, meeting the even gaze with an unflinching glare of his own. He had not expected to end up here, to stand before the Doomsman. He did not speak, still filled with the incandescent fury that had consumed his hröa, burning so brightly the world faded from view.

Námo watched in silence. Fëanor resented that. If he was not doomed to the Everlasting Darkness – and standing before Námo told him that he was in Mandos, not the Void beyond the World – then there would be a judgement handed down from this being, who allegedly saw all, knew everything. He resented that as much as he resented the silent scrutiny.

Who were the Valar to judge him, these mighty beings who possessed so much power yet cowered away from hardship when it came to judging one of their own?

How could they judge his deeds when their own actions had forced his hand?

Fëanáro. He had burned, burned so brightly, burned brightly enough to light a fire that changed the world. He heard the voices of those who arrived after him, heard them both curse and praise his name. He wondered which would be the greater, in the end, but it was idly curiosity as he had no way of finding out.

Námo smiled, and Fëanor no longer saw him, saw nothing but a flurry of stars – or were they snowflakes? Seeds dancing on the wind? – stretching endlessly around him.

The stars, whatever they were, danced, moving, some swiftly, some slow, but they moved around him and Fëanor knew they would eventually touch his fëa. His lips twisted in a contemptuous snarl, wondering what trickery this was, what new game the Vala was playing with him as a board-piece.

Because waiting for whatever gambit Námo had just delivered him into to play out was not in his nature, Fëanor – he liked the Sindarin version, short and hard; his Quenya name was somehow softer, floating on one of Nerdanel’s sighs, perhaps – reached out to touch one of the whirling pinpricks of light.

 Alqualondë. Recognisable; he had helped build some of the grand houses here, after all, left far too many blank walls behind – Teleri liked painting with wet plaster, for unknown reasons, even though mosaics were clearly the more beautiful option for wall decoration.

Red hair escaping from its binds – so familiar that it took him longer than he’d like to admit, even to himself, to notice the hands that were building stone upon stone.

Faces appeared next, almost known, pale hair – Arafinwë? – curling around bared shoulders, sleeveless tunic revealing the play of light on skin, muscles tensing and releasing as another stone was moved.

 The stars returned, whirling and spinning around him, swift like rapids and slow like the movement of earth.

Fëanor reached out.

 Námo’s game let him see things, glimpses of past, present, future, and seeing the mess he had left behind was the worst punishment for his rebellion he could imagine. He resented it, watching powerlessly, seeing things unfolding without possibility of changing anything. Was this how Manwë watched the world; another way to drive home how separate the Valar truly were from the Children? Knowing that others were denied the knowledge he found imposed upon his solitary existence grated against nerves more raw than he had ever felt before, but at the same time he craved it, craved both the harsh pain of knowledge without action, but also the sweet agony of seeing each of their faces, seeing the ner they became.

He felt proud of them, despite it all, for different reasons.

He watched as Curvo stopped little Tyelpë – who was no longer little, growing up seemingly from one moment to the next – from taking his Oath, and for a moment he wondered if Atarinkë had been a prophecy rather than the remark on their resemblance he had always thought she had meant.

For a moment, he wanted to ask, wanted red hair wrapping in curls around his fingers and laughter floating in the breeze. Had she known, somehow?

The thought cut through him, the pain of it sharp enough to steal his breath, the sudden certainty that she had always known Curvo was destined to be a better father to Tyelpë than he had managed for any of theirs. As air rushed back into lungs he didn’t really have – existing as a fëa was too peculiar, and he had crafted himself a pretend-shell that resembled his former house rather than live as fire, taking comfort in familiar expressions instead of roaring like an inferno or flickering like a candle when his thoughts changed – he felt an accompanying rush of pride, watching his only grandchild speak with an echo of the fire that had brought a whole people across the sea to fight an unwinnable war.

They believed in him; in Tyelpë they saw a ner worth believing, worth following, and it was glorious to behold.

He watched trials and triumphs, watched as the Oath slowly corrupted his sons, watched as the words haunted them. No cravens nor cowards, his sons, to shy away from their Doom, even as it tore them apart, tore away one after the other.

‘To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.’

Nelyo should never forgive him. Nor any of the others, the scars he had left on them would never fade.

 He could not even dream that she would forgive him, knowing what he had done to her sons, to her. There would be no healing this wound, this rend in her that would be left bleeding until Dagor Dagorath and the Re-making.

Sometimes, she appeared so clearly in his mind, almost clearer than she had when it was real, when it was happening, when he had been able to act.

Tears spilling across her cheeks, helplessness he had not noticed at the time giving her a defeated posture, making her slump in a way that was simply wrong. She should be proud, standing straight and strong, life and love and fire equal to his own in her heart.

But he had smothered her fire. Eclipsed it, and thus covered his own world in darkness, losing the assured path he had once followed and stumbling off into what he now saw as a mire of grief and maddened fury.

Sometimes, he wondered in dark amusement whether that was the Eternal Darkness he had called upon himself, the absence of any fire but his own.

He rarely saw her, the glimpses never more than the familiar shape of a hand, the curve of her cheek, fragmented sights he felt meant to torment him with what he had lost until the moment he began to wonder if he only remembered these fragments, if what he saw was coloured by his own memory of people and places.

He still remembered the redness of her curls – at least he thought he did. He remembered the feel of her body beneath his hands, those muscles born of shaping stone and hefting hammers. He remembered gentle light playing across skin slightly paler than his own, remembered tracing the scattered stars across her cheek with his tongue.

He saw those stars in the faces of some of his sons, saw echoes of her brightness, marred by the Oath and the deeds they had done. He saw them arrive, brought to him one by one, though they did not see him, and he could not bear to speak to those he loved most dearly for fear they would not hear him.

His sons; how terribly had he shaped their fates?

Looking back at it all, he hardly recognised himself, a creature of grief and pain, unwilling to listen to counsel or reason. She had been right to leave, and that, perhaps, was what hurt the most. To know that he had lost himself so completely that she no longer knew his heart, no longer understood him as only she had ever truly understood.

  Nerdanel stood on the precipice, her bare toes kissing the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the roiling sea. The gale blowing around her caught in loose curls, but she stood frozen, uncaring, barely feeling the breath of Manwë as it tangled her hair, pulled at the fabric of her clothes.

Her sons – bar one – were dead, and the last one… was Makalurë staring at the same grey waves that stretched before her eyes?

Her heart was a small wounded thing in her chest, beating slowly, painfully.

Had they been afraid, her sons?

Had they wished for her to hold them, hold them as they breathed their last, calling out to her with voices she could not hear?

Fëanáro had been wrong in haring off after Melkor – Morgoth as he had named him – but as news trickled back to her, tales of Kinslayings – plural! – of kidnappings, of neri that she scarcely recognised as the boys she had once laid to her breast, had raised with more love than she had thought herself capable of feeling… Nerdanel began to wonder if she had not been just as wrong in her stubborn refusal to follow.

Perhaps she could have… that way lay madness, surely. Where was her vaunted wisdom now? How had her feet brought her down this path, taken her from the life she had loved and made her stumble into this unrecognisable nightmare of a future?

Nerdanel… the wise. It left a sour taste in her mouth, the name, a bitter tang of loneliness and grief that it had not carried when he had named her so. What wisdom had been in remaining behind, in letting her sons – her sons! – throw their lives away thus, what wisdom in staying in this place where she was equal parts scorned and revered for the choice?

She had come here, escaping the looks cast her way in Tirion, in Alqualondë.

She had raised Kinslayers.

She had spoken against Fëanáro’s plan, and been banished for it.

Pity and scorn, always, pity and scorn. And pain. So much pain it felt like she had not taken a true breath since before Finwë was murdered.

There was no escape from this pain.

She did not hear her words even as she spoke them, did not care to note how she threw her fury, her agony, her grief, her love into the wind, screamed against the pain that had wrapped her in chains tighter than she could ever escape.

And still she could not hate him.

Oh, they thought she must, those people far away who had never understood what she shared with him, but Nerdanel knew that love was as tightly woven into her fëa as this new grief that cut a thousand bleeding wounds in her heart.

Beyond the pain, however, there was fury, fury strong enough to topple mountains if she let it.

Others had hope they might see their loved ones again, hope that they might make amends with those who had been wronged, those who had left… hope that was denied her.

For that, she did blame him.

For that, she did blame the Valar, their willingness to abandon the Children to their own devices, for that, she blamed even the All-Father, by whom they had foolishly sworn their oath.

My sons. How did we all come to this, my most beloveds?

How do we find the path that will lead us from this darkness, Fëanáro, when you cannot seek it with me?

  She sat in a hall he recognised, her lips pressed tight together as she watched a stranger come before her, speaking words meant to oust her from this place, this seat that Finwë had sat upon when he joined them in exile, and the vehement loathing in her eyes as she stared at the quailing ner before her was something at once alien and so familiar that Fëanáro shuddered to see it on her face. It was a look he had seen on his own face, mirrored in glass, but never in her, never shaped by her brows, her lips, her clenching fingers as anger warred within her.

“No.” Her refusal was plain, only one word; denial, pure and simple.

“You could return to Tirion,” the ner tried, but Fëanáro felt no surprise to see the steel in her gaze harden further. She was at least as stubborn as he; one of the reasons he had loved her.

“You may tell your King that he is welcome to visit me,” Nerdanel replied, and her voice held enough ice that Fëanáro half expected it to come out as a puff of frost, “but I am the Lady of Formenos, and here I shall remain.”

  She did not sing when she worked.

Somehow – and it surprised him to feel so, having teased her often that her singing was comparable to a cat that had been stepped on – the silence of Nerdanel’s workshop seemed to number among the greatest wrongs he had done her.

  The stars whirled ever onwards.

Fëanor had stopped reaching out, choosing silent endurance as each moment broke him down further.

  In the dead of night, she felt the ghost of his touch, wiping away the tears that only fell in darkness, loneliness, felt the way he would kiss silent apologies into her skin when he hurt her.

It was almost real, and almost real was not enough.

Nerdanel had realised ‘almost real’ hurt even more than ‘gone forever’.

  “I want them back.”

She said it clearly, decisively, like she was Queen – she was, she was his Queen, and no one would dare say otherwise – tired of smothering the fire that burned in her heart. The serving maiar did not reply, but Nerdanel did not care.

What had she, but time?

Settling with her back against a pillar she could have carved more beautiful in her sleep, Nerdanel waited.

What was there, for her, but steely determination?

Loneliness.

Loneliness, and anger, fury that would find no release, no easing of the pain she felt.

What was there, except the scorn and the pity as those who had died in Alqualondë began to return, while she grew paler by the day, losing more and more pieces of what made her her. Hope. It had been the first thing to vanish, leaving her with such fleeting steps she did not even notice its flight before it had abandoned her.

She had not come for hope.

She had not come for anger, for vengeance, not shown up at the Halls as a penitent seeking absolution.

She had come for love.

Love and fire.

Fire and pain.

Pain and love.

 To pass the time, she sang. Badly. She knew her strengths, and music was surely not among them – Makalaurë’s skill had ever fascinated her, the way his mind seemed to hear melodies in everything around him, his fingers plucking them out on a harp, his lips shaping them in a hum, a song.

Still, she had no desire to begin reshaping this travesty of stone that Mandos called his Halls – parts of it might have been beautiful, but it felt oddly unfinished, as though the sculptor had put down his tools while only half the design had been released from the stone – and so Nerdanel sang.

 “Why are you here?”

The question came days later, maybe weeks, months, years.

Nerdanel smiled; it was not a pleasant smile. The servant of Mandos took a step back.

“I want them,” she said. “All of them.”

 Námo’s hidden eyes saw all.

A wave of his hand made the specks of memory that floated around Fëanor whirl faster.

The stars held no fascination for him anymore, beyond trying not to wince when they pierced his mind with flashes of imagery.

Nerdanel in her workshop, offkey singing as her chisel shaped wondrous things became the stars once more.

The singing continued.

Fëanor started, whirling to peer through the impenetrable haze of stars that seemed to be no fewer than when his punishment had first begun.

Nerdanel.

It could be no other.

Fëanor grinned, feeling a curious sense of uplifting; she really was atrocious, and the sound was more precious to him than anything he could have named in that moment.

Pushing through the stars, Fëanor watched impatiently as each memory blurred together, a collage of thoughts and time.

And still, Nerdanel was singing in the distance.

   Perhaps the Valar had found some mercy in the war that had been fought beyond the sea, a glimmer of compassion, perhaps, Nerdanel wondered.

Sstaring at the doorway, she fell silent. Such familiar hair – her own, but sitting on a different head, mingled with darker strands, and single head of pale moonlight – and she reached for them, reached for them even as she saw hesitancy in their eyes, saw the way they expected her scorn, her disdain for their acts.

“Come to me,” she pleaded, reaching, reaching, hearing her blood thunder in her ears as her heart pushed it through her body.

They came.

Her arms were not long enough; they were bigger now than when they had left, or maybe she was smaller, but they fit with her nonetheless.

“Ammë.”

“My boys.” They were. Her boys, no matter what they had done, had seen; they were hers.

Nerdanel kissed brows, wiped away tears, crushed bodies against her, surprised by the strength that returned her hold.

“My boys,” she whispered, wishing that she could take the haunted looks from their eyes as easily as she was putting smiles on their faces.

  “I said all of them.” Nerdanel said later, making the seven around her startle, but her tone brooked no disagreement, and they settled around her, adding their stares to her own. “You will give them to me.” She said it, and he could hear the determination in her voice, did not need to hear the rest of her words to know what she meant to say. “You will give them to me, or I will follow them, this time, I will follow.” Silence greeted her. “Do not test me.”

Fëanor thought he was running, following the sound that had underscored much of his life, in truth, the sound of her voice.

He had left her behind in anger, and now he was running towards her, wishing for no more than a true glimpse.

The irony was not lost on him.

[thinkofduty]

; prevailing

The last time Orella had seen snow, she'd been barely more than a girl.

It had come in the night.

The world had been blanketed in white as though Halone Herself had lain down Her spears to tend Her flock as would a shepherd. It looked so soft, so inviting, its true nature hidden in plain sight amongst the twinkling ice crystals. They'd all stepped out, Orella and her mother and her father, played until their fingers were too cold to bend, until the snow had begun to fall anew.

After those first few hours, it was little more than a nuisance. They could not see where their town ended and the rolling hills began, so thick was the fresh fall, and both the land and sky were white, indistinguishable from one another.

And the wind. How it had howled down! The smallest cracks would let it in, and it would whistle as it squeezed through to freeze them. Not even the fire blazing in the hearth had been enough to keep the cold out. They had shivered together, huddled under the thickest blankets they owned, and waited for winter to pass.

Coerthas is so much worse than Orella could ever have imagined.

Not one for the chill, she finds it a personal slight to be so assaulted by frigid gales and snowflakes, has to exercise great will to stop her teeth from chattering. Every time some gelid breeze finds its way indoors her mind wanders back to the winter of her girlhood, and the way her home had been less than prepared for the onslaught of cold. At least Gyr Abania had had an excuse not to prepare for the future. Ishgard has had years to realise its new climate is here to stay, and still they do not seem to have done enough to keep the elements out.

Once, and only once, does she mention this to Ingvald, who promptly reprimands her.

"They're recovering from war," he says, and the matter is closed.

She cannot afford to be mad at him for too long. The man is a gods-given furnace, and the best companion she could ask for this far north. He has no need for as many layers as she must wear to be comfortable, brushes every light dusting of snow off as though it bothers him no more than an insect. At night, he sweats and kicks the blankets off and despite knowing how uncomfortable it must make him, Orella adds her own body heat to his and presses close.

They've something of a routine already, only a scant few days into their stay. In the morning they wake and dress and go for a walk to map the city. They return to the inn - the Forgotten Knight, a name ironic enough to bring a smile to even Orella's face - to eat and warm up once more. Ingvald pulls out any notes he's made during the day and adds them to his scraps of information; bits and pieces about Ishgardian Knights he'd pulled from the Sandsea's library. If the weather allows it, they walk together until night falls before returning to their rooms and ignoring each other over supper.

The peace between them is tense as of late. Still sulking from her forced march to Coerthas, Orella refuses to make small talk unless necessary, and Ingvald is more than adept at ignoring her foul moods, so the silences stretch out. Still, they are unwiling to let each other out of sight. When they walk it is together, keeping pace with one another, even in a crowd. The city's people stand heads taller than either of them - and they are neither of them short by any means - and use their advantage to stare down upon them. Both the impassive gaze of the nobles and the hungry leer of the homeless are disconcerting enough that any misgivings they have toward one another are easily forgotten during the day.

Besides, if she stays close - angles herself just so - Ingvald is an excellent windbreaker.

The eighth morning in Ishgard sees much the same as the previous seven: naught out of place for a city. Upon the Hoplon do the clergymen preach;  down in the Brume do the destitute beseech any lost travellers for coin. The wind nips at them all, and no one but Orella seems to feel it.

"I'm going back," she says, and turns on her heel before Ingvald has a chance to try to stop her. Tightly does she pull the woollen tunic about her neck, squinting as she goes, the day's brightness making the cold air sharper. She walks slowly, in case he wants to catch up, but there's no second pair of footsteps hurrying to match her own. When she turns the corner she stops, peers back as though checking patrol routes. Ingvald is still deep in conversation with the stall-owner that had been patiently answering their questions. For all Orella knows, he might not have heard her.

Well. There is no place she wants to explore so much as the route back to the inn, buts he knows it well enough already. If she is to wander away from Ingvald, she might as well take a different path. Tread the road more scenic and become a little more worldly for having done so.

It's a childish thought, and she snorts as it comes to mind. The breath comes out as a cloud of steam. She has seen enough of the world, knows too much of the evils it holds. There is darkness in the heart of all men, of that she is convinced. She's seen it in Garleans, seen it in the men that made up the rest of the Kingsguard, seen it eat up the good and the bad and the neutral. She does not need to wander Hydaelyn to remind herself of this.

So engrossed in her thoughts, Orella barely notices the grand entrance to the Holy See. Her feet have taken her further into the heart of the Hoplon, so high that the chill feels as sharp as a sword, now, and she pauses to readjust her collar. A priest's high voice carries on the wind and warns her against opening her heart to folly, and before Orella can laugh, someone screams.

It's a woman's cry. Orella's head snaps up and around, searching for the source. She isn't the only one. So close to the grand cathedral, so many temple knights are on alert already. There's another scream. Two of them exchange the briefest of glances before abandoning their posts to investigate. As subtle as she can, Orella follows.

It isn't hard to find the cause. All she must do is follow the crowd of people that are inevitably drawn toward the sound of terror - and there are always people waiting for just this moment, waiting for the seeds of darkness to sprout and wind their coils around the ankles of whoever is closest.

A woman - thin, underdressed for the Pillars - stands with her hands clasped over her mouth. What little Orella can see of her face is contorted into a perfect fascimile of horror. Shielding her is a figure dressed toe to tip in raggedy robes and armour, their face covered. In their hands, a greatsword to rival Orella's own, held at the ready. At their feet, a body. A pool of blood, steaming in the cold.

"Put your weapon up and surrender yourself immediately, heathen!"

The cry comes from a guardsman, who has drawn his own sword. A single-hander, it looks considerably less dangerous than the greatsword being handled with ease. The expression on the man's face suggests he knows this. The one holding the greatsword tilts their head in such a way that suggests that they too know this.

"You'd have done nothing."

The words cut as sharply as the winds do. Orella doesn't immediately recognise where it's coming from. Not deep enough to be male, not high enough to be female, it could belong to anyone.  Or so she thinks. The veiled figure has done an excellent job at masking themselves.

"This scum would have hurt her if she'd said no - when she'd said no. And you'd have done nothing. You'd have let him get away with it, just because he's noble born."

"Murderer!" someone in the crowd screams. The guardsman approaches slowly.

"Drop your sword," he says. "Drop it, dark knight. You'll be lucky to face trial with how many people saw you. Drop it, and I'll-"

Precisely what he'll do is lost as he takes a step back and lifts the sword above his head to block. The greatsword comes singing down, a great clash of steel on steel, and the crowd is screaming, pushing each other, trying to get away. The girl the figure had been protecting has fled, had shoved her way through the horde of onlookers the moment her saviour had swung. The guardsman calls for help from his fellows and they jump into the fray, steel gleaming in the sunlight, the identical movements from each of them one big blur of blue-and-silver --

Orella is rooted to the spot, can't tear her gaze away. Whoever the robed figure is, they wield the greatsword with such efficiency that it could weigh as little as a coeurl kitten. And they know how to fight. Not the clean way all guardsmen learn, but brutally. Carefully. They block with their arms - gauntlets no doubt hidden beneath their ragged sleeves - and throw punches at the ones closest. They stamp their feet and make to lunge forward, and when they're given room, swing the sword in a great arc. One of the guards is caught in the thigh, and goes down with a cry. Red sprays elegantly and marks the stone, marks the snow.

Then the figure reaches into its pocket, swings its gaze around and locks eyes with Orella, and she feels the blade that stabs into their side as though it pierces her own chest. All at once she is forgotten by the figure, who cries out as they pull off the blade, and swings wildly with their greatsword. It is a desperate move, meant to keep assailants away. Orella could step in. She has left her own greatsword in the Forgotten Knight, but she does not go out unarmed. She could help. She could.

And she does not. She stands, feet frozen in her boots, and watches as two men strike one dark knight down. The figure turns as they fall. The sword clatters to the ground and whatever they'd been holding in their other hand skitters out of their pocket and into some shadowed corner. The stench of blood would be overpowering did it not smell of cold.

When the guardsmen lock eyes with her, she nods, once. A job well done. One returns it grimly while the others turn their attention to their injured fellow, and so quickly is she forgotten in lieu of moving bodies from the Holy See's doorstep.

It is no trouble to sneak the dropped item into her pocket and walk away.

The inn is as lively as ever. She nods a greeting at the barkeep, who recognises her by now, steps around an Auri male that glowers at her for daring to come so close to his table, and finds at the top of the stair that the room she shares with Ingvald is unlocked.

He's banked the fire and dragged the lone chair close to it so he can read by its dim light. His head is hung over the book and she can just make out the looking-glasses that perch upon his nose. When he doesn't immediately stir - not even as the door clicks shut once again - she takes a moment to appreciate the way the low firelight seems to almost blur his features, makes him look that much younger, that much less severe, even while he frowns over his text.

Soon enough, he sighs, but doesn't look up. "You're late. I thought you were going back first?"

"I got distracted," she says, and takes a few steps closer to the fire. Even through the thick leather of her boots, the warmth hurts her toes. "There was a fight outside the church."

She sits with a heavy thump upon the floor and kicks the offending items off. The gloves follow, and she wraps her fingers around her aching feet to try and rub some life back into them. "A fight?"

"Yeah." The heat has been quickly leeched from her hands. "Self-made justice being meted out upon the streets of Ishgard. Some do-gooder stopping a rape, I think. Or a kidnapping. I'm not sure." She pauses, grunts as she stretches out and puts her feet as close to the hearth as she dares. Even low as it is, the heat is almost unbearably painful. "The guards cut him down. Slaughter in the streets is a no-no."

"Slaughter?"

"Whoever it was killed a noble in broad daylight. Whatever his idea of justice, it wasn't a good idea to do outside the Archbishop's seat."

"And you stopped to watch."

When she looks up, Ingvald is staring down at her with barely concealed exasperation. The looking-glasses make him look like a tutor from this angle, and she feels as though she is in trouble for skipping a day of classes or some such. The thought makes her grin, which only serves to deepen the crease between Ingvald's frown.

"I didn't go looking for trouble," she says, and puts her hand in her pocket. Her fingers close around something small and smooth. "It just... happened around me."

"I'm telling you," Ingvald mutters, "Once more, and I think you qualify for the unluckiest woman in Eorzea." Then, a little louder, "Haven't you had enough misfortune to last a lifetime?"

"Two," Orella says absently, and runs her fingers over the stone she'd picked up. It's barely the size of her palm, but it has many faces and some sort of design etched into it. Her nail catches on the grooves, once, twice-

Ingvald is speaking, but she's not paying attention. Her feet yet tingle, but she's warm at last, and her concentration is entirely focused on the design under her nail. It doesn't feel like Halone's three spears. Maybe it's just a rock.

Maybe.

Seated so close to the fireplace, she thinks she understands suddenly how Ingvald can barely tolerate the heat. It's too warm in the room, almost stifling, intense, and her toes are stiff, and she thinks she might say something- might ask him to open a window for a spell-

Merden's face swims before her.

He calls her name. Her limbs are sluggish, her head heavy. She must be late for duty if he's calling her. He calls her name. She fights to wake, fights to stay asleep. His face swims. There's two of him. Three. One. She can't make out his face, but it must be him. His hair is free. He's close. He calls her name. It's time to wake up. He calls her name. He calls her name.

With great effort, she forces her eyes open as though waking from a nightmare, and the effort makes her groan. Everything is wrong. Every part of her is soaked with sweat. She's cold, so cold, shivering, and then hot, too hot, burning up, the coals of the fire packed beneath her skin. She's sweating, and her heart races as though she's run a thousand fulms in full plate.

But that cannot be right, for she lies upon the floor, Ingvald's worried face above her.

"Orella?"

She wants to say something - wants to reassure him, wants to wipe that panicked look off his face, but her jaw is wired shut and she cannot work up the strength to open it. She groans again, closes her eyes as sweat trickles into them, and her heart thunders again as Ingvald's gentle touch brushes across her brow. She's too sensitive, too hot, too weak-

And then something deep within her convulses. Her mouth fills with sour spittle and she starts sweating anew, breath shallow, panicked, heart racing. Ingvald lifts her easily by the armpits, props her up so she's on her side, and the world spins as he moves her.

She throws up then, with Ingvald's hands keeping her up, with her hair plastered to her scalp. It's awful, sour, bitter, and it keeps on coming until there's nothing left to throw up, until she's dry heaving, until she cannot breathe.

Worst of all, she starts to cry. Between each wretched retch she sobs, feeling pitiful, feeling worse when Ingvald pulls her back, away from her sick, and to her feet easily. She sags against him, grateful for his bulk propping her up.

"Alright," he says simply, "Let's put you to bed."

She doesn't protest. She can't. Her mouth tastes too bad and she's still breathing as though she's run a marathon. The world spins again and she gags - he pauses, turns her away from the bed - but it passes and he lets her down gently. She doesn't even protest when he starts to undress her, strips the tunic off and wipes her mouth with it. By the time he's done wiping her down, she's shivering uncontrollably.

"Ingvald," she tries to say, but she's met with a shake of his head. With only a little effort he pulls the blanket back, lays her down, and tucks her in.

"I'll be back soon," she thinks he says, but she's half-asleep already. The world's still spinning and the idea of sleeping is attractive, but she thinks of-

of waking up again-

The door clicking open startles her alert again, but it's only Ingvald. He's returned with a tankard the size of a small bucket and sets it down next to the bed, pauses to run a thumb gentle over her forehead. This time, the touch doesn't prickle.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't-"

"Enough of that," he says back, and stands. She watches him take her tunic and set to work mopping her sick with it. "Sleep. You want anything? Water? Medicine?"

"Don't leave me," she says, voice hoarse. Ingvald stops cleaning long enough to turn, to look her right in the eye. He's still wearing his reading glasses.

"Never," he says.

[i-write-stuff-its-ok]

PTA

Summary- Jeremy and Michael are married and have two kids Roux (pronounced Roo) and Miles Jeremy is on the PTA at their school. Jeremy is home sick with the flu and can’t make it to the weekly PTA meeting. Michael volunteers to go for Jeremy despite the fact Jeremy says he wont like it. Michael goes anyway and has to deal with the homophobic and slightly racist suburban soccer moms that make up the PTA.

warnings- mild cursing, homophobic talk and slurs. (nothing too bad though)

word count - 1751

“Oh please Jeremy, I’ll be fine its just one meeting” Michael said confidently. “ I don't know man the moms over there can be, judgey. I don't think you will like it. I’ll just go it will be fine.” Jeremy said. “ No you’re sick and you need to rest. I’ll go to the meeting for you.” Michael reassured him. “ But if you want me to rest who’s gonna watch the kids” Jeremy asked. “ Roux is upstairs playing videogames and Miles is at Will’s house working on their school project. The kids are fine. You just sit here and rest I will go to the meeting and I will take notes for you and fill you in on what you miss ok.” Michael says with a smile. “ Fine.” sighed Jeremy. “ Get some rest. I love you.” said Michael. “ I love you to” Michael kissed Jeremy on the forehead and left.

 Michael parked his car in a parking lot filled with mini vans and walked in to the school gym. In side was a few folding tables pushed together to make one larger table and off to the side where two more tables filled with home made and store bought goodies. Michael quickly saw he was the only dad there. He awkwardly shuffled over to the table of treats and grabbed a cookie. It was disgusting. “ Like the cookies, I made them. Their gluten free you know”. A blonde lady stood behind him with a chilling smile. “ I don't think I’ve seen you around here before. I'm Gale.” she beamed. “ Oh, I'm Michael and I'm filling in for Jeremy for the day, he’s home with the flu.” he said. “Aw the poor dear. How do you know Jeremy are you his brother in law or friend or,” Gale questioned. “ Oh no I'm Jeremy’s husband.” Michael stated with pride. The color in Gales face drained away. “ I see. Well then, lets start this meeting and not waste anymore time. Shall we.” she hissed. She marched over to the table and sat down the rest of the moms followed soon after. “ Good morning ladies. And guest.” Gale said with a glare towards Michael. “Now before we start we have someone ... new with us today.” she said threw gritted teeth. All of the mothers turned to face Michael. “ Please introduce yourself.” Gale stared at him with cold dead eyes. “ Hello my name is Michael and I'm filling in for my husband Jeremy today because he’s home sick.” The room was eerily silent. The mother to his left scooted her chair away from Michael and clung on to a cross neckless she wore. “ Now,” Gale started, “lets-” “Wait umm before we start, where is the bathroom.” Michael interrupted. “ Down the hall and to the left.” Gale said with a fake smile. Michael quickly got up and walked to the restroom.

Once they thought Michael was out of ear shot the chatter begain. “ I always knew something was off about Jeremy , but being gay.” said Gale. “ I would have guessed he was a Liberal or one of those crazy parents who gives his kids vaccines, but never gay. He seemed so normal, well not normal but you know what I mean.” said a redheaded woman. “ I know what you mean Helen.” said Gale. “ I knew he was crazy from the beginning. Even before I knew he was gay. I knew he wasn't right In the head, I mean Jeremy all ready admitted to marrying someone who wasn't white. But now this. Unbelievable!” exclaimed a burnet mother at the end of the table. “ We should have listened to you sooner Lindsey.” stated Helen. The woman clutching on to her cross necklace let go, sat up straight ,and spoke up. “ It’s no wonder poor Roux and Miles are so screwed up.” said Mary.

“Excuse me?” said Michael from the door way. “ What did you just say about my children?” Mary shuttered in fear and grabbed back on to her necklace. “ Y-you heard u-us?” stammered Mary. “ Yes, or at least I think you did so can you please repeat what you just said. Because I think I just heard you insult my kids so can you please repeat your self so I can make sure I'm not going crazy and I really just heard that.” demanded Michael. “ I think you need to calm down.” said Gale. “We don't need any more angry gays.” mumbled Helen to herself. Michael’s eyes widened with anger and he walked over to the tables full of sweets. He then looked her right in the eyes and flipped a 10 x 12 pan of sugar free brownies. “ My brownies!” cried out Helen. “ Fight me Helen.” Michael said with a straight face. Helen shot out from her chair reeling and slammed her fists on the table. “ How dare you!” she screamed. “Helen please! We are civilized people, you do not need to go to violence. We have morals, unlike someone.” Gale said with a sharp glare in Michaels direction. “ Insulting my family, is that what we call morals now?” said Michael sternly. “ No, but following the lords will and not corrupting the minds of young children is.” hissed Lindsey. “ Corrupting? Really?” Michael sarcastically. “ You heard me.” Said Lindsey puffing her chest. “ Just look at Miles. Just the other day he said his favorite color was pink. That's a girl color, and Roux the poor thing. She refuses to wear dresses and skirts and spends all her time talking about zombies and video games. Things are they way they are for boys and girls for a reason and we don't need people like you and Jeremy raising kids incorrectly.” she stated mater of factly. “ Look you can insult me all you want but you do not get to speak about my children or Jeremy like that. Got it.” said Michael his voice low all most a growl.  “ Fine, now lets get on with the meeting ok.” said Gale. Michael walked back to the table and sat down. Mary whispered a prayer as he took his seat next to her. “ Now the first thing we need to discuss is the drama department. The auditions for Romeo and Juliet are coming to a close and the drama teacher is considering having a boy play the role of the nurse. She is receiving complaints from parents, some saying the role should go to a girl and others saying if the kid can play the part he should have it. She would like our opinions on the matter.” Gale read off of a clip board in front of her. “ I think that if the boy can play the role better then a girl he should have it. Who cares if it was written for a girl.” Michael said with a smile. “ Of course you would think that, damn fag.” muttered Helen. “ What was that?” said Michael anger bubbling inside him again. “ You heard what I said. What are you going to do about it?” mocked Helen. “Oh I’ll show you what I'm gonna do bitch!” Michael shouted as he shot out of his seat and flung the papers in front of him at Helen. Soon all the mothers and Michael where standing and shouting at each other papers and baked goods where flying. Gale stood on top of a table and shouted above all the commotion, “ ENOUGH! I SAID ENOUGH!” ,the room fell silent as she continued, “ THIS MEETING IS OFFICALY OVER! AND YOU” , she pointed at Michael, “ I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU OR YOUR DISGUSTING HUSBAND AT ONE OF THESE MEETINGS EVER AGAIN! I REFUSE TO HAVE SUCH LOW LIFE  AND SINFUL PARENTS REPERSENTING US! MEETING ADJOURNED!’ she screeched. The room was quite. “ Well I will see you lovely ladies at parent teacher night. And Gale, your cookies are disgusting.” Michael said with a smile as Gale gasped. He walked out of the room avoiding stepping on the various cakes and cookies on the floor.

“ I’m back!” Michael announced as he walked threw the front door. “ How was it?” asked Jeremy on the couch sniffling. “ Oh it was great!” Michael said beaming. “ Wait, what, really, it went good. N-nothing went wrong.” Jeremy said shocked. “ Yeah it was awesome.” Michael said. “ Wow I'm impressed.” Jeremy looked at Michael. “ What went wrong.” asked Jeremy. Michael glanced to the side  “ Wha- nothing went wrong Jer bear ”  “ Don't Jer bear me. I know your lying, I’ve known you for nineteen years I can tell when your lying Michael.” Jeremy said staring at his husband. “ Michael.” he said sternly. “ Guess who got us banned from the PTA haha ha...” Michael said bashfully. “ Oh my God Michael.” Jeremy said burying his face in to his hands. “ You ok Jeremy, uh Jeremy are you ok? Jer bear? You ok?” Michael asked concerned. Jeremy was quite. “ I'm really sorry. But they where talking bad about the kids, and about you and us being married and then I got all defensive and-” Jeremy erupted in to laughter “ Jeremy?” “ H-Holy shit dude! hahaha You- you actually got us banned! hahahahahaha Oh my god! You fought the soccer moms! ahahahahahaha this is too funny!” laughed Jeremy.  “So your not mad?” asked Michael. “ No I'm not mad this is hilarious dude. I cant believe this. Dude you got-you got us banned for being gay hahahahahaha I can’t breath! ” Jeremy wheezed. “ So your not mad that I yelled at Gale, or flipped Helens brownies?” Michael asked. “ No dude I hate Gale and Helen their stuck up bitches. And Gales cookies are awful.” Jeremy smiled. “ Bro her baking is so bad man!” Michael laughed. “ Wait, did you say you flipped Helens brownies?” asked Jeremy. “... Yes...” said Michael hesitantly. “ I love you so much.” chuckled Jeremy as he kissed Michael on the cheek. They both laughed as they sat down on the couch. “ Man, Gale really is a bitch.” stated Michael. “ Dude tell me about it.” said Jeremy rolling his eyes as they snuggled together on the couch still laughing about all that happened at this weeks PTA meeting.

[true-halloween-tales]

2017: #4-SPIES

There’s a man who leads a life of danger To everyone he meets he stays a stranger With every move he makes another chance he takes Odds are he won’t live to see tomorrow Secret agent man, secret agent man They’ve given you a number and taken away your name. - “Secret Agent Man” by Johnny Rivers.

James Bond is not an uncommon Halloween costume; so many different Bond outfits could be used, but white tuxedos are sure to win the day.  There are other distinctive spies that one could create costumes for Halloween.  Patrick McGoohan was one of the first actors to regularly portray a spy, John Drake, in the British series, Danger Man, from 1960-62.  In the half-hour episodes, John Drake worked on various cases as a United Nations agent.  The series returned from 1964-67 as Secret Agent in one-hour episodes.  In Secret Agent, John Drake now worked for the British secret service.  The storylines were sophisticated and realistic.  McGoohan performed his own stunts, and there were excellent supporting actors.  Johnny River’s song, “Secret Agent Man” was created for this series.  In 1967, McGoohan went on to co-create The Prisoner, a science-fiction/spy, cult tv mini-series.  McGoohan wore a distinctive outfit in The Prisoner, perfect for a Halloween costume, including a black blazer with white piping.  The Prisoner sure seems like the continuing Orwellian nightmarish misadventures of John Drake, even though McGoohan’s character is only referred to as Number Six in the seventeen episodes.  Who has kidnapped him?  Where is he?  Who is Number One?  And what are those growling, large, white bubble monsters (see 2011: #2-STRANGE TV MONSTERS)?  The Prisoner is one of the most artistic and intelligent television series ever made, and has social commentary ranging from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest to 1984.  In fact, The Prisoner is one of the top ten best tv series ever.  The Prisoner has a definite ending which is so strange that it makes a werewolf yodeling Swedish songs in a hot tub filled with gravy to be rather normal.  In the 1960’s-70’s, McGoohan was offered the role of James Bond three times, but he turned it down because he felt that Bond was an immoral character.  Actors who portray spies often feel that they are villains.

In 1962, Dr. No, the first James Bond film, was released starring Sean Connery.  When he tired of the role, George Lazenby became the second James Bond for one film.  Meanwhile, a popular British spy tv series had started since Danger Man had begun: The Saint.  The Saint ran from 1962-69, black and white and then into color, and featured the thief, but honorable cultured man, Simon Templar, as played by a young Roger Moore.  Roger Moore then graduated to become the third James Bond.  He extended his tongue-in-cheek persona of Simon Templar into his characterization of James Bond.  The Saint was resurrected in 1978 with The Return of the Saint British tv series and starred Ian Ogilvy.  Timothy Dalton then replaced Roger Moore in the 1980’s as the fourth James Bond.  The 1982-87 American tv series, Remington Steele, became popular which was about a Simon Templar-like character, starring Pierce Brosnan.  After waiting for his Remington Steele contractual issues to end, Pierce Brosnan became the fifth official James Bond.  But there have also been unofficial James Bonds.  The 1967 film, Casino Royale, was not included in the James Bond film series.  Instead, it was curiously created as a comedy with multiple actors portraying James Bond including David Niven and Peter Sellers.  For villains, Casino Royale starred Orson Wells as Le Chiffre and Woody Allen as Dr. Noah.  Back in the proper James Bond series, in 2006 Daniel Craig became the sixth James Bond.  He portrays Bond the most accurately as compared to the character in the books.

The James Bond original novels were written by Ian Fleming who also strangely released, Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang.  He wrote fourteen James Bond books from 1953-66 which provided full characterizations of Bond.  They are worth reading if you like spy novels.  The Bond in the books is a bit different than the Bond in films.  The novels characterize Bond as more of a gourmet and less of a lusty womanizer, who tries to live life to the fullest because he expects to die any day.  The central characteristic of Bond and any superior spy is thinking outside of the box – and probably blowing up the box!  In 1968, Kingsley Amis continued the Bond series with Colonel Sun.  Then the Bond book series died, until 1981-96 in which John Gardner continued the series with sixteen more novels.  Some of his Bond novels were exceptionally awful.  The series was then continued by Raymond Benson with nine novels from 1996-2002.  Since then there have been four new novels written in the series, each by a different author, such as Devil May Care by Sebastian Faulks.  There is also a Young Bond series that started twelve years ago written by two authors and containing eleven books.  

James Bond is a major acting role just like Batman or Sherlock Holmes.  There are some noteworthy actors who turned down the role over the years besides Patrick McGoohan.  Richard Burton and Cary Grant both turned down the role.  Adam West and Clint Eastwood refused the role because they felt the actor should be British.  There are many actors who auditioned and were not selected for the role: Michael Cain, Paul McGann, Mel Gibson, Sam Neill, and Jeremy Brett (see 2012: #12-THE ADVENTURES OF SHEERLUCK HOMIE).  It would be fascinating if a future James Bond film brought back the surviving Bond actors including Timothy Dalton and Pierce Brosnan as villains.  When considering Bond-related Halloween costumes, take into account distinctive Bond villains such as the bald Goldfinger or the three-nippled Scaramanga.  But there are spies beyond Bond!

Perhaps the most stylish, elegant, and entertaining spy tv series is The Avengers starring Patrick Macnee as John Steed and Dianna Rigg as Emma Peel.  Steed was a spy who wore custom-made, light blue or gray, Pierre Cardin suits, wore a distinctive armored bowler hat, and carried secret-gadget umbrellas, all suitably swell for Halloween costumes.  The first season featured Dr. David Keel who meets the spy, John Steed.  The second season included Steed mostly working with Cathy Gale played by Honor Blackman who appeared in Goldfinger.  The third and fourth seasons were the best and introduced Steed to Dianna Rigg as the wonderful Mrs. Emma Peel.  Mrs. Peel’s colorful catsuits and full leather bodysuits qualify for being cool Halloween costumes.  The fifth and sixth seasons had Steed working with his spy boss, Mother, played by Patrick Newel as he was assisted by the spy-in-training, Tara King, played by Linda Thorson.  The Avengers ran for six seasons between 1961-69 with one hundred and sixty-one episodes.  Some episodes crossed over into science-fiction/horror with possible ghosts, time travel, Frankenstein monsters, and UFOs.  Guest stars included Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee (see 2018: #1-GREAT HORROR FILM ACTORS).  In 1976-77, two seasons of The New Avengers ran with Patrick Macnee reprising his role as an older Steed as he directed the spies Gambit and Purdey, who was portrayed by Absolutely Fabulous’ Joanna Lumley (aka Patsy).   The Avengers was adapted into a 1998 film that was panned by critics but included Ralph Fiennes, Sean Connery, and an appearance by Patrick Macnee as an invisible man.  I met Patrick Macnee in 1992, and I asked him to impart his wisdom and he told me, “Do whatever you have to do to get through the day.”

There are many other popular spy tv series.  The Man From Uncle was popular; so was I, Spy.  Mission Impossible was a tv series and has also been a film series.  The Wild, Wild West was a decent spy series with a lot of perilous dwarf villains.  In the 1970’s, Edward Woodward was the lead in the dark, gritty British spy series, Callan, who sometimes performed assassinations.  In the 1980’s, Woodward swam to the U.S. to star in The Equalizer for four seasons.  His Robert McCall was quite similar to a retired Callan.  24 was a very popular, anti-terrorist, action-oriented series.  Most recently, Person of Interest was a science-fiction/spy series similar to The Prisoner in some ways.  Get Smart was the first spy/comedy tv series, and Archer is now a popular, spy/comedy, animated series.  There are many spy films, and many of those are based on previous tv series and are never as good as the original.  

There is one fresh and new, spy video game character that offers a distinctive Halloween costume: Sam Fisher.  Sam Fisher is the central character in the Splinter Cell game series.  There are Splinter Cell books and a film is planned potentially starring Mad Max’s Tom Hardy.  Sam Fisher is more athletic than James Bond, and mainly performs special operations for a subdivision of the NSA.  His ninja-like methods are reinforced by his gadgets.  He uses a light meter to stay in shadows and wears distinctive night-vision goggles with his trademark three green glowing lenses.  Sam Fisher typically wears high-tech black bodysuits and creeps about using lethal force on high-stakes missions.  Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory is the best game in the series, and it features a really great soundtrack by Amon Tobin.  I expect that in the future Sam Fisher will be much more well known after the film is made, and he will provide popular Halloween costumes.  

There is one great, non-fiction, spy tv series, Reilly: Ace of Spies starring Sam Neill.  Reilly: Ace of Spies is a 1983 mini-series consisting of twelve episodes that followed the life of the real spy that inspired Ian Fleming to create James Bond.  The spy was named Sidney Reilly, but his original name is believed to be Sigmund Rosenblum (see center photo).  He was born in Russia, faked his own death as a young teenager, stowed away on a ship to Brazil, and soon ended up meeting British spies.  He ended up working for the British Secret Service, and went undercover in other countries for extended periods of time.  Reilly was utterly ruthless.  He once was sent to help another spy steal design plans, and he became the man’s roommate without telling him who he was.  He let the other spy be caught and die as Reilly left with the plans.  Reilly was a major factor in causing wars.  He tried to overthrow Lenin and set himself up as the head of Russia, and he got very close to achieving that to such an extent that he was listed in Russian history books as an enemy of the state.  He had no problem poisoning or even executing people.  Even Sam Neill, in his returned correspondence to me wrote that, “Reilly wasn’t such a good guy, really.”

Reilly went undercover, became a millionaire, and soon his identity was very fuzzy and even the British did not know if he was working for them.  He did not have any sort of regular employee-employer relationship with the British Secret Service anymore, and he became a force to be reckoned with.  He moved to the United States, met with captains of industry, and started his own private secret service organization.  Before WW2 broke out, Reilly disappeared.  It was believed that the Russians finally captured and executed him, but it never confirmed.  In fact, there is conjecture that he survived the 1930’s and remained a hidden manipulator of world events after his disappearance.  Maybe he was always working for Russia.  Even though spy costumes and tv series are fun, real spies live in a world of paranoia and tend to be dark figures that border on being villains.

Even a mask of Spy vs Spy from Mad Magazine is swell for Halloween.  But don’t just tie a black mask over your eyes and go as a criminal!  Take a chance, lead a life of danger, and dress up as a spy for Halloween!

[leradny]

Emerald City has its shortcomings, but one thing I absolutely love about it is that women are given the complete freedom to fail, to succeed, to do nice things, to do really terrible things. Every single one of them.

A brief explanation about why I won’t include Tip: Tip is a very important character, but he is a boy. He was born in a female body, but due to lack of resources, he cannot return to his preferred gender, nor can he pass for it. That is the only reason he presents as feminine. He was raised as a boy, and identifies as one exclusively. So, he’s not here. Although I love him.

Anyway, back to the women and girls.

For one thing, there are a lot, both in the background, and with speaking roles. There are young girls and old women. There are women who stay chaste. There are women who work at a brothel.

Even the minor female characters are given lives, backstories, and relationships. You don’t know the whole story and sometimes they don’t speak, but you get the sense that there is a whole story.

One of the most unorthodox ways Emerald City gets its plot rolling that I’ve never seen to the same extent in any other work of fiction is how significant events happen off-screen. This is generally eschewed in fiction for a very good good reason most of the time. But here it is handled, for the most part, in an ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL way to give agency to all of its characters.

For example: My favorite character Mistress East, the most Merciful and Stern (AND BEAUTIFUL). The very fact that they juxtapose two seemingly contradictory things alludes to this convention of not showing the full picture, and allowing women to have fully rounded characters. We only see the Stern part of Mistress East for the short time she’s on screen. She tortures the main character. And yet, people are so very genuinely affected by her death! The Munja’kin exalt her, and torture Dorothy because they want to bring a murderer to justice. West runs out crying into the street. Her most loyal servant continues to guard the temple after her death. So, that merciful part of her personality must be there. We simply didn’t get to see it.

This juxtaposition is also evident in East’s costume design. She has Florence Kasumba’s shaved head, which is genuinely coded as a masculine trait. See: Furiosa, which works very well for that particular show. But this is not Mad Max. Emerald City threw masculine and feminine coding out the window for East! She has a shaved head, but pairs it with the most impractical, haute couture dress of any character in the show. It’s red and silky with a black feathered collar and beautiful intricate golden gauntlets, and there is not only one twenty-foot train, there are several. Keep in mind that Florence Kasumba could have very easily worn a wig for this role to look more feminine according to “traditional” gender roles, and yet was allowed to keep her hairstyle.

Another way is how they allow all of their characters the potential to do very good things, very bad things, and things the viewer doesn’t quite feel comfortable with. Not to say these characters don’t have defined personalities. But you can’t really guess what a character’s going to do.

Dorothy Gale is mostly a really good person. She is the hero, a woman of color, and by profession a nurse. She fits into that profession quite naturally. She takes care of dogs and children and she loves her adoptive family. But she also steals medicine if her family needs it and cannot get it, for whatever reason. She doesn’t default to hurting or killing people, but she totally will if it means her or them.

Sylvie is mostly a really sweet little girl who very rarely speaks and is mostly carried around by Lucas or looked after by Dorothy or playing with Toto. But after being established as such and getting abducted, Dorothy spends a lot of time trying to rescue her from a couple who tries to abduct her. Our heroine storms into the house, only to find that Sylvie has turned her abductors into stone off-screen.

Mistress West is mostly defined by being a sex and drug addict. She’s not very nice. She shouts at her servants. She ruthlessly discards people once she’s not interested in them anymore. She outright lies to someone. But, well, she still genuinely values honesty outside of it. She’s witty. She is genuinely traumatized by the death of her sisters.

Princess Langwidere, is mostly the strange girl who always wears masks and just buys Jack because she likes him. And then she goes from spoiled, eccentric princess to a terrifyingly shrewd politician when it’s revealed she’s been ruling the kingdom instead of her father for a long time. She busts out that AMAZING speech where she point-blank refuses to help the Wizard because he ignored her kingdom, and she will gladly see Oz burn to the ground. I love floaty eccentric girls. I love hyper-capable women. Princess Langwidere is literally two of my favorite character types IN ONE PERSON.

One character who haunts me is Mombi. As actors, women run into a lot of limitations with their craft because generally, nobody looks pretty when they emote with intensity. And women run into far less opportunities as they age because they also tend to look less pretty. But here is an older woman who is not only given screen-time, but artistic freedom. Spit FLIES OUT OF HER MOUTH when she rages at Dorothy! She is given the power to tackle, strangle, and overpower the younger heroine. And we completely believe that Dorothy will die! Lucas, a fucking 6′3″ soldier, has to stab Mombi in the heart, drag her off, and bash her in the skull before getting Dorothy away to safety. And he still doesn’t kill her! Nope!

Women in Emerald City are just as flawed and detailed and individual and self-serving and selfless and hypocritical as any of the men. I could write an essay about literally every female character, because all of them have done something that directly affects the plot. I may not like all of the characters, and they might not all have the same amount of screen time, but every single one of them has agency and relevance, and that is the level of equality this industry needs.